Merkland: or, Self Sacrifice

“Friend!” she said, “I had one brother who was the very light of my eyes, and there was a gentle blue-eyed bairn, in yon far away island, who went down with him to the grave. The name of her was Helen. He died in the morning, and she died at night, and on the same day her brother and I buried our dead. If you are of her blood, you are doubly welcome!”

“My aunt’s name was Helen,” said Giles, “and she was only fifteen when she died. I have heard my father speak of her often.”

Mrs. Catherine was so long silent after that, that the young man began to feel constrained and uneasy, and to think that, after all, he had better try the accommodation of the “Sutherland Arm’s” in Portoran. All the circumstances of Mrs. Catherine’s great grief were brought vividly before her by his name. Helen Sympelton! – how well she remembered the attenuated child-woman, maturing brilliantly under the deadly heat of that consumptive hectic, who had accompanied Sholto to the grave.

She spoke at last with an effort:

“I have some country neighbors coming to me this night. You may not be caring for meeting them: therefore do not come up the stair, unless you like. Andrew will let you see your room, and you will find sundry pleasant books in my library; and, till your man comes, Andrew will wait your orders.”

Giles intimated his perfect satisfaction in the prospect of meeting Mrs. Catherine’s country neighbors; and after some further kindly words, and a beaming sunshiny smile, the old lady left the room.

Mr. Lumsden also had by this time received, and provided accommodation for, his share of the ejected Macalpines. The families of Roderick and Duncan were in his own hospitable Manse. Some of the others had been received, in their way down, into the farm-house of Whiteford. Duncan Roy had stopped to pour his story, in indignant Celtic vehemence, into the ears of Mr. Ferguson, and, with his pretty sister, Flora, had been taken into Woodsmuir. The others were provided for in various houses in Portoran – the most of them in genuine neighborly sympathy and compassion, and some for the hire which Mr. Lumsden offered, when other motives were wanting. They were all settled, in comparative comfort at last; all but those two stern watching men, who sat through the gloom of the wild March night, within the roofless walls of Big Duncan’s house, watching the humble possessions of the Macalpines of Oranmore.

His manifold labors over, Mr. Lumsden took a hurried dinner, and proceeded to dress. He had been invited to the Tower, to Mrs. Catherine’s quiet evening gathering of country neighbors. His sister endeavored to dissuade him, on the ground of his fatigue. Mr. Lumsden laughed – he always did laugh when fatigue was mentioned. Then it was absolutely necessary that he should see how poor Kenneth Macalpine had borne his removal: and then – probably Mr. Lumsden had some additional inducement, private to himself, which we cannot exactly condescend upon.

Miss Lumsden excused herself from accompanying him. Her brother had done his part for the poor Macalpines – it was her turn now. The gray pony too was not quite so invulnerable as its master. It owned to the fatigue of the day, in a very decided disinclination to leave its comfortable stable, so Mr. Lumsden took his seat beside Walter Foreman in the gig, and proceeded to the Tower.

It was not unusual for Mrs. Catherine to have these gatherings. They were very simple affairs. She liked to bring the young people together; she liked herself, now and then, to have a pleasant domestic chat with the elders. Everybody liked those quiet and easy parties, to which the guests came in their ordinary dress, and enjoyed themselves after their own fashion, without restraint or ceremony; and everybody, who had the good fortune to be on Mrs. Catherine’s list of favorites, had most pleasant recollections of the ruddy inner drawing-room, at these especial times.

Giles Sympelton paid another visit to poor Kenneth Macalpine after dinner. He found him sleeping pleasantly in the warm, cheerful, light apartment, his mother watching with tearful joy by his bedside, and Mrs. Euphan Morison sitting in portly state by the fire. Widow Macalpine whispered thanks and blessings, and added, that, “he hadna sleeped sae quiet, since ever they were warned out o’ the glen.” Giles withdrew with very pleasant feelings, and walking up to the room prepared for him, where his servant already waited, proceeded to dress.

