A KNIGHT OF THE NETS

BY

AMELIA E. BARR

1896

CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER

I THE WORLD SHE LIVED IN. 

II CHRISTINA AND ANDREW. 

III THE AILING HEART. 

IV THE LASH OF THE WHIP. 

V THE LOST BRIDE. 

VI WHERE IS MY MONEY?

VII THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 

VIII A GREAT DELIVERANCE. 

IX THE RIGHTING OF A WRONG. 

X TAKE ME IN TO DIE. 

XI DRIVEN TO HIS DUTY. 

XII AMONG HER OWN PEOPLE. 

XIII THE "LITTLE SOPHY". 

_Grey sky, brown waters: as a bird that flies My heart flits forth to these;Back to the winter rose of Northern skies, Back to the Northern seas_. 

CHAPTER I

THE WORLD SHE LIVED IN

It would be easy to walk many a time through "Fife and all the landsabout it" and never once find the little fishing village ofPittendurie. Indeed, it would be a singular thing if it was found, unless some special business or direction led to it. For clearly it wasnever intended that human beings should build homes where thesecottages cling together, between sea and sky, --a few here, and a fewthere, hidden away in every bend of the rocks where a little groundcould be levelled, so that the tides in stormy weather break withthreat and fury on the very doorstones of the lowest cottages. Yet asthe lofty semicircle of hills bend inward, the sea follows; and thereis a fair harbour, where the fishing boats ride together while theirsails dry in the afternoon sun. Then the hamlet is very still; for themen are sleeping off the weariness of their night work, while thechildren play quietly among the tangle, and the women mend the nets orbait the lines for the next fishing. A lonely little spot, shut in bysea and land, and yet life is there in all its passionate variety--loveand hate, jealousy and avarice, youth, with its ideal sorrows andinfinite expectations, age, with its memories and regrets, and "sureand certain hope. "

The cottages also have their individualities. Although they are much ofthe same size and pattern, an observing eye would have picked out theBinnie cottage as distinctive and prepossessing. Its outside walls wereas white as lime could make them; its small windows brightened withgeraniums and a white muslin curtain; and the litter of ropes and netsand drying fish which encumbered the majority of thatches, waspleasantly absent. Standing on a little level, thirty feet above theshingle, it faced the open sea, and was constantly filled with theconfused tones of its sighing surges, and penetrated by its pulsating, tremendous vitality. 

It had been the home of many generations of Binnies, and the very old, and the very young, had usually shared its comforts together; but atthe time of my story, there remained of the family only the widow ofthe last proprietor, her son Andrew, and her daughter Christina. Christina was twenty years old, and still unmarried, --a strange thingin Pittendurie, where early marriages are the rule. Some said she wasvain of her beauty and could find no lad whom she thought good enough;others thought she was a selfish, cold-hearted girl, feared for thecares and the labours of a fisherman's wife. 

On this July afternoon, the girl had been some hours mending the pileof nets at her feet; but at length they were in perfect order, and shethrew her arms upward and outward to relieve their weariness, and thenwent to the open door. The tide was coming in, but the children werestill paddling in the salt pools and on the cold bladder rack, and shestepped forward to the edge of the cliff, and threw them some wildgeranium and ragwort. Then she stood motionless in the bright sunlight, looking down the shingle towards the pier and the little tavern, fromwhich came, in drowsy tones, the rough monotonous songs which seamendelight to sing--songs, full of the complaining of the sea, interpretedby the hoarse, melancholy voices of sea faring men. 

Standing thus in the clear light, her great beauty was not to bedenied. She was tall and not too slender; and at this moment, the setof her head was like that of a thoroughbred horse, when it pricks itsears to listen. She had soft brown eyes, with long lashes and heavyeyebrows--eyes, reflecting the lances of light that darted in and outof the shifting clouds--an open air complexion, dazzling, even teeth, an abundance of dark, rippling hair, and a flush of ardent life openingher wide nostrils, and stirring gently the exquisite mould of herthroat and bust. The moral impression she gave was that of a pure, strong, compassionate woman; cool-headed, but not cold; capable ofvigorous joys and griefs. 

After a few minutes' investigation, she went back to the cottage, andstood in the open doorway, with her head leaning against the lintel. Her mother had begun to prepare the evening meal; fresh fish werefrying on the fire, and the oat cakes toasting before it. Yet, as shemoved rapidly about, she was watching her daughter and very soon shegave words to the thoughts troubling and perplexing her motherlyspeculations. 

"Christina, " she said, "you'll not require to be looking for Andrew. The lad is ben the house; he has been asleep ever since he eat hisdinner. "

"I know that, Mother. "

"Well then, if it is Jamie Logan, let me tell you it is a poorbusiness. I have a fear and an inward down-sinking anent that youngman. "

"Perfect nonsense, Mother! There is nothing to fear you about Jamie. "

"What good ever came through folk saved from the sea? Tell me that, Christina! They bring sorrow back with them. That is a fact none willdeny. "

"What could Andrew do but save the lad?"

"Why was the lad running before such a sea? He should have got intoharbour; there was time enough. And if it was Andrew's duty to savehim, it is not your duty to be loving him. You may take that much sensefrom me, anyway. "

"_Whist, Mother_! He has not said a word of love to me. "

"He perfectly changes colours every time he sees you, and why so, if itbe not for love of you? I am not liking the look of the thing, Christina, and your brother is not liking it; and if you don't takecare of yourself, you'll be in a burning fever of first love, andbeyond all reasoning. Even now, you are making yourself a speculationto the whole village. "

"Jamie is a straight-forward lad. I'm thinking he would lay his lifedown for me. "

"I thought he had not said a word of love to you. "

"A girl knows some things that are not told her. "

"Very fine; but it will not be the fashion now to lie down and die forAnnie Laurie, or any other lass. A young man who wants a wife mustbustle around and get siller to keep her with. Getting married, thesedays is not a thing to make a song about. You are but a young thingyet, Christina, and you have much to learn. "

"Would you not like to be young again, Mother?"

"No, I would not! I would not risk it. Besides, it would be going back;and I want to go forward and upward. But you need not try to turn thetalk from Jamie Logan that way. I'll say again what I said before, youwill be in a fever of first love, and not to be reasoned with, if youdon't take care of yourself. "

The girl flushed hotly, came into the house, and began to re-arrangethe teacups with a nervous haste; for she heard Jamie's steps on therocky road, and his voice, clear as a blackbird's, whistling gayly "Inthe Bay of Biscay O!"

"The teacups are all right, Christina. I am talking anent Jamie Logan. The lad is just a temptation to you; and you will require to ask forstrength to be kept out of temptation; for the Lord knows, the best ofus don't expect strength to resist it. "

Christina turned her face to her mother, and then left her answer toJamie Logan. For he came in at the moment with a little tartan shawl inhis hand, which he gallantly threw across the shoulders of MistressBinnie. 

"I have just bought it from a peddler loon, " he said. "It is bonnie andsoft, and it sets you well, and I hope you will pleasure me by wearingit. "

His face was so bright, his manner so charming, that it was impossiblefor Janet Binnie to resist him. "You are a fleeching, flatteringladdie, " she answered; but she stroked and fingered the gay kerchief, while Christina made her observe how bright were the colours of it, andhow neatly the soft folds fell around her. Then the door of the innerroom opened, and Andrew came sleepily out. 

"The fish is burning, " he said, "and the oat cakes too; for I amsmelling them ben the house;" and Janet ran to her fireside, andhastily turned her herring and cakes. 

"I'm feared you won't think much of your meat to-night, " she saidregretfully; "the tea is fairly ruined. "

"Never mind the meat, Mother, " said Andrew. "We don't live to eat. "

"Never mind the meat, indeed! What perfect nonsense! There is somethingwrong with folk that don't mind their meat. "

"Well then, you shouldn't be so vain of yourself, Mother. You werepreening like a young girl when I first got sight of you--and the meattaking care of itself. "

"Me, vain! No! No! Nobody that knows Janet Binnie can ever say she isvain. I wot well that I am a frail, miserable creature, with littleneed of being vain, either for myself or my children. You are a greathand at arguing, Andrew, but you are always in the wrong. But draw tothe table and eat. I'll warrant the fish will prove better than it isbonnie. "

They sat down with a pleasant content that soon broadened into mirthand laughter, as Jamie Logan began to tell and to show how the peddlerlad had fleeched and flethered the fisher wives out of their bawbees;adding at the last "that he could not come within sight of their finewords, they were that civil to him. "

"Senselessly civil, no doubt of it, " answered Janet. "A peddler ayegives the whole village a fit of the liberalities. The like of JeanRobertson spending a crown on him! Foolish woman, the words are not toseek that she'll get from me in the morning. "

Then Jamie took a letter from his pocket, and showed it to AndrewBinnie. "Robert Toddy brought it this morning, " he said, "and, as youmay see, it is from the firm of Henderson Brothers, Glasgow; and theysay there will be a berth for me very soon now in one of their ships. And their boats are good, and their captains good, and there is chancesfor a fine sailor on that line. I may be a captain myself one of thesedays!" and he laughed so gayly, and looked so bravely into the face ofsuch a bold idea, that he persuaded every one else to expect it forhim. Janet pulled her new shawl a little closer and smiled, and herthought was: "After all, Christina may wait longer, and fare worse; forshe is turned twenty. " Yet she showed a little reserve as she asked:--

"Are you then Glasgow-born, Jamie?"

"Me! Glasgow-born! What are you thinking of? I am from the auld EastNeuk; and I am glad and proud of being a Fifer. All my common sensecomes from Fife. There is none loves the 'Kingdom' more than I, JamieLogan. We are all Fife together. I thought you knew it. "

At these words there was a momentary shadow across the door, and alittle lassie slipped in; and when she did so, all put down their cupsto welcome her. Andrew reddened to the roots of his hair, his eyesfilled with light, a tender smile softened his firm mouth, and he putout his hand and drew the girl to the chair which Christina had pushedclose to his own. 

"You are welcome, and more than welcome, Sophy, " said the Mistress; butfor all that, she gave Sophy a glance in which there was muchspeculation not unmixed, with fear and disapproval. For it was easy tosee that Andrew Binnie loved her, and that she was not at all like him, nor yet like any of the fisher-girls of Pittendurie. Sophy, however, was not responsible for this difference; for early orphanage had placedher in the care of an aunt who carried on a dress and bonnet makingbusiness in Largo, and she had turned the little fisher-maid into agirl after her own heart and wishes. 

Sophy, indeed, came frequently to visit her people in Pittendurie; butshe had gradually grown less and less like them, and there was nowonder Mistress Binnie asked herself fearfully, "what kind of a wife atall Sophy would make for a Fife fisherman?" She was so small and genty, she had such a lovely face, such fair rippling hair, and her gown wasof blue muslin made in the fashion of the day, and finished with a lacecollar round her throat, and a ribbon belt round her slender waist. 

"A bonnie lass for a carriage and pair, " thought Janet Binnie; "butwhatever will she do with the creel and the nets? not to speak of thebairns and the housework?"

Andrew was too much in love to consider these questions. When he wassix years old, he had carried Sophy in his arms all day long; when hewas twelve, they had paddled on the sands, and fished, and played, andlearned their lessons together. She had promised then to be his wife assoon as he had a house and a boat of his own; and never for one momentsince had Andrew doubted the validity and certainty of this promise. ToAndrew, and to Andrew's family, and to the whole village ofPittendurie, the marriage of Andrew Binnie and Sophy Traill was a factbeyond disputing. Some said "it was the right thing, " and more said "itwas the foolish thing, " and among the latter was Andrew's mother;though as yet she had said it very cautiously to Andrew, whom sheregarded as "clean daft and senselessly touchy about the girl. "

But she sent the young people out of the house while she redd up thedisorder made by the evening meal; though, as she wiped her teacups, she went frequently to the little window, and looked at the foursitting together on the bit of turf which carpeted the top of the cliffbefore the cottage. Andrew, as a privileged lover, held Sophy's hand;Christina sat next her brother, and facing Jamie Logan, so it was easyto see how her face kindled, and her manner softened to the charm ofhis merry conversation, his snatches of breezy sea-song, and his cleverbits of mimicry. And as Janet walked to and fro, setting her cups andplates in the rack, and putting in place the tables and chairs she didwhat we might all do more frequently and be the wiser for it--shetalked to herself, to the real woman within her, and thus got to thebottom of things. 

In less than an hour there began to be a movement about the pier, andthen Andrew and Jamie went away to their night's work; and the girlssat still and watched the men across the level sands, and the boatshurrying out to the fishing grounds. Then they went back to thecottage, and found that Mistress Binnie had taken her knitting and goneto chat with a crony who lived higher up the cliff. 

"We are alone, Sophy" said Christina; "but women folk are often that. "She spoke a little sadly, the sweet melancholy of conscious, butunacknowledged love being heavy in her heart, and she would not havebeen sorry, had she been quite alone with her vaguely happy dreams. Neither of the girls was inclined to talk, but Christina wondered atSophy's silence, for she had been unusually merry while the young menwere present. 

Now she sat quiet on the door step, clasping her left knee with littlewhite hands that had no sign of labour on them but the mark of theneedle on the left forefinger. At her side, Christina stood, her tallstraight figure fittingly clad in a striped blue and white linseypetticoat, and a little josey of lilac print, cut low enough to showthe white, firm throat above it. Her fine face radiated thought andfeeling; she was on the verge of that experience which glorifies thesimplest life. The exquisite glooming, the tender sky, the full heavingsea, were all in sweetest sympathy; they were sufficient; and Sophy'sthin, fretful voice broke the charm and almost offended her. 

"It is a weary life, Christina. How do you thole it?"

"You are just talking, Sophy. You were happy enough half an hoursince. "

"I wasn't happy at all. "

"You let on like you were. I should think you would be as fear'd to acta lie, as to tell one. "

"I'll be going away from Pittendurie in the morning. "

"What for?"

"I have my reasons. "

"No doubt you have a 'because' of your own. But what will Andrew say?He is not expecting you to leave to-morrow. "

"I don't care what Andrew says. "

"Sophy Traill!"

"I don't. Andrew Binnie is not the whole of life to me. "

"Whatever is the matter with you?"

"Nothing. "

Then there was a pause, and Christina's thoughts flew seaward. In a fewminutes, however, Sophy began talking again. "Do you go often intoLargo, Christina?" she asked. 

"Whiles, I take myself that far. You may count me up for the last year;for I sought you every time. "

"Ay! Do you mind on the road a real grand house, fine and old, with abeautiful garden and peacocks in it--trailing their long feathers overthe grass and gravel?"

"You will be meaning Braelands? Folks could not miss the place, even ifthey tried to. "

"Well then, did you ever notice a young man around? He is alwaysdressed for the saddle, or else he is in the saddle, and so most sureto have a whip in his hand. "

"What are you talking about? What is the young man to you?"

"He is brawly handsome. They call him Archie Braelands. "

"I have heard tell of him. And by what is said, I should not think hewas an improving friend for any good girl to have. "

"This, or that, he likes me. He likes me beyond everything. "

"Do you know what you are saying, Sophy Traill?"

"I do, fine. "

"Are you liking him?"

"It would not be hard to do. "

"Has he ever spoke to you?"

"Well, he is not as shy as a fisher-lad. I find him in my way when I'mnot thinking. And see here, Christina; I got a letter from him thisafternoon. A real love letter! Such lovely words! They are like poetry;they are as sweet as singing. "

"Did you tell Andrew this?"

"Why would I do that?"

"You are a false little cutty, then. I would tell Andrew myself, but Iam loath to hurt his true heart. Now you are to let Archie Braelandsalone, or I will know the reason why. "

"Preserve us all! What a blazing passion for nothing at all! Can't alassie chat with a lad for a half hour without calling a court ofsessions about it?" and she rose and shook out her dress, saying withan air of offence:--

"You may tell Andrew, if you like to. It would be a very poor thing ifa girl is to be miscalled every time a man told her she was pretty. "

"I'm not saying any woman can help men making fools of themselves; butyou should have told Braelands that you were all the same as married, being promised so long to Andrew Binnie. And you ought to have toldAndrew about the letter. "

"Everybody can't live in Pittendurie, Christina. And if you live with atown full of folk, you cannot go up and down, saying to every man youmeet, 'please, sir, I have a lad of my own, and you are not to cast alook at me, for Andrew Binnie would not like it. "

"Hold your tongue, Sophy, or else know what you are yattering about. Iwould think shame to talk so scornful of the man I was going to marry. "

"You can let it go for a passing remark. And if I have said anything tovex you, we are old friends, Christina, and it is not a lad that willpart us. Sophy requires a deal of forgiving. "

"She does, " said Christina with a smile; "so I just forgive her as I goalong, for she is still doing something out of the way. But you mustnot treat Andrew ill. I could not love you, Sophy, if you did the likeof that. And you must always tell me everything about yourself, andthen nothing will go far wrong. "

"Even that. I am not given to lying unless it is worth my while. I'lltell you aught there is to tell. And there is a kiss for Andrew, andyou may say to him that I would have told him I was going back to Largoin the morning, only that I cannot bear to see him unhappy. That amessage to set him on the mast-head of pride and pleasure. "

"I will give Andrew the kiss and the message, Sophy. And you take myadvice, and keep yourself clear of that young Braelands. I amparticular about my own good name, and I mean to be particular aboutyours. "

"I have had your advice already, Christina. "

"Well, this is a forgetful world, so I just mention the fact again. "

"All the same, you might remember, Christina, that there was once awoman who got rich by minding her own business;" and with a laugh, thegirl tied her bonnet under her chin, and went swiftly down the clifftowards the village. 

CHAPTER II

CHRISTINA AND ANDREW

This confidence greatly troubled Christina; and as Sophy crossed thesands and vanished into the shadows beyond, a strange, sad presentimentof calamity oppressed her heart. Being herself in the enthusiasm of afirst love, she could not conceive such treachery possible as Sophy'sword seemed to imply. The girl had always been petted, and yetdiscontented with her situation; and had often made complaints whichhad no real foundation, and which in brighter moods she was likely torepudiate. And this night Andrew, instead of her Aunt Kilgour, was theobject of her dissatisfaction--that would be all. To-morrow she wouldbe complaining to Andrew of her aunt's hard treatment of her, andAndrew would be whispering of future happiness in her ears. 

Upon the whole, therefore, Christina thought it would be cruel andfoolish to tell her brother a word of what Sophy had said. Why shouldshe disturb his serene faith in the girl so dear to him, until therewas some more evident reason to do so? He was, as his mother said, "very touchy" about Sophy, being well aware that the village did notapprove of the changes in her dress, and of those little reluctancesand reserves in her behaviour, which had sprung up inevitably amid therefinements and wider acquaintances of town life. 

"And so many things happen as the clock goes round, " she thought. "Braelands may say or do something that will put him out of favour. Orhe may take himself off to a foreign country--he is gey fond of Franceand Germany too--and Goodness knows he will never be missed inFifeshire. Or _them behind_ may sort what flesh and blood cannotmanage; so I will keep a close mouth anent the matter. One may thinkwhat one dare not say; for words, once spoken, cannot be wiped out witha sponge--and more's the pity!"

Christina had also reached a crisis in her own life, --a crisis soimportant, that it quite excused the apparent readiness with which shedismissed Sophy's strange confidence. For the feeling between JamieLogan and herself had grown to expression, and she was well aware thatwhat had hitherto been in a large measure secret and private tothemselves, had this night become evident to others. And she was notsure how Jamie would be received. Andrew had saved his life in a suddenstorm, and brought him to the Binnie cottage until he should be able toreturn to his own place. But instead of going away, he had hired histime for the herring season to a Pittendurie fisherman; and every sparehour had found him at the Binnie cottage, wooing the handsomeChristina. 

The village was not unanimously in his favour. No one could sayanything against Jamie Logan; but he was a stranger, and that fact washard to get over. A man must serve a very strict and long probation tobe adopted into a Fife fishing community, and it was considered "veryupsetting" for an unkent man to be looking up to the like of ChristinaBinnie, --a lass whose forbears had been in Pittendurie beyond thememory or the tradition of its inhabitants. 

Janet also was not quite satisfied; and Christina knew this. Sheexpected her daughter to marry a fisherman, but at least one who ownedhis share in a good boat, and who had a house to take a wife to. Thisstrange lad was handsome and good-tempered; but, as she reflected, andnot unfrequently said, "good looks and a laugh and a song, are notthings to lippen to for housekeeping. " So, on the whole, Christina hadjust the same doubts and anxieties as might trouble a fine lady offamily and wealth, who had fallen in love with some handsome fellowwhom her relatives were uncertain about favouring. 

A week after Sophy's visit, however, Jamie found the unconquerable hourin which every true love comes to its blossoming. It was the Sabbathnight, and a great peace was over the village. The men sat at theirdoors talking in monosyllables to their wives and mates; the childrenwere asleep; and the full ocean breaking and tinkling upon the shinglycoast. They had been at kirk together in the afternoon, and Jamie hadtaken tea with the Binnies after the service. Then Andrew had gone tosee Sophy, and Janet to help a neighbour with a sick husband; so Jamie, left with Christina, had seized gladly his opportunity to teach her thesecret of her own heart. 

Sitting on the lonely rocks, with the moonlit sea at their feet, theyhad confessed to each other how sweet it was to love. And the plansgrowing out of this confession, though humble enough, were full ofstrange hope and happy dreaming to Christina. For Jamie had begged herto become his wife as soon as he got his promised berth on the greatScotch line, and this event would compel her to leave Pittendurie andmake her home in Glasgow, --two facts, simply stupendous to thefisher-girl, who had never been twenty miles from her home, and to whomall life outside the elementary customs of Pittendurie was wonderfuland a little frightsome. 

But she put her hand in Jamie's hand, and felt his love sufficient forwhatever love might bring or demand. Any spot on earth would be heavento her with him, and for him; and she told him so, and was answered aswomen love to be answered, with a kiss that was the sweetness andconfidence of all vows and promises. Among these simple, straight-forward people, there are no secrecies in love affairs; andthe first thing Jamie did was to return to the cottage with Christinato make known the engagement they had entered into. 

They met Andrew on the sands. He had been disappointed. Sophy had goneout with a friend, and her aunt had seemed annoyed and had not askedhim to wait. He was counting up in his mind how often this thing hadhappened lately, and was conscious of an unhappy sense of doubt andunkindness which was entirely new to him. But when Christina stepped tohis side, and Jamie said frankly, "Andrew, your dear sweet sister lovesme, and has promised to be my wife, and I hope you will give us thelove and favour we are seeking, " Andrew looked tenderly into hissister's face, and their smiles met and seemed to kiss each other. Andhe took her hand between his own hands, and then put it into Jamie's. 

"You shall be a brother to me, Jamie, " he said; "and we will standtogether always, for the sake of our bonnie Christina. " And Jamie couldnot speak for happiness; but the three went forward with shining eyesand linked hands, and Andrew forgot his own fret and disappointment, inthe joy of his sister's betrothal. 

Janet came home as they sat in the moonlight outside the cottage. "Comeinto the house, " she cried, with a pretense of anger. "It is high timefor folk who have honest work for the morn to be sleeping. What hourwill you get to the week's work, I wonder, Christina? If I leave thefireside for a minute or two, everything stops but daffing till I getback again. What for are you sitting so late?"

"There is a good reason, Mother!" said Andrew, as he rose and withJamie and Christina went into the cottage. "Here is our Christina beentrysting herself to Jamie, and I have been giving them some goodadvice. "

"Good advice!" laughed Janet. "Between you and Jamie Logan, it is theblind leading the blind, and nothing better. One would think there wasno other duty in life than trysting and marrying. I have just heardtell of Flora Thompson and George Buchan, and now it is ChristinaBinnie and Jamie Logan. The world is given up, I think, to this wearylad and lass business. "

But Janet's words belied her voice and her benign face. She was reallyone of those delightful women who are "easily persuaded, " and whoreadily accept whatever is, as right. For she had naturally one of thehealthiest of human souls; besides which, years had brought her thattender sagacity and gentleness, which does not often come until thehead is gray and the brow furrowed. So, though her words were fretful, they were negatived by her beaming smile, and by the motherly fashionin which she drew Christina to her side and held out her hand to Jamie. 

"You are a pair of foolish bairns, " she said; "and you little know whatwill betide you both. "

"Nothing but love and happiness, Mother, " answered Jamie. 

"Well, well! look for good, and have good. I will not be one to askafter evil for you. But mind one thing, Jamie, you are marrying awoman, and not an angel. And, Christina, if you trust to any man, don'texpect over much of him; the very best of them will stumble once in awhile. "

Then she drew forward the table, and put on the kettle and brewed sometoddy, and set it out with toasted cake and cheese, and so drank, withcheerful moderation, to the health and happiness of the newly-promisedlovers. And afterwards "the books" were opened, and Andrew, who was thepriest of the family, asked the blessing of the Infinite One on all itsrelationships. Then the happiness that had been full of smiles andwords became too deep for such expression, and they clasped hands andkissed each other "good night" in a silence, that was too sweetlysolemn and full of feeling for the translation of mere language. 

Before the morning light, Mistress Binnie had fully persuaded herselfthat Christina was going to make an unusually prosperous marriage. Allher doubts had fled. Jamie had spoken out like a man, he had the bestof prospects, and the wedding was likely to be something beyond asimple fisherman's bridal. She could hardly wait until the day's workwas over, and the evening far enough advanced for a gossiping call onher crony, Marget Roy. Last night she had fancied Marget told her ofFlora Thompson's betrothal with an air of pity for Christina; there wasnow a delightful retaliation in her power. But she put on an expressionof dignified resignation, rather than one of pleasure, when she madeknown the fact of Christina's approaching marriage. 

"I am glad to hear tell of it, " said Marget frankly. "Christina willmake a good wife, and she will keep a tidy house, I'll warrant her. "

"She will, Marget. And it is a very important thing; far more so thanfolks sometimes think. You may put godliness into a woman after she isa wife, but you can not put cleanliness; it will have to be born inher. "

"And so Jamie Logan is to have a berth from the Hendersons? That is farbeyond a place in Lowrie's herring boats. "

"I'm thinking he just stopped with Lowrie for the sake of being near-byto Christina. A lad like him need not have spent good time like that. "

"Well, Janet, it is a good thing for your Christina, and I am glad ofit. "

"It is;" answered Janet, with a sigh and a smile. "The lad is sure toget on; and he's a respectable lad--a Fifer from Kirkcaldy--handsomeand well-spoken of; and I am thinking the _Line_ has a big bargain inhim, and is proud of it. Still, I'm feared for my lassie, in such anawful, big, wicked-like town as Glasgow. "

"She'll not require to take the whole town in. She will have her Bible, and her kirk, and her own man. There is nothing to fear you. Christinahas her five senses. "

"No doubt. And she is to have a floor of her own and all thingsconvenient; so there is comfort and safety in the like of that. "

"What for are you worrying yourself then?"

"There's contingencies, Marget, --contingencies. And you know Christinais my one lassie, and I am sore to lose her. But 'lack a day! we cannotstop the clock. And marriage is like death--it is what we must all cometo. "

"Well Janet, your Christina has been long spared from it. She'll bepast twenty, I'm thinking. "

"Christina has had her offers, Marget. But what will you? We must allwait for the right man, or go to the de'il with the wrong one. "

Thus the conversation went on, until Janet had exhausted all theadvantages and possibilities that were incident to Christina's goodfortune. And perhaps it was out of a little feeling of weariness of thetheme, that Marget finally reminded her friend that she would be"lonely enough wanting her daughter, " adding, "I was hearing too, thatAndrew is not to be kept single much longer; and it will be what no oneexpects if Sophy Traill ever fills Christina's shoes. "

"Sophy is well enough, " answered Janet with a touch of pride. "Shesuits Andrew, and it is Andrew that has to live with her. "

"And you too, Janet?"

"Not I! Andrew is to build his own bigging. I have the life rent ofmine. But I shall be a deal in Glasgow myself. Jamie has his heartfairly set on that. "

She made this statement with an air of prideful satisfaction that wasirritating to Mistress Roy; and she was not inclined to let Janet enteranew into a description of all the fine sights she was to see, thegrand guns of preachers she was to hear, and the trips to Greenock andRothesay, which Jamie said "would just fall naturally in the way oftheir ordinary life. " So Marget showed such a hurry about her householdaffairs as made Janet uncomfortable, and she rose with a little offenceand said abruptly:--

"I must be going. I have the kirkyard to pass; and between the day andthe dark it is but a mournful spot"

"It is that, " answered Marget. "Folks should not be on the road whenthe bodiless walk. They might be in their way, and so get ill tothemselves. "

"Then good night, and good befall you;" but in spite of thebenediction, Janet felt nettled at her friend's sudden lack ofinterest. 

"It was a spat of envy no doubt, " she thought; "but Lord's sake! envyis the most insinuating vice of the lot of them. It cannot behaveitself for an hour at a time. But I'm not caring! it is better to beenvied than pitied. "

These reflections kept away the thought and fear of the "bodiless, " andshe passed the kirkyard without being mindful of their proximity; thecoming wedding, and the inevitable changes it would bring, filling herheart with all kinds of maternal anxieties, which in solitude would notbe put aside for all the promised pride and _éclat_ of the event. Asshe approached the cottage, she met Jamie and Christina coming down thecliff-side together, and she cried, "Is that you, Jamie?"

"As far as I know, it's myself, Mother, " answered Jamie. 

"Then turn back, and I'll get you a mouthful of bread and cheese. You'll be wanting it, no doubt; for love is but cold porridge to a manthat has to pull on the nets all night. "

"You have spoken the day after the fair, Mother, " answered Jamie. "Christina has looked well to me, and I am bound for the boats. "

"Well, well, your way be it. "

Then Christina turned back with her mother, and they went silently backto the cottage, their hearts being busy with the new hopes andhappiness that had come into their hitherto uneventful lives. Butreticence between this mother and daughter was not long possible; theywere too much one to have reserves; and neither being sleepy, they soonbegan to talk over again what they had discussed a hundred timesbefore--the wedding dress, and the wedding feast, and the napery andplenishing Christina was to have for her own home. They sat on thehearth, before the bit of fire which was always necessary in thatexposed and windy situation; but the door stood open, and the moonfilled the little room with its placid and confidential light. So it isno wonder, as they sat talking and vaguely wondering at Andrew'sabsence, Christina should tell her mother what Sophy had said aboutArchie Braelands. 

Janet listened with a dour face. For a moment she was glad; then shelifted the poker, and struck a block of coal into a score of pieces, and with the blow scattered the unkind, selfish thoughts which hadsprung up in her heart. 

"It is what I expected, " she answered. "Just what I expected, Christina. A lassie dressed up in muslin, and ribbons, and artificialroses, isn't the kind of a wife a fisherman wants--and sooner orlater, like goes to like. I am not blaming Sophy. She has tried hard tobe faithful to Andrew, but what then? Nothing happens for nothing; andit will be a good thing for Andrew if Sophy leaves him; a good thingfor Sophy too, I'm thinking; and better _is_ better, whatever comes orgoes. "

"But Andrew will fret himself sorely. "

"He will; no doubt of that. But Andrew has a good heart, and a goodheart breaks bad fortune. Say nothing at all to him. He is wise enoughto guide himself; though God knows! even the wisest of men will have afool in his sleeve sometimes. "

"Would there be any good in a word of warning? Just to prepare him forthe sorrow that is on the road. "

"There would be no sense in the like of it. If Andrew is to get thefling and the buffet, he will take it better from Sophy than from anyother body. Let be, Christina. And maybe things will take a turn forthe dear lad yet. Hope for it anyhow. Hope is as cheap as despair. "

"Folks will be talking anon. "

"They are talking already. Do you think that I did not hear all thisclash and clavers before? Lucky Sims, and Marget Roy, and everyfish-wife in Pittendurie, know both the beginning and the end of it. They have seen this, and they have heard that, and they think the veryworst that can be; you may be sure of that. "

"I'm thinking no wrong of Sophy. "

"Nor I. The first calamity is to be born a woman; it sets the door openfor every other sorrow--and the more so, if the poor lassie is bonnieand alone in the world. Sophy is not to blame; it is Andrew that is inthe fault. "

"How can you say such a thing as that, Mother?"

"I'll tell you how. Andrew has been that set on having a house for hiswife, that he has just lost the wife while he was saving the siller forthe house. I have told him, and better told him to bring Sophy here;but nothing but having her all to himself will he hear tell of. It ispure, wicked selfishness in the lad! He simply cannot thole her to givelook or word to any one but himself. Perfect scand'lous selfishness!That is where all the trouble has come from. "

"_Whist, Mother_! He is most at the doorstep. That is Andrew's foot, orI am much mista'en. "

"Then I'll away to Lizzie Robertson's for an hour. My heart is knockingat my lips, and I'll be saying what I would give my last bawbee tounsay. Keep a calm sough, Christina. "

"You need not tell me that, Mother. "

"Just let Andrew do the talking, and you'll be all right. It is easy toput him out about Sophy, and then to come to words. Better keep peacethan make peace. "

She lifted the stocking she was knitting, and passed out of one door asAndrew came in at the other. He entered with that air of strength andcapability so dear to the women of a household. He had on his kirksuit, and Christina thought, as he sat down by the open window, howmuch handsomer he looked in his blue guernsey and fishing cap. 

"You'll be needing a mouthful and a cup of tea, Andrew?" she asked. 

Andrew shook his head and answered pleasantly, "Not I, Christina. I hadmy tea with Sophy. Where is mother?"

"She is gone to Lizzie Robertson's for an hour. Her man is yet verybadly off. She said she would sit with him till the night turned. Lizzie is most worn out, I'm sure, by this time. "

"Where is Jamie?"

"He said he was going to the fishing. He will have caught his boat, orhe would have been back here again by this hour. "

"Then we are alone? And like to be for an hour? eh, Christina?"

"There will be no one here till mother comes at the turn of the night. What for are you asking the like of them questions, Andrew?"

"Because I have been seeking this hour. I have things to tell you, Christina, that must never go beyond yourself; no, not even to mother, unless the time comes for it. I am not going to ask you to give me yourword or promise. You are Christina Binnie, and that is enough. "

"I should say so. The man or woman who promises with an oath is not tobe trusted. There is you and me, and God for our witness. What ever youhave to say, the hearer and the witness is sufficient. "

"I know that. Christina, I have been this day to Edinburgh, and I havebrought home from the bank six hundred pounds. "

"Six hundred pounds, Andrew! It is not believable. "

"_Whist, woman!_ I have six hundred pounds in my breast pocket, and Ihave siller in the house beside. I have sold my share in the'_Sure-Giver_, ' and I have been saving money ever since I put on myfirst sea-boots. "

"I have always thought that saving money was your great fault, Andrew. "

"I know. I know it myself only too well. Many's the Sabbath day I havebeen only a bawbee Christian, when I ought to have put a shilling inthe plate. But I just could not help it. "

"Yes, you could. "

"Tell me how, then. "

"Just try and believe that you are putting your collection into thehand of God Almighty, and not into a siller plate. Then you will putthe shilling down and not the bawbee. "

"Perhaps. The thought is not a new one to me, and often I have forcedmyself to give a white shilling instead of a penny-bit at the kirkdoor, just to get the better of the de'il once in a while. But for allthat I know right well that saving siller is my besetting sin. However, I have been saving for a purpose, and now I am most ready to take thedesire of my heart. "

"It is a good desire; I am sure of that, Andrew. "

"I think it is; a very good one. What do you say to this? I am going toput all my siller in a carrying steamer--one of the Red-White fleet. And more to it. I am to be skipper, and sail her from the North Sea toLondon. "

"Will she be a big boat, Andrew?"

"She will carry three thousand 'trunks' of fish in her ice chambers. What do you think of that?"

"I am perfectly dazzled and dumbfoundered with the thought of it. Youwill be a man of some weight in the world, when that comes to pass. "

"I will be Captain Binnie, of the North Sea fleet, and Sophy will havereason enough for her muslins, and ribbons, and trinkum-trankums--Godbless her!"

"You are a far forecasting man, Andrew. "

"I have been able to clear my day and my way, by the help ofProvidence, so far, " said Andrew, with a pious reservation; "just as mydecent kirk-going father was before me. But that is neither here northere, and please God, this will be a monumental year in my life. "

"It will that. To get the ship and the wife you want, within its twelvebounds, is a blessing beyond ordinary. I am proud to hear tell of suchgood fortune coming your way, Andrew. "

"Ay; I knew you would. But I have the siller, and I have the skill, andwhy shouldn't I lift myself a bit?"

"And Sophy with you? Sophy will be an ornament to any place you lifther to. And you may come to own a fishing fleet yourself some day, Andrew!"

"I am thinking of it, " he answered, with the air of a man who feelshimself master of his destiny. "But come ben the house with me, Christina. I have something to show you. "

So they went together into an inner room, and Andrew moved aside aheavy chest of drawers which stood against the wall. Then he lifted ashort plank beneath them, and putting his arm far under the flooring, he pulled forth a tin box. 

The key to it was in the leather purse in his breast pocket, and therewas a little tantalizing delay in its opening. But when the lid waslifted, Christina saw a hoard of golden sovereigns, and a large roll ofBank of England bills. Without a word Andrew added the money in hispocket to this treasured store, and in an equal silence the flooringand drawers were replaced, and then, without a word, the brother andsister left the room together. 

There was however a look of exultation on Christina's face, and whenAndrew said "You understand now, Christina?" she answered in a voicefull of tender pride. 

"I have seen. And I am sure that Andrew Binnie is not the man to bemoving without knowing the way he is going to take. "

"I am not moving at all, Christina, for three months or perhaps longer. The ship I want is in dry dock until the winter, and it is all thiswealth of siller that I am anxious about. If I should go to the fishingsome night, and never come back, it would be the same as if it went tothe bottom of the sea with me, not a soul but myself knowing it wasthere. "

"But not now, Andrew. You be to tell me what I am to do if the like ofthat should happen, and your wish will be as the law of God to me. "

"I am sure of that, Christina. Take heed then. If I should go out somenight and the sea should get me, as it gets many better men, then youwill lift the flooring, and take the money out of hiding. And you willgive Sophy Traill one half of all there is. The other half is formother and yourself. And you will do no other way with a single bawbee, or the Lord will set His face against it. "

"I will do just what you tell me. "

"I know it. To think different, would be just incredible nonsense. Thatis for the possibilities, Christina. For the days that are coming andgoing, I charge you, Christina Binnie, never to name to mortal creaturethe whereabouts of the money I have shown you. "

"Your words are in my heart, Andrew. They will never pass my lips. "

"Then that is enough of the siller. I have had a happy day with Sophy, and O the grace of the lassie! And the sweet innocence and lovesomenessof her pretty ways! She is budding into a very rose of beauty! I boughther a ring with a shining stone in it, and a gold brooch, and a bonniepiece of white muslin with the lace for the trimming of it; and the joyof the little beauty set me laughing with delight. I would not call theQueen my cousin, this night. "

"Sophy ought to love you with all her heart and soul, Andrew. "

"She does. She has arled her heart and hand to me. I thank _The Best_for this great mercy. "

"And you can trust her without a doubt, dear lad?"

