WeirOfHermiston:AnUnfinishedRomance

ByRobertLouisStevenson

WeirofHermiston:AnUnfinishedRomance

CHAPTERI—LIFEANDDEATHOFMRS.WEIR

TheLordJustice-Clerkwasastrangerinthatpartofthecountry;buthisladywifewasknowntherefromachild,asherracehadbeenbeforeher.Theold“ridingRutherfordsofHermiston,”ofwhomshewasthelastdescendant,hadbeenfamousmenofyore,illneighbours,illsubjects,andillhusbandstotheirwives thoughnot their properties. Talesof themwere rife for twentymilesabout;andtheirnamewasevenprintedinthepageofourScotshistories,notalwaystotheircredit.OnebitthedustatFlodden;onewashangedathispeeldoor by James the Fifth; another fell dead in a carouse with Tom Dalyell;whilea fourth(and thatwasJean’sownfather)diedpresidingataHell-FireClub, of which he was the founder. There were many heads shaken inCrossmichael at that judgment; the more so as the man had a villainousreputationamonghighandlow,andbothwiththegodlyandtheworldly.Atthatveryhourofhisdemise,hehadtengoingpleasbeforetheSession,eightof them oppressive. And the same doom extended even to his agents; his

grieve, thathadbeenhis righthand inmanya left-handbusiness,beingcastfromhishorseonenightanddrownedinapeat-hagontheKye-skairs;andhisvery doer (although lawyers have long spoons) surviving himnot long, anddyingonasuddeninabloodyflux.

In all thesegenerations,while amaleRutherfordwas in the saddlewithhislads,orbrawlinginachange-house,therewouldbealwaysawhite-facedwifeimmuredathomein theoldpeelor the latermansion-house. It seemed thissuccessionofmartyrsbidedlong,buttooktheirvengeanceintheend,andthatwas in the person of the last descendant, Jean. She bore the name of theRutherfords,but shewas thedaughterof their tremblingwives. At the firstshewasnotwhollywithoutcharm. Neighboursrecalledinher,asachild,astrain of elfin wilfulness, gentle little mutinies, sad little gaieties, even amorning gleam of beauty that was not to be fulfilled. She withered in thegrowing, and (whether it was the sins of her sires or the sorrows of hermothers)cametohermaturitydepressed,and,asitwere,defaced;nobloodoflifeinher,nograsporgaiety;piousanxious,tender,tearful,andincompetent.

Itwasawondertomanythatshehadmarried—seemingsowhollyofthestuffthatmakesoldmaids.ButchancecastherinthepathofAdamWeir,thenthenew Lord-Advocate, a recognised, risen man, the conqueror of manyobstacles,andthuslateinthedaybeginningtothinkuponawife.Hewasonewholookedrathertoobediencethanbeauty,yetitwouldseemhewasstruckwithheratthefirstlook.“Wha’sshe?”hesaid,turningtohishost;and,whenhehadbeentold,“Ay,”sayshe,“shelooksmenseful.Shemindsme—”;andthen, after a pause (which some have been daring enough to set down tosentimentalrecollections),“Isshereleegious?”heasked,andwasshortlyafter,at his own request, presented. The acquaintance,which it seemsprofane tocall a courtship,waspursuedwithMr.Weir’s accustomed industry, andwaslongalegend,orratherasourceoflegends,intheParliamentHouse.Hewasdescribedcoming,rosywithmuchport,intothedrawing-room,walkingdirectup to the lady,andassailingherwithpleasantries, towhich theembarrassedfaironeresponded, inwhatseemedakindofagony,“Eh,Mr.Weir!”or“O,Mr.Weir!”or“Keepme,Mr.Weir!”Ontheveryeveoftheirengagement,itwasrelatedthatonehaddrawnneartothetendercouple,andhadoverheardthe lady cry out, with the tones of one who talked for the sake of talking,“Keepme,Mr.Weir,andwhatbecameofhim?”andtheprofoundaccentsofthesuitorreply,“Haangit,mem,haangit.”Themotivesuponeithersideweremuch debated. Mr. Weir must have supposed his bride to be somehowsuitable;perhapshebelongedtothatclassofmenwhothinkaweakheadtheornamentofwomen—anopinioninvariablypunishedinthislife.Herdescentand her estate were beyond question. Her wayfaring ancestors and herlitigiousfatherhaddonewellbyJean.Therewasreadymoneyandtherewere

broad acres, ready to fall wholly to the husband, to lend dignity to hisdescendants,andtohimselfatitle,whenheshouldbecalledupontheBench.OnthesideofJean,therewasperhapssomefascinationofcuriosityastothisunknownmaleanimalthatapproachedherwiththeroughnessofaploughmanandtheaplombofanadvocate.Beingsotrenchantlyopposedtoallsheknew,loved,orunderstood,hemaywellhaveseemedtohertheextreme,ifscarcelytheideal,ofhissex.Andbesides,hewasanillmantorefuse.Alittleoverfortyattheperiodofhismarriage,helookedalreadyolder,andtotheforceofmanhood added the senatorial dignity of years; it was, perhaps, with anunreverend awe, but he was awful. The Bench, the Bar, and the mostexperienced and reluctant witness, bowed to his authority—and why notJeannieRutherford?

The heresy about foolishwomen is always punished, I have said, andLordHermistonbegantopaythepenaltyatonce.HishouseinGeorgeSquarewaswretchedlyill-guided;nothinganswerabletotheexpenseofmaintenancebutthecellar,whichwashisownprivatecare.Whenthingswentwrongatdinner,astheycontinuallydid,mylordwouldlookupthetableathiswife:“Ithinkthesebrothwouldbebetter tosweemin than tosup.” Orelse to thebutler:“Here,M‘Killop,awa’wi’thisRaadicalgigot—tak’ittotheFrench,man,andbringme some puddocks! It seems rather a sore kind of a business that Ishould be all day in Court haanging Raadicals, and get nawthing to mydenner.” Of course this was but a manner of speaking, and he had neverhanged aman for being aRadical in his life; the law, ofwhich hewas thefaithfulminister,directingotherwise.Andofcoursethesegrowlswereinthenatureofpleasantry,butitwasofareconditesort;andutteredastheywereinhisresoundingvoice,andcommentedonbythatexpressionwhichtheycalledin the Parliament House “Hermiston’s hanging face”—they struck meredismay into thewife. She sat before him speechless and fluttering; at eachdish,asatafreshordeal,hereyehoveredtowardmylord’scountenanceandfellagain;ifhebutateinsilence,unspeakablereliefwasherportion;iftherewerecomplaint,theworldwasdarkened.Shewouldseekoutthecook,whowasalwayshersisterintheLord.“O,mydear,thisisthemostdreidfulthingthatmylordcanneverbecontentedinhisownhouse!”shewouldbegin;andweepandpraywiththecook;andthenthecookwouldpraywithMrs.Weir;andthenextday’smealwouldneverbeapennythebetter—andthenextcook(whenshecame)wouldbeworse,ifanything,butjustaspious.ItwasoftenwonderedthatLordHermistonboreitashedid;indeed,hewasastoicaloldvoluptuary, contented with sound wine and plenty of it. But there weremomentswhenheoverflowed.Perhapshalfadozentimesinthehistoryofhismarriedlife—“Here!tak’itawa’,andbringmeapiecebreadandkebbuck!”hehadexclaimed,withanappallingexplosionofhisvoiceandraregestures.None thought to dispute or tomake excuses; the servicewas arrested;Mrs.

Weirsatattheheadofthetablewhimperingwithoutdisguise;andhislordshipoppositemunchedhisbreadandcheeseinostentatiousdisregard.Onceonly,Mrs.Weirhadventuredtoappeal.Hewaspassingherchaironhiswayintothestudy.

“O,Edom!”shewailed,inavoicetragicwithtears,andreachingouttohimbothhands,inoneofwhichsheheldasoppingpocket-handkerchief.

Hepausedandlookeduponherwithafaceofwrath,intowhichtherestole,ashelooked,atwinkleofhumour.

“Noansense!” he said. “You and your noansense! What do I want with aChristianfaim’ly?IwantChristianbroth!Getmealassthatcanplain-boilapotato, if she was a whüre off the streets.” And with these words, whichechoed inher tenderears likeblasphemy,hehadpassedon tohisstudyandshutthedoorbehindhim.

Such was the housewifery in George Square. It was better at Hermiston,where Kirstie Elliott, the sister of a neighbouring bonnet-laird, and aneighteenthcousinof the lady’s,bore thechargeofall,andkepta trimhouseandagoodcountrytable.Kirstiewasawomaninathousand,clean,capable,notable;onceamoorlandHelen,andstillcomelyasabloodhorseandhealthyasthehillwind. Highinfleshandvoiceandcolour,sheranthehousewithher whole intemperate soul, in a bustle, not without buffets. Scarce morepious than decency in those days required, she was the cause of many ananxious thought andmany a tearful prayer toMrs.Weir. Housekeeper andmistress renewed thepartsofMarthaandMary;and thoughwithaprickingconscience, Mary reposed on Martha’s strength as on a rock. Even LordHermistonheldKirstieinaparticularregard.Therewerefewwithwhomheunbentsogladly,fewwhomhefavouredwithsomanypleasantries.“Kirstieandmemaunhaveour joke,”hewoulddeclare inhighgood-humour, ashebutteredKirstie’s scones, and shewaited at table. Amanwhohadnoneedeitherofloveorofpopularity,akeenreaderofmenandofevents,therewasperhapsonlyonetruthforwhichhewasquiteunprepared:hewouldhavebeenquiteunpreparedtolearnthatKirstiehatedhim.Hethoughtmaidandmasterwerewellmatched;hard,bandy,healthy,broadScots folk,withoutahairofnonsensetothepairofthem.Andthefactwasthatshemadeagoddessandanonlychildof theeffeteand tearful lady;andevenasshewaitedat tableherhandswouldsometimesitchformylord’sears.

Thus,atleast,whenthefamilywereatHermiston,notonlymylord,butMrs.Weir too, enjoyed a holiday. Free from the dreadful looking-for of themiscarrieddinner, shewouldmindher seam, readherpietybooks, and takeherwalk(whichwasmylord’sorders),sometimesbyherself,sometimeswithArchie, the only child of that scarce natural union. The childwas her next

bondtolife.Herfrostedsentimentbloomedagain,shebreatheddeepoflife,she let looseher heart, in that society. Themiracle of hermotherhoodwasevernewtoher.Thesightofthelittlemanatherskirtintoxicatedherwiththesense of power, and froze herwith the consciousness of her responsibility.She looked forward, and, seeinghim in fancygrowup andplayhis diversepartontheworld’stheatre,caughtinherbreathandlifteduphercouragewitha livelyeffort. Itwasonlywith thechild that she forgotherselfandwasatmoments natural; yet itwas onlywith the child that she had conceived andmanagedtopursueaschemeofconduct.Archiewastobeagreatmanandagood;aministerifpossible,asaintforcertain.Shetriedtoengagehisminduponher favouritebooks,Rutherford’sLetters, ScougallsGraceAbounding,andthelike.Itwasacommonpracticeofhers(andstrangetoremembernow)thatshewouldcarrythechildtotheDeil’sHags,sitwithhimonthePrayingWeaver’s stone, and talk of the Covenanters till their tears ran down. Herviewof historywaswholly artless, a design in snowand ink; upon the oneside, tender innocents with psalms upon their lips; upon the other, thepersecutors, booted, bloody-minded, flushedwithwine: a sufferingChrist, aragingBeelzebub. Persecutor was aword that knocked upon thewoman’sheart;itwasherhighestthoughtofwickedness,andthemarkofitwasonherhouse. Her great-great-grandfather had drawn the sword against the Lord’sanointedonthefieldofRullionGreen,andbreathedhislast(traditionsaid)inthearmsofthedetestableDalyell.Norcouldsheblindherselftothis,thathadthey lived in thoseolddays,HermistonhimselfwouldhavebeennumberedalongsideofBloodyMacKenzieandthepoliticLauderdaleandRothes,inthebandofGod’simmediateenemies.Thesenseofthismovedhertothemorefervour;shehadavoiceforthatnameofpersecutorthatthrilledinthechild’smarrow;andwhenonedaythemobhootedandhissedthemall inmylord’stravellingcarriage,andcried,“Downwiththepersecutor!downwithHangingHermiston!”andmammacoveredhereyesandwept,andpapa letdown theglassandlookedoutupontherabblewithhisdrollformidableface,bitterandsmiling,astheysaidhesometimeslookedwhenhegavesentence,Archiewasfor themoment toomuch amazed to be alarmed, but he had scarce got hismotherbyherselfbeforehisshrillvoicewasraiseddemandinganexplanation:whyhadtheycalledpapaapersecutor?

“Keep me, my precious!” she exclaimed. “Keep me, my dear! this ispoleetical.Yemustneveraskmeanythingpoleetical,Erchie.Yourfaitherisagreatman,mydear,andit’snoformeoryoutobejudginghim.Itwouldbetelling us all, if we behaved ourselves in our several stations theway yourfaither does in his high office; and let me hear no more of any suchdisrespectfulandundutifulquestions!Nothatyoumeanttobeundutiful,mylamb; yourmother kens that—she kens itwell, dearie!” And so slid off tosafertopics,andleftonthemindofthechildanobscurebutineradicablesense

ofsomethingwrong.

