Читать книгу White Heather: A Novel (Volume 2 of 3) - William Black - Страница 3

The waggonette stood at the door; Miss Carry's luggage was put in; and her father was waiting to see her off. But the young lady herself seemed unwilling to take the final step; twice she went back into the inn, on some pretence or another; and each time she came out she looked impatiently around, as if wondering at the absence of some one.

'Well, ain't you ready yet?' her father asked.

'I want to say good-bye to Ronald,' she said half angrily.

'Oh, nonsense – you are not going to America. Why, you will be back in ten days or a fortnight. See here, Carry,' he added, 'are you sure you don't want me to go part of the way with you?'

'Not at all,' she said promptly. 'It is impossible for Mary to mistake the directions I wrote to her; and I shall find her in the Station Hotel at Inverness all right. Don't you worry about me, pappa.'

She glanced along the road again, in the direction of the keeper's cottage; but there was no one in sight.

'Pappa dear,' she said, in an undertone – for there were one or two onlookers standing by – 'if Ronald should decide on giving up his place here, and trying what you suggested, you'll have to stand by him.'

'Oh yes, I'll see him through,' was the complacent answer. 'I should take him to be the sort of man who can look after himself; but if he wants any kind of help – well, here I am; I won't go back on a man who is acting on my advice. Why, if he were to come out to Chicago – '

'Oh no, not Chicago, pappa,' she said, somewhat earnestly, 'not to Chicago. I am sure he will be more at home – he will be happier – in his own country.'

She looked around once more; and then she stepped into the waggonette.

'He might have come to see me off,' she said, a little proudly. 'Good-bye, pappa dear – I will send you a telegram as soon as I get to Paris.'

The two horses sprang forward; Miss Carry waved her lily hand; and then set to work to make herself comfortable with wraps and rugs, for the morning was chill. She thought it was very unfriendly of Ronald not to have come to say good-bye. And what was the reason of it? Of course he could know nothing of the nonsense she had written to her friend in Chicago.

'Have you not seen Ronald about anywhere?' she asked of the driver.

'No, mem,' answered that exceedingly shy youth, 'he wass not about all the morning. But I heard the crack of a gun; maybe he wass on the hill.'

And presently he said —

'I'm thinking that's him along the road – it's two of his dogs whatever.'

And indeed this did turn out to be Ronald who was coming striding along the road, with his gun over his shoulder, a brace of setters at his heels, and something dangling from his left hand. The driver pulled up his horses.

'I've brought ye two or three golden plover to take with ye, Miss Hodson,' Ronald said – and he handed up the birds.

Well, she was exceedingly pleased to find that he had not neglected her, nay, that he had been especially thinking of her and her departure. But what should she do with these birds in a hotel?

'It's so kind of you,' she said, 'but really I'm afraid they're – would you not rather give them to my father?'

'Ye must not go away empty-handed,' said he, with good-humoured insistence; and then it swiftly occurred to her that perhaps this was some custom of the neighbourhood; and so she accepted the little parting gift with a very pretty speech of thanks.

He raised his cap, and was going on.

'Ronald,' she called, and he turned.

'I wish you would tell me,' she said – and there was a little touch of colour in the pretty, pale, interesting face – 'if there is anything I could bring from London that would help you – I mean books about chemistry – or – or – about trees – or instruments for land-surveying – I am sure I could get them – '

He laughed, in a doubtful kind of a way.

'I'm obliged to ye,' he said, 'but it's too soon to speak about that. I havena made up my mind yet.'

'Not yet?'

'No.'

'But you will?'

He said nothing.

'Good-bye, then.'

She held out her hand, so that he could not refuse to take it. So they parted; and the horses' hoofs rang again in the silence of the valley; and she sat looking after the disappearing figure and the meekly following dogs. And then, in the distance, she thought she could make out some faint sound: was he singing to himself as he strode along towards the little hamlet?

'At all events,' she said to herself, with just a touch of pique, 'he does not seem much downhearted at my going away.' And little indeed did she imagine that this song he was thus carelessly and unthinkingly singing was all about Meenie, and red and white roses, and trifles light and joyous as the summer air. For not yet had black care got a grip of his heart.

