CHAPTER XLIX.
DEFIANCE
Aggie was in the kitchen when he entered. She was making the porridge.
"What's come o' Grizzie?" asked Cosmo.
"Ye dinna like my parritch sae weel as hers!" returned Agnes.
"Jist as weel, Aggie," answered Cosmo.
"Dinna ye tell Grizzie that."
"What for no?"
"She wad be angert first, an' syne her hert wad be like to brak."
"There's nae occasion to say't," conceded Cosmo. "But what's come o' her the nicht?" he went on. "It's some dark, an' I doobt she'll—"
"The ro'd atween this an' the Muir's no easy to lowse," said Aggie.
But the same instant her face flushed hotter than ever fire or cooking made it; what she had said was in itself true, but what she had not said, yet meant him to understand, was not true, for Grizzie had gone nowhere near Muir o' Warlock. Aggie had never told a lie in her life, and almost before the words were out of her mouth, she felt as if the solid earth were sinking from under her feet. She left the spurtle sticking in the porridge, and dropped into the laird's chair.
"What's the maitter wi' ye, Aggie?" said Cosmo, hastening to her in alarm, for her face was now white, and her head was hanging down.
"This is no to be borne!" she cried, and started to her feet.
"—Cosmo, I tellt ye a lee."
"Aggie!" cried Cosmo, dismayed, "ye never tellt me a lee i' yer life."
"Never afore," she answered; "but I hae tellt ye ane noo—no to live through! Grizzie's no gane to Muir o' Warlock."
"What care I whaur Grizzie's gane!" rejoined Cosmo. "Tell me or no tell me as ye like."
Aggie burst into tears.
"Haud yer tongue, Aggie," said Cosmo, trying to soothe her, himself troubled with her trouble, for he too was sorry she should ALMOST have told him a lie, and his heart was sore for her misery. Well he knew how she must suffer, having done a thing so foreign to her nature! "It COULD be little mair at the warst," he went on, "than a slip o' the wull, seein' ye made sic haste to set it richt again. For mysel', I s' bainish the thoucht o' the thing."
"I thank ye, Cosmo. Ye wad aye du like the Lord himsel'. But there's mair intil't. I dinna ken what to du or say. It's a sair thing to stan' 'atween twa, an' no ken what to du ohn dune mischeef—maybe wrang!—There's something it 'maist seems to me ye hae a richt to ken, but I canna be sure; an yet—"
She was interrupted by the hurried opening of the door. Grizzie came staggering in, with a face of terror.
"Tu wi' the door!" she cried, almost speechless, and sank in her turn upon a chair, gasping for breath, and dropping at her feet a canvas bag, about the size of a pillow-case.
Cosmo closed the door as she requested, and Aggie made haste to get her some water, which she drank eagerly. After a time of panting and sighing, she seemed to come to herself, and rose, saying, as if nothing had happened,
"I maun see to the supper."
Cosmo stooped and would have taken up the bag, but she pounced upon it, and carried it with her to the corner of the fire, where she placed it beyond her. In the meantime the porridge had begun to burn.
"Eh, sirs!" she cried, "the parritch'll be a' sung—no to mention the waste o' guid meal! Aggie, hoo cud ye be sae careless!"
"It was eneuch to gar onybody forget the pot to see ye come in like that, Grizzie!" said Cosmo.
"An' what'll ye say to the tale I bring ye!" rejoined Grizzie, as she turned the porridge into a dish, careful not to scrape too hard on the bottom of the pot.
"Tell's a' aboot it, Grizzie, an' bena lang aither, for I maun gang to my father."
"Gang til 'im. Here's naebody wad keep ye frae 'im!"
Cosmo was surprised at her tone, for although she took abundant liberty with the young laird, he had not since boyhood known her rude to him.
"No till I hear yer tale, Grizzie," he answered.
"An' I wad fain ken what ye'll say til't, for ye never wad alloo o' kelpies; an' there's me been followed by a sure ane, this last half-hoor—or it may be less!"
"Hoo kenned ye it was a kelpie—it's maist as dark's pick?"
"Kenned! quo' he? Didna I hear the deevil ahin' me—the tramp o' a' the fower feet o' 'im, as gien they had been fower an' twinty!"
"I won'er he didna win up wi' ye than, Grizzie!" suggested Cosmo.
"Guid kens hoo he didna; I won'er mysel'. But I trow I ran; an' I tak ye to witness I garred ye steik the door."
