by J. M. Barrie
Chapter Thirty-Five.
THE GLEN AT BREAK OF DAY.
My first intimation that the burns were in flood came from WasterLunny, close on the strike of ten o'clock. This was some minutesbefore they had any rain in Thrums. I was in the school-house, nowpiecing together the puzzle Lord Rintoul had left with me, and anonstarting upright as McKenzie's hand seemed to tighten on my arm.Waster Lunny had been whistling to me (with his fingers in his mouth)for some time before I heard him and hurried out. I was surprised andpleased, knowing no better, to be met on the threshold by a whisk ofrain.
The night was not then so dark but that when I reached the Quharity Icould see the farmer take shape on the other side of it. He wanted meto exult with him, I thought, in the end of the drought, and I shoutedthat I would fling him the stilts.
"It's yoursel' that wants them," he answered excitedly, "if you'refleid to be left alone in the school-house the nicht. Do you hear me,dominie? There has been frichtsome rain among the hills, and the Bogburn is coming down like a sea. It has carried awa the miller's brig,and the steading o' Muckle Pirley is standing three feet in water."
"You're dreaming, man," I roared back, but beside his news he held mydoubts of no account.
"The Retery's in flood," he went on, "and running wild through HazelWood; T'nowdunnie's tattie field's out o' sicht, and at the Kirktonthey're fleid they've lost twa kye."
"There has been no rain here," I stammered, incredulously.
"It's coming now," he replied. "And listen: the story's out that theBackbone has fallen into the loch. You had better cross, dominie, andthole out the nicht wi' us."
The Backbone was a piece of mountain-side overhanging a loch among thehills, and legend said that it would one day fall forward and squirtall the water into the glen. Something of the kind had happened, but Idid not believe it then; with little wit I pointed to the shallowQuharity.
"It may come down at any minute," the farmer answered, "and syne, mindyou, you'll be five miles frae Waster Lunny, for there'll be nocrossing but by the Brig o' March. If you winna come, I maun awa back.I mauna bide langer on the wrang side o' the Moss ditch, though it hasbeen as dry this month back as a rabbit's roady. But if you--" Hisvoice changed. "God's sake, man," he cried, "you're ower late. Look atthat! Dinna look--run, run!"
If I had not run before he bade me, I might never have run again onearth. I had seen a great shadowy yellow river come riding down theQuharity. I sprang from it for my life; and when next I looked behind,it was upon a turbulent loch, the further bank lost in darkness. I wasabout to shout to Waster Lunny, when a monster rose in the torrentbetween me and the spot where he had stood. It frightened me tosilence until it fell, when I knew it was but a tree that had beenflung on end by the flood. For a time there was no answer to my cries,and I thought the farmer had been swept away. Then I heard hiswhistle, and back I ran recklessly through the thickening darkness tothe school-house. When I saw the tree rise, I had been on groundhardly wet as yet with the rain; but by the time Waster Lunny sentthat reassuring whistle to me I was ankle-deep in water, and the rainwas coming down like hail. I saw no lightning.
For the rest of the night I was only out once, when I succeeded inreaching the hen-house and brought all my fowls safely to the kitchen,except a hen which would not rise off her young. Between us we had thekitchen floor, a pool of water; and the rain had put out my firesalready, as effectually as if it had been an overturned broth-pot.That I never took off my clothes that night I need not say, though ofwhat was happening in the glen I could only guess. A flutter againstmy window now and again, when the rain had abated, told me of anotherbird that had flown there to die; and with Waster Lunny, I kept upcommunication by waving a light, to which he replied in a similarmanner. Before morning, however, he ceased to answer my signals, and Ifeared some catastrophe had occurred at the farm. As it turned out,the family was fighting with the flood for the year's shearing ofwool, half of which eventually went down the waters, with thewool-shed on top of it.
The school-house stands too high to fear any flood, but there weremoments when I thought the rain would master it. Not only the windowsand the roof were rattling then, but all the walls, and I was like onein a great drum. When the rain was doing its utmost, I heard no othersound; but when the lull came, there was the wash of a heavy river, ora crack as of artillery that told of landslips, or the plaintive cryof the peesweep as it rose in the air, trying to entice the watersaway from its nest.
