CHAPTER IV

"Let lore of all TheologyBe to thy soul what itcanbe;But know—the Power that fashions manMeasured not out thy little spanFor thee to take the meeting rodIn turn, and so approve to GodThy science of Theometry."

Many times over he read this message, and then he sat with the book in his hand, lost in thought.

But of the tenor of these thoughts he said nothing; yet Mrs. Caird was satisfied. If he had not read the lines, she knew he would have told her so, and, having read them, they could be left without discussion. He was in a less moody spirit all the rest of the week, and spoke to her several times of the hopeless discouragement involved in Comte's scheme of "supreme religion," a mere possibility of posthumous though unconscious "incorporation with theGrand Êtrehimself," said he.

"Well, we are not on holy ground with Comte, Ian, and we need not take off our shoes," answered Mrs. Caird. "ThisGrand Être, this Great Being, is made up of little beings—yourself and I for instance."

"And yet, Jessy, Comte does not think all men worthy even of this honor. Vast numbers will remain in a parasitic state on this Grand Being—really burdens on him, Comte says."

"O Ian! What a poor unhappy God! Put your thoughts on the first ten words in Genesis. Consider their infinite sublimity and simplicity. In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. This God is our God, and He has been, and will be our dwelling place in, and for, all generations,Our Father! The weakest souls are not parasites or burdens to Him. Like a father He pities them."

"You are relying on the Bible, Jessy. It does not enter into Comte's scheme, and indeed what is called scientific religion discredits the Book generally."

"The Bible was not printed yesterday, Ian. Its assailants come and go, come and go, but it stands unmoved forever. With what new weapons can it be attacked? You told me yesterday that Strauss thought he had abolished Paul, and that Ewald answered there was nothing new in Strauss. As far as I can see, the giants of unbelief slay each other, while the Bible goes on to blend itself with the thought and speech of every land under the sun."

Such conversations became frequent between the Minister and his sister. He appeared to provoke and enjoy them. And he looked with a kind curiosity at this woman who had sat nearly twenty years on his hearth, nursing his children, ordering his household, sewing, knitting, telling fairy tales, and yet pondering in her heart the highest questions of time and eternity. The facts violated all his conceptions of women, and one day, after a very vivid illustration of this kind, he said softly to himself, yet with intense conviction:

"Women are inscrutable creatures! I doubt if I know anything about them." And perhaps these very words were "the call" for the wider and sadder knowledge that awaited him.

On Saturday he prepared to go to Glasgow to fulfil his usual duty in the Church of the Disciples; but his study of unbelief had got a stronger hold on his mind than he recognized. For the first time in all his ministry he felt a slight reluctance for spiritual work. But Mrs. Caird did not encourage this feeling, she was too anxious about Donald to miss his father's report of him, though she always discounted the same. But she reminded him for his comfort that when he returned from Glasgow on Monday he would find Marion at home to welcome him.

"I expect that," he answered promptly. "If I am disappointed I shall go to Cramer Hall for her."

However, very early on Monday morning Mrs. Caird saw Marion and Lord Cramer from afar, riding very slowly over the brae and, apparently, engaged in a conversation that admitted of none of the little irregularities of light or fugitive intercourse. Their attitude as they came nearer was distinctly, though unconsciously, that of lovers; and when Mrs. Caird met them she saw with delight the sunshine on their faces, mingling with a glory and radiance far sunnier from within; and heard the pride and tenderness in Lord Cramer's voice as he said, "Good morning, Mrs. Caird, I have brought Marion safely back to you."

"You have done well," she answered. "The Minister was wearying for her."

"How soon will he return from Glasgow? I wish to speak with him."

"His times are not set times; he comes this hour, and that hour. He deviates a good deal and, as for speech with him, you had better choose any day but Monday."

"Why not Monday, Mrs. Caird?"

"Because a Minister's stock of loving kindness is apt to be low on Monday, and he is tired and not disposed to frivol, or talk of unsacred things."

"But I want to talk to him of the most sacred of all mortal things. I am sure Dr. Macrae will be reasonable on any day of the week."

"There is a likelihood, but I have lived long enough in this astonishing world to observe that the head and the heart do not run over at the same time; and men keep their reasonable judgment the while. There's luck in leisure, Lord Cramer. Take my advice and leisure awhile."

Then Lord Cramer led Marion to the little summer house, and Mrs. Caird left them to give some orders concerning lunch, but when it was ready she saw Cramer riding away from the gate, and Marion, still in her habit, standing there watching him. Hearing her aunt's footsteps she turned, went to her side and, kissing her, said, "Dear Aunt, I am glad to be with you again."

