CHAPTER ELEVENTH.
Sometimes he thinks that Heaven this pageant sent, And ordered all the pageants as they went; Sometimes that only ‘twas wild Fancy’s play,-- The loose and scattered relics of the day.
We must now request our readers to adjourn to the breakfast parlour of Mr. Oldbuck, who, despising the modern slops of tea and coffee, was substantially regaling himself, more majorum, with cold roast-beef, and a glass of a sort of beverage called mum--a species of fat ale, brewed from wheat and bitter herbs, of which the present generation only know the name by its occurrence in revenue acts of parliament, coupled with cider, perry, and other excisable commodities. Lovel, who was seduced to taste it, with difficulty refrained from pronouncing it detestable, but did refrain, as he saw he should otherwise give great offence to his host, who had the liquor annually prepared with peculiar care, according to the approved recipe bequeathed to him by the so-often mentioned Aldobrand Oldenbuck. The hospitality of the ladies offered Lovel a breakfast more suited to modern taste, and while he was engaged in partaking of it, he was assailed by indirect inquiries concerning the manner in which he had passed the night.
“We canna compliment Mr. Lovel on his looks this morning, brother--but he winna condescend on any ground of disturbance he has had in the night time. I am certain he looks very pale, and when he came here he was as fresh as a rose.”
“Why, sister, consider this rose of yours has been knocked about by sea and wind all yesterday evening, as if he had been a bunch of kelp or tangle, and how the devil would you have him retain his colour?”
“I certainly do still feel somewhat fatigued,” said Lovel, “notwithstanding the excellent accommodations with which your hospitality so amply supplied me.”
“Ah, sir!” said Miss Oldbuck looking at him with a knowing smile, or what was meant to be one, “ye’ll not allow of ony inconvenience, out of civility to us.”
“Really, madam,” replied Lovel, “I had no disturbance; for I cannot term such the music with which some kind fairy favoured me.”
“I doubted Mary wad waken you wi’ her skreighing; she dinna ken I had left open a chink of your window, for, forbye the ghaist, the Green Room disna vent weel in a high wind--But I am judging ye heard mair than Mary’s lilts yestreen. Weel, men are hardy creatures--they can gae through wi’ a’ thing. I am sure, had I been to undergo ony thing of that nature,--that’s to say that’s beyond nature--I would hae skreigh’d out at once, and raised the house, be the consequence what liket--and, I dare say, the minister wad hae done as mickle, and sae I hae tauld him,--I ken naebody but my brother, Monkbarns himsell, wad gae through the like o’t, if, indeed, it binna you, Mr. Lovel.”
“A man of Mr. Oldbuck’s learning, madam,” answered the questioned party, “would not be exposed to the inconvenience sustained by the Highland gentleman you mentioned last night.”
“Ay, ay--ye understand now where the difficulty lies. Language? he has ways o’ his ain wad banish a’ thae sort o’ worricows as far as the hindermost parts of Gideon” (meaning possibly Midian), “as Mr. Blattergowl says--only ane widna be uncivil to ane’s forbear, though he be a ghaist. I am sure I will try that receipt of yours, brother, that ye showed me in a book, if onybody is to sleep in that room again, though I think, in Christian charity, ye should rather fit up the matted-room--it’s a wee damp and dark, to be sure, but then we hae sae seldom occasion for a spare bed.”
“No, no, sister;--dampness and darkness are worse than spectres--ours are spirits of light, and I would rather have you try the spell.”
“I will do that blythely, Monkbarns, an I had the ingredients, as my cookery book ca’s them--There was vervain and dill--I mind that--Davie Dibble will ken about them, though, maybe, he’ll gie them Latin names--and Peppercorn, we hae walth o’ them, for”--
“Hypericon, thou foolish woman!” thundered Oldbuck; “d’ye suppose you’re making a haggis--or do you think that a spirit, though he be formed of air, can be expelled by a receipt against wind?--This wise Grizel of mine, Mr. Lovel, recollects (with what accuracy you may judge) a charm which I once mentioned to her, and which, happening to hit her superstitious noddle, she remembers better than anything tending to a useful purpose, I may chance to have said for this ten years. But many an old woman besides herself”--
“Auld woman, Monkbarns!” said Miss Oldbuck, roused something above her usual submissive tone; “ye really are less than civil to me.”