"I have as much faith in Sophy Traill, as I have in my Bible. "

"That is the way to trust. It is the way I trust Jamie. But you'll mindhow ready bad hearts and ill tongues are to give you a sense ofsuspicion. So you'll not heed a word of that kind, Andrew?"

"Not one. The like of such folk cannot give me a moment'strouble--there was Kirsty Johnston--"

"You may put Kirsty Johnston, and all she says to the wall. "

"I'm doing it; but she called after me this very evening, 'take care ofyourself, Andrew Binnie. ' 'And what for, Mistress?' I asked. 'A beautyis hard to catch and worse to keep, ' she answered; and then the laughof her! But I didn't mind it, not I; and I didn't give her word or lookin reply; for well I know that women's tongues cannot be stopped, noteven by the Fourth Commandment. "

Then Andrew sat down and was silent, for a happiness like his is felt, and not expressed. And Christina moved softly about, preparing thefrugal supper, and thinking about her lover in the fishing boats, until, the table being spread, Andrew drew his chair close to hissister's chair, and spreading forth his hands ere he sat down, saidsolemnly;--

_"This is the change of Thy Right Hand, O Thou Most High! Thou artstrong to strengthen; gracious to help; ready to better; mighty tosave, Amen!"_

It was the prayer of his fathers for centuries--the prayer they hadused in all times of their joy and sorrow; the prayer that had grown inhis own heart from his birth, and been recorded for ever in the sagasof his mother's people. 

CHAPTER III

THE AILING HEART

Not often in her life had Christina felt so happy as she did at thisfortunate hour. Two things especially made her heart sing for joy; onewas the fact that Jamie had never been so tender, so full of joyfulanticipation, so proud of his love and his future, as in theirinterview of that evening. The very thought of his beauty and goodnessmade her walk unconsciously to the door, and look over the sea towardsthe fishing-grounds, where he was doubtless working at the nets, andthinking of her. And next to this intensely personal cause ofhappiness, was the fact that of all his mates, and even before hismother or Sophy, Andrew had chosen _her_ for his confidant. She lovedher brother very much, and she respected him with an equal fervour. Fewmen, in Christina's opinion, were able to stand in Andrew Binnie'sshoes, and she felt, as she glanced at his strong, thoughtful face, that he was a brother to be very proud of. 

He sat on the hearth with his arms crossed above his head, and a sweet, grave smile irradiating his strong countenance, Christina knew that hewas thinking of Sophy, and as soon as she had spread the frugal meal, and they had sat down to their cakes and cheese, Andrew began to talkof her. He seemed to have dismissed absolutely the thought of thehidden money, and to be wholly occupied with memories of his love. Andas he talked of her, his face grew vivid and tender, and he spoke likea poet, though he knew it not. 

"She is that sweet, Christina, it is like kissing roses to kiss her. Her wee white hand on my red face is like a lily leaf. I saw it in thelooking-glass, as we sat at tea. And the ring, with the shining stone, set it finely. I am the happiest man in the world, Christina!"

"I am glad with all my heart for you, Andrew, and for Sophy too. It isa grand thing to be loved as you love her. "

"She is the sweetness of all the years that are gone, and of all thatare to come. "

"And Sophy loves you as you love her? I hope she does that, my dearAndrew. "

"She will do. She will do! no doubt of it, Christina! She is shy now, and a bit frighted at the thought of marriage--she is such a gentlelittle thing--but I will make her love me; yes I will! I will make herlove me as I love her. What for not?"

"To be sure. Love must give and take equal, to be satisfied. I knowthat myself. I am loving Jamie just as he loves me. "

"He is a brawly fine lad. Peddie was saying there wasn't a betterworker, nor a merrier one, in the whole fleet. "

"A good heart is always a merry one, Andrew. "

"I'm not doubting it. "

Thus they talked with kind mutual sympathy and confidence; and acertain sweet serenity and glad composure spread through the littleroom, and the very atmosphere was full of the peace and hope ofinnocent love. But some divine necessity of life ever joins joy andsorrow together; and even as the brother and sister sat speaking oftheir happiness, Christina heard a footstep that gave her heart ashock. Andrew was talking of Sophy, and he was not conscious of Jamie'sapproach until the lad entered the house. His face was flushed, andthere was an air of excitement about him which Andrew regarded with aninstant displeasure and suspicion. He did not answer Jamie's greeting, but said dourly:--

"You promised to take my place in the boat to-night, Jamie Logan; thenwhat for are you here, at this hour? I see one thing, and that is, youcannot be trusted to. "

"I deserve a reproof, Andrew, for I have earned it, " answered Jamie;and there was an air of candid regret in his manner which struckChristina, but which was not obvious to Andrew as he added, "I'll notlie to you, anent the matter. "

"You needn't. Nothing in life is worth a lie. "

"That may be, or not be. But it was just this way. I met an old friendas I was on my way to the boat, and he was poor, and hungry, andthirsty, and I be to take him to the 'public, ' and give him a bite anda sup. Then the whiskey set us talking of old times and oldacquaintances, and I clean forgot the fishing; and the boats went awaywithout me. And that is all there is to it. "

"Far too much! Far too much! A nice lad you will be to trust to in abig ship full of men and women and children! A glass of whiskey, and acrack in the public house, set before your promised word and your duty!How will I trust Christina to you? When you make Andrew Binnie apromise, he expects you to keep it. Don't forget that! It may be ofsome consequence to you if you are wanting his sister for a wife. "

With these words Andrew rose, went into his own room without a word ofgood-night, and with considerable show of annoyance, closed and boltedthe door behind him. Jamie sat down by Christina, and waited for her tospeak. 

But it was not easy for her to do so. Try as she would, she could notshow him the love she really felt. She was troubled at his neglect ofduty, and so sorry that he, of all others, should have been the one tocast the first shadow across the bright future which she had beenanticipating before his ill-timed arrival. It was love out of time andseason, and lacked the savour and spontaneity which are the result ofproper conditions. Jamie felt the unhappy atmosphere, and was offended. 

"I'm not wanted here, it seems, " he said in a tone of injury. 

"You are wanted in the boat, Jamie; that is where the fault lies. Youshould have been there. There is no outgait from that fact. "

"Well then, I have said I was sorry. Is not that enough?"

"For me, yes. But Andrew likes a man to be prompt and sure in business. It is the only way to make money. "

"Make money! I can make money among Andrew Binnie's feet, for all hethinks so much of himself. A friend's claims are before money-making. I'll stand to that, till all the seas go dry. "

"Andrew has very strict ideas; you must have found that out, Jamie, andyou should not go against them. "

"Andrew is headstrong as the north-wind. He goes clear o'er the boundsboth sides. Everything is the very worst, or the very best. I'm notdenying I was a bit wrong; but I consider I had a good excuse for it. "

"Is there ever a good excuse for doing wrong, Jamie? But we will letthe affair drop out of mind and talk. There are pleasanter things tospeak of, I'm sure. "

But the interview was a disappointment. Jamie went continually back toAndrew's reproof, and Christina herself seemed to be under a spell. Shecould not find the gentle words that would have soothed her lover, hermanner became chill and silent; and Jamie finally went away, much hurtand offended. Yet she followed him to the door, and watched him kickingthe stones out of his path as he went rapidly down the cliff-side. Andif she had been near enough, she would have heard him mutteringangrily:--

"I'm not caring! I'm not caring! The moral pride of they Binnies isridic'lus! One would require to be a very saint to come within sight ofthem. "

Such a wretched ending to an evening that had begun with so much hopeand love! Christina stood sadly at the open door and watched her loveracross the lonely sands, and felt the natural disappointment of thecircumstances. Then the moon began to rise, and when she noticed this, she remembered how late her mother was away from home, and a slightuneasiness crept into her heart. She threw a plaid around her head, andwas going to the neighbour's where she expected to find her, when Janetappeared. 

She came up to the cliff slowly, and her face was far graver thanordinary when she entered the cottage, and with a pious ejaculationthrew off her shawl. 

"What kept you at all, Mother? I was just going to seek you. "

"Watty Robertson has won away at last. "

"When did he die?"

"He went away with the tide. He was called just at the turn. Ah, Christina, it is loving and dying all the time! Life is love and death;for what is our life? It is even a vapour that appeareth for a littletime, and then vanisheth away. "

"But Watty was well ready for the change, Mother?"

"He went away with a smile. And I staid by poor Lizzie, for I havedrank of the same cup, and I know how bitter was the taste of it. OldElspeth McDonald stretched the corpse, and her and I had a change ofwords; but Lizzie was with me. "

"What for did you clash at such a like time?"

"She covered up his face, and I said: 'Stop your hand, Elspeth. Don'tyou go to cover Watty's face now. He never did ill to any one while helived, and there's no need to hide his face when he is dead. ' And wehad a bit stramash about it, for I can't abide to hide up the face thatis honest and well loved, and Lizzie said I was right, and so Elspethwent off in a tiff. "

"I think there must be 'tiffs' floating about in the air to-night. Jamie and Andrew have had a falling out, and Jamie went away far lessthan pleased with me. "

"What's to do between them?"

"Jamie met with an old friend who was hungry and thirsty, and he wentwith him to the 'public' instead of going to the boat for Andrew, as hepromised to do. You know how Andrew feels about a word broken. "

"_Toots_! Andrew Binnie has a deal to learn yet. You should have toldhim it was better to show mercy, than to stick at a mouthful of words. Had you never a soft answer to throw at the two fractious fools?"

"How could I interfere?"

"Finely! If you don't know the right way to throw with a thrawn man, like Andrew, and to come round a soft man, like Jamie, I'm sorry foryou! A woman with a thimble-full of woman-wit could ravel them bothup--ravel them up like a cut of worsteds. "

"Well, the day is near over. The clock will chap twelve in ten minutes, and I'm going to my bed. I'm feared you won't sleep much, Mother. Youlook awake to your instep. "

"Never mind. I have some good thoughts for the sleepless. Folks don'tsleep well after seeing a man with wife and bairns round him look deathand judgment in the face. "

"But Watty looked at them smiling, you said?"

"He did. Watty's religion went to the bottom and extremity of things. I'll be asking this night for grace to live with, and then I'll getgrace to die with when my hour comes. You needn't fash your heart aboutme. Sleeping or waking, I am in His charge. Nor about Jamie; he'll beall right the morn. Nor about Andrew, for I'll tell him not to make aPharisee of himself--he has his own failing, and it isn't far to seek. "

And it is likely Janet had her intended talk with her son, for nothingmore was said to Jamie about his neglect of duty; and the little cloudwas but a passing one, and soon blew over. Circumstances favouredoblivion. Christina's love encompassed both her brother and her lover, and Janet's womanly tact turned every shadow into sunshine, anddisarmed all suspicious or doubtful words. Also, the fishing season wasan unusually good one; every man was of price, and few men were betterworth their price than Jamie Logan. So an air of prosperity andhappiness filled each little cottage, and Andrew Binnie was certainlysaving money--a condition of affairs that always made him easy to livewith. 

As for the women of the village, they were in the early day up to theirshoulders in work, and in the more leisurely evenings, they hadChristina's marriage and marriage presents to talk about. The girl hadmany friends and relatives far and near, and every one remembered her. It was a set of china from an aunt in Crail, or napery from somecousins in Kirkcaldy, or quilts from her father's folk in Largo, and soon, in a very charming monotony. Now and then a bit of silver came, andonce a very pretty American clock. And there was not a quilt or atablecloth, a bit of china or silver, a petticoat or a ribbon, that thewhole village did not examine, and discuss, and offer theircongratulations over. 

Christina and her mother quite enjoyed this popular manifestation ofinterest, and Jamie was not at all averse to the good-naturedfamiliarity. And though Andrew withdrew from such occasions, andappeared to be rather annoyed than pleased by the frequent intrusion ofstrange women, neither Janet nor Christina heeded his attitude verymuch. 

"What for would we be caring?" queried the mother. "There is just onewoman in the world to Andrew. If it was Sophy's wedding-presents now, he would be in a wonder over them! But he is not wanting you to marryat all, Christina. Men are a selfish lot. Somehow, I think he has takena doubt or a dislike to Jamie. He thinks he isn't good enough for you. "

"He is as good as I want him. I'm feared for men as particular asAndrew. They are whiles gey ill to live with. Andrew has not had asmile for a body for a long time, and he has been making money. Iwonder if there is aught wrong between Sophy and himself. "

"You might away to Largo and ask after the girl. She hasn't been herein a good while. And I'm thinking yonder talk she had with you anentArchie Braelands wasn't all out of her own head. "

So that afternoon Christina put on her kirk dress, and went to Largo tosee Sophy. Her walk took her over a lonely stretch of country, though, as she left the coast, she came to a lovely land of meadows, with hereand there waving plantations of young spruce or fir trees. Passing theentrance to one of these sheltered spots, she saw a servant drivingleisurely back and forward a stylish dog-cart; and she had a suddenintuition that it belonged to Braelands. She looked keenly into thegreen shadows, but saw no trace of any human being; yet she had notgone far, ere she was aware of light footsteps hurrying behind her, andbefore she could realise the fact, Sophy called her in a breathless, fretful way "to wait a minute for her. " The girl came up flushed andangry-looking, and asked Christina, "whatever brought her that far?"

"I was going to Largo to see you. Mother was getting worried about you. It's long since you were near us. " "I am glad I met you. For I waswearied with the sewing to-day, and I asked Aunt to let me have aholiday to go and see you; and now we can go home together, and shewill never know the differ. You must not tell her but what I have beento Pittendurie. My goodness! It is lucky I met you. "

"But where have you been, Sophy?"

"I have been with a friend, who gave me a long drive. "

"Who would that be?"

"Never you mind. There is nothing wrong to it. You may trust me forthat, Christina. I was fairly worn out, and Aunt hasn't a morsel ofpity. She thinks I ought to be glad to sew from Monday morning toSaturday night, and I tell you it hurts me, and gives me a cough, and Ihad to get a breath of sea-air or die for it. So a friend gave me whatI wanted. "

"But if you had come to our house, you could have got the sea-airfinely. Sophy! Sophy! I am misdoubting what you tell me. How came youin the wood?"

"We were taking a bit walk by ourselves there. I love the smell of thepines, and the peace, and the silence. It rests me; and I didn't wantfolks spying, and talking, and going with tales to Aunt. She ties me upshorter than needs be now. "

"He was a mean fellow to leave you here all by yourself. "

"I made him do it. Goodness knows, he is fain enough to be seen by highand low with me. But Andrew would not like it; he is thatjealous-natured--and I just _be_ to have some rest and fresh air. "

"Andrew would gladly give you both. "

"Not he! He is away to the fishing, or about his business, one way oranother, all the time. And I am that weary of stitch, stitch, stitching, I could cry at the thought of it. "

"Was it Archie Braelands that gave you the drive?"

"Ay, it was. Archie is just my friend, nothing more. I have told him, and better told him, that I am to marry Andrew. "

"He is a scoundrel then to take you out. "

"He is nothing of the kind. He is just a friend. I am doing Andrew nowrong, and myself a deal of good. "

"Then why are you feared for people seeing you?"

"I am not feared. But I don't want to be the wonder and the talk ofevery idle body. And I am not able to bear my aunt's nag, nag, nag atme. I wish I was married. It isn't right of Andrew to leave me so muchto myself. It will be his own fault if he loses me altogether. I amworn out with Aunt Kilgour, and my life is a fair weariness to me. "

"Andrew is getting everything brawly ready for you. I wish I could tellyou what grand plans he has for your happiness. Be true to Andrew, Sophy, and you will be the happiest bride, and the best loved wife inall Scotland. "

"Plans! What plans? What has he told you?"

"I am not free to speak, Sophy. I should not have said a word at all. Ihope you will just forget I have. "

"Indeed I will not! I will make Andrew tell me his plans. Why should hetell you, and not me? It is a shame to treat me that way, and he shallhear tell of it. "

"Sophy! Sophy! I would as lief you killed me as told Andrew I had givenyou a hint of his doings. He would never forgive me. I can no forgivemyself. Oh what a foolish, wicked woman I have been to say a word toyou!" and Christina burst into passionate weeping. 

"_Whist_! Christina; I'll never tell him, not I! I know well youslipped the words to pleasure me. But giff-gaff makes us good friends, and so you must just walk to the door with me and pass a word with myaunt, and say neither this nor that about me, and I will forget youever said Andrew had such a thing as a 'plan' about me. "

The proposal was not to Christina's mind, but she was ready to face anycontingency rather than let Andrew know she had given the slightesthint of his intentions. She understood what joy he had in the thoughtof telling his great news to Sophy at its full time, and how angry hewould naturally feel at any one who interfered with his designs. In amoment, without intention, with the very kindest of motives, she hadbroken her word to her brother, and she was as miserable as a womancould be over the unhappy slip. And Sophy's proposal added to herremorse. It made her virtually connive at Sophy's intercourse withArchie Braelands, and she felt herself to be in a great strait. Inorder to favour her brother she had spoken hastily, and the swiftpunishment of her folly was that she must now either confess her faultor tacitly sanction a wrong against him. 

For the present, she could see no way out of the difficulty. To tellAndrew would be to make him suspicious on every point. He would thendoubtless find some other hiding place for his money, and if anyaccident did happen, her mother, and Sophy, and all Andrew loved, wouldsuffer for her indiscretion. She took Sophy's reiterated promise, andthen walked with the girl to her aunt's house. It was a neat stonedwelling, with some bonnets and caps in the front window, and when thedoor was opened, a bell rang, and Mistress Kilgour came hastily from aninner room. She looked pleased when she saw Sophy and Christina, andsaid:--

"Come in, Christina. I am glad you brought Sophy home in such goodtime. For I'm in a state of perfect frustration this afternoon. Here'sa bride gown and bonnet to make, and a sound of more work coming. "

"Who is to be married, Miss Kilgour?"

"Madame Kilrin of Silverhawes--a second affair, Christina, and she morethan middle-aged. "

"She is rich, though?"

"That's it! rich, but made up of odds and ends, and but one eye to seewith: a prelatic woman, too, seeking all things her own way. "

"And the man? Who is he?"

"He is a lawyer. Them gentry have their fingers in every pie, hot orcold. However, I'm wishing them nothing but good. Madame is a constantcustomer. Come, come, Christina, you are not going already?"

"I am hurried to-night. Mistress Kilgour. Mother is alone. Andrew isaway to Greenock on business. "

"So you came back with Sophy. I am glad you did. There are some folksthat are o'er ready to take charge of the girl, and some that seem tothink she can take charge of herself. Oh, she knows fine what I mean!"And Miss Kilgour pointed her fore-finger at Sophy and shook her headuntil all the flowers in her cap and all the ringlets on her front hairdangled in unison. 

Sophy had turned suddenly sulky and made no reply, and Miss Kilgourcontinued: "It is her way always, when she has been to your house, Christina. Whatever do you say to her? Is there anything agec betweenAndrew and herself? Last week and the week before, she came back fromPittendurie in a temper no saint could live with. "

"I'm so miserable. Aunt. I am miserable every hour of my life. "

"And you wouldn't be happy unless you were miserable, Sophy. Don't mindher talk, Christina. Young things in love don't know what they want. "

"I am sick, Aunt. "

"You are in love, Sophy, and that is all there is to it. Don't go, Christina. Have a cup of tea first?"

"I cannot stop any longer. Good-bye, Sophy. I'll tell Andrew to comeand give you a walk to-morrow. Shall I?"

"If you like to. He will not come until Sunday, though; and then hewill be troubled about walking on the Sabbath day. I'm not caring to goout. "

"That is a lie, Sophy Traill!" cried her aunt. "It is the only thingyou do care about. "

"You had better go home, Christina, " said Sophy, with a sarcasticsmile, "or you will be getting a share of temper that does not belongto you. I am well used to it. "

Christina made an effort to consider this remark as a joke, and underthis cover took her leave. She was thankful to be alone with herself. Her thoughts and feelings were in a tumult; she could not bring anykind of reason out of their chaos. Her chagrin at her own folly wassharp and bitter. It made her cry out against herself as she trodrapidly her homeward road. Almost inadvertently, because it was theshortest and most usual way, she took the route that led her pastBraelands. The great house was thrown open, and on the lawns was acrowd of handsomely dressed men and women, drinking tea at littletables set under the trees and among the shrubbery. Christina merelyglanced at the brave show of shifting colour, and passed more quicklyonward, the murmur of conversation and the ripple of laughter pursuingher a little way, for the evening was warm and quiet. 

She thought of Sophy among this gay crowd, and felt the incongruity ofthe situation, and a sense of anger sprung up in her breast at thegirl's wicked impatience and unfaithfulness. It had caused her also toerr, for she had been tempted by it to speak words which had been aviolation of her own promise, and yet which had really done no good. 

"She was always one of those girls that led others into trouble, " shereflected. "Many a scolding she has got me when I was a wee thing, andto think that now! with the promise to Andrew warm on my lips, I haveput myself in her power! It is too bad! It is not believable!"

She was glad when she came within sight of the sea; it was like aglimpse of home. The damp, fresh wind with its strong flavour of brineput heart into her, and the few sailors and fishers she met, with theirsweethearts on their arms and their blue shirts open at their throats, had all a merry word or two to say to her. When she reached her home, she found Andrew sitting at a little table looking over some papersfull of strange marks and columns of figures. His quick glance, and thequiet assurance of his love contained in it, went sorely to her heart. She would have fallen at his feet and confessed her unadvised admissionto Sophy gladly, but she doubted, whether it would be the kindest andwisest thing to do. 

And then Janet joined them, and she had any number of questions to askabout Sophy, and Christina, to escape being pressed on this subject, began to talk with forced interest of Madame Kilrin's marriage. So, between this and that, the evening got over without suspicion, andChristina carried her miserable sense of disloyalty to bed and to sleepwith her--literally to sleep, for she dreamed all night of thecircumstance, and awakened in the morning with a heart as heavy aslead. 

"But it is just what I deserve!" she said crossly to herself, as shelaced her shoes, "what need had I to be caring about Sophy Traill andher whims? She is a dissatisfied lass at the best, and her love affairsare beyond my sorting. Serves you right, Christina Binnie! You mightknow, if anybody might, that they who put their oar into another's boatare sure to get their fingers rapped. They deserve it too. "

However, Christina could not willingly dwell long on sorrowfulsubjects. She was always inclined to subdue trouble swiftly, or else toshake it away from her. For she lived by intuition, rather than byreason; and intuition is born of, and fed by, home affection and devoutreligion. Something too of that insight which changes faith intoknowledge, and which is the birthright of primitive natures, was hers, and she divined, she knew not how, that Sophy would be true to herpromise, and not say a word which would lead Andrew to doubt her. Andso far she was right. Sophy had many faults, but the idea of breakingher contract with Christina did not even occur to her. 

She wondered what plans Andrew had, and what good surprise he waspreparing for her, but she was in no special hurry to find it out. Theknowledge might bring affairs to a permanent crisis between her andAndrew, --might mean marriage--and Sophy dreaded to face this question, with all its isolating demands. Her "friendship" with Archie Braelandswas very sweet to her; she could not endure to think of any event whichmust put a stop to it. She enjoyed Archie's regrets and pleadings. Sheliked to sigh a little and cry a little over her hard fate; to besympathised with for it; to treat it as if she could not escape fromit; and yet to be nursing in her heart a passionate hope to do so. 

And after all, the process of reflection is unnatural and uncommon tonine tenths of humanity; and so Christina lifted her daily work andinterests, and tried to forget her fault. And indeed, as the weeks wenton, she tried to believe it had been no fault, for Sophy was muchkinder to Andrew for some time; this fact being readily discernible inAndrew's cheerful moods, and in the more kindly interest which he thentook in his home matters. 

"For it is well with us, when it is well with Sophy Traill, and we havethe home weather she lets us have, " Janet often remarked. The assertionhad a great deal of truth in it. Sophy, from her chair in MistressKilgour's workroom, greatly influenced the domestic happiness of theBinnie cottage, even though they neither saw her, nor spoke her name. But her moods made Andrew happy or miserable, and Andrew's moods madeJanet and Christina happy or miserable; so sure and so wonderful athing is human solidarity. Yes indeed! For what one of us has not knownsome man or woman, never seen, who holds the thread of a destiny andyet has no knowledge concerning it. This thought would make life adesperate tangle if we did not also know that One, infinite in powerand mercy, guides every event to its predestined and its wisest end. 

For a little while after Christina's visit, Sophy was particularly kindto Andrew; then there came a sudden change, and Christina noticed thather brother returned from Largo constantly with a heavy step and agloomy face. Occasionally he admitted to her that he had been "sorelydisappointed, " but as a general thing he shut himself in his room andsulked as only men know how to sulk, till the atmosphere of the housewas tingling with suppressed temper, and every one was on the edge ofwords that the tongue meant to be sharp as a sword. 

One morning in October, Christina met her brother on the sands, and hesaid, "I will take the boat and give you a sail, if you like, Christina. There is only a pleasant breeze. "

"I wish you would, Andrew, " she answered. "This little northwester willblow every weariful thought away. "

"I'm feared I have been somewhat cross and ill to do for, lately. Mother says so. "

"Mother does not say far wrong. You have lost your temper often, Andrew, and consequent your common sense. And it is not like you to beunfair, not to say unkind; you have been that more than once, and totwo who love you dearly. "

Andrew said no more until they were on the bay, then he let the oarsdrift, and asked:--

"What did you think of Sophy the last time you saw her? Tell me truly, Christina. "

"Who knows aught about Sophy? She hardly knows her own mind. You cannottell what she is thinking about by her face, any more than you can tellwhat she is going to do by her words. She is as uncertain as the wind, and it has changed since you lifted the oars. Is there anything new tofret yourself over?"

"Ay, there is. I cannot get sight of her. "

"Are you twenty-seven years old, and of such a beggary of capacity asnot to be able to concert time and place to see her?"

"But if she herself is against seeing me, then how am I going tomanage?"

"What way did you find out that she was against seeing you?"

"Whatever else could I think, when I get no other thing but excuses?First, she was gone away for a week's rest, and Mistress Kilgour said Ihad better not trouble her--she was that nervous. "

"Where did she go to?"

"I don't believe she was out of her aunt's house. I am sure the postmanwas astonished when I told him she was away, and her aunt's face wasvery confused-like. Then when I went again she had a headache, andcould hardly speak a word to me; and she never named about the week'sholiday. And the next time there was a ball dress making; and the nextshe had gone to the minister's for her 'token, ' and when I said I wouldgo there and meet her, I was told not to think of such a thing; and soon, and so on, Christina. There is nothing but put-offs and put-bys, and my heart is full of sadness and fearful wonder. "

"And if you do see her, what then, Andrew?"

"She is that low-spirited I do not know how to talk to her. She haslittle to say, and sits with her seam, and her eyes cast down, and allher pretty, merry ways are gone far away. I wonder where! Do you thinkshe is ill, Christina?" he asked drearily. 

"No, I do not, Andrew. "

"Her mother died of a consumption, when she was only a young thing, youknow. "

"That is no reason why Sophy should die of a consumption. Andrew, haveyou ever told her what your plans are? Have you told her she may be alady and live in London if it pleases her? Have you told her that youwill soon be _Captain Binnie_ of the North Sea fleet?"

"No, no! What for would I bribe the girl? I want her free given love. Iwant her to marry plain Andrew Binnie. I will tell her everything thevery hour she is my wife. That is the joy I look forward to. And it isright, is it not?"

"No. It is all wrong. It is all wrong. Girls like men that have thespirit to win siller and push their way in the world. "

"I cannot thole the thought of Sophy marrying me for my money. "

"You think o'er much of your money. Ask yourself whether in gettingmoney you have got good, or only gold. And about marrying Sophy, it isnot in your hand. Marriages are made in heaven, and unless there hasbeen a booking of your two names above, I am feared all your courtingbelow will come to little. Yet it is your duty to do all you can to winthe girl you want; and I can tell you what will win Sophy Traill, ifanything on earth will win her. " Then she pointed out to him how fondSophy was of fine dress and delicate living; how she loved roses, andviolets, and the flowers of the garden, so much better than the pale, salt blossoms of the sea rack, however brilliant their colours; how sheadmired such a house as Braelands, and praised the glory of thepeacock's trailing feathers. "The girl is not born for a poor man'swife, " she continued, "her heart cries out for gold, and all that goldcan buy; and if you are set on Sophy, and none but Sophy, you will haveto win her with what she likes best, or else see some other man do so. "

"Then I will be buying her, and not winning her. "

"Oh you unspeakable man! Your conceit is just extraordinary! If youwanted any other good thing in life, from a big ship to a gold ring, would you not expect to buy it? Would your loving it, and wanting it, be sufficient? Jamie Logan knew well what he was about, when he broughtus the letter from the Hendersons' firm. I love Jamie very dearly; butI'm free to confess the letter came into my consideration. "

Talking thus, with the good wind blowing the words into his heart, Christina soon inspired Andrew with her own ideas and confidence Hisface cleared; he began to row with his natural energy; and as theystepped on the wet sands together, he said almost joyfully:--

"I will take your advice, Christina. I will go and tell Sophyeverything. "

"Then she will smile in your face, she will put her hand in your hand;maybe, she will give you a kiss, for she will be thinking in her heart, 'how brave and how clever my Andrew is. ' And he will be taking me toLondon and making me a lady!' and such thoughts breed love, Andrew. Youare well enough, and few men handsomer or better--unless it be JamieLogan--but it isn't altogether the man; it is what the man _can do_. "

"I'll go and see Sophy to-morrow. "

"Why not to-day?"

"She is going to Mariton House to fit a dress and do some sewing. Heraunt told me so. "

"If I was you, I would not let her sew for strangers any longer. Go andask her to marry you at once, and do not take 'no' from her. "

"Your words stir my heart to the bottom of it, and I will do as yousay, Christina; for Sophy has grown into my life, like my own folk, andthe sea, and the stars, and my boat, and my home. And if she will loveme the better for the news I have to tell her, I am that far gone inlove with her I must even put wedding on that ground. Win her I must;or else die for her. "

"Win her, surely; die for her, nonsense! No man worth the name of manwould die because a woman wouldn't marry him. God has made more thanone good woman, more than one fair woman. "

"Only one woman for Andrew Binnie. "

"To be sure, if you choose to limit yourself in that way. I thinkbetter of you. And as for dying for a woman, I don't believe in it. "

"Poor Matt Ballantyne broke his heart about Jessie Graham. "

"It was a very poor heart then. Nothing mends so soon as a good heart. It trusts in the Omnipotent, and gets strength for its need, and thenbegins to look around for good it can do, or make for others, or taketo itself. If Matt broke his heart for Jessie, Jessie would have beenpoorly cared for by such a weak kind of a heart. She is better off withNeil McAllister, no doubt. "

"You have done me good, Christina. I have not heard so many soundobserves in a long time. "

And with that Janet came to the cliff-top and called to them to hurry. "Step out!" she cried, "here is Jamie Logan with a pocket full of greatnews; and the fish is frying itself black, while you two aredaundering, as if it was your very business and duty to keep hungryfolk waiting their dinner for you. "

CHAPTER IV

THE LAST OF THE WHIP

With a joyful haste Christina went forward, leaving her brother tofollow in more sober fashion. Jamie came to the cliff-top to meet her, and Janet from the cottage door beamed congratulations and radiantsympathy. 

"I have got my berth on the Line, Christina! I am to sail next Fridayfrom Greenock, so I'll start at once, my dearie! And I am the happiestlad in Fife to-day!"

He had his arms around her as he spoke, and he kissed her smiles andglad exclamations off her lips before she could put them into words. Then Andrew joined them, and after clasping hands with Jamie andChristina, he went slowly into the cottage, leaving the lovers aloneoutside. Janet was all excitement. 

"I'm like to greet with the good news, Andrew, " she said, "it came sounexpected Jamie was just daundering over the sands, kind ofdown-hearted, he said, and wondering if he would stay through thewinter and fish with Peddle or not, when little Maggie Johnston criedout, 'there is a big letter for you, Jamie Logan, ' and he went and gotit, and, lo and behold! it was from the Hendersons themselves! And theyare needing Jamie now, and he'll just go at once, he says. There's luckfor you! I am both laughing and crying with the pride and the pleasureof it!"

"I wouldn't make such a fuss, anyway, Mother. It is what Jamie has beenlooking for and expecting, and I am glad he has won to it at last. "

"Fuss indeed! Plenty of 'fuss' made over sorrow; why not over joy? Andif you think me a fool for it, I'm not sure but I might call you myneighbour, if it was only Sophy Traill or her affairs to be 'fussed'over. "

"Never mind Sophy, Mother. It is Jamie and Christina now, and Christinaknows her happiness is dear to me as my own. "

"Well then, show it, Andrew. Show it, my lad! We must do what we can toput heart into poor Jamie; for when all is said and done, he is goingto foreign parts and leaving love and home behind. " And she walked tothe door and looked at Jamie and Christina, who were standing on thecliff-edge together, deeply engaged in a conversation that was of thehighest interest to themselves. "I have fancied you have been a bit shywith Jamie since yon time he set an old friend before his promise toyou, Andrew; but what then?"

"I wish Christina had married among our own folk. I have no wrong tosay in particular of Jamie Logan, but I think my sister might have madeher life with some good man a bit closer to her. "

"I thought, Andrew, that you were able to look sensibly at what comesand goes. If it was a matter of business, you would be the first to seethe advantage of building your dyke with the stones you could get at. And you may believe me or not, but there's a deal of the successfulwork of this life carried through on that principle. Well, in marryingit is just as wise. The lad you _can get_, is happen better than thelad you _want_. Anyhow Christina is going to marry Jamie; and I'm surehe is that loving and pleasant, and that fond of her, that I have nodoubt she will be happy as the day is long. "

"I hope it is the truth, Mother, that you are saying. "

"It is; but some folks won't see the truth, though they are dashingtheir noses against it. None so blind as they who won't see. "

"Well, it isn't within my right to speak to-day. "

"Yes, it is. It is your right and place to speak all the good andhopeful words you can think of. Don't be dour, Andrew. Man! man! howhard it is to rejoice with them that do rejoice! It takes moreChristianity to do that than most folks carry around with them. "

"Mother, you are a perfectly unreasonable woman. You flyte at me, as ifI was a laddie of ten years old--but I'll not dare to say but what youdo me a deal of good;" and Andrew's face brightened as he looked ather. 

"You would hardly do the right thing, if I didn't flyte at you, Andrew. And maybe I wouldn't do it myself, if I was not watching you; havingnobody to scold and advise is very like trying to fly a kite withoutwind. Go to the door and call in Jamie and Christina. We ought to takean interest in their bit plans and schemes; and if we take it, we oughtto show we take it. "

Then Andrew rose and went to the open door, and as he went he laid hisbig hand on his mother's shoulder, and a smile flew from face to face, and in its light every little shadow vanished. And Jamie was glad tobring in his promised bride, and among her own people as they eattogether, talk over the good that had come to them, and the changesthat were incident to it. And thus an hour passed swiftly away, andthen "farewells" full of love and hope, and laughter and tears, andhand-clasping, and good words, were said; and Jamie went off to his newlife, leaving a thousand pleasant hopes and expectations behind him. 

After he was fairly out of sight, and Christina stood looking tearfullyinto the vacancy where his image still lingered, Andrew led her to thetop of the cliff, and they sat down together. It was an exquisiteafternoon, full of the salt and sparkle of the sea; and for awhile bothremained silent, looking down on the cottages, and the creels, and thedrying nets. The whole village seemed to be out, and the sands werecovered with picturesque figures in sea-boots and striped hanging caps, and with the no less picturesque companion figures in stripedpetticoats. Some of the latter were old women, and these worehigh-crowned, unbordered caps of white linen; others were young women, and these had no covering at all on their exuberant hair; but most ofthem displayed long gold rings in their ears, and bright scarlet orblue kerchiefs round their necks. Andrew glanced from these figures tohis sister; and touching her striped petticoat, he said:--

"You'll be changing this for what they call a gown, when you go toGlasgow! How soon is that to be, Christina?"

"When Jamie has got well settled in his place. It wouldn't be prudentbefore. "

"About the New Year, say?"

"Ay; about the New Year. "

"I am thinking of giving you a silk gown for your wedding. "

"O Andrew! if you would! A silk gown would set me up above every thing!I'll never forget such a favour as that. "

"I'll do it. "

"And Sophy will see to the making of it. Sophy has a wonderful tasteabout trimming, and the like of that. Sophy will stand up with me, andyou will be Jamie's best man; won't you, Andrew?"

"Ay, Sophy will see to the making of it. Few can make a gown look asshe can. She is a clever bit thing"--then after a pause he added sadly, "there was one thing I did not tell you this morning; but it is acircumstance I feel very badly about. "

"What is it? You know well that I shall feel with you. "

"It is the way folks keep hinting this and that to me; but more, that Iam mistrusting Mistress Kilgour. I saw a young fellow standing at theshop door talking to her the other morning very confidential-like--ayoung fellow that could not have any lawful business with her. "

"What kind of a person was he?"

"A large, dark man, dressed like a picture in a tailor's window. Hisservant-man, in a livery of brown and yellow, was holding the horses ina fine dog-cart. I asked Jimmy Faulds what his name was and he laughedand said it was Braelands of Braelands, and he should think I knew itand then he looked at me that queer, that I felt as if his eyes hadtold me of some calamity. 'What is he doing at Mistress Kilgour's?' Iasked as soon as I could get myself together, and Jimmy answered, 'Isuppose he is ordering Madame Braelands' millinery, ' and then hesnickered and laughed again, and I had hard lines to keep my hands fromstriking him. '

"What for at all?"

"I don't know. I wish I did. "

"If I give you my advice, will you take it?"