"Then we are both glad, and your father will be glad also. Run upstairs and take off your hat and that width of trailing broadcloth. Then come and get a good lunch."

In a few minutes Marion appeared at the table in the simplest of her home dresses and, with a sigh of pleasure, said again, "Oh, but I am glad to be with you, Aunt!"

"Yet you had a happy time at Cramer Hall?"

"Richard was there. That was enough."

"And many other pleasant people?"

"Yes."

"And Lady Cramer?"

"I do not think she had a nice time. She was weary of company, and it was an effort for her to be quite polite during the last week."

"You ought, then, to have come home."

"I had no excuse for doing so."

"And you had an excuse for staying, eh?"

"Yes."

"Lord Cramer?"

"He begged me to stay. And, as I am going to marry him, I did what he desired, of course."

"Of course. And, of course, you will do what your father desires?"

"If Father is reasonable."

"The Fifth Command says you are to obey your father, and it does not make any exceptions as to whether he is reasonable or unreasonable."

"I intend to marry Richard, and no other man in all the wide world."

"You do not require to be so pointed about it. There is no one here wishes to prevent you."

"No one can prevent me, Aunt. I love Richard and he loves me. We fell in love with each other the moment we met."

"That is the right way. I like men that go over head and ears at first sight. Most take little careful steps, hesitating, fearing, one at a time. Cowardly lovers! No woman wants such. She just looks scornfully at them, and then turns her eyes toward something pleasanter."

All afternoon they talked on this and kindred subjects, and the time went so rapidly that the clock struck five before Mrs. Caird reflected that the Minister was two or three hours behind his usual time. What was keeping him? What was wrong? Then she began to worry about Donald; for, if anything usual becomes unusual, our first thought is not—what is right? or what is happy or profitable? but, always, what is wrong? And Mrs. Caird's anxieties drifted to the youth she loved so dearly.

"I wonder! I wonder whatever is wrong, Marion? Your father is always home by three, or at most four o'clock. I am feared something is wrong with Donald." And, in spite of Marion's optimistic persuasions, she was constantly asking her heart this woeful question. From the door to the gate she went with tiresome frequency, but it was after eight o'clock ere she saw two men walking leisurely toward the house. The twilight was over the earth, and nothing was very clear, but she knew them. Hurrying into the house she called to Marion in a voice of great pleasure and excitement:

"Your father is coming! And Donald is with him! And what can that mean?"

"Something good, Aunt."

But Mrs. Caird did not hear her. She was ordering this and that luxury, which she knew would be welcome to the belated travelers, and she had the natural wisdom and good-nature which never once asked, "What kept you so late?" She was satisfied with their presence, and with the fact that both were happy, and in the most affectionate mood with each other. She placed Donald's chair beside her own and, when he touched her hand, or smiled in her face, or whispered, "Dear, dear Aunt!" she had a full payment for all her anxious hours about him.

It was not until Marion and Donald had gone to their rooms that the Minister felt inclined to explain his tardy return from the city. "I was afraid you would be anxious, Jessy," he said; and she answered, "Not about you, Ian. I knew you were all right, but I was feared about Donald. I thought something was wrong with him, and I could not fix on any particular danger. I thought of the trains and the sea, but someway they both assured my mind they were innocent of doing him any harm. The trouble was an unknown one. What was it, Ian?"

"Not much, Jessy. Donald has not been behaving himself after the ways and manners approved of by the Reids."

"I never yet heard any word of the Reids being set for our example. What way was Donald breaking their laws?"

"It seems, Jessy, that last Wednesday night there was some kind of civic anniversary—the Provost's birthday, or the birthday of some great man or other. I have totally forgotten the name or event. And serenading came into the thoughts of Donald and four others, and they lifted their violins and went together to the Provost's house. As it happened, he was eating a late supper after his speech in the City Hall, and the lads played and sang the songs in every Scotsman's heart. And there were three or four of his cronies with the Provost and, when the lads had sang twice over,

'Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled,'

they brought in the singers and made them sit and drink a glass of toddy at their table, and the Provost thanked them heartily and gave them a five-pound note to share between them."

"That was fine! The Provost is a gentleman. And he knew how to win the hearts of the Scotch laddies growing up to be good Scotchmen. Who were the five lads, Ian?"

"Donald was the leader, and there were with him Matthew Ballantyne, David Kerr, John Montrose, and Allan Reid, all of them members of my Wednesday night Bible class."

"Then I cannot believe they did anything much out of the way, unless the Reids' way is narrower than the Bible way."