It was a dreary scene that met my gaze at break of day. Already theQuharity had risen six feet, and in many parts of the glen it was twohundred yards wide. Waster Lunny's cornfield looked like a bog grownover with rushes, and what had been his turnips had become a lake withsmall islands in it. No dike stood whole except one that the farmer,unaided, had built in a straight line from the road to the top ofMount Bare, and my own, the further end of which dipped in water. Ofthe plot of firs planted fifty years earlier to help on Waster Lunny'scrops, only a triangle had withstood the night.
Even with the aid of my field-glass I could not estimate the damage onmore distant farms, for the rain, though now thin and soft, as itcontinued for six days, was still heavy and of a brown color. Afterbreakfast--which was interrupted by my bantam cock's twice spilling mymilk--I saw Waster Lunny and his son, Matthew, running towards theshepherd's house with ropes in their hands. The house, I thought, mustbe in the midst beyond; and then I sickened, knowing all at once thatit should be on this side of the mist. When I had nerve to look again,I saw that though the roof had fallen in, the shepherd was astride oneof the walls, from which he was dragged presently through the water bythe help of the ropes. I remember noticing that he returned to hishouse with the rope still about him, and concluded that he had goneback to save some of his furniture. I was wrong, however. There wastoo much to be done at the farm to allow this, but Waster Lunny hadconsented to Duncan's forcing his way back to the shieling to stop theclock. To both men it seemed horrible to let a clock go on ticking ina deserted house.
Having seen this rescue accomplished, I was letting my glass roam inthe opposite direction, when one of its shakes brought into viewsomething on my own side of the river. I looked at it long, and saw itmove slightly. Was it a human being? No, it was a dog. No, it was adog and something else. I hurried out to see more clearly, and after afirst glance the glass shook so in my hands that I had to rest it onthe dike. For a full minute, I daresay, did I look through the glasswithout blinking, and then I needed to look no more. That black patchwas, indeed, Gavin.
He lay quite near the school-house, but I had to make a circuit ofhalf a mile to reach him. It was pitiful to see the dog doing its bestto come to me, and falling every few steps. The poor brute wasdiscolored almost beyond recognition; and when at last it reached me,it lay down at my feet and licked them. I stepped over it and ran onrecklessly to Gavin. At first I thought he was dead. If tears rolleddown my cheeks, they were not for him.
I was no strong man even in those days, but I carried him to theschool-house, the dog crawling after us. Gavin I put upon my bed, andI lay down beside him, holding him close to me, that some of the heatof my body might be taken in by his. When he was able to look at me,however, it was not with understanding, and in vain did my anxietypress him with questions. Only now and again would some word in myspeech strike upon his brain and produce at least an echo. To "Did youmeet Lord Rintoul's dogcart?" he sat up, saying quickly:
"Listen, the dogcart!"
"Egyptian" was not that forenoon among the words he knew, and I didnot think of mentioning "hill." At "rain" he shivered; but "Spittal"was what told me most.
"He has taken her back," he replied at once, from which I learned thatGavin now knew as much of Babbie as I did.
I made him as comfortable as possible, and despairing of learninganything from him in his present state, I let him sleep. Then I wentout into the rain, very anxious, and dreading what he might have totell me when he woke. I waded and jumped my way as near to the farm asI dared
go, and Waster Lunny, seeing me, came to the water's edge. Atthis part the breadth of the flood was not forty yards, yet for atime our voices could no more cross its roar than one may send asnowball through a stone wall. I know not whether the river thenquieted for a space, or if it was only that the ears grow used to dinsas the eyes distinguish the objects in a room that is at first blackto them; but after a little we were able to shout our remarks across,much as boys fling pebbles, many to fall into the water, but oneoccasionally to reach the other side. Waster Lunny would have talkedof the flood, but I had not come here for that.
"How were you home so early from the prayer-meeting last night?" Ibawled.