Mrs.Weir’sphilosophyoflifewassummedinoneexpression—tenderness.Inherviewoftheuniverse,whichwasalllightedupwithaglowoutofthedoorsofhell,goodpeoplemustwalkthereinakindofecstasyoftenderness.Thebeastsandplantshadnosouls;theywereherebutforaday,andlettheirdaypass gently! And as for the immortalmen, onwhat black, downward pathweremanyofthemwending,andtowhatahorrorofanimmortality!“Arenottwosparrows,”“Whosoevershallsmitethee,”“GodsendethHisrain,”“Judgenot, that ye be not judged”—these textsmade her body of divinity; she putthemoninthemorningwithherclothesandlaydowntosleepwiththematnight; they haunted her like a favourite air, they clung about her like afavouriteperfume.Theirministerwasamarrowyexpounderofthelaw,andmylordsatunderhimwithrelish;butMrs.Weirrespectedhimfromfaroff;heardhim(likethecannonofabeleagueredcity)usefullyboomingoutsideonthedogmatic ramparts; andmeanwhile,within andout of shot, dwelt in herprivategardenwhichshewateredwithgratefultears.Itseemsstrangetosayof this colourless and ineffectualwoman, but shewas a true enthusiast, andmighthavemade thesunshineand thegloryofacloister. PerhapsnonebutArchieknew she couldbe eloquent; perhapsnonebuthehad seenher—hercolourraised,herhandsclaspedorquivering—glowwithgentleardour.Thereisacornerof thepolicyofHermiston,whereyoucomesuddenlyinviewofthe summit of Black Fell, sometimes like the mere grass top of a hill,sometimes (and this is her own expression) like a precious jewel in theheavens.Onsuchdays,uponthesuddenviewofit,herhandwouldtightenonthe child’s fingers, her voice rise like a song. “I to the hills!” she wouldrepeat.“AndO,Erchie,arenaetheselikethehillsofNaphtali?”andhertearswouldflow.

Upon an impressionable child the effect of this continual and prettyaccompanimenttolifewasdeep.Thewoman’squietismandpietypassedonto his different nature undiminished; but whereas in her it was a nativesentiment, in him it was only an implanted dogma. Nature and the child’spugnacityattimesrevolted.AcadfromthePotterrowoncestruckhiminthemouth;hestruckback,thepairfoughtitoutinthebackstablelanetowardstheMeadows,andArchie returnedwithaconsiderabledecline in thenumberofhisfrontteeth,andunregeneratelyboastingofthelossesofthefoe.ItwasasoredayforMrs.Weir;sheweptandprayedover the infantbackslideruntilmy lord was due from Court, and she must resume that air of tremulouscomposurewithwhichshealwaysgreetedhim.Thejudgewasthatdayinanobservantmood,andremarkedupontheabsentteeth.

“IamafraidErchiewillhavebeenfechtingwithsomeoftheyblagyardlads,”saidMrs.Weir.

My lord’s voice rangout as it did seldom in theprivacyof his ownhouse.“I’llhavenormofthat,sir!”hecried.“Doyouhearme?—nonnofthat!Nosonofmineshallbespelderingintheglaurwithanydirtyraibble.”

Theanxiousmotherwasgratefulforsomuchsupport;shehadevenfearedthecontrary. Andthatnightwhensheput thechild tobed—“Now,mydear,yesee!”shesaid,“Itoldyouwhatyourfaitherwouldthinkofit,ifheheardyehadfallenintothisdreidfulsin;andletyouandmepraytoGodthatyemaybekeepitfromtheliketemptationorstrengthenedtoresistit!”

Thewomanlyfalsityofthiswasthrownaway.Iceandironcannotbewelded;and the points of view of the Justice-Clerk and Mrs. Weir were not lessunassimilable. The character and position of his father had long been astumbling-blocktoArchie,andwitheveryyearofhisagethedifficultygrewmoreinstant.Themanwasmostlysilent;whenhespokeatall,itwastospeakofthethingsoftheworld,alwaysinaworldlyspirit,ofteninlanguagethatthechild had been schooled to think coarse, and sometimeswithwords that heknewtobesinsinthemselves.Tendernesswasthefirstduty,andmylordwasinvariablyharsh.Godwaslove;thenameofmylord(toallwhoknewhim)wasfear.Intheworld,asschematisedforArchiebyhismother,theplacewasmarkedforsuchacreature.Thereweresomewhomitwasgoodtopityandwell (though very likely useless) to pray for; they were named reprobates,goats,God’senemies,brandsfortheburning;andArchietalliedeverymarkofidentification,anddrewtheinevitableprivateinferencethattheLordJustice-Clerkwasthechiefofsinners.

The mother’s honesty was scarce complete. There was one influence shefeared for thechildandstill secretlycombated; thatwasmy lord’s;andhalfunconsciously, half in a wilful blindness, she continued to undermine herhusbandwithhisson.AslongasArchieremainedsilent,shedidsoruthlessly,withasingleeyetoheavenandthechild’ssalvation;butthedaycamewhenArchiespoke. Itwas1801,andArchiewasseven,andbeyondhisyearsforcuriosity and logic, when he brought the case up openly. If judging weresinful and forbidden, how came papa to be a judge? to have that sin for atrade?tobearthenameofitforadistinction?

“Ican’tseeit,”saidthelittleRabbi,andwaggedhishead.

Mrs.Weiraboundedincommonplacereplies.

“No, I cannae see it,” reiteratedArchie. “And I’ll tell youwhat,mamma, Idon’tthinkyouandme’sjustifeedinstayingwithhim.”

The woman awoke to remorse, she saw herself disloyal to her man, hersovereignandbread-winner,inwhom(withwhatshehadofworldliness)shetookacertainsubduedpride.Sheexpatiatedinreplyonmylord’shonourand

greatness;hisusefulservicesinthisworldofsorrowandwrong,andtheplaceinwhichhestood,farabovewherebabesandinnocentscouldhopetoseeorcriticise.Butshehadbuildedtoowell—Archiehadhisanswerspat:Werenotbabesandinnocentsthetypeofthekingdomofheaven?Werenothonourandgreatnessthebadgesoftheworld?Andatanyrate,howaboutthemobthathadonceseethedaboutthecarriage?

“It’sallveryfine,”heconcluded,“butinmyopinionpapahasnorighttobeit. And it seems that’s not the worst yet of it. It seems he’s called “TheHanging judge”—it seems he’s crooool. I’ll tell you what it is, mamma,there’satex’borneinuponme:Itwerebetterforthatmanifamilestonewerebounduponhisbackandhimflungintothedeepestmostpairtsofthesea.”

“O,mylamb,yemustneversaythelikeofthat!”shecried.“Ye’retohonourfaitherandmother,dear,thatyourdaysmaybelongintheland.It’sAtheiststhat cry out against him—French Atheists, Erchie! Ye would never surelyevenyourselfdowntobesayingthesamethingasFrenchAtheists?Itwouldbreakmyhearttothinkthatofyou.AndO,Erchie,hereare’nayousettingupto judge? And have ye no forgot God’s plain command—the First withPromise,dear?Mindyouuponthebeamandthemote!”

Havingthuscarriedthewarintotheenemy’scamp,theterrifiedladybreathedagain.Andnodoubtitiseasythustocircumventachildwithcatchwords,butitmaybequestionedhowfarit iseffectual. Aninstinctinhisbreastdetectsthequibble,andavoicecondemnsit.Hewillinstantlysubmit,privatelyholdthesameopinion.Foreveninthissimpleandantiquerelationofthemotherandthechild,hypocrisiesaremultiplied.

WhentheCourtrosethatyearandthefamilyreturnedtoHermiston,itwasacommonremarkinallthecountrythattheladywassorefailed.Sheseemedtolooseandseizeagainhertouchwithlife,nowsittinginertinasortofdurablebewilderment,anonwakingtofeverishandweakactivity.Shedawdledaboutthe lasses at their work, looking stupidly on; she fell to rummaging in oldcabinets and presses, and desisted when half through; she would beginremarks with an air of animation and drop them without a struggle. Hercommonappearancewasofonewhohasforgottensomethingandistryingtoremember; and when she overhauled, one after another, the worthless andtouchingmementoesofheryouth,shemighthavebeenseekingthecluetothatlost thought. During thisperiod, shegavemanygifts to theneighboursandhouse lasses, giving them with a manner of regret that embarrassed therecipients.

The last nightof all shewasbusyon some femalework, and toiledupon itwith so manifest and painful a devotion that my lord (who was not oftencurious)inquiredastoitsnature.

Sheblushedtotheeyes.“O,Edom,it’sforyou!”shesaid.“It’sslippers.I—Ihaenevermadeyeany.”

“Ye daft auld wife!” returned his lordship. “A bonny figure I would be,palmeringaboutinbauchles!”

The next day, at the hour of her walk, Kirstie interfered. Kirstie took thisdecayofhermistressveryhard;boreheragrudge,quarrelledwithandraileduponher,theanxietyofagenuinelovewearingthedisguiseoftemper.Thisday of all days she insisted disrespectfully, with rustic fury, thatMrs.Weirshouldstayathome.But,“No,no,”shesaid,“it’smylord’sorders,”andsetforthasusual.Archiewasvisibleintheacrebog,engageduponsomechildishenterprise,theinstrumentofwhichwasmire;andshestoodandlookedathimawhilelikeoneabouttocall; thenthoughtotherwise,sighed,andshookherhead, and proceeded on her rounds alone. The house lasses were at theburnsidewashing,andsawherpasswithherloose,weary,dowdygait.

“She’saterriblefecklesswife,themistress!”saidtheone.

“Tut,”saidtheother,“thewumman’sseeck.”

“Weel,Icannaseenaedifferinher,”returnedthefirst.“Afushionlessquean,afecklesscarline.”

The poor creature thus discussed rambled awhile in the groundswithout apurpose.Tidesinhermindebbedandflowed,andcarriedhertoandfrolikeseaweed. She tried a path, paused, returned, and tried another; questing,forgetting her quest; the spirit of choice extinct in her bosom, or devoid ofsequency. Ona sudden, it appeared as though shehad remembered, or hadformedaresolution,wheeledabout,returnedwithhurriedsteps,andappearedinthedining-room,whereKirstiewasatthecleaning,likeonechargedwithanimportanterrand.

“Kirstie!” she began, and paused; and thenwith conviction, “Mr.Weir isnaspeerituallyminded,buthehasbeenagoodmantome.”

It was perhaps the first time since her husband’s elevation that she hadforgottenthehandletohisname,ofwhichthetender,inconsistentwomanwasnotalittleproud.AndwhenKirstielookedupatthespeaker’sface,shewasawareofachange.

“Godsake,what’s themaitterwi’ ye,mem?” cried the housekeeper, startingfromtherug.

“I do not ken,” answered her mistress, shaking her head. “But he is notspeerituallyminded,mydear.”

“Here, sit downwith ye! Godsake, what ails the wife?” cried Kirstie, and

helpedandforcedherintomylord’sownchairbythecheekofthehearth.

“Keepme,what’sthis?”shegasped.“Kirstie,what’sthis?I’mfrich’ened.”

Theywereherlastwords.

Itwastheloweringnightfallwhenmylordreturned.Hehadthesunsetinhisback, all clouds and glory; and before him, by the wayside, spied KirstieElliottwaiting. Shewas dissolved in tears, and addressed him in the high,falsenoteofbarbarousmourning,suchasstill lingersmodifiedamongScotsheather.

“The Lord peety ye, Hermiston! the Lord prepare ye!” she keened out.“Wearyuponme,thatIshouldhavetotellit!”

Hereinedinhishorseandlookeduponherwiththehangingface.

“HastheFrenchlandit?”criedhe.

“Man,man,”shesaid,“is thata’yecan thinkof? TheLordprepareye: theLordcomfortandsupportye!”

“Isonybodydeid?”saidhislordship.“It’snoErchie?”

“Bethankit,no!”exclaimedthewoman,startledintoamorenaturaltone.“Na,na,it’snosaebadasthat.It’sthemistress,mylord;shejustfairflittitbeforemye’en.Shejustgi’edasabandwasbywi’it.Eh,mybonnyMissJeannie,thatImindsaeweel!”Andforthagainuponthatpouringtideoflamentationinwhichwomenofherclassexcelandover-abound.

LordHermistonsat in thesaddlebeholdingher. Thenheseemedtorecovercommanduponhimself.

“Well,it’ssomethingofthesuddenest,”saidhe.“Butshewasadwaiblybodyfromthefirst.”

AndherodehomeataprecipitateamblewithKirstieathishorse’sheels.

Dressedasshewasforherlastwalk,theyhadlaidthedeadladyonherbed.Shewasneverinterestinginlife;indeathshewasnotimpressive;andasherhusband stoodbefore her,with his hands crossedbehindhis powerful back,thatwhichhelookeduponwastheveryimageoftheinsignificant.

“Herandmewerenevercutoutforoneanother,”heremarkedatlast.“Itwasadaft-likemarriage.”Andthen,withamostunusualgentlenessoftone,“Puirbitch,”saidhe,“puirbitch!”Thensuddenly:“Where’sErchie?”

Kirstiehaddecoyedhimtoherroomandgivenhim“ajeely-piece.”

“Yehavesomekindofgumption,too,”observedthejudge,andconsideredhis

housekeepergrimly.“Whenall’ssaid,”headded,“Imichthavedonewaur—ImichthavebeenmarrietuponaskirtingJezebellikeyou!”

“There’s naebody thinking of you, Hermiston!” cried the offendedwoman.“Wethinkofher that’soutofhersorrows. Andcouldshehavedonewaur?Tellmethat,Hermiston—tellmethatbeforeherclay-cauldcorp!”

“Weel,there’ssomeofthemgeyan’illtoplease,”observedhislordship.

CHAPTERII—FATHERANDSON

MyLordJustice-Clerkwasknown tomany; themanAdamWeirperhaps tonone.Hehadnothingtoexplainortoconceal;hesufficedwhollyandsilentlyto himself; and that part of our naturewhich goes out (too oftenwith falsecoin)toacquiregloryorlove,seemedinhimtobeomitted.Hedidnottrytobe loved, he did not care to be; it is probable the very thought of it was astranger tohismind. Hewasanadmired lawyer, ahighlyunpopular judge;andhe lookeddownupon thosewhowerehis inferiors in eitherdistinction,whowerelawyersoflessgrasporjudgesnotsomuchdetested.Inalltherestof his days and doings, not one trace of vanity appeared; and he went onthrough life with a mechanical movement, as of the unconscious; that wasalmostaugust.