"But they say," objected Cosmo, who could not fail to perceive from what Aggie said that there was something going on which it behooved him to know, "that the kelpie wons aye by some watter—side."
"Weel, cam I no by the tarn o' the tap o' Stieve Know?"
"What on earth was ye duin' there efter dark, Grizzie?"
"What was I duin'? I saidna I was there efter dark, but the cratur micht hae seen me pass weel eneueh. Wasna I ower the hill to my ain fowk i' the How o' Hap? An' didna I come hame by Luck's Lift? Mair by token, wadna the guidman o' that same hae me du what I haena dune this twae year, or maybe twenty—tak a dram? An' didna I tak it? An' was I no in need o' 't? An' didna I come hame a' the better for 't?"
"An' get a sicht o' the kelpy intil the bargain—eh, Grizzie?" suggested Cosmo.
"Hoots! gang awa up to the laird, an' lea' me to get my breath an' your supper thegither," said Grizzie, who saw to what she had exposed herself. "An' I wuss ye may see the neist kelpy yersel'! Only whatever ye du, Cosmo, dinna m'unt upo' the back o' 'im, for he'll cairry ye straucht hame til 's maister; an' we a' ken wha HE is."
"I'm no gaein'," said Cosmo, as soon as the torrent of her speech allowed him room to answer, "till I ken what ye hae i' that pock o' yours."
"Hoot!" cried Grizzie, and snatching up the bag, held it behind her back, "ye wad never mint at luikin' intil an auld wife's pock! What ken ye what she michtna hae there?"
"It luiks to me naither mair nor less nor a meal—pock," said Cosmo.
"Meal-pock!" returned Grizzie with contempt: "what neist!"
He made another movement to seize the bag, but she caught the sprutle from the empty porridge-pot and showed fight with it, in genuine earnest beyond a doubt for the defence of her pock. Whatever the secret was, it looked as if the pock were somehow connected with it. Cosmo began to grow very uncomfortable. So strange were his nascent suspicions that he dared not for a time allow them to take shape in his brain lest they should thereby start at once into the life of fact. His mind had, for the last few days, been much occupied with the question of miracles. Why, he thought with himself, should one believing there is in very truth a live, thinking, perfect Power at the heart and head of affairs, count it impossible that, in their great and manifest need, their meal-chest should be supplied like that of the widow of Zarephath? If he could believe the thing was done then, there could be nothing absurd in hoping the thing might be done now. If it was possible once, it was possible in the same circumstances always. It was impossible, however, for him or any human being to determine concerning any circumstances whether they were or were not the same. Wherever the thing was not done, did it not follow that the circumstances could not be the same? One thing he was able to see—that, in the altered relations of man's mind to the facts of Nature, a larger faith is necessary to believe in the constantly present and ordering will of the Father of men, than in the unusual phenomenon of a miracle. In the meantime it was a fact that they had all hitherto had their daily bread.
But now this strange behaviour of Grizzie set him thinking of something very different. And why did not the jeweller make some reply to his request concerning the things he had sent him? He said to himself for the hundredth time that he must have found it impossible to do anything with them, and have delayed writing from unwillingness to cause him disappointment, but he could not help a growing soreness that his friend should take no notice of the straits he had confessed himself in. The conclusion of the whole matter was, that it must be the design of Providence to make him part with the last clog that fettered him; he was to have no ease in life until he had yielded the castle! If it were so, then the longer he delayed the greater would be the loss. To sell everything in it first would but put off the evil day, preparing for them so much the more poverty when it should come; whereas if he were to part with the house at once, and take his father where he could find work, they would be able to have some of the old things about them still, to tincture strangeness with home. The more he thought the more it seemed his duty to put a stop to the hopeless struggle by consenting in full and without reserve to the social degradation and heart-sorrow to which it seemed the will of God to bring them. Then with new courage he might commence a new endeavour, no more on the slippery slope of descent, but with the firm ground of the Valley of Humiliation under their feet. Long they could not go on as now, and he was ready to do whatever was required of him, only he wished God would make it plain. The part of discipline he liked least—a part of which doubtless we do not yet at all understand the good or necessity—was uncertainty of duty, the uncertainty of what it was God's will he should do. But on the other hand, perhaps the cause of that uncertainty was the lack of perfect readiness; perhaps all that was wanted to make duty plain was absolute will to do it.
