_ CHAPTER LXII. A DUET, TRIO, AND QUARTET
The next day things went much the same, only that Elsie was not in the field. Cosmo, who had been thinking much over what Aggie had said, and was not flattered that she should take him for the goose he did not know himself to be, could hardly wait for the evening to have another talk with her.
"Aggie," he said, as he overtook her in a hollow not many yards from the verge of the farm, "I dinna like ye to think me sic a gowk! What gars ye suppose a lass could hae her wull o' me in sic a w'y 's you? No 'at I believe ony lass wad behave like that! It's no like yersel' to fancy sae ill o' yer ain kin'! I'm sure ye didna discover thae things i' yerain hert! There's nae sic a lass."
"What maitter whether there be sic a lass or no, sae lang as gien there was ane, she wad be ower muckle for ye?"
"That's ower again what I'm compleenin' o'! an' gien it war onybody but yersel' 'at has a richt, I wad be angry, Aggie."
"Cosmo," said Agnes solemnly, "ye're ower saft-hertit to the women-fowk. I do believe--an' I tell ye't again in as mony words--ye wad merry onylass raither nor see her in trible on your accoont."
"Ance mair, Aggie, what gies ye a richt to think sae ill o' me?" demanded Cosmo.
"Jist the w'y ye behaved to mysel'."
"YE never tellt me ye couldna du wantin' me!"
"I houp no, for it wadna hae been true. I can du wantin' ye weel eneuch. But ye allooed ye wasna richt!"
"Ay--it was a presumption."
"Ay! but what made it a presumption?"
Cosmo could not bear to say plainly to the girl he loved so much, that he had not loved her so as to have a right to ask her to marry him. He hesitated.
"Ye didna loe me eneuch," said Aggie, looking up in his face.
"Aggie," returned Cosmo, "I'm ready to merry ye the morn gien ye'll hae me!"
"There noo!" exclaimed Aggie, in a sort of provoked triumph, "didna I tell ye! There ye are, duin' 't a' ower again! Wasna I richt? Ye're fit to tak care o' onybody but yersel'--an' the lass 'at wad fain hae ye! Eh, but sair ye need a sensible mitherly body like mysel' to luik efter ye!"
"Tak me, than, an' luik efter me at yer wull, Aggie; I mean what I say!" persisted Cosmo, bewildered with embarrassment and a momentary stupidity.
"Ance mair, Cosmo, dinna be a gowk," said Agnes with severity. "Ye loe ME ower little, an' I loe YOU ower muckle for that."
"Ye're no angry at me, Aggie?" said Cosmo, almost timidly.
"Angry at ye, my bonny lad!" cried Aggie, and looking up with a world of tenderness in her eyes, and a divine glow of affection, for hers was the love so sure of itself that it maketh not ashamed, she threw her two strong, shapely honest arms round his neck; he bent his head, she kissed him heartily on the mouth, and burst into tears. Surely but for that other love that lay patient and hopeless in the depth of Cosmo's heart, he would now have loved Aggie in a way to satisfy her, and to justify him in saying he loved her! And to that it might have come in time, but where is the use of saying what might have been, when all things are ever moving towards the highest and best for the individual as well as for the universe! --not the less that hell may be the only path to it for some--the hell of an absolute self-loathing.
Just at that moment, who should appear on the top of a broken mound of the moorland, where she stood in the light of the setting sun, but Elsie, neatly dressed, glowing and handsome! A moment she stood, then descended, a dark scorn shadowing in her eyes, and a smile on her mouth showing the whitest of teeth.
"Mr. Warlock," she said, and took no notice of his humble companion, "my father sent me after you in a hurry as you may see," --and she heaved a deep breath--"to say he doesn't think the bear o' the Gowan Brae,'ill be fit for cutting this two days, an' they'll gang to the corn upo' the heuch instead. He was going to tell you himself, but ye was in such a hurry!"
"I'm muckle obleeged to ye, Miss Elsie," replied Cosmo. "It'll save me a half-mile i' the mornin'."
"An' my father says," resumed Elsie, addressing Agnes, "yer wark's no worth yer wages."
Aggie turned upon her with flashing eyes and glowing face.
"I dinna believe ye, Miss Elsie," she said. "I dinna believe yer father said ever sic a word. He kens my wark's worth my wages whatever he likes to set me til. Mair by token he wad hae tellt me himsel'! I s' jist gang straucht back an' speir."