“Not less than just, Grizel: however, I include in the same class many a sounding name, from Jamblichus down to Aubrey, who have wasted their time in devising imaginary remedies for non-existing diseases.--But I hope, my young friend, that, charmed or uncharmed--secured by the potency of Hypericon,
With vervain and with dill, That hinder witches of their will,
or left disarmed and defenceless to the inroads of the invisible world, you will give another night to the terrors of the haunted apartment, and another day to your faithful and feal friends.”
“I heartily wish I could, but”--
“Nay, but me no buts--I have set my heart upon it.”
“I am greatly obliged, my dear sir, but”--
“Look ye there, now--but again!--I hate but; I know no form of expression in which he can appear, that is amiable, excepting as a butt of sack. But is to me a more detestable combination of letters than no itself.No is a surly, honest fellow--speaks his mind rough and round at once. But is a sneaking, evasive, half-bred, exceptuous sort of a conjunction, which comes to pull away the cup just when it is at your lips--
--it does allay The good precedent--fie upon but yet! But yet is as a jailor to bring forth Some monstrous malefactor.”
“Well, then,” answered Lovel, whose motions were really undetermined at the moment, “you shall not connect the recollection of my name with so churlish a particle. I must soon think of leaving Fairport, I am afraid--and I will, since you are good enough to wish it, take this opportunity of spending another day here.”
“And you shall be rewarded, my boy. First, you shall see John o’ the Girnel’s grave, and then we’ll walk gently along the sands, the state of the tide being first ascertained (for we will have no more Peter Wilkins’ adventures, no more Glum and Gawrie work), as far as Knockwinnock Castle, and inquire after the old knight and my fair foe--which will but be barely civil, and then”--
“I beg pardon, my dear sir; but, perhaps, you had better adjourn your visit till to-morrow--I am a stranger, you know.”
“And are, therefore, the more bound to show civility, I should suppose. But I beg your pardon for mentioning a word that perhaps belongs only to a collector of antiquities--I am one of the old school,
When courtiers galloped o’er four counties The ball’s fair partner to behold, And humbly hope she caught no cold.”
“Why, if--if--if you thought it would be expected--but I believe I had better stay.”
“Nay, nay, my good friend, I am not so old-fashioned as to press you to what is disagreeable, neither--it is sufficient that I see there is some remora, some cause of delay, some mid impediment, which I have no title to inquire into. Or you are still somewhat tired, perhaps;--I warrant I find means to entertain your intellects without fatiguing your limbs--I am no friend to violent exertion myself--a walk in the garden once a-day is exercise, enough for any thinking being--none but a fool or a fox-hunter would require more. Well, what shall we set about?--my Essay on Castrametation--but I have that in petto for our afternoon cordial;--or I will show you the controversy upon Ossian’s Poems between Mac-Cribb and me. I hold with the acute Orcadian--he with the defenders of the authenticity;--the controversy began in smooth, oily, lady-like terms, but is now waxing more sour and eager as we get on--it already partakes somewhat of old Scaliger’s style. I fear the rogue will get some scent of that story of Ochiltree’s--but at worst, I have a hard repartee for him on the affair of the abstracted Antigonus--I will show you his last epistle and the scroll of my answer--egad, it is a trimmer!”