He saw little of his son. In the childishmaladieswithwhich the boywastroubled,hewouldmakedailyinquiriesanddailypayhimavisit,enteringthesick-room with a facetious and appalling countenance, letting off a fewperfunctoryjests,andgoingagainswiftly,tothepatient’srelief.Once,acourtholiday falling opportunely, my lord had his carriage, and drove the childhimselftoHermiston,thecustomaryplaceofconvalescence.Itisconceivablehehadbeenmore thanusuallyanxious, for that journeyalways remained inArchie’s memory as a thing apart, his father having related to him frombeginningtoend,andwithmuchdetail,threeauthenticmurdercases.ArchiewenttheusualroundofotherEdinburghboys,thehighschoolandthecollege;andHermistonlookedon,orratherlookedaway,withscarceanaffectationofinterest in his progress. Daily, indeed, upon a signal after dinner, he wasbroughtin,givennutsandaglassofport,regardedsardonically,sarcasticallyquestioned.“Well,sir,andwhathaveyoudonnwithyourbookto-day?”mylordmightbegin,andsethimposersinlawLatin. Toachildjuststumblinginto Corderius, Papinian and Paul proved quite invincible. But papa hadmemoryofnoother.Hewasnotharshtothelittlescholar,havingavastfundofpatiencelearneduponthebench,andwasatnopainswhethertoconcealor

toexpresshisdisappointment.“Well,yehavealongjauntbeforeyeyet!”hemight observe, yawning, and fall back on his own thoughts (as like as not)until the timecameforseparation,andmylordwould take thedecanterandtheglass,andbeofftothebackchamberlookingontheMeadows,wherehetoiledonhiscasestillthehoursweresmall.Therewasno“fullerman”onthebench;hismemorywasmarvellous,thoughwhollylegal;ifhehadto“advise”extempore, none did it better; yet there was none who more earnestlyprepared. As he thus watched in the night, or sat at table and forgot thepresenceofhisson,nodoubtbuthetasteddeeplyofreconditepleasures.Tobewhollydevoted tosome intellectualexercise is tohavesucceeded in life;and perhaps only in law and the higher mathematics may this devotion bemaintained, suffice to itself without reaction, and find continual rewardswithoutexcitement.Thisatmosphereofhisfather’ssterlingindustrywasthebestofArchie’seducation.Assuredlyitdidnotattracthim;assuredlyitratherrebuttedanddepressed.Yetitwasstillpresent,unobservedlikethetickingofaclock,anaridideal,atastelessstimulantintheboy’slife.

ButHermistonwasnotallofonepiece.Hewas,besides,amightytoper;hecouldsitatwineuntilthedaydawned,andpassdirectlyfromthetabletothebenchwithasteadyhandandaclearhead.Beyondthethirdbottle,heshowedtheplebeianinalargerprint;thelow,grossaccent,thelow,foulmirth,grewbroader and commoner; he became less formidable, and infinitely moredisgusting. Now, the boy had inherited from Jean Rutherford a shiveringdelicacy,unequallymatedwithpotentialviolence. In theplaying-fields,andamongsthisowncompanions,he repaidacoarseexpressionwithablow;athisfather’stable(whenthetimecameforhimtojointheserevels)heturnedpaleandsickenedinsilence.Ofalltheguestswhomhethereencountered,hehad toleration foronlyone:DavidKeithCarnegie,LordGlenalmond. LordGlenalmond was tall and emaciated, with long features and long delicatehands. Hewasoftencomparedwith thestatueofForbesofCulloden in theParliamentHouse;andhisblueeye,atmorethansixty,preservedsomeofthefire of youth. His exquisite disparity with any of his fellow-guests, hisappearanceasofanartistandanaristocratstrandedinrudecompany,rivetedtheboy’sattention;andascuriosityandinterestarethethingsintheworldthatare the most immediately and certainly rewarded, Lord Glenalmond wasattractedbytheboy.

“Andsothisisyourson,Hermiston?”heasked,layinghishandonArchie’sshoulder.“He’sgettingabiglad.”

“Hout!”saidthegraciousfather,“justhismotheroveragain—daurnasaybootoagoose!”

Butthestrangerretainedtheboy,talkedtohim,drewhimout,foundinhima

tasteforletters,andafine,ardent,modest,youthfulsoul;andencouragedhimtobeavisitoronSundayeveningsinhisbare,cold,lonelydining-room,wherehe sat and read in the isolationofabachelorgrownold in refinement. Thebeautifulgentlenessandgraceoftheoldjudge,andthedelicacyofhisperson,thoughts, and language, spoke to Archie’s heart in its own tongue. Heconceivedtheambitiontobesuchanother;and,whenthedaycameforhimtochoose a profession, it was in emulation of Lord Glenalmond, not of LordHermiston,thathechosetheBar.Hermistonlookedonatthisfriendshipwithsomesecretpride,butopenlywiththeintoleranceofscorn.Hescarcelostanopportunitytoputthemdownwitharoughjape;and,tosaytruth,itwasnotdifficult,fortheywereneitherofthemquick.Hehadawordofcontemptforthewhole crowd of poets, painters, fiddlers, and their admirers, the bastardraceofamateurs,whichwascontinuallyonhislips.“SignorFeedle-eerie!”hewouldsay.“O,forGoad’ssake,nomoreoftheSignor!”

“Youandmyfatheraregreatfriends,areyounot?”askedArchieonce.

“ThereisnomanthatImorerespect,Archie,”repliedLordGlenalmond.“Heistwothingsofprice.Heisagreatlawyer,andheisuprightastheday.”

“Youandhearesodifferent,”saidtheboy,hiseyesdwellingonthoseofhisoldfriend,likealover’sonhismistress’s.

“Indeedso,”repliedthejudge;“verydifferent.AndsoIfearareyouandhe.YetIwouldlikeitveryillifmyyoungfriendweretomisjudgehisfather.Hehas all theRomanvirtues:Cato andBrutuswere such; I think a son’sheartmightwellbeproudofsuchanancestryofone.”

“And I would sooner he were a plaided herd,” cried Archie, with suddenbitterness.

“And that is neither very wise, nor I believe entirely true,” returnedGlenalmond. “Beforeyouaredoneyouwill findsomeof theseexpressionsriseonyoulikearemorse. Theyaremerelyliteraryanddecorative;theydonotaptlyexpressyourthought,nor isyourthoughtclearlyapprehended,andnodoubtyourfather(ifhewerehere)wouldsay,‘SignorFeedle-eerie!’”

With the infinitely delicate sense of youth,Archie avoided the subject fromthathour.Itwasperhapsapity.Hadhebuttalked—talkedfreely—lethimselfgushout inwords(thewayyouth loves todoandshould), theremighthavebeennotaletowriteupontheWeirsofHermiston.Buttheshadowofathreatofridiculesufficed;intheslighttartnessofthesewordshereadaprohibition;anditislikelythatGlenalmondmeantitso.

Besides the veteran, the boy was without confidant or friend. Serious andeager,hecamethroughschoolandcollege,andmovedamongacrowdofthe

indifferent, in the seclusionof his shyness. Hegrewuphandsome,with anopen,speakingcountenance,withgraceful,youthfulways;hewasclever,hetook prizes, he shone in the Speculative Society. It should seem he mustbecome thecentreof a crowdof friends;but something thatwas inpart thedelicacyofhismother,inparttheausterityofhisfather,heldhimalooffromall.Itisafact,andastrangeone,thatamonghiscontemporariesHermiston’ssonwas thought to be a chip of the old block. “You’re a friend ofArchieWeir’s?”saidonetoFrankInnes;andInnesreplied,withhisusualflippancyandmorethanhisusualinsight:“IknowWeir,butInevermetArchie.”NoonehadmetArchie,amaladymostincidenttoonlysons.Heflewhisprivatesignal,andnoneheededit;itseemedhewasabroadinaworldfromwhichtheveryhopeof intimacywasbanished;andhe looked roundabouthimon theconcourse of his fellow-students, and forward to the trivial days andacquaintancesthatweretocome,withouthopeorinterest.

Astimewenton,thetoughandrougholdsinnerfelthimselfdrawntothesonof his loins and sole continuator of his new family, with softnesses ofsentiment that he could hardly credit and was wholly impotent to express.Withaface,voice,andmannertrainedthroughfortyyearstoterrifyandrepel,Rhadamanthusmaybegreat,buthewillscarcebeengaging.Itisafactthathe tried to propitiateArchie, but a fact that cannot be too lightly taken; theattempt was so unconspicuously made, the failure so stoically supported.Sympathy isnotdue to these steadfast ironnatures. Ifhe failed togainhisson’s friendship, or even his son’s toleration, on hewent up the great, barestaircase of his duty, uncheered and undepressed. There might have beenmorepleasureinhisrelationswithArchie,somuchhemayhaverecognisedatmoments; but pleasure was a by-product of the singular chemistry of life,whichonlyfoolsexpected.

AnideaofArchie’sattitude,sinceweareallgrownupandhaveforgottenthedays of our youth, it is more difficult to convey. He made no attemptwhatsoever to understand the man with whom he dined and breakfasted.Parsimony of pain, glut of pleasure, these are the two alternating ends ofyouth; and Archie was of the parsimonious. The wind blew cold out of acertainquarter—heturnedhisbackuponit;stayedaslittleaswaspossibleinhisfather’spresence;andwhenthere,avertedhiseyesasmuchaswasdecentfromhisfather’sface.Thelampshoneformanyhundreddaysuponthesetwoat table—my lord, ruddy, gloomy, and unreverent; Archie with a potentialbrightnessthatwasalwaysdimmedandveiledinthatsociety;andtherewerenot,perhaps, inChristendom twomenmore radically strangers. The father,withagrandsimplicity,eitherspokeofwhatinterestedhimself,ormaintainedanunaffectedsilence.Thesonturnedinhisheadforsometopicthatshouldbequitesafe,thatwouldsparehimfreshevidenceseitherofmylord’sinherent

grossnessoroftheinnocenceofhisinhumanity;treadinggingerlythewaysofintercourse, like a lady gathering up her skirts in a by-path. If hemade amistake, and my lord began to abound in matter of offence, Archie drewhimself up, his brow grew dark, his share of the talk expired; but my lordwould faithfully and cheerfully continue to pour out the worst of himselfbeforehissilentandoffendedson.

“Well,it’sapoorhertthatneverrejoices!”hewouldsay,attheconclusionofsuchanightmareinterview.“ButImustgettomyplew-stilts.”Andhewouldsecludehimselfasusualinhisbackroom,andArchiegoforthintothenightandthecityquiveringwithanimosityandscorn.

CHAPTERIII—INTHEMATTEROFTHEHANGINGOFDUNCANJOPP

It chanced in the year 1813 that Archie strayed one day into the JusticiaryCourt.Themacermaderoomforthesonofthepresidingjudge.Inthedock,the centre of men’s eyes, there stood a whey-coloured, misbegotten caitiff,DuncanJopp,ontrialforhislife.Hisstory,asitwasrakedoutbeforehiminthat public scene, was one of disgrace and vice and cowardice, the verynakednessofcrime;andthecreatureheardanditseemedattimesasthoughheunderstood—as ifat timeshe forgot thehorrorof theplacehestood in,andremembered the shame of what had brought him there. He kept his headbowedandhishandsclutchedupontherail;hishairdroppedinhiseyesandattimes he flung it back; and nowhe glanced about the audience in a suddenfellnessofterror,andnowlookedinthefaceofhisjudgeandgulped.Therewaspinnedabouthis throatapieceofdingyflannel;andthis itwasperhapsthatturnedthescaleinArchie’smindbetweendisgustandpity.Thecreaturestoodinavanishingpoint;yetalittlewhile,andhewasstillaman,andhadeyes and apprehension; yet a little longer, and with a last sordid piece ofpageantry,hewouldcease tobe. Andhere, in themeantime,witha traitofhuman nature that caught at the beholder’s breath, he was tending a sorethroat.

Overagainsthim,myLordHermistonoccupiedthebenchintheredrobesofcriminaljurisdiction,hisfaceframedinthewhitewig.Honestallthrough,hedidnotaffectthevirtueofimpartiality;thiswasnocaseforrefinement;therewasamantobehanged,hewouldhavesaid,andhewashanginghim.Norwasitpossibletoseehislordship,andacquithimofgustointhetask.Itwasplainhegloriedintheexerciseofhistrainedfaculties,intheclearsightwhichpiercedatonceintothejointoffact,intherude,unvarnishedgibeswithwhich

he demolished every figment of defence. He took his ease and jested,unbending in thatsolemnplacewithsomeof thefreedomof the tavern;andtheragofmanwiththeflannelroundhisneckwashuntedgallowswardwithjeers.

Duncanhadamistress,scarcelessforlornandgreatlyolderthanhimself,whocameup,whimperingandcurtseying, toaddtheweightofherbetrayal. Mylord gave her the oath in his most roaring voice, and added an intolerantwarning.

“Mindwhatyesaynow,Janet,”saidhe.“Ihaveane’euponye,I’milltojestwith.”

Presently,aftershewastremblinglyembarkedonherstory,“Andwhatmadeyedothis,yeauldrunt?”theCourtinterposed.“Doyemeantotellmeyewasthepanel’smistress?”

“Ifyouplease,maloard,”whinedthefemale.

“Godsake! yemade a bonny couple,” observed his lordship; and there wassomethingsoformidableandferociousinhisscornthatnoteventhegalleriesthoughttolaugh.