She turned, evidently in thorough earnest, and set off at a rapid pace back towards the house. Cosmo glanced at Elsie. She had turned white--with the whiteness of fear, not of wrath. She had not expected such action on the part of Aggie. She would be at once found out! Her father was a man terrible in his anger, and her conscience told her he would be angry indeed, angrier than she had ever seen him! She stood like a statue, her eyes fixed on the retreating form of the indignant Agnes, who reached the top of the rising ground, and was beginning to disappear, before the spell of her terror gave way. She turned with clasped hands to Cosmo, and murmured, her white lips hardly able to fashion the words,
"Mr. Warlock, for God's sake, cry her back. Dinna lat her gang to my father."
"Was the thing ye said no true?" asked Cosmo.
"Weel," faltered Elsie, searching inside for some escape from admission, "maybe he didna jist say the verra words,--"
"Aggie maun gang," interrupted Cosmo. "She maunna lat it pass."
"It was a lee! It was a lee!" gasped Elsie.
Cosmo ran, and from the top of the rise called aloud,
"Aggie! Aggie! come back."
Beyond her he saw another country girl approaching, but took little heed of her. Aggie turned at his call, and came to him quickly.
"She confesses it's a lee, Aggie," he said.
"She wadna, gien she hadna seen I was gaein' straucht til her father!" returned Agnes.
"I daursay; but God only kens hoo to mak the true differ 'atween what we du o' oorsel's, an' what we're gart. We maun hae mercy, an' i' the meantime she's ashamed eneuch. At least she has the luik o' 't."
"It's ae thing to be ashamed 'cause ye hae dune wrang, an' anither to be ashamed 'cause ye're f'un' oot!"
"Ay; but there compassion comes in to fill up; an' whan ye treat a body wi' generosity, the hert wauks up to be worthy o' 't."
"Cosmo, ye ken maist aboot the guid in fowk, an' I ken maist aboot the ill," said Aggie.
Here the young woman who had been nearing them scarce observed while they talked, came up, and they turning to go back to Elsie, where she still stood motionless, followed them at her own pace behind.
"I beg yer pardon, Aggie," said Elsie, holding out her hand. "I was ill-natert, an' said the thing wasna true. My father says there isna a better gatherer i' the countryside nor yersel'." Aggie took her offered hand and said,
"Lat by-ganes be by-ganes. Be true to me an' I'll be true to you. An' I winna lee whether or no."
Here the stranger joined them. She was a young woman in the garb of a peasant, but with something about her not belonging to the peasant. To the first glance she was more like a superior servant out for a holiday, but a second glance was bewildering. She stopped with a half timid but quiet look, then dropped her eyes with a flush.
"Will you please tell me if I am on the way to Castle Warlock?" she said, with a quiver about her mouth which made her like a child trying not to smile.
Cosmo had been gazing at her: she reminded him Very strangely of Joan; but the moment he heard her voice, which was as different from that of a Scotch peasant as Tennyson's verse is from that of Burns, he gave a cry, and was on his knees before her.
"Joan!" he gasped, and seizing her hand, drew it to his lips, and held it there.
She made no sound or movement. Her colour went and came. Her head drooped. She would have fallen, but Cosmo received her, and rising with her, as one might with a child in his arms, turned, and began to walk swiftly homeward.
Aggie had a short fierce struggle with her rising heart, then turned to Elsie, and said quietly,
"Ye see we're no wantit!"
"I see," returned Elsie. "But eh! she's a puir cratur."
"No sae puir!" answered Aggie. "Wad YE dress up like a gran' leddy to gang efter yer yoong man?"
"Ay wad I--fest eneuch!" answered Elsie with scorn.
Aggie saw her mistake.
"Did ye tak notice o' her han's?" she said.
"No, I didna."
"Ye never saw sic han's! Did ye tak notice o' her feet?"
"No, I didna."
"Ye never saw sic feet! Yon's ane 'at canna gather, nor stock, nor bin', but she's bonny a' throu', an' her v'ice is a sang, an' she'll gang throu' fire an' waiter ohn blinkit for her love's sake. Yon's the lass for oor laird! The like o' you an' me sud trible heid nor hert aboot the likes o' HIM."
