by Walter Scott
CHAPTER ELEVENTH.
Then she stretched out her lily hand, And for to do her best; "Hae back thy faith and troth, Willie, God gie thy soul good rest!" Old Ballad.
"Come in," answered the low and sweet-toned voice he loved best to hear,as Butler tapped at the door of the cottage. He lifted the latch, andfound himself under the roof of affliction. Jeanie was unable to trustherself with more than one glance towards her lover, whom she now metunder circumstances so agonising to her feelings, and at the same time sohumbling to her honest pride. It is well known, that much, both of whatis good and bad in the Scottish national character, arises out of theintimacy of their family connections. "To be come of honest folk," thatis, of people who have borne a fair and unstained reputation, is anadvantage as highly prized among the lower Scotch, as the emphaticcounterpart, "to be of a good family," is valued among their gentry. Theworth and respectability of one member of a peasant's family is alwaysaccounted by themselves and others, not only a matter of honest pride,but a guarantee for the good conduct of the whole. On the contrary, sucha melancholy stain as was now flung on one of the children of Deans,extended its disgrace to all connected with him, and Jeanie felt herselflowered at once, in her own eyes, and in those of her lover. It was invain that she repressed this feeling, as far subordinate and too selfishto be mingled with her sorrow for her sister's calamity. Natureprevailed; and while she shed tears for her sister's distress and danger,there mingled with them bitter drops of grief for her own degradation.
As Butler entered, the old man was seated by the fire with his well-wornpocket Bible in his hands, the companion of the wanderings and dangers ofhis youth, and bequeathed to him on the scaffold by one of those, who, inthe year 1686, sealed their enthusiastic principles with their blood. Thesun sent its rays through a small window at the old man's back, and,"shining motty through the reek," to use the expression of a bard of thattime and country, illumined the grey hairs of the old man, and the sacredpage which he studied. His features, far from handsome, and rather harshand severe, had yet from their expression of habitual gravity, andcontempt for earthly things, an expression of stoical dignity amidsttheir sternness. He boasted, in no small degree, the attributes whichSouthey ascribes to the ancient Scandinavians, whom he terms "firm toinflict, and stubborn to endure." The whole formed a picture, of whichthe lights might have been given by Rembrandt, but the outline would haverequired the force and vigour of Michael Angelo.
Deans lifted his eye as Butler entered, and instantly withdrew it, asfrom an object which gave him at once surprise and sudden pain. He hadassumed such high ground with this carnal-witted scholar, as he had inhis pride termed Butler, that to meet him, of all men, under feelings ofhumiliation, aggravated his misfortune, and was a consummation like thatof the dying chief in the old ballad--"Earl Percy sees my fall!"
Deans raised the Bible with his left hand, so as partly to screen hisface, and putting back his right as far as he could, held it towardsButler in that position, at the same time turning his body from, him, asif to prevent his seeing the working of his countenance. Butler claspedthe extended hand which had supported his orphan infancy, wept over it,and in vain endeavoured to say more than the words--"God comfort you--Godcomfort you!"
"He will--he doth, my friend," said Deans, assuming firmness as hediscovered the agitation of his guest; "he doth now, and he will yet morein his own gude time. I have been ower proud of my sufferings in a gudecause, Reuben, and now I am to be tried with those whilk will turn mypride and glory into a reproach and a hissing. How muckle better I haethought mysell than them that lay saft, fed sweet, and drank deep, when Iwas in the moss-haggs and moors, wi' precious Donald Cameron, and worthyMr. Blackadder, called Guess-again; and how proud I was o' being made aspectacle to men and angels, having stood on their pillory at theCanongate afore I was fifteen years old, for the cause of a NationalCovenant! To think, Reuben, that I, wha hae been sae honoured and exaltedin my youth, nay, when I was but a hafflins callant, and that hae bornetestimony again the defections o' the times yearly, monthly, daily,hourly, minutely, striving and testifying with uplifted hand and voice,crying aloud, and sparing not, against all great national snares, as thenation-wasting and church-sinking abomination of union, toleration, andpatronage, imposed by the last woman of that unhappy race of Stuarts;also against the infringements and invasions of the just powers ofeldership, whereanent, I uttered my paper, called a 'Cry of an Howl inthe Desert,' printed at the Bow-head, and sold by all flying stationersin town and country--and _now_"
Here he paused. It may well be supposed that Butler, though notabsolutely coinciding in all the good old man's ideas about churchgovernment, had too much consideration and humanity to interrupt him,while he reckoned up with conscious pride his sufferings, and theconstancy of his testimony. On the contrary, when he paused under theinfluence of the bitter recollections of the moment, Butler instantlythrew in his mite of encouragement.