"No meeting ... I came straucht hame ... but terrible stories ... Mr.Dishart," was all I caught after Waster Lunny had flung his wordsacross a dozen times.
I could not decide whether it would be wise to tell him that Gavin wasin the school-house, and while I hesitated he continued to shout:
"Some woman ... the Session ... Lang Tammas ... God forbid ... maunback to the farm ... byre running like a mill-dam."
He signed to me that he must be off, but my signals delayed him, andafter much trouble he got my question, "Any news about Lord Rintoul?"My curiosity about the earl must have surprised him, but he answered:
"Marriage is to be the day ... cannon."
I signed that I did not grasp his meaning.
"A cannon is to be fired as soon as they're man and wife," hebellowed. "We'll hear it."
With that we parted. On my way home, I remember, I stepped on a broodof drowned partridge. I was only out half an hour, but I had to wringmy clothes as if they were fresh from the tub.
The day wore on, and I did not disturb the sleeper. A dozen times, Isuppose, I had to relight my fire of wet peats and roots; but I hadplenty of time to stare out at the window, plenty of time to think.Probably Gavin's life depended on his sleeping, but that was not whatkept my hands off him. Knowing so little of what had happened inThrums since I left it, I was forced to guess, and my conclusion wasthat the earl had gone off with his own, and that Gavin in a frenzyhad followed them. My wisest course, I thought, was to let him sleepuntil I heard the cannon, when his struggle for a wife must end. Fiftytimes at least did I stand regarding him as he slept; and if I did notpity his plight sufficiently, you know the reason. What wereMargaret's sufferings at this moment? Was she wringing her hands forher son lost in the flood, her son in disgrace with the congregation?By one o'clock no cannon had sounded, and my suspense had becomeintolerable. I shook Gavin awake, and even as I shook him demanded aknowledge of all that had happened since we parted at Nanny's gate.
"How long ago is that?" he asked, with bewilderment.
"It was last night," I answered. "This morning I found you senselesson the hillside, and brought you here, to the Glen Quharityschool-house. That dog was with you."
He looked at the dog, but I kept my eyes on him, and I saw intelligencecreep back, like a blush, into his face.
"Now I remember," he said, shuddering. "You have proved yourself myfriend, sir, twice in the four and twenty hours."
"Only once, I fear," I replied gloomily. "I was no friend when I sentyou to the earl's bride last night."
"You know who she is?" he cried, clutching me, and finding it agony tomove his limbs.
"I know now," I said, and had to tell him how I knew before he wouldanswer another question. Then I became listener, and you who read knowto what alarming story.
"And all that time," I cried reproachfully, when he had done, "yougave your mother not a thought."
"Not a thought," he answered; and I saw that he pronounced a harshersentence on himself than could have come from me. "All that time!" herepeated, after a moment. "It was only a few minutes, while the teno'clock bell was ringing."
"Only a few minutes," I said, "but they changed the channel of theQuharity, and perhaps they have done not less to you."
"That may be," he answered gravely, "but it is of the present I mustthink just now. Mr. Ogilvy, what assurance have I, while lying herehelpless, that the marriage at the Spittal is not going on?"
"None, I hope," I said to myself, and listened longingly for thecannon. But to him I only pointed out that no woman need go through aform of marriage against her will.
"Rintoul carried her off with no possible purport," he said, "but toset my marriage at defiance, and she has had a conviction always thatto marry me would be to ruin me. It was only in the shiver LordRintoul's voice in the darkness sent through her that she yielded tomy wishes. If she thought that marriage last night could be annulledby another to-day, she would consent to the second, I believe, to saveme from the effects of the first. You are incredulous, sir; but you donot know of what sacrifices love is capable."
Something of that I knew, but I did not tell him. I had seen from hismanner rather than his words that he doubted the validity of the gypsymarriage, which the king had only consented to celebrate becauseBabbie was herself an Egyptian. The ceremony had been interrupted inthe middle.
"It was no marriage," I said, with a confidence I was far fromfeeling.
"In the sight of God," he replied excitedly, "we took each other forman and wife."