Thesummingupcontainedsomejewels.

“Thesetwopeetiablecreaturesseemtohavemadeupthegither,it’snotforustoexplainwhy.”—“Thepanel,who(whateverelsehemaybe)appears tobeequally ill set-out inmind and boady.”—“Neither the panel nor yet the oldwifeappearstohavehadsomuchcommonsenseaseventotellaliewhenitwas necessary.” And in the course of sentencing, my lord had this obiterdictum:“Ihavebeenthemeans,underGod,ofhaangingagreatnumber,butnever just such a disjaskit rascal as yourself.” The words were strong inthemselves;thelightandheatanddetonationoftheirdelivery,andthesavagepleasureofthespeakerinhistask,madethemtingleintheears.

Whenallwasover,Archiecameforthagainintoachangedworld.Hadtherebeen the least redeeming greatness in the crime, any obscurity, any dubiety,perhapshemighthaveunderstood.Buttheculpritstood,withhissorethroat,inthesweatofhismortalagony,withoutdefenceorexcuse:athingtocoverupwithblushes:abeingsomuchsunkbeneaththezonesofsympathythatpitymight seem harmless. And the judge had pursued him with a monstrous,relishinggaiety,horribletobeconceived,atraitfornightmares.Itisonethingto spear a tiger, another to crush a toad; there are æsthetics even of theslaughter-house; and the loathsomeness of Duncan Jopp enveloped andinfectedtheimageofhisjudge.

Archie passed by his friends in the High Street with incoherent words and

gestures.HesawHolyroodinadream,remembranceofitsromanceawokeinhimandfaded;hehadavisionoftheoldradiantstories,ofQueenMaryandPrinceCharlie,ofthehoodedstag,ofthesplendourandcrime,thevelvetandbright iron of the past; and dismissed themwith a cry of pain. He lay andmoaned in theHunter’sBog, and theheavensweredark abovehimand thegrassof the fieldanoffence. “This ismy father,”he said. “Idrawmy lifefromhim;thefleshuponmybonesishis,thebreadIamfedwithisthewagesof these horrors.” He recalled his mother, and ground his forehead in theearth. He thoughtof flight,andwherewashe to flee to?ofother lives,butwasthereanylifeworthlivinginthisdenofsavageandjeeringanimals?

Theintervalbeforetheexecutionwaslikeaviolentdream.Hemethisfather;hewouldnotlookathim,hecouldnotspeaktohim.Itseemedtherewasnolivingcreaturebutmusthavebeenswifttorecognisethatimminentanimosity;but thehideof the Justice-Clerk remained impenetrable. Hadmy lordbeentalkative,thetrucecouldneverhavesubsisted;buthewasbyfortuneinoneofhishumoursofsoursilence;andundertheverygunsofhisbroadside,Archienursed the enthusiasm of rebellion. It seemed to him, from the top of hisnineteenyears’experience,asifheweremarkedatbirthtobetheperpetratorof some signal action, to set back fallenMercy, to overthrow the usurpingdevilthatsat,hornedandhoofed,onherthrone.SeductiveJacobinfigments,which he had often refuted at the Speculative, swam up in his mind andstartledhimaswithvoices:andheseemedtohimselftowalkaccompaniedbyanalmosttangiblepresenceofnewbeliefsandduties.

Onthenamedmorninghewasattheplaceofexecution.Hesawthefleeringrabble,theflinchingwretchproduced. Helookedonforawhileatacertainparody of devotion, which seemed to strip the wretch of his last claim tomanhood. Then followed the brutal instant of extinction, and the paltrydanglingoftheremainslikeabrokenjumping-jack.Hehadbeenpreparedforsomething terrible, not for this tragicmeanness. He stood amoment silent,andthen—“IdenouncethisGod-defyingmurder,”heshouted;andhisfather,if hemust have disclaimed the sentiment,might have owned the stentorianvoicewithwhichitwasuttered.

FrankInnesdraggedhimfromthespot.Thetwohandsomeladsfollowedthesame course of study and recreation, and felt a certain mutual attraction,foundedmainlyongoodlooks.Ithadnevergonedeep;Frankwasbynatureathin, jeering creature, not truly susceptible whether of feeling or inspiringfriendship;andtherelationbetweenthepairwasaltogetherontheoutside,athingofcommonknowledgeandthepleasantriesthatspringfromacommonacquaintance. The more credit to Frank that he was appalled by Archie’soutburst, and at least conceived the design of keeping him in sight, and, ifpossible,inhand,fortheday.ButArchie,whohadjustdefied—wasitGodor

Satan?—wouldnotlistentothewordofacollegecompanion.

“Iwillnotgowithyou,”hesaid.“Idonotdesireyourcompany,sir;Iwouldbealone.”

“Here,Weir,man,don’tbeabsurd,”saidInnes,keepingatightholduponhissleeve.“IwillnotletyougountilIknowwhatyoumeantodowithyourself;it’s no use brandishing that staff.” For indeed at that moment Archie hadmade a sudden—perhaps a warlike—movement. “This has been the mostinsaneaffair;youknowithas.YouknowverywellthatI’mplayingthegoodSamaritan.AllIwishistokeepyouquiet.”

“Ifquietnessiswhatyouwish,Mr.Innes,”saidArchie,“andyouwillpromisetoleavemeentirelytomyself,Iwilltellyousomuch,thatIamgoingtowalkinthecountryandadmirethebeautiesofnature.”

“Honourbright?”askedFrank.

“Iamnotinthehabitoflying,Mr.Innes,”retortedArchie.“Ihavethehonourofwishingyougood-day.”

“Youwon’tforgettheSpec.?”askedInnes.

“TheSpec.?”saidArchie.“Ono,Iwon’tforgettheSpec.”

Andtheoneyoungmancarriedhistorturedspiritforthofthecityandallthedaylong,byoneroadandanother,inanendlesspilgrimageofmisery;whiletheotherhastenedsmilingly tospread thenewsofWeir’saccessof insanity,and to drum up for that night a full attendance at the Speculative, wherefurthereccentricdevelopmentsmightcertainlybelookedfor.IdoubtifInneshad the leastbelief inhisprediction; I think it flowed rather fromawish tomakethestoryasgoodandthescandalasgreataspossible;notfromanyill-willtoArchie—fromthemerepleasureofbeholdinginterestedfaces.Butforallthathiswordswereprophetic.ArchiedidnotforgettheSpec.;heputinanappearancethereattheduetime,and,beforetheeveningwasover,haddealtamemorableshocktohiscompanions. Itchancedhewasthepresidentof thenight. He sat in the same room where the Society still meets—only theportraitswerenot there: themenwhoafterwardssat for themwere thenbutbeginningtheircareer.Thesamelustreofmanytaperssheditslightoverthemeeting;thesamechair,perhaps,supportedhimthatsomanyofushavesatinsince. Attimesheseemedtoforgetthebusinessoftheevening,butevenintheseperiodshesatwithagreatairofenergyanddetermination.Attimeshemeddled bitterly, and launched with defiance those fines which are thepreciousandrarelyusedartilleryofthepresident.Helittlethought,ashedidso,howheresembledhisfather,buthisfriendsremarkeduponit,chuckling.Sofar,inhishighplaceabovehisfellow-students,heseemedsetbeyondthe

possibilityofanyscandal;buthismindwasmadeup—hewasdeterminedtofulfilthesphereofhisoffence.HesignedtoInnes(whomhehadjustfined,andwhojustimpeachedhisruling)tosucceedhiminthechair,steppeddownfromtheplatform,andtookhisplacebythechimney-piece,theshineofmanywaxtapersfromaboveilluminatinghispaleface,theglowofthegreatredfirerelievingfrombehindhisslimfigure.Hehadtopropose,asanamendmenttothenextsubjectinthecase-book,“WhethercapitalpunishmentbeconsistentwithGod’swillorman’spolicy?”

Abreathofembarrassment,ofsomethinglikealarm,passedroundtheroom,sodaringdidthesewordsappearuponthelipsofHermiston’sonlyson.Buttheamendmentwasnotseconded;thepreviousquestionwaspromptlymovedand unanimously voted, and the momentary scandal smuggled by. Innestriumphedinthefulfilmentofhisprophecy.HeandArchiewerenowbecometheheroesofthenight;butwhereaseveryonecrowdedaboutInnes,whenthemeetingbrokeup,butoneofallhiscompanionscametospeaktoArchie.

“Weir, man! That was an extraordinary raid of yours!” observed thiscourageousmember,takinghimconfidentiallybythearmastheywentout.

“Idon’tthinkitaraid,”saidArchiegrimly.“Morelikeawar.Isawthatpoorbrutehangedthismorning,andmygorgerisesatityet.”

“Hut-tut,”returnedhiscompanion,and,droppinghisarmlikesomethinghot,hesoughtthelesstensesocietyofothers.

Archie found himself alone. The last of the faithful—or was it only theboldestofthecurious?—hadfled.Hewatchedtheblackhuddleofhisfellow-studentsdrawoffdownandupthestreet,inwhisperingorboisterousgangs.And the isolation of the moment weighed upon him like an omen and anemblem of his destiny in life. Bred up in unbroken fear himself, amongtrembling servants, and in a housewhich (at the least ruffle in themaster’svoice)shudderedintosilence,hesawhimselfonthebrinkoftheredvalleyofwar,andmeasuredthedangerandlengthofitwithawe.Hemadeadetourinthe glimmer and shadow of the streets, came into the back stable lane, andwatchedforalongwhilethelightburnsteadyintheJudge’sroom.Thelongerhe gazed upon that illuminated window-blind, the more blank became thepictureofthemanwhosatbehindit,endlesslyturningoversheetsofprocess,pausing to sip aglassofport, or risingandpassingheavily abouthisbook-linedwallstoverifysomereference. Hecouldnotcombinethebrutaljudgeand the industrious, dispassionate student; the connecting link escaped him;fromsuchadualnature,itwasimpossibleheshouldpredictbehaviour;andheaskedhimselfifhehaddonewelltoplungeintoabusinessofwhichtheendcould not be foreseen? and presently after, with a sickening decline ofconfidence,ifhehaddoneloyallytostrikehisfather?Forhehadstruckhim

—defiedhimtwiceoverandbeforeacloudofwitnesses—struckhimapublicbuffet before crowds. Who had called him to judge his father in theseprecarious and high questions? The office was usurped. It might havebecome a stranger; in a son—there was no blinking it—in a son, it wasdisloyal. Andnow,between these twonatures so antipathetic, sohateful toeachother,therewasdependinganunpardonableaffront:andtheprovidenceofGodalonemightforeseethemannerinwhichitwouldberesentedbyLordHermiston.

Thesemisgivings tortured him all night and arosewith him in thewinter’smorning; they followed him from class to class, theymade him shrinkinglysensitivetoeveryshadeofmannerinhiscompanions,theysoundedinhisearsthrough the current voice of the professor; and he brought them homewithhimatnightunabatedandindeedincreased.Thecauseofthisincreaselayinachance encounter with the celebrated Dr. Gregory. Archie stood lookingvaguelyinthelightedwindowofabookshop,tryingtonervehimselffortheapproaching ordeal. My lord and he hadmet and parted in themorning astheyhadnowdoneforlong,withscarcelytheordinarycivilitiesoflife;anditwasplain to the son that nothinghadyet reached the father’s ears. Indeed,whenherecalledtheawfulcountenanceofmylord,atimidhopesprangupinhimthatperhapstherewouldbefoundnooneboldenoughtocarrytales.Ifthis were so, he asked himself, would he begin again? and he found noanswer.Itwasatthismomentthatahandwaslaiduponhisarm,andavoicesaidinhisear,“MydearMr.Archie,youhadbettercomeandseeme.”

He started, turned round, and found himself face to facewithDr.Gregory.“And why should I come to see you?” he asked, with the defiance of themiserable.

“Because you are looking exceedingly ill,” said the doctor, “and you veryevidently want looking after, my young friend. Good folk are scarce, youknow;anditisnoteveryonethatwouldbequitesomuchmissedasyourself.ItisnoteveryonethatHermistonwouldmiss.”

Andwithanodandasmile,thedoctorpassedon.

Amoment after, Archie was in pursuit, and had in turn, butmore roughly,seizedhimbythearm.

“Whatdoyoumean?whatdidyoumeanby saying that? WhatmakesyouthinkthatHermis—myfatherwouldhavemissedme?”

Thedoctor turned about and lookedhimall overwith a clinical eye. A farmorestupidman thanDr.Gregorymighthaveguessed the truth;butninety-nine out of a hundred, even if they had been equally inclined to kindness,wouldhaveblunderedbysometouchofcharitableexaggeration.Thedoctor

wasbetterinspired.Heknewthefatherwell;inthatwhitefaceofintelligenceandsuffering,hedivinedsomethingoftheson;andhetold,withoutapologyoradornment,theplaintruth.

“Whenyouhadthemeasles,Mr.Archibald,youhadthemgeyandill;andIthought youwere going to slip betweenmy fingers,” he said. “Well, yourfatherwas anxious. Howdid I know it? says you. Simply because I amatrained observer. The sign that I saw himmake, ten thousandwould havemissed;andperhaps—perhaps, Isay,becausehe’sahardmanto judgeof—butperhapshenevermadeanother.Astrangethingtoconsider!Itwasthis.OnedayIcametohim:‘Hermiston,’saidI,‘there’sachange.’Heneversaidaword,justgloweredatme(ifye’llpardonthephrase)likeawildbeast.‘Achangeforthebetter,’saidI.AndIdistinctlyheardhimtakehisbreath.”

Thedoctorleftnoopportunityforanti-climax;noddinghiscockedhat(apieceof antiquity to which he clung) and repeating “Distinctly” with raised eye-brows,hetookhisdeparture,andleftArchiespeechlessinthestreet.