"I will. "

"Then for once--if you don't want Braelands to win Sophy from you--putyour lover's fears and shamefacedness behind your back. Just rememberwho and what you are, and what you are like to be, and go and tellSophy everything, and ask her to marry you next Monday morning. Takegold in your pocket, and buy her a wedding gift--a ring, or a brooch, or some bonnie thing or other; and promise her a trip to Edinburgh orLondon, or any other thing she fancies. "

"We have not been 'cried' yet. And the names must be read in the kirkfor three Sundays. "

"Oh man! Cannot you get a licence? It will cost you a few shillings, but what of that? You are too slow, Andrew. If you don't take care, andmake haste, Braelands will run away with your wife before your veryeyes. "

"I'll not believe it. It could not be. The thing is unspeakable, andunbearable. I'll face my fate the morn, and I'll know the best--or theworst of what is coming to me. "

"Look for good, and have good, that is, if you don't let the good hourgo by. You, Andrew Binnie! that can manage a boat when the north windis doing its mightiest, are you going to be one of the cony kind, whenit comes to a slip of a girl like Sophy? I can not think it, for youknow what Solomon said of such--'Oh Son, it is a feeble folk. '"

"I don't come of feeble folk, body nor soul; and as I have said, I willhave the whole matter out with Sophy to-morrow. "

"Good--but better _do_ than say. "

The next morning a swift look of intelligence passed between Andrew andChristina at breakfast, and about eleven o'clock Andrew said, "I'llaway now to Largo, and settle the business we were speaking of, Christina. " She looked up at him critically, and thought she had neverseen a handsomer man. Though only a fisherman, he was too much a forceof nature to be vulgar. He was the incarnation of the grey, oldvillage, and of the North Sea, and of its stormy winds and waters. Standing in his boots he was over six feet, full of pluck and fibre, aman not made for the town and its narrow doorways, but for the greatspaces of the tossing ocean. His face was strong and finely formed; hiseyes grey and open--as eyes might be that had so often searched thethickest of the storm with unquailing glance. A sensitive flushoverspread his brow and cheeks as Christina gazed at him, and he saidnervously:--

"I will require to put on my best clothes; won't I, Christina?"

She laid her hand on his arm, and shook her head with a pleasant smile. She was regarding with pride and satisfaction her brother's finefigure, admirably shown in the elastic grace of his blue Guernsey. Sheturned the collar low enough to leave his round throat a little bare, and put his blue flannel _Tam o' Shanter_ over his close, clusteringcurls. "Go as you are, " she said. "In that dress you feel at home, andat ease, and you look ten times the man you do in your broadcloth. Andif Sophy cannot like her fisher-lad in his fisher-dress, she isn'tworthy of him. "

He was much pleased with this advice, for it precisely sorted with hisown feelings; and he stooped and kissed Christina, and she sent himaway with a smile and a good wish. Then she went to her mother, who wasin a little shed salting some fish. "Mother, " she cried, "Andrew hasgone to Largo. "

"Like enough. It would be stranger, if he had stopped at home. "

"He has gone to ask Sophy to marry him next week--next Monday. "

"Perfect nonsense! We'll have no such marrying in a hurry, and acorner. It will take a full month to marry Andrew Binnie. What wouldall our folks say, far and near, if they were not bid to the wedding?Set to that, you have to be married first. Marrying isn't likeChristmas, coming every year of our Lord; and we _be_ to make the mostof it. I'll not give my consent to any such like hasty work. Why, theyare not even 'called' in the kirk yet. "

"Andrew can get a licence. "

"Andrew can get a fiddle-stick! None of the Binnies were ever married, but by word of the kirk, and none of them shall be, if I can help it. Licence indeed! Buying the right to marry for a few shillings, and thenext thing will be a few more shillings for the right to un-marry. I'llnot hear tell of such a way. "

"But, Mother, if Andrew does not get Sophy at once, he may lose heraltogether. "

"_Humph_! No great loss. "

"The biggest loss in the world that Andrew can have. Things are come toa pass. If Andrew does not marry her at once, I am feared Braelandswill carry her off. "

"He is welcome to her. "

"No, no, Mother! Do you want Braelands to get the best of Andrew?"

"The like of him get the best of Andrew! I'll not believe it. Sophyisn't beyond all sense of right and feeling. If, after all these years, she left Andrew for that fine gentleman, she would be a very Jael ofdeceit and treachery. I wish I had told her about her mother's secondcousin, bonnie Lizzie Lauder. "

"What of her? I never heard tell, did I, Mother?"

"No. We don't speak of Lizzie now. "

"Why then?"

"She was very bonnie, and she was very like Sophy about hating to work;and she was never done crying to all the gates of pleasure to open wideand let her enter. And she went in. "

"Well, Mother? Is that all?"

"No. I wish in God's mercy it was! The avenging gates closed on her. She is shut up in hell. There, I'll say no more. "

"Yes, Mother. You will ask God's mercy for her. It never faileth. "

Janet turned away, and lifted her apron to her eyes, and stood sosilent for a few minutes. And Christina left her alone, and went backinto the house place, and began to wash up the breakfast-cups and cutup some vegetables for their early dinner. And by-and-by her motherjoined her, and Christina began to tell how Andrew had promised her asilk gown for her wedding. This bit of news was so wonderful anddelightful to Janet, that it drove all other thoughts far from her. Shesat down to discuss it with all the care and importance the subjectdemanded. Every colour was considered; and when the colour had beendecided, there was then the number of yards and the kind of trimming tobe discussed, and the manner of its making, and the person mostsuitable to undertake the momentous task. For Janet was at that hourangry with Mistress Kilgour, and not inclined to "put a bawbee herway, " seeing that it was most likely she had been favouring Braeland'ssuit, and therefore a bitter enemy to Andrew. 

After the noon meal, Janet took her knitting, and went to tell as manyof her neighbours as it was possible to see during the short afternoon, about the silk gown her Christina was to be married in; and Christinaspread her ironing table, and began to damp, and fold, and smooth theclean linen. And as she did so, she sang a verse or two of 'HuntingTower, ' and then she thought awhile, and then she sang again. And shewas so happy, that her form swayed to her movements; it seemed to smileas she walked backwards and forwards with the finished garments or thehot iron in her hands. She was thinking of the happy home she wouldmake for Jamie, and of all the bliss that was coming to her. For beforea bird flies you may see its wings, and Christina was already pluminghers for a flight into that world which in her very ignorance sheinvested with a thousand unreal charms. 

She did not expect Andrew back until the evening. He would most likelyhave a long talk with Sophy; there was so much to tell her, and when itwas over, it would be in a large measure to tell again to MistressKilgour. Then it was likely Andrew would take tea with his promisedwife, and perhaps they might have a walk afterwards; so, calculatingall these things. Christina came to the conclusion that it would bewell on to bed time, before she knew what arrangements Andrew had madefor his marriage and his life after it. 

Not a single unpleasant doubt troubled her mind, she thought she knewSophy's nature so well; and she could hardly conceive it possible, thatthe girl should have any reluctances about a lad so well known, sogood, and so handsome, and with such a fine future before him, asAndrew Binnie. All Sophy's flights and fancies, all her favours toyoung Braelands, Christina put down to the dissatisfaction Sophy sooften expressed with her position, and the vanity which arose naturallyfrom her recognised beauty and youthful grace. But to be "a settledwoman, " with a loving husband and "a house of her own, " seemed toChristina an irresistible offer; and she smiled to herself when shethought of Sophy's surprise, and of the many pretty little airs andconceits the state of bridehood would be sure to bring forth in herself-indulgent nature. 

"She will be provoking enough, no doubt, " she whispered as she set theiron sharply down; "but I'll never notice it. She is very little morethan a bairn, and but a canary-headed creature added to that. In a yearor two, Andrew, and marriage, and maybe motherhood, will sober andsettle her. And Andrew loves her so. Most as well as Jamie loves me. For Andrew's sake, then, I'll bear with all her provoking ways andwords. She'll be _our own_, anyway, and we be to have patience withthey of our own household. Bonnie wee Sophy. "

It was about mid-afternoon when she came to this train of forbearingand conciliating reflections. She was quite happy in it; for Christinawas one of those wise women, who do not look into their ideals andhopes too closely. Her face reflecting them was beautiful and benign;and her shoulders, and hands, her supple waist and limbs, continued thesymphonies of her soft, deep, loving eyes and her smiling mouth. Everynow and then she burst into song; and then her thrilling voice, sosweet and fresh, had tones in it that only birds and good women full oflove may compass. Mostly the song was a lilt or a verse which spoke forher own heart and love; but just as the clock struck three, she brokeinto a low laugh which ended in a merry, mocking melody, and which wasevidently the conclusion of her argument concerning Sophy's behaviouras Andrew's wife--

"Toot! toot! quoth the grey-headed father, She's less of a bride than a bairn;She's ta'en like a colt from the heather, With sense and discretion to learn. 

"Half-husband I trow, and half daddy, As humour inconstantly leans;The man must be patient and steady, That weds with a lass in her teens. "

She had hardly finished the verse, when she heard a step blending withits echoes. Her ears rung inward; her eyes dilated with an unhappyexpectancy; she put down her iron with a sudden faint feeling, andturned her face to the door. 

Andrew entered the cottage. He looked at her despairingly, and sinkinginto his chair, he covered his wretched face with his hands. 

It was not the same man who had left her a few hours before. A change, like that which a hot iron would make upon a green leaf, had been madein her handsome, hopeful, happy brother. She could not avoid anexclamation that was a cry of terror; and she went to him and kissedhim, and murmured, she knew not what words of pity and love. Undertheir influence, the flood gates of sorrow were unloosed, he began toweep, to sob, to shake and tremble, like a reed in a tempest. 

Christina saw that his soul was tossed from top to bottom, and in themadness of the storm, she knew it was folly to ask "why?" But she wentto the door, closed it, slipped forward the bolt, and then came back tohis side, waiting there patiently until the first paroxysm of his griefwas over. Then she said softly:--

"Andrew! My brother Andrew! What sorrow has come to you? TellChristina. "

"Sophy is dead--dead and gone for me. Oh Sophy, Sophy, Sophy!"

"Andrew, tell me a straight tale. You are not a woman to let any sorrowget the mastery over you. "

"Sophy has gone from me. She has played me false--and after all theseyears, deceived and left me. "

"Then there is still the Faithful One. His love is from everlasting, toeverlasting. He changeth not. "

"Ay; I know, " he said drearily. But he straightened himself andunfastened the button at his throat, and stood up on his feet, plantingthem far apart, as if he felt the earth like the reeling deck of aship. And Christina opened the little window, and drew his chair nearit, and let the fresh breeze blow upon him; and her heart throbbedhotly with anger and pity. 

"Sit down in the sea wind, Andrew, " she said. "There's strength and abreath of comfort in it; and try and give your trouble words. Did yousee Sophy?"

"Ay; I saw her. "

"At her aunt's house?"

"No. I met her on the road. She was in a dog-cart; and the master ofBraelands was driving her. I saw her, ere she saw me; and she waslooking in his face as she never looked in my face. She loves him, Christina, as she never loved me. "

"Did you speak to her?"

"I was that foolish, and left to myself. She was going to pass me, without a look or a word; but I could not thole the scorn and pain ofit, and I called out to her, '_Sophy_! _Sophy_!'"

"And she did not answer you?"

"She cruddled closer to Braelands. And then he lifted the whip to hurrythe horse; and before I knew what I was doing, I had the beast by thehead--and the lash of the whip--struck me clean across the cheek bone. "

"Oh Andrew! Andrew!" And she bent forward and looked at the outragedcheek, and murmuring, "I see the mark of it! I see the mark of it!" shekissed the long, white welt, and wetted it with her indignant tears. 

Andrew sat passive under her sympathy until she asked, "Did Braelandssay anything when he struck you? Had he no word of excuse?"

"He said: 'It is your own fault, fisherman. The lash was meant for thehorse, and not for you. '"

"Well?"

"And I was in a passion; and I shouted some words I should not havesaid--words I never said in my life before. I didn't think the like ofthem were in my heart. "

"I don't blame you, Andrew. "

"I blame myself though. Then I bid Sophy get out of the cart and cometo me;--and--"

"Yes, dear?"

"And she never moved or spoke; she just covered her face with herhands, and gave a little scream;--for no doubt I had frighted her--andBraelands, he got into the de'il's own rage then, and dared me to callthe lady 'Sophy' again; 'for, ' said he, 'she will be my wife beforemany days'; and with that, he struck the horse savagely again andagain, and the poor beast broke from my hand, and bounded for'ard; andI fell on my back, and the wheels of the cart grazed the soles of myshoon as they passed me. "

"And then?"

"I don't know how long I lay there. "

"And they went on and left you lying in the highway?"

"They went on. "

"The wicked lass! Oh the wicked, heartless lass!"

"You are not able to judge her, Christina. "

"But you can judge Braelands. Get a warrant for the scoundrel the morn. He is without the law. "

"Then I would make Sophy the common talk, far and near. How could Iwrong Sophy to right myself?"

"But the whip lash! the whip lash! Andrew. You cannot thole the like ofthat!"

"There was One tholed for me the lash and the buffet, and answer'dnever a word. I can thole the lash for Sophy's sake. A poor love Iwould have for Sophy, if I put my own pride before her good name. If Iget help 'from beyond, ' I can thole the lash, Christina. "

He was white through all the tan of wind, and sea, and sun; and thesweat of his suffering stood in great beads on his pallid face andbrow. Christina lifted a towel, which she had just ironed, and wiped itaway; and he said feebly;--

"Thank you, dear lass! I will go to my bed a wee. "

So Christina opened the door of his room and he tottered in, swayinglike a drunken man, and threw himself upon his bed. Five minutesafterward she stepped softly to his side. He was sunk in deep sleep, fathoms below the tide of grief whose waves and billows had gone overhim. 

"Thanks be to the Merciful!" she whispered. "When the sorrow is toogreat, then He giveth His beloved sleep. "

CHAPTER V

THE LOST BRIDE

This unforeseen and unhappy meeting forced a climax in Sophy's loveaffairs, which she had hitherto not dared to face. In fact, circumstances tending that way had arisen about a week previously; andit was in consequence of them, that she was publicly riding withBraelands when Andrew met them. For a long time she had insisted onsecrecy in her intercourse with her "friend. " She was afraid of Andrew;she was afraid of her aunt; she was afraid of being made a talk and aspeculation to the gossips of the little town. And though Miss Kilgourhad begun to suspect somewhat, she was not inclined to verify hersuspicions. Madame Braelands was a good customer, therefore she did notwish to know anything about a matter which she was sure would be agreat annoyance to that lady. 

But Madame herself forced the knowledge on her. Some friend had calledat Braelands and thought it right to let her know what a dangerousaffair her son was engaged in. "For the girl is beautiful, " she said, "there is no denying that; and she comes of fisher-folk, who havesimply no idea but that love words and love-kisses must lead tomarrying and housekeeping, and who will bitterly resent and avenge awrong done to any woman of their class, as you well know, Madame. "

Madame did know this very well; and apart from her terror of a_mésalliance_ for the heir of Braelands, there was the fact that hisfamily had always had great political influence, and looked to a publicrecognition of it. The fisher vote was an important factor in thereturn of any aspirant for Parliamentary honour; and she felt keenlythat Archie was endangering his whole future career by his attentionsto a girl whom it was impossible he should marry, but who would havethe power to arouse against him a bitter antagonism, if he did notmarry her. 

She affected to her friend a total indifference to the subject of herson's amusements, and she said "she was moreover sure that ArchibaldBraelands would never do anything to prejudice his own honour, or thehonour of the humblest fisher-girl in Fifeshire. " But all the same, herheart was sick with fear and anxiety; and as soon as her informant hadgone, she ordered her carriage, dressed herself in all her braveries, and drove hastily to Mistress Kilgour's. 

At that very hour, this lady was fussing and fuming angrily at herniece. Sophy had insisted on going for a walk, and in the altercationattending this resolve, Mistress Kilgour had unadvisably given speechto her suspicions about Sophy's companion in these frequent walks, andthreatened her with a revelation of these doubts to Andrew Binnie. Butin spite of all, Sophy had left the house; and her aunt was nursing herwrath against her when Madame Braeland's carriage clattered up to hershop door. 

Now if Madame had been a prudent woman, and kept the rein on herprideful temper, she would have found Mistress Kilgour in the very moodsuitable for an ally. But Madame had also been nursing her wrath, andas soon as Mistress Kilgour had appeared, she asked angrily:--

"Where is that niece of yours, Mistress Kilgour? I should very muchlike to know. "

The tone of the question irritated the dressmaker, and instantly hersympathies flew toward her own kith, and kin, and class. Also, hercaution was at once aroused, and she answered the question, Scotch-wise, by another question:--

"What for are you requiring to see Sophy, Madame?"

"Is she in the house?"

"Shall I go and see?"

"Go and see, indeed! You know well she is not. You know she is awaysomewhere, walking or driving with my son--with the heir of Braelands. Oh, I have heard all about their shameful carryings-on. "

"You'll not need to use the word 'shameful' with regard to my niece, Sophy Traill, Madame Braelands. She has never earned such a like word, and she never will. You may take my say-so for that. "

"It is not anybody's say-so in this case. Seeing is believing, and theyhave been seen together, walking in Fernie wood, and down among therocks on the Elie coast, and in many other places. "

"Well and good, Madame. What by that? Young things will be youngthings. "

"What by that? Do you, a woman of your age, ask me such a question?When a gentleman of good blood and family, as well as great wealth, goes walking and driving with a poor girl of no family at all, do youask what by that? Nothing but disgrace and trouble can be looked for. "

"Speak for your own kin and side, Madame. And I should think a woman ofyour age--being at least twenty years older than myself--would knowthat true love never asks for a girl's pedigree. And as for 'disgrace, 'Sophy Traill will never call anything like 'disgrace' to herself. Iwill allow that Sophy is poor, but as for family, the Traills are ofthe best Norse strain. They were sea-fighters, hundreds of years beforethey were sea-fishers; and they had been 'at home' on the North Sea, and in all the lands about it, centuries before the like of theBraelands were thought or heard tell of. "

Mistress Kilgour was rapidly becoming angry, and Madame would have beenwise to have noted the circumstance; but she herself was now past allprudence, and with an air of contempt she took out her jewelled watch, and beginning to slowly wind it, said:--

"My good woman, Sophy's father was a common fisherman. We have no callto go back to the time when her people were pirates and sea-robbers. "

"I am _my own_ woman, Madame. And I will take my oath I am not _your_woman, anyhow. And 'common' or uncommon, the fishermen of Fife call noman master but the Lord God Almighty, from whose hands they take theirfood, summer and winter. And I will make free to say, moreover, that ifBraelands loves Sophy Traill and she loves him, worse might befall himthan Sophy for a wife. For if God thinks fit to mate them, it is notGriselda Kilgour that will take upon herself to contradict the Will ofHeaven. "

"Don't talk rubbish, Mistress Kilgour. People who live in society haveto regard what society thinks and says. "

"It is no ways obligatory, Madame, the voice of God and Nature has moreweight, I'm thinking, and if God links two together, you will find itgey and hard to separate them. "

"I heard the girl was promised since her babyhood to a fisherman calledAndrew Binnie. "

"For once you have heard the truth, Madame. But you know yourself thatbabyhood and womanhood are two different things; and the woman has justset at naught the baby. That is all. "

"No, it is not all. This Andrew Binnie is a man of great influenceamong the fishers, and my son cannot afford to make enemies among thatclass. It will be highly prejudicial to him. "

"I cannot help that Madame. Braelands is well able to row his own boat. At any rate, I am not called to take an oar in it. "

"Yes, you are. I have been a good customer to you, Mistress Kilgour. "

"I am not denying it; at the same time I have been a good dress andbonnet maker to you, and earned every penny-bit you have paid me. Theobligation is mutual, I'm thinking. "

"I can be a still better customer if you will prevent thisgentle-shepherding and love-making. I would not even scruple at atwenty pound note, or perhaps two of them. "

"_Straa_! If you were Queen of England, Madame, I would call you aninsolent dastard, to try and bribe me against my own flesh and blood. You are a very Judas, to think of such a thing. Good blood! finefamily! indeed! If your son is like yourself, I'm not caring for himcoming into my family at all. "

"Mistress Kilgour, you may close my account with you. I shall employyou no more. "

"Pay me the sixteen pounds odd you owe me, and then I will shut mybooks forever against Braelands. Accounts are not closed tilloutstanding money is paid in. "

"I shall send the money. "

"The sight of the money would be better than the promise of it, Madame;for some of it is owing more than a twelvemonth;" and Mistress Kilgourhastily turned over to the Braelands page of her ledger, while Madame, with an air of affront and indignation, hastily left the shop. 

Following this wordy battle with her dressmaker, Madame had an equallystubborn one with her son, the immediate consequence of which was thatvery interview whose close was witnessed by Andrew Binnie. In thisconference Braelands acknowledged his devotion to Sophy, and earnestlypleaded for Mistress Kilgour's favour for his suit. She was now quiteinclined to favour him. Her own niece, as mistress of Braelands, wouldbe not only a great social success, but also a great financial one. Madame Braelands's capacity for bonnets was two every year; Sophy'scapacity was unlimited. Madame considered four dresses annually quiteextravagant; Sophy's ideas on the same subject were constantlyenlarging. And then there would be the satisfaction of overcomingMadame. So she yielded easily and gracefully to Archie Braelands'spetition, and thus Sophy suddenly found herself able to do openly whatshe had hitherto done secretly, and the question of her marriage withBraelands accepted as an understood conclusion. 

At this sudden culmination of her hardly acknowledged desires, the girlwas for a short tune distracted. She felt that Andrew must now bedefinitely resigned, and a strangely sad feeling of pity and reluctanceassailed her. There were moments she knew not which lover was dearestto her. The habit of loving Andrew had grown through long years in herheart; she trusted him as she trusted no other mortal, she was notprepared to give up absolutely all rights in a heart so purely and sodevotedly her own. For if she knew anything, she knew right well thatno other man would ever give her the same unfaltering, unselfishaffection. 

And when she dared to consider truthfully her estimate of ArchieBraelands, she judged his love, passionate as it was, did not ring truethrough all its depths. There were times when her little _gaucheries_fretted him; when her dress did not suit him; when he put aside anengagement with her for a sail with a lord, or a dinner party withfriends, or a social function at his own home. Andrew put no one beforeher; and even the business that kept him from her side was all for herfuture happiness. Every object and every aim of his life had referenceto her. It was hard to give up such a perfect love, and she felt thatshe could not see Andrew face to face and do it. Hence her refusals tomeet him, and her shyness and silence when a meeting was unavoidable. Hence, also, came a very peculiar attitude of Andrew's friends andmates; for they could not conceive how Andrew's implicit faith in hislove should prevent him from finding out what was so evident to everyman and woman in Largo. 

Alas! the knowledge had now come to him. That it could have come in anyharder way, it is difficult to believe. There was only one palliationto its misery--it was quite unpremeditated--but even this mitigationof the affront hardly brought him any comfort as yet Braelands wascertainly deeply grieved at the miserable outcome of the meeting. Heknew the pride of the fisher race, and he had himself a manly instinct, strong enough to understand the undeserved humiliation of Andrew'sposition. Honestly, as a gentleman, he was sorry the quarrel had takenplace; as a lover, he was anxious to turn it to his own advantage. Forhe saw that, in spite of all her coldness and apparent apathy, Sophywas affected and wounded by Andrew's bitter imploration and itswretched and sorrowful ending. If the man should gain her ear andsympathy, Braelands feared for the result. He therefore urged her to animmediate marriage; and when Mistress Kilgour was taken into counsel, she encouraged the idea, because of the talk which was sure to followsuch a flagrant breach of the courtesies of life. 

But even at this juncture, Sophy's vanity must have its showing; andshe refused to marry, until at least two or three suitable dressesshould have been prepared; so the uttermost favour that could beobtained from the stubborn little bride was a date somewhere within twoweeks away. 

During these two weeks there was an unspeakable unhappiness in theBinnie household. For oh, how dreary are those wastes of life, left bythe loved who have deserted us! These are the vacant places we waterwith our bitterest tears. Had Sophy died, Andrew would have said, "Itis the Lord; let him do what seemeth right in his sight. " But themanner and the means of his loss filled him with a dumb sorrow andrage; for in spite of his mother's and sister's urging, he would donothing to right his own self-respect at the price of giving Sophy theslightest trouble or notoriety. Suffer! Yes, he suffered at home, whereJanet and Christina continually reminded him of the insult he ought toavenge; and he suffered also abroad, where his mates looked at him witheyes full of surprise and angry inquiries. 

But though the village was ringing with gossip about Sophy and youngBraelands, never a man or woman in it ventured to openly question thestern, sullen, irritable man who had been so long recognised as heraccepted lover. And whether he was in the boats or out of them, no onedared to speak Sophy's name in his presence. Indeed, upon the whole, hewas during these days what Janet Binnie called "an ill man to livewith--a man out of his senses, and falling away from his meat and hisclothes. "

This misery continued for about two weeks without any abatement, andJanet's and Christina's sympathy was beginning to be tinged withresentment. It seems so unnatural and unjust, that a girl who hadalready done them so much wrong, and who was so far outside their dailylife, should have the power to still darken their home, and infuse abitter drop into their peculiar joys and hopes. 

"I am glad the wicked lass isn't near by me, " said Janet one morning, when Andrew had declared himself unable to eat his breakfast and goneout of the cottage to escape his mother's pleadings and reproofs. "I'mglad she isn't near me. If she was here, I could not keep my tonguefrom her. She should hear the truth for once, if she never heard itagain. They should be words as sharp as the birch rod she ought to havehad, when she first began her nonsense, and her airs and graces. "

"She is a bad girl; but we must remember that she was left much toherself--no mother to guide her, no sister or brother either. "

"It would have been a pity if there had been more of them. One scone ofthat baking is enough. The way she has treated our Andrew isabominable. Flesh and blood can't bear such doings. "

As Janet made this assertion, a cousin of Sophy's came into thecottage, and answered her. "I know you are talking of Sophy, " she said, "and I am not wondering at the terrivee you are making. As for me, though she is my cousin, I'll never exchange the Queen's language withher again as long as I live in this world. But all bad things come toan end, as well as good ones, and I am bringing what will put a stop atlast to all this clishmaclaver about that wearisome lassie, "--and withthese words she handed Janet two shining white cards, tied togetherwith a bit of silver wire. 

They were Sophy's wedding cards; and she had also sent from Edinburgh anewspaper containing a notice of her marriage to Archibald Braelands. The news was very satisfactory to Janet. She held the bits of cardboardwith her fingertips, looking grimly at the names upon them. Then shelaughed, not very pleasantly, at the difference in the size of thecards. "He has the wee card now, " she said, "and Sophy the big one; butI'm thinking the wee one will grow big, and the big one grow littlebefore long. I will take them to Andrew myself; the sight of them willbe a bitter medicine, but it will do him good. Folks may count it greatgain when they get rid of a false hope. "

Andrew was walking moodily about the bit of bare turf in front of thecottage door, stopping now and then to look over the sea, where thebrown sails of some of the fishing boats still caught the lazy southwind. He was thinking that the sea was cloudy, and that there was anevil-looking sky to the eastward; and then, as his mind took in at thesame moment the dangers to the fishers who people the grey waters andhis own sorrowful wrong, he turned and began to walk aboutmuttering--"Lord help us! We must bear what is sent. "

Then Janet called him, and he watched for her approach. She put thecards into his hand saying, "Sophy's cousin, Isobel Murray, broughtthem. " Her voice was full of resentment; and Andrew, not at the momentrealising a custom so unfamiliar in a fishing-village, lookedwonderingly in his mother's face, and then at the fateful whitemessengers. 

"Read the names on them, Andrew man, and you'll know then why they aresent to Pittendurie. "

Then he looked steadily at the inscription, and the struggle of theinner man shook the outward man visibly. It was like a shot in thebackbone. But it was only for a moment he staggered; though he had fewresources, his faith in the Cross and his confidence in himself madehim a match for his hard fate. It is in such critical moments the soulreveals if it be selfish or generous, and Andrew, with a quick upwardfling of the head, regained absolutely that self-control, which he hadvoluntarily abdicated. 

"You will tell Isobel, " he said, "that I wish Mistress Braelands everygood thing, both for this life and the next. " Then he stepped closer tohis mother and kissed her; and Janet was so touched and amazed that shecould not speak. But the look of loving wonder on her face was farbetter than words. And as she stood looking at him, Andrew put thecards in his pocket, and went down to the sea; and Janet returned tothe cottage and gave Isobel the message he had sent. 

But this information, so scanty and yet so conclusive, by no meanssatisfied the curiosity of the women. A great deal of indignation wasexpressed by Sophy's kindred and friends in the village at her totalignoring of their claims. They did not expect to be invited to a houselike Braelands; but they did think Sophy ought to have visited them andtold them all about her preparations and future plans. They were herown flesh and blood, and they deeply resented her non-recognition ofthe claims of kindred. Isobel, as the central figure of thisdissatisfaction, was a very important person. She at least had received"cards, " and the rest of the cousins to the sixth degree felt that theyhad been grossly slighted in the omission. So Isobel, for the sake ofher own popularity, was compelled to make common cause, and to assertpositively that "she thought little of the compliment. " Sophy onlywanted her folk to know she was now Mistress Braelands, and she hadpicked her out to carry the news--good or bad news, none yet could say. 

Janet was not inclined to discuss the matter with her. She was so coldabout it, that Isobel quickly discovered she had 'work to finish at herown house, ' for she recollected that if the Binnies were not inclinedto talk over the affair there were plenty of wives and maids inPittendurie who were eager to do so. So Janet and Christina werequickly left to their own opinions on the marriage, the first of whichwas, that "Sophy had behaved very badly to them. "

"But I wasn't going to say bad words for Isobel to clash round thevillage, " said Janet "and I am gey glad Andrew took the news soman-like and so Christian-like. They can't make any speculations aboutAndrew now, and that will be a sore disappointment to the hussies, forsome of them are but ill willy creatures. "

"I am glad Andrew kept a brave heart, and could bring good words out ofit. "

"What else would you expect from Andrew? Do you think Andrew Binniewill fret himself one moment about a wife that is not his wife? Hewould not give the de'il such a laugh over him. You may take my word, that he will break no commandment for any lass; and Sophy Braelandswill now have to vacate his very thoughts. "

"I am glad she is married then. If her marriage cures Andrew of thatnever-ending fret about her, it will be a comfort. "

"It is a cure, sure as death, as far as your brother is concerned. Fancy Andrew Binnie pining and worrying about Archie Braelands's wife!The thing would be sinful, and therefore fairly impossible to him! I'mas glad as you are that no worse than marriage has come to the lass;she is done with now, and I am wishing her no more ill than she hascalled to herself. "

"She has brought sorrow enough to our house, " said Christina. "All thedays of my own courting have been saddened and darkened with the worryand the care of her. Andrew was always either that set up or thatknocked down about her, that he could not give a thought to Jamie's andmy affairs. It was only when you talked about Sophy, or his weddingwith Sophy, that he looked as if the world was worth living in. He wasfast growing into a real selfish man. "

"_Toots!_ Every one in love--men or women--are as selfish as they canbe. The whole round world only holds two folk: their own self, andanother. I would like to have a bit of chat before long, that did notset itself to love-making and marrying. "

"Goodness, Mother! You have not chatted much with me lately aboutlove-making and marrying. Andrew's trouble has filled the house, andyou have hardly said a word about poor Jamie, who never gave either ofus a heartache. I wonder where he is to-day!"

Janet thought a moment and then answered: "He would leave New York forScotland, last Saturday. 'T is Wednesday morning now, and he will maybereach Glasgow next Tuesday. Then it will not take him many hours tofind himself in Pittendurie. "

"I doubt it. He will not be let come and go as he wants to. It wouldnot be reasonable. He will have to obey orders. And when he gets off, it will be a kind of favour. A steamboat and a fishing-boat are twodifferent things, Mother, forbye, Jamie is but a new hand, and willhave his way to win. "

"What are you talking about, you silly, fearful lassie? It would be apoor-like, heartless captain, that had not a fellow-feeling for a ladin love. Jamie will just have to tell him about yourself, and he willsend the lad off with a laugh, or maybe a charge not to forget theship's sailing-day. Hope well, and have well, lassie. "

"You'll be far mistaken, Mother. I am not expecting Jamie for more thantwo or three trips--but he'll be thinking of me, and I can not helpthinking of him. "

"Think away, Christina. Loving thoughts keep out others, not as good. Iwonder how it would do to walk as far as Largo, and find out all aboutthe marriage from Griselda Kilgour. Then _I_ would have the essentials, and something worth telling and talking about. "

"I would go, Mother. Griselda will be thirsty to tell all she knows, and just distracted with the glory of her niece. She will hold herselfvery high, no doubt. "

"Griselda and her niece are two born fools, and I am not to be put tothe wall by the like of them. And it is not beyond hoping, that I'll beable to give the woman a mouthful of sound advice. She's a set-up body, but I shall disapprove of all she says. "

"You may disapprove till you are black in the face, Mother, butGriselda will hold her own; she is neither flightersome, nor easyfrightened. I'm feared it is going to rain. I see the glass hasfallen. "

"I'm not minding the 'glass'. The sky is clear, and I think far more ofthe sky, and the look of it, than I do of the 'glass'. I wonder atAndrew hanging it in our house; it is just sinful and unlucky to betaking the change of the weather out of His hands. But rain or fine, Iam going to Largo. "

As she spoke, she was taking out of her kist a fine Paisley shawl and abonnet, and with Christina's help she was soon dressed to her ownsatisfaction. Fortunately one of the fishers was going with his cart toLargo, so she got a lift over the road, and reached Griselda Kilgour'searly in the afternoon. There were no bonnets and caps in the window ofthe shop, and when Janet entered, the place had a covered-up, Sabbath-day look that kindled her curiosity. The ringing of the bellquickly brought Mistress Kilgour forward, and she also had an unusuallook. But she seemed pleased to see Janet, and very heartily asked herinto the little parlour behind. 

"I'm just home, " she said, "and I'm making myself a cup of tea ere Isort up the shop and get to my day's work again. Sit down, Janet, andtake off your things, and have a cup with me. Strange days and strangedoings in them lately!"

"You may well lift up your eyes and your hands, Griselda. I never heardtell of the like. The whole village is in a flustration; and I justcame o'er-by, to find out from you the long and the short ofeverything. I'm feared you have been sorely put about with the wilfullass. "

"Mistress Braelands had no one to lippen to but me. I had everything tolook after. The Master of Braelands was that far gone in love, hewasn't to be trusted with anything. But my niece has done a good jobfor herself. "

"It is well _some one_ has got good out of her treachery. She broughtsorrow enough to my house. But I'm glad it is all over, and thatBraelands has got her. She wouldn't have suited my son at all, Griselda. "

"Not in the least, " answered the dressmaker with an air of offence. "How many lumps of sugar, Janet?"

"I'm not taking sugar. Where was the lass married?"

"In Edinburgh. " We didn't want any talk and fuss about the wedding, andBraelands he said to me, 'Mistress Kilgour, if you will take a littleholiday, and go with Sophy to Edinburgh, and give her your help aboutthe things she requires, we shall both of us be your life-longdebtors. ' And I thought Edinburgh was the proper place, and so I wentwith Sophy--putting up a notice on the shop door that I had gone tolook at the winter fashions and would be back to-day--and here I am forI like to keep my word. 

"You didn't keep it with my Andrew, for you promised to help him withSophy, you promised that more than once or twice. "

"No one can help a man who fights against himself, and Andrew never didprize Sophy as Braelands did, the way that man ran after the lass, andcoaxed and courted and pleaded with her! And the bonnie things he gaveher! And the stone blind infatuation of the creature! Well I never sawthe like. He was that far gone in love, there was nothing for him butstanding up before the minister. "

"What minister?"

"Dr. Beith of St. Andrews. Braelands sits in St. Andrews, when he is inEdinburgh for the winter season and Dr. Beith is knowing him well. Iwish you could have seen the dresses and the mantillas, the bonnets andthe fineries of every sort I had to buy Sophy, not to speak of therings and gold chains and bracelets and such things, that Braelandsjust laid down at her feet. "

"What kind of dresses?"

"Silks and satins--white for the wedding-dress--and pink, and blue andtartan and what not! I tell you McFinlay and Co. Were kept busy day andnight for Sophy Braelands. "

Then Mistress Kilgour entered into a minute description of all Sophy'sbeautiful things, and Janet listened attentively, not only for her owngratification, but also for that of every woman in Pittendurie. Indeedshe appeared so interested that her entertainer never suspected theanger she was restraining with difficulty until her curiosity had beensatisfied. But when every point had been gone over, when the last thingabout Sophy's dress and appearance had been told and discussed, Janetsuddenly inquired, "Have they come back to Largo yet?"

"Indeed nothing so common, " answered Griselda, proudly. "They have goneto foreign lands--to France, and Italy, and Germany, "--and then with adaring imagination she added, "and it's like they won't stop short ofAsia and America. "

"Well, Jamie Logan, my Christina's promised man is on the Americanline. I dare say he will be seeing her on his ship, and no doubt hewill do all he can to pleasure her. "

"Jamie Logan! Sophy would not think of noticing him now. It would notbe proper. "

"What for not? He is as good a man as Archie Braelands, and if allreports be true, a good deal better. "

"_Archie_ indeed! I'm thinking 'Master Braelands' would be more as itshould be. "

"I'll never 'master' him. He is no 'master' of mine. What for does hehave a Christian name, if he is not to be called by it?"

"Well, Janet, you need not show your temper. Goodness knows, it is asshort as a cat's hair. And Braelands is beyond your tongue, anyhow. "

"I'm not giving him a word. Sophy will pay every debt he is owing meand mine. The lassie has been badly guided all her life, and as shewould not be ruled by the rudder, she must be ruled by the rocks. "

"Think shame of yourself! For speaking ill to a new-made bride! Howwould you like me to say such words to Christina?"

"Christina would never give occasion for them. She is as true as steelto her own lad. "

"Maybe she has no temptation to be false. That makes a deal of differ. Anyway, Sophy is a woman now in the married state, and answerable tonone but her husband. I hope Andrew is not fretting more than might beexpected. "

"Andrew! Andrew fretting! Not he! Not a minute! As soon as he knew shewas a wife, he cast her out of his very thoughts. You don't catchAndrew Binnie putting a light-of-love lassie before a command of God. "

"I won't hear you talk of my niece--of the mistress of Braelands--inthat kind of a way, Janet. She's our betters now, and we be to takenotice of the fact"

"She'll have to learn and unlearn a good lot before she is to be spokeof as any one's 'betters. ' I hope while she is seeing the world shewill get her eyes opened to her own faults; they will give her plentyto think of. "

"Keep me, woman! Such a way to go on about your own kin. "

"She is no kin to the Binnies. I have cast her out of my reckoning. "

"She is Christina's sixth cousin. "

"She is nothing at all to us. I never did set any store by those Orkneyfolks--a bad lot! A very selfish, false, bad lot!"

"You are speaking of my people, Janet. "

"I am quite aware of it, Griselda. "

"Then keep your tongue in bounds. "

"My tongue is my own. "

"My house is my own. And if you can't be civil, I'll be necessitated toask you to leave it. "

"I'm going as soon as I have told you that you have the mostgun-powdery temper I ever came across; forbye, you are fairly drunkwith the conceit and vanity of Sophy's grand marriage. You are full asthe Baltic with the pride of it, woman!"

