CHAPTER VI

INTRODUCES SEVERAL CHARACTERS

“Aunt Betty returns home to-day!” cried Charles one morning, as I came into their room to give my good Phemie greeting, “and I am to ride with the coach to fetch her, my mama says, and to be her little escort.”

Now I had heard much from my Lady Erskine of her favourite sister Betty, and was looking forward with girlish eagerness mixed with diffidence (being troubled with the fear that the engaging young lady might not find me to her taste), to making her acquaintance. I therefore turned quickly to the child and clapped my hands.

“How glad I am to hear it!” I cried. “She is very bright, and gay and pretty, is she not, your Aunt Betty?”

The boy stared at me for a moment in surprise, and then he broke into a laugh.

“Why, no, Cousin Barbara,” he cried. “Aunt Betty is dull and sad, and--but my mama does not allow me to say it--sometimes a little ill-humoured. We must be very gentle with Aunt Betty because she is old, but I must own to you that I do not love her very much.”

“She gives me sugar-drops,” cried little Hal stoutly, “and for that I love her--sometimes!”

My perplexity grew as I looked from one bright face to the other.

“Whither do you ride to meet her?” I asked of Charles.

“Oh, all the way to Stirling!” he cried. “I may not be back till bed-time. I am a big lad now, cousin; I do not need to sleep during the day like my brother.”

“But does not your Aunt Betty live at Dysart with my lord, your grandpapa?” I enquired, still much in a puzzle.

“Oh, yes!” they cried together, “the other Betty does, dear Betty, kind Betty! She it is who is bright and gay. But great-aunt Betty Erskine--well, you will see!”

“She hath been spending some months,” went on Charles, “with her brother the Colonel, who you know is Governor of the Castle of Stirling. I love to go with him round the ramparts, and he took me once down into the dungeons, but--” with a faint note of regret--“there were no prisoners in them.”

“Perhaps there will be some before very long,” I said to console him, little dreaming how soon my careless words were to come true.

“Well, be very careful of your great-aunt, Cha, and we must all endeavour to make her happier when she comes.”

My good opinion of my dear lady, already great, was much increased when I beheld her bearing towards her husband’s aunt, for with the direct ways of children, her sons had spoken nothing but the truth.

Mistress Betty Erskine, who made her home for some months of the year at Alva, was not a cheerful inmate for any house. Her age, her infirmities, and a certain habit of looking on the worst side of everything, rendered her querulous and gloomy; and I watched with admiration, learning gradually to curb my own impatience and follow the example of the house, the gentle toleration with which the poor lady was treated. Sir John had ever a cheerful word with which to greet her. My lady bore her complainings with quiet kindness, and the little boys, as you have seen, were taught to behave to her with deference and respect. And surely ’tis a beautiful thing to see this kindly treatment of the old, for age, beyond a doubt, is a great misfortune, and one from which there is no escape but death. Sure, no one would choose to grow old, but would prefer to keep their youth and vigour unimpaired; and though many (unlike poor Aunt Betty,) give us fair and sweet examples of a cheerful old age, even towards these some patience is required, and every sympathetic art should be used that can console them.

At last, however, “the other Betty” did arrive, and what a rush of fresh gaiety entered the house with her! If my lady was the personification of peaceful cheerfulness, her sister was the very spirit of joyous merriment. The first made me think of a soft bright day in June, but the other was April and July in one, with at times a brisk touch of December. Such laughter, such kindness, such whims, such little tempers! And how the Honourable Betty contrived to be so charming with it all has puzzled wiser heads than Barbara’s.

Even her own sister was sometimes astonished at her sayings and doings, her sudden gusts of anger, her sharp words, her fits of gloom, but before she had time to reprove her, Betty’s arms would be round her neck, and a gay laugh or a murmur of loving words would disarm her displeasure. Sir John watched them together, laughing at and with his sister-in-law, for they were fast friends and boon companions, although the knight teased her sometimes almost to the verge of tears. Her little nephews adored her, and any servant about the place would cheerfully have cut off a finger at her bidding. Even great-aunt Betty smiled a wintry smile at some of her gay sallies, and forgot to complain of the weather, or the country, or her own aches and pains, while Betty held the table at attention.