Theanecdotemightbecalled infinitely little,andyet itsmeaningforArchiewasimmense.“Ididnotknowtheoldmanhadsomuchbloodinhim.”Hehad never dreamed this sire of his, this aboriginal antique, this adamantineAdam, had even somuch of a heart as to bemoved in the least degree foranother—andthatotherhimself,whohadinsultedhim!Withthegenerosityofyouth, Archie was instantly under arms upon the other side: had instantlycreated a new image of Lord Hermiston, that of a man who was all ironwithoutandallsensibilitywithin.Themindofthevilejester,thetonguethathad pursuedDuncan Joppwith unmanly insults, the unbeloved countenancethathehadknownandfearedforsolong,wereallforgotten;andhehastenedhome, impatient to confess hismisdeeds, impatient to throw himself on themercyofthisimaginarycharacter.

Hewasnottobelongwithoutarudeawakening.Itwasinthegloamingwhenhedrewnearthedoor-stepofthelightedhouse,andwasawareofthefigureofhisfatherapproachingfromtheoppositeside.Littledaylightlingered;butonthedoorbeingopened, thestrongyellowshineof the lampgushedoutuponthe landing and shone full on Archie, as he stood, in the old-fashionedobservance of respect, to yield precedence. The judge camewithout haste,steppingstatelyandfirm;hischinraised,hisface(asheenteredthelamplight)stronglyillumined,hismouthsethard.Therewasneverawinkofchangeinhis expression; without looking to the right or left, he mounted the stair,passedclosetoArchie,andenteredthehouse.Instinctively,theboy,uponhisfirst coming, had made a movement to meet him; instinctively he recoiledagainst the railing, as the oldman swept by him in a pompof indignation.Wordswereneedless;heknewall—perhapsmore thanall—and thehourof

judgmentwasathand.

Itispossiblethat,inthissuddenrevulsionofhope,andbeforethesesymptomsof impendingdanger,Archiemighthave fled. Butnoteven thatwas left tohim.Mylord,afterhanginguphiscloakandhat,turnedroundinthelightedentry,andmadehimanimperativeandsilentgesturewithhisthumb,andwiththestrangeinstinctofobedience,Archiefollowedhimintothehouse.

Alldinner-timetherereignedovertheJudge’stableapalpablesilence,andassoonasthesolidsweredespatchedherosetohisfeet.

“M‘Killup,tak’thewineintomyroom,”saidhe;andthentohisson:“Archie,youandmehastohaveatalk.”

Itwas at this sickeningmoment thatArchie’s courage, for the first and lasttime,entirelydesertedhim.“Ihaveanappointment,”saidhe.

“It’llhavetobebroken,then,”saidHermiston,andledthewayintohisstudy.

Thelampwasshaded,thefiretrimmedtoanicety,thetablecovereddeepwithorderlydocuments, thebacksof lawbooksmadeaframeuponallsides thatwasonlybrokenbythewindowandthedoors.

ForamomentHermistonwarmedhishandsatthefire,presentinghisbacktoArchie;thensuddenlydisclosedonhimtheterrorsoftheHangingFace.

“What’sthisIhearofye?”heasked.

TherewasnoanswerpossibletoArchie.

“I’llhavetotellye,then,”pursuedHermiston.“Itseemsye’vebeenskirtingagainstthefatherthatbegotye,andoneofhisMaijesty’sJudgesinthisland;and that in the public street, and while an order of the Court was beingexecutit.Forbyewhich,itwouldappearthatye’vebeenairingyouropeenionsin a Coallege Debatin’ Society”; he paused a moment: and then, withextraordinarybitterness,added:“Yedamnedeediot.”

“Ihadmeanttotellyou,”stammeredArchie.“Iseeyouarewellinformed.”

“Muckleobleegedtoye,”saidhislordship,andtookhisusualseat.“AndsoyoudisapproveofCaapitalPunishment?”headded.

“Iamsorry,sir,Ido,”saidArchie.

“I am sorry, too,” said his lordship. “And now, if you please, we shallapproach this business with a little more parteecularity. I hear that at thehangingofDuncanJopp—and,man!yehadafineclientthere—inthemiddleof all the riff-raff of the ceety, ye thought fit to cry out, ‘This is a damnedmurder,andmygorgerisesatthemanthathaangithim.’”

“No,sir,thesewerenotmywords,”criedArchie.

“Whatwereyerwords,then?”askedtheJudge.

“I believe I said, ‘I denounce it as a murder!’” said the son. “I beg yourpardon—a God-defying murder. I have no wish to conceal the truth,” headded,andlookedhisfatherforamomentintheface.

“God, it would only need that of it next!” cried Hermiston. “There wasnothingaboutyourgorgerising,then?”

“Thatwasafterwards,mylord,asIwasleavingtheSpeculative.IsaidIhadbeentoseethemiserablecreaturehanged,andmygorgeroseatit.”

“Did ye, though?” said Hermiston. “And I suppose ye knew who haangithim?”

“Iwaspresentat the trial, Iought to tellyou that, Iought toexplain. Iaskyour pardon beforehand for any expression that may seem undutiful. ThepositioninwhichIstandiswretched,”saidtheunhappyhero,nowfairlyfacetofacewiththebusinesshehadchosen. “Ihavebeenreadingsomeofyourcases.IwaspresentwhileJoppwastried.Itwasahideousbusiness.Father,itwasahideous thing! Granthewasvile,whyshouldyouhunthimwithavilenessequaltohisown?Itwasdonewithglee—thatistheword—youdiditwithglee;andIlookedon,Godhelpme!withhorror.”

“You’reayounggentlemanthatdoesnaapproveofCaapitalPunishment,”saidHermiston.“Weel,I’manauldmanthatdoes.IwasgladtogetJopphaangit,andwhatforwouldIpretendIwasna?You’reallforhonesty,itseems;youcouldn’tevensteikyourmouthonthepublicstreet. WhatforshouldIsteikminesupon thebench, theKing’sofficer,bearing thesword,adreid toevil-doers, as Iwas from the beginning, and as Iwill be to the end! Mair thanenoughofit!Heedious!Inevergavetwathoughtstoheediousness,Ihavenocalltobebonny.I’mamanthatgetsthroughwithmyday’sbusiness,andletthatsuffice.”

Theringofsarcasmhaddiedoutofhisvoiceashewenton;theplainwordsbecameinvestedwithsomeofthedignityoftheJustice-seat.

“Itwouldbetellingyouifyoucouldsayasmuch,”thespeakerresumed.“Butyecannot.Ye’vebeenreadingsomeofmycases,yesay.Butitwasnotforthelawinthem,itwastospyoutyourfaither’snakedness,afineemploymentinason.You’resplairging;you’rerunningatlairgeinlifelikeawildnowt.It’simpossibleyoushouldthinkanylongerofcomingtotheBar.You’renotfitforit;nosplairgeris.Andanotherthing:sonofminesornosonofmines,youhaveflungfylement inpublicononeof theSenatorsof theCoallegeofJustice,andIwouldmakeitmybusiness tosee thatyewereneveradmitted

thereyourself.Thereisakindofadecencytobeobservit. Thencomesthenextofit—whatamItodowithyenext?Ye’llhavetofindsomekindofatrade,forI’llneversupportyeinidleset. Whatdoyefancyye’llbefitfor?Thepulpit?Na,theycouldnevergetdiveenityintothatbloackhead.HimthatthelawofmanwhammlesisnolikelytodomucklebetterbythelawofGod.Whatwouldyemakeofhell?Wouldnayourgorgeriseatthat?Na,there’snoroom for splairgers under the fower quarters of John Calvin. What else isthere?Speakup.Haveyegotnothingofyourown?”

“Father, letmegoto thePeninsula,”saidArchie. “That’sall I’mfit for—tofight.”

“All?quo’he!”returnedtheJudge.“Anditwouldbeenoughtoo,ifIthoughtit.ButI’llnevertrustyesoneartheFrench,youthat’ssoFrenchi-feed.”

“Youdomeinjusticethere,sir,”saidArchie.“Iamloyal;Iwillnotboast;butanyinterestImayhaveeverfeltintheFrench—”

“Haveyebeensoloyaltome?”interruptedhisfather.

Therecamenoreply.

“Ithinknot,”continuedHermiston.“AndIwouldsendnomantobeaservanttotheKing,Godblesshim!thathasprovedsuchashauchlingsontohisownfaither.YoucansplairgehereonEdinburghstreet,andwhere’sthehairm?Itdoesna play buff on me! And if there were twenty thousand eediots likeyourself, sorrow a Duncan Jopp would hang the fewer. But there’s nosplairgingpossibleinacamp;andifyeweretogotoit,youwouldfindoutforyourself whether Lord Well’n’ton approves of caapital punishment or not.You a sodger!” he cried, with a sudden burst of scorn. “Ye auldwife, thesodgerswouldbrayatyelikecuddies!”

Asat thedrawingofacurtain,Archiewasawareof some illogicality inhisposition, and stood abashed. He had a strong impression, besides, of theessentialvalourof theoldgentlemanbeforehim,howconveyed itwouldbehardtosay.

“Well,haveyenootherproposeetion?”saidmylordagain.

“Youhave taken thissocalmly,sir, that Icannotbutstandashamed,”beganArchie.

“I’m nearer voamiting, though, than you would fancy,” saidmy lord. ThebloodrosetoArchie’sbrow.

“Ibegyourpardon,Ishouldhavesaidthatyouhadacceptedmyaffront....Iadmit it was an affront; I did not think to apologise, but I do, I ask yourpardon; itwillnotbesoagain, Ipassyoumywordofhonour. . . . I should

have said that I admired your magnanimity with—this—offender,” Archieconcludedwithagulp.

“Ihavenootherson,yesee,”saidHermiston.“AbonnyoneIhavegotten!ButImustjustdothebestIcanwi’him,andwhatamItodo?Ifyehadbeenyounger,Iwouldhavewheepityeforthisrideeculousexhibeetion.Thewayitis,Ihavejusttogrinandbear.Butonethingistobeclearlyunderstood.Asafaither,Imustgrinandbearit;butifIhadbeentheLordAdvocateinsteadoftheLordJustice-Clerk,sonornoson,Mr.ErchibaldWeirwouldhavebeeninajylethenight.”

Archiewasnowdominated.LordHermistonwascoarseandcruel;andyetthesonwasawareofabloomlessnobility,anungraciousabnegationoftheman’sself in theman’soffice. At everyword, this senseof thegreatnessofLordHermiston’s spirit struck more home; and along with it that of his ownimpotence, who had struck—and perhaps basely struck—at his own father,andnotreachedsofarastohaveevennettledhim.

“Iplacemyselfinyourhandswithoutreserve,”hesaid.

“That’s thefirstsensiblewordI’vehadofye thenight,”saidHermiston. “Icantellye,thatwouldhavebeentheendofit, theonewayortheother;butit’sbetteryeshouldcomethereyourself,thanwhatIwouldhavehadtohirstleye.Weel,bymywayofit—andmywayisthebest—there’sjusttheonethingit’spossiblethatyemightbewithdecency,andthat’salaird.Ye’llbeoutofhairm’swayattheleastofit.Ifyehavetorowt,yecanrowtamangthekye;andthemaistfeckof thecaapitalpunishmentye’reliketocomeacross’llbeguddlingtrouts.Now,I’mfornoidlelairdies;everymanhastowork,ifit’sonlyatpeddlingballants;towork,ortobewheeped,ortobehaangit.IfIsetyedownatHermistonI’llhavetoseeyouworkthatplacethewayithasneverbeen workit yet; ye must ken about the sheep like a herd; ye must be mygrievethere,andI’llseethatIgainbyye.Isthatunderstood?”

“Iwilldomybest,”saidArchie.

“Well, then, I’ll sendKirstieword themorn,andyecangoyourself thedayafter,” saidHermiston. “And just try tobe lessofaneediot!”heconcludedwithafreezingsmile,andturnedimmediatelytothepapersonhisdesk.

CHAPTERIV—OPINIONSOFTHEBENCH

Late thesamenight,afteradisorderedwalk,Archiewasadmitted intoLordGlenalmond’s dining-room,where he satwith a bookuponhis knee, beside

three frugal coals of fire. In his robes upon the bench, Glenalmond had acertainairofburliness:pluckedofthese,itwasamay-poleofamanthatroseunsteadily from his chair to give his visitorwelcome. Archie had sufferedmuchinthelastdays,hehadsufferedagainthatevening;hisfacewaswhiteanddrawn,hiseyeswildanddark.ButLordGlenalmondgreetedhimwithouttheleastmarkofsurpriseorcuriosity.

“Come in, come in,” said he. “Come in and take a seat. Carstairs” (to hisservant),“makeupthefire,andthenyoucanbringabitofsupper,”andagaintoArchie,withaverytrivialaccent:“Iwashalfexpectingyou,”headded.

“Nosupper,”saidArchie.“ItisimpossiblethatIshouldeat.”

“Not impossible,” said the tall oldman, laying his hand upon his shoulder,“and,ifyouwillbelieveme,necessary.”

“Youknowwhatbringsme?”saidArchie,assoonastheservanthadlefttheroom.

“I have a guess, I have a guess,” replied Glenalmond. “Wewill talk of itpresently—whenCarstairshas comeandgone, andyouhavehadapieceofmygoodCheddarcheeseandapullattheportertankard:notbefore.”

“ItisimpossibleIshouldeat”repeatedArchie.

“Tut, tut!” said Lord Glenalmond. “You have eaten nothing to-day, and Iventure to add, nothing yesterday. There is no case thatmay not bemadeworse; thismaybeaverydisagreeablebusiness,but ifyouwere to fallsickanddie,itwouldbestillmoreso,andforallconcerned—forallconcerned.”