This important operation was performed very carefully, some dreamy idea of “astonishing the natives” floating through his boyish brain the while. Giles, simple lad as he was, was yet a gentleman – he had no flashy finery about him – his dress was perfectly plain and simple. He was satisfied, however, and felt he would make an impression.

Ada Mina Coulter’s pretty, girlish face was the first he noticed on entering the room. He did make an impression. Ada knew very pleasantly, as she drooped her brown curls before the glance of the stranger, that the blue eyes from whence that glance came, belonged to a lord’s son – an Honorable Giles.

Mrs. Catherine introduced him, with kindly mention of his day’s labor, to her elder friends – to Lewis Ross and Anne – and then committing him to their charge, returned to her conversation with the fathers and mothers. Giles by no means made the impression he expected on that party – he had a feeling of old friendship for Anne – a slight idea of rivalry in respect to Lewis – but consoled himself pleasantly half an hour after, by Ada Coulter’s side, putting her into a very agreeable state of flutter and tremulousness. Ada was younger than Alice Aytoun – was but a little way past her sixteenth birth-day indeed, and was not yet accustomed to the homage of young gentlemen – and an Honorable Giles!

There was great indignation concerning the ejection of the Macalpines, and as soon as it was known that Giles had been present, a little crowd gathered round him. He told the story with great feeling; described Big Duncan Macalpine’s conduct with enthusiasm; touched slightly on his own fears for poor Kenneth; and laughed when he told them of his race. Mrs. Catherine drew near at that point of the story, and extending her hand over Ada’s curles, patted him kindly on the head. The Honorable Giles felt rather indignant – it was making a child of him. No matter – Ada Coulter thought him a hero.

A graver group were discussing the subject at the other end of the room. Mr. Lumsden told the story there. Mr. Coulter and Mr. Ferguson were bending forward to him with anxious faces. – The ladies were no less interested. Anne Ross leant on the sofa at Mrs. Coulter’s elbow. Marjory Falconer stood apart, with her hand upon the back of a chair, and her strong and expressive face swept by whirlwinds – indignation, grief, sympathy – all mellowed, however, by a singular shade of something that looked very like proud and affectionate admiration – of whom was Marjory Falconer proud?

“Now, gentlemen,” said Mr. Lumsden, “you must assist me. – I have set my heart upon it, Mr. Coulter, that these families shall not be sent penniless to Canada. I don’t like emigration at all, but in this case it would be nothing less than banishment – what can we do for them?”

Mr. Coulter took a pinch of snuff.

“It is not a bad thing emigration, Mr. Lumsden; if there was no emigration, what would become of these vast waste lands? I suppose we might pour our whole population into the backwoods, and there would still be unreclaimed districts. Depend upon it, Sir, it comes very near a sin to let land, that should be bringing forth seed and bread, lie waste and desolate, when there are men to work it.”

“Well,” said Mr. Lumsden, “we won’t argue about that. It may be right enough – I only say I don’t like emigration; and we have abundance of waste lands at home, Mr. Coulter; but in the case of the Macalpines, it could bear no aspect but banishment. – I believe they would almost starve first. What can we do for them?”

There was a pause of consideration.

“Robert,” said Mrs. Ferguson.

Her husband looked round.

“When you commence your improvements, you will require many laborers – would not the Macalpines do? We were thinking of taking Flora to be one of our maids at Woodsmuir, you know – other people, no doubt, would do the same. What do you think?”

Mr. Ferguson spent a moment in deliberation; then he looked up to Mr. Coulter inquiringly.

“Not a bad idea,” said the agriculturist.

“I was thinking of that myself,” said Mr. Ferguson. “There is not a very great number of them: we shall surely be able to keep them in the district; and there is always the hope,” the good factor endeavored to look very sanguine and cheerful – ”there is always the hope of Mr. Archibald’s return.”

No one made any response; saving himself and Mrs. Catherine, no one was sanguine on that subject: they were very glad to join in good wishes for the broken laird; but saw all the improbabilities in a stronger light than his more solicitous friends could do.