"After they left the Provost's, Donald suddenly bethought himself that it was also his Uncle Hector's birthday, and they all went to his big house in Blytheswood Square. There was a light in his parlor; for, you know, he always reads until the new day is born, and this night he was reading 'Nicholas Nickleby,' and laughing with himself over that insaneMark Tapley'spretenses to be jolly. Suddenly the violins asked sweetly and passionately, 'Wha Wadna Fecht for Charlie'? The old man took no notice. Then they all together began to merrily tell him,

''Twas up the craggy mountain,And down the wooded glen,They durst na go a-milking,For Charlie and his men.'

And by the time they had finished this delightful complaint, and Donald had lifted his voice to assert that,

'Geordie sits in Charlie's chair,'

and exhorted all true Hieland men,

'Keep up your hearts, for Charlie's fight,Come what will, you've done what's right,'

a crowd had gathered. For, you know, Jessy, how Donald can sing men out of themselves, and the crowd began to sing with him, so that this passionate little rant filled the square. Windows were lifted, and doors flung open, and men and women at them joined heartily in the song."

"And wherever were the constables?"

"They were singing with the crowd, and no necessity for them to interfere. It was a perfectly orderly crowd, singing their national songs, and when they had finished

'Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled,'

and fervently assured each other they,

'For Scotland's King and law,Freedom's sword would strongly draw,Free men stand, and free men fa','

my Uncle Hector threw wide his door, and bid the lads into his parlor.

"He is a grand old pagan—I mean saint."

"Say what you mean, Jessy. Donald says he looked proudly at him, and he thought for a moment he was going to kiss him, but instead of that ceremony, which might have been a little abashing and confusing to the lad, his uncle led him to the hearth and, pointing to two swords crossed over the chimneypiece, he said:

"'Look well at them, Hieland laddies! They were in the hands of Alexander and Fergus Macrae when they fought to the death for King James and Prince Charlie. God rest their souls!'"

At these words the Minister became silent, words appeared to choke him, and his eyes held a glimpse of the old dead world of his fathers. Jessy, also, was speechless, but their silence was fitter than any words could be.

In a short time the Minister steadied himself and proceeded: "The four young men with Donald doffed their bonnets, and looked silently at the weapons that had come home red from Culloden's bloody field, and were still holding the red rust of carnage; but Donald stretched up his hand and touched them reverently, and then kissed his hand, and he told me his tears wet the kiss, and that he was proud of them—and really, Jessy, my own eyes were not dry—and a wave of—love came over me—and I—before I knew it—had clasped Donald's hand and I think—yes, I am sure, I kissed him! I wonder at myself! Whatever made me do it?"

"The love of God, Ian, which is the love of all good and gracious things. The love of God, which is the love of your son, and the love of your country, and the love of all the noble feelings for which men dare to die, and go and tellHimso. And what next, Ian? What next?"

"Uncle Hector called his valet, and bid him 'Bring in the punch bowl,' but Donald said they had drank from the Provost's bowl all that was good for them. The old man then asked them to play him a reel, and off went 'The Reel of Tullochgorum.' One of the boys from the orchestra played, and the other four danced it with wonderful spirit and, though my uncle did not try the springing step, he snapped the time with his fingers and beat it with his feet and was in a kind of transfiguration. After the dance they sang 'Auld Lang Syne' together, and then the old man was weary with his emotion and he said:

"'Good boys! Good night! You have given my old age one splendid hour of its youth back again! My soul and my heart thank you, and here is a ten-pound note to ware on yourselves and good Scotch music'; and so with a 'God bless you all!' he bid them good-bye!"

"It was a splendid hour and he did well to ware ten pounds on it."

"Elder Reid did not think so and, after the Sabbath service, he asked me to give him half-an-hour's conversation at his office in the morning. I thought it was concerning Allan and Marion, but Donald, on Sabbath night, told me about the serenade, and so I went to Reid's office in the morning quite prepared for the subject of offense."

"Did Elder Reid say anything about your uncle?"

"He said only think of that old pagan, Hector Macrae, giving the ranting boys ten pounds of good money!"

"'Major Macrae,' I corrected. 'He won his title on memorable battlefields, Elder, and he has every right to it.' And, I added, 'He is far from being a pagan. I wish we all loved God as sincerely as he does.' Then Reid cooled a little, and answered, 'You know, Minister, it would have been almost a miracle if he had given ten pounds to our Foreign Mission Fund. I asked him myself one day, and he pretended to be deaf, and would say nothing but 'Eh? What? I don't hear you! I'm vera busy!' and so to his bills and papers without even a 'Seat yourself, Elder,' and not a penny for the Foreign Mission Fund.'"

