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The herald. [microfilm reel] (Los Angeles [Calif.]) 1893-1900, April 05, 1896, Image 20

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lOspyrlght, 1896. by Stone and Kimball.) •
t *Jam Weir, Lord Hermiston, first the
Lord-Advocate, and then tho Lord Jt'stlce-
GJB*. of the Senators of the College of Jus
twsat Kdlnburgh, has married Jean Ruth
•Hord, last heir of her line, upon whose es
tate at the Scottish village of Croaamichael
he resides when court is not in session. He
hi noted for his severity, and has become
famous for the "hanging face" with which
Its confronts criminals—while his wife is
of a mildly religious type. Their son Arch
ibald combines the qualities of the two. but
has been brought up by his mother almost
exclusively. She inspires him with her re
ligious views, so that unconsciously he
aw»» to resent his father's severity and
roughness. His mother having died, Archie
continues his studies, having little in com
mon with Lord Hermiston. with one of
whose fellow Justices and friends, however,
a scholarly gentleman of the old school, he
forms a close friendship. At the trial of
one Jopp, for murder. Archie is especially
offended by his father's coarse remarksand,
brooding over the exhibition of what seems
to hint savage cruelty, he attends the execu
tion. As the man's body falls, he cries out:
"I denounce this God-defying murder." The
same evening, at his college debating so- i
clety. he propounds the question "whether
capital punishment be consistent with God's
will or man's policy." A great scandal is
aroused in the city by these actions of the
son of Lord Hermiston. Archie meets the
family doctor, who shows him by an anec
dote that, under his father's granite exter
ior, the latter has a great love for him.
This creates a revulsion in Archie's feel
ings. His father soon hears of his son's
performances, and reproaches him severe
ly. Archie accepts the rebuke and sub
mits himself. Nevertheless. Lord Hermis
ton orders him to abandon the law, and as
signs him to the care of the estate at Cross
mlchael. Archie goes the same evening to
call on the old Justice, already mentioned,
who comforts him and points out his fa
ther's great abilities, and together they
drink the health of Lord Hermiston. Archie
establishes himself on the estate, and finds
still at the homestead his mother's tormer
Housekeeper. Kirstie (or Christina) EiiioU.
a distant relative of his mother's, who is
devoted to the family fortunes. He does
not get on well with his scattered, neigh
bors, and becomes much of a recluse. Kirs
tie indulges him with many long talks, re
counting the history of the region. She
tells him a great deal about her four nep
hews, formerly a wild set. but now leading
quiet lives. Robert, or is the laird
of Cauldstaneslap, a small property near
by. Gilbert is a weaver and independent
preacher. Clement has removed to Glas
gow, and become a well-to-do merchant.
Andrew or "Dandle," a shepherd by trade.
Is a great wanderer about the country, and a
local poet of repute. Archie atsks Kirstie
If there is not a sister also. I
PART IV.—(Chapter V. Continued.)
"Ay. Kirstie. She was named for me.
•r my grandmother at least —it's the same
thing," returned the aunt, and went on
again about Dand, whom she secretly pre
ferred by reason of his gallantries.
"But what is your niece like?" said Arch
ie at the next opportunity.
Na, ale's a kind of a handsome jad
—a kmd o' gipsy" said the aunt, who had
two sets of scales for men and women—or
perhaps it would be more fair to say that
ehe had three, and the third and the most
loaded was for girls.
"How comes it that I never see her in
church?" said Archie.
" 'Deed, and I believe she's in Glesgie
with Clem and his wife. A heap good she's
like te get ot it! I dinna say for men folk,
out where weemen folk are born, there let
them bide. Glory to God, I was never
far'er from here than Crossmichael."
In the meanwhile it began to strike Arch
ie as strange, that while she thus sang the
praises of her kinsfolk, and manifestly re
lished their virtues and (I may say) (heir
vices like a thing creditable to herself,
there should appear not the least sign of
cordiality between the house of Hermiston
and that of Cauldstaneslap. Going to
church of a Sunday, as the lady housekeep
er stepped with her skirts kilted, three
tucks of her white petticoat showing below,
and her best India shawl upon her back
(if the day were fine) In a pattern of radi
ant dyes, she would sometimes overtake
her relatives preceding her more leisurely
in the same direction. Gib of course was
absent: by skriegh of day he had been gone
to Crossraichael and his fellow heretics;
but the rest of the family would be seen
marching in open order: Hob and Dand,
stiff-necked. straight-backed six-footers,
with severe dark faces, and their plaids
about their shoulders: the convoy of chil
dren scattering tin a state of high polish)
on the wayside, and every now and again
collected by the shrill summons of the
mother: and the mother herself, by a sug
gestive circumstance which might have
afforded matter of thought to a more exper
ienced observer than Archie, wrapped in a
shawl nearly Identical with Kirstie's but a
thought more gaudy and conspicuously new
er. At the sight. Kirstie grew more tall—
Kirstie showed her classical profile, nose
in air and nostril snread. the pure blood
came in her cheek evenly In a delicate liv
ing pink.