I remember the day she came, a breezy, sunny, laughing April afternoon, when we were assembled in the parlour for “the four hours.” Suddenly there was a sound of horses’ feet stamping and scraping at the front-door, and a merry voice made itself heard above the din, calling out for Andrew, or Peter, to come and take the nags.

“Why, tis Betty!” cried my lady rising, the pretty colour coming to her cheeks as it did so easily upon any excitement, and before I knew it we were both in the front-hall, watching the dismounting of a lady in a dark blue habit, assisted by a man in the garb of a gentleman, whose face I could not see. Another moment, and with a rush and a whirl she was in my lady’s arms, and saying a hundred merry, happy things in a breath.

“I thought you would like me to take you by surprise, sister,” she cried, “and it was so long to wait till next week, and I longed to be with you and to see Sir John before his departure, and the travelling-coach lacks repairs; so as the roads are good and the weather fine, my lord permitted me to ride horseback with, as you see, our good friend David for escort.”

At this she beckoned with her hand to the young gentleman who stood on the threshold, and Sir John, coming up at that moment, he gave him hearty greeting.

“Welcome, friend David!” he cried, laying his hand upon the other’s shoulder, “and so this wild girl as usual bids you drop all other duties, and act as mounted guard in her ladyship’s journeyings. Oh, ho! Mistress Betty, art never happy but with a train of followers all ready to do thy bidding.”

“Nay, Sir John,” cried Betty, pouting, but holding up her cheek for him to kiss, “my train of followers this time is modest enough, though to be sure David Pitcairn is, for kindness and quickness, a host in himself, as the saying is. But when a poor girl hath only brothers who are ever too busy to attend her, and a father, loving and tender but infirm, must she refuse herself the comfort of a gentleman’s company upon the road, and be content with serving-men?”

“Indeed!” cried the young gentleman, who had meantime been paying his respects to my lady, “Mistress Betty knows how willing all her friends are to serve her, and Sir John is aware that no duties could possibly stand in the way of a gracious command to attend her.”

Now I may say here that I have seen Elizabeth Sinclair in many dresses and in various surroundings--in the ballroom, swimming and languishing through the minuet with infinite grace; in the garden gathering roses; in the still room, her white arms bare and her pink fingertips daintily busy; laughing and romping with the children, her hair ruffled, and her breath coming quick through parted lips; at her spinning-wheel in the twilight, silent and absorbed; and seated at the virginal, singing some old French song, her round chin uplifted and the candle-light forming a halo round her head; but fair and attractive as she was in all these attitudes, I loved and admired the most to see her on horseback. Then, indeed, she appeared at her best--slim, graceful, joyous, a thing of life and motion swaying to every movement of the animal as though the same will inspired them both; and it is no marvel to me now to recall the adoring look with which young Mr. Pitcairn regarded her as he spoke. Even then, I, a girl but just waking up to the knowledge of life, thought ’twas writ plain in his face, how willingly he would ride with the lovely and seductive Betty through the wide world till life ended.

But all this time I had been standing apart watching the newly arrived lady, shy, silent and doubtful, longing for a word, a look of recognition, but heavy at heart with the fear that she might find me too young, too trivial to notice; and then my lady’s kind voice said, “And this is Barbara.”

Betty turned on me in her swift, light way.

“Why, of course it is!” she cried, and her hands clasped mine, and her merry eyes were raised to my face, for she was several inches the shorter.

“What a tall girl! and oh!--my dear Barbara, I swear it is not honest to steal a Scotswoman’s complexion of clear white and red, and add to it a foreigner’s charms of liquid dark eyes and hair nearly black.” Then pulling my face down, she whispered roguishly, “Dost know that thou art lovely, child, and I am almost jealous of thee?”

So saying, she turned and followed her sister into the parlour, leaving me tingling with delight and confusion at hearing for the first time from the lips of another the thing that I had often hoped might be true.

I think it was the next afternoon, for Mr. Pitcairn was with us, and I know that he had been bidden to lie at Alva for a couple of nights, that we made our excursion to the Silver Glen.