So saying, the Antiquary opened a drawer, and began rummaging among a quantity of miscellaneous papers, ancient and modern. But it was the misfortune of this learned gentleman, as it may be that of many learned and unlearned, that he frequently experienced, on such occasions, what Harlequin calls l’embarras des richesses; in other words, the abundance of his collection often prevented him from finding the article he sought for. “Curse the papers!--I believe,” said Oldbuck, as he shuffled them to and fro--“I believe they make themselves wings like grasshoppers, and fly away bodily--but here, in the meanwhile, look at that little treasure.” So saying, he put into his hand a case made of oak, fenced at the corner with silver roses and studs--“Pr’ythee, undo this button,” said he, as he observed Lovel fumbling at the clasp. He did so,--the lid opened, and discovered a thin quarto, curiously bound in black shagreen--“There, Mr. Lovel--there is the work I mentioned to you last night--the rare quarto of the Augsburg Confession, the foundation at once and the bulwark of the Reformation drawn up by the learned and venerable Melancthon, defended by the Elector of Saxony, and the other valiant hearts who stood up for their faith, even against the front of a powerful and victorious emperor, and imprinted by the scarcely less venerable and praiseworthy Aldobrand Oldenbuck, my happy progenitor, during the yet more tyrannical attempts of Philip II. to suppress at once civil and religious liberty. Yes, sir--for printing this work, that eminent man was expelled from his ungrateful country, and driven to establish his household gods even here at Monkbarns, among the ruins of papal superstition and domination.--Look upon his venerable effigies, Mr. Lovel, and respect the honourable occupation in which it presents him, as labouring personally at the press for the diffusion of Christian and political knowledge.--And see here his favourite motto, expressive of his independence and self-reliance, which scorned to owe anything to patronage that was not earned by desert--expressive also of that firmness of mind and tenacity of purpose recommended by Horace. He was indeed a man who would have stood firm, had his whole printing-house, presses, fonts, forms, great and small pica, been shivered to pieces around him--Read, I say, his motto,--for each printer had his motto, or device, when that illustrious art was first practised. My ancestor’s was expressed, as you see, in the Teutonic phrase, Kunst macht Gunst--that is, skill, or prudence, in availing ourselves of our natural talents and advantages, will compel favour and patronage, even where it is withheld from prejudice or ignorance.”
“And that,” said Lovel, after a moment’s thoughtful silence--“that, then, is the meaning of these German words?”
“Unquestionably. You perceive the appropriate application to a consciousness of inward worth, and of eminence in a useful and honourable art.--Each printer in those days, as I have already informed you, had his device, his impresa, as I may call it, in the same manner as the doughty chivalry of the age, who frequented tilt and tournament. My ancestor boasted as much in his, as if he had displayed it over a conquered field of battle, though it betokened the diffusion of knowledge, not the effusion of blood. And yet there is a family tradition which affirms him to have chosen it from a more romantic circumstance.”
“And what is that said to have been, my good sir?” inquired his young friend.
“Why, it rather encroaches on my respected predecessor’s fame for prudence and wisdom--Sed semel insanivimus omnes--everybody has played the fool in their turn. It is said, my ancestor, during his apprenticeship with the descendant of old Faust, whom popular tradition hath sent to the devil under the name of Faustus, was attracted by a paltry slip of womankind, his master’s daughter, called Bertha--they broke rings, or went through some idiotical ceremony, as is usual on such idle occasions as the plighting of a true-love troth, and Aldobrand set out on his journey through Germany, as became an honest hand-werker; for such was the custom of mechanics at that time, to make a tour through the empire, and work at their trade for a time in each of the most eminent towns, before they finally settled themselves for life. It was a wise custom; for, as such travellers were received like brethren in each town by those of their own handicraft, they were sure, in every case, to have the means either of gaining or communicating knowledge. When my ancestor returned to Nuremburg, he is said to have found his old master newly dead, and two or three gallant young suitors, some of them half-starved sprigs of nobility forsooth, in pursuit of the Yung-fraw Bertha, whose father was understood to have bequeathed her a dowry which might weigh against sixteen armorial quarters. But Bertha, not a bad sample of womankind, had made a vow she would only marry that man who would work her father’s press. The skill, at that time, was as rare as wonderful; besides that the expedient rid her at once of most of her gentle suitors, who would have as soon wielded a conjuring wand as a composing stick. Some of the more ordinary typographers made the attempt: but none were sufficiently possessed of the mystery--But I tire you.”