"A braw day to ye. Mistreai Elliott." said
she. and hostility and gentility were nicely
mingled In her tones. "A fine day. mem,"
the laird's wife would reply with a mira
culous curtsey, spreading the while her
plumage—setting off. In other words, and
with arts unknown to the mere man, the
pattern of her India shawl. Behind her.
the whole Cauldstaneslap contingent march
ed ia eloaer order, and with an Indescribable
air of being in the presence of the foe; and
While Dandle saluted his aunt with a cer
tain familiarity as of one who was well in
court, Hob marched on in awful Immobil
ity. There appeared upon the face of this
attitude in the family the consequences of
some dreadful feud. Presumably the two
women had been principals in the original
encounter, and the laird had probably been
drawn Into the quarrel by the ears, too
late tp be included in the present skin-deep I
1 reconciliation.
"Klratle," said Archie one day, "what is
this you hare against your family?"
"I dlnna complean," said Kirstie with a
flush. "I aay naething."
"I ccc you do not—not even good day to
your own nephew," said he.
"I hae naething to be ashamed of," said
she. "I can say the Lord's prayer with a
good grace. If Hob waR 111, or in preeson
or poverty, I would see to him blithely.
But for curtohying and complimenting and
colloguing, thank ye kindly!"
Archie had a bit of a smile: he leaned
back in hia chair. "I think you and Mrs.
■abort are not very good friends," says he
•lyly, "wheat yea hart your India shawl?
THE last atoor
She looked upon him In silence, wjih a
sparkling eye but an indecipherable expres
sion; and that was all that Archie was ever
destined to learn of the battle of the India
"Do none of them ever come here to see
you?" he inquired.
"Mr. Archie." said she, "I hope that I
ken my place better. It would be a queer
thing, if I was to clamjamfry up your faith
er's house. . . that I should say it! —a
dirty, black-a-vised clan, no ane o' them It
was worth while to mar soap upon but Just
mysel'! Na, they're all damnlfeed wT the
black Ellwalds. I have nae patience wl'
black folk." Then, with a sudden consci
ousness of the case of Archie, "No that it
maitters for men sac muckle." she made
haste to add, "but there's naebody can deny
that it's unwomanly. Long hair is the or
nament o' woman ony way; we've good war
randlse for that—lt's in the Bible—and wha
can doubt that the Apostle had some gow
den-haired lassie in his mmd —Apostle and
all. for what was he but just a man like
Archie was sedulous at church. Sunday
after Sunday he sat down and stood up
with small company, heard the voice of
Mr. Torrance leaping like an 111-played
clarionet from key to key, and had an op
portunity to study his moth-eaten gown and
the black thread mittens that he Joined
together in prayer, and lifted up with a
reverent solemnity in the act of benediction.
Hermiston pew was a little square box,
dwarfish in proportion with the kirk itself,
and enclosing a table not much bigger than
a footstool. There he sat, an apparent
prince, the only undeniable gentleman and
the only great heritor in the parish, taking
i his ease in the only pew, for no other
gregation of solid plaided men, strapping
wives and daughters, oppressed children,
and uneasy sheep-dogs. It was Btrange how
Archie missed the look of race; except the
dogs, with their refined foxy faces and in
imitably curling tails, there was no one
present with the least claim to gentility.
The Cauldstaneslap party was scarcely an
exception. Dandle perhaps, as he amused
himself making verses through tho inter
minable burden of the service, stood out
a little by the glow in his eye and a cer
tain superior animation of face and alert
ness of body; but even Dandle slouched like
a rustic. The rest of the congregation, like
so many sheep, oppressed him with a sense
of hob-nailed routine, day following day—
of physical labor In the open air, oatmeal
porridge, peas bannock, the somnolent fire
side in the evening, and the night-long
nasal slumbers in a box-bed. Yet he
knew many of them to be shrewd and hu
morous, men of character, notable women,
making a bustle in the world and radiating
an influence from their low-browed doors.
He knew besides they were like other men;
below the crust of custom, rapture found
a way: he had heard them beat the tim-,
brel before Bacchus—had heard them shout
and carouse over their whisky toddy; and
not the most Dutch-bottomed and severe
faces among them all, not even the sol
emn elders themselves, but were capable
of singular gambols at the voice of love.
Men drawing near to an end of life's ad
venturous Journey—maids thrilling with
fear and curiosity on the threshold of en
trance^—women who had borne and per
haps buried children, who could remember
the clinging ot the small dead hand and
the patter of the little feet now silent—he
marvelled that among all those faces there
should be no face of expectation, none that
was mobile, none into which the rythm
and poetry of life had entered. "O for a
live face," he thought; and at times he had
a memory of Lady Janet: and at times he
would study the living gallery before him
with despair, and would see himself go on
to waste his days in that joyless pastoral
place, and death come to him, and his grave
be dug under the rowans, and the spirit
of the Earth laugh out in a thunder-peal
at the huge fiasco.