Jessy laughed, a queer, indeterminate little laugh, and the Minister looked at her doubtfully, and then continued, "I reminded him that the Major gave with both hands to our Home Missions, and that men gave as their hearts moved them; also, that Christ considered Home Missions had the prior claim, 'First at Jerusalem,' and so also first in Glasgow, and then in India. 'We are getting off our subject,' I said to him and he answered crossly, 'An altogether silly subject, kissing old swords, dancing old reels, snapping fingers and the like of such old world nonsense. I think Major Macrae forgot his duty, he should have admonished the young men, and not encouraged them in their foolishness.'"

"What did you say to that, Ian?" asked Mrs. Caird.

"I reminded him that, in Leviticus, nineteenth chapter and fourteenth verse, it is written, 'Thou shalt not curse the deaf'; and I added, 'The absent are also the deaf, they cannot speak for themselves. I need say no more to you, Elder.' And he begged pardon, and admitted he might be judging Major Macrae wrong, for it was true a great many people thought him a perfect saint; and I said, 'You know, Elder, that a country is in a poor way when its religious life does not blossom in saints.'"

"Was Donald in the office when you went there?"

"Yes, I saw him counting up a line of figures as I passed his desk, and I felt sorry for the boy."

"I am glad of that, Ian. It was the best sign of grace you have had for a long time."

"Do not say such a thing as that, Jessy. I love my son with my whole heart. My life for his, if it were necessary."

"Forgive me, Ian! I believe you. What was the Elder wanting to talk to you about?"

"He asked, first, if I had spoken plainly to Marion concerning his son's offer. I told him I had no opportunity to do so, as she had been visiting Lady Cramer for the past three weeks. Then he continued to urge Allan's claims until I grew weary of the talk, and I finally said——"

"That Marion must not be forced to marry anyone, surely you said that much, Ian?"

"Not quite that, Jessy. I promised to stand by Allan and to urge Marion to favor him, but I added, 'There is a certain right, Elder, which draws a girl to theone manin the world for her. It is not much believed in, but perhaps it is the only Divine Right in this world.' He seemed puzzled at my remark, and I did not explain it. Then he was huffy, and said he would make free to call my 'Divine Right' Richard Cramer, a poor lord, with all his income mortgaged, and no morality to balance his poverty."

"You could have cleared yourself on that score. Why did you not tell him you were as much against Lord Cramer as he could be?"

"I was angry at the purse-proud creature, and I would say neither good nor ill of Lord Cramer. I let him see, and feel, I thought his words and temper very unbecoming in the Senior Elder of the Church of the Disciples, and so left him feeling very uncomfortable."

Then Jessy looked admiringly at her brother-in-law. She knew well how "uncomfortable" he could make people under his Scriptural reproofs.

"How was it Donald got home with you?" she asked. "Was the little favor a propitiation for the Elder's unguarded temper? Did the Elder know he was coming?"

"As I left him, I said, 'I will tell Donald to meet me at Stewart's for lunch, and I will give him suitable counsel, Elder'; and the man was on his highest horse at once, and answered, 'I hope you will, sir. For your sake, I should hate to send Donald off, but I must do so if he leads my son into any more ridiculous tom-fooleries. Allan has a tender conscience, and he felt he had done wrong, so he came straight to me and made his confession. I hope Donald will be equally frank with you.'"

"So Donald lunched with you at Stewart's? I am proud of that occurrence, Ian."

"I was proud likewise. There were over a dozen ministers present, and they all looked up and looked pleased when we entered the room together. Every one had a word of praise and hope for Donald, and nearly all said, 'You will be for St. Andrews, Donald, no doubt.' I am afraid I had more personal pride in the lad's beauty, fine carriage, and fine manner than I ought to have had, but——"

"Not any too much. What advice did you give him?"

"None of any kind. I do not think Donald did anything wrong. If Elder Reid has fears for his son, let him look after him. I certainly told Donald that the Elder would send him off if he tempted his son Allan again; and perhaps I let Donald see and feel that I should not be grieved at all if he relieved Mr. Reid's anxiety about his son's morals."

"Did Donald understand you?"

"He said, 'Thank you, Father!' And then I remarked you were wearying to see him, and that I would wait in Bath Street until three o'clock if he wished to go to Cramer with me."

"But did you not come by that train?"

"No. I saw that Donald could not forego the pleasure of 'sending himself off' and this he could not do until Reid returned to his office after the lunch hour."

"I hope he kept in mind the fact that Mr. Reid is your chief Elder, and used few and civil words as became his youth and his position."

"He behaved like a gentleman. He apologized for asking his son to join the serenading party, and begged leave to resign his stool in the office lest he might offend again. And the Elder was much annoyed, and replied that he hoped he would remain; for, Jessy, I am sure he was in his heart very proud of Allan being invited into the Provost's parlor to eat and drink with the notables there."