But this departure of Miss Carry for the south now gave him leisure to attend to his own affairs and proper duties, which had suffered somewhat from his attendance in the coble; and it was not until all these were put straight that he addressed himself to the serious consideration of the ambitious and daring project that had been placed before him. Hitherto it had been pretty much of an idle speculation – a dream, in short, that looked very charming and fascinating as the black-eyed young lady from over the seas sate in the stern of the boat and chatted through the idle hours. Her imagination did not stay to regard the immediate and practical difficulties and risks; all these seemed already surmounted; Ronald had assumed the position to which he was entitled by his abilities and personal character; she only wondered which part of Scotland he would be living in when next her father and herself visited Europe; and whether they might induce him to go over with them for a while to the States. But when Ronald himself, in cold blood, came to consider ways and means, there was no such plain and easy sailing. Not that he hesitated about cutting himself adrift from his present moorings; he had plenty of confidence in himself, and knew that he could always earn a living with his ten fingers, whatever happened. Then he had between £80 and £90 lodged in a savings bank in Inverness; and out of that he could pay for any classes he might have to attend, or perhaps offer a modest premium if he wished to get into a surveyor's office for a short time. But there were so many things to think of. What should he do about Maggie, for example? Then Lord Ailine had always been a good master to him: would it not seem ungrateful that he should throw up his situation without apparent reason? And so forth, and so forth, through cogitations long and anxious; and many a half-hour on the hillside and many a half-hour by the slumbering peat-fire was given to this great project; but always there was one side of the question that he shut out from his mind. For how could he admit to himself that this lingering hesitation – this dread, almost, of what lay await for him in the future – had anything to do with the going away from Meenie, and the leaving behind him, and perhaps for ever, the hills and streams and lonely glens that were all steeped in the magic and witchery of her presence? Was it not time to be done with idle fancies? And if, in the great city – in Edinburgh or Glasgow, as the case might be – he should fall to thinking of Ben Loyal and Bonnie Strath-Naver, and the long, long days on Clebrig; and Meenie coming home in the evening from her wanderings by Mudal-Water, with a few wild-flowers, perhaps, or a bit of white heather, but always with her beautiful blue-gray Highland eyes so full of kindness as she stopped for a few minutes' friendly chatting – well, that would be a pretty picture to look back upon, all lambent and clear in the tender colours that memory loves to use. A silent picture, of course: there would be no sound of the summer rills, nor the sweeter sound of Meenie's voice; but not a sad picture; only remote and ethereal, as if the years had come between, and made everything distant and pale and dreamlike.

The first definite thing that he did was to write to his brother in Glasgow, acquainting him with his plans, and begging him to obtain some further particulars about the Highland and Agricultural Society's certificates. The answer that came back from Glasgow was most encouraging; for the Rev. Alexander Strang, though outwardly a heavy and lethargic man, had a shrewd head enough, and was an enterprising shifty person, not a little proud of the position that he had won for himself, and rather inclined to conceal from his circle of friends – who were mostly members of his congregation – the fact that his brother was merely a gamekeeper in the Highlands. Nay, more, he was willing to assist; he would take Maggie into his house, so that there might be no difficulty in that direction; and in the meantime he would see what were the best class-books on the subjects named, so that Ronald might be working away at them in these comparatively idle spring and summer months, and need not give up his situation prematurely. There was even some hint thrown out that perhaps Ronald might board with his brother; but this was not pressed; for the fact was that Mrs. Alexander was a severely rigid disciplinarian, and on the few occasions on which Ronald had been their guest she had given both brothers to understand that the frivolous gaiety of Ronald's talk, and the independence of his manners, and his Gallio-like indifference about the fierce schisms and heart-burnings in the Scotch Church were not, in her opinion, in consonance with the atmosphere that ought to prevail in a Free Church minister's house. But on the whole the letter was very friendly and hopeful; and Ronald was enjoined to let his brother know when his decision should be finally taken, and in what way assistance could be rendered him.

One night the little Maggie stole away through the dark to the Doctor's cottage. There was a light in the window of Meenie's room; she could hear the sound of the piano; no doubt Meenie was practising and alone; and on such occasions a visit from Maggie was but little interruption. And so the smaller girl went boldly towards the house and gained admission, and was proceeding upstairs without any ceremony, when the sudden cessation of the music caused her to stop. And then she heard a very simple and pathetic air begin – just touched here and there with a few chords: and was Meenie, tired with the hard work of the practising, allowing herself this little bit of quiet relaxation? She was singing too – though so gently that Maggie could scarcely make out the words. But she knew the song – had not Meenie sung it many times before to her? – and who but Meenie could put such tenderness and pathos into the simple air? She had almost to imagine the words – so gentle was the voice that went with those lightly-touched chords —

Then there was silence. The little Maggie waited; for this song was a great favourite with Ronald, who himself sometimes attempted it; and she would be able to tell him when she got home that she had heard Meenie sing it – and he always listened with interest to anything, even the smallest particulars, she could tell him about Meenie and about what she had done or said. But where were the other verses? She waited and listened; the silence was unbroken. And so she tapped lightly at the door and entered.