"Speyk for yersel', lass," said Elsie.
"I tellt ye," returned Aggie, quietly but with something like scorn, "'at gien ye wad be true to me, I wad be true to you; but gie yersel' airs, an' I say guid nicht, an' gang efter my fowk."
She turned and departed, leaving Elsie more annoyed than repentant: it may take a whole life to render a person capable of shame, not to say sorrow, for the meanest thing of many he has done.
And now, Aggie's heart lying stone-like within her as she followed Cosmo with his treasure, her brain was alive and active for his sake. Joan was herself again, Cosmo had set her down, and they were walking side by side. "What are they going to do?" thought Aggie. "Are they going straight home together? Why does she come now the old laird is gone?" Such and many other questions she kept asking herself in her carefulness over Cosmo.
They passed the turning Aggie would have taken to go home; she passed it too, following them steadily.--That old Grizzie was no good! She must go home with them herself! If the reason for which she left the castle was a wise one, she must now, for the same reason, go back to it! Those two must not be there with nobody to make them feel comfortable and taken care of! They must not be left to feel awkward together! She must be a human atmosphere about them, to shield them, and make home for them! Love itself may be too lonely. It needs some reflection of its too lavish radiation. --This was practically though not altogether in form what Agnes thought.
In the meantime, the first whelming joy-wave having retired, and life and thought resumed their operations, they had begun to talk.
"Where have you come from?" asked Cosmo.
"From Cairntod, the place I came from that wild winter night," answered Joan.
"But you are. . . . when were you. . . . how long. . . . have you been married?"
"MARRIED!" echoed Joan. "Cosmo, how could you!"
She looked up in his face wild and frightened.
"Well, you never wrote! and--"
"It was you never wrote!"
"_I_ did not, but my father did, and got no answer."
"I wrote again and again, and BEGGED for an answer, but none came. If it hadn't been for the way I dreamed about you, I don't know what would have become of me!"
"The devil has been at old tricks, Joan!"
"Doubtless--and I fear I have hardly to discover his agent."
"And Mr. Jermyn?" said Cosmo, with a look half shy, half fearful, as if after all some bolt must be about to fall.
"I can tell you very little about him. I have scarcely seen him since he brought me the money."
"Then he didn't. . . . ?"
"Well, what didn't he?"
"I have no right to ask."
"Ask me ANYTHING."
"Didn't he ask you to marry him?"
Joan laughed.
"I had begun to be afraid he had something of the kind in his head, when all at once I saw no more of him."
"How was that?"
"I can only guess: he may have spoken to my brother, and that was enough."
"Didn't you miss him?"
"Life WAS a little duller."
"If he HAD asked you to marry him, Joan?"
"Well?"
"Would you?"
"Cosmo!"
"You told me I might ask you anything!"
She stood, turned to the roadside, and sat down on the low earth-dyke. Her face was white.
"Joan! Joan!" cried Cosmo, darting to her side; "what is it, Joan?"
"Nothing; only a little faintness. I have walked a long way and am getting tired."
"What a brute I am!" said Cosmo, "to let you walk! I will carry you again."
"Indeed you will not!" she answered, moving a little from him.
"Do you think you could ride on a man's saddle?"
"I think so. I could well enough if I were not tired. But let me be quiet a little."
They were very near the place where Cosmo's horse must be waiting him. He ran to take him and send the groom home with a message.
To Joan it was a terrible moment. Had she, most frightful of thoughts! been acting on a holy faith that yet had no foundation? She had come to a man who asked her whether she would not have married his friend! She had taken so much for understood that had not been understood!
When Joan sat down Agnes stopped--a good way off: till the moment of service arrived she would be nothing. Several times she started to run to her, for she feared something had gone wrong, but checked herself lest she should cause more mischief by interfering. When she saw her sink sideways on the dyke, she did run, but seeing Cosmo hurrying back to her, stopped again.
Before Cosmo reached her Joan had sat up. The same faith, or perhaps rather hope, which had taken shape in her dreams, now woke to meet the necessity of the hour. She rose as Cosmo came near, saying she felt better now, and let him put her on the horse.
But now Joan was determined to face the worst, to learn her position and know what she must do.
"Has the day not come yet, Cosmo?" she said. "Cannot you now tell me why you left me so suddenly?"