There are, as you know, many lovely ravines in the Ochil Range, formed by the age-long working of the burns that, rising near the summit, tumble noisily down the sides by their self-made channels till they reach the quiet river that bears them to the sea. These mountain-streams were ever a delight to me, and I could sit for hours upon a mossy stone watching the ever-changing water as it slipped past, now lying at rest in a quiet brown pool, anon breaking over the stones with a gurgling ripple, and then flinging itself down the steep rocks in a foaming cascade. And as I watched I listened to the voices that for me were never silent--three voices there were that talked, separately and altogether--a deep roaring bass, a soft middle voice, and a high tinkling treble; and what they said to me I cannot tell you, but perhaps some young maid, who has sat dreaming vague dreams to the sound of falling water, reading this may remember and understand.

The Silver Glen lies not far from Alva House, and though small is very beautiful; and on this April day when the young leaves of the birch trees were fast beginning to shake themselves out of their winter wrappings and toss their graceful beauty in the sun, when the ground smelt sweet with new life, and the pale primrose and frail anemone were beginning to appear in the grass, it seemed to my foolish young mind a grievous thing that the place should be filled with busy workers, that heaps of ore and broken rock should lie in confusion beside the burn, and that the sound of pick and hammer should almost drown the music of the water.

As we began to climb the hillside, Betty had turned to her friend, David, with an impressive gesture, and cried gaily,

“Remember, sir, the secret of the hills must be guarded inviolate. Are you strong enough to keep silent?”

They were standing a little apart, and no one but myself heard his reply. Looking deep into her eyes, he said in a low voice,

“Betty, do you need to ask me that? You know that I am!”

Just for one moment a shadow fell on her face, and her eyelids dropped. Then she gave a little laugh.

“David, you are cruel to be so serious over a trifle! What is it that I know? Can you hold your tongue, ay, even in the torture-chamber, about what you are going to see here? Remember the head of my dear Sir John is not safe should you or any of us babble, for is it not high treason to deprive the King of his revenues? Swear eternal silence, or else turn round and march straight home.”

“Madam,” cried Mr. Pitcairn, becoming aware, as I think, of my presence, “I swear by the light of your own beautiful eyes never to divulge the secret of what you are about to show me.”

With that we laughingly continued the ascent, and joined my lady who stood at the entrance of one of the long tunnels talking to a man whose back was turned to us. Sir John had gone on a little further to where some workmen were beginning to form a new opening.

“Betty,” cried my lady on our approach, “here is James Hamilton returned. He hath been, as I told you, in Germany on an errand for Sir John, connected with the assaying of the ore. He is glad enough to get back, I trow.”

I glanced at the man who stood smiling beside her. He was tall and had a handsome face, save that the eyes were too near together; and although he was dressed in the rough clothes of a common workman, he had the air and bearing of a gentleman. When he spoke his accent was refined, and his voice had a pleasant ring.

“Yes, indeed, madam,” he answered, bowing low in reply to Betty’s greeting, and then to me as my lady pronounced my name. “I was not born for wandering. Travel in foreign lands does but endear my own the more to me.”

“Tush, James!” cried Sir John, coming towards us, “what is this nonsense you talk? ’Tis but to make yourself acceptable in the eyes of the ladies, I dare swear. If Mr. Pitcairn and I were alone with you, doubtless we should hear another tale. Far be it from me to belittle Scotland, but there’s many a flaxen-haired Gretchen and blue-eyed Marie fair enough to delight the heart of man betwixt Rhine and Elbe, and I’m vastly mistaken if thou’rt the sort of fellow to go about with thine eyes shut to the beauties of nature.”

“I vow,” cried Mr. Hamilton, laughing in his turn, “that I never, Sir John, in all my travels for the last two months, had the good fortune to light on anything so fresh, so beautiful, so entrancing, as the group before me at this moment.”

He swept us a courteous bow which included all three, but it seemed to me that his eye rested longest on Betty, and a little wicked jealous pang pinched my heart. Should I ever, I wondered, be so attractive as to draw the eyes of all men to me as seemed to be the way with Betty. Alas! what foolish, useless thoughts we suffer to lodge in our minds when we are young, to the exclusion often of that which is wiser, higher and infinitely more worthy.