And then something strange happened. For when Maggie shut the door behind her and went forward, Meenie did not at once turn her head to see who this was, but had hastily whipped out her handkerchief and passed it over her eyes. And when she did turn, it was with a kind of look of bravery – as if to dare any one to say that she had been crying – though there were traces of tears on her cheeks.

'Is it you, Maggie? I am glad to see you,' she managed to say.

The younger girl was rather frightened and sorely concerned as well.

'But what is it, Meenie dear?' she said, going and taking her hand. 'Are you in trouble?'

'No, no,' her friend said, with an effort to appear quite cheerful, 'I was thinking of many things – I scarcely know what. And now take off your things and sit down, Maggie, and tell me all about this great news. It was only this afternoon that my father learnt that you and your brother were going away; and he would not believe it at first, till he saw Ronald himself. And it is true, after all? Dear me, what a change there will be!'

She spoke quite in her usual manner now; and her lips were no longer trembling, but smiling; and the Highland eyes were clear, and as full of kindness as ever.

'But it is a long way off, Meenie,' the smaller girl began to explain quickly, when she had taken her seat by the fire, 'and Ronald is so anxious to please everybody, and – and that is why I came along to ask you what you think best.'

'I?' said Meenie, with a sudden slight touch of reserve.

'It'll not be a nice thing going away among strange folk,' said her companion, 'but I'll no grumble if it's to do Ronald good; and even among strange folk – well, I don't care as long as I have Ronald and you, Meenie. And it's to Glasgow, and not to Edinburgh, he thinks he'll have to go; and then you will be in Glasgow too; so I do not mind anything else. It will not be so lonely for any of us; and we can spend the evenings together – oh no, it will not be lonely at all – '

'But, Maggie,' the elder girl said gravely, 'I am not going to Glasgow.'

Her companion looked up quickly, with frightened eyes.

'But you said you were going, Meenie!'

'Oh no,' the other said gently. 'My mother has often talked of it – and I suppose I may have to go some time; but my father is against it; and I know I am not going at present anyway.'

'And you are staying here – and – and Ronald and me – we will be by ourselves in Glasgow!' the other exclaimed, as if this prospect were too terrible to be quite comprehended as yet.

'But if it is needful he should go?' Meenie said. 'People have often to part from their friends like that.'

'Yes, and it's no much matter when they have plenty of friends,' said the smaller girl, with her eyes becoming moist, 'but, Meenie, I havena got one but you.'

'Oh no, you must not say that,' her friend remonstrated. 'Why, there is your brother in Glasgow, and his family; I am sure they will be kind to you. And Ronald will make plenty of friends wherever he goes – you can see that for yourself; and do you think you will be lonely in a great town like Glasgow? It is the very place to make friends, and plenty of them —

'Oh, I don't know what to do – I don't know what to do, if you are not going to Glasgow, Meenie!' she broke in. 'I wonder if it was that that Ronald meant. He asked me whether I would like to stay here or go with him, for Mrs. Murray has offered to take me in, and I would have to help at keeping the books, and that is very kind of them, I am sure, for I did not think I could be of any use to anybody. And you are to be here in Inver-Mudal – and Ronald away in Glasgow – '

Well, it was a bewildering thing. These were the two people she cared for most of all in the world; and virtually she was called upon to choose between them. And if she had a greater loyalty and reverence towards her brother, still, Meenie was her sole girl-friend, and monitress, and counsellor. What would her tasks be without Meenie's approval; how could she get on with her knitting and sewing without Meenie's aid; what would the days be like without the witchery of Meenie's companionship – even if that were limited to a passing word or a smile? Ronald had not sought to influence her choice; indeed, the alternative had scarcely been considered, for she believed that Meenie was going to Glasgow also; and with her hero brother and her beautiful girl-friend both there, what more could she wish for in the world? But now – ?