These and other such thoughts went flowing and ebbing for hours in his mind that night, until at last he bethought himself that his immediate duty was plain enough—namely, to go to sleep. He yielded his consciousness therefore to him from whom it came, and did sleep.
CHAPTER L.
DISCOVERY AND CONFESSION
In the morning he woke wondering whether God would that day let him know what he had to do. He was certain he would not have him leave his father; anything else in the way of trouble he could believe possible.
The season was now approaching the nominal commencement of summer, but the morning was very cold. He went to the window. Air and earth had the look of a black frost—the most ungenial, the most killing of weathers. Alas! that was his father's breathing: his bronchitis was worse! He made haste to fetch fuel and light the fire, then leaving him still asleep, went down stairs. He was earlier than usual, and Grizzie was later; only Aggie was in the kitchen. Her grandfather was worse also. Everything pointed to severer straitening and stronger necessity: this must be how God was letting him know what he had to do!
He sat down and suddenly, for a moment, felt as if he were sitting on the opposite bank of the Warlock river, looking up at the house where he was born and had spent his days—now the property of another, and closed to him forever! Within those walls he could not order the removal of a straw! could not chop a stick to warm his father! "The will of God be done!" he said, and the vision was gone.
Aggie was busy getting his porridge ready—which Cosmo had by this time learned to eat without any accompaniment—and he bethought himself that here was a chance of questioning her before Grizzie should appear.
"Come, Aggie," he said abruptly, "I want to ken what for Grizzie was in sic a terror aboot her pock last nicht. I'm thinkin' I hae a richt to ken."
"I wish ye wadna speir," returned Aggie, after but a moment's pause.
"Aggie," said Cosmo, "gien ye tell me it's nane o' my business, I winna speir again."
"Ye are guid, Cosmo, efter the w'y I behaved to ye last nicht," she answered, with a tremble in her voice.
"Dinna think o' 't nae mair, Aggie. To me it is as gien it had never been. My hert's the same to ye as afore—an' justly. I believe I un'erstan' ye whiles 'maist as weel as ye du yersel'."
"I houp whiles ye un'erstan' me better," answered Aggie. "Sair do I m'urn 'at the shaidow o' that lee ever crossed my rain'."
"It was but a shaidow," said Cosmo.
"But what wad ye think o' yersel', gien it had been you 'at sae near—na, I winna nibble at the trowth ony mair—gien it had been you, I wull say't,'at lee'd that lee—sic an' ae sas it was?"
"I wad say to mysel' 'at wi' God's help I was the less lik'ly ever to tell a lee again; for that noo I un'erstude better hoo a temptation micht come upon a body a' at ance, ohn gien 'im time to reflec'—an' sae my responsibility was the greater."
"Thank ye, Cosmo," said Aggie humbly, and was silent.
"But," resumed Cosmo, "ye haena tellt me yet 'at it's nane o' my business what Grizzie had in her pock last nicht."
"Na, I cudna tell ye that,'cause it wadna be true. It is yer business."
"What was i' the pock than?"
"Weel, Cosmo, ye put me in a great diffeeculty; for though I never said to Grizzie I wadna tell, I made nae objection—though at the time I didna like it—whan she tellt me what she was gaein' to du; an' sae I canna help fearin' it may be fause to her to tell ye. Besides, I hae latten 't gang sae lang ohn said a word,'at the guid auld body cud never jaloose I wad turn upon her noo an' tell!"
"You are dreadfully mysterious, Aggie," said Cosmo, "and in truth you make me more than a little uncomfortable. What can it be that has been going on so long, and had better not be told me! Have I a right to know or have I not?"
"Ye hae a richt to ken, I do believe, else I wadna tell ye," answered Aggie. "I was terrified, frae the first, to think what ye wad say til 't! But ye see, what was there left? You, an' the laird, an' my father was a' laid up thegither, heaps o' things wantit, the meal dune, an' life depen'in' upo' fowk haein' what they cud ait an' drink!"
As she spoke, shadowy horror was deepening to monster presence; the incredible was gradually assuming shape and fact; the hair of Cosmo's head seemed rising up. He asked no more questions, but sat waiting the worst.
"Dinna be ower hard upo' Grizzie an'me, Cosmo," Aggie went on. "It wasna for oorsel's we wad hae dune sic a thing; an' maybe there was nane but them we did it for 'at we wad hae been able to du't for. But I hae no richt to say WE. Blame, gien there be ony, I hae my share o'; but praise, gien there be ony, she has't a'; for, that the warst michtna come to the warst, at the last she tuik the meal-pock," said Aggie, and burst into tears as she said it, "an' gaed oot wi' 't."