On this particular Sunday, there was no
doubt but that the spring had come at
last. It was warm, with a latent shiver
tn the air that made the warmth only the
more welcome. The shallows of the stream
glittered and tinkled among bunches of
primrose. Vagrant scents of the earth ar
rested Archie by the way with moments
ot ethereal Intoxication. The grey,
Quakerish dale was still only awakened in
places and patches from the sobriety of its
winter coloring; and he wondered at Its
beauty; an essential beauty of the old
I earth it seemed to him. not resident in
I particulars but breathing to him from the
whole. He surprised himself by a sudden
| impulse to write poetry—he did sometimes,
| loose, galloping octosyllables in the vein
lof Scott—and when he had taken his place
>on a boulder, near some fairy falls and
i shaded by a whip of a tree that was al
! ready radiant with new leaves, it still
j more surprised him that he should And
' nothing to write. His heart perhaps beat
In time to some vast indwelling rhyme of
the universe. By the time he came to a
corner of the valley and could see the kirk,
he had so lingered by the way that the
first psalm was finishing. The nasal psalm
ody, full of turns and trills and graceless
graces, seemed the essential voice of the
kirk itself upraised in thanksgiving. "Ev
erything's alive." he said; and again erica
tf. aloud, "thank God. everything's alive!"
He lingered yet awhile la the klrk-yar*.
A tuft of primroses was blooming hard by
the leg of an old, black table tombstone,
and he stopped to contemplate the random
apologue. They stood forth on the cold
earth with a trenchency of contrast: and he
was struck with a sense of incompleteness
in the day. the season, and the beauty
that surrounded him—the chill there was
In the warmth, the gross black clods about
the opening primroses, the damp earthy
smell that was everywhere intermingled
with the scents. The ■voice of the aged
Torrance within rose in au ecstasy. And
he wondered if Torrance also felt In his old
bones the Joyous influence of the spring
morning: Torrance, or the shadow uf wnat
once was Torrance, that must come so soon
to He outside here tn the sun and rain
with all his rheumatisms, while a new
minister stood iv his room and thundered
from his own familiar pulpit V The pity of
it, and something ot the chill ot tbe grave
shook him for a moment as he made haste
to enter.
He went up the aisle reverently and took
his place in the pew with lowered eyes, for
he feared he had already offended the kind
old gentleman in the pulpit, and was sedu
lous to offend no farther. He could not
follow the prayer, not even the heads ft
it. Brightnesses of azure, clouds of frag
rance, tinkle of falling water and Singing
birds rose like exhalations from some deep
er, aboriginal memory, that was not his,
but belonged to the flesh on his bones.
His body remembered; and it seemed to
him that his body was in no way gross,
but ethereal and perishable like a strain
of music: and he felt for it an exquisite
tenderness as for a child, an innocent, full
of beautiful instincts and destined' to an
early death. And he felt for old Torrance
—of the many supplications, of the few
days—a pity that was near to tears. The
prayer ended. Right over him was a tab
let in the wall, the only ornament in the
roughly masoned chapel—for it was no
more; the tablet commemorated, I was
about to say the virtues, but rather the
existence of a former Rutherford of Her
miston ; and Archie, under that trophy of
his long descent and local greatness,
leaned back in the pew and contemplated
vacancy with the shadow of a smile
between playful and sad. that be
came him strangely. Handle's sister,
sitting by the side of Clem in her
new Glasgow finery, chose flat moment to
observe the young laird. Aware ot the stir
of his entrance, the little formalist had kept
her eyes fastened and her face prettily
composed during the rlrayer. It was not
hypocrisy, there was no one farther from a
hypocrite. The girl had been taught to be
have; to look up. to look down, to look
unconscious, to look seriously impressed In
church, and in every conjuncture to look j
her beat. That was the game of female J
life, and she played It frankly. Archie was
the one person In church who was of inter
est, who was somebody new, reputed eccen
tric, known to be young and a laird, and
still unseen by Christina. Small wonder
that, as she stood there in her attitude of
pretty decency, her mind should ran upon
him! If he spared a glance in her direc
tion, he should know she was a well-behav
ed young lady who had been to Glasgow.
In reason he must admire her clothes, and it
was possible that he should think her pret
ty. At that her heart beat the least thing
in the world; and she proceeded, by way
of a corrective, to call up and dismiss a ser
ies of fancied pictures of the young man
who should now by rights be looking at
her. She settled on the plainest of them, a
pink short young man with a dish face and
no figure, at whose admiration she could
afford to smile; but for all that, the consci
ousness of his gaze (which was really fixed
on Torrance and his mittens) kept her in
something of a Butter till (lie word Amen.
Even then, she was far too weli-bred (o
a Glasgow touch —she composed her dress,
rearranged her nose-gay of primroses, look
ed first in front, then behind upon the
other side, and at last allowed her eyes to
move, without hurry, in the direction of the
Hermiston pew. For a moment, they were
rivlted. Next she had plucked her gaze
home again like a tame bird who should
have meditated flight. Possibilities crowd
ed on her: she hung over the future and
grew dizzy; the image of this young man,
slim, graceful, dark, with the Inscrutable
half-smile, attracted and repelled her like
a chasm. "I wonder, will I have met my
fate?" she thought, and her heart swelled.
Torrance was got some way into his first
exposition, positing a deep layer of texts
as ho went along, laying the foundations
of his discourse, which was to deal with a
nice point in divinity, before Archie suf
fered his eyes to wander. They fell first
of all on Clem, looking insupportably pros
perous and patronizing Torrance with the
favor of a modified attention, as of one who
was used to better things in Glasgow.