"Temper! It is you, that are in a temper. "

"That's neither here nor there. I have my reasons. "

"Reasons, indeed! I'd like to see you reasonable for once. "

"Yes, I have my reasons. How was my lad Andrew used by the both of you?And what do you think of his last meeting with that heartless limmerand her fine sweetheart?"

"Andrew should have kept himself out of their way. As soon as Braelandscame round Sophy, Andrew got the very de'il in him. I was aye fearedthere would be murder laid to his name. "

"You needn't have been feared for the like of that. Andrew Binnie hasenough of the devil in him to keep the devil out of him. Do you thinkhe would put blood on his soul for Sophy Traill? No, not for twentylasses better than her! You needn't look at me as if your eyes werecocked pistols. I have heard all I wanted to hear, and said all Iwanted to say, and now I'll be stepping homeward. "

"I'll be obligated to you to go at once--the sooner the better. "

"And I'll never speak to you again in this world, Griselda; nor in thenext world either, unless you mend your manners. Mind that!"

"You are just full of envy, and all uncharitableness, and evilspeaking, Janet Binnie. But I trust I have more of the grace of Godabout me than to return your ill words. "

"That may be. It only shows folk that the grace of God will bide withan old woman that no one else can bide with. "

"Old woman! I am twenty years younger--"

But Janet had passed out of the room and clashed the shop door behindher with a pealing ring; so Griselda's little scream of indignationnever reached her. It is likely, however, she anticipated the wordsthat followed her, for she went down the street, folding her shawl overher ample chest, and smiling the smile of those who have thrown thelast word of offence. 

She did not reach home until quite dark, for she was stopped frequentlyby little groups of the wives and maids of Pittendurie, who wanted tohear the news about Sophy. It pleased Janet, for some reason, tomagnify the girl's position and all the fine things it had brought her. Perhaps, because she felt dimly that it placed Andrew's defeat in abetter Tight. No one could expect a mere fisherman to have any chanceagainst a man able to shower silks and satins and gold and jewels uponhis bride, and who could take her to France and Italy and Germany, notto speak of Asia and America. 

But if this was her motive, it was a bit of motherhood thrown away. Andrew had sources of comfort and vindication which looked far beyondall petty social opinion. He was on the sea alone till nearly dark;then he came home, with the old grave smile on his face, saying, as heentered the house, "There will be a heavy blow from the northeastto-night, Christina. I see the boats are all at anchor, and no prospectof a fishing. "

"Ay, and I saw the birds, who know more than we do, making for therocks. I wish mother would come, "--and she opened the door and lookedout into the dark vacancy. "There is a voice in the sea to-night, Andrew, and I don't like the wail of it. "

But Andrew had gone to his room, and so she left the door open untilJanet returned. And the first question Janet asked was concerningAndrew. "Has he come home yet, Christina? I'm feared for a boat on thesea to-night. "

"He is home, and I think he has fallen asleep. He looked very tired. "

"How is he taking his trouble?"

"Like a man. Like himself. He has had his wrestle out on the sea, andhas come out with a victory. "

"The Lord be thanked! Now, Christina, I have heard everything aboutthat wicked lassie. Let us have a cup of tea and a herring--for it islittle good I had of Griselda's wishy-washy brew--and then I'll tellyou the news of the wedding, the beginning and the end of it. "

CHAPTER VI

WHERE IS MY MONEY?

In the morning it was still more evident that Andrew had thrown himselfon God, and--unperplext seeking, had found him. But Janet wondered alittle that he did not more demonstratively seek the comfort of TheBook. It was her way in sorrow to appeal immediately to its knownpassages of promise and comfort, and she laid it open in his way withthe remark:

"There is the Bible. Andrew; it will have a word, no doubt, for you. "

"And there is the something beyond the Bible, Mother, if you will beseeking it. When the Lord God speaks to a man, he has the perfection ofcounsel, and he will not be requiring the word of a prophet or anapostle. From the heart of The Unseen a voice calls to him, and giveshim patience under suffering. I _know_, for I have heard and answeredit. " Then he walked to the door, and opening it, he stood thererepeating to himself, as he looked over the waters which had been thefield of his conflict and his victory:--

 "But peace they have that none may gain that live; And rest about them that no love can give And over them, while death and life shall be, The light and sound and darkness of the Sea. "

It was a verse that meant more to Andrew than he would have been ableto explain. He only knew that it led him somehow through those dim, obscure pathways of spiritual life, on which the light of common daydoes not shine. And as he stood there, his mother and sister feltvaguely that they knew what "moral beauty" meant, and were the betterfor the knowledge. 

He did not try to forget Sophy; he only placed her beyond his ownhorizon; and whereas he had once thought of her with personal hope anddesire, he now remembered her only with a prayer for her happiness, orif by chance his tongue spoke her name, he added a blessing with it. Never did he make a complaint of her desertion, but he wept inwardly;and it was easy to see that he spent many of those hours that make theheart grey, though they leave the hair untouched. And it was at thistime he contracted the habit of frequently looking up, finding in thevery act that sense of strength and help and adoration which isinseparable to it. And thus, day by day, he overcame the aching sorrowof his heart, for no man is ever crushed from without; if he is abasedto despair, his ruin has come from within. 

About three weeks after Sophy's marriage, Christina was standing oneevening at the gloaming, looking over the immense, cheerless waste ofwaters. Mists, vague and troublous as the background of dreams, were onthe horizon, and there Was a feeling of melancholy in the air. But sheliked the damp, fresh wind, with its taste of brine, and she drew herplaid round her, and breathed it with a sense of enjoyment. Very soonAndrew came up the cliff, and he stood at her side, and they spoke ofJamie and wondered at his whereabouts, and after a little pause, Andrewadded:--

"Christina, I got a very important letter to-day, and I am goingto-morrow about the business I told you of. I want to start early inthe morning, so put up what I need in my little bag. And I wish you tosay nothing to mother until all things are settled. "

"She will maybe ask me the question, Andrew. "

"I told her I was going about a new boat, and she took me at my wordwithout this or that to it. She is a blithe creature, one of the Lord'smost contented bairns. I wish we were both more like her. "

"I wish we were, Andrew. If we could just do as mother does! for sheleaves yesterday where it fell, and trusts to-morrow with God, and socatches every blink of happiness that passes by her. "

"God forever bless her! There is no mother like the mother that boreus; we must aye remember that, Christina. But it is a dour, storm-likesky yon, " he continued, pointing eastward. "We shall have a snoringbreeze before midnight. "

Then Christina thought of her lover again, and as they turned in to thefireside, she began to tell her brother her hopes and fears aboutJamie, and to read him portions of a letter received that day fromAmerica. While Andrew's trouble had been fresh and heavy on him, Christina had refrained herself from all speech about her lover; shefelt instinctively that it would not be welcome and perhaps hardlykind. But this night it fell out naturally, and Andrew listened kindlyand made his sister very happy by his interest in all that related toJamie's future. Then he ate some bread and cheese with the women, andafter the exercise went to his room, for he had many things to preparefor his journey on the following day. 

Janet continued the conversation. It related to her daughter's marriageand settlement in Glasgow, and of this subject she never wearied. 

The storm Andrew had foreseen was by this time raging round thecottage, the Clustering waves making strange noises on the sands andfalling on the rocks with a keen, lashing sound It affected themgradually; their hearts became troubled, and they spoke low and withsad inflections, for both were thinking of the sailor-men and fishermenpeopling the lonely waters. 

"I wouldn't put out to sea this night, " said Janet. "No, not for acapful of sovereigns. "

"Yet there will be plenty of boats, hammering through the big waves allnight long, till the dawn shows in the east; and it is very like thatJamie is now on the Atlantic--a stormy place, God knows!"

"A good passage, if it so pleases God!" said Janet, lifting her eyes toheaven, and Christina looked kindly at her mother for the wish. Buttalking was fast becoming difficult, for the wind had suddenly veeredmore northerly, and, sleet-laden, it howled and shrieked down the widechimney. In one of the pauses forced on them by this blatant intruder, they were startled by a human cry, loud and piercing, and quitedistinct from the turbulent roar of winds and waves. 

Both women were on their feet on the instant Both had received the sameswift, positive impression, that it came from Andrew's room, and theywere at his door in a moment. It was locked. They called him, and hemade no answer. Again and again, with ever increasing terror, theyentreated him to open to them; for the door was solid and heavy, andthe lock large and strong, and no power they possessed could avail toforce an entrance. He heeded none of, their passionate prayers untilJanet began to cry bitterly. Then he turned the key and they entered. 

Andrew looked at them with anger; his countenance was pale anddistraught, and a quiet fury burned in his eyes. He could not speak, and the women regarded him with fear and wonder. Presently he managedto articulate with a thick difficulty:--

"My money! My money! It is all gone!"

"Gone!" shrieked Christina, "that is just impossible. "

"It is all gone!" Then he gripped her cruelly by the shoulder, andasked in a fierce whisper:

"What did you do with it?"

"Me? Andrew!"

"Ay, you! You wicked lass, you!"

"I never put finger on it"

"Christina! Christina! To think that I trusted you for this! Go out ofmy sight, will you! I'm not able to bear the face of you!"

"Andrew! Andrew! Surely, you are not calling me a 'thief'?"

"Who, then?" he cried, with gathering rage, "unless it be Jamie Logan?"

"Don't be so wicked as to wrong innocent folk such a way; Jamie neversaw, never heard tell of your money. The unborn babe is not moreguiltless than Jamie Logan. "

"How do _you_ know that? How do _I_ know that? The very night I toldyou of the money--that very night I showed you where I kept it--thatnight Jamie ought to have been in the boats, and he was not in them. What do you make of that?"

"Nothing. He is as innocent as I am. "

"And he was drinking with some strange man at the public. What werethey up to? Tell me that. And then he comes whistling up the road, andsays he missed his boat. A made up story! and after it he goes off toAmerica! Oh. Woman! woman! If you can't put facts together. I can. "

"Jamie never touched a bawbee of your money. I'll ware my life on that. For I never let on to any mortal creature that you had a penny ofsilent money. God Almighty knows I am speaking the truth. "

"You won't dare to bring God Almighty's name into such a blackbusiness. Are you not feared to take it into your mouth?"

Then Janet laid her hand heavily on his shoulder. He had sat down onhis bed, and was leaning heavily against one of the posts, and the veryfashion of his countenance was changed; his hair stood upright, and hecontinually smote his large, nervous hands together. 

"Andrew, " said his mother, angrily, "you are just giving yourself up toSatan. Your passion is beyond seeing, or hearing tell of. And thinkshame of yourself for calling your sister a 'thief and a 'liar' andwhat not. I wonder what's come over you! Step ben the house, and talkreasonable to us. "

"Leave me to myself! Leave me to myself! I tell you both to go away. Will you go? both of you?"

"I'm your mother, Andrew. "

"Then for God's sake have pity on me, and leave me alone with mysorrow! Go! Go! I'm not a responsible creature just now--" and hispassion was so stern and terrific that neither of them dared to faceany increase of it. 

So they left him alone and went back to the sputtering fireside--forthe rain was now beating down the chimney--and in awe-struck whispersChristina told her mother of the money which Andrew had hoarded throughlong laborious years, and of the plans which the loss of it would breakto pieces. 

"There would be a thousand pounds, or near by it. Mother, I'mthinking, " said Christina. "You know well how scrimping with himself hehas been. Good fishing or bad fishing, he never had a shilling to spendon any one. He bought nothing other boys bought; when he was a laddie, and when he grew to the boats, you may mind that he put all he madeaway somewhere. And he made a deal more than folks thought. He had abit venture here, and a bit there, and they must have prosperedfinely. "

"Not they!" said Janet angrily. "What good has come of them? What good_could_ come of money, hid away from everybody but himself? Why didn'the tell his mother? If her thoughts had been round about his siller, itwould not have gone an ill road. A man who hides away his money is justa miracle of stupidity, for the devil knows where it is if no decenthuman soul does. "

It was a mighty sorrow to bear, even for the two women, and Janet weptlike a child over the hopes blasted before she knew of them. "He shouldhave told us both long since, " she sobbed. "I would have been prayingfor the bonnie ship building for him, every plank would have been laidwith a blessing. And as I sat quiet in my house, I would have beenthinking of my son Captain Binnie, and many a day would have been abright day, that has been but a middling one. So selfish as the lad hasbeen!"

"Maybe it wasn't pure selfishness, Mother. He was saving for a goodend. "

"It was pure selfishness! He was that way even about Sophy. Nobody buthimself must have word or look from her, and the lassie just wearied ofhim. Why wouldn't she? He put himself and her in a circle, and thenmade a wilderness all round about it. And Sophy wanted company, forwhen a girl says 'a man is all the world to her, ' she doesn't mean thatnobody else is to come into her world. She would be a wicked lass ifshe did. "

"Well, Mother, he lost her, and he bore his loss like a man. "

"Ay, men often bear the loss of love easier than the loss of money. I've seen far more fuss made over the loss of a set of fishing-nets, than over the brave fellows that handled them. And to think of ourAndrew hiding away his gold all these years for his own hoping andpleasuring! A perfectly selfish pleasuring! The gold might well takewings to itself and fly away. He should have clipped the wings of itwith giving a piece to the kirk now and then, and a piece to his motherand sister at odd times, and the flying wouldn't have been so easy. Nowhe has lost the whole, and he well deserves it I'm thinking his Makeris dourly angry with him for such ways, and I am angry myself. "

"Ah well, Mother, there is no use in our anger; the lad is sufferingenough, and for the rest we must just leave him to the general mercy ofGod. "

"'General mercy of God. ' Don't let me hear you use the like of suchwords, Christina. The minister would tell you it is a very looseexpression and a very dangerous doctrine. He was reproving ElderMcInnes for them very words, and any good minister will be keeping histhumb on such a wide outgate. Andrew knows well that he has to have theparticular and elected grace of God to keep him where he ought to be. This hid-away money has given him a sore tumble, and I will tell him sovery plainly. "

"Don't trouble him, Mother. He will not bear words on it, even fromyou. "

"He will have to bear them. I am not feared for Andrew Binnie, and heshall not be left in ignorance of his sin. Whether he knows it or not, he has done a deed that would make a very poor kind of a Christianashamed to look the devil in the face; and I be to let him know it. "

But in the morning Andrew looked so utterly wretched, that Janet couldonly pity him. "I'll not be the one to break the bruised reed, " shesaid to Christina, for the miserable man sat silent with dropped eyesthe whole day long, eating nothing, seeing nothing, and apparently lostto all interests outside his own bewildering, utterly hopelessspeculations. It was not until another letter came about the ship hewas to command, that he roused himself sufficiently to write and cancelthe whole transaction. He could not keep his promises financially, andthough he was urged to make some other offer, he would have nothingfrom The Fleet on any humbler basis than his first proposition. With afoolish pride, born of his great disappointment and anger, he turnedhis back on his broken hopes, and went sullen and sorrowful back to hisfishing-boat. 

He had never been even in his family a very social man. Jokes and songsand daffing of all kinds were alien to his nature. Yet his grave andpleasant smile had been a familiar thing, and gentle words had alwayshitherto come readily to his lips. But after his ruinous loss, heseldom spoke unless it was to his mother. Christina he noticed not, either by word or look, and the poor girl was broken-hearted under thissilent accusation. For she felt that Andrew doubted both her and Jamie, and though she was indignant at the suspicion, it eat its way into herheart and tortured her. 

For put the thought away as she would, the fact of Jamie's derelictionthat unfortunate night would return and return, and always with a moresuspicious aspect. Who was the man he was drinking with? Nobody in thevillage but Jamie, knew him. He had come and gone in a night. It waspossible that, having missed the boat, Jamie had brought his friend upthe cliff to call on her; that, seeing the light in Andrew's room, theyhad looked in at the window, and so might have seen Andrew and herselfstanding over the money, and then watched until it was returned to itshiding-place. Jamie _had_ come whistling in a very pronounced manner upto the house--that might have been because he had been drinking, andthen again, it might not--and then there was his quarrel with Andrew!Was that a planned affair, in order to give the other man time to carryoff the box? She could not remember whether the curtain had been drawnacross the window or not; and when she dared to name this doubt toAndrew, he only answered--

"What for are you asking after spilled milk?"

The whole circumstance was so mysterious that it stupified her. And yetshe felt that it contained all the elements of sorrow and separationbetween Jamie and herself. However, she kept assuring her heart thatJamie would be in Glasgow the following week; and she wrote a letter tomeet him, expressing a strong desire that he would "be sure to come toPittendurie, as there was most important business. " But she did notlike to tell him what the business was, and Jamie did not answer therequest. In fact, the lad could not, without resigning his positionentirely. The ship had been delayed thirty hours by storms, and therewas nearly double tides of work for every man on her in order that shemight be able to keep her next sailing day. Jamie was therefore socertain that a request to go on shore about his own concerns would bedenied, that he did not even ask the favour. 

But he wrote to Christina, and explained to her in the most lovingmanner the impossibility of his leaving his duties. He said "that forher sake, as well as his own, he was obligated to remain at his post, "and he assured her that this obligation was "a reasonable one. "Christina believed him fully, and was satisfied, her mother only smiledwith shut lips and remained silent; but Andrew spoke with a bitternessit was hard to forgive; still harder was it to escape from the wretchedinferences his words implied. 

"No wonder he keeps away from Pittendurie!" he said with a scornfullaugh. "He'll come here no more--unless he is made to come, and if itwas not for mother's sake, and for your good name, Christina, I wouldsend the constables to the ship to bring him here this very day. "

And Christina could make no answer, save that of passionate weeping. For it shocked her to see, that her mother did not stand up for Jamie, but went silently about her house duties, with a face as inscrutable asthe figure-head of Andrew's boat. 

Thus backward, every way flew the wheels of life in the Binnie cottage. Andrew took a grim pleasure in accepting his poverty before his motherand sister. In the home he made them feel that everything but thebarest necessities were impossible wants. His newspaper was resigned, his pipe also, after a little struggle He took his tea without sugar, he put the butter and marmalade aside, as if they were sinful luxuries, and in fact reduced his life to the most essential and primitiveconditions it was possible to live it on. And as Janet and Christinawere not the bread winners, and did not know the exact state of theBinnie finances, they felt obliged to follow Andrew's example. Ofcourse, all Christina's little extravagances of wedding preparationswere peremptorily stopped. There would be no silk wedding gown now. Itbegan to look, as if there would be no wedding at all. 

For Andrew's continual suspicions, spoken and unspoken, insensiblyaffected her, and that in spite of her angry denials of them. Shefought against their influence, but often in vain, for Jamie did notcome to Pittendurie either after the second or the third voyage. He wasnot to blame; it was the winter season, and delays were constant, andthere were other circumstances--with which he had nothing whatever todo--that still put him in such a position that to ask for leave ofabsence meant asking for his dismissal. And then there would be noprospect at all of his marriage with Christina. 

But the fisher folk, who had their time very much at their own commandand who were nursed in a sense of every individual's independence, didnot realise Jamie's dilemma. It could not be made intelligent to them, and they began to wonder, and to ask embarrassing questions. Very soonthere was a shake of the head and a sigh of pity whenever "poorChristina Binnie" was mentioned. 

So four wretched months went by, and then one moonlight night inFebruary, Christina heard the quick footstep and the joyous whistle sheknew so well. She stood up trembling with pleasure; and as Jamie flungwide the door, she flew to his arms with an irrepressible cry. For someminutes he saw nothing and cared for nothing but the girl clasped tohis breast; but as she began to sob, he looked at Janet--who hadpurposely gone to the china rack that she might have her back tohim--and then at Andrew who stood white and stern, with both hands inhis pockets, regarding him. 

The young man was confounded by this reception, he released himselffrom Christina's embrace, and stepping forward, asked anxiously "Whatever is the matter with you, Andrew? You aren't like yourself at all. Why, you are ill, man! Oh, but I'm vexed to see you so changed. "

"Where is my money, James Logan? Where is the gold and the bank-notesyou took from me?--the savings of all my lifetime. "

"Your money, Andrew? Your gold and bank-notes? _Me_ take your money!Why, man, you are either mad or joking--and I'm not liking such jokeseither. " Then he turned to Christina and asked, "What does he mean, mydearie?"

"I mean this, " cried Andrew with gathering passion, "I mean that I hadnearly a thousand pounds taken out of my room yon night that you shouldhave gone to the boats--and that you did _not_ go. "

"Do you intend to say that I took your thousand pounds? Mind yourwords, Andrew Binnie!" and as he spoke, he put Christina behind him andstood squarely before Andrew. And his face was a flame of passion. 

"I am most sure you took it. Prove to me that you did not. "

Before the words were finished, they were answered with a blow, theblow was promptly returned; and then the two men closed in a deadlystruggle. Christina was white and sick with terror, but withal gladthat Andrew had found himself so promptly answered. Janet turnedsharply at the first blow, and threw herself between the men. All theold prowess of the fish-wife was roused in her. 

"How dare you?" she cried in a temper quite equal to their own. "I'llhave no cursing and fighting in my house, " and with a twist of her handin her son's collar, she threw him back in his chair. Then she turnedto Jamie and cried angrily--

"Jamie Logan, my bonnie lad, if you have got nothing to say foryourself, you'll do well to take your way down the cliff. "

"I have been called a 'thief' in this house, " he answered; and woundedfeeling and a bitter sense of wrong made his voice tremble. "I camehere to kiss my bride; and I know nothing at all of what Andrew means. I will swear it. Give me the Bible. "

"Let my Bible alone, " shouted Andrew. "I'll have no man swear to a lieon my Bible. Get out of my house, James Logan, and be thankful that Idon't call the officers to take care of you. "

"There is a mad man inside of you, Andrew Binnie, or a devil of somekind, and you are not fit to be in the same house with good women. Comewith me, Christina. I'll marry you tonight at the Largo minister'shouse. Come my dear lassie. Never mind aught you have, but yourplaidie. "

Christina rose and put out her hand. Andrew leaped to his feet andstrode between them. 

"I will strike you to the ground, if you dare to touch my sisteragain, " he shouted, and if Janet had not taken both his hands in herown strong grip, Andrew would have kept his threat. Then Janet's angerturned most unreasonably upon Christina--

"Go ben the house, " she screamed. "Go ben the house, you worrying, whimpering lassie. You will be having the whole village fighting aboutyou the next thing. "

"I am going with Jamie, Mother. "

"I will take very good care, you do _not_ go with Jamie. There is not asoul, but Jamie Logan, will leave this house tonight. I would just liketo see any other man or woman try it, " and she looked defiantly both atAndrew and Christina. 

"I ran the risk of losing my berth to come here, " said Jamie. "Morefool, I. I have been called 'thief' and 'loon' for doing it. I came foryour sake, Christina, and now you must go with me for my sake. Comeaway, my dearie, and there is none that shall part us more. "

Again Christina rose, and again her mother interfered. "You will go outof this house alone, Jamie Logan. I don't know whether you are right orwrong. I know nothing about that weary siller. But I do know there hasbeen nothing but trouble to my boy since he saved you from the sea. Iam not saying it is your fault; but the sea has been against him eversince, and now you will go away, and you will stay away. "

"Christina, am I to go?"

"Go, Jamie, but I will come to you, and there is none that shall keepme from you. "

Then Jamie went, and far down on the sands Christina heard him call, "Good-bye, Christina! Good-bye!" And she would have answered him, butJanet had locked the door, and the key was in her pocket. Then forhours the domestic storm raged, Andrew growing more and more positiveand passionate, until even Janet was alarmed, and with tears andcoaxing persuaded him to go to bed. Still in this hurly burly oftemper, Christina kept her purpose intact. She was determined to go toGlasgow as soon as she could get outside. If she was in time for amarriage with Jamie, she would be his wife at once. If Jamie had gone, then she would hire herself out until the return of his ship. 

This was the purpose she intended to carry out in the morning, butbefore the dawn her mother awakened her out of a deep sleep. She was ina sweat of terror. 

"Run up the cliff for Thomas Roy, " she cried, "and then send Sandy forthe doctor. "

"What is the matter, Mother. "

"Your brother Andrew is raving, and clean beyond himself, and I'mfeared for him, and for us all. Quick Christina! There is not a momentto lose!"

CHAPTER VII

THE BEGINNING OF THE END

On this same night the Mistress of Braelands sat musing by the glowingbit of fire in her bedroom, while her maid, Allister, was folding awayher silk dinner-gown, and making the preparations for the night'stoilet. She was a stately, stern-looking woman, with that air ofauthority which comes from long and recognised position. Herdressing-gown of pale blue flannel fell amply around her tall form; herwhite hair was still coiled and puffed in an elaborate fashion, andthere was at the wrist-bands of her sleeves a fall of lace which halfcovered her long, shapely white hands. She was pinching its plaitsmechanically, and watching the effect as she idly turned them in thefirelight to catch the gleam of opal and amethyst rings. But thisaccompaniment to her thoughts was hardly a conscious one; she hadadmired her hands for so many years that she was very apt to give totheir beauty this homage of involuntary observation, even when herthoughts were fixed on subjects far-off and alien to them. 

"Allister, " she said, suddenly, "I wonder where Mr. Archibald will bethis night. "

"The Lord knows, Madame, and it is well he does; for it is little weknow of ourselves and the ways we walk in. "

"The Lord looks after his own, Allister, and Mr. Archibald was given tohim by kirk and parents before he was a month old. But if a man marriessuch a woman as you know nothing about, and then goes her ways, whatwill you say then?"

"It is not as bad as that, Madame. Mrs. Archibald is of well-knownpeople, though poor. "

"Though low-born, Allister. Poverty can be tholed, and even respected;but for low birth there is no remedy but being born over again. "

"Well, Madame, she is Braelands now, and that is a cloak to cover alldefects; and if I was you I would just see that it did so. "

"She is my son's wife, and must be held as such, both by gentle andsimple. "

"And there is few ills that have not a good side to them, Madame. IfMr. Archibald had married Miss Roberta Elgin, as you once feared hewould do, there would have been a flitting for you and for me, Madame. Miss Roberta would have had the whole of Braelands House to herself, and the twenty-two rooms of it wouldn't have been enough for her. Andshe would have taken the Braelands's honour and glory on her ownshoulders. It would have been 'Mrs. Archibald Braelands' here and thereand everywhere, and you would have been pushed out of sight andhearing, and passed by altogether, like as not; for if youth and beautyand wealth and good blood set themselves to have things their own way, which way at all will age that is not rich keep for itself? Sure asdeath, Madame, you would have had to go to the Dower House, which isbut a mean little place, though big enough, no doubt, for all thefriends and acquaintances that would have troubled themselves to knowyou there. "

"You are not complimentary, Allister. I think I have few friends whowould _not_ have followed me to the Dower House. "

"Surely, Madame, you may as well think so. But carriages aye stop atbig houses; indeed, the very coachmen and footmen and horses are deadset against calling at cottages. There is many a lady who would befeared to ask her coachman to call at the Dower House. But what for amI talking? There is no occasion to think that Mrs. Archibald will everdream of sending you out of his house. "

"I came here a bride, nearly forty years ago, Allister, " she said, witha touch of sentimental pity for herself in the remembrance. 

"So you have had a long lease, Madame, and one like to be longer; fornever a better son than your son; and I do think for sure that the ladyhe has married will be as biddable as a very child with you. "

"I hope so. For she will have everything to learn about society, andwho can teach her better than I can, Allister?"

"No one, Madame; and Mrs. Archibald was ever good at the uptake. I amvery sure if you will show her this and that, and give her the wordhere and there yourself, Madame, there will be no finer lady in Fifebefore the year has come and gone. And she cannot be travelling withMr. Archibald without learning many a thing all the winter long. "

"Yes, they will not be home before the spring, I hear. "

"And oh, Madame, by that date you will have forgot that all was not asyou wanted it! And no doubt you will give the young things the lovingwelcome they are certain to be longing for. "

"I do not know, Allister. The marriage was a great sorrow, and shame, and disappointment to me. I am not sure that I have forgiven it. "

"Lady Beith was saying you never would forgive it. She was saying thatyou could never forgive any one's faults but your own. "

"Lady Beith is very impertinent. And pray what faults has Lady Beithever seen in me?"

"It was her general way of speaking, Madame. She has that way. "

"Then you might tell Lady Beith's woman, that such general ways ofspeaking are extremely vulgar. When her ladyship speaks of the Mistressof Braelands again, I will ask her to refer to me, particularly. I havemy own virtues as well as my own faults, and my own position, and myown influence, and I do not go into the generalities of life. I am theMistress of Braelands yet, I hope. "

"I hope so, Madame. As I was saying, Mrs. Archibald is biddable as achild; but then again, she is quite capable of taking the rudder intoher own hands, and driving in the teeth of the wind. You can't ever besure of fisher blood. It is like the ocean, whiles calm as a sleepingbaby, whiles lashing itself into a very fury. There is both this andthat in the Traills, and Mrs. Archibald is one of them. "

"Any way and every way, this marriage is a great sorrow to me. "

"I am not disputing that, Madame; but I am sure you remember what theminister was saying to you at his last visitation--that every sorrowyou got the mastery over was a benefactor. "

"The minister is not always orthodox, Allister. "

"He is a very good man; every one is saying that. "

"No doubt, no doubt, but he deviates. "

"Well then, Madame, even if the marriage be as bad as you fancy it, badthings as well as good ones come to an end, and life, after all, islike a bit of poetry I picked up somewhere, which says:

There's nane exempt frae worldly cares And few frae some domestic jarsWhyles _all_ are in, whyles _all_ are out, And grief and joy come turn about. 

And it's the turn now for the young people to be happy. Cold and bleakit is here on the Fife coast, but they are among roses and sunshine andso God bless them, I say, and keep us and every one from cutting shorttheir turn of happiness. You had your bride time, Madame, and whenAngus McAllister first took me to his cottage in Strathmoyer, I thoughtI was on a visit to Paradise. "

"Give me my glass of negus, and then I will go to bed. Everybody hastaken to preaching and advising lately, and that is not the kind offore-talk that spares after-talk--not it, Allister. "

She sunk then into unapproachable silence, and Allister knew that sheneeded not try to move her further that night in any direction. Hereyes were fixed upon the red coals, but she was really thinking of theroses and sunshine of the South, and picturing to herself her son andhis bride, wandering happily amid the warmth and beauty. 

In reality, they were crossing the Braelands's moor at that very momentThe rain was beating against the closed windows of their coach, and thehorses floundering heavily along the boggy road. Sophy's head rested onher husband's shoulder, but they were not talking, nor had they spokenfor some time. Both indeed were tired and depressed, and Archie atleast was unpleasantly conscious of the wonderment their unexpectedreturn would cause. 

The end of April or the beginning of May had been the time appointed, and yet here they were, at the threshold of their home, in the middleof the winter. Sophy's frail health had been Archie's excuse for aseason in the South with her; and she was coming back to Scotland whenthe weather was at its very bleakest and coldest. One excuse afteranother formed itself in Archie's mind, only to be peremptorilydismissed. "It is no one's business but our own, " he kept assuringhimself, "and I will give neither reason nor apology but my wife'sdesire. " and yet he knew that reasons and apologies would be asked, andhe was fretting inwardly at their necessity, and wondering vaguely ifwomen ever did know what they really wanted. 

For to go to France and Germany and Italy, had seemed to Sophy the veryessence of every joy in life. Before her marriage, she had sat byArchie's side hour after hour, listening to his descriptions of foreignlands, and dreaming of all the delights that were to meet her in them. She had started on this bridal trip with all her senses set to anunnatural key of expectation, and she had, of course, sufferedcontinual disappointments and disillusions. The small frets andsicknesses of travel, the loneliness of being in places where she couldnot speak even to her servants, or go shopping without an attendant, the continual presence of what was strange--of what wounded herprejudices and very often her conscience, --and the constant absenceof all that was familiar and approved, were in themselves no slightcause of unhappiness. 

Yet it had been a very gradual disillusion, and one mitigated by manyexperiences that had fully justified even Sophy's extravagantanticipations. The trouble, in the main, was one common to a greatmajority of travellers for pleasure--a mind totally unprepared forthe experience. 

She grew weary of great cities which had no individual character orhistory in her mind; weary of fine hotels in which she was of nospecial importance; weary of art which had no meaning for her. Herchild-like enthusiasms, which at first both delighted and embarrassedher husband, faded gradually away; the present not only lost its charm, but she began to look backward to the homely airs and scenes of Fife, and to suffer from a nostalgia that grew worse continually. 

However, Archie bore her unreasonable depression with greatconsideration. She was but a frail child after all, and she was in acondition of health demanding the most affectionate patience andtenderness he could give her. Besides, it was no great sin in his eyesto be sick with longing for dear old Scotland. He loved his nativeland; and his little mountain blue-bell, trembling in every breeze, anddrooping in every hour of heat and sunshine, appealed to the very bestinstincts of his nature. And when Sophy began to voice her longing, tocry a little in his arms, and to say she was wearying for a sight ofthe great grey sea round her Fife home, Archie vowed he was homesick asa man could be, and asked, "why they should stop away from their owndear land any longer?"

"People will wonder and talk so, Archie They will say unkind things--they will maybe say we are not happy together. "

"Let them talk. What care we? And we are happy together. Do you want togo back to Scotland tomorrow? today--this very hour?"

"Aye. I do, Archie. And I am that weak and poorly, if I don't go soon, maybe I will have to wait a long time, and then you know"

"Yes, I know. And that would never, never do. Braelands of Fife cannotrun the risk of having his heir born in a foreign country. Why, itwould be thrown up to the child, lad and man, as long as he lived! Socall your maid, my bonnie Sophy, and set her to packing all your brawsand pretty things, and we will turn our faces to Scotland's hills andbraes tomorrow morning. "

Thus it happened that on that bleak night in February, Archie Braelandsand his wife came suddenly to their home amid the stormy winds andrains of a stormy night. Madame heard the wheels of their carriage asshe sat sipping her negus, and thinking over her conversation withAllister and her alert soul instantly divined _who_ the late comerswere. 

"Give me my silk morning gown and my brocade petticoat, Allister, " shecried, as she rose up hastily and set down her glass. "Mr. Archibaldhas come home; his carriage is at the door--haste ye, woman!"

"Will you be heeding your silks to-night, Madame?"

"Get them at once. Quick! Do you think I will meet the bride in aflannel dressing-gown? No, no! I am not going to lose ground the firsthour. "

With nervous haste the richer garments were donned, and just as thefinal gold brooch was clasped, Archie knocked at his mother's door. Sheopened to him with her own hands, and took him to her heart with aneffusive affection she rarely permitted herself to exhibit. 

"I am so glad that you are dressed, Mother, " he said. "Sophy must notmiss your welcome, and the poor little woman is just weary to death. "Then he whispered some words to her, which brought a flush of pride andjoy to his own face, but no such answering response to Madame's. 

"Indeed, " she replied, "I am sorry she is so tired. It seems to me, that the women of this generation are but weak creatures. "

Then she took her son's arm, and went down to the parlour, whereservants were re-kindling the fire, and setting a table withrefreshments for the unexpected guests. Sophy was resting on a sofadrawn towards the hearth. Archie had thrown his travelling cloak ofblack fox over her, and her white, flower-like face, surrounded by theblack fur, had a singularly pathetic beauty. She opened her large blueeyes as Madame approached and looked at her with wistful entreaty; andMadame, in spite of all her pre-arrangements of conduct, was unable atthat hour not to answer the appeal for affection she saw in them. Shestooped and kissed the childlike little woman, and Archie watched thistoken of reconciliation and promise with eyes wet with happiness. 

When supper was served, Madame took her usual place at the head of thetable, and Archie noticed the circumstance, though it did not seem aproper time to make any remark about it. For Sophy was not able to eat, and did not rise from her couch; and Madame seemed to fall so properlyinto her character of hostess, that it would have been churlish to havemade the slightest dissent. Yet it was a false kindness to both; for inthe morning Madame took the same position, and Archie felt less ablethan on the previous night to make any opposition, though he had toldhimself continually on his homeward journey that he would not sufferSophy to be imposed upon, and would demand for her the utmost title ofher rights as his wife. 

In this resolve, however, he had forgot to take into account hismother's long and absolute influence over him. When she was absent, itwas comparatively easy to relegate her to the position she ought tooccupy; when she was present, he found it impossible to say or doanything which made her less than Mistress of Braelands. And during thefirst few weeks after her return, Sophy helped her mother-in-lawconsiderably against herself. She was so anxious to please, so anxiousto be loved, so afraid of making trouble for Archie, that she submittedwithout protest to one infringement after another on her rights as thewife of the Master of Braelands. All the same she was dumbly consciousof the wrong being done to her; and like a child, she nursed her senseof the injustice until it showed itself in a continual mood of sullen, silent protest. 

After the lapse of a month or more, she became aware that even her illhealth was used as a weapon against her, and she suddenly resolved tothrow off her lassitude, and assert her right to go out and call uponher friends. But she was petulant and foolish in the carrying out ofthe measure. She had made up her mind to visit her aunt on thefollowing day, and though the weather was bitterly cold and damp, sheadhered to her resolution. Madame, at first politely, finally withprovoking positiveness, told her "she would not permit her to risk herlife, and a life still more precious, for any such folly. "

Then Sophy rose, with a sudden excitement of manner, and rang the bell. When the servant appeared, she ordered the carriage to be ready for herin half an hour. Madame waited until they were alone, and then said:

"Sophy, go to your room and lie down. You are not fit to go out. Ishall counter-order the carriage in your name. "

"You will not, " cried the trembling, passionate girl. "You have orderedand counter-ordered in my name too much. You will, in the future, mindyour own affairs, and leave me to attend to mine. "

"When Archie comes back"

"You will tell him all kinds of lies. I know that. "

"I do not lie. "

"Perhaps not; but you misrepresent things so, that you make itimpossible for Archie to get at the truth. I want to see my aunt. Youhave kept me from her, and kept her from me, until I am sick for asight of those who _really_ love me. I am going to Aunt Kilgour's thisvery morning, whether you like it or not. "

"You shall not leave this house until Archie comes back from Largo. Iwill not take the responsibility. "

"We shall see. _I_ will take the responsibility myself. _I_ am mistressof Braelands. You will please remember that fact. And I know my rights, though I have allowed you to take them from me. "

"Sophy, listen to me. "

"I am going to Aunt Kilgour's. "

"Archie will be very angry. "

"Not if you will let him judge for himself. Anyway, I don't care. I amgoing to see my aunt! You expect Archie to be always thinking offeelings, and your likes and dislikes. I have just as good a right tocare about my aunt's feelings. She was all the same as mother to me. Ihave been a wicked lassie not to have gone to her lang syne. "

"Wicked lassie! Lang syne! I wish you would at least try to speak likea lady. "

"I am not a lady. I am just one of God's fisher folk. I want to see myown kith and kin. I am going to do so. "

"You are not--until your husband gives you permission. "

"Permission! do you say? I will go on my own permission, SophyBraelands's permission. "

"It is a shame to take the horses out in such weather--and poor oldThomas. "

"Shame or not, I shall take them out. "

"Indeed, no! I cannot permit you to make a fool and a laughing-stock ofyourself. " She rang the bell sharply and sent for the coachman When heappeared, she said:

"Thomas, I think the horses had better not go out this morning. It isbitterly cold, and there is a storm coming from the northeast. Do younot think so?"