“La, Mr. Hamilton,” cried Betty, “you are vastly polite. But as you have already told us that nothing in the country pleased you, the compliment you pay us is not so exalted as it seems.”

Mr. Hamilton turned to my lady.

“There is one thing, madam, with which I can never keep pace,” he said, “travel as hard as I may, and that is Mistress Betty’s tongue!”

“I must own ’tis a very nimble one,” said my lady, smiling. “And now, James, I want you to show the working of the mine to Mistress Stewart, who hath but lately come to live here. Give Mr. Hamilton your hand, my dear, and trust yourself to his guidance.”

It was a strange thing to me to leave the green and sunny world behind, and to walk straight into the heart of the hill, where, in the stifling darkness, by the dim light of lanterns, men toiled and sweated with pick-axe and spade to wrest from the very entrails of the earth the treasure that was enabling Sir John to beautify and improve his estate. The passage through which we walked was narrow--I could lay a hand upon the walls on either side, and the foot-way was rough and slippery and precarious, so much so that I could scarce attend to what my guide was saying, as he explained the method of finding and extracting the silver. Here and there water oozed through the rock and dripped upon us as we crept along, and presently we came upon a deep hole or pit, where looking down I saw the forms of men bending to their work. So weird and goblin-like they looked in that uncertain light that I shivered and drew hastily back. Upon that Mr. Hamilton caught me sharply by the arm with a quick word of warning, and glancing round I perceived with a thrill of horror that another opening or shaft, narrower but much deeper than the first, gaped darkly just behind me. So startled was I at the sight, that I clung to my companion’s arm in terror, and for a moment could neither speak nor move. Seeing this, Mr. Hamilton soothed me in a very kind and gentle way, and turning slowly he guided my footsteps back along the way we had come.

“I must have your forgiveness, Mistress Barbara,” he said, “for having startled you by so suddenly clutching at your arm. But I feared that you might step too far the other way, and I did not, as you may imagine, wish to see the light of the loveliest eyes in all broad Scotland quenched in the darkness of the pit.”

Now, had I been a few years older or more experienced, no doubt I should have treated this speech with the haughty displeasure it deserved, for the man was a stranger, and the young maid he addressed was the ward of his employers; but Barbara was in those days very young, very thoughtless and foolish, and the compliment pleased me, little feather-head that I was, because it was the first that I had ever received from one of the sterner sex. Here was a proof of the admiration that I longed for, and an opportunity of showing myself _the accomplished coquette_. The sunlight was glimmering on the dusky walls as we approached the entrance, so I tossed my head and replied in tones which I fondly hoped resembled those of the Honourable Betty,

“La! Mr. Hamilton, you are monstrous kind, I am sure, to pay me such a pretty compliment. But how can your words be true, when you know that Mistress Betty is standing within a few yards of us?”

“Mistress Betty!” he cried in low tones, and with a kind of soft amazement. “You cannot possibly think, madam, that any man of taste would glance at that charming lady while such an one as yourself was by?”

Now I have said that Barbara was silly, which is true; but she was not for all that an absolute fool, and inexperienced as she was, she had sense enough to see that this time the compliment was too gross to be genuine. So she laughed very merrily, and begged Mr. Hamilton not to talk any more nonsense.

We proceeded for some way in silence, but just as we neared the full daylight the gentleman turned and spoke quickly and gravely in my ear.

“The truth, madam, can never be nonsense,” he said. “For my part I would sooner have one glance from your dark eyes, and a smile from your exquisite lips, than all the sparkle and charm of Mistress Betty’s beauty and wit, great as these are.”

Alas! for my fleeting discretion, how his words set my heart a-beating! When we stepped out upon the hillside into the wind and the sunshine, I knew that my cheeks were glowing, and my eyes shining with unwonted light.

“Why, Barbara,” cried my lady, “you look fey! What didst see and hear within the hill to give thee such a colour, child?”

I was silent in confusion, but Mr. Hamilton came to my rescue.