Though he had never before set eyes on
him, Archie had no difficulty in identifying
him, and no hesitation in pronouncing him
vulgar, the worst of the family. Clem was
leaning :azliy forward when Archie first
saw him. Presently he leaned nonchalant
ly back; and that deadly instrument, the
maiden, was suddenly unmasked In profile.
Though not quite in the front ot the fashion
(had anybody cared!), certain artful Glas
gow nmntua-makers, and her own inherent
taste., had arrayed her to great advantage.
Her accoutrement was, indeed, a cause of
heart-burning, and almost of scandal,in that
infinitesimal kirk company. Mrs. Hob had
said her say at Cauldstaneslap. "Daft
like!" she had pronounced it. "A jaiket
that'll no meet! Whaur's the sense of a
Jaiket that'll no button upon you, if it
should come to be weet? What do ye ca'
thlr things? Demmy brokens, d'ye say?
They'll be brokens wt' a vengeance or ye
can win back! Weel, I have naethlng to do
wP it—it's no good taste." Clem, whose
purse had thus metamorphosed his sister,
and who was not insensible to the advertise
ment, had come to the rescue with a "Hoot
woman! What do you ken of good taste
that has never been to the ceety?" And
Hob, looking on the girl with pleased smiles,
as she timidly displayed her finery in the
mldat of the dark kitchen, had thus ended
the dispute: "The cutty looks weel," he
had said, "and It's no very like rain. Wear
them the day. hizzle; but it's no a thing
to make a practice o'." In the breasts of
her rivals, coming to the kirk very con
scious of white under-linen, and their faces
splendid with much soap, the sight of the
toilet had raised a storm of varying emotion,
from the mere unenvlous admiration that
v-m r • '• a "Eh!" to
the angrier feeling that found vent In an
emphatic "Set her up!" Her frock waa of
straw-colored jaconet muslin, cut low at
the bosom and short at the ankle, so as to
display her deml-broqulns of Regency vio
let, crossing with many straps upon a yel
low cobweb stocking. According to the
pretty fashion in which our grandmothers
did not hesitate to appear, and our gt-est
aunts went forth armed for the pursuit and
capture of our great-uncles, the dress was
drawn up so as to mould the contuor of both
breasts, and in the nook between a cairn
gorm brooch maintained it. Here, too.
surely In a very enviable position, trembled
the nosegay of primroses. She wore on her
shoulders—or rather, on her back and not
her shoulders, which it scarcely passed—a
French coat of sarsenet, tied If! front with
Margate braces, and of the same color with
her violet shoes. About her face clustered
a disorder of dark ringlets, a little garland
of yellow Preach roses surmounted her
brow, and the whole was crowned by a
village hat of chipped straw. Amongst all
the rosy and all the weathered faces that
surrounded her In church, she glowed ]rk<3
an open flower-girl and raiment, and the
cairngorm tha; caught the daylight and re
turned it in a fiery flash, and the threads
of bronze aud gold that played in her hair.
Archie was attracted by the bright thing
like a child. He looked at her again and yet
again, and their looks crossed. The lip was
lifted from her little teeth. He saw the
red blood work vividly under her tawny
skin. Her eye. which was great as a stag's,
struck and held his gaze. He knew who
she must be—Kirstie. she of the harsh dim
inutive, his housekeeper s niece, the sister
of the rustic prophet. Sim—and he found in
her the answer to his wishes.
Christina felt the shock of their encoun
tering glances, and seemed fo rise, clothed
in smiles, into a region of the vague and
bright. But the gratification was not more
exquisite than it was brief. She looked
away abruptly, and immediately began to
blame herself for that abruptness. She
knew wiiat she should have done, too late
turned slowly with her nose in the air.
Any 01 cairn on totaoftaftuy aimed, «au uvh
seemed to isolate her alone with him, and
now seemed to uplift her, as on a pillory,
before the congregation. For Archie con
tinued to drink her in with his eyes, even
as a wayfarer comes to a well-head on.a
mountain, and stoops nis face, and
drinks with thirst unassuageable. In the
cleft ot her little breasts tne fiery eye of
the topaz and the pale florets of primrose
fascinated him. He saw the breasts heave
and tho flowers shake with the heaving,
and marvelled what should so much dis
compose the girl. And Christina was con- 1
scions of his gaze—saw It, perhaps, with !
tho dainty plaything of an ear (hat peep
ed among her ringlets; sho was conscious
of changing color, conscious of her un
steady breath. Like a creature tracked,
ruu down, surrounded, she sought in a
dozen ways to give herself a countenance.