"It is a bad day, Madame, and like to be worse. "

"Then we will not go out. "

As Madame uttered the words, Sophy walked rapidly forward. All thepassion of her Viking ancestors was in her face, which had undergone asort of transfiguration. Her eyes flashed, her soft curly yellow hairseemed instinct with a strange life and brilliancy, and she said withan authority that struck Madame with amazement and fear:

"Thomas, you will have the carriage at the door in fifteen minutes, exactly, " and she drew out her little jewelled watch, and gave him thetime with a smiling, invincible calmness. 

Thomas looked from one woman to the other, and said, fretfully, "A mancanna tak' twa contrary orders at the same minute o' time. What will Ido in the case?"

"You will do as I tell you, Thomas, " said Madame. "You have done so fortwenty years. Have you come to any scath or wrong by it?"

"If the carriage is not at the door in fifteen minutes, you will leaveBraelands this night, Thomas, " said Sophy. "Listen! I give you fifteenminutes; after that I shall walk into Largo, and you can answer to yourmaster for it. I am Mistress of Braelands. Don't forget that fact ifyou want to keep your place, Thomas. "

She turned passionately away with the words, and left the room. Infifteen minutes she went to the front door in her cloak and hood, andthe carriage was waiting there. "You will drive me to my aunt Kilgour'sshop, " she said with an air of reckless pride and defiance. It pleasedher at that hour to humble herself to her low estate. And it pleasedThomas also that she had done so. His sympathy was with the fishergirl. He was delighted that she had at last found courage to assertherself, for Sophy's wrongs had been the staple talk of thekitchen-table and fireside. 

"No born lady I ever saw, " he said afterwards to the cook, "could haveheld her own better. It will be an even fight between them two now, andI will bet my shilling on fisherman Traill's girl. "

"Madame has more wit, and more _hold out_" answered the cook. "Mrs. Archibald is good for a spurt, but I'll be bound she cried her eyes redat Griselda Kilgour's, and was as weak as a baby. "

This opinion was a perfectly correct one. Once in her aunt's littleback parlour, Sophy gave full sway to her childlike temper. She toldall her wrongs, and was comforted by her kinswoman's interest and pity, and strengthened in her resolution to resist Madame's interference withher life. And then the small black teapot was warmed and filled, andSophy begged for a herring and a bit of oatcake; and the two women satclose to one another, and Miss Kilgour told Sophy all the gossip andclash of gossip there had been about Christina Binnie and her lover, and how the marriage had been broken off, no one knowing just why, butmany thinking that since Jamie Logan had got a place on "The Line, " hewas set on bettering himself with a girl something above the like ofChristina Binnie. 

And as they talked Helen Marr came into the shop for a yard of ribbon, and said it was the rumour all through Pittendurie, that Andrew Binniewas all but dead, and folks were laying all the blame upon the Mistressof Braelands, for that every one knew that Andrew had never held up hishead an hour since her marriage. And though Miss Kilgour did notencourage this phase of gossip, yet the woman would persist indescribing his sufferings, and the poverty that had come to the Binnieswith the loss of their only bread-winner, and the doctors to pay, andthe medicine folks said they had not the money to buy, and much more ofthe same sort, which Sophy heard every word of, knowing also that HelenMarr must have seen her carriage at the door, and so, knowing of herpresence, had determined that she should hear it. 

Certainly if Helen had wished to wound her to the very heart, shesucceeded. When Miss Kilgour got rid of her customer, and came back toSophy, she found her with her face in the pillow, sobbing passionatelyabout the trouble of her old friends. She did not name Andrew, but thethought of his love and suffering hurt her sorely, and she could notendure to think of Janet's and Christina's long hardships and sorrow. For she knew well how much they would blame her, and the thought oftheir anger, and of her own apparent ingratitude, made her sick withshame and grief. And as they talked of this new trouble, and Sophy sentmessages of love and pity to Janet and Christina, the shop-bell rungviolently, and Sophy heard her husband's step, and in another moment hewas at her side, and quite inclined to be very angry with her forventuring out in such miserable weather. 

Then Sophy seized her opportunity, and Miss Kilgour left them alone forthe explanation that was better to be made there than at Braelands. Andfor once Archie took his wife's part without reservation. He was notindeed ill-pleased that she had assumed her proper position, and whenhe slipped a crown into Thomas's hand, the man also knew that he haddone wisely. Indeed there was something in the coachman's face and airwhich affected Madame unpleasantly, before she noticed that Sophy hadreturned in her husband's company, and that they were evidently on themost affectionate terms. 

"I have lost this battle, " she said to herself, and she wiselyretreated to her own room, and had a nominal headache, and a verygenuine heartache about the loss. 

All day long Sophy was at an unnatural pitch, all day long she exertedherself, as she had not done for weeks and months, to entertain andkeep her husband at her side, and all day long her pretty wifelytriumph was bright and unbroken. The very servants took a delight inministering to it, and Madame was not missed in a single item of thehousehold routine. But about midnight there was a great and suddenchange. Bells were frantically rung, lights flew about the house, andthere was saddling of horses and riding in hot haste into Largo for anyor all the doctors that could be found. 

Then Madame came quietly from her seclusion, and resumed her place ashead of the household, for the little mistress of one day lay in herchamber quite unconscious of her lost authority. Some twelve hourslater, the hoped-for heir of Braelands was born, and died, and Sophy, on the very outermost shoal of life, felt the wash and murmur of thatdark river which flows to the Eternal Sea. 

It was no time to reproach the poor little wife, and yet Madame did notscruple to do so. "She had warned Sophy, --she had begged her not to goout--she had been insulted for endeavouring to prevent what had come topass just as she had predicted. " And in spite of Archie's love andpity, her continual regrets did finally influence him. He began tothink he had been badly used, and to agree with Madame in herassertions that Sophy must be put under some restrictions, andsubjected to some social instruction. 

"The idea of the Braelands's carriage standing two hours at GriseldaKilgour's shop door! All the town talking about it! Every one wonderingwhat had happened at Braelands, to drive your wife out of doors in suchweather. All sorts of rumours about you and Sophy, and Griselda shakingher head and sighing and looking unspeakable things, just to keep thecuriosity alive; and the crowds of gossiping women coming and going toher shop. Many a cap and bonnet has been sold to your name, Archie, nodoubt, and I can tell you my own cheeks are kept burning with the shameof the whole affair! And then this morning, the first thing she said tome was, that she wanted to see her cousins Isobel and Christina. "

"She asked me also about them, Mother, and really, I think she hadbetter be humoured in this matter. Our friends are not her friends. "

"They ought to be. "

"Let us be just. When has she had any opportunity to make them so? Shehas seen no one yet, --her health has been so bad--and it did oftenlook. Mother, as if you encouraged her _not_ to see callers. "

"Perhaps I did, Archie. You cannot blame me. Her manners are so crude, so exigent, so effusive. She is so much pleased, or so indifferentabout people; so glad to see them, or else so careless as to how shetreats them. You have no idea what I suffered when Lady Blair called, and insisted on meeting your wife. Of course she pretended to fall inlove with her, and kissed, and petted, and flattered Sophy, until thegirl hardly knew what she was doing or saying. And as for 'saying, ' shefell into broad Scotch, as she always does when she is pleased orexcited, and Lady Blair professed herself charmed, and talked broadScotch back to her. And I? I sat tingling with shame and annoyance, forI knew right well what mockeries and laughter Sophy was supplyingAnnette Blair with for her future visitors. "

"I think you are wrong. Lady Blair is not at all ill-natured. She washerself a poor minister's daughter, and accustomed to go in and out ofthe fishers' cottages. I can imagine that she would really be charmedwith Sophy. "

"You can 'imagine' what you like; that will not alter the real state ofthe case; and if Sophy is ever to take her position as your wife, shemust be prepared for it. Besides which, it will be a good thing to giveher some new interests in life, for she must drop the old ones. Aboutthat there cannot be two opinions. "

"What then do you propose, Mother?"

"I should get proper teachers for her. Her English education has beenfrightfully neglected; and she ought to learn music and French. "

"She speaks French pretty well. I never saw any one pick up a languageas cleverly as she did the few weeks we were in Paris. "

"O, she is clever enough if she wants to be! There is a French womanteaching at Miss Linley's Seminary. She will perfect her. And I haveheard she also plays well. It would be a good thing to engage her forSophy, two or three hours a day. A teacher for grammar, history, writing, etc. , is easily found. I myself will give her lessons insocial etiquette, and in all things pertaining to the dignity anddecorum which your wife ought to exhibit. Depend upon it, Archie, thisroutine is absolutely necessary. It will interest and occupy her idlehours, of which she has far too many; and it will wean her better thanany other thing from her low, uncultivated relations. "

"The poor little woman says she wants to be loved; that she is lonelywhen I am away; that no one but the servants care for her; thattherefore she wants to see her cousins and kinsfolk. "

"She does me a great injustice. I would love her if she would bereasonable--if she would only trust me. But idle hearts are lonelyhearts, Archie. Tell her you wish her to study, and fit herself for theposition you have raised her to. Surely the desire to please you oughtto be enough. Do you know _who_ this Christina Binnie is that she talksso continually about?"

"Her fourth or fifth cousin, I believe. "

"She is the sister of the man you won Sophy from--the man whom youstruck across the cheek with your whip. Now do you wish her to seeChristina Binnie!"

"Yes, I do! Do you think I am jealous or fearful of my wife? No, byHeaven! No! Sophy may be unlearned and unfashionable, but she is loyaland true, and if she wants to see her old lover and his sister, she hasmy full permission. As for the fisherman, he behaved very nobly. And Idid not intend to strike him. It was an accident, and I shall apologisefor it the first opportunity I have to do so. "

"You are a fool, Archie Braelands. "

"I am a husband, who knows his wife's heart and who trusts in it. Andthough I think you are quite right in your ideas about Sophy'seducation, I do not think you are right in objecting to her seeing herold friends. Every one in this bound of Fife knows that I married afisher-girl. I never intend to be ashamed of the fact. If our socialworld will accept her as the representative of my honour and my family, I shall be obliged to the world. If it will not, I can live without itsapproval--having Sophy to love me and live with me. I counted all thiscost before I married; you may be sure of that, Mother. "

"You forgot, however, to take my honour and feelings into yourconsideration. "

"I knew, Mother, that you were well able to protect your own honour andfeelings. "

This conversation but indicates the tone of many others which occupiedthe hours mother and son passed together during Sophy's convalescence. And the son, being the weaker character of the two, was insensiblymoved and moulded to all Madame's opinions. Indeed, before Sophy waswell enough to begin the course of study marked out for her, Archie hadbecome thoroughly convinced that it was his first duty to his wife andhimself to insist upon it. 

The weak, loving woman made no objections. Indeed, Archie's evidententhusiasm sensibly affected her own desires. She listened withpleasure to the plans for her education, and promised "as soon as shewas able, to do her very best. "

And there was a strange pathos in the few words "as soon as I am able, "which Archie remembered years afterwards, when it was far too late. Atthe moment, they touched him but lightly, but _Oh, afterwards!_ Oh, afterwards! when memory brought back the vision of the small white faceon the white pillow, and the faint golden light of the golden curlsshadowing the large blue eyes that even then had in them that wide gazeand wistfulness that marks those predestined for sorrow or early death. Alas! Alas! We see too late, we hear too late, when it is the dead whoopen the eyes and the ears of the living!

CHAPTER VIII

A GREAT DELIVERANCE

While these clouds of sorrow were slowly gathering in the splendidhouse of Braelands, there was a full tide of grief and anxiety in thehumble cottage of the Binnies. The agony of terror which had changedJanet Binnie's countenance, and sent Christina flying up the cliff forhelp, was well warranted by Andrew's condition. The man was in the mostsevere maniacal delirium of brain inflammation, and before the dawningof the next day, required the united strength of two of his mates tocontrol him. To leave her mother and brother in this extremity wouldhave been a cruelty beyond the contemplation of Christina Binnie. Itspossibility never entered her mind. All her anger and sense of wrongvanished before the pitiful sight of the strong man in the throes ofhis mental despair and physical agony. She could not quite ignore herwaiting lover, even in such an hour; but she was not a ready writer, soher words were few and to the point:--

DEAR JAMIE--Andrew is ill and like to die, and my place, dear lad, ishere, until some change come. I must stand by mother and Andrew now, and you yourself would bid me do so. Death is in the house and by thepillow, and there is only God's mercy to trust to. Andrew is clean offhis senses, and ill to manage, so you will know that he was not inreason when he spoke so wrong to you, and you will be sorry for him andforgive the words he said, because he did not know what he was saying;and now he knows nothing at all, not even his mother. Do not forget topray for us in our sorrow, dear Jamie, and I will keep ever a prayerround about you in case of danger on the sea or on land. Your true, troth-plighted wife, CHRISTINA BINNIE

This letter was her last selfish act for many a week. After it had beenwritten, she put all her own affairs out of her mind and set herselfwith heart and soul, by day and by night, to the duty before her. Shesuffered no shadow of the bygone to darken her calm strong face or toweaken the hands and heart from which so much was now expected. And shecontinually told herself not to doubt in these dark days the mercy ofthe Eternal, taking hope and comfort, as she went about her duties, from a few words Janet had said, even while she was weeping bitterlyover her son's sufferings--

"But I am putting all fear Christina, under my feet, for nothing comesto pass without helping on some great end. "

Now what great end Andrew's severe illness was to help on, Christinacould not divine; but like her brave mother, she put fear under herfeet, and looked confidently for "the end" which she trusted would beaccomplished in God's time and mercy. 

So week after week the two women walked with love and courage by thesick man's side, through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. Often hislife lay but within his lips, and they watched with prayer continually, lest he should slip away to them that had gone before, wanting itsmighty shield in the great perilous journey of the soul. And thoughthere is no open vision in these days, yet His Presence is ever near tothose who seek him with all the heart. So that wonderful things wereseen and experienced in that humble room, where the man lay at thepoint of death. 

Andrew had his share of these experiences. Whatever God said to thewaiting, watching women, He kept for His suffering servant some of Hisrichest consolations, and so made all his bed in his sickness. Andrewwas keenly sensible of these ministrations, and he grew strong in theirheavenly strength; for though the vaults of God are full of wine, thesoul that has drunk of His strong wine of Pain knows that it has tastedthe costliest vintage of all, and asks on this earth no better. 

And as our thoughts affect our surroundings, quite as much as rain orsunshine affect the atmosphere, these two women, with the sick man ontheir hearts and hands, were not unhappy women. They did their verybest, and trusted God for the outcome. Thus Heaven helped them, andtheir neighbours helped them, and taking turns in their visitation, they found the Kirk also to be a big, calm friend in the time of theirtrouble. And then one morning, before the dawn broke, when life seemedto be at its lowest point, when hope was nearly gone, and the shadow ofDeath fell across the sick man's face, there was suddenly a faint, strange flutter. Some mighty one went out of the door, as the sunshinetouched the lintel, and the life began to turn back, just as the tidebegan to flow. 

Then Janet rose up softly and opened the house door, and looking at herson and at the turning waters, she said solemnly:--

"Thank God, Christina! He has turned with the tide? He is all rightnow. "

It was April, however, in its last days, before Andrew had strengthsufficient to go down the cliff, and the first news he heard in thevillage, was that Mistress Braelands had lain at death's door also. Doubtless it explained some testimony private to his own experience, for he let the intelligence pass through his ear-chambers into hisheart, without remark, but it made there a great peace--a peace pureand loving as that which passeth understanding. 

There was, however, no hope or expectation of his resuming work untilthe herring fishing in June, and Janet and Christina were now sufferingsorely from a strange dilemma. Never before in all their lives had theyknown what it was to be pinched for ready money. It was hard for Janetto realise that there was no longer "a little bit in the Largo bank tofall back on. " Naturally economical, and always regarding it as asacred duty to live within the rim of their shilling, they had neverknown either the slow terror of gathering debt, or the acute pinch ofactual necessity. But Andrew's long sickness, with all its attendantexpenses, had used up all Janet's savings, and the day at last dawnedwhen they must either borrow money, or run into debt. 

It was a strange and humiliating position, especially after Janet'slittle motherly bragging about her Christina's silken wedding gown, andbrawly furnished floor in Glasgow. Both mother and daughter felt itsorely; and Christina looked at her brother with some little angryamazement, for he appeared to be quite oblivious of their cruel strait. He said little about his work, and never spoke at all about Sophy orhis lost money. In the tremendous furnace of his affliction, theseelements of it appeared to have been utterly consumed. 

Neither mother nor sister liked to remind him of them, nor yet to pointout the poverty to which his long sickness had reduced them. It mightbe six weeks before the herring fishing roused him to labour, and theyhad spent their last sixpence. Janet began seriously to think oflifting the creel to her shoulders again, and crying "fresh fish" inLargo streets. It was so many years since she had done this, that theidea was painful both to Christina and herself. The girl would gladlyhave taken her mother's place, but this Janet would not hearken to. Asyet, her daughter had never had to haggle and barter among fish wives, and house-wives; and she would not have her do it for a passingnecessity. Besides Jamie might not like it; and for many other reasons, the little downcome would press hardest upon Christina. 

There was one other plan by which a little ready money could beraised--that was, to get a small mortgage on the cottage, and when allhad been said for and against this project, it seemed, after all, to bethe best thing to do. 

Griselda Kilgour had money put away, and Christina was very certain shewould be glad to help them on such good security as a house and an acreor two of land. Certainly Janet and Griselda had parted in bad bread attheir last interview, but in such a time of trouble, Christina did notbelieve that her kinswoman would remember ill words that had passed, especially as they were about Sophy's marriage--a subject on which theyhad every right to feel hurt and offended. 

Still a mortgage on their home was a dreadful alternative to thesesimple-minded women; they looked upon it as something very like adisgrace. "A lawyer's foot on the threshold, " said Janet, "and who orwhat is to keep him from putting the key of the cottage in his ownpocket, and sending us into a cold and roofless world? No! No!Christina. I had better by far lift the creel to my shoulders again. Thank God, I have the health and strength to do it!"

"And what will folks be saying of me, to let you ware yourself on thelife of that work in your old age? If you turn fish-wife again, then Ibe to seek service with some one who can pay me for my hands' work. "

"Well, well, my dear lass, to-night we cannot work, but we may sleep;and many a blessing comes, and us not thinking of it. Lie down a wee, and God will comfort you; forbye, the pillow often gives us goodcounsel. Keep a still heart tonight, and tomorrow is another day. "

Janet followed her own advice, and was soon sleeping as soundly and assweetly as a play-tired child; but Christina sat in the open doorway, thinking of the strait they were in, and wondering if it would not bethe kindest and wisest thing to tell Andrew plainly of their necessity. Sooner or later, he would find out that his mother was making his breadfor him; and she thought such knowledge, coming from strangers, orthrough some accident, would wound him more severely than if sheherself explained their hard position to him. As for the mortgage, thevery thought of it made her sick. "It is just giving our home away, bitby bit--that is what a mortgage is--and whatever we are to do, andwhatever I ought to do, God only knows!"

Yet in spite of the stress of this, to her, terrible question, asingular serenity possessed her. It was as if she had heard a voicesaying "Peace, be still!" She thought it was the calm of nature, --thehigh tide breaking gently on the shingle with a low murmur, the softwarmth, the full moonshine, the sound of the fishermen's voices callingfaintly on the horizon, --and still more, the sense of divine care andknowledge, and the sweet conviction that One, mighty to help and tosave, was her Father and her Friend. For a little space she walkedabreast of angels. So many things take place in the soul that are notrevealed, and it is always when we are wrestling _alone_, that thecomforting ones come. Christina looked downward to the village sleepingat her feet, "Beneath its little patch of sky, And little lot of stars, "

and upward, to where innumerable worlds were whirling noiselesslythrough the limitless void, and forgot her own clamorous personalityand "the something that infects the world;" and doing this, though shedid not voice her anxiety, it passed from her heart into the InfiniteHeart, and thus she was calmed and comforted. Then, suddenly, theprayer of her childhood and her girlhood came to her lips, and shestood up, and clasping her hands, she cast her eyes towards heaven, andsaid reverently:--

"_This is the change of Thy Right Hand, O Thou Most High Thou art strong to strengthen. ' Thou art gracious to help! Thou art ready to better. ' Thou art mighty to save'"_

As the words passed her lips, she heard a movement, and softly andsilently as a spirit, her brother Andrew, fully dressed, passed throughthe doorway. His arm lightly touched Christina's clothing, but he wasunconscious of her presence. He looked more than mortal, and wasevidently seeing _through_ his eyes, and not _with_ them. She wasafraid to speak to him. She did not dream of touching him, or ofarresting his steps. Without a sign or word, he went rapidly down thecliff, walking with that indifference to physical obstacles which aspirit that had cast off its incarnation might manifest. 

"He is walking in his sleep, and he may get into danger or find deathitself, " thought Christina, and her fear gave strength and fleetness toher footsteps as she quickly followed her brother. He made no noise ofany kind; he did not even disturb a pebble in his path; but wentforward, with a motion light and rapid, and the very reverse of theslow, heavy-footed gait of a fisherman. But she kept him in sight as heglided over the ribbed and water-lined sands, and rounded the rockypoints which jutted into the sea water. After a walk of nearly twomiles, he made direct for a series of bold rocks which were penetratedby numberless caverns, and into one of these he entered. 

Hitherto he had not shown a moment's hesitation, nor did he now thoughthe path was dangerously narrow and rocky, overhanging unfathomableabysses of dark water. But Christina was in mortal terror, both forherself and Andrew. She did not dare to call his name, lest, in thesudden awakening he might miss his precarious foothold, and fall tounavoidable death. She found it almost impossible to follow him norindeed in her ordinary frame of mind could she have done so. But theexperience, so strange and thrilling, had lifted her in a measure abovethe control of the physical and she was conscious of an exaltation ofspirit which defied difficulties that would ordinarily have terrifiedher. Still she was so much delayed by the precautions evidentlynecessary for her life, that she lost sight of her brother, and herheart stood still with fright. 

Prayers parted her white lips continually, as she slowly climbed thehollow crags that seemed to close together and forbid her furtherprogress. But she would not turn back, for she could not believe thatAndrew had perished. She would have heard the fall of his body or itssplash in the water beneath and so she continued to climb and clamberthough every step appeared to make further exploration more and moreimpossible. 

With a startling unexpectedness, she found herself in a circularchamber, open to the sky and on one of the large boulders lying around, Andrew sat. He was still in the depths of a somnambulistic sleep; buthe had his lost box of gold and bank-notes before him, and he wascounting the money. She held her breath. She stood still as a stone. She was afraid to think. But she divined at once the whole secret. Motionless she watched him, as he unrolled and rerolled the notes, ashe counted and recounted the gold, and then carefully locked the box, and hid the key under the edge of the stone on which he sat. 

What would he now do with the box? She watched his movements with abreathless interest. He sat still for a few moments, clasping histreasure firmly in his large, brown hands; then he rose, and put it inan aperture above his head, filling the space in front of it with astone that exactly fitted. Without hurry, and without hesitation, thewhole transaction was accomplished; and then, with an equal composureand confidence, he retraced his steps through the cavern and over therocks and sands to his own sleeping room. 

Christina followed as rapidly as she was able; but her exaltation haddied away, and left her weak and ready to weep; so that when shereached the open beach, Andrew was so far in advance as to be almostout of sight. She could not hope to overtake him, and she sat down fora few minutes to try and realise the great relief that had come tothem--to wonder--to clasp her hands in adoration, to weep tears of joy. When she reached her home at last, it was quite light. She looked intoher brother's room, and saw that he was lying motionless in the deepestsleep; but Janet was half-awake, and she asked sleepily:--

"Whatever are you about so early for, Christina? Isn't the day longenough for the sorrow and the care of it?"

"Oh, Mother! Mother! The day isn't long enough for the joy and theblessing of it. "

"What do you mean, my lass? What is it in your face? What have youseen? Who has spoken a word to you?" and Janet rose up quickly, and puther hands on Christina's shoulders; for the girl was swaying andtrembling, and ready to break out into a passion of sobbing. 

"I have seen, Mother, the salvation of the Lord! I have found Andrew'slost money! I have proved that poor Jamie is innocent! We aren't poorany longer. There is no need to borrow, or mortgage, or to run in debt. Oh, Mother! Mother! The blessing you bespoke last night, the blessingwe were not thinking of, has come to us. "

"The Lord be thanked! I knew He would save us, in His own time, and Histime is never too late. "

Then Christina sat down by her mother's side, and in low, intensetones, told her all she had seen. Janet listened with kindling face andshining eyes. 

"The mercy of God is on His beloved, and His regard is unto His elect, "she cried, "and I am glad this day, that I never doubted Him, and neverprayed to Him with a grudge at the bottom of my heart. " Then she beganto dress herself with her old joyfulness, humming a line of this andthat psalm or paraphrase, and stopping in the middle to ask Christinaanother question; until the kettle began to simmer to her happy mood, and she suddenly sung out joyfully four lines, never very far from herlips:--

"My heart is dashed with cares and fears, My song comes fluttering and is gone; Oh! High above this home of tears. Eternal Joy sing on!"

How would it feel for the hyssop on the wall to turn cedar, I wonder?Just about as Janet and Christina felt that morning, eating theirsimple breakfast with glad hearts. Poor as the viands were, they hadthe flavour of joy and thankfulness, and of a wondrous salvation. "Itis the Lord's doing!" This was the key to which the two women set alltheir hopes and rejoicing, and yet even into its noble melody therestole at last a little of the fret of earth. For suddenly Janet had afear--not of God, but of man--and she said anxiously to her daughter:--

"You should have brought the box home with you, Christina. O my lass, if some other body should have seen what you have seen, then we will befairly ruined twice over. "

"No, no. Mother! I would not have touched the box for all there is init. Andrew must go for it himself. He might never believe it was whereI saw it, if he did not go for it. You know well he suspicioned bothJamie and me; and indeed, Mother dear, you yourself thought worse ofJamie than you should have done. "

"Let that be now, Christina. God has righted all. We will have no castsup. If I thought of any one wrongly, I am sorry for it, and I could notsay more than that even to my Maker. If ill news was waiting forAndrew, it would have shaken him off his pillow ere this. "

"Let him sleep. His soul took his body a weary walk this morning. He issore needing sleep, no doubt. "

"He will have to wake up now, and go about his business. It is hightime. "

"You should mind, Mother, what a tempest he has come through; all thewaves and billows of sorrow have gone over him. "

"He is a good man, and ought to be the better of the tempest. His shipmay have been sorely beaten and tossed, but his anchor was fast allthrough the storm. It is time he lifted anchor now, and faced the bruntand the buffet again. An idle man, if he is not a sick man, is on a leeshore, let him put out to sea, why, lassie! A storm is better than ashipwreck. "

"To be sure, Mother. Here the dear lad comes!" and with that Andrewsauntered slowly into the kitchen. There was no light on his face, nohope or purpose in his movements. He sat down at the table, and drewhis cup of tea towards him with an air of indifference, almost ofdespair. It wounded Janet. She put her hand on his hand, and compelledhim to look into her face. As he did so, his eyes opened wide;speculation, wonder, something like hope came into them. The verysilence of the two women--a silence full of meaning--arrested his soul. He looked from one to the other, and saw the same inscrutable joyanswering his gaze. 

"What is it, Mother?" he asked. "I can see you have something to tellme. "

"I have that, Andrew! O my dear lad, your money is found! I do notthink a penny-bit of it is missing. Don't mind me! I am greeting forthe very joy of it--but O Andrew, you be to praise God! It is hisdoing, and marvellous in our eyes. Ask Christina. She can tell youbetter than I can. "

But Andrew could not speak. He touched his sister's hand, and dumblylooked into her happy face. He was white as death, but he sat bendingforward to her, with one hand outstretched, as if to clasp and graspthe thing she had to tell him. So Christina told him the whole story, and after he had heard it, he pushed his plate and cup away, and roseup, and went into his room and shut the door. And Janet saidgratefully:--

"It is all right, Christina. He'll get nothing but good advice in God'scouncil chamber. We'll not need to worry ourselves again anent eitherthe lad or the money. The one has come to his senses, and the otherwill come to its use. And we will cast nothing up to him; the best boatloses her rudder once in a while. "

It was not long before Andrew joined his mother and sister, and the manwas a changed man. There was grave purpose in his calm face, and a joy, too deep for words, in the glint of his eyes and in the graciousness ofhis manner. 

"Come, Christina!" he said. "I want you you to go with me; we willbring the siller home together. But I forget--it is maybe too far foryou to walk again to-day?"

"I would walk ten times as far to pleasure you, Andrew. Do you know theplace I told you of?"

"Aye, I know it well. I hid the first few shillings there that I eversaved. "

As they walked together over the sands Christina said: "I wonder, Andrew, when and how you carried the box there? Can you guess at allthe way this trouble came about?"

"I can, but I'm ashamed to tell you, Christina. You see, after I hadshown you the money, I took a fear anent it. I thought maybe you mighttell Jamie Logan, and the possibility of this fretted on my mind untilit became a sure thing with me. So, being troubled in my heart, Idoubtless got up in my sleep and put the box in my oldest and safesthiding-place. "

"But why then did you not remember that you had done so?"

"You see, dearie, I hid it in my sleep, so then it was only in my sleepI knew where I had put it. There is two of us, I am thinking, lassie, and the one man does not always tell the other man all he knows. Iought to have trusted you, Christina; but I doubted you, and, as mothersays, doubt aye fathers sin or sorrow of some kind or other. "

"You might have safely trusted me, Andrew. "

"I know now I might. But he is lifeless that is faultless; and thewrong I have done I must put right. I am thinking of Jamie Logan?"

"Poor Jamie! You know now that he never wronged you?"

"I know, and I will let him know as soon as possible. When did you hearfrom him? And where is he at all?"

"I don't know just where he is. He sailed away yon time; and when hegot to New York, he left the ship. "

"What for did he do that?"

"O Andrew, I cannot tell. He was angry with me for not coming toGlasgow as I promised him I would. "

"You promised him that?"

"Aye, the night you were taken so bad. But how could I leave you inDead Man's Dale and mother here lone to help you through it? So I wroteand told him I be to see you through your trouble, and he went awayfrom Scotland and said he would never come back again till we found outhow sorely all of us had wronged him. "

"Don't cry, Christina! I will seek Jamie over the wide world till Ifind him. I wonder at myself I am shamed of myself. However, will youforgive me for all the sorrow I have brought on you?"

"You were not altogether to blame, Andrew. You were ill to death at thetime. Your brain was on fire, poor laddie, and it would be a sin tohold you countable for any word you said or did not say. But if youwill seek after Jamie either by letter or your own travel, and say asmuch to him as you have said to me I may be happy yet, for all that hascome and gone. "

"What else can I do but seek the lad I have wronged so cruelly? Whatelse can I do for the sister that never deserved ill word or deed fromme? No, I cannot rest until I have made the wrong to both of you as farright as sorrow and siller can do. "

When they reached the cavern, Andrew would not let Christina enter itwith him. He said he knew perfectly well the spot to which he must go, and he would not have her tread again the dangerous road. So Christinasat down on the rocks to wait for him, and the water tinkled beneathher feet, and the sunshine dimpled the water, and the fresh salt windblew strength and happiness into her heart and hopes. In a short time, the last moment of her anxiety was over, and Andrew came back to her, with the box and its precious contents in his hands. "It is all here!"he said, and his voice had its old tones, for his heart was ringing tothe music of its happiness, knowing that the door of fortune was nowopen to him, and that he could walk up to success, as to a friend, onhis own hearthstone. 

That afternoon he put the money in Largo bank, and made arrangementsfor his mother's and sister's comfort for some weeks. "For there isnothing I can do for my own side, until I have found Jamie Logan, andput Christina's and his affairs right, " he said. And Janet was of thesame opinion. 

"You cannot bless yourself, laddie, until you bless others, " she said, "and the sooner you go about the business, the better for everybody. "

So that night Andrew started for Glasgow, and when he reached thatcity, he was fortunate enough to find the very ship in which Jamie hadsailed away, lying at her dock. The first mate recalled the young manreadily. 

"The more by token that he had my own name, " he said to Andrew. "We areboth of us Fife Logans, and I took a liking to the lad, and he told mehis trouble. "

"About some lost money?" asked Andrew. 

"Nay, he said nothing about money. It was some love trouble, I take it. He thought he could better forget the girl if he ran away from hiscountry and his work. He has found out his mistake by this time, nodoubt. "

"You knew he was going to leave 'The Line' then?"

"Yes, we let him go; and I heard say that he had shipped on an Americanline, sailing to Cuba, or New Orleans, or somewhere near the equator. "

"Well, I shall try and find him. "

"I wouldn't, if I was you. He is sure to come back to his home again. He showed me a lock of the lassie's hair. Man! a single strand of itwould pull him back to Scotland sooner or later. "

"But I have wronged him sorely. I did not mean to wrong him, but thatdoes not alter the case. "

"Not a bit. Love sickness is one thing; a wrong against a man's goodname or good fortune, is a different matter. I would find him and righthim. "

"That is what I want to do. "

And so when the _Circassia_ sailed out of Greenock for New York, AndrewBinnie sailed in her. "It is not a very convenient journey, " he saidrather sadly, as he left Scotland behind him, "but wrong has been done, and wrong has no warrant, and I'll never have a good day till I put thewrong right; so the sooner the better, for, as Mother says, 'that whicha fool does at the end a wise man does at the beginning. '"

CHAPTER IX

THE RIGHTING OF A WRONG

So Andrew sailed for New York, and life resumed its long forgottenhappy tenor in the Binnie cottage. Janet sang about her spotlesshouseplace, feeling almost as if it was a new gift of God to her; andChristina regarded their small and simple belongings with that tenderand excessive affection which we are apt to give to whatever has beenall but lost and then unexpectedly recovered. Both women involuntarilyshowed this feeling in the extra care they took of everything. Neverhad the floors and chairs and tables been scrubbed and rubbed to suchspotless beauty; and every cup and platter and small ornament waswashed and dusted with such care as could only spring from heart-feltgratitude in its possession. Naturally they had much spare time, for asJanet said, 'having no man to cook and wash for lifted half the workfrom their hands, ' but they were busy women for all that. Janet began apatch-work quilt of a wonderful design as a wedding present forChristina; and as the whole village contributed "pieces" for itsconstruction, the whole village felt an interest in its progress. Itwas a delightful excuse for Janet's resumption of her old friendly, gossipy ways; and every afternoon saw her in some crony's house, spreading out her work, and explaining her design, and receiving thepraises and sometimes the advice of her acquaintances. 

Christina also, quietly but yet hopefully, began again her preparationsfor her marriage; for Janet laughed at her fears and doubts. "Andrewwas sure to find Jamie, and Jamie was sure to be glad to come homeagain. It stands to reason, " she said confidently. "The very sight ofAndrew will be a cordial of gladness to him; for he will know, as soonas he sees the face of him, that the brother will mean the sister andthe wedding ring. If you get the spindle and distaff ready, my lass, God is sure to send the flax; and by the same token, if you get yourplenishing made and marked, and your bride-clothes finished, God willcertainly send the husband. "

"Jamie said in his last letter--the one in which he bid me farewell--'Iwill never come back to Scotland. '"

"_Toots! Havers!_ 'I _will_' is for the Lord God Almighty to say. Asailor-man's 'I will' is just breath, that any wind may blow away. WhenAndrew gives him the letter you sent, Jamie will not be able to waitfor the next boat for Scotland. "

"He may have taken a fancy to America and want to stop there. "

"What are you talking about, Christina Binnie? There is nothing butscant and want in them foreign countries. Oh! my lass, he will comehome, and be glad to come home; and you will have the hank in your ownhand. See that you spin it cannily and happily. "

"I hope Andrew will not make himself sick again looking for the lost. "

"I shall have little pity for him, if he does. I told him to make gooddays for himself; why not? He is about his duty; the law of kindness isin his heart, and the purpose of putting right what he put wrong is thewind that drives him. Well then, his journey--be it short orlong--ought to be a holiday to him, and a body does not deserve aholiday if he cannot take advantage of one. Them were my last words toAndrew. "

"Jamie may have seen another lass. I have heard say the lassies inAmerica are gey bonnie. "

"I'll just be stepping if you have nothing but frets and fears to say. When things go wrong, it is mostly because folks will have them wrongand no other way. "

"In this world, Mother, the giffs and the gaffs--"

"In this world, Christina, the giffs and the gaffs generally balanceone another. And if they don't, --mind what I say, --it is because thereis a moral defect on the failing side. Oh! but women are flightersomeand easy frighted. "

"Whyles you have fears yourself, Mother. "

"Ay, I am that foolish whyles; but I shall be a sick, weak body, when Ican't outmarch the worst of them. "

"You are just an oracle, Mother. "

"Not I; but if I was a very saint, I would say every morning of mylife: 'Now then, Soul, hope for good and have good. ' Many a sad heartfolks get they have no need to have. Take out your needle and thimbleand go to your wedding clothes, lassie; you will need them before thesummer is over. You may take my word for that. "

"If Jamie should still love me. "

"Love you! He will be that far gone in love with you that there will beno help for him but standing up before the minister. That will be seenand heard tell of. Lift your white seam, and be busy at it; there isnothing else to do till tea time, and I am away for an hour or two toMaggie Buchans. Her man went to Edinburgh this morning. What for, Idon't know yet, but I'll maybe find out. "

It was on this very afternoon that Janet first heard that there wastrouble and a sound of more trouble at Braelands. Sophy had driven downin her carriage the previous day to see her cousin Isobel Murray, andsome old friends who had gone into Isobel's had found the littleMistress of Braelands weeping bitterly in her cousin's arms. After thisnews Janet did not stay long at Maggie Buchans; she carried herpatch-work to Isobel Murray's, and as Isobel did not voluntarily namethe subject, Janet boldly introduced it herself. 

"I heard tell that Sophy Braelands was here yesterday. "

"Aye, she was. "

"A grand thing for you, Isobel, to have the Braelands's yellow coachand pair standing before the Murray cottage all of two or three hours. "

"It did not stand before my cottage, Janet. The man went to the publichouse and gave the horses a drink, and himself one too, or I am muchmistaken, for I had to send little Pete Galloway after him. "

"I think Sophy might have called on me. "

"No doubt she would have done so, had she known that Andrew was away, but I never thought to tell her until the last moment. "

"Is she well? I was hearing that she looked but poorly. "

"You were hearing the truth. She looks bad enough. "

"Is she happy, Isobel?"