"You have been well known, my old and revered friend, a true and triedfollower of the Cross; one who, as Saint Jerome hath it, '_per infamiamet bonam famam grassari ad immortalitatem,_' which may be freelyrendered, 'who rusheth on to immortal life, through bad report and goodreport.' You have been one of those to whom the tender and fearfulsouls cry during the midnight solitude--'Watchman, what of thenight?--Watchman, what of the night?'--And, assuredly, this heavydispensation, as it comes not without divine permission, so it comesnot without its special commission and use."
"I do receive it as such," said poor Deans, returning the grasp ofButler's hand; "and if I have not been taught to read the Scripture inany other tongue but my native Scottish" (even in his distress Butler'sLatin quotation had not escaped his notice), "I have nevertheless solearned them, that I trust to bear even this crook in my lot withsubmission. But, oh! Reuben Butler, the kirk, of whilk, though unworthy,I have yet been thought a polished shaft, and meet to be a pillar,holding, from my youth upward, the place of ruling elder--what will thelightsome and profane think of the guide that cannot keep his own familyfrom stumbling? How will they take up their song and their reproach, whenthey see that the children of professors are liable to as foulbacksliding as the offspring of Belial! But I will bear my cross with thecomfort, that whatever showed like goodness in me or mine, was but likethe light that shines frae creeping insects, on the brae-side, in a darknight--it kythes bright to the ee, because all is dark around it; butwhen the morn comes on the mountains, it is, but a puir crawlingkail-worm after a'. And sae it shows, wi' ony rag of human righteousness,or formal law-work, that we may pit round us to cover our shame."
As he pronounced these words, the door again opened, and Mr. BartolineSaddletree entered, his three-pointed hat set far back on his head, witha silk handkerchief beneath it to keep it in that cool position, hisgold-headed cane in his hand, and his whole deportment that of a wealthyburgher, who might one day look to have a share in the magistracy, if notactually to hold the curule chair itself.
Rochefoucault, who has torn the veil from so many foul gangrenes of thehuman heart, says, we find something not altogether unpleasant to us inthe misfortunes of our best friends. Mr. Saddletree would have been veryangry had any one told him that he felt pleasure in the disaster of poorEffie Deans, and the disgrace of her family; and yet there is greatquestion whether the gratification of playing the person of importance,inquiring, investigating, and laying down the law on the whole affair,did not offer, to say the least, full consolation for the pain which puresympathy gave him on account of his wife's kinswoman. He had now got apiece of real judicial business by the end, instead of being obliged, aswas his common case, to intrude his opinion where it was neither wishednor wanted; and felt as happy in the exchange as a boy when he gets hisfirst new watch, which actually goes when wound up, and has real handsand a true dial-plate. But besides this subject for legal disquisition,Bartoline's brains
were also overloaded with the affair of Porteous, hisviolent death, and all its probable consequences to the city andcommunity. It was what the French call _l'embarras des richesses,_ theconfusion arising from too much mental wealth. He walked in with aconsciousness of double importance, full fraught with the superiority ofone who possesses more information than the company into which he enters,and who feels a right to discharge his learning on them without mercy."Good morning, Mr. Deans,--good-morrow to you, Mr. Butler,--I was notaware that you were acquainted with Mr. Deans."
Butler made some slight answer; his reasons may be readily imagined fornot making his connection with the family, which, in his eyes, hadsomething of tender mystery, a frequent subject of conversation withindifferent persons, such as Saddletree.
The worthy burgher, in the plenitude of self-importance, now sate downupon a chair, wiped his brow, collected his breath, and made the firstexperiment of the resolved pith of his lungs, in a deep and dignifiedsigh, resembling a groan in sound and intonation--"Awfu' times these,neighbour Deans, awfu' times!"
"Sinfu', shamefu', heaven-daring times!" answered Deans, in a lower andmore subdued tone.
"For my part," continued Saddletree, swelling with importance, "whatbetween the distress of my friends, and my poor auld country, ony witthat ever I had may be said to have abandoned me, sae that I sometimesthink myself as ignorant as if I were _inter rusticos._ Here when I arisein the morning, wi' my mind just arranged touching what's to be done inpuir Effie's misfortune, and hae gotten the haill statute at myfinger-ends, the mob maun get up and string Jock Porteous to a dyester'sbeam, and ding a' thing out of my head again."
Deeply as he was distressed with his own domestic calamity, Deans couldnot help expressing some interest in the news. Saddletree immediatelyentered on details of the insurrection and its consequences, while Butlertook the occasion to seek some private conversation with Jeanie Deans.She gave him the opportunity he sought, by leaving the room, as if inprosecution of some part of her morning labour. Butler followed her in afew minutes, leaving Deans so closely engaged by his busy visitor, thatthere was little chance of his observing their absence.