Sho used her handkerchief—it was a really
flue one—then she desisted in a panic: "Ho
would only think I was too warm." She
took to reading in tho metrical psalms, and
then remembered it was sermon-time. Ln.st
she put a "sugar-bool" in her mouth, and
tho next moment repented of the step. It
was such a homely-like thing! Mr. Archio
would never be eating sweeties in kirk;
and, with a palpable effort, she swallowed
it whole, and her color flamed high. At
this signal of distress Archio awoke to a !
sense of his ill-behavior. What had he
been doing? He had been exquisitely rudo
in church to (he niece of his house-keeper; j
he had stared like a lackey and a libertine |
at a beautiful and modest girl. It was j
possible, it was even likely, he would be]
presented to her after service in the kirk i
yard, and then how was he to look? And
then was no excuse. He had marked the 1
tokens of her shame, of her increasing in
dignation, and he was such a fool that he
had not understood them. Shame bowed
him down, and he looked resolutely at Mr.
Torrance; who little supposed, good, wor
thy man, as he continued to expound jus
tification by faith, what was his true busi
ness: to play the part of derivative to a
pair of children at the old game of falling
in love.
Christina was greatly relieved at first.
It seemed to her that she was clothed
again. She looked back on what had
passed. All would have been right if she
had not blushed, a silly fool! There was
nothing to blush at. If she had taken a
sugar bool. Mrs. McTaggart, the elder's
wife in St. Enoch's, took them often. And |
if he had looked at her, what was more
natural than that a young gentleman should j
look at the best dressed girl in church? |
And at the same time, she knew far other-1
wise, she knew there was nothing casual
or ordinary in the look, and valued herself
on its memory like a decoration. Well, it
was a blessing he found something else to
look at. And presently she began to have
other thoughts. It was necessary, she fan- 1
cied, that she should put herself right by
a repetition of the incident, better man
aged. If (he wish was father to the
thought, she did not know or she would
not recognise it. It was.simply as a ma- 1
noeuvre of propriety, as something called
for to lessen the significance of what had
gone before, that she should a second time
meet his eyes, and this time without blush-
Ing. And at the memory of the blush, she
blushed again, and became one general I
blush burning from head to foot. Was ever |
anything so indelicate, so farward, done
by a girl before? And here she was, mak-'
Ing an exhibition of herself before tho
congregation about nothing! She stole a
glance upon her neighbors and behold! they
were steadily indifferent, and Clem had i
gone to sleep. And still the one Idea was
''yearning more and more potent with her I
that In common pruden/e sho must look
again before the service ended. Some
thing of the same sort was going forward in
the mind of Archie, as he struggled with
the load of penitence. So it chanced that,
in the flutter of the moment when the last
psalm was giveu out, and Torrance was
reading the verse, and the leaves of every
psalm-book in church were rustling under
busy fingers, two stealthy glances were
sent out like antennae among the pews
and on the Indifferent and absorbed occu
pants, and drew timidly nearer to the
straight Hue between Archie and Christina.
They met, they lingered together for the
least fraction of time, and that was
enough. A charge as of electricity passed
through Christina, and behold! the leaf of
her psalm-book was torn across.
Archie was outside by the'gate of the
graveyard, conversing with Hob and the
minister and Ehaking hands all ,arotmd
with the scattering congregation." when.
Clem and Christina were brought up to bw
presented. Tho laird took off his hat and
bowed to her with grace nnd respect. Chris
tina lriade her Olasgow curtsey to the laird
and went on again up the road for Her
miston and Cauldstaneslap, walking fast,
breathing hurriedly with a heightened col
or, and In this b trail go rrame ot mind, that
when she was alone she seemed In high
happiness, and when anyone addressed her
she resented it like a contradiction. A
part of the way she had the company of
some neighbor girls and a loutish young
man: never had they seemed so Insipid,
never had she made herself so disagreeable.
But these struck aside to their various des
tinations or were out-walked and left be
hind; and when she had driven off with
sharp words tho proffered convoy cf some
of her nephews and nieces, she was free to
go alone up Hermiston brae, walking on
air. dwelling intoxicated among clouds of
happiness. Near to tho summit she heard
steps behlud her. a man's steps, light and
very vapid. She knew the foot at once and
walked the faster. "If it's me he's waut-
Ing he can run for It," she thought, smil
'.v AA-iniErcifc;-'lid uxfch'd. -*
''Miss Christina, if you please, Mr.
Jft'eir." sho interrupted. "I cannae bear
the contraction."
"You forget it has a friendly sound for
me. Your aunt is an old friend of mine
and a very good one. I hope wo shall sco
much of you at Hermiston?"
"My aunt and my sister-in-law doesnac
agree very well. No that I have much ado
with It. nut still when I'm stopping in tho
house, it I was to be visiting my aunt, it
would not look considerate-like."
"I am sorry," said Archie.
"I thank you kindly, Mr. Weir," sh»sald.
"I whiles think myself it's a great, peety."
"Ah, I am suro your voice would always
be for peace!" ho cried.
"I wouldnae be too sure of that," she
said. "I have my days liko other folk, I
"Do you know, in our old kirk, among
our good old grey dames, you made an ef
fect like sunshine." .
"Ah, but that would be my Glasgow
"I did not think I was so much under
the influence of pretty frocks."
She smiled with a half look at him.
"There's more than you!" she said. "But
you see I'm only Cinderella. I'll have to
put all these things by in my trunk: next
1 Sunday I'll be as grey as the rest. They're
Glasgow clothes, you see. and it would never
do lo make a practice of it._ It would seem
| terrible conspicuous."