"Certainly he was, and he will talk of the lad's capers as long as he lives, and in a little while both Allan and his father will have come to believe that the whole affair was of Allan's planning and management."

"I have no doubt of it. Donald, however, refused even his offer of a higher salary to begin in September and, bowing respectfully, left him alone with his disappointment and chagrin. As he was going through the office, Allan called him, and then Donald's temper got a little beyond his control, and he walked near to where Allan sat among the clerks, and said, 'I have no words for a tale-bearer, Allan Reid. He is always a contemptible fellow, and I warn you, gentlemen, that you are with a spy and a mischief-maker.' That is the end of the circumstance, Jessy."

"You little know whether it is the end or the beginning, Ian."

"As far as Donald is concerned, I mean. He came to me radiantly happy and satisfied with himself and, after we had drank a cup of tea, we came leisurely home."

"Very leisurely. I'll admit that. Well, we have to take ourselves as we are and other people as we can get them, and it is not always an easy job."

"Indeed, Jessy, there is scarcely anything that is at the same time more wise and more difficult."

"Love not, love not! Oh, warning vainly said,In present years, as in the years gone by;Love flings a halo round the dear one's headFaultless, immortal—till they change or die."

It was a warm, sunny day in August, and the slim and graceful Adalaide, Lady of Cramer, was waiting and watching for Dr. Macrae. She had a new purpose in her heart, and it was evident not only in her eyes, which were full of a soft blue fire—languid yet masterful—but also in her dress, from which every trace of black had been eliminated. In a soft flowing gown of white lawn and lace, with belt and bows of white satin, she looked fresh and lovely as a flower on the day of its birth.

"Take my book and work-basket to the Ladies' Rest, Flora," she said to her maid, "and if there are callers, they may come to me. Tell Brodie to attend them."

The Ladies' Rest was a circle of wonderful turf in the very center of which stood a gigantic oak, whose far-stretching branches kept the circle in a dreamy, shadowy peace. Near the heart of the circle there were seats, and a small table, and my Lady, standing in white on its green turf, with the green and golden lights of the garden all around her, was as fair a creature as mortal eyes could desire to see.

When left alone her elfin prettiness became particularly noticeable, for she was practicing her bewildering ways to her own thoughts, her manner being at one moment arch and coquettish, and at the next pensive and affectionate; practicing all her small facial arts with the predeterminate aim and intention of capturing the hitherto impregnable, insensible heart of the handsome Minister.

He was quite unconscious of the danger into which he was walking, and his thoughts were on the eternities, and the tremendous destinies that are connected with them. The gravity induced by such thoughts was becomingly dignified, and Lady Cramer thought him handsomer than even her imagination had painted him. Certainly he was worth captivating, and she was resolved to effect this purpose. Indeed she wondered at herself for not having accomplished such a delightful triumph before.

But, if she had honestly examined her dilatory movement in this direction, she would have known that it was caused by facts brought vividly to her notice during the past few weeks, when Cramer Hall had been filled with company of a pleasantly mixed character—young nobles and soldiers, and many types of beautiful and eligible young ladies. Every one, then, had regarded her as a kind of matron, and she found all her pretenses to be yet of the younger set quietly put aside. She was admired and treated with the greatest respect, but no one made love to her; and she was piqued and humbled by this neglect.

"Because I am thirty-two," she said to herself, "because I am thirty-two, I was treated like an old lady. The insolence of youth is intolerable!" Then she heard steps upon the flagged walk and, turning, saw the stately, rather somber figure of the man whose conquest she was meditating approaching her. She met him with charming smiles, and little fluttering attentions and, in words soft and hesitating, tried to hide, and yet to express her great joy in his presence. "It is so long—so long—since I saw you! I have felt desolate and, oh, so lonely!"

"Lonely! You have had so much pleasant company."

"Butyounever came—not even when I wrote and asked you—did you know how cruel you were? My company was young and thoughtless—no one cared for me—I longed to see your face you never came—I have been very lonely—butnow! Oh, you cannot tell what a pleasure it is to have someone to talk to who does not regard tennis and golf as the chief end and duty of man," and she smiled and laid her jeweled white hand confidingly on his.

He was much astonished, but also greatly touched, by her frankness and evident joy in his presence; and, as any other man would have done, he accepted her gracious kindness without doubt or consideration. Her pretty face, full of sympathetic revelations, and her flattering words went like wine to his head and heart, his eyes dilated with pleasure, and he clasped the hand she had laid upon his own. Its soft warmth, its slight pressure, the tender smile on her lips, the love light in her eyes, were to his starving soul irresistible temptations. But he never thought of these things as temptations; if he had done so, there was in him a Will gigantic enough to have put them behind him. As a man dying of thirst would have seized a glass of cold water, so his soul, famishing for love, took hastily, greedily, the astonishing blessing offered him. Scarcely could he believe in his happiness; yet fast, oh, so fast, he forgot everything before this hour! And when he left Cramer it was with his heart like a spring brimming over with love.