“By no means; pray, proceed, Mr. Oldbuck--I listen with uncommon interest.”
“Ah! it is all folly. However--Aldobrand arrived in the ordinary dress, as we would say, of a journeyman printer--the same in which he had traversed Germany, and conversed with Luther, Melancthon, Erasmus, and other learned men, who disdained not his knowledge, and the power he possessed of diffusing it, though hid under a garb so homely. But what appeared respectable in the eyes of wisdom, religion, learning, and philosophy, seemed mean, as might readily be supposed, and disgusting, in those of silly and affected womankind, and Bertha refused to acknowledge her former lover, in the torn doublet, skin cap, clouted shoes, and leathern apron, of a travelling handicraftsman or mechanic. He claimed his privilege, however, of being admitted to a trial; and when the rest of the suitors had either declined the contest, or made such work as the devil could not read if his pardon depended on it, all eyes were bent on the stranger. Aldobrand stepped gracefully forward, arranged the types without omission of a single letter, hyphen, or comma, imposed them without deranging a single space, and pulled off the first proof as clear and free from errors, as if it had been a triple revise! All applauded the worthy successor of the immortal Faustus--the blushing maiden acknowledged her error in trusting to the eye more than the intellect--and the elected bridegroom thenceforward chose for his impress or device the appropriate words, Skill wins favour.’--But what is the matter with you?--you are in a brown study! Come, I told you this was but trumpery conversation for thinking people--and now I have my hand on the Ossianic Controversy.”
“I beg your pardon,” said Lovel; “I am going to appear very silly and changeable in your eyes, Mr. Oldbuck--but you seemed to think Sir Arthur might in civility expect a call from me?”
“Psha! psha! I can make your apology; and if you must leave us so soon as you say, what signifies how you stand in his honours good graces?--And I warn you that the Essay on Castrametation is something prolix, and will occupy the time we can spare after dinner, so you may lose the Ossianic Controversy if we do not dedicate this morning to it. We will go out to my ever-green bower, my sacred holly-tree yonder, and have it _fronde super viridi_.
Sing heigh-ho! heigh-ho! for the green holly, Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.
But, egad,” continued the old gentleman, “when I look closer at you, I begin to think you may be of a different opinion. Amen with all my heart--I quarrel with no man’s hobby, if he does not run it a tilt against mine, and if he does--let him beware his eyes. What say you?--in the language of the world and worldlings base, if you can condescend to so mean a sphere, shall we stay or go?”
“In the language of selfishness, then, which is of course the language of the world--let us go by all means.”
“Amen, amen, quo’ the Earl Marshall,” answered Oldbuck, as he exchanged his slippers for a pair of stout walking shoes, with cutikins, as he called them, of black cloth. He only interrupted the walk by a slight deviation to the tomb of John o’ the Girnel, remembered as the last bailiff of the abbey who had resided at Monkbarns. Beneath an old oak-tree upon a hillock, sloping pleasantly to the south, and catching a distant view of the sea over two or three rich enclosures, and the Mussel-crag, lay a moss-grown stone, and, in memory of the departed worthy, it bore an inscription, of which, as Mr. Oldbuck affirmed (though many doubted), the defaced characters could be distinctly traced to the following effect:--
Here lyeth John o’ ye Girnell; Erth has ye nit, and heuen ye kirnell. In hys tyme ilk wyfe’s hennis clokit, Ilka gud mannis herth wi’ bairnis was stokit. He deled a boll o’ bear in firlottis fyve, Four for ye halie kirke, and ane for puir mennis wyvis.