The scene of their interview was an outer apartment, where Jeanie wasused to busy herself in arranging the productions of her dairy. WhenButler found an opportunity of stealing after her into this place, hefound her silent, dejected, and ready to burst into tears. Instead of theactive industry with which she had been accustomed, even while in the actof speaking, to employ her hands in some useful branch of householdbusiness, she was seated listless in a corner, sinking apparently underthe weight of her own thoughts. Yet the instant he entered, she dried hereyes, and, with the simplicity and openness of her character, immediatelyentered on conversation.
"I am glad you have come in, Mr. Butler," said she, "for--for--for Iwished to tell ye, that all maun be ended between you and me--it's bestfor baith our sakes."
"Ended!" said Butler, in surprise; "and for what should it be ended?--Igrant this is a heavy dispensation, but it lies neither at your door normine--it's an evil of God's sending, and it must be borne; but it cannotbreak plighted troth, Jeanie, while they that plighted their word wish tokeep it."
"But, Reuben," said the young woman, looking at him affectionately, "Iken weel that ye think mair of me than yourself; and, Reuben, I can onlyin requital think mair of your weal than of my ain. Ye are a man ofspotless name, bred to God's ministry, and a' men say that ye will someday rise high in the kirk, though poverty keep ye doun e'en now. Povertyis a bad back-friend, Reuben, and that ye ken ower weel; but ill-fame isa waur ane, and that is a truth ye sall never learn through my means."
"What do you mean?" said Butler, eagerly and impatiently; "or how do youconnect your sister's guilt, if guilt there be, which, I trust in God,may yet be disproved, with our engagement?--how can that affect you orme?"
"How can you ask me that, Mr. Butler? Will this stain, d'ye think, everbe forgotten, as lang as our heads are abune the grund? Will it not stickto us, and to our bairns, and to their very bairns' bairns? To hae beenthe child of an honest man, might hae been saying something for me andmine; but to be the sister of a--O my God!"--With this exclamation herresolution failed, and she burst into a passionate fit of tears.
The lover used every effort to induce her to compose herself, and atlength succeeded; but she only resumed her composure to express herselfwith the same positiveness as before. "No, Reuben, I'll bring disgracehame to nae man's hearth; my ain distresses I can bear, and I maun bear,but there is nae occasion for buckling them on other folk's shouthers. Iwill bear my load alone--the back is made for the burden."
A lover is by charter wayward and suspicious; and Jeanie's readiness torenounce their engagement, under pretence of zeal for his peace of mindand respectability of character, seemed to poor Butler to form aportentous combination with the commission of the stranger he had metwith that morning. His voice faltered as he asked, "whether nothing but asense of her sister's present distress occasioned her to talk in thatmanner?"
"And what else can do sae?" she replied with simplicity. "Is it not tenlong years since we spoke together in this way?"
"Ten years!" said Butler. "It's a long time--sufficient perhaps for awoman to weary"
"To weary of her auld gown," said Jeanie, "and to wish for a new ane ifshe likes to be brave, but not long enough to weary of a friend--The eyemay wish change, but the heart never."
"Never!" said Reuben,--"that's a bold promise."
"But not more bauld than true," said Jeanie, with the same quietsimplicity which attended her manner in joy and grief in ordinaryaffairs, and in those which most interested her feelings.
Butler paused, and looking at her fixedly--"I am charged," he said, "witha message to you, Jeanie."
"Indeed! From whom? Or what can ony ane have to say to me?"
"It is from a stranger," said Butler, affecting to speak with anindifference which his voice belied--"A young man whom I met this morningin the Park."
"Mercy!" said Jeanie, eagerly; "and what did he say?"
"That he did not see you at the hour he expected, but required you shouldmeet him alone at Muschat's Cairn this night, so soon as the moon rises."
"Tell him," said Jeanie, hastily, "I shall certainly come."
"May I ask," said Butler, his suspicions increasing at the ready alacrityof the answer, "who this man is to whom you are so willing to give themeeting at a place and hour so uncommon?"
"Folk maun do muckle they have little will to do, in this world," repliedJeanie.
"Granted," said her lover; "but what compels you to this?--who is thisperson? What I saw of him was not very favourable--who, or what is he?"
"I do not know," replied Jeanie, composedly.
"You do not know!" said Butler, stepping impatiently through theapartment--"You purpose to meet a young man whom you do not know, atsuch a time, and in a place so lonely--you say you are compelled to dothis--and yet you say you do not know the person who exercises such aninfluence over you!--Jeanie, what am I to think of this?"