“If he does,” said Mr. Lumsden, “if he ever can redeem the estate again, I suppose the Macalpines are safe.”

Mr. Ferguson looked with gratitude at the minister. It was pleasant to have his hope homologated even so slightly. “Safe? ay, without doubt or fear! there is not a kinder heart in all Scotland. How many men will there be, Mr. Lumsden? how many able men?”

Mr. Lumsden entered into a calculation. We need not follow him through the list of Duncans, and Donalds, and Rodericks; there were eleven fathers of families. Duncan Roy and his sister Flora were orphans; besides, there were six or seven young men, and a plentiful undergrowth of boys of all ages and sizes.

“Say sixteen men,” said Mr. Ferguson, “the rest could be herds, or – there is always work for these halflin lads. What do you say, Mr. Coulter?”

Mr. Coulter’s deliverance was favorable. Mrs. Catherine had urgent need of a plough-man, she suddenly discovered. Mrs. Coulter thought she “could do with” another maid. The Macalpines were in a fair way of being settled.

“Mind what I say,” said Mrs. Catherine, “its only for a time. They shall recover their ancient holdings, every inch of them; their right to the land is as good as Archie’s; the clansman holds it on as clear a title as the chief. Mind, I put this in the bargain; that whenever the estate returns to its rightful owner, the Macalpines return to Oranmore.”

Mr. Ferguson’s eyes glistened. He seemed to be looking forward to some apocryphal future gladness, which he dared hardly venture to believe in, yet to which his heart could not choose but cling. God speed the adventurer in the new world!

Mr. Lumsden proceeded down stairs immediately, to visit the aged and sick who had been brought to the Tower: in a short time he returned. The guests young and old were more amalgamated than before; they were sitting in a wide circle round Mrs. Catherine’s chair. They did not perceive the minister’s entrance: for some reason known to himself he stepped behind the window-curtain. He was looking out upon the clear, cold, starry night.

“Bless me,” said Mrs. Bairnsfather, “Mr. Lumsden is in high favor with us all. It’s a wonder a fine young man like him has not got a wife yet.”

Marjory Falconer looked thundery; she had been aware of a private telegraphic sign made by the hand of a certain tall dark figure, which was looking out upon the night.

“All in good time,” said Mrs. Coulter, “he is but a young man yet.”

“How old would you say?” inquired Mrs. Bairnsfather.

“Oh! one or two and thirty perhaps – not more.”

“Not more!” Mrs. Bairnsfather had a vindictive recollection of sundry invasions of her husband’s parish. “I’ll warrant him a good five years older than that.”

“Well, well,” said the good-humored agriculturist. “He is not too old to be married yet, that is a consolation.”

“What would you say to Miss Ada Mina!” continued Mrs. Bairnsfather. “Miss Jeanie, I suppose, I must not speak of now.”

Ada Coulter shook her curls indignantly. She, full sixteen, and receiving the homage of an Honorable Giles, to be “scorned” with a minister of five and thirty!

“Or Miss Ross?” said the mischief-making Mrs. Bairnsfather. – ”They would make an excellent couple, I am sure.”

“I won’t have that,” said Lewis. “I have engaged Anne, Mrs. Bairnsfather; if she does not take my man, I’ll disown her.”

“Anne, I want you,” said Marjory Falconer: “come here.”

“Or Miss Falconer herself?” said the indefatigable Mrs. Bairnsfather turning sharp round, and directing the attention of all and sundry to Marjory’s face, perfectly scorching as it was, with one of her overwhelming, passionate blushes, “and that would secure the contrast which people say is best for peace and happiness.”

Miss Falconer tried to laugh – the emphasis on the word peace had not escaped her; she slid her arm through Anne’s and left the room. The dark figure behind the curtain, followed her with his eye; laughed within himself a mighty secret laugh, and came out of his concealment, to the immense discomfiture of Mrs. Bairnsfather, and the great mirth of Giles and Ada.