"I never asked her that question. "

"You have eyes and observation. Didn't you ask yourself that question?"

"Maybe I did. "

"What then?"

"I have nothing to say anent it. "

"What was she talking about? You know, Isobel, that Sophy is kin ofmine, and I loved her mother like my own sister. So I be to feelanxious about the little body. I'm feared things are not going as wellas they might do. Madame Braelands is but a hard-grained woman. "

"She is as cruel a woman and as bad a woman as there is between thisand wherever she may be. "

"Isn't she at Braelands?"

"Not for a week or two. She's away to Acker Castle, and her son withher. "

"And why not Sophy also?"

"The poor lassie would not go--she says she could not. Well, Janet, Imay as good confess that there is something wrong that she does notlike to speak of yet. She is just at the crying point now, the reasonwhy and wherefore will come anon. "

"But she be to say something to you. "

"I'll tell you. She said she was worn out with learning this and that, and she was humbled to death to find out how ignorant and full offaults she was. Madame Braelands is both schoolmistress andmother-in-law, and there does not seem to be a minute of the day inwhich the poor child isn't checked and corrected. She has lost all herpretty ways, and she says she cannot learn Madame's ways; and she isfeared for herself, and shamed for herself. And when the invitationcame for Acker Castle, Madame told her she must not accept it for herhusband's sake, because all his great friends were to be there, andthey were to discuss his going to Parliament, and she would only shameand disgrace him. And you may well conceive that Sophy turned obstinateand said she would bide in her own home. And, someway, her husband didnot urge her to go and this hurt her worst of all; and she felt lonelyand broken-hearted, and so came to see me. That is everything about it, but keep it to yourself, Janet, it isn't for common clash. "

"I know that. But did Madame Braelands and her son really go away andleave Sophy her lone?"

"They left her with two or three teachers to worry the life out of her. They went away two days ago; and Madame was in full feather and glory, with her son at her beck and call, and all her grand airs and mannersabout her. Sophy says she watched them away from her bedroom window, and then she cried her heart out. And she couldn't learn her lessons, and so sent the man teacher and the woman teacher about their business. She says she will not try the weary books again to please anybody; theymake her head ache so that she is like to swoon away. "

"Sophy was never fond of books; but I thought she would like themusic. "

"Aye, if they would let her have her own way about it. She has herfather's little fiddle, and when she was but a bare-footed lassie, sheplayed on it wonderful. "

"I remember. You would have thought there was a linnet living inside ofit. "

"Well, she wanted to have some lessons on it, and her husband waswilling enough, but Madame went into hysterics about the idea ofanything so vulgar. There is a constant bitter little quarrel betweenthe two women, and Sophy says she cannot go to her husband with everyslight and cruelty. Madame laughs at her, or pretends to pet her, orelse gets into passions at what she calls Sophy's unreasonableness; andArchie Braelands is weary to death of complaining, and just turns sulkyor goes out of the house. Oh, Janet, I can see and feel the bitter, cruel task-woman over the poor, foolish child! She is killing her, andArchie Braelands does not see the right and the wrong of it all. "

"I'll make him see it. "

"You will hold your tongue, Janet. They who stir in muddy water onlymake it worse. "

"But Archie Braelands loved her, or he would not have married her; andif he knew the right and the wrong of poor Sophy's position--"

"I tell you, that is nothing to it, Janet. "

"It is everything to it. Right is right, in the devil's teeth. "

"I'm sorry I said a word to you; it is a dangerous thing to get betweena man and his wife. I would not do it, not even for Sophy; for reasonhere or reason there, folks be to take care of themselves; and my mangets siller from Braelands, more than we can afford to lose. "

"You are taken with a fit of the prudentials, Isobel; and it is justextraordinary how selfish they make folk. "

And yet Janet herself, when going over the conversation with Christina, was quite inclined on second thoughts not to interfere in Sophy'saffairs, though both were anxious and sorrowful about the motherlesslittle woman. 

"She ought to be with her husband wherever he is, court or castle, "said Christina. "She is a foolish woman to let him go away with herenemy, and such a clever enemy as Madame Braelands is. I think, Mother, you ought to call on Sophy, and give her a word of love and a bit ofgood advice. Her mother was very close to you. "

"I know, Christina; but Isobel was right about the folly of comingbetween a man and his wife. I would just get the wyte of it. Many asore heart I have had for meddling with what I could not mend. "

Yet Janet carried the lonely, sorrowful little wife on her heartcontinually; though, after a week or two had passed and nothing new washeard from Braelands, every one began to give their sympathy toChristina and her affairs. Janet was ready to talk of them. There weresome things she wished to explain, though she was too proud to do sountil her friends felt interest enough to ask for explanations. And assoon as it was discovered that Andrew had gone to America, the interestand curiosity was sufficiently keen and eager to satisfy even Janet. 

"It fairly took the breath from me, " said Sabrina Roy, "when I was toldthe like of that. I cannot think there is a word of truth in such areport. "

Mistress Roy was sitting at Janet's fireside, and so had the privilegeof a guest; but, apart from this, it gave Janet a profound satisfactionto answer: "Ay, well, Sabrina, the clash is true for once in alifetime. Andrew has gone to America, and the Lord knows where elsebeside. "

"Preserve us all! I wouldn't believe it, only from your own lips, Janet. Whatever would be the matter that sent him stravaging round theworld, with no ship of his own beneath his feet or above his head?"

"A matter of right and wrong, Sabrina. My Andrew has a strictconscience and a sense of right that would be ornamental in a verysaint. Not to make a long story of it, he and Jamie Logan had aquarrel. It was the night Andrew took his inflammation, and it is verysure his brain was on fire and off its judgment at the time. But wewere none of us thinking of the like of that; and so the bad wordscame, and stirred up the bad blood, and if I hadn't been there myself, there might have been spilled blood to end all with, for they were bothblack angry. "

"Guide us, woman! What was it all about?"

"Well, Sabrina, it was about siller; that is all I am free to say. Andrew was sure he was right, and Jamie was sure he was wrong; and theywere going fairly to one another's throats, when I stepped in and flungthem apart. "

"And poor Christina had the buff and the buffet to take and to bear fortheir tempers?"

"Not just that. Jamie begged her to go away with him, and the lassiewould have gone if I hadn't got between her and the door. I had a hardfew minutes, I can tell you, Sabrina; for when men are besidethemselves with passion, they are in the devil's employ, and it's noeasy work to take a job out of _his_ hands. But I sent Jamie flyingdown the cliff, and I locked the door and put the key in my pocket, andordered Andrew and Christina off to their beds, and thought I wouldleave the rest of the business till the next day; but before midnightAndrew was raving, and the affair was out of my hands altogether. "

"It is a wonder Christina did not go after her lad. "

"What are you talking about, Sabrina? It would have been a world'swonder and a black, burning shame if my girl had gone after her lad insuch a calamitous time. No, no, Christina Binnie isn't the kind of girlthat shrinks in the wetting. When her time of trial came, she did thewhole of her duty, showing herself day by day a witness and a testimonyto her decent, kirk-going forefathers. "

"And so Andrew has found out he was wrong and Jamie Logan right?"

"Aye, he has. And the very minute he did so, he made up his mind toseek the lad far and near and confess his fault. "

"And bring him back to Christina?"

"Just so. What for not? He parted them, and he has the right and dutyto bring them together again, though it take the best years of his lifeand the last bawbee of his money. "

"Folks were saying his money was all spent. "

"Folks are far wrong then. Andrew has all the money he ever had. Andrewisn't a bragger, and his money has been silent so far, but it willspeak ere long. "

"With money to the fore, you shouldn't have been so scrimpit withyourselves in such a time of work and trouble. Folks noticed it. "

"I don't believe in wasting anything, Sabrina, even grief. I did notspend a penny, nor a tear, nor a bit of strength, that was useless. What for should I? And if folks noticed we were scrimpit, why didn'tthey think about helping us? No, thank God! We have enough and a goodbit to spare, for all that has come and gone, and if it pleases theMaker of Happiness to bring Jamie Logan back again, we will have abridal that will make a monumental year in Pittendurie. "

"I am glad to hear tell o' that. I never did approve of two or three ata wedding. The more the merrier. "

"That is a very sound observe. My Christina will have a wedding to beseen and heard tell of from one sacramental occasion to another. "

"Well, then, good luck to Andrew Binnie, and may he come soon home andwell home, and sorrow of all kinds keep a day's sail behind him. Andsurely he will go back to the boats when he has saved his conscience, for there is never a better sailor and fisher on the North Sea. The menwere all saying that when he was so ill. "

"It is the very truth. Andrew can read the sea as well as the ministercan read the Book. He never turns his back on it; his boat is alwaysready to kiss the wind in its teeth. I have been with him when _rip!rip! rip_! went her canvas; but I hadn't a single fear, I knew the ladat the helm. I knew he would bring her to her bearings beautifully. Healways did, and then how the gallant bit of a creature would shakeherself and away like a sea-gull. My Andrew is a son of the sea as allhis forbears were. Its salt is in his blood, and when the tide is goingwith a race and a roar, and the break of the waves and the howl of thewind is like a thousand guns, then Andrew Binnie is in the element helikes best; aye, though his boat be spinning round like a laddie'stop. "

"Well, Janet, I will be going. "

"Mind this, Sabrina, I have told you all to my heart's keel; and iffolks are saying to you that Jamie has given Christina the slip, orthat the Binnies are scrimpit for poverty's sake, or the like of anyother ill-natured thing, you will be knowing how to answer them. "

"'Deed, I will! And I am real glad things are so well with you all, Janet. "

"Well, and like to be better, thank God, as soon as Andrew gets backfrom foreign parts. "

In the meantime, Andrew, after a pleasant sail, had reached New York. He made many friends on the ship, and in the few days of bad weatherusually encountered came to the front, as he always did when winds wereblowing and sailor-men had to wear oil skins. The first sight of theNew World made him silent. He was too prudent to hazard an opinionabout any place so remote and so strange, though he cautiously admitted"the lift was as blue as in Scotland and the sunshine not to speak illof. " But as his ideas of large towns had been formed upon Edinburgh andGlasgow, he could hardly admire New York. "It looks, " he said to anacquaintance who was showing him the city, "it looks as if it had beenbuilt in a hurry;" for he was thinking of the granite streets and piersof Glasgow. "Besides, " he added, "there is no romance or beauty aboutit; it is all straight lines and squares. Man alive! you should seeEdinburgh the sel of it, the castle, and the links, and the bonnieterraces, and the Highland men parading the streets, it is just a bitof poetry made out of builders stones. "

With the information he had received from the mate of the "Circassia, "and his advice and directions, Andrew had little difficulty in locatingJamie Logan. He found his name in the list of seamen sailing a steamerbetween New York and New Orleans; and this steamer was then lying ather pier on the North River. It was not very hard to obtain permissionto interview Jamie, and armed with this authority, he went to the shipone very hot afternoon about four o'clock. 

Jamie was at the hold, attending to the unshipping of cargo; and as helifted himself from the stooping attitude which his work demanded, hesaw Andrew Binnie approaching him. He pretended, however, not to seehim, and became suddenly very deeply interested in the removal of acertain case of goods. Andrew was quite conscious of the affectation, but he did not blame Jamie; it only made him the more anxious to atonefor the wrong he had done. He stepped rapidly forward, and withextended hands said:--

"Jamie Logan, I have come all the way from Scotland to ask you toforgive me. I thought wrong of you, and I said wrong to you, and I amsorry for it. Can you pass it by for Christ's sake?"

Jamie looked into the speaker's face, frankly and gravely, but with theair of a man who has found something he thought lost. He took Andrew'shands in his own hands and answered:--

"Aye, I can forgive you with all my heart. I knew you would come toyourself some day, Andrew; but it has seemed a long time waiting. Ihave not a word against you now. A man that can come three thousandmiles to own up to a wrong is worth forgiving. How is Christina?"

"Christina is well, but tired-like with the care of me through my longsickness. She has sent you a letter, and here it is. The poor lass hassuffered more than either of us; but never a word of complaining fromher. Jamie, I have promised her to bring you back with me. Can youcome?"

"I will go back to Scotland with you gladly, if it can be managed. I amfair sick for the soft gray skies, and the keen, salt wind of the NorthSea. Last Sabbath Day I was in New Orleans--fairly baking with the heatof the place--and I thought I heard the kirk bells across the sands, and saw Christina stepping down the cliff with the Book in her handsand her sweet smile making all hearts but mine happy. Andrew man, Icould not keep the tears out of my een, and my heart was away down tomy feet, and I was fairly sick with longing. "

They left the ship together and spent the night in each other'scompany. Their room was a small one, in a small river-side hotel, hotand close smelling; but the two men created their own atmosphere. Foras they talked of their old life, the clean, sharp breezes ofPittendurie swept through the stifling room; they tasted the brine onthe wind's wings, and felt the wet, firm sands under their feet. Orthey talked of the fishing boats, until they could see their sailsbellying out, as they lay down just enough to show they felt the freshwind tossing the spray from their bows and lifting themselves over thegreat waves as if they stepped over them. 

Before they slept, they had talked themselves into a fever of homesickness, and the first work of the next day was to make arrangementsfor Jamie's release from his obligations. There was some delay anddifficulty about this matter, but it was finally completed to thesatisfaction of all parties, and Andrew and Jamie took the next AnchorLine steamer for Glasgow. 

On the voyage home, the two men got very close to each other, not inany accidental mood of confidence, but out of a thoughtful and assuredconviction of respect. Andrew told Jamie all about his lost money andthe plans for his future which had been dependent on it, and Jamiesaid--

"No wonder you went off your health and senses with the thought of yourloss, Andrew I would have been less sensible than you. It was an awfulexperience, man, I cannot tell how you tholed it at all. "

"Well, I didn't thole it, Jamie. I just broke down under it, and GodAlmighty and my mother and sister had to carry me through the ill time;but all is right now. I shall have the boat I was promised, and at thelong last be Captain Binnie of the Red-White Fleet. And what forshouldn't you take a berth with me? I shall have the choosing of myofficers, and we will strike hands together, if you like it, and youshall be my second mate to start with. "

"I should like nothing better than to sail with you and under you, Andrew. I couldn't find a captain more to my liking. "

"Nor I a better second mate. We both know our business, and we shallmanage it cleverly and brotherly. "

So Jamie's future was settled before the men reached Pittendurie, andthe new arrangement well talked over, and Andrew and his proposedbrother-in-law were finger and thumb about it. This was a good thingfor Andrew, for his secretive, self-contained disposition was his weakpoint, and had been the cause of all his sorrow and loss of time andsuffering. 

They had written a letter in New York and posted it the day they left, advising Janet and Christina of the happy home-coming; but both menforgot, or else did not know, that the letter came on the very sameship with themselves, and might therefore or might not reach homebefore them. It depended entirely on the postal authority inPittendurie. If she happened to be in a mood to sort the letters assoon as they arrived, and then if she happened to see any one passingwho could carry a letter to Janet Binnie, the chances were that Janetwould receive the intelligence of her son's arrival in time to makesome preparation for it. 

As it happened, these favourable circumstances occurred, and about fouro'clock one afternoon, as Janet was returning up the cliff from IsobelMurray's, she met little Tim Galloway with the letter in his hand. 

"It is from America, " said the laddie, "and my mother told me to hurrymyself with it. Maybe there is folk coming after it. "

"I'll give you a bawbee for the sense of your words, Tim, " answeredJanet; and she hastened herself and flung the letter into Christina'slap, saying:--

"Open it, lassie, it will be full of good news. I shouldn't wonder ifboth lads were on their way home again. "

"Mother, Mother, they _are_ home; they will be here anon, they will behere this very night. Oh, Mother, I must put on my best gown and mygold ear-rings and brush my hair, and you'll be setting forward the teaand making a white pudding; for Jamie, you know, was always saying nonebut you could mix the meal and salt and pepper, and toast it as itshould be done. "

"I shall look after the men's eating, Christina, and you make yourselfas braw as you like to. Jamie has been long away, and he must have afull welcome home again. "

They were both as excited as two happy children; perhaps Janet was mostevidently so, for she had never lost her child-heart, and everythingpleasant that happened was a joy and a wonder to her. She took out herbest damask table-cloth, and opened her bride chest for the real chinakept there so carefully; and she made the white pudding with her ownhands, and ran down the cliff for fresh fish and the lamb chops whichwere Andrew's special luxury. And Christina made the curds and cream, and swept the hearth, and set the door wide open for the home-comers. 

And as good fortune comes where it is looked for, Andrew and Jamieentered the cottage just as everything was ready for them. There was nowaiting, no cooled welcome, no spoiled dainties, no disappointment ofany kind. Life was taken up where it had been most pleasantly dropped;all the interval of doubt and suffering was put out of remembrance, andwhen the joyful meal had been eaten, as Janet washed her cups andsaucers and tidied her house, they talked of the happy future beforethem. 

"And I'll tell you what, bairnies, " said the dear old woman as shestood folding her real china in the tissue paper devoted to thatpurpose, "I'll tell you what, bairnies, good will asks for good deeds, and I'll show my good will by giving Christina the acre of land next myown. If Jamie is to go with you, Andrew, and your home is to be withme, lad--"

"Where else would it be, Mother?"

"Well, then, where else need Jamie's home be but in Pittendurie? I'llgive the land for his house, and what will you do, Andrew? Speak foryour best self, my lad. "

"I will give my sister Christina one hundred gold sovereigns and thesilk wedding-gown I promised her. "

"Oh, Andrew, my dear brother, how will I ever thank you as I ought to?"

"I owe you more, Christina, than I can count. "

"No, no, Andrew, " said Janet. "What has Christina done that siller canpay for? You can't buy love with money, and gold isn't in exchange forit. Your gift is a good-will gift. It isn't a paid debt, God bethanked!"

The very next day the little family went into Largo, and the acre waslegally transferred, and Jamie made arrangements for the building ofhis cottage. But the marriage did not wait on the building; it wasdelayed no longer than was necessary for the making of the silkwedding-gown. This office Griselda Kilgour undertook with muchreadiness and an entire oblivion of Janet's unadvised allusions to herage. And more than this, Griselda dressed the bride with her own hands, adding to her costume a bonnet of white tulle and orange blossoms thatwas the admiration of the whole village, and which certainly had abewitching effect above Christina's waving black hair, and shiningeyes, and marvellous colouring. 

And, as Janet desired, the wedding was a holiday for the whole ofPittendurie. Old and young were bid to it, and for two days the dance, the feast, and the song went gayly on, and for two days not a singlefishing boat left the little port of Pittendurie. Then the men went outto sea again, and the women paid their bride visits, and the childrenfinished all the dainties that were else like to be wasted, and lifegradually settled back into its usual grooves. 

But though Jamie went to the fishing, pending Andrew's appointment tohis steamboat, Janet and Christina had a never-ceasing interest in thebuilding and plenishing of Christina's new home. It was notfashionable, nor indeed hardly permissible, for any one to build ahouse on a plan grander than the traditional fisher cottage; butChristina's, though no larger than her neighbours', had the modernconvenience of many little closets and presses, and these Janet filledwith homespun napery, linseys, and patch-work, so that never a younglass in Pittendurie began life under such full and happy circumstances. 

In the fall of the year the new fire was lit on the new hearth, andChristina moved into her own home. It was only divided from hermother's by a strip of garden and a low fence, and the two women couldstand in their open doors and talk to each other. And during the summerall had gone well. Jamie had been fortunate and made money, and Andrewhad perfected all his arrangements, so that one morning in earlySeptember, the whole village saw "The Falcon" come to anchor in thebay, and Captain Binnie, in his gold-buttoned coat and gold-banded cap, take his place on her bridge, with Jamie, less conspicuously attired, attending him. 

It was a proud day for Janet and Christina, though Janet, guided bysome fine instinct, remained in her own home, and made no afternooncalls. "I don't want to force folk to say either kind or unkind thingsto me, " she said to her daughter. "You know, Christina, it is a dealharder to rejoice with them that rejoice than to weep with them thatweep. Sabrina Roy, as soon as she got her eyes on Andrew in histrimmings, perfectly changed colours with envy; and we have been aspeculation to far and near, more than one body saying we were goingfairly to the mischief with out extravagance. They thought poverty hadus under her black thumb, and they did not think of the hand of God, which was our surety. "

However, that afternoon Janet had a great many callers, and not a fewcame up the cliff out of real kindness, for, doubt as we will, there isa constant inflowing of God into human affairs. And Janet, in herheart, did not doubt her neighbours readily; she took the homagerendered in a very pleased and gracious manner, and she made a cup oftea and a little feast for her company, and the clash and clatter inthe Binnie cottage that afternoon was exceedingly full of good wishesand compliments. Indeed, as Janet reviewed them afterwards, theyprovoked from her a broad smile, and she said with a touch ofgood-natured criticism:--

"If we could make compliments into silk gowns, Christina, you and Iwould be bonnily clad for the rest of our lives. Nobody said anattering word but poor Bella McLean, and she has been soured and sorekept down in the world by a ne'er-do-weel of a husband. "

"She should try and guide him better, " said Christina. "If he was myman, I would put him through his facings. "

"_Toots_, Christina. You are over young in the marriage state to offeropinions about men folk. As far as I can see, every woman can guide abad husband but the poor soul that has the ill-luck to have one. Openthe Book now, and let us thank God for the good day He has given us. "

CHAPTER X

"TAKE ME IN TO DIE!"

After this, the pleasant months went by with nothing but Andrew's andJamie's visits to mark them, and, every now and then, a sough of sorrowfrom the big house of Braelands. And now that her own girl was sohappily settled, Janet began to have a longing anxiety about poorSophy. She heard all kinds of evil reports concerning the relationsbetween her and her husband, and twice during the winter there was arumour, hardly hushed up, of a separation between them. 

Isobel Murray, to whom at first Sophy turned in her sorrow, had notresponded to any later confidences. "My man told me to neither listennor speak against Archie Braelands, " she said to Janet. "We have ourown boat to guide, and Sophy cannot be a friend to us; while it is verysure Braelands can be an enemy beyond our 'don't care. ' Six little ladsand lassies made folk mind their own business. And I'm no very sure butwhat Sophy's troubles are Sophy's own making. At any rate, she isn'tfaultless; you be to have both flint and stone to strike fire. "

"I'll not hear you say the like of that, Isobel. Sophy may be misguidedand unwise, but there is not a wrong thought in her heart. The bitvanity of the young thing was her only fault, and I'm thinking she haspaid sorely for it. "

All winter, such vague and miserable bits of gossip found their wayinto the fishing village, and one morning in the following spring, Janet met a young girl who frequently went to Braelands House withfresh fish. She was then on her way home from such an errand, and Janetfancied there was a look of unusual emotion on her broad, stolid face. 

"Maggie-Ann, " she said, stopping her, "where have you been thismorning?"

"Up to Braelands. " "And what did you see or hear tell of?"

"I saw nothing; but I heard more than I liked to hear. "

"About Mistress Braelands? You know, Maggie-Ann, that she is my ownflesh and blood, and I be to feel her wrongs my wrongs. "

"Surely, Janet There had been a big stir, and you could feel it in thevery air of the house. The servants were feared to speak or to step, and when the door opened, the sound of angry words and of somebodycrying was plain to be heard. Jean Craigie, the cook, told me it wasabout the Dower House. The mistress wants to get away from hermother-in-law, and she had been begging her husband to go and live inthe Dower House with her, since Madame would not leave them their ownplace. "

"She is right, " answered Janet boldly. "I wouldn't live with that fineold sinner myself, and I think there are few women in Fife I couldn'ttalk back to if I wanted. Sophy ought never to have bided with her fora day. They have no business under the same roof. A baby and a popishinquisitor would be as well matched. "

It had, indeed, come at last to Sophy's positive refusal to live longerwith her mother-in-law. In a hundred ways the young wife felt herinability to cope with a woman so wise and so wicked, and she hadfinally begun to entreat Archie to take her away from Braelands. Theman was in a strait which could end only in anger. He was completelyunder his mother's influence, while Sophy's influence had beengradually weakened by Madame's innuendos and complaints, her pity forArchie, and her tattle of visitors. These things were bad enough; butSophy's worst failures came from within herself. She had been snubbedand laughed at, scolded and corrected, until she had lost allspontaneity and all the grace and charm of her natural manner. Thiscondition would not have been so readily brought about, had sheretained her health and her flower-like beauty. But after the birth ofher child she faded slowly away. She had not the strength for aconstant, never-resting assertion of her rights, and nothing less wouldhave availed her; nor had she the metal brightness to expose orcircumvent the false and foolish positions in which Madame habituallyplaced her. 

Little by little, the facts of the unhappy case leaked out, and werewarmly commented on by the fisher-families with whom Sophy wasconnected either by blood or friendship. Her father's shipmates weremany of them living and she had cousins of every degree among thenets--men and women who did not forget the motherless, fatherlesslassie who had played with their own children. These people made Archiefeel their antagonism. They would neither take his money, nor give himtheir votes, nor lift their bonnets to his greeting. And though suchhonest, primitive feelings were proper enough, they did not help Sophy. On the contrary, they strengthened Madame's continual assertion thather son's marriage had ruined his public career and politicalprospects. Still there is nothing more wonderful than the tugs andtwists the marriage tie will bear. There were still days in whichArchie--either from love, or pity, or contradiction, or perhaps from asense of simple justice--took his wife's part so positively that Madamemust have been discouraged if she had been a less understanding woman. As it was, she only smiled at such fitful affection, and laid her plansa little more carefully. And as the devil strengthens the hands ofthose who do his work, Madame received a potent reinforcement in thereturn home of her nearest neighbour, Miss Marion Glamis. As a girl, she had been Archie's friend and playmate; then she had been sent toParis for her education, and afterwards travelled extensively with herfather who was a man of very comfortable fortune. Marion herself had aprivate income, and Madame had been accustomed to believe that whenArchie married, he would choose Marion Glamis for his wife. 

She was a tall, high-coloured, rather mannish-looking girl, handsome inform, witty in speech, and disposed towards field sports of every kind. She disliked Sophy on sight, and Madame perceived it, and easily workedon the girl's worst feelings. Besides, Marion had no lover at the time, and she had come home with the idea of Archie Braelands tilling suchimagination as she possessed. To find herself supplanted by a girl oflow birth, "without a single advantage" as she said frankly to Archie'smother, provoked and humiliated her. "She has not beauty, nor grace, nor wit, nor money, nor any earthly thing to recommend her to Archie'snotice. Was the man under a spell?" she asked. 

"Indeed she had a kind of beauty and grace when Archie married her, "answered Madame; "I must admit that. But bringing her to Braelands waslike transplanting a hedge flower into a hot-house. She has just wiltedever since. "

"Has she been noticed by Archie's friends at all?"

"I have taken good care she did not see much of Archie's friends, andher ill health has been a splendid excuse for her seclusion. Yet it wasstrange how much the few people she met admired her. Lady Blair goesinto italics every time she comes here about 'The Beauty', and theBells, and Curries, and Cupars, have done their best to get her tovisit them. I knew better than permit such folly. She would have toldall sorts of things, and raised the country-side against me; though, really, no one will ever know what I have gone through in my efforts tolick the cub into shape!"

Marion laughed, and, Archie coming in at that moment, she launched allher high spirits and catches and witticisms at him. Her brilliancy andcolour and style were very effective, and there was a sentimentalremembrance for the foundation of a flirtation which Marion verycleverly took advantage of, and which Archie was not inclined to deny. His life was monotonous, he was ennuyé, and this bold, brightincarnation, with her half disguised admiration for himself, was anirresistible new interest. 

So their intimacy soon became frequent and friendly. There werehorseback rides together in the mornings, sails in the afternoons, andduets on the piano in the evenings. Then her Parisian toilets made poorSophy's Largo dresses look funnily dowdy, and her sharp questions andaffected ignorances of Sophy's meanings and answers were cleverly aidedby Madame's cold silences, lifted brows, and hopeless acceptance ofsuch an outside barbarian. Long before a dinner was over, Sophy hadbeen driven into silence, and it was perhaps impossible for her toavoid an air of offence and injury, so that Marion had the charming inher own hands. After dinner, Admiral Glamis and Madame usually played agame of chess, and Archie sang or played duets with Marion, whileSophy, sitting sadly unnoticed and unemployed, watched her husband giveto his companion such smiles and careful attentions as he had used towin her own heart. 

What regrets and fears and feelings of wrong troubled her heart duringthese unhappy summer evenings, God only knew. Sometimes her presenceseemed to be intolerable to Madame, who would turn to her and saysharply: "You are worn out, Sophy, and it is hardly fair to impose yourweariness and low spirits on us. Had you not better go to your room?"Occasionally, Sophy refused to notice this covert order, and shefancied that there was generally a passing expression of pleasure onher husband's face at her rebellion. More frequently, she was glad toescape the slow, long torture, and she would rise, and go through theformality of shaking hands with each person and bidding each"good-night" ere she left the room. "Fisher manners, " Madame wouldwhisper impatiently to Marion. "I cannot teach her a decent effacementof her personality. " For this little ceremony always ended in Archie'sescorting her upstairs, and so far he had never neglected this formaldeference due his wife. Sometimes too he came back from the duty verydistrait and unhappy-looking, a circumstance always noted by Madamewith anger and scorn. 

To such a situation, any tragedy was a possible culmination, and day byday there was a more reckless abuse of its opportunities. Madame, whenalone with Sophy, did not now scruple to regret openly the fact thatMarion was not her daughter-in-law, and if Marion happened to bepresent, she gave way to her disappointment in such ejaculations as--

"Oh! Marion Glamis, why did you stay away so long? Why did you not comehome before Archie's life was ruined?" And the girl would sigh andanswer: "Is not my life ruined also? Could any one have imagined ArchieBraelands would have an attack of insanity?" Then Sophy, feeling herimpotence between the tongues of her two enemies, would rise and goaway, more or less angrily or sadly, followed through the hall andhalf-way upstairs by the snickering, confidential laughter of theircommon ridicule. 

At the latter end of June, Admiral Glamis proposed an expedition toNorway. They were to hire a yacht, select a merry party, and spend Julyand August sailing and fishing in the cool fiords of that picturesqueland. Archie took charge of all the arrangements. He secured a yacht, and posted a notice in the Public House of Pittendurie for men to sailher. He had no doubt of any number of applications; for the work waslight and pleasant, and much better paid than any fishing-job. But nota man presented himself, and not even when Archie sought out the bestsailors and those accustomed to the cross seas between Scotland andNorway, could he induce any one to take charge of the yacht and manher. The Admiral's astonishment at Archie's lack of influence among hisown neighbours and tenants was not very pleasant to bear, and Marionopenly said:--

"They are making cause with your wife, Archie, against you. Theyimagine themselves very loyal and unselfish. Fools! a few extrasovereigns would be much better. "

"But why make cause for my wife against me, Marion?" asked Archie. 

"You know best; ask Madame, she is my authority, " and she shrugged hershoulders and went laughing from his side. 

Nothing in all his married life had so annoyed Archie as this dourdispleasure of men who had always before been glad to serve him. Madamewas indignant, sorrowful, anxious, everything else that could furtherirritate her angry son; and poor Sophy might well have prayed in thosedays "deliver me from my friends!" But at length the yacht was readyfor sea, and Archie ran upstairs in the middle of one hot afternoon tobid his wife "goodbye!"

She was resting on her bed, and he never forgot the eager, wistful, longing look of the wasted white face on the white pillow. He told herto take care of herself for his sake. He told her not to let any oneworry or annoy her. He kissed her tenderly, and then, after he hadclosed the door, he came back and kissed her again; and there were dayscoming in which it was some comfort to him to remember this triflingkindness. 

"You will not forget me, Archie?" she asked sadly. 

"I will not, sweetheart, " he answered. 

"You will write me a letter when you can, dear?"

"I will be sure to do so. "

"You--you--you will love me best of all?"

"How can I help it? Don't cry now. Send me away with a smile. "

"Yes, dear. I will try and be happy, and try and get well. "

"I am sorry you cannot go with us, Sophy. "

"I am sorry too, Archie; but I could not bear the knocking about, andthe noise and bustle, and the merry-making. I should only spoil yourpleasure. I wouldn't like to do that, dear. Good-bye, and good-bye. "

For a few minutes he was very miserable. A sense of shame came overhim. He felt that he was unkind, selfish, and quite unworthy of thetender love given him. But in half an hour he was out at sea, Marionwas at his side, the Admiral was consulting him about the cooling ofthe dinner wines, the skipper was promising them a lively sail with afair wind--and the white, loving face went out of his memory, and outof his consideration. 

Yet while he was sipping wine and singing songs with Marion Glamis, andlooking with admiration into her rosy, glowing face, Sophy wassuffering all the slings and arrows of Madame's outrageous hatred. Shecomplained all dinner-time, even while the servants were present, ofthe deprivation she had to endure for Sophy's sake. The fact was shehad not been invited to join the yachting-party, two very desirableladies having refused to spend two months in her society. But sheignored this fact, and insisted on the fiction that she had beencompelled to remain at home to look after Sophy. 

"I wish you had gone! Oh, I wish you had gone and left me in peace!"cried the poor wife at last in a passion. "I could have been happy if Ihad been left to myself. "

"And your low relations! You have made mischief enough with them forArchie, poor fellow! Don't tell me that you make no complaints. Theshameful behaviour of those vulgar fishermen, refusing to sail a yachtfor Braelands, is proof positive of your underhand ways. "

"My relations are not low. They would scorn to do the low, cruel, wicked things some people who call themselves 'high born' do all thetime. But low or high, they are mine, and while Archie is away, Iintend to see them as often as I can. "

This little bit of rebellion was the one thing in which she could showherself Mistress of Braelands; for she knew that she could rely onThomas to bring the carriage to her order. So the next morning she wentvery early to call on Griselda Kilgour. Griselda had not seen her niecefor some time, and she was shocked at the change in her appearance, indeed, she could hardly refrain the exclamations of pity and fear thatflew to her lips. 

"Send the carriage to the _Queens Arms_, " she said, "and stay with meall day, Sophy, my dear. "

"Very well, Aunt, I am tired enough. Let me lie down on the sofa, andtake off my bonnet and cloak. My clothes are just a weight and aweariness. "

"Aren't you well, dearie?"

"I must be sick someway, I think. I can't sleep, and I can't eat; and Iam that weak I haven't the strength or spirit to say a word back toMadame, however ill her words are to me. "

"I heard that Braelands had gone away?"

"Aye, for two months. "

"With the Glamis crowd?"

"Yes. "

"Why didn't you go too?"

"I couldn't thole the sail, nor the company. "

"Do you like Miss Glamis?"

"I'm feared I hate her. Oh! Aunt, she makes love to Archie before myvery eyes, and Madame tells me morning, noon, and night, that she washis first love and ought to have married him. "

"I wouldn't stand the like of that. But Archie is not changed to you, dearie?"

"I cannot say he is; but what man can be aye with a fond woman, brightand bonnie, and not think of her as he shouldn't think? I'm not blamingArchie much. It is Madame and Miss Glamis, and above all my ownshortcomings. I can't talk, I can't dress, I can't walk, nor in any wayact, as that set of women do. I am like a fish out of its element. Itis bonnie enough in the water; but it only flops and dies if you takeit out of the water and put it on the dry land. I wish I had never seenArchie Braelands! If I hadn't, I would have married Andrew Binnie, andbeen happy and well enough. "

"You were hearing that he is now Captain Binnie of the Red-WhiteFleet?"

"Aye, I heard. Madame was reading about it in the Largo paper. Andrewis a good man, Aunt. I am glad of his good luck. "

"Christina is well married too. You were hearing of that?"

"Aye; but tell me all about it. "

So Griselda entered into a narration which lasted until Sophy slippedinto a deep slumber. And whether it was simply the slumber of utterexhaustion, or whether it was the sweet oblivion which results from asense of peace long denied, or perhaps the union of both theseconditions, the result was that she lay wrapped in an almost lethargicsleep for many hours. Twice Thomas came with the carriage, and twiceGriselda sent him away. And the man shook his head sadly and said:--

"Let her alone; I wouldn't be the one to wake her up for all my placeis worth. It may be a health sleep. "

"Aye, it may be, " answered Griselda, "but I have heard old folk saythat such black, deep sleep is sent to fit the soul for some calamitylying in wait for it. It won't be lucky to wake her anyway. "

"No, and I am thinking nothing worse can come to the little mistressthan the sorrow she is tholing now. I'll be back in an hour, MissKilgour. "

Thus it happened that it was late in the afternoon when Sophy returnedto her home, and her rest had so refreshed her that she was more thanusually able to hold her own with Madame. Many unpardonable words weresaid on both sides; and the quarrel, thus early inaugurated, raged fromday to-day, either in open recrimination, or in a still moredistressing interference with all Sophy's personal desires andoccupations. The servants were, in a measure, compelled to take part inthe unnatural quarrel; and before three weeks were over, Sophy'scondition was one of such abnormal excitement that she was hardly anylonger accountable for her actions. The final blow was struck while shewas so little able to bear it. A letter from Archie, posted inChristiania and addressed to his wife, came one morning. As Sophy wasnever able to come down to breakfast, Madame at once appropriated theletter. When she had read it and finished her breakfast, she went toSophy's room. 

"I have had a letter from Archie, " she said. 

"Was there none for me?"

"No; but I thought you might like to know that Archie says he never wasso happy in all his life. The Admiral, and Marion, and he, are inChristiania for a week or two, and enjoying themselves every minute ofthe time. Dear Marion! _She_ knows how to make Archie happy. It is agreat shame I could not be with them. "

"Is there any message for me?"

"Not a word. I suppose Archie knew I should tell you all that it wasnecessary for you to know. "

"Please go away; I want to go to sleep. "

"You want to cry. You do nothing but sleep and cry, and cry and sleep;no wonder you have tired Archie's patience out. "

"I have not tired Archie out. Oh, I wish he was here! I wish he washere!"

"He will be back in five or six weeks, unless Marion persuades him togo to the Mediterranean--and, as the Admiral is so fond of the sea, that move is not unlikely. "

"Please go away. "

"I shall be only too happy to do so. "

Now it happened that the footman, in taking in the mail, had noticedthe letter for Sophy, and commented on it in the kitchen; and everyservant in the house had been glad for the joy it would bring to thelonely, sick woman. So there was nothing remarkable in her maid saying, as she dressed her mistress:--

"I hope Mr. Braelands is well; and though I say it as perhaps Ishouldn't say it, we was all pleased at your getting Master's letterthis morning. We all hope it will make you feel brighter and stronger, I'm sure. "

"The letter was Madame's letter, not mine, Leslie. "

"Indeed, it was not, ma'am. Alexander said himself, and I heard him, 'there is a long letter for Mrs. Archibald this morning, ' and we wereall that pleased as never was. "

"Are you sure, Leslie?"