"Think only, Reuben, that I speak truth, as if I were to answer at thelast day.--I do not ken this man--I do not even ken that I ever saw him;and yet I must give him the meeting he asks--there's life and death uponit."
"Will you not tell your father, or take him with you?" said Butler.
"I cannot," said Jeanie; "I have no permission."
"Will you let _me_ go with you? I will wait in the Park till nightfall,and join you when you set out."
"It is impossible," said Jeanie; "there maunna be mortal creature withinhearing of our conference."
"Have you considered well the nature of what you are going to do?--thetime--the place--an unknown and suspicious character?--Why, if he hadasked to see you in this house, your father sitting in the next room, andwithin call, at such an hour, you should have refused to see him."
"My weird maun be fulfilled, Mr. Butler; my life and my safety are inGod's hands, but I'll not spare to risk either o
f them on the errand I amgaun to do."
"Then, Jeanie," said Butler, much displeased, "we must indeed break shortoff, and bid farewell. When there can be no confidence betwixt a man andhis plighted wife on such a momentous topic, it is a sign that she has nolonger the regard for him that makes their engagement safe and suitable."
Jeanie looked at him and sighed. "I thought," she said, "that I hadbrought myself to bear this parting--but--but--I did not ken that we wereto part in unkindness. But I am a woman and you are a man--it may bedifferent wi' you--if your mind is made easier by thinking sae hardly ofme, I would not ask you to think otherwise."
"You are," said Butler, "what you have always been--wiser, better, andless selfish in your native feelings, than I can be, with all the helpsphilosophy can give to a Christian--But why--why will you persevere in anundertaking so desperate? Why will you not let me be your assistant--yourprotector, or at least your adviser?"
"Just because I cannot, and I dare not," answered Jeanie.--"But hark,what's that? Surely my father is no weel?"
In fact, the voices in the next room became obstreperously loud of asudden, the cause of which vociferation it is necessary to explain beforewe go farther.
When Jeanie and Butler retired, Mr. Saddletree entered upon the businesswhich chiefly interested the family. In the commencement of theirconversation he found old Deans, who in his usual state of mind, was nogranter of propositions, so much subdued by a deep sense of hisdaughter's danger and disgrace, that he heard without replying to, orperhaps without understanding, one or two learned disquisitions on thenature of the crime imputed to her charge, and on the steps which oughtto be taken in consequence. His only answer at each pause was, "I am nomisdoubting that you wuss us weel--your wife's our far-awa cousin."
Encouraged by these symptoms of acquiescence, Saddletree, who, as anamateur of the law, had a supreme deference for all constitutedauthorities, again recurred to his other topic of interest, the murder,namely, of Porteous, and pronounced a severe censure on the partiesconcerned.
"These are kittle times--kittle times, Mr. Deans, when the people takethe power of life and death out of the hands of the rightful magistrateinto their ain rough grip. I am of opinion, and so I believe will Mr.Crossmyloof and the Privy Council, that this rising in effeir of war, totake away the life of a reprieved man, will prove little better thanperduellion."
"If I hadna that on my mind whilk is ill to bear, Mr. Saddletree," saidDeans, "I wad make bold to dispute that point wi' you."
"How could you dispute what's plain law, man?" said Saddletree, somewhatcontemptuously; "there's no a callant that e'er carried a pock wi' aprocess in't, but will tell you that perduellion is the warst and maistvirulent kind of treason, being an open convocating of the king's liegesagainst his authority (mair especially in arms, and by touk of drum, tobaith whilk accessories my een and lugs bore witness), and muckle worsethan lese-majesty, or the concealment of a treasonable purpose--It winnabear a dispute, neighbour."
"But it will, though," retorted Douce Davie Deans; "I tell ye it willbear a disputer never like your cauld, legal, formal doctrines, neighbourSaddletree. I haud unco little by the Parliament House, since the awfu'downfall of the hopes of honest folk that followed the Revolution."
"But what wad ye hae had, Mr. Deans?" said Saddletree, impatiently;"didna ye get baith liberty and conscience made fast, and settled bytailzie on you and your heirs for ever?"
"Mr. Saddletree," retorted Deans, "I ken ye are one of those that arewise after the manner of this world, and that ye hand your part, and castin your portion, wi' the lang heads and lang gowns, and keep with thesmart witty-pated lawyers of this our land--Weary on the dark and dolefu'cast that they hae gien this unhappy kingdom, when their black hands ofdefection were clasped in the red hands of our sworn murtherers: whenthose who had numbered the towers of our Zion, and marked the bulwarks ofReformation, saw their hope turn into a snare, and their rejoicing intoweeping."