I had to hold him down in bed.
"You are too weak to stand, man," I said, "and yet you think you couldstart off this minute for the Spittal."
"I must go," he cried. "She is my wife. That impious marriage may havetaken place already."
"Oh, that it had!" was my prayer. "It has not," I said to him. "Acannon is to be fired immediately after the ceremony, and all the glenwill hear it."
I spoke on the impulse, thinking to allay his desire to be off; but hesaid, "Then I may yet be in time." Somewhat cruelly I let him rise,that he might realize his weakness. Every bone in him cried out at hisfirst step, and he sank into a chair.
"You will go to the Spittal for me?" he implored.
"I will not," I told him. "You are asking me to fling away my life."
To prove my words I opened the door, and he saw what the flood wasdoing. Nevertheless, he rose and tottered several times across theroom, trying to revive his strength. Though every bit of him wasaching, I saw that he would make the attempt.
"Listen to me," I said. "Lord Rintoul can maintain with some reasonthat it was you rather than he who abducted Babbie. Nevertheless,there will not, I am convinced, be any marriage at the Spittal to-day.When he carried her off from the Toad's-hole, he acted under impulsesnot dissimilar to those that took you to it. Then, I doubt not, hethought possession was all the law, but that scene on the hill hasstaggered him by this morning. Even though she thinks to save you bymarrying him, he will defer his wedding until he learns the import ofyours."
I did not believe in my own reasoning, but I would have said anythingto detain him until that cannon was fired. He seemed to read mypurpose, for he pushed my arguments from him with his hands, andcontinued to walk painfully to and fro.
"To defer the wedding," he said, "would be to tell all his friends ofher gypsy origin, and of me. He will risk much to avoid that."
"In any case," I answered, "you must now give some thought to thoseyou have forgotten, your mother and your church."
"That must come afterwards," he said firmly. "My first duty is to mywife."
The door swung to sharply just then, and he started. He thought it wasthe cannon.
"I wish to God it had been!" I cried, interpreting his thoughts.
"Why do you wish me ill?" he asked.
"Mr. Dishart," I said solemnly, rising and facing him, and disregardinghis question, "if that woman is to be your wife, it will be at a costyou cannot estimate till you return to Thrums. Do you think that ifyour congregation knew of this gypsy marriage they would have youfor their minister for another day? Do you enjoy the prospect oftaking one who might be an earl's wife into poverty--ay, anddisgraceful poverty? Do you know your mother so little as to think shecould survive your shame? Let me warn you, sir, of what I see. I seeanother minister in the Auld
Licht kirk, I see you and your wifestoned through our wynds, stoned from Thrums, as malefactors have beenchased out of it ere now; and as certainly as I see these things Isee a hearse standing at the manse door, and stern men denying a son'sright to help to carry his mother's coffin to it. Go your way, sir;but first count the cost."
His face quivered before these blows, but all he said was, "I mustdree my dreed."
"God is merciful," I went on, "and these things need not be. He ismore merciful to you, sir, than to some, for the storm that He sent tosave you is ruining them. And yet the farmers are to-day thanking Himfor every pound of wool, every blade of corn He has left them, whileyou turn from Him because He would save you, not in your way, but inHis. It was His hand that stayed your marriage. He meant Babbie forthe earl; and if it is on her part a loveless match, she only suffersfor her own sins. Of that scene on the hill no one in Thrums, or inthe glen, need ever know. Rintoul will see to it that the gypsiesvanish from these parts forever, and you may be sure the Spittal willsoon be shut up. He and McKenzie have as much reason as yourself to besilent. You, sir, must go back to your congregation, who have heard asyet only vague rumors that your presence will dispel. Even your motherwill remain ignorant of what has happened. Your absence from theprayer-meeting you can leave to me to explain."
He was so silent that I thought him mine, but his first wordsundeceived me.
"I thought I had nowhere so keen a friend," he said; "but, Mr. Ogilvy,it is devil's work you are pleading. Am I to return to my people toact a living lie before them to the end of my days? Do you reallythink that God devastated a glen to give me a chance of becoming avillain? No, sir, I am in His hands, and I will do what I thinkright."