"Yes, I am sure. "

"Go down-stairs and ask Alexander. "

Leslie went and came back immediately with Alexander's positiveassertion that the letter was directed to _Mrs. Archibald Braelands, _Sophy made no answer, but there was a swift and remarkable change inher appearance and manner. She put her physical weakness out of herconsideration, and with a flush on her cheeks and a flashing light inher eyes, she went down to the parlour. Madame had a caller with her, alady of not very decided position, who was therefore eager to pleaseher patron; but Sophy was beyond all regard for such conventionalitiesas she had been ordered to observe. She took no notice of the visitor, but going straight to Madame, she said:--

"You took my letter this morning. You had no right to take it; you hadno right to read it; you had no right to make up lies from it and cometo my bedside with them. Give me my letter. "

Madame turned to her visitor. "You see this impossible creature!" shecried. "She demands from me a letter that never came. " "It did come. You have my letter. Give it to me. "

"My dear Sophy, go to your room. You are not in a fit state to see anyone. "

"Give me my letter. At least, let me see the letter that came. "

"I shall do nothing of the kind. If you choose to suspect me, you mustdo so. Can I make your husband write to you?"

"He did write to me. "

"Mrs. Stirling, do you wonder now at my son's running away from hishome?"

"Indeed I am fairly astonished at what I see and hear. "

"Sophy, you foolish woman, do not make any greater exhibit of yourselfthat you have done. For heaven's sake, go to your own room. I have onlymy own letter, and I told you all of importance in it. "

"Every servant in the house knows that the letter was mine. "

"What the servants know is nothing to me. Now, Sophy, I will stand nomore of this; either you leave the room, or Mrs. Stirling and I will doso. Remember that you have betrayed yourself. I am not to blame. "

"What do you mean, Madame?"

"I mean that you may have hallucinations, but that you need not exhibitthem to the world. For my son's sake, I demand that you go to yourroom. "

"I want my letter. For God's sake, have pity on me, and give me myletter!"

Madame did not answer, but she took her friend by the arm and they leftthe room together. In the hall Madame saw a servant, and she saidblandly--

"Go and tell Leslie to look after her mistress, she is in the parlour. And you may also tell Leslie that if she allows her to come down againin her present mood, she will be dismissed. "

"Poor thing!" said Mrs. Stirling. "You must have your hands full withher, Madame. Nobody had any idea of such a tragedy as this though Imust say I have heard many wonder about the lady's seclusion. "

"You see the necessity for it. However, we do not wish any talk on thesubject. "

Slowly it came to Sophy's comprehension that she had been treated likean insane woman, and her anger, though quiet, was of that kind thatmeans action of some sort. She went to her room, but it was only torecall the wrong upon wrong, the insult upon insult she had received. 

"I will go away from it all, " she said. "I will go away until Archiereturns. I will not sleep another night under the same roof with thatwicked woman. I will stay away till I die, ere I will do it. "

Usually she had little strength for much movement, but at this hour shefelt no physical weakness. She made Leslie bring her a street costumeof brown cloth, and she carefully put into her purse all the money shehad. Then she ordered the carriage and rode as far as her auntKilgour's. "Come for me in an hour, Thomas, " she said, and then sheentered the shop. 

"Aunt, I am come back to you. Will you let me stay with you till Archiegets home? I can bide yon dreadful old woman no longer. "

"Meaning Madame Braelands?"

"She is just beyond all things. This morning she has kept a letter thatArchie wrote me; and she has told me a lot of lies in its place. I'mnot able to thole her another hour. "

"I'll tell you what, Sophy, Madame was here since I saw you, and shesays you are neither to be guided nor endured I don't know who tobelieve. "

"Oh! aunt, aunt, you know well I wouldn't tell you a lie. I am somiserable! For God's sake, take me in!"

"I'd like to, Sophy, but I'm not free to do so. "

"You're putting Madame's bit of siller and the work she's promised youfrom the Glamis girl before my heart-break. Oh, how can you?"

"Sophy, you have lived with me, and I saw you often dissatisfied andunreasonable for nothing at all. "

"I was a bit foolish lassie then. I am a poor, miserable, sick womannow. "

"You have no need to be poor, and miserable, and sick. I won'tencourage you to run away from your home and your duty. At any rate, bide where you are till your husband comes back. I would be wicked togive you any other advice. "

"You mean that you won't let me come and stay with you?"

"No, I won't. I would be your worst enemy if I did. "

"Then good-bye. You will maybe be sorry some day for the 'No' you havejust said. "

She went slowly out of the store, and Griselda was very unhappy, andcalled to her to come back and wait for her carriage. She did not heedor answer, but walked with evident purpose down a certain street. Itled her to the railway station, and she went in and took a ticket forEdinburgh. She had hardly done so when the train came thundering intothe station, she stepped into it, and in a few minutes was flying atexpress rate to her destination. She had relatives in Edinburgh, andshe thought she knew their dwelling place, having called on them withher Aunt Kilgour when they were in that city, just previous to hermarriage. But she found that they had removed, and no one in thevicinity knew to what quarter of the town. She was too tired to pursueinquiries, or even to think any more that day, and she went to a hoteland tried to rest and sleep. In the morning she remembered that hermother's cousin, Jane Anderson, lived in Glasgow at some number inMonteith Row. The Row was not a long one, even if she had to go fromhouse to house to find her relative. So she determined to go on toGlasgow. 

She felt ill, strangely ill; she was in a burning fever and did notknow it. Yet she managed to get into the proper train, and to retainher consciousness for sometime afterwards, ere she succumbed to theinevitable consequences of her condition. Before the train reached itsdestination, however, she was in a desperate state, and the firstaction of the guard was to call a carriage and send her to a hospital. 

After this kindness had been done, Sophy was dead to herself and theworld for nearly three weeks. She remembered nothing, she knew nothing, she spoke only in the most disconnected and puzzling manner. For herspeech wandered between the homely fisher life of her childhood and thesplendid social life of Braelands. Her personality was equallyperplexing. The clothing she wore was of the finest quality; her rings, and brooch, and jewelled watch, indicated wealth and station; yet herspeech, especially during the fever, was that of the people, and as shebegan to help herself, she had little natural actions that showed thewant of early polite breeding. No letter or card, no name or address ofany kind, was found on her person; she appeared to be as absolutelylost as a stone dropped into the deep sea. 

And when she came to herself and realised where she was, and found outfrom her attendant the circumstances under which she had been broughtto the hospital, she was still more reticent. For her first thoughtrelated to the annoyance Archie would feel at her detention in a publichospital; her second, to the unmerciful use Madame would make of thecircumstance. She could not reason very clearly, but her idea was tofind her cousin and gain her protection, and then, from that morerespectable covett, to write to her husband. She might admit herillness--indeed, she would be almost compelled to do that, for she hadfallen away so much, and had had her hair cut short during the heightof the fever--but Archie and Madame must not know that she had been ina public hospital. For fisher-people have a singular dislike to publiccharity of any kind; they help one another. And, to Sophy'sintelligence, the hospital episode was a disgrace that not even herinsensibility could quite excuse. 

Several weeks passed in that long, spotless, white room full ofsuffering, before Sophy was able to stand upon her feet, before indeedshe began to realise the passage of time, and the consequences whichmust have followed her long absence and silence. But all her efforts atwriting were failures. The thought she wished to express slipped offinto darkness as soon as she tried to write it; her vision failed her, her hands failed her; she could only sink back upon her pillow and lieinert and almost indifferent for hours afterwards. And as the oneletter she wished to write was to Archie, she could not depute it toany one else. Besides, the nurse would tell _where_ she was, and thatwas a circumstance she must at all hazards keep to herself. It had beenhot July weather when she was first placed on her hard, weary bed ofsuffering, it was the end of September when she was able to leave thehospital. Her purse with its few sovereigns in it was returned to her, and the doctor told her kindly, if she had any friends in the world, togo at once to their care. 

"You have talked a great deal of the sea and the boats, " he said; "getclose to the sea if you can; it is perhaps the best and the only thingfor you. "

She thanked him and answered: "I am going to the Fife coast. I havefriends there, I think. " She put out a little wasted hand, and heclasped it with a sigh. 

"So young, so pretty, so good, " he said to the nurse, as they stoodwatching her walk very feebly and unsteadily away. 

"I will give her three months at the longest, if she has love and care. I will give her three weeks--nay, I will say three days, if she has tocare for herself, or if any particular trouble come to her. "

Then they turned from the window, and Sophy hired a cab and went toMonteith Row to try and find her friends. She wanted to write to herhusband and ask him to come for her. She thought she could do this bestfrom her cousin's home. "I will give her a bonnie ring or two, and Iwill tell her the whole truth, and she will be sure to stand by me, forthere is nothing wrong to stand by, and blood is aye thicker thanwater. " And then her thoughts wandered on to a contingency that broughta flush of pain to her cheeks. "Besides, maybe Archie might have an illthought put into his head, and then the doctors and nurses in thehospital could tell him what would make all clear. " She went throughmany of the houses, inquiring for Ellen Montgomery, but could not findher, and she was finally obliged to go to a hotel and rest. "I willtake the lave of the houses in the morning, " she thought, "it is ayethe last thing that is the right thing; everybody finds that out. "

That evening, however, something happened which changed all her ideasand intentions. She went into the hotel parlour and sat down; therewere some newspapers on the table, and she lifted one. It was anEdinburgh paper, but the first words her eyes fell on was her husband'sname. Her heart leaped up at the sight of it, and she read theparagraph. Then the paper dropped from her hands. She felt that she wasgoing to faint, and by a supreme effort of will she recalled her sensesand compelled them to stay and suffer with her. Again, and then again, she read the paragraph, unable at first to believe what she did read, for it was a notice, signed by her husband, advising the world ingeneral that she had voluntarily left his home, and that he would nolonger be responsible for any debt she might contract in his name. Toher childlike, ignorant nature, this public exposure of her was a finalact. She felt that it was all the same as a decree of divorce. "Archiehad cast her off; Madame had at last parted them. " For an hour she satstill in a very stupour of despair. 

"But something might yet be done; yes, something must be done. Shewould go instantly to Fife; she would tell Archie everything. He couldnot blame her for being sick and beyond reason or knowledge. Thedoctors and nurses of the hospital would certify to the truth of allshe said. " Ah! she had only to look in a mirror to know that her ownwasted face and form would have been testimony enough. 

That night she could not move, she had done all that it was possiblefor her to do that day; but on the morrow she would be rested and shemight trust herself to the noise and bustle of the street and railway. The day was well on before she found strength to do this; but at lengthshe found herself on the direct road to Largo, though she could hardlytell how it had been managed. As she approached the long chain of Fifefishing-villages, she bought the newspaper most widely read in them;and, to her terror and shame, found the same warning to honest folkagainst her. She was heartsick. With this barrier between Archie andherself, how could she go to Braelands? How could she face Madame? Whatmockery would be made of her explanations? No, she must see Archiealone. She must tell him the whole truth, somewhere beyond Madame'scontradiction and influence. Whom should she go to? Her aunt Kilgourhad turned her away, even before this disgrace. Her cousin Isobel'shusband had asked her not to come to his house and make loss andtrouble for him. If she went direct to Braelands, and Archie happenedto be out of the house, Madame would say such things of her beforeevery one as could never be unsaid. If she went to a hotel, she wouldbe known, and looked at, and whispered about, and maybe slighted. Whatmust she do? Where could she see her husband best? She was at her wit'send. She was almost at the end of her physical strength andconsciousness. And in this condition, two men behind her began to talkto the rustle of their turning newspapers. 

"This is a queer-like thing about Braelands and his wife, " said one. 

"It is a very bad thing. If the wife has gane awa', she has been drivenawa' by bad usage. There is an old woman at Braelands that is asevil-hearted as if she had slipped out o' hell for a few years. Traill's girl was good and bonnie; she was too good, or she would haveheld her ain side better. "

"That may be; but there is a reason deeper than that. The man iswanting to marry the Glamis girl. He has already began a suit fordivorce, I hear. Man, man, there is always a woman at the bottom ofevery sin and trouble!"

Then they began to speak of the crops and the shooting, and Sophylistened in vain for more intelligence. But she had heard enough. Hersoul cried out against the hurry and shame of the steps taken in thematter. "So cruel as Archie is!" she sighed. "He might have looked forme! He might have found me even in that awful hospital! He ought tohave done so, and taken me away and nursed me himself! If he had lovedme! If he had loved me, he would have done these things!". Despairchilled her very blood. She had a thought of going to Braelands, evenif she died on its threshold; and then suddenly she remembered JanetBinnie. 

As Janet's name came to her mind, the train stopped at Largo, and sheslipped out among the hurrying crowd and took the shortest road toPittendurie. It was then nearly dark, and the evening quite chill anddamp; but there was now a decisive end before the dying woman. "Shemust reach Janet Binnie, and then leave all to her. She would bringArchie to her side. She would be sufficient for Madame. If this onlycould be managed while she had strength to speak, to explain, to putherself right in Archie's eyes, then she would be willing and glad todie. " Step by step, she stumbled forward, full of unutterable anguishof heart, and tortured at every movement by an inability to get breathenough to carry her forward. 

At last, at last, she came in sight of Janet's cottage. The cliffterrified her; but she must get up it, somehow. And as she painfullymade step after step, a light shone through the open door and seemed togive her strength and welcome. Janet had been spending the evening withher daughter, and had sat with her until near her bedtime. She wasdoing her last household duties, and the last of all was to close thehouse-door. When she went to do this, a little figure crouched on thedoor-step, two weak hands clasped her round the knees, and the veryshadow of a thin, pitiful voice sobbed:--

"Janet! Take me in, Janet! Take me in to die! I'll not trouble youlong--it is most over, Janet!"

CHAPTER XI

DRIVEN TO HIS DUTY

Toward this culmination of her troubles Archie had indeed contributedfar too much, but yet not as much as Sophy thought. He had taken herpart, he had sought for her, he had very reluctantly come to accept hismother's opinions. His trip had not been altogether the heaven Madamerepresented it. The Admiral had proved himself dictatorial andsometimes very disagreeable at sea; the other members of the party hadeach some unpleasant peculiarities which the cramped quarters and themonotony of yacht life developed. Some had deserted altogether, othersgrumbled more than was agreeable, and Marion's constant high spiritsproved to be at times a great exaction. 

Before the close of the pleasure voyage, Archie frequently went aloneto remember the sweet, gentle affection of his wife, her delight in hissmallest attentions, her instant recognition of his desires, herpatient endeavours to please him, her resignation to all his neglect. Her image grew into his best imagination, and when he left the yacht ather moorings in Pittendurie Bay, he hastened to Sophy with theimpatience of a lover who is also a husband. 

Madame had heard of his arrival and was watching for her son. She methim at the door and he embraced her affectionately, but his first wordswere, "Sophy, I hope she is not ill. Where is she?"

"My dear Archie, no one knows. She left your home three weeks after youhad sailed. "

"My God, Mother, what do you mean?"

"No one knows why she left, no one knows or can find out where she wentto. Of course, I have my suspicions. "

"Sophy! Sophy! Sophy!" he cried, sinking into a chair and covering hisface, but, whatever Madame's suspicions, she could not but see thatArchie had not a doubt of his wife's honour. After a few minutes'silence, he turned to his mother and said:--

"You have scolded for once, Mother, more than enough. I am sure it isyour unkindness that has driven my wife from her home. You promised menot to interfere with her little plans and pleasures. "

"If I am to bear the blame of the woman's low tastes, I decline todiscuss the matter, " and she left the room with an air of greatoffence. 

Of course, if Madame would not discuss the matter with him, nothingremained but the making of such inquiries as the rest of the householdcould answer. Thomas readily told all he knew, which was the simplestatement that "he took his mistress to her aunt's and left her there, and that when he returned for her, Miss Kilgour was much distressed andsaid she had already left. " Archie then immediately sought MissKilgour, and from her learned the particulars of his wife'swretchedness, especially those points relating to the appropriatedletter. He flushed crimson at this outrage, but made no remarkconcerning it. 

"My one desire now, " he said, "is to find out where Sophy has takenrefuge. Can you give me any idea?"

"If she is not in Pittendurie, --and I can find no trace of herthere, --then I think she may be in Edinburgh or Glasgow. You will mindshe had cousins in Edinburgh, and she was very kind with them at thetime of her marriage. I thought of them first of all, and I wrote threeletters to them; but there has been no answer to any of the three. Shehas friends in Glasgow, but I am sure she had no knowledge as to wherethey lived. Besides, I got their address from kin in Aberdeen and wrotethere also, and they answered me and said they had never seen or heardtell of Sophy. Here is their letter. "

Archie read it carefully and was satisfied that Sophy was not inGlasgow. The silence of the Edinburgh cousins was more promising, andhe resolved to go at once to that city and interview them. He did noteven return to Braelands, but took the next train southward. Of coursehis inquiries utterly failed. He found Sophy's relatives, but their airof amazement and their ready and positive denial of all knowledge ofhis lost wife were not to be doubted. Then he returned to Largo. Heassured himself that Sophy was certainly in hiding among thefisher-folk in Pittendurie, and that he would only have to let it beknown that he had returned for her to appear. Indeed she must have seenthe yacht at anchor, and he fully expected to find her on the door-stepwaiting for him. As he approached Braelands, he fancied her arms roundhis neck, and saw her small, wistful, flushing face against his breast;but it was all a dream. The door was closed, and when it admitted himthere was nothing but silence and vacant rooms. He was nearlydistracted with sorrow and anger, and Madame had a worse hour than sheever remembered when Archie asked her about the fatal letter that hadbeen the active cause of trouble. 

"The letter was Sophy's, " he said passionately, "and you knew it was. How then could you be so shamefully dishonourable as to keep it fromher?"

"If you choose to reproach me on mere servants' gossip, I cannotprevent you. "

"It is not servants' gossip. I know by the date on which Sophy lefthome that it must have been the letter I wrote her from Christiania. Itwas a disgraceful, cruel thing for you to do. I can never look you inyour face again, Mother. I do not feel that I can speak to you, or evensee you, until my wife has forgiven both you and myself. Oh, if I onlyknew where to look for her!"

"She is not far to seek; she is undoubtedly among her kinsfolk atPittendurie. You may remember, perhaps, how they felt toward you beforeyou went away. After you went, she was with them continually. "

"Then Thomas lies. He says he never took her anywhere but to her auntKilgour's. "

"I think Thomas is more likely to lie than I am. If you have strengthto bear the truth, I will tell you what I am convinced of. "

"I have strength for anything but this wretched suspense and fear. "

"Very well, then, go to the woman called Janet Binnie; you mayrecollect, if you will, that her son Andrew was Sophy's ardentlover--so much so, that her marriage to you nearly killed him. He hasbecome a captain lately, wears gold buttons and bands, and is really avery handsome and important man in the opinion of such people as yourwife. I believe Sophy is either in his mother's house or else she hasgone to--London. "

"Why London?"

"Captain Binnie sails continually to London. Really, Archie, there arenone so blind as those who won't see. "

"I will not believe such a thing of Sophy. She is as pure and innocentas a little child. "

Madame laughed scornfully. "She is as pure and innocent as thosebaby-faced women usually are. As a general rule, the worst creature inthe world is a saint in comparison. What did Sophy steal out at nightfor? Tell me that. Why did she walk to Pittendurie so often? Why didshe tell me she was going to walk to her aunt's, and then never go?"

"Mother, Mother, are you telling me the truth?"

"Your inquiry is an insult, Archie. And your blindness to Sophy's realfeelings is one of the most remarkable things I ever saw. Can you notlook back and see that ever since she married you she has regretted andfretted about the step? Her heart is really with her fisher and sailorlover. She only married you for what you could give her; and having gotwhat you could give her, she soon ceased to prize it, and her love wentback to Captain Binnie, --that is, if it had ever left him. "

Conversation based on these shameful fabrications was continued forhours, and Madame, who had thoroughly prepared herself for it, broughtone bit of circumstantial evidence after another to prove hersuspicions. The wretched husband was worked to a fury of jealous angernot to be controlled. "I will search every cottage in Pittendurie, " hesaid in a rage. "I will find Sophy, and then kill her and myself. "

"Don't be a fool, Archibald Braelands. Find the woman, --that isnecessary, --then get a divorce from her, and marry among your own kind. Why should you lose your life, or even ruin it, for a fisherman's oldlove? In a year or two you will have forgotten her and thrown the wholeaffair behind your back. "

It is easy to understand how a conversation pursued for hours in thisvein would affect Archie. He was weak and impulsive, ready to suspectwhatever was suggested, jealous of his own rights and honour, and onthe whole of that pliant nature which a strong, positive woman likeMadame could manipulate like wax. He walked his room all night in afrenzy of jealous love. Sophy lost to him had acquired a sudden charmand value beyond all else in life; he longed for the morning; forMadame's positive opinions had thoroughly convinced him, and he felt agreat deal more sure than she did that Sophy was in Pittendurie. Andyet, after every such assurance to himself, his inmost heart askedcoldly, "Why then has she not come back to you?"

He could eat no breakfast, and as soon as he thought the village wasawake, he rode rapidly down to Pittendurie. Janet was alone; Andrew wassomewhere between Fife and London; Christina was preparing her morningmeal in her own cottage. Janet had already eaten hers, and she waswashing her tea-cup and plate and singing as she did so, --

"I cast my line in Largo Bay, And fishes I caught nine; There's three to boil, and three to fry, And three to bait the line, "

when she heard a sharp rap at her door. The rap was not made with thehand; it was peremptory and unusual, and startled Janet. She put downthe plate she was wiping, ceased singing, and went to the door. TheMaster of Braelands was standing there. He had his short riding-whip inhis hand, and Janet understood at once that he had struck her housedoor with the handle of it. She was offended at this, and she askeddourly:--

"Well, sir, your bidding?"

"I came to see my wife. Where is she?"

"You ought to know that better than any other body. It is none of mybusiness. "

"I tell you she has left her home. "

"I have no doubt she had the best of good reasons for doing so. "

"She had no reason at all. "

Janet shrugged her shoulders, smiled with scornful disbelief, andlooked over the tossing black waters. 

"Woman, I wish to go through your house, I believe my wife is in it. "

"Go through my house? No indeed. Do you think I'll let a man with awhip in his hand go through my house after a poor frightened bird likeSophy? No, no, not while my name is Janet Binnie. "

"I rode here; my whip is for my horse. Do you think I would use it onany woman?"

"God knows, I don't. "

"I am not a brute. "

"You say so yourself. "

"Woman, I did not come here to bandy words with you. "

"Man, I'm no caring to hear another word you have to say; take yourselfoff my door-stone, " and Janet would have shut the door in his face, buthe would not permit her. 

"Tell Sophy to come and speak to me. "

"Sophy is not here. "

"She has no reason to be afraid of me. "

"I should think not. "

"Go and tell her to come to me then. "

"She is not in my house. I wish she was. "

"She _is_ in your house. "

"Do you dare to call me a liar? Man alive! Do it again, and everyfisher-wife in Pittendurie will help me to give you your fairings. "

"_Tush!_! Let me see my wife. "

"Take yourself off my doorstep, or it will be the worse for you. "

"Let me see my wife. "

"Coming here and chapping on my door--on Janet Binnie's door!--with ahorsewhip!"

"There is no use trying to deceive me with bad words. Let me pass. "

"Off with you! you poor creature, you! Sophy Traill had a bad bargainwith the like of you, you drunken, lying, savage-like, wife-beatingpretence o' a husband!"

"Mother' Mother!" cried Christina, coming hastily forward; "Mother, what are you saying at all?"

"The God's truth, Christina, that and nothing else. Ask the mean, perfectly unutterable scoundrel how he got beyond his mother'sapron-strings so far as this?"

Christina turned to Braelands. "Sir, " she said, "what's your will?"

"My wife has left her home, and I have been told she is in MistressBinnie's house. "

"She is not. We know nothing about the poor, miserable lass, God helpher!"

"I cannot believe you. "

"Please yourself anent believing me, but you had better be going, sir. I see Limmer Scott and Mistress Roy and a few more fishwives lookingthis way. "

"Let them look. "

"Well, they have their own fashion of dealing with men who ill use afisher lass. Sophy was born among them. "

"You are a bad lot! altogether a bad lot!"

"Go now, and go quick, or we'll prove to you that we are a bad lot!"cried Janet. "I wouldn't myself think anything of putting you in ablanket and tossing you o'er the cliff into the water. " And Janet, witharms akimbo and eyes blazing with anger, was not a comfortable sight. 

So, with a smile of derision, Braelands turned his back on the women, walking with an affected deliberation which by no means hid the whitefeather from the laughing, jeering fisher-wives who came to their doorat Janet's call for them, and whose angry mocking followed him until hewas out of sight and hearing. Then there was a conclave in Janet'shouse, and every one told a different version of the Braelands trouble. In each case, however, Madame was credited with the whole of thesorrow-making, though Janet stoutly asserted that "a man who was fearedfor his mother wasn't fit to be a husband. "

"Madame's tongue and temper is kindled from a coal out of hell, " shesaid, "and that is the God's truth; but she couldn't do ill with them, if Archie Braelands wasn't a coward--a sneaking, trembling coward, thathasn't the heart in him to stand between poor little Sophy and the mostspiteful, hateful old sinner this side of the brimstone pit. "

But though the birr and first flame of the village anger graduallycooled down, Janet's and Christina's hearts were hot and heavy withinthem, and they could not work, nor eat, nor sleep with any relish, forthinking of the poor little runaway wife. Indeed, in every cottagethere was one topic of wonder and pity, and one sad lament when two orthree of the women came together: "Poor Sophy! Poor Sophy Braelands!" Itwas noticeable, however, that not a single woman had a wrong thought ofSophy. Madame could easily suspect the worst, but the "worst" was anincredible thing to a fisher-wife. Some indeed blamed her for nottholing her grief until her husband came back, but not a single heartsuspected her of a liaison with her old lover. 

Archie, however, returned from his ineffectual effort to find her withevery suspicion strengthened. Madame could hardly have hoped for avisit so completely in her favour, and after it Archie was entirelyunder her influence. It is true he was wretchedly despondent, but hewas also furiously angry. He fancied himself the butt of his friends, he believed every one to be talking about his affairs, and, day by day, his sense of outrage and dishonour pressed him harder and harder. In amonth he was quite ready to take legal steps to release himself fromsuch a doubtful tie, and Madame, with his tacit permission, took thefirst step towards such a consummation by writing with her own hand thenotice which had driven Sophy to despair. 

While events were working towards this end, Sophy was helpless andsenseless in the Glasgow hospital. Archie's anger was grounded on thefact that she must know of his return, and yet she had neither comeback to her home nor sent him a line of communication. He told himselfthat if she had written him one line, he would have gone to the end ofthe earth after her. And anon he told himself that if she had been trueto him, she would have written or else come back to her home. Say shewas sick, she could have got some one to use the pen or the telegraphfor her. And this round of reasoning, always led into the same channelby Madame, finally assumed not the changeable quality of argument, butthe positiveness of fact. 

So the notice of her abandonment was sent by the press far and wide, and yet there came no protest against it; for Sophy had brought to thehospital nothing by which she could be identified, and as no hint ofher personal appearance was given, it was impossible to connect herwith it. Thus while its cruel words linked suspicion with her name inevery household where they went, she lay ignorantly passive, knowingnothing at all of the wrong done her and of the unfortunate train ofcircumstances which finally forced her husband to doubt her love andher honour. It was an additional calamity that this angry message ofseverance was the first thing that met her consciousness when she wasat all able to act. 

Her childish ignorance and her primitive ideas aided only too well theimpression of finality it gave. She put it beside all she had seen andheard of her husband's love for Marion Glamis, and the miserablecertainty was plain to her. She knew she was dying, and a quiet placeto die in and a little love to help her over the hard hour seemed to beall she could expect now; the thought of Janet and Christina was herlast hope. Thus it was that Janet found her trembling and weeping onher doorstep; thus it was she heard that pitiful plaint, "Take me in, Janet! Take me in to die!"

Never for one moment did Janet think of refusing this sad petition. Shesat down beside her; she laid Sophy's head against her broad lovingbreast; she looked with wondering pity at the small, shrunken face, sowan and ghostlike in the gray light. Then she called Christina, andChristina lifted Sophy easily in her arms, and carried her into her ownhouse. "For we'll give Braelands no occasion against either her orAndrew, " she said. Then they undressed the weary woman and made her adrink of strong tea; and after a little she began to talk in a quick, excited manner about her past life. 

"I ran away from Braelands at the end of July, " she said. "I could notbear the life there another hour; I was treated before folk as if I hadlost my senses; I was treated when I was alone as if I had no right inthe house, and as if my being in it was a mortal wrong and misery toevery one. And at the long last the woman there kept Archie's letterfrom me, and I was wild at that, and sick and trembling all over; and Iwent to Aunt Griselda, and she took Madame's part and would not let mestay with her till Archie came back to protect me. What was I to do? Ithought of my cousins in Edinburgh and went there, and could not findthem. Then there was only Ellen Montgomery in Glasgow, and I was illand so tired; but I thought I could manage to reach her. "

"And didn't you reach her, dearie?"

"No. I got worse and worse; and when I reached Glasgow I knew nothingat all, and they sent me to the hospital. "

"Oh, Sophy! Sophy!"

"Aye, they did. What else could be, Janet? No one knew who I was; Icould not tell any one. They weren't bad to me. I suffered, but theydid what they could to help me. Such dreadful nights, Janet! Such long, awful days! Week after week in which I knew nothing but pain; I couldnot move myself. I could not write to any one, for my thoughts wouldnot stay with me; and my sight went away, and I had hardly strength tolive. "

"Try and forget it, Sophy, darling, " said Christina. "We will care foryou now, and the sea-winds will blow health to you. "

She shook her head sadly. "Only the winds of heaven will ever blowhealth to me, Christina, " she answered; "I have had my death blow. I amgoing fast to them who have gone before me. I have seen my motheroften, the last wee while. I knew it was my mother, though I do notremember her; she is waiting for her bit lassie. I shall not have to goalone; and His rod and staff will comfort me, I will fear no evil. "

They kissed and petted and tried to cheer her, and Janet begged her tosleep; but she was greatly excited and seemed bent on excusing andexplaining what she had done. "For I want you to tell Archieeverything, Janet, " she said. "I shall maybe never see him again; butyou must take care, that he has not a wrong thought of me. "

"He'll get the truth and the whole truth from me, dearie. "

"Don't scold him, Janet. I love him very much. It is not his fault. "

"I don't know that. "

"No, it is not. I wasn't home to Braelands two days before Madame beganto make fun of my talk, and my manners, and my dress, and of all I didand said. And she got Archie to tell me I must mind her, and try tolearn how to be a fine lady like her; and I could not--I could not. Andthen she set Archie against me, and I was scolded just for nothing atall. And then I got ill, and she said I was only sulky and awkward; butI just could not learn the books I be to learn, nor walk as she showedme how to walk, nor talk like her, nor do anything at all she tried tomake me do. Oh, the weary, weary days that I have fret myself through!Oh, the long, painful nights! I am thankful they can never, never comeback. "

"Then don't think of them now, Sophy. Try and rest yourself a bit, andto-morrow you shall tell me everything. "

"To-morrow will be too late, can't you see that, Janet? I must clearmyself to-night--now--or you won't know what to say to Archie. "

"Was Archie kind to you, Sophy?"

"Sometimes he was that kind I thought I must be in the wrong, and thenI tried again harder than ever to understand the weary books and dowhat Madame told me. Sometimes they made him cross at me, and I thoughtI must die with the shame and heartache from it. But it was not tillMarion Glamis came back that I lost all hope. She was Archie's firstlove, you know. "

"She was nothing of the kind. I don't believe he ever cared a pin forher. You had the man's first love; you have it yet, if it is worthaught. He was here seeking you, dearie, and he was distracted with theloss of you. "

"In the morning you will send for him, Janet, very early; and thoughI'll be past talking then, you will talk for me. You will tell him howMadame tortured me about the Glamis girl, how she kept my letters, andmade Mrs. Stirling think I was not in my right mind, " and so betweenparoxysms of pain and coughing, she went over and over the sad story ofpetty wrongs that had broken her heart, and driven her at last torebellion and flight. 

"Oh! my poor lassie, why didn't you come to Christina and me?"

"There was aye the thought of Andrew. Archie would have been angry, maybe, and I could only feel that I must get away from Braelands. Whenaunt failed me, something seemed to drive me to Edinburgh, and then onto Glasgow; but it was all right, you see, I have saved you andChristina for the last hour, " and she clasped Christina's hand and laidher head closer to Janet's breast. 

"And I would like to see the man or woman that will dare to trouble younow, my bonnie bairn, " said Janet. There was a sob in her voice, andshe crooned kind words to the dying girl, who fell asleep at last inher arms. Then Janet went to the door, and stood almost gasping in thestrong salt breeze; for the shock of Sophy's pitiful return had hurther sorely. There was a full moon in the sky, and the cold, gray waterstossed restlessly under it. "Lord help us, we must bear what's sent!"she whispered; then she noticed a steamboat with closely reefed sailslying in the offing; and added thankfully, "There is 'The Falcon, ' Godbless her! And it's good to think that Andrew Binnie isn't far away;maybe he'll be wanted. I wonder if I ought to send a word to him; ifSophy wants to see him, she shall have her way; dying folk don't makeany mistakes. "

Now when Andrew came to anchor at Pittendurie, it was his custom toswing out a signal light, and if the loving token was seen, Janet andChristina answered by placing a candle in their windows. This nightJanet put three candles in her window. "Andrew will wonder at them, "she thought, "and maybe come on shore to find out whatever theirmeaning may be. " Then she hurriedly closed the door. The night wascold, but it was more than that, --the air had the peculiar coldnessthat gives sense of the supernatural, such coldness as precedes theadvent of a spirit. She was awed, she opened her mouth as if to speak, but was dumb; she put out her hands--but who can arrest the invisible?

Sleep was now impossible. The very air of the room was sensitive. Christina sat wide awake on one side of the bed, Janet on the other;they looked at each other frequently, but did not talk. There was nosound but the rising moans of the northeast wind, no light but the glowof the fire and the shining of the full moon looking out from thefirmament as from eternity. Sophy slept restlessly like one inhalf-conscious pain, and when she awoke before dawning, she was in ahigh fever and delirious; but there was one incessant, gasping cry for"Andrew!"

"Andrew! Andrew! Andrew!" she called with fast failing breath, "Andrew, come and go for Archie. Only you can bring him to me. " And Janet neverdoubted at this hour what love and mercy asked for. "Folks may talk ifthey want to, " she said to Christina, "I am going down to the villageto get some one to take a message to Andrew. Sophy shall have her willat this hour if I can compass it. "

The men of the village were mostly yet at the fishing, but she foundtwo old men who willingly put out to "The Falcon" with the message forher captain. Then she sent a laddie for the nearest doctor, and shecalled herself for the minister, and asked him to come and see the sickwoman; "forbye, minister, " she added, "I'm thinking you will be theonly person in Pittendurie that will have the needful control o' temperto go to Braelands with the news. " She did not specially hurry any one, for, sick as Sophy was, she believed it likely Archie Braelands and agood doctor might give her such hope and relief as would prolong herlife a little while. "She is so young, " she thought, "and love andsea-breezes are often a match for death himself. "

The old men who had gone for Andrew were much too infirm to get closeto "The Falcon. " For with the daylight her work had begun, and she wassurrounded on all sides by a melee of fishing-boats. Some weredischarging their boxes of fish; others were struggling to get somepoint of vantage; others again fighting to escape the uproar. The airwas filled with the roar of the waves and with the voices of men, blending in shouts, orders, expostulations, words of anger, and wordsof jest. 

Above all this hubbub, Andrew's figure on the steamer's bridge toweredlarge and commanding, as he watched the trunks of fish hauled on board, and then dragged, pushed, thrown, or kicked, as near the mouth of thehold as the blockade of trunks already shipped would permit. But, sharpas a crack of thunder, a stentorian voice called out:--

"Captain Binnie wanted! Girl dying in Pittendurie wants him!"

Andrew heard. The meaning of the three lights was now explained. He hadan immediate premonition that it was Sophy, and he instantly deputedhis charge to Jamie, and was at the gunwale before the shouter hadrepeated his alarm. To a less prompt and practised man, a way ofreaching the shore would have been a dangerous and tediousconsideration; but Andrew simply selected a point where a great wavewould lift a small boat near to the level of the ship's bulwarks, andwhen this occurred, he leaped into her, and was soon going shoreward asfast as his powerful stroke at the oars could carry him. 

When he reached Christina's cottage, Sophy had passed beyond all earthlycare and love. She heeded not the tenderest words of comfort; her lifewas inexorably coming to its end; and every one of her muttered wordswas mysterious, important, wondrous, though they could make out nothingshe said, save only that she talked about "angels resting in thehawthorn bowers. " Hastily Christina gave Andrew the points of hersorrowful story, and then she suddenly remembered that a strange man hadbrought there that morning some large, important-looking papers which hehad insisted on giving to the dying woman. Andrew, on examination, foundthem to be proceedings in the divorce case between Archibald Braelandsand his wife Sophy Traill. 

"Some one has recognised her in the train last night and then followedher here, " he said pitifully. They were in a gey hurry with their cruelwork. I hope she knows nothing about it. "

"No, no, they didn't come till she was clean beyond the worriments ofthis life. She did not see the fellow who put them in her hands; sheheard nothing he said to her. "

"Then if she comes to herself at all, say nothing about them. What forshould we tell her? Death will break her marriage very soon withouteither judge or jury. "

"The doctor says in a few hours at the most. "

"Then there is no time to lose. Say a kind 'farewell' for me, Christina, if you find a minute in which she can understand it. I'm offto Braelands, " and he put the divorce papers in his pocket, and wentdown the cliff at a run. When he reached the house, Archie was at thedoor on his horse and evidently in a hurry; but Andrew's look struckhim on the heart like a blow. He dismounted without a word, andmotioned to Andrew to follow him. They turned into a small room, andArchie closed the door. For a moment there was a terrible silence, thenAndrew, with passionate sorrow, threw the divorce papers down on thetable. 

"You'll not require, Braelands, to fash folk with the like of them;your wife is dying. She is at my sister's house. Go to her at once. "

"What is that to you? Mind your own business, Captain Binnie. "

"It is the business of every decent man to call comfort to the dying. Go and say the words you ought to say. Go before it is too late. "

"Why is my wife at your sister's house?"

"God pity the poor soul, she had no other place to die in! For Christ'ssake, go and say a loving word to her. "

"Where has she been all this time? Tell me that, sir. "

"Dying slowly in the public hospital at Glasgow. "

"_My God_!"

"There is no time for words now; not a moment to spare. Go to your wifeat once. "

"She left me of her own free will. Why should I go to her now?"

