The music was still sounding, the lights still burning brightly,—but when old Simon Kirkton saw the party enter his hall, no words can do justice to the horror of his expression. The ladies were consigned to the attention of his wife. He himself took especial care of the hero of the story; and after having heard the whole adventure, when the soldier, refreshed, and in a suit of the laird’s apparel, was entering the dancing room, he slapped him on the shoulder, and said—
“Deil a doubt o’t noo. If ye’re no laird o’ the bonny English acres, and gudeman o’ the bonny English leddy, I’ve nae skill in spaein’, that’s a’.”
The adventure quickly spread, and people were sent off in all directions with lights, to discover, if possible, the body of the unfortunate Andrew Strachan. After searching for a long time, our friend the henchman thought he heard a voice close beside him, on the bank. He held down his lantern, and, sure enough, there he saw the object of their pursuit, lying at the very edge of the water, and his body on the land! The water from time to time burst over his face, and it was only on these occasions that an almost inarticulate grunt showed that the comatose disciple of John Barleycorn was yet alive. The henchman summoned his companions, and on attentively listening to the groans, as they considered them, of the dying man, they distinctly heard him, as he attempted to spit out the water which broke in tiny waves over his mouth, exclaiming, “Faugh, faugh! I doot ye’re changing the liquor—a wee drap mair whisky, and a sma’ spoonfu’ o’ sugar.” The nodding charioteer had been ejected from his seat on the first impetus of the “spate,” and been safely floated to land, without perceiving any remarkable change of situation. It is needless to say he was considerably surprised to discover where he was on being roused by the henchman’s party.
“It’s my belief,” said Jock Stewart, the piper, “the drucken body thocht he was tipplin’ a’ the time in the butler’s ha’! It wad be a gude deed to let the daidlin’ haveril follow his hat and wig; and I’m thinkin’ by this time they’ll be down about Fort-George.”
The weather was become so stormy, and the snow so deep, that it was impossible for any one to leave the house that night. The hospitable laird immediately set about making accommodation for so large a party, and by a little management he contrived to render everybody comfortable. The fiddlers were lodged in the barn, the ladies settled by the half-dozen in a room, and a supply of cloaks was collected for the gentlemen in the hall. Where people are willing to be pleased, it is astonishing how easy they find it. Laughter long and loud resounded through all the apartments, and morn began to stand “upon the misty mountain-tops” ere sleep and silence took possession of the mansion. Next day the storm still continued. The prospect, as far as the eye could reach, was a dreary waste of snow; and it was soon perceived, by those who were skilful in such matters, that the whole party were fairly snowed-up, and how long their imprisonment might last no one could tell. It was amazing with what equanimity the intelligence was listened to; one or two young ladies, who had been particularly pleased with their partners, went as far as to say it was delightful.
The elders of the party bore it with great good-humour, on being assured from the state of the larder that there was no danger of a famine; and, above all, the laird himself, who had some private schemes of his own to serve, was elevated into the seventh heaven by the embargo laid on his guests.
“If this bides three days there’ll be a dizzen couple before Leddy-day. It’s no possible for a lad and a lass to be snawed up thegither three days without melting;—but we’ll see the night how it’s a’ to be managed. Has onybody seen Mrs Carmichael and Miss Mowbray this morning?”
But before this question could be answered the ladies entered the room. They were both pale from their last night’s adventure; but while the elder lady was shaking hands with her friends, and receiving their congratulations, the eyes of her young companion wandered searchingly round the apartment till they fell on Charles Melville. Immediately a flush came over her cheek, which before was deadly pale, and she started forward and held out her hand. He rushed and caught it, and even in presence of all that company could scarcely resist the inclination to put it to his lips.
“Thanks! thanks!” was all she said; and even in saying these short words her voice trembled, and a tear came to her eye. But when she saw that all looks were fixed on her, she blushed more deeply than ever, and retired to the side of Mrs Carmichael. The scene passed by no means unheeded by the laird.
“Stupid whelp!” he said, “what for did he no kiss her, an it were just to gie her cheeks an excuse for growing sae rosy? ’Od, if I had saved her frae drooning, I wadna hae been sae nice,—that’s to say, my dear,” he added to his wife, who was standing by, “if I hadna a wife o’ my ain.”