Well, Meenie, in her wise and kind way, strove to calm the anxiety of the girl; and her advice was altogether in favour of Maggie's going to Glasgow with her brother Ronald, if that were equally convenient to him, and of no greater expense than her remaining in Inver-Mudal with Mrs. Murray.

'For you know he wants somebody to look after him,' Meenie continued, with her eyes rather averted, 'and if it does not matter so much here about his carelessness of being wet and cold, because he has plenty of health and exercise, it will be very different in Glasgow, where there should be some one to bid him be more careful.'

'But he pays no heed to me,' the little sister sighed, 'unless I can tell him you have been saying so-and-so – then he listens. He is very strange. He has never once worn the blue jersey that I knitted for him. He asked me a lot of questions about how it was begun; and I told him as little as I could about the help you had given me,' she continued evasively, 'and when the snow came on, I thought he would wear it; but no – he put it away in the drawer with his best clothes, and it's lying there all neatly folded up – and what is the use of that? If you were going to Glasgow, Meenie, it would be quite different. It will be very lonely there.'

'Lonely!' the other exclaimed; 'with your brother Ronald, and your other brother's family, and all their friends. And then you will be able to go to school and have more regular teaching – Ronald spoke once or twice to me about that.'

'Yes, indeed,' the little Maggie said; but the prospect did not cheer her much; and for some minutes they both sate silent, she staring into the fire. And then she said bitterly —

'I wish the American people had never come here. It is all their doing. It never would have come into Ronald's head to leave Inver-Mudal but for them. And where else will he be so well known – and – and every one speaking well of him – and every one so friendly – '

'But, Maggie, these things are always happening,' her companion remonstrated. 'Look at the changes my father has had to make.'

'And I wonder if we are never to come back to Inver-Mudal, Meenie?' the girl said suddenly, with appealing eyes.

Meenie tried to laugh, and said —

'Who can tell? It is the way of the world for people to come and go. And Glasgow is a big place – perhaps you would not care to come back after having made plenty of friends there.'

'My friends will always be here, and nowhere else,' the smaller girl said, with emphasis. 'Oh, Meenie, do you think if Ronald were to get on well and make more money than he has now, he would come back here, and bring me too, for a week maybe, just to see every one again?'

'I cannot tell you that, Maggie,' the elder girl said, rather absently.

After this their discussion of the strange and unknown future that lay before them languished somehow; for Meenie seemed preoccupied, and scarcely as blithe and hopeful as she had striven to appear. But when Maggie rose to return home – saying that it was time for her to be looking after Ronald's supper – her friend seemed to pull herself together somewhat, and at once and cheerfully accepted Maggie's invitation to come and have tea with her the following afternoon.

'For you have been so little in to see us lately,' the small Maggie said; 'and Ronald always engaged with the American people – and often in the evening too as well as the whole day long.'

'But I must make a great deal of you now that you are going away,' said Miss Douglas, smiling.

'And Ronald – will I ask him to stay in till you come?'

But here there was some hesitation.

'Oh no, I would not do that – no doubt he is busy just now with his preparations for going away. I would not say anything to him – you and I will have tea together by ourselves.'

The smaller girl looked up timidly.

'Ronald is going away too, Meenie.'

Perhaps there was a touch of reproach in the tone; at all events Meenie said, after a moment's embarrassment —

'Of course I should be very glad if he happened to be in the house – and – and had the time to spare; but I think he will understand that, Maggie, without your saying as much to him.'

'He gave plenty of his time to the American young lady,' said Maggie, rather proudly.

'But I thought you and she were great friends,' Meenie said, in some surprise.

'It takes a longer time than that to make friends,' the girl said; and by and by she left.

Then Meenie went up to her room again, and sate down in front of the dull, smouldering peat-fire, with its heavy lumps of shadow, and its keen edges of crimson, and its occasional flare of flame and shower of sparks. There were many pictures there – of distant things; of the coming spring-time, with all the new wonder and gladness somehow gone out of it; and of the long long shining summer days, and Inver-Mudal grown lonely: and of the busy autumn time, with the English people come from the south, and no Ronald there, to manage everything for them. For her heart was very affectionate; and she had but few friends; and Glasgow was a great distance away. There were some other fancies too, and self-questionings and perhaps even self-reproaches, that need not be mentioned here. When, by and by, she rose and went to the piano, which was still open, it was not to resume her seat. She stood absently staring at the keys – for these strange pictures followed her; and indeed that one half-unconscious trial of 'I am asleep, do not waken me' had been quite enough for her in her present mood.