“You see how modest the author of this sepulchral commendation was;--he tells us that honest John could make five firlots, or quarters, as you would say, out of the boll, instead of four,--that he gave the fifth to the wives of the parish, and accounted for the other four to the abbot and CHAPTER--that in his time the wives’ hens always laid eggs--and devil thank them, if they got one-fifth of the abbey rents; and that honest men’s hearths were never unblest with offspring--an addition to the miracle, which they, as well as I, must have considered as perfectly unaccountable. But come on--leave we Jock o’ the Girnel, and let us jog on to the yellow sands, where the sea, like a repulsed enemy, is now retreating from the ground on which he gave us battle last night.”
Thus saying, he led the way to the sands. Upon the links or downs close to them, were seen four or five huts inhabited by fishers, whose boats, drawn high upon the beach, lent the odoriferous vapours of pitch melting under a burning sun, to contend with those of the offals of fish and other nuisances usually collected round Scottish cottages. Undisturbed by these complicated steams of abomination, a middle-aged woman, with a face which had defied a thousand storms, sat mending a net at the door of one of the cottages. A handkerchief close bound about her head, and a coat which had formerly been that of a man, gave her a masculine air, which was increased by her strength, uncommon stature, and harsh voice. “What are ye for the day, your honour?” she said, or rather screamed, to Oldbuck; “caller haddocks and whitings--a bannock-fluke and a cock-padle.”
“How much for the bannock-fluke and cock-padle?” demanded the Antiquary.
“Four white shillings and saxpence,” answered the Naiad.
“Four devils and six of their imps!” retorted the Antiquary; “do you think I am mad, Maggie?”
“And div ye think,” rejoined the virago, setting her arms akimbo, “that my man and my sons are to gae to the sea in weather like yestreen and the day--sic a sea as it’s yet outby--and get naething for their fish, and be misca’d into the bargain, Monkbarns? It’s no fish ye’re buying--it’s men’s lives.”
“Well, Maggie, I’ll bid you fair--I’ll bid you a shilling for the fluke and the cock-padle, or sixpence separately--and if all your fish are as well paid, I think your man, as you call him, and your sons, will make a good voyage.”
“Deil gin their boat were knockit against the Bell-Rock rather! it wad be better, and the bonnier voyage o’ the twa. A shilling for thae twa bonnie fish! Od, that’s ane indeed!”
“Well, well, you old beldam, carry your fish up to Monkbarns, and see what my sister will give you for them.”
“Na, na, Monkbarns, deil a fit--I’ll rather deal wi’ yoursell; for though you’re near enough, yet Miss Grizel has an unco close grip--I’ll gie ye them” (in a softened tone) “for three-and-saxpence.”
“Eighteen-pence, or nothing!”
“Eighteen-pence!!!” (in a loud tone of astonishment, which declined into a sort of rueful whine, when the dealer turned as if to walk away)--“Yell no be for the fish then?”--(then louder, as she saw him moving off)--“I’ll gie ye them--and--and--and a half-a-dozen o’ partans to make the sauce, for three shillings and a dram.”
“Half-a-crown then, Maggie, and a dram.”
“Aweel, your honour maun hae’t your ain gate, nae doubt; but a dram’s worth siller now--the distilleries is no working.”
“And I hope they’ll never work again in my time,” said Oldbuck.
“Ay, ay--it’s easy for your honour, and the like o’ you gentle-folks to say sae, that hae stouth and routh, and fire and fending and meat and claith, and sit dry and canny by the fireside--but an ye wanted fire, and meat, and dry claes, and were deeing o’ cauld, and had a sair heart, whilk is warst ava’, wi’ just tippence in your pouch, wadna ye be glad to buy a dram wi’t, to be eilding and claes, and a supper and heart’s ease into the bargain, till the morn’s morning?”
“It’s even too true an apology, Maggie. Is your goodman off to sea this morning, after his exertions last night?”
“In troth is he, Monkbarns; he was awa this morning by four o’clock, when the sea was working like barm wi’ yestreen’s wind, and our bit coble dancing in’t like a cork.”
“Well, he’s an industrious fellow. Carry the fish up to Monkbarns.”
“That I will--or I’ll send little Jenny, she’ll rin faster; but I’ll ca’ on Miss Grizzy for the dram mysell, and say ye sent me.”