By that, they were come to the place
j where their ways severed. The old grey
moors were all about them: in the midst
a few sheep waudered: and they could see
on the one hand tho straggling caravan
scaling the braes in front of them for Cauld
staneslap, and on the other, the contingent
from Hermiston bending off and beginning
to disappear by detachments into the policy
gate. It was in these circumstances that
they turned to say farewell, and deliberately
exchanged a glance as they shook hands.
All passed as It should, genteelly; and in
Christina s mind, as she mounted the first
steep ascent for Cauldstaneslap, a gratify
ing sense of triumph prevailed over the
recollection of minor lapses and mistakes.
She had kilted her gown, as she did usually
at that rugged pass; but when she spied
Archie still standing and gazing after her,
the skirts camo down again as If by en
chantment. Here was a piece of nicety for
that upland parish, where the matrons
marched with their coats kilted in the rain,
and the lasses walked barefoot to kirk
through the dust of summer, and went
bravely down by the burn-side, and sat on
stones to make a public toilet before enter
ing! It was perhaps an air wafted from
Glasgow; or perhaps it marked a stage of
that dizziness of gratified vanity, in whioh
the instinctive act passed unpercelved. He
was looking after. She unloaded her bosom
of a prodigious sigh that was all pleasure,
and betook herself to run. When she had
overtaken the stragglers of her family, she
caught up the niece whom she had so re
cently repulsed, and kissed and slapped
her, nnd drove her away again, and ran after
her with pretty cries and laughter. Per
haps she thought the laird might still be
looking! But It chanced the little scene
came under the view of eyes less favor
able; for she overtook Mrs. Hob marching
with Clem and Dand.
"You're shurely fey, lass!" quoth Dan
• Think shame to ycrsel' miss!" said the
strident Mrs. Hob. "is this the gait to
guide yerscl' on the way hame frae-kirk?
You're shurely no sponsible the day! And
anyway I would mind ray guld claes."
"Hoot!" said Christina, and went on be
fore them head In air. treadlna the rmir">
track with Ihe tread of a wild doe.
She was In love with herself, her destiny,
the air of the hills, the benediction of the
sun. All the way home, she continued un
der the Intoxication of these sky-scrapping
spirits. At table she could talk freely of
young Hermiston; gave her opinion of him
off-hand and with a loud voice, that he was
a handsome young gentleman, real well
mannered and sensible-like, but It was a
pity he looked doleful. Only—lhe moment
after—a memory of his eyes in church cm
i hnrrassed her. But for this inconsiderable
check, all through meal-time she had a Rood
appetite, and she kept them laughing at
table, until (lib (who had returned before
them from Crossmlchael and his separativo
worship) reproved the whole of them for
their levity.
Singing "in to herself" as she went,
her mind still in the turmoil of a glad con
fusion, the most beautiful of her sex by
i her victories nt tho kirk, tho gnyest by her
more recent triumphs in the bosom ot her
own family, she rose and tripped upstairs
to a little loft, lighted by four panes in the
gable, where she slept with one of her
j nieces. The niece, who followed her, pre
i suming on "Auntie's" high spirits, was
j flounced out ot the apartment with small
, ceremony, and retired, smarting and half
! tearful, to bury her woes in the byre
j among the hay. Still humming, Christina
I divested herself of her finery, and put her
| treasures one by one in her great green
! trunk. The last of these was the psalm
j hook; it was a fine piece, the gift of Mis
tress Clem, in distinct old-faced type, on
paper that had begun to grow foxy In the
warehouse—not by service—and she was
used to wrap it in a handkerchief every
Suuday after lis period of service was over,
and bury it end-wise at the head of her
trunk. As she now took it in hand tho
. book fell open where the leaf was torn,
| and she stood and gazed upon that evidence
of her bygone discomposure. There return
i ed again the vision of the two brown eyes
staring at her, Intent and bright, out of
that dark corner of the kirk. The whole
appearance and attitude, the smile, the
suggested gesture of young Hermiston
came before her in a flash at the sight of
the torn page. "I was surely fey!" she
said, echoing the words of Dandle, and at
the suggested doom her high spirits de
serted her. She flung herself prone upon
tho bed. and lay there, holding the psalm
book in her hands for hou*S, for the more
part in a mere stupor of unconsenting
pleasure and unreasoning fear. The fear
was superstitious; there came up again and
again in her memory Dandles 111-omened
words, and a hundred grisly and black
tales out of the immediate neighborhood
rcsd her a commentary on their force. Tho
pleasure was never realised. You might
say the jointn of her body thought and re
membered, and were gladdened, but her
essential self, in the immediate theatre of
consciousness, talked feveilshly of some
thing else, like a nervous person at a Are.
The image that she most complacently
dwelt on was that of Miss Christina in her
character nf the Fair Lass of Cauldstanes
lap carrying all before her in tho straw
colored frock, the violet mantle, and the
yellow cobweb stockings. Archie's image,
on the other hand, when it presented it
self was never welcomed—far less wel
comed with any ardor, and it was exposed
at times to merciless criticism. In . tbe
long, vague dialogues she held in her mind,
often with imaginary, often with unrea
lised interlocutors, Archie, If he were refer
red to at all, came in for savage handling.