"I canna understand this, neighbour," answered Saddletree. "I am anhonest Presbyterian of the Kirk of Scotland, and stand by her and theGeneral Assembly, and the due administration of justice by the fifteenLords o' Session and the five Lords o' Justiciary."
"Out upon ye, Mr. Saddletree!" exclaimed David, who, in an opportunity ofgiving his testimony on the offences and backslidings of the land, forgotfor a moment his own domestic calamity--"out upon your General Assembly,and the back of my hand to your Court o' Session!--What is the tane but awaefu' bunch o' cauldrife professors and ministers, that sate bien andwarm when the persecuted remnant were warstling wi' hunger, and cauld,and fear of death, and danger of fire and sword upon wet brae-sides,peat-haggs, and flow-mosses, and that now creep out of their holes, likebluebottle flees in a blink of sunshine, to take the pu'pits and placesof better folk--of them that witnessed, and testified, and fought, andendured pit, prison-house, and transportation beyond seas?--A bonny bikethere's o' them!--And for your Court o' Session"
"Ye may say what ye will o' the General Assembly," said Saddletree,interrupting him, "and let them clear them that kens them; but as for theLords o' Session, forby that they are my next-door neighbours, I wouldhave ye ken, for your ain regulation, that to raise scandal anent them,whilk is termed to _murmur_ again them, is a crime _sui generis,_--_suigeneris,_ Mr. Deans--ken ye what that amounts to?"
"I ken little o' the language of Antichrist," said Deans; "and I careless than little what carnal courts may call the speeches of honest men.And as to murmur again them, it's what a' the folk that loses theirpleas, and nine-tenths o' them that win them, will be gey sure to beguilty in. Sae I wad hae ye ken that I hand a' your gleg-tonguedadvocates, that sell their knowledge for pieces of silver--and yourworldly-wise judges, that will gie three days of hearing in presence to adebate about the peeling of an ingan, and no ae half-hour to the gospeltestimony--as legalists and formalists, countenancing by sentences, andquirks, and cunning terms of law, the late begun courses of nationaldefections--union, toleration, patronages, and Yerastian prelatic oaths.As for the soul and body-killing Court o' Justiciary"
The habit of considering his life as dedicated to bear testimony inbehalf of what he deemed the suffering and deserted cause of truereligion, had swept honest David along with it thus far; but with themention of the criminal court, the recollection of the disastrouscondition of his daughter rushed at once on his mind; he stopped short inthe midst of his triumphant declamation, pressed his hands against hisforehead, and remained silent.
Saddletree was somewhat moved, but apparently not so much so as to inducehim to relinquish the privilege of prosing in his turn afforded him byDavid's sudden silence. "Nae doubt, neighbour," he said, "it's a sairthing to hae to do wi' courts of law, unless it be to improve ane'sknowledge and practique, by waiting on as a hearer; and touching thisunhappy affair of Effie--ye'll hae seen the dittay, doubtless?" He draggedout of his pocket a bundle of papers, and began to turn them over. "Thisis no it--this is the information of Mungo Marsport, of that ilk, againstCaptain Lackland, for coming on his lands of Marsport with hawks, hounds,lying-dogs, nets, guns, cross-bows, hagbuts of found, or other enginesmore or less for destruction of game, sic as red-deer, fallow-deer,cappercailzies, grey-fowl, moor-fowl, paitricks, herons, and sic like;he, the said defender not being ane qualified person, in terms of thestatute sixteen hundred and twenty-ane; that is, not having aneplough-gate of land. Now, the defences proponed say, that _non constat_at this present what is a plough-gate of land, whilk uncertainty issufficient to elide the conclusions of the libel. But then the answers tothe defences (they are signed by Mr. Crossmyloof, but Mr. Younglad drewthem), they propone, that it signifies naething, _in hoc statu,_ what orhow muckle a plough-gate of land may be, in respect the defender has naelands whatsoever, less or mair. 'Sae grant a plough-gate'" (hereSaddletree read from the paper in his hand) "'to be less than thenineteenth part of a guse's grass'--(I trow Mr. Crossmyloof put inthat--I ken his style),--'of a guse's grass, what the betterwill the defender be, seeing h