"Good God!" cried Cosmo, and for some moments was dumb. "Lassie!" he said at length, in a voice that was not like his own, "didna ye ken i' yer ain sowl we wad raither hae dee'd?"
"There'tis! That's jist what for Grizzie wadna hae ye tellt! But dinna think she gaed to ony place whaur she was kent," sobbed Agnes, "or appeart to ony to be ither than a puir auld body 'at gaed aboot for hersel'. Dinna think aither 'at ever she tellt a lee, or said a word to gar fowk pity her. She had aye afore her the possibility o' bein' ca'd til accoont some day. But I'm thinkin' gien ye had applyt to her an' no to me, ye wad hae h'ard anither mak o' a defence frae mine! Ae thing ye may be sure o'—there's no a body a hair the wiser."
"What difference does that make?" cried Cosmo. "The fact remains."
"Hoot, Cosmo!" said Agnes, with a revival of old authority, "ye're takin' the thing in a fashion no worthy o' a philosopher—no to say a Christian. Ye tak it as gien there was shame intil 't! An' gien there wasna shame, I daur ye to priv there can be ony disgrace! Gien ye come to that wi' 't, hoo was the Lord o' a' himself supportit whan he gaed aboot cleanin' oot the warl'? Wasna it the women 'at gaed wi' 'im 'at providit a' thing?"
"True; but that was very different! They knew him, all of them, and loved him—knew that he was doing what no money could pay for; that he was working himself to death for them and for their people—that he was earning the whole world. Or at least they had a far off notion that he was doing as never man did, for they knew he spake as never man spake. Besides there was no begging there. He never asked them for anything."—Here Aggie shook her head in unbelief, but Cosmo went on.—"And those women, some of them anyhow, were rich, and proud to do what they did for the best and grandest of men. But what have we done for the world that we should dare look to it to help us?"
"For that maitter, Cosmo, are na we a' brithers an' sisters? A' body's brithers an' sisters wi' a' body. It's but a kin' o' a some mean pride 'at wadna be obleeged to yer ain fowk, efter ye hae dune yer best. Cosmo! ilka han'fu' o' meal gi'en i' this or ony hoose by them 'at wadna in like need accep' the same, is an affront frae brither to brither. Them 'at wadna tak, I say, has no richt to gie."
"But nobody knew the truth of where their handful of meal was going. They thought they were giving it to a poor old woman, when they were in fact giving it to men with a great house over their heads. It's a disgrace, an' hard to beir, Aggie!"
"'Deed the thing's hard upon 's a'! but whaur the disgrace is, I will not condescen' to see. Men in a muckle hoose! Twa o' them auld, an' a' three i' their beds no fit to muv! Div ye think there's ane o' them 'at gied to Grizzie,'at wad hae gi'en less—though what less nor the han'fu' o' meal, which was a' she ever got, it wad be hard to imaigine—had they kent it was for the life o' auld Glenwarlock—a name respeckit, an' mair nor respeckit, whaurever it's h'ard?—or for the life o' the yoong laird, vroucht to deith wi' labourers' wark, an' syne 'maist smoored i' storm?—or for auld Jeames Gracie,'at's led a God-fearin' life till he's 'maist ower auld to live ony langer? I say naething aboot Grizzie an' me, wha cud aye tak care o' oorsel's gien we hadna three dowie men to luik efter. We did oor best, but whan a' oor ain siller was awa' efter the lave, we cudna win awa' oorsel's to win mair. Gien you three cud hae dune for yersel's, we wad hae been sen 'in' ye hame something."
"You tell me," said Cosmo, as if in a painful dream, through which flashed lovely lights, "that you and Grizzie spent all your own money upon us, and then Grizzie went out and begged for us?"
"'Deed there's no anither word for't—nor was there ae thing ither to be dune!" Aggie drew herself up, and went on with solemnity. "Div ye think, Cosmo, whaur heid or hert or fit or han' cud du onything to waur aff want or tribble frae you or the laird,'at Grizzie or mysel' wad be wantin' that day? I beg o' yer grace ye winna lay to oor chairge what we war driven til. As Grizzie says, we war jist at ane mair wi' desperation."
Cosmo's heart was full. He dared not speak. He came to Aggie, and taking her hand, looked her in the face with eyes full of tears. She had been pale as sun-browned could be, but now she grew red as a misty dawn. Her eyes fell, and she began to pull at the hem of her apron. Grizzie's step was on the stair, and Cosmo, not quite prepared to meet her, walked out.