A nondescript animal, which might have passed for a mermaid, as it was paddling in a pool among the rocks, was summoned ashore by the shrill screams of its dam; and having been made decent, as her mother called it, which was performed by adding a short red cloak to a petticoat, which was at first her sole covering, and which reached scantily below her knee, the child was dismissed with the fish in a basket, and a request on the part of Monkbarns that they might be prepared for dinner. “It would have been long,” said Oldbuck, with much self-complacency, “ere my womankind could have made such a reasonable bargain with that old skin-flint, though they sometimes wrangle with her for an hour together under my study window, like three sea-gulls screaming and sputtering in a gale of wind. But come, wend we on our way to Knockwinnock.”
CHAPTER TWELFTH.
Beggar?--the only freeman of your commonwealth; Free above Scot-free, that observe no laws, Obey no governor, use no religion But what they draw from their own ancient custom, Or constitute themselves, yet they are no rebels. Brome.
With our reader’s permission, we will outstep the slow, though sturdy pace of the Antiquary, whose halts, as he, turned round to his companion at every moment to point out something remarkable in the landscape, or to enforce some favourite topic more emphatically than the exercise of walking permitted, delayed their progress considerably.
Notwithstanding the fatigues and dangers of the preceding evening, Miss Wardour was able to rise at her usual hour, and to apply herself to her usual occupations, after she had first satisfied her anxiety concerning her father’s state of health. Sir Arthur was no farther indisposed than by the effects of great agitation and unusual fatigue, but these were sufficient to induce him to keep his bedchamber.
To look back on the events of the preceding day, was, to Isabella, a very unpleasing retrospect. She owed her life, and that of her father, to the very person by whom, of all others, she wished least to be obliged, because she could hardly even express common gratitude towards him without encouraging hopes which might be injurious to them both. “Why should it be my fate to receive such benefits, and conferred at so much personal risk, from one whose romantic passion I have so unceasingly laboured to discourage? Why should chance have given him this advantage over me? and why, oh why, should a half-subdued feeling in my own bosom, in spite of my sober reason, almost rejoice that he has attained it?”
While Miss Wardour thus taxed herself with wayward caprice, she, beheld advancing down the avenue, not her younger and more dreaded preserver, but the old beggar who had made such a capital figure in the melodrama of the preceding evening.
She rang the bell for her maid-servant. “Bring the old man up stairs.”
The servant returned in a minute or two--“He will come up at no rate, madam;--he says his clouted shoes never were on a carpet in his life, and that, please God, they never shall.--Must I take him into the servants’ hall?”
“No; stay, I want to speak with him--Where is he?” for she had lost sight of him as he approached the house.
“Sitting in the sun on the stone-bench in the court, beside the window of the flagged parlour.”
[Illustration: Eddie Ochiltree Visits Miss Wardour]
“Bid him stay there--I’ll come down to the parlour, and speak with him at the window.”
She came down accordingly, and found the mendicant half-seated, half-reclining, upon the bench beside the window. Edie Ochiltree, old man and beggar as he was, had apparently some internal consciousness of the favourable, impressions connected with his tall form, commanding features, and long white beard and hair. It used to be remarked of him, that he was seldom seen but in a posture which showed these personal attributes to advantage. At present, as he lay half-reclined, with his wrinkled yet ruddy cheek, and keen grey eye turned up towards the sky, his staff and bag laid beside him, and a cast of homely wisdom and sarcastic irony in the expression of his countenance, while he gazed for a moment around the court-yard, and then resumed his former look upward, he might have been taken by an artist as the model of an old philosopher of the Cynic school, musing upon the frivolity of mortal pursuits, and the precarious tenure of human possessions, and looking up to the source from which aught permanently good can alone be derived. The young lady, as she presented her tall and elegant figure at the open window, but divided from the court-yard by a grating, with which, according to the fashion of ancient times, the lower windows of the castle were secured, gave an interest of a different kind, and might be supposed, by a romantic imagination, an imprisoned damsel communicating a tale of her durance to a palmer, in order that he might call upon the gallantry of every knight whom he should meet in his wanderings, to rescue her from her oppressive thraldom.