e hasna a divot-cast of land inScotland?--_Advocatus_ for Lackland duplies, that _nihil interest depossessione,_ the pursuer must put his case under the statute'--(now,this is worth your notice, neighbour),--'and must show, _formaliter etspecialiter,_ as well as _generaliter,_ what is the qualification thatdefender Lackland does _not_ possess--let him tell me what a plough-gateof land is, and I'll tell him if I have one or no. Surely the pursuer isbound to understand his own libel, and his own statute that he foundsupon. _Titius_ pursues _Maevius_ for recovery of ane _black_ horse lentto Maevius--surely he shall have judgment; but if Titius pursue Maeviusfor ane _scarlet_ or _crimson_ horse, doubtless he shall be bound toshow that there is sic ane animal _in rerum natura._ No man can be boundto plead to nonsense--that is to say, to a charge which cannot beexplained or understood'--(he's wrang there--the better the pleadingsthe fewer understand them),--'and so the reference unto this undefinedand unintelligible measure of land is, as if a penalty was inflicted bystatute for any man who suld hunt or hawk, or use lying-dogs, andwearing a sky-blue pair of breeches, without having--'But I am wearyingyou, Mr. Deans,--we'll pass to your ain business,--though this cue ofMarsport against Lackland has made an unco din in the Outer House. Weel,here's the dittay against puir Effie: 'Whereas it is humbly meant andshown to us,' etc. (they are words of mere style), 'that whereas, by thelaws of this and every other well-regulated realm, the murder of anyone, more especially of an infant child, is a crime of ane high nature,and severely punishable: And whereas, without prejudice to the foresaidgenerality, it was, by ane act made in the second session of the FirstParliament of our most High and Dread Sovereigns William and Mary,especially enacted, that ane woman who shall have concealed hercondition, and shall not be able to show that she hath called for helpat the birth in case that the child shall be found dead or amissing,shall be deemed and held guilty of the murder thereof; and the saidfacts of concealment and pregnancy being found proven or confessed,shall sustain the pains of law accordingly; yet, nevertheless, you,Effie, or Euphemia Deans'"
"Read no farther!" said Deans, raising his head up; "I would rather yethrust a sword into my heart than read a word farther!"
"Weel, neighbour," said Saddletree, "I thought it wad hae comforted ye token the best and the warst o't. But the question is, what's to be dune?"
"Nothing," answered Deans firmly, "but to abide the dispensation that theLord sees meet to send us. Oh, if it had been His will to take the greyhead to rest before this awful visitation on my house and name! But Hiswill be done. I can say that yet, though I can say little mair."
"But, neighbour," said Saddletree, "ye'll retain advocates for the puirlassie? it's a thing maun needs be thought of."
"If there was ae man of them," answered Deans, "that held fast hisintegrity--but I ken them weel, they are a' carnal, crafty, andwarld-hunting self-seekers, Yerastians, and Arminians, every ane o'them."
"Hout tout, neighbour, ye mauna take the warld at its word," saidSaddletree; "the very deil is no sae ill as he's ca'd; and I ken mairthan ae advocate that may be said to hae some integrity as weel as theirneighbours; that is, after a sort o' fashion' o' their ain."
"It is indeed but a fashion of integrity that ye will find amang them,"replied David Deans, "and a fashion of wisdom, and fashion of carnallearning--gazing, glancing-glasses they are, fit only to fling the glaiksin folk's een, wi' their pawky policy, and earthly ingine, their flightsand refinements, and periods of eloquence, frae heathen emperors andpopish canons. They canna, in that daft trash ye were reading to me, saemuckle as ca' men that are sae ill-starred as to be amang their hands, byony name o' the dispensation o' grace, but maun new baptize them by thenames of the accursed Titus, wha was made the instrument of burning theholy Temple, and other sic like heathens!"
"It's Tishius," interrupted Saddletree, "and no Titus. Mr. Crossmyloofcares as little about Titus or the Latin as ye do.--But it's a caseof necessity--she maun hae counsel. Now, I could speak to Mr.Crossmyloof--he's weel ken'd for a round-spun Presbyterian, anda ruling elder to boot."
"He's a rank Yerastian," replied Deans; "one of the public andpolititious warldly-wise men that stude up to prevent ane general owningof the cause in the day of power!"
"What say ye to the auld Laird of Cuffabout?" said Saddletree; "he whilesthumps the dust out of a case gey and well."
"He? the fause loon!" answered Deans--"he was in his bandaliers to haejoined the ungracious Highlanders in 1715, an they had ever had the luckto cross the Firth."
"Weel, Arniston? there's a clever chield for ye!" said Bartoline,triumphantly.
"Ay, to bring popish medals in till their very library from thatschismatic woman in the north, the Duchess of Gordon."*
* [James Dundas younger of Arniston was tried in the year 1711 uponcharge of leasing-making, in having presented, from the Duchess ofGordon, medal of the Pretender, for the purpose, it was said, ofaffronting Queen Anne.]
"Weel, weel, but somebody ye maun hae--What think ye o' Kittlepunt?"