“I regret to tell you, madam, that Mistress Barbara narrowly escaped falling down the shaft, and the little incident has no doubt shaken her nerve.”

“How strange!” scoffed Betty, with a keen glance at me. “Now when I am frightened, sister, I turn as white as chalk: but to be sure, Barbara’s way is the more becoming!”

That night after Phemie had left me--for the good creature would always attend me to my couch as in the old days--I heard a light tap at my chamber door, and opening it, I found Betty, in night-rail and slippers, standing on the threshold, her fair hair demurely braided ready for her cap.

“I am coming in, Barbara,” she said, and walking past me into the room she seated herself in a chair, and left me standing before her.

“Now,” she cried, lifting a finger at me, “confess! What did that man say to you to-day in the tunnel!”

Utterly taken aback I could only gaze at her, and gradually the remembrance of the words, which I had well-nigh forgotten, came back to me, and the colour deepened in my face.

“Mistress Betty!” I cried, “what mean you?”

“My good child,” she exclaimed, “do not try to deceive me, for it is useless. I know as well as if I had been by your side all the time that James Hamilton was saying something to you, as foolish as it was pretty, down there in the dark, and I wish to know what it was.”

“But, madam,” I protested feebly, “I do not see why I should tell you!”

“Hoity-toity!” cried she, “so the child has some spirit! And why not, pray? At so early a stage in the proceedings he can hardly have said anything you are ashamed to repeat.”

This was attacking me upon another side, and finding it useless to fence with her, I weakly surrendered.

“Ashamed!” I repeated, blushing hotly. “Why no, scarcely that; but standing here with you, Mistress Betty, the words seem to me senseless and vain, which by his side in the darkness yet gave me a certain pleasure.”

“Ahem! I thought so. He praised your dark eyes, I suppose, and delicately gave you to understand that beauty such as yours is a new and rare thing in this country-side. Perhaps he told you that beside you I was not worth a glance. Was that it?”

Amazed, I could only murmur. “But how, madam, could you know?”

Betty lay back in her chair and laughed. “How do I know? Ah, Barbara, what an innocent you are. I know because I have been seventeen myself, though that was some time ago now; and because men are all cut out on one pattern, at least most of them; and because your eyes and your blushes called it aloud to all the world; and because compliments made to one maid are very much like compliments paid to another, and--oh, well, because I am a woman, and know a good many things without being told at all.”

I stood, looking no doubt as much chagrined as I felt, till Betty had finished speaking, then I threw myself down on a settee a little way off, and cried petulantly.

“But where is then the harm of a compliment, seeing they are so common? and why should I not be innocent in such matters--a girl but just out of school? ’Tis not quite kind of you to laugh so, Mistress Betty.”

She was grave again at once, and answered gently.

“Nay, child, it was wrong of me to mock, and having come to warn you, I have but succeeded in angering you. Forgive me, Barbara. James Hamilton is a handsome man, and a clever one; he is a scion of an old and noble house, and ’tis no shame to him but much to his credit that he works hard for his living. But, Barbara, I do not trust him; why, I know not. There is something in his nature antagonistic to my own. I mock and joke with him, but all the time my spirit is saying to his spirit, ‘Keep off, we are not friends!’ and if we lived together fifty years, at the end of that time we should still be strangers.”

She spoke so gravely that I could not be offended; here was no womanish jealousy, no idle fault-finding, no carping at a laggard lover. I was wise enough to comprehend this, and I answered with a gravity equal to her own.

“In what do you distrust him, madam?”

Betty spoke more lightly.

“Nay, that I can hardly tell you; but look you, my dear, you are young, and fair, and a fortune. ’Twould not be detrimental to James Hamilton’s ambitions to win a bride like yourself; but you are destined, I trust, for better things than that. During the summer you will see a good deal of this gentleman, and I beg of you not to let yourself be drawn into a net, out of which you might, later, long in vain to escape.”

Without waiting for a reply, she jumped up and made for the door, crying,

“Good-night! Forget not the words of wisdom, but do not allow them to disturb your slumbers.”

She vanished behind the closing door, and I retired to bed, not quite so convinced of her wisdom as I ought to have been.