Under the sweet strength of the stars he walked home. He felt that he could not meet Mrs. Caird until he had communed with himself in the silence and solitude of the night. His whole life, without his expectation or conscious desire, had been changed. Something wonderful had taken place. He thought he had loved before, but this startling, unforeseen, and unmistakable passion filled him with rapture and a kind of sacred fear. He had in no way sought it. By some Power far above him it had been sent. Yet his beating heart, his strange joy, his firm step, active brain, and glad outlook on life taught him that all the long years of his ascetic rejection of love must have been a mistake.

When he reached home he had not decided whether it would be prudent to tell his sister-in-law of the new joy that had come into his life. His nature was reticent, and he felt a keen personal pleasure in the secrecy of his love. He did not dream of her suspecting or discovering it. He found her sitting on the little porch absolutely idle. He was astonished at the circumstance, and more so at her face and manner, which were both sad and weary.

"Are you sick, Jessy," he asked, "or have I stayed too long at the Hall?"

"You are sooner home than I expected. How are all there?"

"No one is there at present but Lady Cramer. We had dinner together, and I came away as soon as I could well leave. She is very lonely."

"So am I, for that matter."

"Marion is with you."

"In a way, not much. Her heart is at Oban or thereabout."

"Lady Cramer told me that Lord Cramer and Donald had gone on a tramp together. They are walking through the western highlands. It did not please me."

"And why not?"

"Because it is strengthening Donald's love of adventure and change. I wanted him to rest quietly here until we returned to Glasgow. Then I hoped he would be willing and glad to enter St. Andrews, and to settle down to the life I intended for him."

"If he had stayed here, I think he would have regarded St. Andrews with delight. The company of hundreds of young men, the pleasant city, and the fine golf ground would make St. Andrews—after a month of this place—a very Elysium of satisfaction."

"I thought this place was like the Garden of Eden to you."

"I don't blame Eve, if it is. All right for a settled woman like me, and yet I, myself, am missing my afternoon callers and the library. And the two lasses are growing surly for want of company. Aileen was saying an hour ago that, 'If there was only a constable, and a hand-organ passing now and then,' she could bear the loneliness better."

"As for me, I like it more and more. I am thinking of asking the Church to get a supply for a month. I feel a little rest to be necessary."

"I feel as if I had had enough of the country."

"What does Marion say?"

"She is as happy here as anywhere. All places are wearisome to those who live for a person who is not in the place."

"And Lady Cramer tells me that her stepson is miserable if he is not with Donald. She says they are inseparable and very unhappy if apart."

"Like to like, the wide world over."

"But they are not alike."

"You do not know your son. I do. But if you take a month's rest here, you might get through that weary, useless reading of silly books and sillier manuscripts."

"I hope it is not useless reading, Jessy. Every book that discredits scientific theology adds to the evidences of Christianity."

Then Jessy lost control of herself, for she answered angrily, "Do you think, Ian, that I have not read 'Evidences'? Let me tell you how I felt after reading Paley's. I just thought itprobablethat Christianitymightbe true. That was only an opinion, but let a man or womandoGod's will, until He speaks within them like a living voice, and then they willknowthere is a God."

"But, Jessy,——"

"Don't interrupt me. I must tell you the truth. Upon my word, I believe you are training yourself to the habit of doubting much and believing little. You have dropped words lately I did not like, and I do not like your selfishness about your children. I have always noticed, as religious faith dies, selfishness takes the place of self-sacrifice. There were the Dalrys! Their children were lost to everything good, because they were forced to marry where they did not love. What have you got to do with Marion's love? I wonder sometimes if you ever loved my little sister! I am doubting it."

"Jessy,——"

"Yes, I am doubting it. You thought it no sin to urge her to leave father and mother, and go away with yourself, though the Bible lays it down as theman's dutyto leave father and mother for his wife's sake. Marion wants to do nothing worse than you begged Agnes to do. There is a change—a change for the worse—in you, Ian. I cannot just put my finger on it, but I feel it. Yes, I feel it."

"That may be so, Jessy. We all change, and no wrong done by it. We must in some way carry about with us the aura of any book that takes possession of our thoughts or feelings. The doubtful books I have been reading so steadily have their own influence—perhaps not a good one."

"A very bad one."

"In a way, you are right, Jessy. It makes me unhappy and uncertain, and with a strong insistence leads me from one skeptical writer to another. I wish to destroy them all!"