"It may come with your answer to the question I put to you," replied Cosmo.
"You are cruel, Cosmo!"
"Am I? How? I do not understand."
This was worse and worse, and Joan grew rather more than almost angry. It is so horrid when the man you love WILL be stupid! She turned her face away, and was silent. A man must sometimes take his life in his hand, and at the risk of even unpardonable presumption, suppose a thing yielded, that he may know whether it be or not. But Cosmo was something of the innocent Aggie took him for.
"Joan, I don't see how I am wrong, after the permission you gave me," persisted he, too modest. "Agnes would have answered me straight out."
He forgot.
"How do you know that? What have you ever asked her?"
Joan, for one who refused an answer, was tolerably exacting in her questions. And as she spoke she moved involuntarily a step farther from him.
"I asked her to marry me," replied Cosmo.
"YOU ASKED HER TO MARRY YOU!"
"Yes, but she wouldn't."
"Why wouldn't she?"
Joan's face was now red as fire, and she was biting her lip hard.
"She had more reasons against it than one. Oh, Joan, she IS so good!"
"And you are going to marry her?"
Instead of answering her question, Cosmo turned and called to Agnes, some thirty yards behind them:
"Come here, Aggie."
Agnes came quickly.
"Tell Lady Joan," he said, "what for ye wadna merry me."
"'Deed, my lady," said Agnes, her face also like a setting sun, "ye may believe onything he tells ye, jist as gien it war gospel. He disna ken hoo to mak a lee."
"I know that as well as you," replied Lady Joan.
"Na, ye canna du that,'cause ye haena kent him sae lang."
"Will you tell me why you would not marry him?"
"For ae thing,'cause he likit you better nor me, only he thoucht ye was merried, an' he didna like lattin' me gang frae the hoose."
"Thank you, Agnes," said Joan, with a smile nothing less than heavenly. "He was so obstinate!"
And with that she slipped from the saddle, threw her arms round Aggie's neck, and kissed her.
Aggie returned her embrace with simple truth, then drawing gently away, said, putting her hand before her eyes as if she found the sun too strong, "It's verra weel for you, my lady; but it's some sair upo' me; for I tellt him he sudna merry his mither, an' ye're full as auld as I am."
Joan gave a sigh.
"I am a year older, I believe," she answered, "but I cannot help it. Nor would I if I could, for three years ago I was still less worthy of him than I am now; and after all it is but a trifle."
"Na, my leddy, it's no a trifle, only some fowk carry their years better nor ithers."
Here Cosmo set Joan up again, and a full explanation followed between them, neither thinking of suppression because of Aggie's presence. She would indeed have fallen behind again, but Joan would not let her, so she walked side by side with them, and amongst the rest of the story heard Cosmo tell how he had yielded Joan because poor Jermyn loved her. Agnes both laughed and cried as she listened, and when Cosmo ceased, threw her arms once more around him, saying, "Cosmo, ye're worth it a'!" then releasing him, turned to Joan and said,
"My lady, I dinna grudge him to ye a bit. Noo 'at he's yours, an' a' 's come roon' as it sud, I'll be mysel' again--an' that ye'll see! But ye'll mak allooance, my lady; for ye hae a true hert, an' maun ken 'at whan a wuman sees a man beirin' a'thing as gien it was naething,'maist like a God, no kennin' he's duin' onything by or'nar,' she can no more help loein' him nor the mither 'at bore her, or the God 'at made her. An' mair, my lady, I mean to loe him yet; but, as them 'at God has j'ined man nor wuman maunna sun'er, I winna pairt ye even in my min'; whan I think o' the tane, it'll be to think o' the tither, an' the love 'at gangs to him 'ill aye rin ower upo' you--forby what I beir ye on yer ain accoont. Noo ye'll gang on thegither again, an' I'll come ahin'."
It was now to Aggie as if they were all dead and in the blessed world together, only she had brought with her an ache which it would need time to tune. All pain is discord.
"Ye see, my lady," she said, as she turned aside and sat down on the bordering turf, "I hae been a mither til 'im!"
Who will care to hear further explanation!--how Joan went to visit distant relatives who had all at once begun to take notice of her; how she had come with them, more gladly than they knew, on a visit to Cairntod; and how such a longing seized her there that, careless of consequences, she donned a peasant's dress and set out for Castle Warlock; how she had lost her way, and was growing very uneasy when suddenly she saw Cosmo before her!