He was described as "looking like a stork,"
"staring like a caulf, -1 "a face like a
ghaist's." "Do you call that manners?"
she said; or. "I soon put him in 1113 place."
" Miss Christina, if you please, Mr. Weir!'
says I, and just flyped up my skirt tails."
With gabble like this she would entertain
tin — J ,U. ,~ 1,..,.
the darkness of the wall, and the voluble
words deserted her, and she would lie still
and stupid, and think upon nothing with
devotion, and be sometimes raised by a
quiet sigh. Had a doctor of medicine come
into that loft he would have diagnosed a
healthy, well-developed, eminently viva
cious lass lying on her face in a fit of the
sulks; not one who had just contracted, or
was just contracting, a mortal Blcknaal of
the ralnd whioh should yet carry her to
wards death and despair. Had It been a
doctor of psychology, he might have been
pardoned for divining in the girl a passion
of childish vanity, self-love in excelsis,
and no more. It is to be understood that
I have been painting chaos and describing
the inarticulate. Every lineament that ap
pears too precise, almost every word used
too strong. Take a finger-post In the moun
tains on a day of roiling mists; I have but
copied the names that appear upon the
pointers, the names of definite and famous
cities far distant, and now perhaps bask
ing In sunshine; but Christina remained
all theso hours, as It were, at tho foot of
the post itself, not moving, and enveloped
in mutable and blinding wreaths of haze.
The day was growing late and the sun
beams long and level, when she sat sud
denly up, and wrapped in Its handkerchief
and put by that psalm-book, which had al
ready played a part so decisive in the first
chapter of her lovo story. In the absence
ot the mesmerist's eye, we are told nowa
days that the head of a bright nail may fill
his plaice, if it be steadfastly regarded. So
that torn page had riveted her attention on
what might have been but little, and per
haps soon forgotten; while the ominous
worts of Dandle—heard, not heeded, and
still remembered—had lent to her thoughts,
or rather to her mood, a cast of solemnity,
and that idea of Fate—a pagan Fate, un
controlled by any Christian deity, obscure,
lawless, and august—moving indissuadably
in the affairs of Christian men. Thus even
that phenomenon of love at first sight,
which is so rare and seems so simple and
violent, like a disruption ot life's tissue,
may bo decomposed into a sequence of acci
dents happily concurring.
She put on a grey frock and a pink ker
chief, looked at herself a moment with ap
proval In the small square of glass that
served her for a toilet mirror, and went
softly downstairs through (ho sleeping
house (hat resounded with the sound of af
ternoon snoring. Just outside the door,
Dandle was sitting with a book in his hand,
not reading, only honoring tho Sabbath by
a sacred vacancy ot mind. She came near
him and stood still.
"I'm for off up the mulrs,.Dandle," she
There was something unusually soft in
her tones that marie him look up. She was
pale, her eyes dark and bright; no trace re
mained of the levity of tho morning.
"Ay, lass? Veil have ye're tips and downs
like me, I'm thlnkln'," he observed
"What for do ye say that?" she asked.
"O, for naething," says Dand. "Only I
think ye're malr like me than the lave of'
them. Ye've mair of the poetic temper,
tho' Guld kens little enough of the poetic
taalent. It's an ill gift at the best. Look
at yourscl'. At denner you were all sun
shine and flowers and laughter, and now
you're like the star of evening on a lake."
Sho drank in this hackneyed compliment
like wine, and it glowed in her veins.
"But I'm saying, Dand"--she came near
er him —"I'm for the muirs. I must have a
braith of air. If Clem was to be speirlng
for me, try and qualet him, will ye no?"
"What way? " said Dandle. "I ken but
the ac way, and that's leeln'. I'll say ye
fc "d a nlr K«M. If ••« llt-n."
"But I havßse," she objects*.
"I daur aaw not," he returned. "I Said I
would say ye had; and If ye like to nay
say me when ye come back. It'll no ma
teertally mattter, for my chara'ter's clasa
gane a'ready past reca'."
"O, Dand, are ye a leear?" tha askSd.
"Folks say sac," replied the bard.
"Wha says sac?" she pursued.
"Them that should ken the best," he
responded. "The lassies, for ane."
"But, Dand, you would never lee to me?"
she asked.
"I'll leave that for your palrt of It, ye
girzle." said he. "Yell lee to me fait
eneuch, when ye hae gotten a Jo. I'm
tell in' ye and it's true; when you have a
jo. Miss Kirstie, It'll be for guld and 111.
I ked': I was made that way mysel', but
the dcil was in my luck! Here, gang aw a
wt' ye to your mulrs, and let me be; I'm
In an hour ot inspiration, ye upsetting
But she clung to her brother's neighbor
hood, she knew not why.
"Wll! ye no gie's a kiss, Dana?" ska said.
"I aye llklt ye fine.*'
He kissed her and considered her a mo
ment; he found something strange In her.
But he was a libertine through and through,
nourished equal contempt and suspicion et
all womankind, and paid hia way among
them habitually with Idle compliments.
"Gao wa' wi' ye!" said he. "You're a
dentle baby, and be content wt' that!"