After Miss Wardour had offered, in the terms she thought would be most acceptable, those thanks which the beggar declined as far beyond his merit, she began to express herself in a manner which she supposed would speak more feelingly to his apprehension. “She did not know,” she said, “what her father intended particularly to do for their preserver, but certainly it would be something that would make him easy for life; if he chose to reside at the castle, she would give orders”--
The old man smiled, and shook his head. “I wad be baith a grievance and a disgrace to your fine servants, my leddy, and I have never been a disgrace to onybody yet, that I ken of.”
“Sir Arthur would give strict orders”--
“Ye’re very kind--I doubtna, I doubtna; but there are some things a master can command, and some he canna--I daresay he wad gar them keep hands aff me--(and troth, I think they wad hardly venture on that ony gate)--and he wad gar them gie me my soup parritch and bit meat. But trow ye that Sir Arthur’s command could forbid the gibe o’ the tongue or the blink o’ the ee, or gar them gie me my food wi’ the look o’ kindness that gars it digest sae weel, or that he could make them forbear a’ the slights and taunts that hurt ane’s spirit mair nor downright misca’ing?--Besides, I am the idlest auld carle that ever lived; I downa be bound down to hours o’ eating and sleeping; and, to speak the honest truth, I wad be a very bad example in ony weel regulated family.”
“Well, then, Edie, what do you think of a neat cottage and a garden, and a daily dole, and nothing to do but to dig a little in your garden when you pleased yourself?”
“And how often wad that be, trow ye, my leddy? maybe no ance atween Candlemas and Yule and if a’ thing were done to my hand, as if I was Sir Arthur himsell, I could never bide the staying still in ae place, and just seeing the same joists and couples aboon my head night after night.--And then I have a queer humour o’ my ain, that sets a strolling beggar weel eneugh, whase word naebody minds--but ye ken Sir Arthur has odd sort o’ ways--and I wad be jesting or scorning at them--and ye wad be angry, and then I wad be just fit to hang mysell.”
“O, you are a licensed man,” said Isabella; “we shall give you all reasonable scope: So you had better be ruled, and remember your age.”
“But I am no that sair failed yet,” replied the mendicant. “Od, ance I gat a wee soupled yestreen, I was as yauld as an eel. And then what wad a’ the country about do for want o’ auld Edie Ochiltree, that brings news and country cracks frae ae farm-steading to anither, and gingerbread to the lasses, and helps the lads to mend their fiddles, and the gudewives to clout their pans, and plaits rush-swords and grenadier caps for the weans, and busks the laird’s flees, and has skill o’ cow-ills and horse-ills, and kens mair auld sangs and tales than a’ the barony besides, and gars ilka body laugh wherever he comes? Troth, my leddy, I canna lay down my vocation; it would be a public loss.”
“Well, Edie, if your idea of your importance is so strong as not to be shaken by the prospect of independence”--
“Na, na, Miss--it’s because I am mair independent as I am,” answered the old man; “I beg nae mair at ony single house than a meal o’ meat, or maybe but a mouthfou o’t--if it’s refused at ae place, I get it at anither--sae I canna be said to depend on onybody in particular, but just on the country at large.”
“Well, then, only promise me that you will let me know should you ever wish to settle as you turn old, and more incapable of making your usual rounds; and, in the meantime, take this.”
“Na, na, my leddy: I downa take muckle siller at ance--it’s against our rule; and--though it’s maybe no civil to be repeating the like o’ that--they say that siller’s like to be scarce wi’ Sir Arthur himsell, and that he’s run himsell out o’ thought wi’ his honkings and minings for lead and copper yonder.”