"But what am I to do now, Cosmo?" she said. "What account of myself can I give my people?"
"You can tell them you met an old lover, and finding him now a rich man, like a prudent woman, consented at once to marry him."
"I must not tell a story."
"Pray who asks you to tell a story?"
"You do, telling me to say I have a rich lover."
"I do not. I am rich."
"Not in money?"
"Yes, in money."
"Why didn't you tell me before?"
"I forgot. How could I think of riches with you filling up all the thinking-place!"
"But what am I to do to-night?"
"To-night?--oh!--I hadn't thought of that!--We'll ask Aggie."
So Aggie was once more called, and consulted. She thought for a minute, then said,--
"Cosmo, as sune's ye're hame, ye'll sen' yer manstrauchtawa'upo'the horse to lat my lady's fowk ken. She better write them a bit letter, an' tell them she's fa'en in wi' an auld acquaintance, a lass ca'd Agnes Gracie, a dacent yoong wuman, an' haein' lost her ro'd an' bein' unco tired, she's gaein' hame wi' her to sleep; an' the laird o' Glenwarlock was sae kin' 's to sen' his man upo' his horse to cairry the letter. That w'y there'll be nae lees tellt, an' no ower muckle o' the trowth."
Cosmo began to criticise, but Joan insisted it should be as Aggie said.
When they arrived at the castle, Grizzle was not a little scandalized to see her young master with a country lass on his horse, and making so much of her. But when she came to understand who she was, and that she had dressed up to get the easier to Castle Warlock she was filled with approbation even to delight.
"Eh, but ye're a lass to mak a man prood! I cudna hae dune better mysef' gien I had been a gran' lady wi' a' the wits o' a puir wife! Sit ye doon, my lady, an' be richt walcome! Eh, but ye're bonny, as ever was ony! an' eh, but ye're steady as never was leddy! May the Lord bless ye, an' the laird kiss ye!"
This outbreak of benediction rather confused Cosmo, but Joan laughed merrily, being happy as a child. Aggie turned her face to Grizzie in dread of more; but the true improviser seldom, I fancy, utters more than six lines. They had supper, and then a cart came rumbling to the door, half full of straw, into which Joan got with Aggie. A few things the latter had borrowed of Grizzie to help make the former comfortable, were handed in and they set out for Muir o' Warlock. In the morning Lady Joan declared she had never slept better than in old Grannie's box-bed.
They were married almost immediately, and nobody's leave asked. Cosmo wrote to acquaint Lord Mergwain with the event, and had in return, from his lordship's secretary, an acknowledgment of the receipt of his letter.
Of what they had to tell each other, of the way they lived, of how blessed they were even when not altogether happy--of these matters I say nothing, leaving them to the imagination of him who has any, while for him who has none I grudge the labour, thinking too he would very likely rather hear how much Cosmo got for his diamonds, and whether, if Lord Mergwain should not marry, Cairncarque will come to Lady Joan. But such things even he is capable of employing his fancy upon, and it would be a pity to prevent him from doing what he can.
I will close my book with a little poem that Cosmo wrote--not that night, but soon after. The poet may, in the height of joy, give out an extempore flash or two, but he writes no poem then. The joy must have begun to be garnered, before the soul can sing about it. How we shall sing when we absolutely believe that OUR LIFE IS HID WITH CHRIST IN GOD!
Here is my spiritual colophon.
All things are shadows of thee, Lord;
The sun himself is but a shade;
My soul is but the shadow of thy word,
A candle sun-bedayed!
Diamonds are shadows of the sun;
They drink his rays and show a spark:
My soul some gleams of thy great shine hath won,
And round me slays the dark.
All knowledge is but broken shades--
In gulfs of dark a wandering horde:
Together rush the parted glory-grades--
And lo, thy garment, Lord!
My soul, the shadow, still is light,
Because the shadow falls from thee;
I turn, dull candle, to the centre bright,
And home flit shadowy.
Shine, shine; make me thy shadow still--
The brighter still the more thy shade;
My motion be thy lovely moveless will I
My darkness, light delayed!
[THE END]
George MacDonald's Novel: Warlock O' Glenwarlock: A Homely Romance
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