"He's an Arminian."
"Woodsetter?"
"He's, I doubt, a Cocceian."
"Auld Whilliewhaw?"
"He's ony thing ye like."
"Young Naemmo?"
"He's naething at a'."
"Ye're ill to please, neighbour," said Saddletree: "I hae run ower thepick o' them for you, ye maun e'en choose for yoursell; but bethink yethat in the multitude of counsellors there's safety--What say ye to tryyoung Mackenyie? he has a' his uncle's Practiques at the tongue's end."
"What, sir, wad ye speak to me," exclaimed the sturdy Presbyterian inexcessive wrath, "about a man that has the blood of the saints at hisfingers' ends? Did na his eme [Uncle] die and gang to his place wi' thename of the Bluidy Mackenyie? and winna he be kend by that name sae langas there's a Scots tongue to speak the word? If the life of the dearbairn that's under a suffering dispensation, and Jeanie's, and my ain,and a' mankind's, depended on my asking sic a slave o' Satan to speak aword for me or them, they should a' gae doun the water thegither forDavie Deans!"
It was the exalted tone in which he spoke this last sentence that brokeup the conversation between Butler and Jeanie, and brought them both "benthe house," to use the language of the country. Here they found the poorold man half frantic between grief and zealous ire against Saddletree'sproposed measures, his cheek inflamed, his hand clenched, and his voiceraised, while the tear in his eye, and the occasional quiver of hisaccents, showed that his utmost efforts were inadequate to shaking offthe consciousness of his misery. Butler, apprehensive of the consequencesof his agitation to an aged and feeble frame, ventured to utter to him arecommendation to patience.
"I _am_ patient," returned the old man sternly,--"more patient than anyone who is alive to the woeful backslidings of a miserable time can bepatient; and in so much, that I need neither sectarians, nor sons norgrandsons of sectarians, to instruct my grey hairs how to bear my cross."
"But, sir," continued Butler, taking no offence at the slur cast on hisgrandfather's faith, "we must use human means. When you call in aphysician, you would not, I suppose, question him on the nature of hisreligious principles!"
"Wad I _no?_" answered David--"but I wad, though; and if he didna satisfyme that he had a right sense of the right hand and left hand defectionsof the day, not a goutte of his physic should gang through my father'sson."
It is a dangerous thing to trust to an illustration. Butler had done soand miscarried; but, like a gallant soldier when his musket misses fire,he stood his ground, and charged with the bayonet.--"This is too rigid aninterpretation of your duty, sir. The sun shines, and the rain descends,on the just and unjust, and they are placed together in life incircumstances which frequently render intercourse between themindispensable, perhaps that the evil may have an opportunity of beingconverted by the good, and perhaps, also, that the righteous might, amongother trials, be subjected to that of occasional converse with theprofane."
"Ye're a silly callant, Reuben," answered Deans, "with your bits ofargument
. Can a man touch pitch and not be defiled? Or what think ye ofthe brave and worthy champions of the Covenant, that wadna sae muckle ashear a minister speak, be his gifts and graces as they would, that hadnawitnessed against the enormities of the day? Nae lawyer shall ever speakfor me and mine that hasna concurred in the testimony of the scattered,yet lovely remnant, which abode in the clifts of the rocks."
So saying, and as if fatigued, both with the arguments and presence ofhis guests, the old man arose, and seeming to bid them adieu with amotion of his head and hand, went to shut himself up in his sleepingapartment.
"It's thrawing his daughter's life awa," said Saddletree to Butler, "tohear him speak in that daft gate. Where will he ever get a Cameronianadvocate? Or wha ever heard of a lawyer's suffering either for aereligion or another? The lassie's life is clean flung awa."
During the latter part of this debate, Dumbiedikes had arrived at thedoor, dismounted, hung the pony's bridle on the usual hook, and sunk downon his ordinary settle. His eyes, with more than their usual animation,followed first one speaker then another, till he caught the melancholysense of the whole from Saddletree's last words. He rose from his seat,stumped slowly across the room, and, coming close up to Saddletree's ear,said in a tremulous anxious voice, "Will--will siller do naething forthem, Mr. Saddletree?"
"Umph!" said Saddletree, looking grave,--"siller will certainly do it inthe Parliament House, if ony thing _can_ do it; but where's the siller tocome frae? Mr. Deans, ye see, will do naething; and though Mrs.Saddletree's their far-awa friend, and right good weel-wisher, and isweel disposed to assist, yet she wadna like to stand to be bound _singuliin solidum_ to such an expensive wark. An ilka friend wad bear a share o'the burden, something might be dune--ilka ane to be liable for their aininput--I wadna like to see the case fa' through without being pled--itwadna be creditable, for a' that daft whig body says."