“Iseeyoumustknowall,”saidArchie.“Wheredidyouhearit?”

“Inthemartofscandal,intheParliamentHouse,”saidGlenalmond.“Itrunsriotbelowamongthebarandthepublic,butitsiftsuptousuponthebench,andrumourhassomeofhervoiceseveninthedivisions.”

Carstairsreturnedat thismoment,andrapidlylaidouta littlesupper;duringwhich Lord Glenalmond spoke at large and a little vaguely on indifferentsubjects,sothatitmightberathersaidofhimthathemadeacheerfulnoise,thanthathecontributedtohumanconversation;andArchiesatupontheotherside,notheedinghim,broodingoverhiswrongsanderrors.

Butsosoonastheservantwasgone,hebrokeforthagainatonce.“Whotoldmyfather?Whodaredtotellhim?Couldithavebeenyou?”

“No, itwasnotme,”said theJudge;“although—tobequite frankwithyou,andafterIhadseenandwarnedyou—itmighthavebeenme—IbelieveitwasGlenkindie.”

“Thatshrimp!”criedArchie.

“As you say, that shrimp,” returnedmy lord; “although really it is scarce afittingmodeofexpression foroneof thesenatorsof theCollegeof Justice.Wewerehearingthepartiesinalong,crucialcase,beforethefifteen;Creechwasmoving at some length for an infeftment; when I sawGlenkindie leanforward toHermistonwith his hand over hismouth andmake him a secretcommunication.Noonecouldhaveguesseditsnaturefromyourfather:fromGlenkindie,yes,hismalicesparkedoutofhimalittlegrossly.Butyourfather,no. A man of granite. The next moment he pounced upon Creech. ‘Mr.Creech,’sayshe,‘I’lltakealookofthatsasine,’andforthirtyminutesafter,”saidGlenalmond,withasmile,“Messrs.CreechandCo.werefightingaprettyup-hillbattle,whichresulted,Ineedhardlyadd,intheirtotalrout.Thecasewasdismissed.No,IdoubtifeverIheardHermistonbetterinspired.Hewasliterallyrejoicinginapicibusjuris.”

Archiewasabletoendurenolonger.Hethrusthisplateawayandinterruptedthedeliberateandinsignificantstreamoftalk.“Here,”hesaid,“Ihavemadeafoolofmyself,ifIhavenotmadesomethingworse.Doyoujudgebetweenus—judgebetweenafatherandason.Icanspeaktoyou;itisnotlike...Iwilltell youwhat I feel andwhat Imean todo; andyou shall be the judge,”herepeated.

“Ideclinejurisdiction,”saidGlenalmond,withextremeseriousness.“But,mydearboy,ifitwilldoyouanygoodtotalk,andifitwillinterestyouatalltohear what Imay choose to saywhen I have heard you, I am quite at yourcommand.Letanoldmansayit,foronce,andnotneedtoblush:Iloveyoulikeason.”

There came a sudden sharp sound inArchie’s throat. “Ay,” he cried, “andthereitis!Love!Likeason!AndhowdoyouthinkIlovemyfather?”

“Quietly,quietly,”saysmylord.

“Iwillbeveryquiet,”repliedArchie.“AndIwillbebaldlyfrank.Idonotlovemyfather;IwondersometimesifIdonothatehim.There’smyshame;perhapsmysin;atleast,andinthesightofGod,notmyfault.HowwasItolovehim?Hehasneverspokentome,neversmileduponme;Idonotthinkheevertouchedme.Youknowthewayhetalks?Youdonottalkso,yetyoucansitandhearhimwithoutshuddering,andIcannot.Mysoulissickwhenhebeginswithit; Icouldsmitehiminthemouth. Andall that’snothing. IwasatthetrialofthisJopp.Youwerenotthere,butyoumusthaveheardhimoften; the man’s notorious for it, for being—look at my position! he’s myfatherandthisishowIhavetospeakofhim—notoriousforbeingabruteandcruelandacoward.LordGlenalmond,Igiveyoumyword,whenIcameout

ofthatCourt,Ilongedtodie—theshameofitwasbeyondmystrength:butI—I—”herosefromhisseatandbegantopacetheroominadisorder.“Well,who am I? A boy, who have never been tried, have never done anythingexceptthistwopennyimpotentfollywithmyfather.ButItellyou,mylord,andIknowmyself,Iamatleastthatkindofaman—orthatkindofaboy,ifyou prefer it—that I could die in torments rather than that any one shouldsufferasthatscoundrelsuffered.Well,andwhathaveIdone?Iseeitnow.Ihavemadeafoolofmyself,asIsaidinthebeginning;andIhavegoneback,andaskedmyfather’spardon,andplacedmyselfwhollyinhishands—andhehassentme toHermiston,”withawretchedsmile,“for life, I suppose—andwhatcanIsay?hestrikesmeashavingdonequiteright,andletmeoffbetterthanIhaddeserved.”

“Mypoor,dearboy!”observedGlenalmond.“Mypoordearand,ifyouwillallowmetosayso,veryfoolishboy!Youareonlydiscoveringwhereyouare;tooneofyourtemperament,orofmine,apainfuldiscovery.Theworldwasnotmade for us; itwasmade for ten hundredmillions ofmen, all differentfrom each other and from us; there’s no royal road there, we just have tosclamber and tumble. Don’t think that I amat all disposed tobe surprised;don’tsuppose that Iever thinkofblamingyou; indeedI ratheradmire! Buttherefalltobeofferedoneortwoobservationsonthecasewhichoccurtomeandwhich (if youwill listen to themdispassionately)may be themeans ofinducingyoutoviewthemattermorecalmly.Firstofall,Icannotacquityouof a good deal of what is called intolerance. You seem to have been verymuch offended because your father talks a little sculduddery after dinner,which it is perfectly licit for him to do, andwhich (although I amnot veryfond of it myself) appears to be entirely an affair of taste. Your father, Iscarcely like to remindyou,since it is so triteacommonplace, isolder thanyourself. At least, he ismajor and sui juris, andmaypleasehimself in thematterofhisconversation.And,doyouknow,Iwonderifhemightnothaveas good an answer against you and me? We say we sometimes findhimcoarse,butIsuspecthemightretortthathefindsusalwaysdull.Perhapsarelevantexception.”

HebeamedonArchie,butnosmilecouldbeelicited.

“And now,” proceeded the Judge, “for ‘Archibald on Capital Punishment.’Thisisaveryplausibleacademicopinion;ofcourseIdonotandIcannotholdit;butthat’snottosaythatmanyableandexcellentpersonshavenotdonesointhepast.Possibly,inthepastalso,Imayhavealittledippedmyselfinthesameheresy.Mythirdclient,orpossiblymyfourth,wasthemeansofareturninmyopinions.IneversawthemanImorebelievedin;Iwouldhaveputmyhandinthefire,Iwouldhavegonetothecrossforhim;andwhenitcametotrialhewasgraduallypicturedbeforeme,byundeniableprobation,inthelight

ofsogross,socold-blooded,andsoblack-heartedavillain,thatIhadamindtohavecastmybriefuponthetable.IwasthenboilingagainstthemanwithevenamoretropicaltemperaturethanIhadbeenboilingforhim.ButIsaidtomyself:‘No,youhavetakenuphiscase;andbecauseyouhavechangedyourminditmustnotbesufferedtoletdrop. All thatrichtideofeloquencethatyoupreparedlastnightwithsomuchenthusiasmisoutofplace,andyetyoumustnotdeserthim,youmustsaysomething.’SoIsaidsomething,andIgothimoff.Itmademyreputation.Butanexperienceofthatkindisformative.Amanmustnotbringhispassionstothebar—ortothebench,”headded.

The storyhad slightly rekindledArchie’s interest. “I couldnever deny,” hebegan—“ImeanIcanconceivethatsomemenwouldbebetterdead.ButwhoarewetoknowallthespringsofGod’sunfortunatecreatures?Whoarewetotrustourselveswhere it seems thatGodHimselfmust think twicebeforeHetreads,andtodoitwithdelight?Yes,withdelight.Tigrisutaspera.”

“Perhapsnotapleasantspectacle,”saidGlenalmond.“Andyet,doyouknow,Ithinksomehowagreatone.”

“I’vehadalongtalkwithhimto-night,”saidArchie.

“Iwassupposingso,”saidGlenalmond.

“Andhestruckme—Icannotdenythathestruckmeassomethingverybig,”pursuedtheson. “Yes,heisbig. Heneverspokeabouthimself;onlyaboutme.IsupposeIadmiredhim.Thedreadfulpart—”

“Supposewedidnottalkaboutthat,”interruptedGlenalmond.“Youknowitvery well, it cannot in any way help that you should brood upon it, and IsometimeswonderwhetheryouandI—whoareapairofsentimentalists—arequitegoodjudgesofplainmen.”

“Howdoyoumean?”askedArchie.

“Fairjudges,mean,”repliedGlenalmond.“Canwebejusttothem?Dowenotasktoomuch?Therewasawordofyoursjustnowthatimpressedmealittle when you asked me who we were to know all the springs of God’sunfortunatecreatures.Youappliedthat,asIunderstood,tocapitalcasesonly.But does it—I ask myself—does it not apply all through? Is it any lessdifficult to judge of a good man or of a half-good man, than of the worstcriminalatthebar?Andmaynoteachhaverelevantexcuses?”

“Ah,butwedonottalkofpunishingthegood,”criedArchie.

“No,we do not talk of it,” saidGlenalmond. “But I thinkwe do it. Yourfather,forinstance.”

“YouthinkIhavepunishedhim?”criedArchie.

LordGlenalmondbowedhishead.

“I think I have,” said Archie. “And the worst is, I think he feels it! Howmuch,whocantell,withsuchabeing?ButIthinkhedoes.”

“AndIamsureofit,”saidGlenalmond.

“Hashespokentoyou,then?”criedArchie.

“Ono,”repliedthejudge.

“I tellyouhonestly,”saidArchie,“Iwant tomakeituptohim. Iwillgo,IhavealreadypledgedmyselftogotoHermiston.Thatwastohim.AndnowIpledgemyselftoyou,inthesightofGod,thatIwillclosemymouthoncapitalpunishmentandallothersubjectswhereourviewsmayclash,for—howlongshallIsay?whenshallIhavesenseenough?—tenyears.Isthatwell?”

“Itiswell,”saidmylord.

“Asfaras itgoes,”saidArchie. “It isenoughasregardsmyself, it is to laydown enough of my conceit. But as regards him, whom I have publiclyinsulted?WhatamItodotohim?Howdoyoupayattentionstoa—anAlplikethat?”

“Only in one way,” replied Glenalmond. “Only by obedience, punctual,prompt,andscrupulous.”

“AndIpromisethatheshallhaveit,”answeredArchie.“Iofferyoumyhandinpledgeofit.”

“AndItakeyourhandasasolemnity,”repliedthejudge.“Godblessyou,mydear,andenableyou tokeepyourpromise. Godguideyou in the trueway,andspareyourdays,andpreservetoyouyourhonestheart.”Atthat,hekissedtheyoungmanupontheforeheadinagracious,distant,antiquatedway;andinstantlylaunched,withamarkedchangeofvoice,intoanothersubject.“Andnow, let us replenish the tankard; and I believe if youwill trymyCheddaragain,youwouldfindyouhadabetterappetite. TheCourthasspoken,andthecaseisdismissed.”

“No,thereisonethingImustsay,”criedArchie.“Imustsayitinjusticetohimself.Iknow—Ibelievefaithfully,slavishly,afterourtalk—hewillneverask me anything unjust. I am proud to feel it, that we have that much incommon,Iamproudtosayittoyou.”

TheJudge,withshiningeyes,raisedhistankard.“AndIthinkperhapsthatwemightpermitourselvesatoast,”saidhe.“Ishouldliketoproposethehealthof aman very different fromme and verymuchmy superior—aman fromwhomIhaveoftendiffered,whohasoften(in the trivialexpression) rubbed

methewrongway,butwhomIhaveneverceasedtorespectand,Imayadd,tobenotalittleafraidof.ShallIgiveyouhisname?”

“TheLord Justice-Clerk, LordHermiston,” saidArchie, almostwith gaiety;andthepairdrankthetoastdeeply.

Itwas not precisely easy to re-establish, after these emotional passages, thenaturalflowofconversation.ButtheJudgeekedoutwhatwaswantingwithkind looks, producedhis snuff-box (whichwas very rarely seen) to fill in apause,andatlast,despairingofanyfurthersocialsuccess,wasuponthepointofgettingdownabooktoreadafavouritepassage,whentherecamearatherstartling summons at the front door, and Carstairs ushered in my LordGlenkindie,hotfromamidnightsupper.IamnotawarethatGlenkindiewaseverabeautifulobject,beingshort,andgross-bodied,andwithanexpressionofsensualitycomparabletoabear’s.Atthatmoment,cominginhissingfrommany potations, with a flushed countenance and blurred eyes, he wasstrikinglycontrastedwiththetall,pale,kinglyfigureofGlenalmond.Arushof confused thought came over Archie—of shame that this was one of hisfather’selectfriends;ofpride,thatattheleastofitHermistoncouldcarryhisliquor;andlastofall,ofrage,thatheshouldhavehereunderhiseyesthemanthathadbetrayedhim.Andthenthattoopassedaway;andhesatquiet,bidinghisopportunity.

The tipsy senator plunged at once into an explanation with Glenalmond.Therewasapointreservedyesterday,hehadbeenabletomakeneitherheadnortailofit,andseeinglightsinthehouse,hehadjustdroppedinforaglassofporter—andatthispointhebecameawareofthethirdperson.Archiesawthecod’smouthand theblunt lipsofGlenkindiegapeathimforamoment,andtherecognitiontwinkleinhiseyes.