Isabella had some anxious anticipations to the same effect, but was shocked to hear that her father’s embarrassments were such public talk; as if scandal ever failed to stoop upon so acceptable a quarry as the failings of the good man, the decline of the powerful, or the decay of the prosperous.--Miss Wardour sighed deeply--“Well, Edie, we have enough to pay our debts, let folks say what they will, and requiting you is one of the foremost--let me press this sum upon you.”
“That I might be robbed and murdered some night between town and town? or, what’s as bad, that I might live in constant apprehension o’t?--I am no”--(lowering his voice to a whisper, and looking keenly around him)--“I am no that clean unprovided for neither; and though I should die at the back of a dyke, they’ll find as muckle quilted in this auld blue gown as will bury me like a Christian, and gie the lads and lasses a blythe lykewake too; sae there’s the gaberlunzie’s burial provided for, and I need nae mair. Were the like o’ me ever to change a note, wha the deil d’ye think wad be sic fules as to gie me charity after that?--it wad flee through the country like wildfire, that auld Edie suld hae done siccan a like thing, and then, I’se warrant, I might grane my heart out or onybody wad gie me either a bane or a bodle.”
“Is there nothing, then, that I can do for you?”
“Ou ay--I’ll aye come for my awmous as usual,--and whiles I wad be fain o’ a pickle sneeshin, and ye maun speak to the constable and ground-officer just to owerlook me; and maybe ye’ll gie a gude word for me to Sandie Netherstanes, the miller, that he may chain up his muckle dog--I wadna hae him to hurt the puir beast, for it just does its office in barking at a gaberlunzie like me. And there’s ae thing maybe mair,--but ye’ll think it’s very bald o’ the like o’ me to speak o’t.”
“What is it, Edie?--if it respects you it shall be done if it is in my power.”
“It respects yoursell, and it is in your power, and I maun come out wi’t. Ye are a bonny young leddy, and a gude ane, and maybe a weel-tochered ane--but dinna ye sneer awa the lad Lovel, as ye did a while sinsyne on the walk beneath the Briery-bank, when I saw ye baith, and heard ye too, though ye saw nae me. Be canny wi’ the lad, for he loes ye weel, and it’s to him, and no to anything I could have done for you, that Sir Arthur and you wan ower yestreen.”
He uttered these words in a low but distinct tone of voice; and without waiting for an answer, walked towards a low door which led to the apartments of the servants, and so entered the house.
Miss Wardour remained for a moment or two in the situation in which she had heard the old man’s last extraordinary speech, leaning, namely, against the bars of the window; nor could she determine upon saying even a single word, relative to a subject so delicate, until the beggar was out of sight. It was, indeed, difficult to determine what to do. That her having had an interview and private conversation with this young and unknown stranger, should be a secret possessed by a person of the last class in which a young lady would seek a confidant, and at the mercy of one who was by profession gossip-general to the whole neighbourhood, gave her acute agony. She had no reason, indeed, to suppose that the old man would wilfully do anything to hurt her feelings, much less to injure her; but the mere freedom of speaking to her upon such a subject, showed, as might have been expected, a total absence of delicacy; and what he might take it into his head to do or say next, that she was pretty sure so professed an admirer of liberty would not hesitate to do or say without scruple. This idea so much hurt and vexed her, that she half-wished the officious assistance of Lovel and Ochiltree had been absent upon the preceding evening.
While she was in this agitation of spirits, she suddenly observed Oldbuck and Lovel entering the court. She drew instantly so far back from the window, that she could without being seen, observe how the Antiquary paused in front of the building, and pointing to the various scutcheons of its former owners, seemed in the act of bestowing upon Lovel much curious and erudite information, which, from the absent look of his auditor, Isabella might shrewdly guess was entirely thrown away. The necessity that she should take some resolution became instant and pressing;--she rang, therefore, for a servant, and ordered him to show the visitors to the drawing-room, while she, by another staircase, gained her own apartment, to consider, ere she made her appearance, what line of conduct were fittest for her to pursue. The guests, agreeably to her instructions, were introduced into the room where company was usually received.