"I'll--I will--yes" (assuming fortitude), "I will be answerable," saidDumbiedikes, "for a score of punds sterling."--And he was silent, staringin astonishment at finding himself capable of such unwonted resolutionand excessive generosity.
"God Almighty bless ye, Laird!" said Jeanie, in a transport of gratitude.
"Ye may ca' the twenty punds thretty," said Dumbiedikes, lookingbashfully away from her, and towards Saddletree.
"That will do bravely," said Saddletree, rubbing his hands; and ye sallhae a' my skill and knowledge to gar the siller gang far--I'll tape itout weel--I ken how to gar the birkies tak short fees, and be glad o'them too--it's only garring them trow ye hae twa or three cases ofimportance coming on, and they'll work cheap to get custom. Let me alanefor whilly-whaing an advocate:--it's nae sin to get as muckle flue themfor our siller as we can--after a', it's but the wind o' their mouth--itcosts them naething; whereas, in my wretched occupation of a saddler,horse milliner, and harness maker, we are out unconscionable sums justfor barkened hides and leather."
"Can I be of no use?" said Butler. "My means, alas! are only worth theblack coat I wear; but I am young--I owe much to the family--Can I donothing?"
"Ye can help to collect evidence, sir," said Saddletree; "if we could butfind ony ane to say she had gien the least hint o' her condition, she wadbe brought aft wi' a wat finger--Mr. Crossmyloof tell'd me sae. Thecrown, says he, canna be craved to prove a positive--was't a positive ora negative they couldna be ca'd to prove?--it was the tane or the tithero' them, I am sure, and it maksna muckle matter whilk. Wherefore, sayshe, the libel maun be redargued by the panel proving her defences. And itcanna be done otherwise."
"But the fact, sir," argued Butler, "the fact that this poor girl hasborne a child; surely the crown lawyers must prove that?" said Butler.
Saddletree paused a moment, while the visage of Dumbiedikes, whichtraversed, as if it had been placed on a pivot, from the one spokesman tothe other, assumed a more blithe expression.
"Ye--ye--ye--es," said Saddletree, after some grave hesitation;"unquestionably that is a thing to be proved, as the court will morefully declare by an interlocutor of relevancy in common form; but I fancythat job's done already, for she has confessed her guilt."
"Confessed the murder?" exclaimed Jeanie, with a scream that made themall start.
"No, I didna say that," replied Bartoline. "But she confessed bearing thebabe."
"And what became of it, then?" said Jeanie, "for not a word could I getfrom her but bitter sighs and tears."
"She says it was taken away from her by the woman in whose house it wasborn, and who assisted her at the time."
"And who was that woman?" said Butler. "Surely by her means the truthmight be discovered.--Who was she? I will fly to her directly."
"I wish," said Dumbiedikes, "I were as young and as supple as you, andhad the gift of the gab as weel."
"Who is she?" again reiterated Butler impatiently.--"Who could that womanbe?"
"Ay, wha kens that but herself?" said Saddletree; "she deponed farther,and declined to answer that interrogatory."
"Then to herself will I instantly go," said Butler; "farewell, Jeanie;"then coming close up to her--"Take no _rash steps_ till you hear from me.Farewell!" and he immediately left the cottage.
"I wad gang too," said the landed proprietor, in an anxious, jealous, andrepining tone, "but my powny winna for the life o' me gang ony other roadthan just frae Dumbiedikes to this house-end, and sae straight backagain."
"Yell do better for them," said Saddletree, as they left the housetogether, "by sending me the thretty punds."
"Thretty punds!" hesitated Dumbiedikes, who was now out of the reach ofthose eyes which had inflamed his generosity; "I only said _twenty_punds."
"Ay; but," said Saddletree, "that was under protestation to add and eik;and so ye craved leave to amend your libel, and made it thretty."
"Did I? I dinna mind that I did," answered Dumbiedikes. "But whatever Isaid I'll stand to." Then bestriding his steed with some difficulty, headded, "Dinna ye think poor Jeanie's een wi' the tears in them glancedlike lamour beads, Mr. Saddletree?"
"I kenna muckle about women's een, Laird," replied the insensibleBartoline; "and I care just as little. I wuss I were as weel free o'their tongues; though few wives," he added, recollecting the necessity ofkeeping up his character for domestic rule, "are under better commandthan mine, Laird. I allow neither perduellion nor lese-majesty against mysovereign authority."
The Laird saw nothing so important in this observation as to call for arejoinder, and when they had exchanged a mute salutation, they parted inpeace upon their different errands.