"Ian, you are not the man appointed to destroy the devil. Keep yourself out of his power, and leave the devil and all his books to God Almighty."

"Many of these skeptical books show a reverent spirit, Jessy."

"I will not believe that. As far as I can judge, they are altogether destructive. They have no business in this room, though in the libraries of hell they ought to be given high place and honor."

"The libraries of hell! What an idea!"

"A very reasonable one. There are books that have slain more souls than any man could slay—but——"

"O Jessy, Jessy! Doubts will come, even if you fight them on your knees—will come to thoughtful men and women; and doubt can only be cured by investigation."

"As far as I can see, the doubt of all Doubters is just the same, and the Book of Job contains as much philosophy of that kind as the world is ever likely to come to. But I notice that, as soon as doubting gets hold of a man, he will believe anything, so long as it isnotin the Bible."

"The 'Evidences of Christianity'——"

"Ian, I have no patience with you. If there is anything plain and clear in the religious teachings of the Bible, it is that religion proves itself. Spiritual things are spiritually discerned, not intellectually. If a man has had a good dinner, he knows it; there is no need to argue about the matter. If a soul thirsts after righteousness and drinks of the Waters of Life, it knows it, and is happy and satisfied; it does not want evidences that it is so."

"You are right, Jessy, but what is the matter with you to-night? You are very queer—I may say 'cross.'"

"I am neither queer nor cross. This afternoon, for a few moments, I lost my bodily senses, and foundmyself—and I saw a black cloud coming straight to our house—coming as if it knew just where to go—as if it had been sent. And it entered the house, and I came to myself in a dream and sweat of terror; and I am feared for my children, for they are heart of my heart. And your selfish way with them both is enough to call some tragedy, a deal worse than a marriage that does not suit you, or the taking of his own way by a good, brave lad who is sure not to take a wrong way, though it may not be the one you prefer."

"Marion has no knowledge of the world, and it is my duty to stand between her and the world."

"Marion loves Richard Cramer, and if she is willing to thole his temper and all the rest of his shortcomings, it is likely her appointed way toward perfection—it seems to be God's commonest way of training women. You do not require to bear with Cramer in any way. He will not trouble you, for there is no doubt he thinks you as selfish and disagreeable as you think him."

"I dislike Lord Cramer for his immoralities."

"God puts up with what you call his 'immoralities,' and I think you need not be so strict to mark iniquity—if there is any. In my opinion, Cramer is as good as the rest of men—fond of women's company, of course, and, like Donald, daft about music and fine singing, but what good man is not?"

"As for Donald, I only ask him to walk in my own footsteps."

"They are over-narrow for him."

"Nevertheless, he shall tread in them or make his own way. I have money to send him to St. Andrews and give him every advantage. He can go there next month—or he can go to the ends of the earth."

"Then he will go to the ends of the earth. But take heed to my words, Ian Macrae, you will not escape the sorrow of it. However you may try to comfort yourself, you will not be able to forget the loving, handsome lad who stands at your side to-day like a vision of your own youth."

"I had a very happy afternoon, and you have completely spoiled it, Jessy."

"You can have a happy afternoon to-morrow, and every day, if you wish it, but if you ruin your children's lives you can never, never undo that wrong. Have some pity on yourself, if you have none on them."

"I will not be bullied into doing what I know to be unwise, Jessy. I am considering the whole life of my children, not a few weeks or months of youth's illusory dreams and temptations. Donald, as a man, will have the privilege of making a choice; as for Marion, I shall insist on her accepting a marriage which will shelter her as far as possible from all the ills of life."

"Do you mean that you will make her marry that lying, sneaking, tale-telling cub, Allan Reid?"

"Certainly. His faults grew out of his jealousy of Donald's beauty and cleverness. He confessed his fault to me and I forgave him. All stands as it stood before that disagreeable evening. He said Donald was very scornful and provoking. I can believe it."

"I hope he was." Then she laughed, and added, with an air of satisfaction: "Donald has a way of his own. He can be very civil, and very unbearable. I have seen him——," and she laughed again at the memory.

"I am going to my room, Jessy. I have said all I have to say on these subjects."

"Will you have some bread and milk first?"

"No. I had an excellent dinner. It was late also. You have made me wretched, Jessy."

"I am sorry, Ian. But, as it concerns the children, we are pulling at opposite ends of the rope."