That was Dandles way; a kiss and a com
fit to Jenny—a bawbee and my blessing to
Jill—and good night to the whole clan of
ye, my dears! When anything approached
the serious. It became a matter for men, ha
both thought and said. Women, when they
did not absorb, were only children to ba
shoo'd away. Merely in his character of
connoisseur, however. Dandle glanced care
lessly after his sister as she crossed tho
meadow. "Tho brat's no that bad!" ho
thought with surprise, for though he had
Just been paying her compliments,
he had not really looked at
her. "Hey! what's yon?" For the grey
dress was cut with short Bleeves and skirts,
and displayed her trim strong legs clad in
pink stockings of the same shade as the
kerchief she wore round her shoulders,
and that shimmered as she went. This was
not her way in undress; he knew her wlyn
and the ways of the whole sex In the coun
try side, no one better; when they did dot
go barefoot, they wore stout "rig and fur
row" woollen hose of an Invisible bus
mostly, when they were not black outright;
and Dandle, at sight of this daintiness, put
two and two together. I: was a silk hand
kerchief, then they would be silken hose;
they matched—then the whole outfit was a
present of Clem's, a costly present, and not
something to be worn through bog and
briar, or on a late afternoon of Sunday.
He whistled. "My denty May, either your
hold's fair turned, or there's some ongo
ings!" he observed, and dismissed the rub-
She went slowly at first, but aver straig t
cr and faster for the Cauldstaneslap, a piss
among the hills to which Ihe farm owed Its
name. The Slap opened like a doorway be
tween two rounded hillocks: and through
this ran the short cut to Hermiston. Im
mediately on (he other s'de It went down
through the Dcil's Hags, a conslderabla
marshy hollow or .the hill tops, full ot
springs, and crouching junipers, and pools
where the black peat-water slumbered.
There was no view from here. A man
might have sat upon the graying weaver's
stone a half century, and seen none but the
Cauldstaneslap children twice in the twen
ty-four hours on their way to the school
and back again. An occasional shepherd,
the irruption of a clan or sheep, or tha
birds who haunted about the springs, drink
ing and shrilly piping. So, when she ha I
once passed the Slap. Kirstie was received
tne llgUlt- vi Jjamutr-, Tfiw.'r i-„, ,I w . a
be scribbling in his lap, the hour of expect
ed inspiration having come to him at last.
Thence she |»sed rapidly through the mar
ass, and came to the further end of It. where
a sluggish burn discharges, and the path
for Hermiston aeorapaulcs it on the begin
ning of its downward path. From this cor
ner a wide view was opened to her ot the
wrtiole stretch of braes upon the other side,
slill sallow and in places rutty with the
winter, with the path marked boldly, here
and there by the burn-side a tuft of birches,
and—three miles off a« the crow files—from
its enclosures and young plantations, the
windows ot Hermiston glittering in tho
western sun.
Here she sat down and waited, and lookrd
for a long (ime at these far-away bright
panes of glass. It amused her to have ra
extended a view, she thought. It amused
her to see the house of Hermiston—to See
"folk;" and there was an indistinguishable
human unit, perhaps the gardener, visibly
sauntering on the gravel paths.
By the time the sun was down and all the
easterly braes lay plunged In clear shadow,
she was aware of another figure coming v:>
the path at a moat unequal rate of approach,
now half running, now pausing and seem
ing to hesitate.
(To bo Continued.)
Muxlne Elliott is a famous horsewo
man, and her horse is named Diana.
Ednn Wallace Hopper has a Mexican
dog which weighs eight ounces.
Olga Xctliersole's lending man Is re
ported as saying that (hat, long, conceal
ed kiss in "Cm-men" takes away It's
breath, and he can't stand It much'long
The season of .Minnie rainier lii.s
suddenly dosed lit failure, it Is reported,
and thn half duscii members of the eom
itauy who came from England aro 10
be sent home. '
The marriage ol' Annie O'Neill will re
move from the stage one of the most
graceful oruatnehts.
She is an unusally successful actress.
She is in receipt of a salary of 150 a
week and she is engaged to be married
lo a man of wealth, high character and
ability. His friends assert that Mr.
Miner's estate is valued at 0,000.001>.
On bis wedding day he intends to give
his wife a bridal gift of 1ft.000.000. Her
personal income from that munificent;
present will amount to $50,000 a year.
Mme. Duse frankly says that the big
necklace which she wears on the stage
in one of her plays Is nothing but paste.
An actress who will admit anything of
this sort proves that she is something
remarkable. "
The celebrated Mrs. Dancer is afflicted
With near-sightedness. Otic night when
playing Calista in "The Fair Peni
tent" she was about to effect the tragic
catastrophe, after a lino performance
when she dropped her dagger. Owing to
her usual Infirmity she could not see
where to pick it up. One of the com
pany pushed it toward her with her font
but it did not mend matters. Finally the
other (who was Calisbi's confidant In the
play) wns obliged to pick It up and me
sent it to her mistress, which she did
with an elaborate show of ceremony
Calista then proceeded to dispatch hc'rl
«->lf aecordlne to the prescribed form

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