“Who’s this?” said he. “What? is this possibly you,DonQuickshot? Andhowareye?Andhow’syourfather?Andwhat’sallthiswehearofyou?Itseems you’re a most extraordinary leveller, by all tales. No king, noparliaments, and your gorge rises at the macers, worthymen! Hoot, toot!Dear,dearme!Yourfather’ssontoo!Mostrideeculous!”

Archiewas on his feet, flushing a little at the reappearance of his unhappyfigure of speech, but perfectly self-possessed. “My lord—and you, LordGlenalmond,mydearfriend,”hebegan,“thisisahappychanceforme,thatIcanmakemyconfessionandoffermyapologiestotwoofyouatonce.”

“Ah,butIdon’tknowaboutthat. Confession?It’llbejudeecial,myyoungfriend,”criedthejocularGlenkindie.“AndI’mafraidtolistentoye.Thinkifyeweretomakemeacoanvert!”

“Ifyouwouldallowme,mylord,”returnedArchie,“whatIhavetosayisvery

serioustome;andbepleasedtobehumorousafterIamgone!”

“Remember, I’ll hear nothing against the macers!” put in the incorrigibleGlenkindie.

But Archie continued as though he had not spoken. “I have played, bothyesterdayandto-day,apartforwhichIcanonlyoffertheexcuseofyouth.Iwassounwiseastogotoanexecution;itseemsImadeasceneatthegallows;not contentwithwhich, I spoke the same night in a college society againstcapitalpunishment. This is theextentofwhat Ihavedone,and incaseyouhearmoreallegedagainstme, Iprotestmy innocence. Ihaveexpressedmyregretalreadytomyfather,whoissogoodastopassmyconductover—inadegree,andupontheconditionthatIamtoleavemylawstudies.”...

CHAPTERV—WINTERONTHEMOORS

I. AtHermiston

The road to Hermiston runs for a great part of the way up the valley of astream,afavouritewithanglersandwithmidges,fulloffallsandpools,andshadedbywillowsandnaturalwoodsofbirch. Hereand there,butatgreatdistances, a byway branches off, and a gaunt farmhouse may be descriedabove ina foldof thehill;but themorepartof the time, the roadwouldbequiteemptyofpassageandthehillsofhabitation.Hermistonparishisoneofthe least populous in Scotland; and, by the time you came that length, youwouldscarcebesurprisedattheinimitablesmallnessofthekirk,adwarfish,ancientplaceseatedforfifty,andstandinginagreenbytheburn-sideamongtwo-scoregravestones.Themansecloseby,althoughnomorethanacottage,issurroundedbythebrightnessofaflower-gardenandthestrawroofsofbees;andthewholecolony,kirkandmanse,gardenandgraveyard,findsharbourageinagroveofrowans,andisalltheyearroundinagreatsilencebrokenonlybythedroneof thebees, the tinkleof theburn,andthebellonSundays. Amilebeyond thekirk the road leaves thevalleybyaprecipitous ascent, andbringsyoualittleaftertotheplaceofHermiston,whereitcomestoanendintheback-yardbeforethecoach-house.Allbeyondandaboutisthegreatfield,ofthehills;theplover,thecurlew,andthelarkcrythere;thewindblowsasitblowsinaship’srigging,hardandcoldandpure;andthehill-topshuddleonebehindanotherlikeaherdofcattleintothesunset.

The house was sixty years old, unsightly, comfortable; a farmyard and akitchen-gardenontheleft,withafruitwallwherelittlehardgreenpearscametotheirmaturityabouttheendofOctober.

The policy (as who should say the park) was of some extent, but very illreclaimed; heather andmoorfowl had crossed the boundarywall and spreadand roosted within; and it would have tasked a landscape gardener to saywherepolicyendedandunpoliciednaturebegan.Mylordhadbeenledbytheinfluence ofMr. Sheriff Scott into a considerable design of planting; manyacreswereaccordinglysetoutwithfir,andthelittlefeatherybesomsgaveafalse scaleand lent a strangeairofa toy-shop to themoors. Agreat, rootysweetness of bogs was in the air, and at all seasons an infinitemelancholypipingofhillbirds.Standingsohighandwithsolittleshelter,itwasacold,exposedhouse,splashedbyshowers,drenchedbycontinuousrainsthatmadethegutterstospout,beatenuponandbuffetedbyallthewindsofheaven;andthe prospect would be often black with tempest, and often white with thesnowsofwinter.Butthehousewaswindandweatherproof,thehearthswerekeptbright,andtheroomspleasantwithlivefiresofpeat;andArchiemightsitofaneveningandhearthesquallsbugleonthemoorland,andwatchthefireprosperintheearthyfuel,andthesmokewindingupthechimney,anddrinkdeepofthepleasuresofshelter.

Solitaryastheplacewas,Archiedidnotwantneighbours.Everynight,ifhechose,hemightgodowntothemanseandsharea“brewst”oftoddywiththeminister—a hare-brained ancient gentleman, long and light and still active,thoughhiskneeswereloosenedwithage,andhisvoicebrokecontinually inchildishtrebles—andhisladywife,aheavy,comelydame,withoutawordtosay for herself beyond good-even and good-day. Harum-scarum, clodpoleyounglairdsoftheneighbourhoodpaidhimthecomplimentofavisit.YoungHayofRomanesrodedowntocall,onhiscrop-earedpony;youngPringleofDrumannocameuponhisbonygrey.Hayremainedonthehospitablefield,andmustbecarriedtobed;Pringlegotsomehowtohissaddleabout3A.M.,and(asArchiestoodwiththelampontheupperdoorstep)lurched,utteredasenselessview-holloa,andvanishedoutofthesmallcircleofilluminationlikeawraith. Yetaminuteortwolongertheclatterofhisbreak-neckflightwasaudible,thenitwascutoffbytheinterveningsteepnessofthehill;andagain,a great while after, the renewed beating of phantom horse-hoofs, far in thevalleyof theHermiston, showed that thehorse at least, if nothis rider,wasstillonthehomewardway.

There was a Tuesday club at the “Cross-keys” in Crossmichael, where theyoungbloodsofthecountry-sidecongregatedanddrankdeeponapercentageof theexpense, so thathewas leftgainerwhoshouldhavedrunk themost.Archiehadnogreatmindtothisdiversion,buthetookitlikeadutylaiduponhim,wentwithadecentregularity,didhismanfullestwiththeliquor,helduphis head in the local jests, and got home again andwas able to put up hishorse, to theadmirationofKirstieand the lass thathelpedher. Hedinedat

Driffel,suppedatWindielaws. Hewent to thenewyear’sballatHuntsfieldandwasmadewelcome,andthereafterrodetohoundswithmyLordMuirfell,uponwhosename,asthatofalegitimateLordofParliament,inaworksofullof Lords of Session, my pen should pause reverently. Yet the same fateattendedhimhereasinEdinburgh.Thehabitofsolitudetendstoperpetuateitself,andanausterityofwhichhewasquiteunconscious,andapridewhichseemedarrogance,andperhapswaschieflyshyness,discouragedandoffendedhisnewcompanions.Haydidnotreturnmorethantwice,Pringleneveratall,andtherecameatimewhenArchieevendesistedfromtheTuesdayClub,andbecameinallthings—whathehadhadthenameofalmostfromthefirst—theRecluse of Hermiston. High-nosed Miss Pringle of Drumanno and high-steppingMissMarshalloftheMainswereunderstoodtohavehadadifferenceofopinionabouthimthedayaftertheball—hewasnonethewiser,hecouldnot suppose himself to be remarked by these entrancing ladies. At the ballitselfmyLordMuirfell’sdaughter,theLadyFlora,spoketohimtwice,andthesecond time with a touch of appeal, so that her colour rose and her voicetrembled a little in his ear, like a passing grace inmusic. He stepped backwithaheartonfire,coldlyandnotungracefullyexcusedhimself,andalittleafterwatchedherdancingwithyoungDrumannooftheemptylaugh,andwasharrowedat thesight,andraged tohimself that thiswasaworld inwhich itwas given to Drumanno to please, and to himself only to stand aside andenvy. He seemed excluded, as of right, from the favour of such society—seemed to extinguish mirth wherever he came, and was quick to feel thewound,anddesist,andretireintosolitude.Ifhehadbutunderstoodthefigurehe presented, and the impression he made on these bright eyes and tenderhearts;ifhehadbutguessedthattheRecluseofHermiston,young,graceful,wellspoken,butalwayscold,stirredthemaidensofthecountywiththecharmof Byronism when Byronism was new, it may be questioned whether hisdestinymightnotevenyethavebeenmodified. Itmaybequestioned,andIthinkitshouldbedoubted.Itwasinhishoroscopetobeparsimoniousofpaintohimself,orofthechanceofpain,eventotheavoidanceofanyopportunityof pleasure; to have a Roman sense of duty, an instinctive aristocracy ofmannersandtaste;tobethesonofAdamWeirandJeanRutherford.

2.Kirstie

Kirstiewasnowoverfifty,andmighthavesattoasculptor.Longoflimb,andstilllightoffoot,deep-breasted,robust-loined,hergoldenhairnotyetmingledwithanytraceofsilver, theyearshadbutcaressedandembellishedher. Bythelinesofarichandvigorousmaternity,sheseemeddestinedtobethebride

ofheroesandthemotheroftheirchildren;andbehold,bytheiniquityoffate,shehadpassedthroughheryouthalone,anddrewneartotheconfinesofage,achildlesswoman. The tender ambitions that shehad receivedatbirthhadbeen, by time and disappointment, diverted into a certain barren zeal ofindustry and fury of interference. She carried her thwarted ardours intohousework,shewashedfloorswithheremptyheart.Ifshecouldnotwintheloveofonewithlove,shemustdominateallbyhertemper.Hasty,wordy,andwrathful,shehadadrawnquarrelwithmostofherneighbours,andwith theothers not much more than armed neutrality. The grieve’s wife had been“sneisty”;thesisterofthegardenerwhokepthouseforhimhadshownherself“upsitten”;andshewrotetoLordHermistonaboutonceayeardemandingthedischarge of the offenders, and justifying the demand by much wealth ofdetail. Foritmustnotbesupposedthat thequarrelrestedwiththewifeanddid not take in the husband also—orwith the gardener’s sister, and did notspeedily include the gardener himself. As the upshot of all this pettyquarrelling and intemperate speech, she was practically excluded (like alightkeeperonhistower)fromthecomfortsofhumanassociation;exceptwithherownindoordrudge,who,beingbutalassieandentirelyathermercy,mustsubmittotheshiftyweatherof“themistress’s”moodswithoutcomplaint,andbewillingtotakebuffetsorcaressesaccordingtothetemperofthehour.ToKirstie,thussituateandintheIndiansummerofherheart,whichwasslowtosubmit toage, thegodssent thisequivocalgoodthingofArchie’spresence.Shehadknownhiminthecradleandpaddledhimwhenhemisbehaved;andyet,asshehadnotsomuchasseteyesonhimsincehewaselevenandhadhislast serious illness, the tall, slender, refined, and rather melancholy younggentlemanoftwentycameuponherwiththeshockofanewacquaintance.Hewas “Young Hermiston,” “the laird himsel’”: he had an air of distinctivesuperiority,acoldstraightglanceofhisblackeyes,thatabashedthewoman’stantrums in the beginning, and therefore the possibility of any quarrel wasexcluded. Hewasnew,and therefore immediatelyarousedhercuriosity;hewasreticent,andkeptitawake. Andlastlyhewasdarkandshefair,andhewasmaleandshefemale,theeverlastingfountainsofinterest.

Her feeling partook of the loyalty of a clanswoman, the hero-worship of amaidenaunt,andtheidolatryduetoagod.Nomatterwhathehadaskedofher, ridiculous or tragic, she would have done it and joyed to do it. Herpassion, for it was nothing less, entirely filled her. It was a rich physicalpleasuretomakehisbedorlighthislampforhimwhenhewasabsent,topulloffhiswetbootsorwaitonhimatdinnerwhenhe returned. Ayoungmanwho should have so doted on the idea,moral and physical, of anywoman,mightbeproperlydescribedasbeinginlove,headandheels,andwouldhavebehaved himself accordingly. But Kirstie—though her heart leaped at hiscoming footsteps—though,whenhepattedher shoulder,her facebrightened

for the day—had not a hope or thought beyond the presentmoment and itsperpetuation to the end of time. Till the end of time she would have hadnothingaltered,butstillcontinuedelightedlytoserveheridol,andberepaid(saytwiceinthemonth)withaclapontheshoulder.