"She did not leave you; she was driven away by devilish cruelty. Andoh, man, man, go for your own sake then! To-morrow it will be too lateto say the words you will weep to say. Go for your own sake. Go tospare yourself the black remorse that is sure to come if you don't go. If you don't care for your poor wife, go for your own sake!"

"I do care for my wife. I wished--"

"Haste you then, don't lose a moment! Haste you! haste you! If it isbut one kind word before you part forever, give it to her. She hasloved you well; she loves you yet; she is calling for you at thegrave's mouth. Haste you, man! haste you!"

His passionate hurry drove like a wind, and Braelands was as strawbefore it. His horse stood there ready saddled; Andrew urged him to it, and saw him flying down the road to Pittendurie before he was consciousof his own efforts. Then he drew a long sigh, lifted the divorce papersand threw them into the blazing fire. A moment or two he watched thempass into smoke, and then he left the house with all the hurry of asoul anxious unto death. Half-way down the garden path, MadameBraelands stepped in front of him. 

"What have you come here for?" she asked in her haughtiest manner. 

"For Braelands. "

"Where have you sent him to in such a black hurry?"

"To his wife. She is dying. "

"Stuff and nonsense!"

"She is dying. "

"No such luck for my house. The creature has been dying ever since hemarried her. "

"_You_ have been _killing her_ ever since he married her. Give way, woman, I don't want to speak to you; I don't want to touch the veryclothes of you. I think no better of you than God Almighty does, and Hewill ask Sophy's life at your hands. "

"I shall tell Braelands of your impertinence. It will be the worse foryou. "

"It will be as God wills, and no other way. Let me pass. Don't touchme, there is blood on your hands, and blood on your skirts; and you areworse--ten thousand times worse--than any murderer who ever swung onthe gallows-tree for her crime! Out of my way, Madame Braelands!"

She stood before him motionless as a white stone with passion, and yetterrified by the righteous anger she had provoked. Words would not cometo her, she could not obey his order and move out of his way, so Andrewturned into another path and left her where she stood, for he wasimpatient of delay, and with steps hurried and stumbling, he followedthe husband whom he had driven to his duty. 

CHAPTER XII

AMONG HER OWN PEOPLE

Braelands rode like a man possessed, furiously, until he reached thefoot of the cliff on which Janet's and Christina's cottages stood. Thenhe flung the reins to a fisher-laddie, and bounded up the rockyplatform. Janet was standing in the door of Christina's cottage talkingto the minister. This time she made no opposition to Braelands'sentrance; indeed, there was an expression of pity on her face as shemoved aside to let him pass. 

He went in noiselessly, reverently, suddenly awed by the majesty ofDeath's presence. This was so palpable and clear, that all the merematerial work of the house had been set aside. No table had been laid, no meat cooked; there had been no thought of the usual duties of theday-time. Life stood still to watch the great mystery transpiring inthe inner room. 

The door to it stood wide open, for the day was hot and windless. Archie went softly in. He fell on his knees by his dying wife, hefolded her to his heart, he whispered into her fast-closing ears thedespairing words of love, reawakened, when all repentance was too late. He called her back from the very shoal of time to listen to him. Withheart-broken sobs he begged her forgiveness, and she answered him witha smile that had caught the glory of heaven. At that hour he cared notwho heard the cry of his agonising love and remorse. Sophy was thewhole of his world, and his anguish, so imperative, brought perforcethe response of the dying woman who loved him yet so entirely. A fewtears--the last she was ever to shed--gathered in her eyes; fondestwords of affection were broken on her lips, her last smile was for him, her sweet blue eyes set in death with their gaze fixed on hiscountenance. 

When the sun went down, Sophy's little life of twenty years was over. Her last few hours were very peaceful. The doctor had said she wouldsuffer much; but she did not. Lying in Archie's arms, she slippedquietly out of her clay tabernacle, and doubtless took the way nearestto her Father's House. No one knew the exact moment of herdeparture--no one but Andrew. He, standing humbly at the foot of herbed, divined by some wondrous instinct the mystic flitting, and so hefollowed her soul with fervent prayer, and a love which spurned thegrave and which was pure enough to venture into His presence with her. 

It was a scene and a moment that Archibald Braelands in his wildest andmost wretched after-days never forgot. The last rays of the setting sunfell across the death-bed, the wind from the sea came softly throughthe open window, the murmur of the waves on the sands made a mournful, restless undertone to the majestic words of the minister, who, standingby the bed-side, declared with uplifted hands and in solemnlytriumphant tones the confidence and hope of the departing spirit. 

"'Lord, Thou hast been our dwelling place in all generations. 

"'Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever Thou hadst formed theearth and the world; even from everlasting to everlasting, Thou artGod. 

"'For a thousand years in Thy sight are but as yesterday when it is past;and as a watch in the night. 

"'The days of our years are three-score years and ten; and if by reasonof strength, they be four-score years, yet is their strength labor andsorrow; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away. '"

Then there was a pause; Andrew said "_It is over!_" and Janet took thecold form from the distracted husband, and closed the eyes forever. 

There was no more now for Archie to do, and he went out of the roomfollowed by Andrew. 

"Thank you for coming for me, Captain, " he said, "you did me a kindnessI shall never forget. "

"I knew you would be glad. I am grieved to trouble you further, Braelands, at this hour; but the dead must be waited on. It was Sophy'swish to be buried with her own folk. "

"She is my wife. "

"Nay, you had taken steps to cast her off. "

"She ought to be brought to Braelands. "

"She shall never enter Braelands again. It was a black door to her. Would you wish hatred and scorn to mock her in her coffin? She bid mymother see that she was buried in peace and good will and laid with herown people. "

Archie covered his face with his hands and tried to think. Not evenwhen dead could he force her into the presence of his mother--and itwas true he had begun to cast her off; a funeral from Braelands wouldbe a wrong and an insult. But all was in confusion in his mind and hesaid: "I cannot think. I cannot decide. I am not able for anythingmore. Let me go. To-morrow--I will send word--I will come. "

"Let it be so then. I am sorry for you, Braelands--but if I hearnothing further, I will follow out Sophy's wishes. "

"You shall hear--but I must have time to think. I am at the last point. I can bear no more. "

Then Andrew went with him down the cliff, and helped him to his saddle;and afterwards he walked along the beach till he came to a lonely spothid in the rocks, and there he threw himself face downward on thesands, and "communed with his own heart and was still. " At this supremehour, all that was human flitted and faded away, and the primal essenceof self was overshadowed by the presence of the Infinite. When themidnight tide flowed, the bitterness of the sorrow was over, and he hadreached that serene depth of the soul which enabled him to rise to hisfeet and say "Thy Will be done!"

The next day they looked for some communication from Braelands; yetthey did not suffer this expectation to interfere with Sophy's explicitwish, and the preparations for her funeral went on without regard toArchie's promise. It was well so, for there was no redemption of it. Hedid not come again to Pittendurie, and if he sent any message, it wasnot permitted to reach them. He was notified, however, of the funeralceremony, which was set for the Sabbath following her death, and Andrewwas sure he would at least come for one last look at the wife whom hehad loved so much and wronged so deeply. He did not do so. 

Shrouded in white, her hands full of white asters, Sophy was laid torest in the little wind blown kirkyard of Pittendurie. It was said bysome that Braelands watched the funeral from afar off, others declaredthat he lay in his bed raving and tossing with fever, but this or that, he was not present at her burial. Her own kin--who were fishers--laidthe light coffin on a bier made of oars, and carried it with psalmsinging to the grave. It was Andrew who threw on the coffin the firstearth. It was Andrew who pressed the cover of green turf over the smallmound, and did the last tender offices that love could offer. Oh, sosmall a mound! A little child could have stepped over it, and yet, toAndrew, it was wider than all the starry spaces. 

The day was a lovely one, and the kirkyard was crowded to see littleSophy join the congregation of the dead. After the ceremony was overthe minister had a good thought, he said: "We will not go back to thekirk, but we will stay here, and around the graves of our friends andkindred praise God for the 'sweet enlargement' of their death. " Then hesang the first line of the paraphrase, "O God of Bethel by whose hand, "and the people took it from his lips, and made holy songs and words ofprayer fill the fresh keen atmosphere and mingle with the cries of thesea-birds and the hushed complaining of the rising waters. And thatafternoon many heard for the first time those noble words from the Bookof Wisdom that, during the more religious days of the middle ages, wereread not only at the grave-side of the beloved, but also at everyanniversary of their death. 

"But if the righteous be cut off early by death; she shall be at rest. 

"For honor standeth not in length of days; neither is it computed bynumber of years. 

"She pleased God and was beloved, and she was taken away from livingamong sinners. 

"Her place was changed, lest evil should mar her understanding orfalsehood beguile her soul. 

"She was made perfect in a little while, and finished the work of manyyears. 

"For her soul pleased God, and therefore He made haste to lead herforth out of the midst of iniquity. 

"And the people saw it and understood it not; neither considered theythis--

"That the grace of God and His mercy are upon His saints, and Hisregard unto His Elect. "

Chief among the mourners was Sophy's aunt Griselda. She now bitterlyrepented the unwise and unkind "No. " Sophy was dearer to her than shethought, and when she had talked over her wrongs with Janet, herindignation knew no bounds. It showed itself first of all to the authorof these wrongs. Madame came early to her shop on Monday morning, andpresuming on her last confidential talk with Miss Kilgour, began theconversation on that basis. 

"You see, Miss Kilgour, " she said with a sigh, "what that poor girl'sfolly has led her to. "

"I see what she has come to. I'm not blaming Sophy, however. "

"Well, whoever is to blame--and I suppose Braelands should have beenmore patient with the troubles he called to himself--I shall have toput on 'blacks' in consequence. It is a great expense, and a veryuseless one; but people will talk if I do not go into mourning for myson's wife. "

"I wouldn't do it, if I was you. "

"Society obliges. You must make me two gowns at least. "

"I will not sew a single stitch for you. "

"Not sew for me?"

"Never again; not if you paid me a guinea a stitch. "

"What do you mean? Are you in your senses?"

"Just as much as poor Sophy was. And I'll never forgive myself forlistening to your lies about my niece. You ought to be ashamed ofyourself. Your cruelties to her are the talk of the wholecountry-side. "

"How dare you call me a liar?"

"When I think of wee Sophy in her coffin, I could call you somethingfar worse. "

"You are an impertinent woman. "

"Ah well, I never broke the Sixth Command. And if I was you, Madame, Iwouldn't put 'blacks' on about it. But 'blacks' or no 'blacks, ' you cango to some other body to make them for you; for I want none of yourcustom, and I'll be obliged to you to get from under my roof. This is adecent, God-fearing house. "

Madame had left before the end of Griselda's orders; but she followedher to the door, and delivered her last sentence as Madame was steppinginto her carriage. She was furious at the truths so uncompromisinglytold her, and still more so at the woman who had been their mouthpiece. "A creature whom I have made! actually made!" she almost screamed. "Shewould be out at service today but for me! The shameful, impertinent, ungrateful wretch!" She ordered Thomas to drive her straight backhome, and, quivering with indignation, went to her son's room. He wasdressed, but lying prone upon his bed; his mother's complainingirritated his mood beyond his endurance. He rose up in a passion; hiswhite haggard face showed how deeply sorrow and remorse had ploughedinto his very soul. 

"Mother!" he cried, "you will have to hear the truth, in one way oranother, from every one. I tell you myself that you are not guiltlessof Sophy's death--neither am I. "

"It is a lie. "

"Do go out of my room. This morning you are unbearable. "

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Are you going to permit people toinsult your mother, right and left, without a word? Have you no senseof honour and decency?"

"No, for I let them insult the sweetest wife ever a man had. I am abrute, a monster, not fit to live. I wish I was lying by Sophy's side. I am ashamed to look either men or women in the face. "

"You are simply delirious with the fever you have had. "

"Then have some mercy on me. I want to be quiet. "

"But I have been grossly insulted. "

"We shall have to get used to that, and bear it as we can. We deserveall that can be said of us--or to us. " Then he threw himself on his bedagain and refused to say another word. Madame scolded and complainedand pitied herself, and appealed to God and man against the wrongs shesuffered, and finally went into a paroxysm of hysterical weeping. ButArchie took no notice of the wordy tempest, so that Madame wasconfounded and frightened, by an indifference so unusual and unnatural. 

Weeks of continual sulking or recrimination passed drearily away. Archie, in the first tide of his remorse, fed himself on the miserieswhich had driven Sophy to her grave. He interviewed the servants andheard all they had to tell him. He had long conversations with MissKilgour, and made her describe over and over Sophy's despairing lookand manner the morning she ran away. For the poor woman found a sort ofcomfort in blaming herself and in receiving meekly the hard wordsArchie could give her. He visited Mrs. Stirling in regard to Sophy'ssanity, and heard from that lady a truthful report of all that hadpassed in her presence. He went frequently to Janet's cottage, and tookall her home thrusts and all her scornful words in a manner so humble, so contrite, and so heart-broken, that the kind old woman began finallyto forgive and comfort him. And the outcome of all these interviews andconversations Madame had to bear. Her son, in his great sorrow, threwoff entirely the yoke of her control. He found his own authority andrather abused it. She had hoped the final catastrophe would draw himcloser to her; hoped the coolness of friends and acquaintances wouldmake him more dependent on her love and sympathy. It acted in theopposite direction. The public seldom wants two scapegoats. Madame'sostracism satisfied its idea of justice. Every one knew Archie was verymuch under her control. Every one could see that he suffered dreadfullyafter Sophy's death. Every one came promptly to the opinion that Madameonly was to blame in the matter. "The poor husband" shared the popularsympathy with Sophy. 

However, in the long run, he had his penalty to pay, and the penaltycame, as was most just, through Marion Glamis. Madame quickly noticedthat after her loss of public respect, Marion's affection grew colder. At the first, she listened to the tragedy of Sophy's illness and deathwith a decent regard for Madame's feelings on the subject. When Madamepooh-poohed the idea of Sophy being in an hospital for weeks, unknown, Marion also thought it "most unlikely;" when Madame was "pretty surethe girl had been in London during the hospital interlude, " Marion alsothought, "it might be so; Captain Binnie was a very taking man. " WhenMadame said, "Sophy's whole conduct was only excusable on thesupposition of her unaccountability, " Marion also thought "she did actqueerly at times. "

Even these admissions were not made with the warmth that Madameexpected from Marion, and they gradually grew fainter and more general. She began to visit Braelands less and less frequently, and, whenreproached for her remissness, said, "Archie was now a widower, and shedid not wish people to think she was running after him;" and her mannerwas so cold and conventional that Madame could only look at her inamazement. She longed to remind her of their former conversations aboutArchie, but the words died on her lips. Marion looked quite capable ofdenying them, and she did not wish to quarrel with her only visitor. 

The truth was that Marion had her own designs regarding Archie, and shedid not intend Madame to interfere with them. She had made up her mindto marry Braelands, but she was going to have him as the spoil of herown weapons--not as a gift from his mother. And she was not so blindedby hatred as to think Archie could ever be won by the abuse of Sophy. On the contrary, she very cautiously began to talk of her with pity, and even admiration. She fell into all Archie's opinions and moods onthe subject, and declared with warmth and positiveness that she hadalways opposed Madame's extreme measures. In the long run, it came topass that Archie could talk comfortably with Marion about Sophy, forshe always reminded him of some little act of kindness to his wife, orof some instance where he had decidedly taken her part, so that, gradually, she taught him to believe that, after all, he had not beenso very much to blame. 

In these tactics, Miss Glamis was influenced by the most powerful ofmotives--self-preservation. She had by no means escaped the publiccensure, and in that set of society she most desired to please, hadbeen decidedly included in the polite ostracism meted out to Madame. Lovers she had none, and she began to realise, when too late, that theconnection of her name with that of Archie Braelands had been a wrongto her matrimonial prospects that it would be hard to remedy. In fact, as the winter went on, she grew hopeless of undoing the odium generatedby her friendship with Madame and her flirtation with Madame's son. 

"And I shall make no more efforts at conciliation, " she said angrily toherself one day, after finding her name had been dropped from LadyBlair's visiting-list; "I will now marry Archie. My fortune and hiscombined will enable us to live where and how we please. Father mustspeak to him on the subject at once"

That night she happened to find the Admiral in an excellent mood forher purpose. The Laird of Binin had not "changed hats" with him whenthey met on the highway, and he fumed about the circumstance as if ithad been a mortal insult. 

"I'll never lift my hat to him again, Marion, let alone open my mouth, "he cried; "no, not even if we are sitting next to each other at theclub dinner. What wrong have I ever done him? Have I ever done him afavour that he should insult me?"

"It is that dreadful Braelands's business. That insolent, selfish, domineering old woman has ruined us socially. I wish I had never seenher face. "

"You seemed to be fond enough of her once. "

"I never liked her; I now detest her. The way she treated Archie's wifewas abominable. There is no doubt of that. Father, I am going to takethis situation by the horns of its dilemma. I intend to marry Archie. No one in the county can afford to snub Braelands. He is popular andlikely to be more so; he is rich and influential, and I also am rich. Together we may lead public opinion--or defy it. My name has beeninjured by my friendship with him. Archie Braelands must give me hisname. "

"By St. Andrew, he shall!" answered the irritable old man. "I will seehe does. I ought to have considered this before, Marion. Why did younot show me my duty?"

"It is early enough; it is now only eight months since his wife died. "

The next morning as Archie was riding slowly along the highway, theAdmiral joined him. "Come home to lunch with me, " he said, and Archieturned his horse and went. Marion was particularly sympathetic andcharming. She subdued her spirits to his pitch; she took the greatestinterest in his new political aspirations; she listened to his plansabout the future with smiling approvals, until he said he was thinkingof going to the United States for a few months. He wished to studyRepublicanism on its own ground, and to examine, in their workingconditions, several new farming implements and expedients that hethought of introducing. Then Marion rose and left the room. She lookedat her father as she did so, and he understood her meaning. 

"Braelands, " he said, when they were alone, "I have something to saywhich you must take into your consideration before you leave Scotland. It is about Marion. "

"Nothing ill with Marion, I hope?"

"Nothing but what you can cure. She is suffering very much, socially, from the constant association of her name with yours. "

"Sir?"

"Allow me to explain. At the time of your sweet little wife's death, Marion was constantly included in the blame laid to Madame Braelands. You know now how unjustly. "

"I would rather not have that subject discussed. "

"But, by Heaven, it must be discussed! I have, at Marion's desire, saidnothing hitherto, because we both saw how much you were suffering; but, sir, if you are going away from Fife, you must remember before you gothat the living have claims as well as the dead. "

"If Marion has any claim on me, I am here, willing to redeem it. "

"'If, ' Braelands; it is not a question of 'if. ' Marion's name has beeninjured by its connection with your name. You know the remedy. I expectyou to behave like a gentleman in this matter. "

"You expect me to marry Marion?"

"Precisely. There is no other effectual way to right her. "

"I see Marion in the garden; I will go and speak to her. "

"Do, my dear fellow. I should like this affair pleasantly settled. "

Marion was sitting on the stone bench round the sun dial. She had awhite silk parasol over her head, and her lap was full ofapple-blossoms. A pensive air softened her handsome face, and as Archieapproached, she looked up with a smile that was very attractive. He satdown at her side and began to finger the pink and white flowers. He wasquite aware that he was tampering with his fate as well; but at hisvery worst, Archie had a certain chivalry about women that only neededto be stirred by a word or a look indicating injustice. He was not keento perceive; but when once his eyes were opened, he was very keen tofeel. 

"Marion, " he said kindly, taking her hand in his, "have you sufferedmuch for my fault?"

"I have suffered, Archie. "

"Why did you not tell me before?"

"You have been so full of trouble. How could I add to it?"

"You have been blamed?"

"Yes, very much. "

"There is only one way to right you, Marion; I offer you my name and myhand. Will you take it?"

"A woman wants love. If I thought you could ever love me--"

"We are good friends. You have been my comforter in many miserablehours. I will make no foolish protestations; but you know whether youcan trust me. And that we should come to love one another verysincerely is more than likely. "

"I _do_ love you. Have I not always loved you?"

And this frank avowal was just the incentive Archie required. His heartwas hungry for love; he surrendered himself very easily to the charmingof affection. Before they returned to the house, the compact was made, and Marion Glamis and Archibald Braelands were definitely betrothed. 

As Archie rode home in the gloaming, it astonished him a little to findthat he felt a positive satisfaction in the prospect of telling hismother of his engagement--a satisfaction he did not analyze, but whichwas doubtless compounded of a sense of justice, and of a not veryamiable conviction that the justice would not be more agreeable thanjustice usually is. Indeed, the haste with which he threw himself fromhis horse and strode into the Braelands's parlour, and the hardlyveiled air of defiance with which he muttered as he went "It's her owndoing; let her be satisfied with her work, " showed a heart that hadaccepted rather than chosen its destiny, and that rebelled a littleunder the constraint. 

Madame was sitting alone in the waning light; her son had been awayfrom her all day, and had sent her no excuse for his detention. She wasboth angry and sorrowful; and there had been a time when Archie wouldhave been all conciliation and regret. That time was past. His motherhad forfeited all his respect; there was nothing now between them butthat wondrous tie of motherhood which a child must be utterly devoid ofgrace and feeling to forget. Archie never quite forgot it. In his worstmoods he would tell himself, "after all she is my mother. It wasbecause she loved me. Her inhumanity was really jealousy, and jealousyis cruel as the grave. " But this purely natural feeling lacked now allthe confidence of mutual respect and trust. It was only a naturalfeeling; it had lost all the nobler qualities springing from aspiritual and intellectual interpretation of their relationship. 

"You have been away all day, Archie, " Madame complained. "I have beenmost unhappy about you. "

"I have been doing some important business. "

"May I ask what it was?"

"I have been wooing a wife. "

"And your first wife not eight months in her grave!"

"It was unavoidable. I was in a manner forced to it. "

"Forced? The idea! Are you become a coward?"

"Yes, " he answered wearily; "anything before a fresh public discussionof my poor Sophy's death. "

"Oh! Who is the lady?"

"There is only one lady possible. "

"Marion Glamis?"

"I thought you could say 'who'. "

"I hope to heaven you will never marry that woman! She is false fromhead to foot. I would rather see another fisher-girl here than MarionGlamis. "

"You yourself have made it impossible for me to marry any one butMarion; though, believe me, if I could find another 'fisher-girl' likeSophy, I would defy everything, and gladly and proudly marry herto-morrow. "

"That is understood; you need not reiterate. I see through Miss Glamisnow, the deceitful, ungrateful creature!"

"Mother, I am going to marry Miss Glamis. You must teach yourself tospeak respectfully of her. "

"I hate her worse than I hated Sophy. I am the most wretched of women;"and her air of misery was so genuine and hopeless that it hurt Archievery sensibly. 

"I am sorry, " he said; "but you, and you only, are to blame. I have noneed to go over your plans and plots for this very end; I have no needto remind you how you seasoned every hour of poor Sophy's life withyour regrets that Marion was _not_ my wife. These circumstances wouldnot have influenced me, but her name has been mixed up with mine andsmirched in the contact. "

"And you will make a woman with a 'smirched' name Mistress ofBraelands? Have you no family pride?"

"I will wrong no woman, if I know it; that is my pride. If I wrongthem, I will right them. However, I give myself no credit aboutrighting Marion, her father made me do so. "

"My humiliation is complete, I shall die of shame. "

"Oh, no! You will do as I do--make the best of the affair. You can talkof Marion's fortune and of her relationship to the Earl of Glamis, andso on. "

"That nasty, bullying old man! And you to be frightened by him! It istoo shameful. "

"I was not frightened by him; but I have dragged one poor innocentwoman's name through the dust and dirt of public discussion, and, before God, Mother, I would rather die than do the same wrong toanother. You know the Admiral's temper; once roused to action, he wouldspare no one, not even his own daughter. It was then my duty to protecther. "

"I have nursed a viper, and it has bitten me. To-night I feel as if thebite would be fatal. "

"Marion is not a viper; she is only a woman bent on protecting herself. However, I wish you would remember that she is to be yourdaughter-in-law, and try and meet her on a pleasant basis. Any morescandal about Braelands will compel me to shut up this house absolutelyand go abroad to live. "

The next day Madame put all her pride and hatred out of sight and wentto call on Marion with congratulations; but the girl was not deceived. She gave her the conventional kiss, and said all that it was proper tosay; but Madame's overtures were not accepted. 

"It is only a flag of truce, " thought Madame as she drove homeward, "and after she is married to Archie, it will be war to the knife-hiltbetween us. I can feel that, and I would not fear it if I was sure ofArchie. But alas, he is so changed! He is so changed!"

Marion's thoughts were not more friendly, and she did not scruple toexpress them in words to her father. "That dreadful old woman was herethis afternoon, " she said. "She tried to flatter me; she tried to makeme believe she was glad I was going to marry Archie. What a consummateold hypocrite she is! I wonder if she thinks I will live in the samehouse with her?"

"Of course she thinks so. "

"I will not. Archie and I have agreed to marry next Christmas. She willmove into her own house in time to hold her Christmas there. "

"I wouldn't insist on that, Marion. She has lived at Braelands nearlyall her life. The Dower House is but a wretched place after it. Thestreet in which it stands has become not only poor, but busy, and thebig garden that was round it when the home was settled on her was soldin Archie's father's time, bit by bit, for shops and a preservingfactory. You cannot send her to the Dower House. "

"She cannot stay at Braelands. She charges the very air of any houseshe is in with hatred and quarrelling. Every one knows she has savedmoney; if she does not like the Dower House, she can go to Edinburgh, or London, or anywhere she likes--the further away from Braelands, thebetter. "

CHAPTER XIII

THE "LITTLE SOPHY"

Madame did not go to the Dower House. Archie was opposed to such ahumiliation of the proud woman, and a compromise was made by which shewas to occupy the house in Edinburgh which had been the Braelands'sresidence during a great part of every winter. It was a handsomedwelling, and Madame settled herself there in great splendour andcomfort; but she was a wretched woman in spite of her surroundings. Shehad only unhappy memories of the past, she had no loving anticipationsfor the future. She knew that her son was likely to be ruled by thewoman at his side, and she hoped nothing from Marion Glamis. The bigEdinburgh house with its heavy dark furniture, its shadowy draperies, and its stately gloom, became a kind of death chamber in which sheslowly went to decay, body and soul. 

No one missed her much or long in Largo, and in Edinburgh she found itimpossible to gather round herself the company to which she had beenwont. Unpleasant rumours somehow clung to her name; no one said muchabout her, but she was not popular. The fine dwelling in St. George'sSquare had seen much gay company in its spacious rooms; but Madamefound it a hopeless task to re-assemble it. She felt this want offavour keenly, though she need not have altogether blamed herself forit, had she not been so inordinately conscious of her own personality. For Archie had undoubtedly, in previous winters, been the great socialattraction. His fine manners, his good nature, his handsome appearance, his wealth, and his importance as a matrimonial venture, had crowdedthe receptions which Madame believed owed their success to her own tactand influence. 

Gradually, however, the truth dawned upon her; and then, in utterdisgust, she retired from a world that hardly missed her, and which hadlong only tolerated her for the accidents of her connections andsurroundings. Her disposition for saving grew into a passion; shebecame miserly in the extreme, and punished herself night and day inorder that she might add continually to the pile of hoarded money whichMarion afterwards spent with a lavish prodigality. Occasionally herthin, gray face, and her haggard figure wrapped in a black shawl, wereseen at the dusty windows of the room she occupied. The rest of thehouse she closed. The windows were hoarded up and the doors padlocked, and yet she lived in constant fear of attacks from thieves on her lifefor her money. Finally she dismissed her only servant lest she might bein league with such characters; and thus, haunted by terrors of allkinds and by memories she could not destroy, she dragged on for twentyyears a life without hope and without love, and died at last with noone but her lawyer and her physician at her side. She had sent forArchie, but he was in Italy, and Marion she did not wish to see. Herlast words were uttered to herself. "I have had a poor life!" shemoaned with a desperate calmness that was her only expression of thevast and terrible desolation of her heart and soul. 

"A poor life, " said the lawyer, "and yet she has left twenty-sixthousand pounds to her son. "

"A poor life, and a most lonely flitting, " reiterated her physicianwith awe and sadness. 

However, she herself had no idea when she removed to Edinburgh ofleading so "poor a life. " She expected to make her house the centre ofa certain grave set of her own class and age; she expected Archie tovisit her often; she expected to find many new interests to occupy herfeelings and thoughts. But she was too old to transplant. Sophy's deathand its attending circumstances had taken from her both personally andsocially more than she knew. Archie, after his marriage, led entirelyby Marion and her ways and desires, never went towards Edinburgh. Thewretched old lady soon began to feel herself utterly deserted; and whenher anger at this position had driven love out of her heart, she fellan easy prey to the most sordid, miserable, and degrading of passions, the hoarding of money. Nor was it until death opened her eyes that sheperceived she had had "a poor life. "

She began this Edinburgh phase of it under a great irritation. Knowingthat Archie would not marry until Christmas, and that after themarriage he and Marion were going to London until the spring, she sawno reason for her removal from Braelands until their return. Marion haddifferent plans. She induced Archie to sell off the old furniture, andto redecorate and re-furnish Braelands from garret to cellar. It gaveMadame the first profound shock of her new life. The chairs and tablesshe had used sold at auction to the tradespeople of Largo and thefarmers of the country-side! She could not understand how Archie couldendure the thought. Under her influence, he never would have enduredit; but Archie Braelands smiled on, and coaxed, and sweetly dictated byMarion Glamis, was ready enough to do all that Marion wished. 

"Of course the old furniture must be sold, " she said. "Why not? It willhelp to buy the new. We don't keep our old gowns and coats; why thenour old chairs and tables?"

"They have associations. "

"Nonsense, Archie! So has my white parasol. Shall I keep it in tissuepaper forever? Such sentimental ideas are awfully behind the times. Your grandfather's coat and shoes will not dress you to-day; neither, my dear, can his notions and sentiments direct you. "

So Braelands was turned, as the country people said, "out of thewindows, " and Madame hastened away from the sight of such desecration. It made Archie popular, however. The artisans found profitable work inthe big rooms, and the county families looked forward to theentertainments they were to enjoy in the renovated mansion. It restoredMarion also to general estimation. There was a future before her nowwhich it would be pleasant to share, and every one considered that herengagement to Archie exonerated her from all participation in Madame'scruelty. "She has always declared herself innocent, " said theminister's wife, "and Braelands's marriage to her affirms it in themost positive manner. Those who have been unjust to Miss Glamis havenow no excuse for their injustice. " This authoritative declaration inMarion's favour had such a decided effect that every invitation to hermarriage was accepted, and the ceremony, though purposely denuded ofeverything likely to recall the tragedy now to be forgotten, was reallya very splendid private affair. 

On the Sabbath before it, Archie took in the early morning a walk tothe kirkyard at Pittendurie. He was going to bid Sophy a last farewell. Henceforward he must try and prevent her memory troubling his life andinfluencing his moods and motives. It was a cold, chilling morning, andthe great immensity of the ocean spread away to the occult shores ofthe poles. The sky was grey and sombre, the sea cloudy and unquiet; andfar off on the eastern horizon, a mysterious portent was slowly rollingonward. 

He crossed the stile and walked slowly forward. On his right hand therewas a large, newly-made grave with an oar standing upright at its head, and some inscription rudely painted on it. His curiosity was aroused, and he went closer to read the words: "_Be comforted! Alexander Murrayhas prevailed_. " The few words so full of hope and triumph, moved himstrangely. He remembered the fisherman Murray, whose victory over deathwas so certainly announced; and his soul, disregarding all theforbidding of priests and synods, instantly sent a prayer after thedeparted conqueror. "Wherever he is, " he thought, "surely he is closerto Heaven than I am. "

He had been in the kirkyard often when none but God saw him, and hisfeet knew well the road to Sophy's grave. There was a slender shaft ofwhite marble at the head, and Andrew Binnie stood looking at it. Braelands walked forward till only the little green mound separatedthem. Their eyes met and filled with tears. They clasped hands acrossher grave and buried every sorrowful memory, every sense of wrong orblame, in its depth and height. Andrew turned silently away; Braelandsremained there some minutes longer. The secret of that invisiblecommunion remained forever his own secret. Those only who have hadsimilar experiences know that souls who love each other may, and can, exchange impressions across immensity. 

He found Andrew sitting on the stile, gazing thoughtfully over the seaat the pale grey wall of inconceivable height which was drawing nearerand nearer. "The fog is coming, " he said, "we shall soon be going intocloud after cloud of it. "

"They chilled and hurt her once. She is now beyond them. "

"She is in Heaven. God be thanked for His great mercy to her!"

"If we only knew something _sure_. Where is Heaven? Who can tell?"

"In Thy presence is fullness of joy, and at Thy right hand pleasuresforevermore. Where God is, there is Heaven. "

"Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard. "

"But God _hath_ revealed it; not a _future_ revelation, Braelands, buta _present_ one. " And then Andrew slowly, and with pauses full offeeling and intelligence, went on to make clear to Braelands thePresent Helper in every time of need. He quoted mainly from the Bible, his one source of all knowledge, and his words had the splendidvagueness of the Hebrew, and lifted the mind into the illimitable. Andas they talked, the fog enveloped them, one drift after another passingby in dim majesty, till the whole world seemed a spectacle ofdesolation, and a breath of deadly chillness forced them to rise andwrap their plaids closely round them. So they parted at the kirk yardgate, and never, never again met in this world. 

Braelands turned his face towards Marion and a new life, and Andrewwent back to his ship with a new and splendid interest. It began inwondering, "whether there was any good in a man abandoning himself to anoble, but vain regret? Was there no better way to pay a tribute to thebeloved dead?" Braelands's costly monument did not realise hisconception of this possibility; but as he rowed back to his ship in thegathering storm, a thought came into his mind with all the assertion ofa clang of steel, and he cried out to his Inner Man. 

"_That_, oh my soul, is what I will do; _that_ is what will keep mylove's name living and lovely in the hearts of her people. "

His project was not one to be accomplished without much labour andself-denial. It would require a great deal of money, and he would haveto save with conscientious care many years to compass his desire, whichwas to build a Mission Ship for the deep sea fishermen Twelve years heworked and saved, and then the ship was built; a strong steam-launch, able to buffet and bear the North Sea when its waves were running wildover everything. She was provided with all appliances for religiouscomfort and teaching; she had medicines for the sick and surgical helpfor the wounded; she carried every necessary protection against theagonising "sea blisters" which torture the fishermen in the winterseason. And this vessel of many comforts was called the "Sophy Traill. "

She is still busy about her work of mercy. Many other Mission Ships nowtraverse the great fishing-fleets of the North Sea, and carry hope andcomfort to the fishermen who people its grey, wild waters; but none isso well beloved by them as the "Little Sophy. " When the boats lie attheir nets on a summer's night, it is on the "Little Sophy" that "Rockof Ages" is started and then taken up by the whole fleet. And when thestormy winds of winter blow great guns, then the "Little Sophy, " flyingher bright colours in the daytime and showing her many lights at night, is always rolling about among the boats, blowing her whistle to tellthem she is near by, or sending off help in her lifeboat, or steamingafter a smack in distress. 

Fifteen years after Andrew and Archie parted at the kirkyard, Archiecame to the knowledge first of Andrew's living monument to the girlthey had both loved so much. He was coming from Norway in a yacht witha few friends, and they were caught in a heavy, easterly gale. In a fewhours there was a tremendous sea, and the wind rapidly rose to ahurricane. The "Little Sophy" steamed after the helpless craft and gotas near to her as possible; but as she lowered her lifeboat, she sawthe yacht stagger, stop, and then founder. The tops of her masts seemedto meet, she had broken her back, and the seas flew sheer over her. 

The lifeboat picked up three men from her, and one of them was ArchieBraelands. He was all but dead from exposure and buffeting; but thesurgeon of the Mission Ship brought him back to life. 

It was some hours after he had been taken on board; the storm had goneaway northward as the sun set. There was the sound of an organ and ofpsalm-singing in his ears, and yet he knew that he was in a ship on atossing sea, and he opened his eyes, and asked weakly:

"Where am I?"

The surgeon stooped to him and answered in a cheery voice: "_On the'Sophy Traill!'_"

A cry, shrill as that of a fainting woman, parted Archie's lips, and hekept muttering in a half-delirious stupor all night long, "_The SophyTraill! The Sophy Traill!_" In a few days he recovered strength and wasable to leave the boat which had been his salvation; but in those fewdays he heard and saw much that greatly influenced for the noblest endshis future life. 

All through the borders of Fife, people talked of Archie's strangedeliverance by this particular ship, and the old story was told overagain in a far gentler spirit. Time had softened ill-feeling, andArchie's career was touched with the virtue of the tenderly remembereddead. 

"He was but a thoughtless creature before he lost wee Sophy, " Janetsaid, as she discussed the matter; "and now, where will you find abetter or a busier man? Fife's proud of him, and Scotland's proud ofhim, and if England hasn't the sense of discerning _who_ she ought tomake a Prime Minister of, that isn't Braelands's fault. "

"For all that, " said Christina, sitting among her boys and girls, "Sophy ought to have married Andrew. She would have been alive to-dayif she had. "

"You aren't always an oracle, Christina, and you have a deal to learnyet; but I'm not saying but what poor Sophy did make a mistake in hermarriage. Folks should marry in their own class, and in their ownfaith, and among their own folk, or else ninety-nine times out of ahundred they marry sorrow; but I'm not so sure that being alive to-daywould have been a miracle of pleasure and good fortune. If she had hadbairns, as ill to bring up and as noisy and fashious as yours are, sheis well spared the trouble of them. "

"You have spoiled the bairns yourself, Mother. If I ever check or scoldthem, you are aye sure to take their part. "

"Because you never know when a bairn is to blame and when its mother isto blame. I forgot to teach you that lesson. "

Christina laughed and said something about it "being a grand thingAndrew had no lads and lasses, " and then Janet held, her head upproudly, and said with an air of severe admonition:

"It's well enough for you and the like of you to have lads and lasses;but my boy Andrew has a duty far beyond it, he has the 'Sophy Traill'to victual and store, and send out to save souls and bodies. "

"Lads and lasses aren't bad things, Mother. "

"They'll be all the better for the 'Sophy Traill' and the other boatslike her. That laddie o' yours that will be off to sea whether you likeit or not, will give you many a fear and heartache. Andrew's 'boat ofblessing' goes where she is bid to go, and does as she is told to do. That's the difference. "

Difference or not, his "boat of blessing" was Andrew's joy and pride. She had been his salvation, inasmuch as she had consecrated thatpassion for hoarding money which was the weak side of his character. She had given to his dead love a gracious memory in the hearts ofthousands, and "a name far better than that of sons and daughters. "