The morning was neither so black nor so cold as he had imagined it. He went into the garden, to the nook between the two blocks, there sat down, and tried to think. The sun was not far above the horizon, and he was in the cold shade of the kitchen-tower, but he felt nothing, and sat there motionless. The sun came southward, looked round the corner, and found him there. He brought with him a lovely fresh day. The leaves were struggling out, and the birds had begun to sing. Ah! what a day was here, had the hope of the boy been still swelling in his bosom! But the decree had gone forth! no doubt remained! no refuge of uncertainty was left! The house must follow the land! Castle Warlock and the last foothold of soil must go, that wrong should not follow ruin! Were those divine women to spend money, time, and labour, that he and his father should hold what they had no longer any right to hold? Or in beggary, were they to hide themselves in the yet lower depth of begging by proxy, in their grim stronghold, living upon unacknowledged charity, as their ancestors on plunder! He dared not tell his father what he had discovered until he had taken at least the first step towards putting an end to the whole falsehood. To delay due action was of all things what Cosmo dreaded; and as the loss mainly affected himself, the yielding of the castle must primarily be his deed and not his father's. He rose at once to do it.
The same moment the incubus of Grizzie's meal-pock was lifted from his bosom. The shame was, if shame was any, that they should have been living in such a house while the thing was done. When the house was sold, let people say what they would! In proportion as a man cares to do what he ought, he ceases to care how it may be judged. Of all things why should a true man heed the unjust judgment?
"If there be any stain upon us," he said to himself, "God will see that we have the chance of wiping it out!"
With that he got over gate and wall, and took his way along Grizzie's path, once more, for the time at least, an undisputed possession of the people.
But while he was thinking in the garden, Grizzie, who knew from Aggie that her secret was such no more, was in dire distress in the kitchen, fearing she had offended the young laird beyond remedy. In great anxiety she kept going every minute to the door, to see if he were not coming in to have his breakfast. But the first she saw of him was his back, as he leaped from the top of the wall. She ran after him to the gate.
"Sir! sir!" she cried, "come back; come back, an' I'll gang doon upo' my auld knees to beg yer pardon."
Cosmo turned the moment he heard her, and went back.
When he reached the wall, over the top of the gate he saw Grizzie on her knees upon the round paving stones of the yard, stretching up her old hands to him, as if he were some heavenly messenger just descended, whose wrath she deprecated. He jumped over wall and gate, ran to her, and lifted her to her feet, saying,
"Grizzie, wuman, what are ye aboot! Bless ye, Grizzie, I wad 'maist as sune strive wi' my ain mither whaur she shines i' glory, as wi' you!"
Grizzie's face began to work like that of a child in an agony between pride and tears, just ere he breaks into a howl. She gripped his arm hard with both hands, and at length faltered out, gathering composure as she proceeded,
"Cosmo, ye're like an angel o' God to a' 'at hae to du wi' ye! Eh, sic an accoont o' ye as I'll hae to gie to the mither o' ye whan I win to see her! For surely they'll lat me see her, though they may weel no think me guid eneuch to bide wi' her up there, for as lang as we was thegither doon here! Tell me, sir, what wad ye hae me du. But jist ae thing I maun say:—gien I hadna dune as I did du, I do not see hoo we cud hae won throu' the winter."
"Grizzie," said Cosmo, "I ken ye did a' for the best, an' maybe it was the best. The day may come, Grizzie, whan we'll gang thegither to ca' upo' them 'at pat the meal i' yer pock, an' return them thanks for their kin'ness."
"Eh, na, sir! That wad never du! What for sud they ken onything aboot it! They war jist kin'-like at lairge, an' to naebody in partic'lar, like the man wi' his sweirin'. They gae to me jist as they wad to ony unco beggar wife. It was to me they gae't, no to you. Lat it a' lie upo' me."
"That canna be, Grizzie," said Cosmo. "Ye see ye're ane o' the faimily, an' whatever ye du, I maun haud my face til."
"God bless ye, sir!" exclaimed Grizzie, and turned towards the house, entirely relieved and satisfied.
"But eh, sir!" she cried, turning again, "ye haena broken yer fast the day!"
"I'll be back in a feow minutes, an' mak a brakfast o' 't by or'nar'," answered Cosmo, and hastened away up the hill.