"You will be dishonored," I said, "in the sight of God and man."
"Not in God's sight," he replied. "It was a sinless marriage, Mr.Ogilvy, and I do not regret it. God ordained that she and I shouldlove each other, and He put it into my power to save her from thatman. I took her as my wife before Him, and in His eyes I am herhusband. Knowing that, sir, how could I return to Thrums withouther?"
I had no answer ready for him. I knew that in my grief for Margaret Ihad been advocating an unworthy course, but I would not say so. I wentgloomily to the door, and there, presently, his hand fell on myshoulder.
"Your advice came too late, at any rate," he said. "You forget thatthe precentor was on the hill and saw everything."
It was he who had forgotten to tell me this, and to me it was the mostdireful news of all.
"My God!" I cried. "He will have gone to your mother and told her."And straightway I began to lace my boots.
"Where are you going?" he asked, staring at me.
"To Thrums," I answered harshly.
"You said that to venture out into the glen was to court death," hereminded me.
"What of that?" I said, and hastily put on my coat.
"Mr. Ogilvy," he cried, "I will not allow you to do this for me."
"For you?" I said bitterly. "It is not for you."
I would have gone at once, but he got in front of me, asking, "Did youever know my mother?"
"Long ago," I answered shortly, and he said no more, thinking, Isuppose, that he knew all. He limped to the door with me, and I hadonly advanced a few steps when I understood better than before whatwere the dangers I was to venture into. Since I spoke to Waster Lunnythe river had risen several feet, and even the hillocks in histurnip-field were now submerged. The mist was creeping down the hills.But what warned me most sharply that the flood was not satisfied yetwas the top of the school-house dike; it was lined with field-mice. Iturned back, and Gavin, mistaking my meaning, said I did wisely.
"I have not changed my mind," I told him, and then had some difficultyin continuing. "I expect," I said, "to reach Thrums safely, eventhough I should be caught in the mist, but I shall have to go roundby the Kelpie brig in order to get across the river, and it ispossible that--that something may befall me."
I have all my life been something of a coward, and my voice shook whenI said this, so that Gavin again entreated me to remain at theschool-house, saying that if I did not he would accompany me.
"And so increase my danger tenfold?" I pointed out. "No, no, Mr.Dishart, I go alone; and if I can do nothing with the congregation, Ican at least send your mother word that you still live. But ifanything should happen to me, I want you----"
But I could not say what I had come back to say. I had meant to askhim, in the event of my death, to take a hundred pounds which were thesavings of my life; but now I saw that this might lead to Margaret'shearing of me, and so I stayed my words. It was bitter to me this, andyet, after all, a little thing when put beside the rest.
"Good-by, Mr. Dishart," I said abruptly. I then looked at my desk,which contained some trifles that were once Margaret's. "Shouldanything happen to me," I said, "I want that old desk to be destroyedunopened."
"Mr. Ogilvy," he answered gently, "you are venturing this because youloved my mother. If anything does befall you, be assured that I willtell her what you attempted for her sake."
I believe he thought it was to make some such request that I hadturned back.
"You must tell her nothing about me," I exclaimed, in consternation."Swear that my name will never cross your lips before her. No, that isnot enough. You must forget me utterly, whether I live or die, lestsome time you should think of me and she should read your thoughts.Swear, man!"
"Must this be?" he said, gazing at me.
"Yes," I answered more calmly, "it must be. For nearly a score ofyears I have been blotted out of your mother's life, and since shecame to Thrums my one care has been to keep my existence from her. Ihave changed my burying-ground even from Thrums to the glen, lest Ishould die before her, and she, seeing the hearse go by the Tenements,might ask, 'Whose funeral is this?'"
In my anxiety to warn him, I had said too much. His face grew haggard,and there was fear to speak on it; and I saw, I knew, that somedamnable suspicion of Margaret----
"She was my wife!" I cried sharply. "We were married by the ministerof Harvie. You are my son."