"They aremychildren. You will kindly remember that fact, Mrs. Caird." He spoke with a haughty determination and left her without even his usual perfunctory "good night." She was troubled by his somewhat unusual show of temper, and the noble repose of the night had no note of comfort for her. The silence of the far-receding mountains, the murmur of the streams, the air of lonely pastoral melancholy, with a light like dreamland lying over all, did not help her wounded feelings. The Scot does not ask Nature for comfort in any heart sorrow; there is the Book, and the God of his Fathers. But Jessy Caird had not yet arrived at the point where she felt her exigencies beyond her own direction.

In a few minutes she saw Dr. Macrae light his room, and through its open window there came the odor of a fine cigar. "After the manner of men," she muttered. "They don't permit a woman to smoke—if she is worried or ill-tempered—it is not ladylike. And I'm wondering what improves its manners so as to make it gentleman-like. Men are selfish creatures, all of them, not one good, no, not one!"

Then she rose and rather noisily locked the door; she hoped that Dr. Macrae would hear her, and so come and attend to what he considered his duty when at home. But Dr. Macrae was lying on the sofa smoking and dreaming of Lady Cramer's beauty, and that night he did not care who locked the door. The huge key turned, the bolts slipped into their places, and she went upstairs, full of indignation at her brother-in-law. She could not understand his mood; for she remembered that in spite of the gravity of the subjects on which they had disagreed there was an air of yawning and boredom about him. It was evident to her that they were intruding on some subject much more interesting.

At that hour she was trying to find out what really filled her with forebodings. Little wondering, wandering thoughts about some change in her brother-in-law had flitted for two weeks in and out of her consciousness. But all his slight deviations from the natural and usual were as nothing in comparison with the change she perceived this night. Then, in the midst of her trifling suppositions, there was suddenly flashed across her mind a few words she never doubted: "He is in love with Lady Cramer! He intends to marry her!"

The clue had been given and she followed it out. She thought she now saw clearly why Macrae was so determined to marry Marion to Allan Reid. He was going to marry into the Cramer family himself, and it would be most disturbing and confusing if Marion did the same. It would be too much. Though there was no legal barrier, there was a positive social one, so vigilantly deterrent, indeed, that she was sure no such case had ever been brought to the Minister's notice; and then she speculated a while as to what would have been his action under the circumstances.

As she slowly undressed she continued her relentless examination of the supposed condition. "Why," she said to herself, "the silly jokes that would be made about the relationships following the double marriage would be just awful. Even his elders and deacons would hardly refrain themselves. They would give him some sly specimens of their wit—and serve him right, too; and I know well there are families in the Church of the Disciples who would not feel sure in their particular consciences whether such close marriages were quite right in the sight of God. They will think, anyway, that the Minister ought to have been more careful to avoid the appearance of evil, and they will be 'so sorry' and ask for explanations, and say it is 'really so confusing.' Yes, I can see and hear the great congregation of the Church of the Disciples all agog about the Minister's queer marriage. As for myself, I shall tell any unmarried man or woman who says what I don't like 'to look after their own marriages'; and, if they are married, I will tell them to 'mind their own business'; but this, or that, the clash and clatter will drive a proud man like Ian to distraction. True, he is proud enough to strike them dumb with a look. I'll never forget seeing him walk up to the pulpit that Sabbath after he was made a D.D., and I mind well how he was so dignified that pretty Martha Dean called him 'a procession of One.' The Church was down at his feet that day—and if he should marry my Lady! I'll go into no surmises—things will be as ordered."

Thus she followed her thoughts backward and forward until the night grew chilly; then she began again her preparations for sleep, saying softly to herself as she did so: "I am a wiser woman to-night than I was in the morn. I know now why my poor little Marion is to be made to marry Allan Reid, and, moreover, why her selfish father wants the marriage immediately. It is to prevent the joking about his own marriage, for if she got into the Cramer family first it would take a deal of courage to marry his daughter's mother-in-law. My goodness! What a lot of quiet fun and pawky jokes there would be passing round. I must talk it out with Marion in the morning. I am going to sleep now—sleeping must go on, whether marrying does—or not."

In some respects Mrs. Caird's theory was wrong. It was likely that Dr. Macrae had some nascent, unacknowledged admiration for Lady Cramer, but never until that day had he hoped to marry her. Marriage had been so long and so resolutely barred from his thoughts and feelings that it took the encouragement of Lady Cramer to bring it to recognition in his hopes and desires—so the selfishness Mrs. Caird presupposed had not been in any way as yet conscious to him. The situation was sure to present itself, but it had not yet done so. It was probable, also, that it would affect him precisely as it affected Mrs. Caird, but how he would meet or baffle it no one could say. A man in love cannot be measured by those perfectly sane and cool; besides, love has secret keys with which to meet difficulties.

Mrs. Caird had determined to sleep well, but she was restless and had disturbing dreams, for,

Back to Index Next