Ihavesaidherheartleaped—itistheacceptedphrase.Butrather,whenshewas alone in any chamber of the house, and heard his foot passing on thecorridors,somethinginherbosomroseslowlyuntilherbreathwassuspended,andasslowlyfellagainwithadeepsigh,whenthestepshadpassedandshewasdisappointedofhereyes’desire. Thisperpetualhungerandthirstofhispresencekepther all dayon thealert. Whenhewent forth atmorning, shewouldstandandfollowhimwithadmiringlooks.Asitgrewlateanddrewtothetimeofhisreturn,shewouldstealforthtoacornerofthepolicywallandbe seen standing there sometimes by the hour together, gazingwith shadedeyes,waiting theexquisiteandbarrenpleasureofhisviewamileoffon themountains.Whenatnightshehadtrimmedandgatheredthefire,turneddownhisbed,andlaidouthisnight-gear—whentherewasnomoretobedonefortheking’spleasure,but to rememberhim fervently inherusuallyvery tepidprayers, and go to bed brooding upon his perfections, his future career, andwhatsheshouldgivehimthenextdayfordinner—therestillremainedbeforeheronemoreopportunity;shewasstilltotakeinthetrayandsaygood-night.SometimesArchiewouldglanceupfromhisbookwithapreoccupiednodandaperfunctory salutationwhichwas in truth a dismissal; sometimes—andbydegrees more often—the volume would be laid aside, he would meet hercomingwithalookofrelief;andtheconversationwouldbeengaged,lastoutthesupper,andbeprolongedtillthesmallhoursbythewaningfire.ItwasnowonderthatArchiewasfondofcompanyafterhissolitarydays;andKirstie,upon her side, exerted all the arts of her vigorous nature to ensnare hisattention.Shewouldkeepbacksomepieceofnewsduringdinnertobefiredoff with the entrance of the supper tray, and form as it were the lever derideauoftheevening’sentertainment.Oncehehadheardhertonguewag,shemadesureoftheresult.Fromonesubjecttoanothershemovedbyinsidioustransitions, fearing the least silence, fearing almost to give him time for ananswerlestitshouldslipintoahintofseparation.Likesomanypeopleofherclass,shewasabravenarrator;herplacewasonthehearth-rugandshemadeit a rostrum, mimeing her stories as she told them, fitting them with vitaldetail,spinningthemoutwithendless“quo’he’s”and“quo’she’s,”hervoicesinking into awhisper over the supernatural or the horrific; until shewouldsuddenlyspringupinaffectedsurprise,andpointingtotheclock,“Mercy,Mr.Archie!”shewouldsay,“whattenatimeo’nightisthisofit!Godforgivemeforadaftwife!”Soitbefell,bygoodmanagement,thatshewasnotonlythefirst to begin these nocturnal conversations, but invariably the first to breakthemoff;soshemanagedtoretireandnottobedismissed.

3.ABorderFamily

Suchanunequal intimacyhasneverbeenuncommoninScotland,where theclan spirit survives; where the servant tends to spend her life in the sameservice, a helpmeet at first, then a tyrant, and at last a pensioner; where,besides, she isnotnecessarilydestituteof theprideofbirth,but is,perhaps,likeKirstie,aconnectionofhermaster’s,andatleastknowsthelegendofherownfamily,andmaycountkinshipwithsomeillustriousdead.Forthatisthemarkof theScotofallclasses: thathestands inanattitudetowards thepastunthinkable toEnglishmen,andremembersandcherishes thememoryofhisforebears,goodorbad;and thereburnsalive inhimasenseof identitywiththe dead even to the twentieth generation. Nomore characteristic instancecouldbefoundthaninthefamilyofKirstieElliott.Theywereall,andKirstiethefirstofall,readyandeagertopourforththeparticularsoftheirgenealogy,embellished with every detail that memory had handed down or fancyfabricated; and,behold! fromevery ramificationof that tree theredangledahalter.TheElliottsthemselveshavehadachequeredhistory;buttheseElliottsdeduced,besides,fromthreeofthemostunfortunateoftheborderclans—theNicksons,theEllwalds,andtheCrozers.Oneancestorafteranothermightbeseen appearing amoment out of the rain and the hillmist upon his furtivebusiness,speedinghome,perhaps,withapaltrybootyoflamehorsesandleankine,orsquealinganddealingdeathinsomemoorlandfeudoftheferretsandthe wild cats. One after another closed his obscure adventures in mid-air,triceduptothearmoftheroyalgibbetortheBaron’sdule-tree.FortherustyblunderbussofScotscriminaljustice,whichusuallyhurtnobodybutjurymen,became a weapon of precision for the Nicksons, the Ellwalds, and theCrozers. Theexhilarationoftheirexploitsseemedtohauntthememoriesoftheirdescendantsalone,andtheshametobeforgotten.Prideglowedintheirbosoms to publish their relationship to “Andrew Ellwald of theLaverockstanes,called‘UnchancyDand,’whowas justifeedwi’seevenmairof thesamenameatJeddart in thedaysofKingJames theSax.” Inall thistissue of crime andmisfortune, theElliotts ofCauldstaneslap had one boastwhich must appear legitimate: the males were gallows-birds, born outlaws,petty thieves, and deadly brawlers; but, according to the same tradition, thefemaleswereallchasteandfaithful.Thepowerofancestryonthecharacterisnotlimitedtotheinheritanceofcells.IfIbuyancestorsbythegrossfromthebenevolenceofLyonKingofArms,mygrandson(ifheisScottish)willfeelaquickening emulation of their deeds. The men of the Elliotts were proud,lawless, violent as of right, cherishing and prolonging a tradition. In like

mannerwiththewomen.Andthewoman,essentiallypassionateandreckless,whocrouchedontherug,intheshineofthepeatfire,tellingthesetales,hadcherishedthroughlifeawildintegrityofvirtue.

Her father Gilbert had been deeply pious, a savage disciplinarian in theantiquestyle, andwithalanotorious smuggler. “Imindwhen Iwasabairngettingmonya skelpandbeingshoo’d tobed likepou’try,” shewould say.“Thatwouldbewhentheladsandtheirbitkegswereontheroad.We’vehadtheriffraffoftwo-threecountiesinourkitchen,mony’sthetime,betwix’thetwelveandthethree;andtheirlanternswouldbestandingintheforecourt,ay,a score o’ them at once. But there was nae ungodly talk permitted atCauldstaneslap. My faitherwasaconsistentman inwalkandconversation;just let slip an aith, and therewas the door to ye! Hehad that zeal for theLord,itwasafairwondertohearhimpray,butthefamilyhasayehadagiftthatway.”This fatherwas twicemarried, once to a darkwoman of the oldEllwald stock, by whom he had Gilbert, presently of Cauldstaneslap; and,secondly,tothemotherofKirstie.“Hewasanauldmanwhenhemarriedher,afellauldmanwi’amucklevoice—youcouldhearhimrowtingfromthetopo’theKye-skairs,”shesaid;“butforher,itappearsshewasaperfitwonder.Itwasgentlebloodshehad,Mr.Archie,for itwasyourain. Thecountry-sidegaedgyteaboutherandhergowdenhair.Minesisnotobementionedwi’it,and there’s few weemen has mair hair than what I have, or yet a bonniercolour.OftenwouldItellmydearMissJeannie—thatwasyourmother,dear,shewas cruel ta’en up about her hair, it was unco’ tender, ye see—‘Houts,Miss Jeannie,’ I would say, ‘just fling your washes and your Frenchdentifrishesinthebacko’thefire,forthat’stheplaceforthem;andawa’downtoaburnside,andwashyersel’incauldhillwater,anddryyourbonnyhairinthecallerwindo’themuirs,thewaythatmymotherayewashedhers,andthatIhaveayemadeitapracticetohavewishenmines—justyoudowhatItellye,mydear, andye’llgivemenewsof it! Ye’llhavehair, and routhofhair, apigtail as thick’s my arm,’ I said, ‘and the bonniest colour like the cleargowdenguineas,soastheladsinkirk’llnocankeeptheireyesoffit!’Weel,it lastedouthertime,puirthing!Icuttitalockofituponhercorpthatwaslyingtheresaecauld.I’llshowityesomeofthirdaysifye’regood.But,asIwassayin’,mymither—”

On the death of the father there remained golden-haired Kirstie, who tookservicewithher distant kinsfolk, theRutherfords, andblack-a-visedGilbert,twentyyearsolder,who farmed theCauldstaneslap,married, andbegot foursonsbetween1773and1784,andadaughter,likeapostscript,in’97,theyearof Camperdown and Cape St. Vincent. It seemed it was a tradition in thefamilytowindupwithabelatedgirl.In1804,attheageofsixty,Gilbertmetanendthatmightbecalledheroic.Hewasduehomefrommarketanytime

from eight at night till five in the morning, and in any condition from thequarrelsome to the speechless, for he maintained to that age the goodlycustomsoftheScotsfarmer.Itwasknownonthisoccasionthathehadagoodbitofmoneytobringhome;thewordhadgoneroundloosely.Thelairdhadshownhisguineas,andifanybodyhadbutnoticedit,therewasanill-looking,vagabondcrew,thescumofEdinburgh,thatdrewoutofthemarketlongereitwasduskandtookthehill-roadbyHermiston,whereitwasnottobebelievedthat theyhad lawfulbusiness. Oneof thecountry-side,oneDickieson, theytookwiththemtobetheirguide,anddearhepaidforit!Ofasuddeninthefordof theBrokenDykes, thisverminclan fellon the laird, six toone, andhimthreepartsasleep,havingdrunkhard.ButitisilltocatchanElliott.Forawhile,inthenightandtheblackwaterthatwasdeepastohissaddle-girths,hewroughtwithhisstafflikeasmithathisstithy,andgreatwasthesoundofoathsandblows. With that theambuscadewasburst,andherodeforhomewith a pistol-ball in him, three knife wounds, the loss of his front teeth, abrokenribandbridle,andadyinghorse.Thatwasaracewithdeaththatthelairdrode!Inthemirknight,withhisbrokenbridleandhisheadswimming,hedughisspurstotherowelsinthehorse’sside,andthehorse,thatwasevenworseoffthanhimself,thepoorcreature!screamedoutloudlikeapersonashewent,sothatthehillsechoedwithit,andthefolksatCauldstaneslapgottotheirfeetaboutthetableandlookedateachotherwithwhitefaces.Thehorsefelldeadattheyardgate,thelairdwonthelengthofthehouseandfellthereonthethreshold.Tothesonthatraisedhimhegavethebagofmoney.“Hae,”saidhe.Allthewayupthethieveshadseemedtohimtobeathisheels,butnow the hallucination left him—he saw them again in the place of theambuscade—and the thirst ofvengeance seizedonhisdyingmind. Raisinghimselfandpointingwithanimperiousfingerintotheblacknightfromwhichhehadcome,heutteredthesinglecommand,“BrockenDykes,”andfainted.Hehadneverbeenloved,buthehadbeenfearedinhonour.Atthatsight,atthatword, gaspedout at them froma toothless andbleedingmouth, theoldElliottspiritawokewithashoutinthefoursons.“Wantingthehat,”continuesmyauthor,Kirstie,whomIbuthaltinglyfollow,forshetoldthistalelikeoneinspired,“wantingguns,fortherewasnatwagrainso’pouderinthehouse,wi’naemairweeponsthantheirsticksintotheirhands,thefowero’themtooktheroad. OnlyHob,and thatwas theeldest,hunkeredat thedoorsillwhere thebloodhadrin,fyledhishandwi’it—andhadditituptoHeeveninthewayo’theauldBorderaith.‘Hellshallhaveherainagainthisnicht!’heraired,androdeforthuponhisearrand.”ItwasthreemilestoBrokenDykes,downhill,andasore road. KirstiehasseenmenfromEdinburghdismounting there inplaindaytoleadtheirhorses.ButthefourbrothersrodeitasifAuldHorniewerebehindandHeaveninfront.Cometotheford,andtherewasDickieson.By all tales, hewas not dead, but breathed and reared upon his elbow, and

criedouttothemforhelp.Itwasatagracelessfacethatheaskedmercy.Assoon as Hob saw, by the glint of the lantern, the eyes shining and thewhitenessoftheteethintheman’sface,“Damnyou!”sayshe;“yehaeyourteeth, hae ye?” and rode his horse to and fro upon that human remnant.Beyondthat,Dandiemustdismountwiththelanterntobetheirguide;hewastheyoungestson,scarce twentyat the time. “A’nicht long theygaed in thewetheathandjennipers,andwhaurtheygaedtheyneitherknewnorcared,butjust followed thebluid stainsand the footprintso’ their faither’smurderers.And a’ nicht Dandie had his nose to the grund like a tyke, and the ithersfollowedandspak’naething,neitherblacknorwhite.Therewasnaenoisetobe heard, but just the sough of the swalled burns, and Hob, the dour yin,rispinghisteethashegaed.”Withthefirstglintofthemorningtheysawtheywereonthedroveroad,andat that thefourstoppedandhadadramtotheirbreakfasts, for they knew that Dand must have guided them right, and therogues could be but little ahead, hot foot for Edinburgh by the way of thePentlandHills.Byeighto’clocktheyhadwordofthem—ashepherdhadseenfourmen“uncolymishandled”goby in the lasthour. “That’syinapiece,”saysClem,andswunghiscudgel.“Fiveo’them!”saysHob.“God’sdeath,butthefaitherwasaman!Andhimdrunk!”Andthentherebefellthemwhatmyauthortermed“asairmisbegowk,”fortheywereovertakenbyaposseofmountedneighbourscometoaidinthepursuit.Foursourfaceslookedonthereinforcement. “The Deil’s broughten you!” said Clem, and they rodethenceforwardintherearofthepartywithhangingheads.Beforetentheyhadfoundandsecuredtherogues,andbythreeoftheafternoon,astheyrodeupthe Vennel with their prisoners, they were aware of a concourse of peoplebearing in theirmidst something that dripped. “For the boady of the saxt,”pursuedKirstie,“wi’hisheadsmashedlikeahazelnit,hadbeena’thatnichtinthechairgeo’HermistonWater,anditduntingitonthestanes,andgrundingiton theshallows,and flinging thedeid thingheels-ower-hurdieat theFa’so’Spango;andin thefirsto’ theday,Tweedhadgotaholdo’himandcarriedhim off like awind, for itwas uncoly swalled, and racedwi’ him, bobbingunderbrae-sides,andwaslongplayingwiththecreatureinthedrumlielynnsunder thecastle, andat thehinder endof all cuisthimupon the starlingofCrossmichaelbrig.Saetheretheywerea’thegitheratlast(forDickiesonhadbeenbroughtinonacartlongsyne),andfolkcouldseewhatmainnero’manmybritherhadbeenthathadheldhisheadagainsaxandsavedthesiller,andhim drunk!” Thus died of honourable injuries and in the savour of fameGilbertElliottoftheCauldstaneslap;buthissonshadscarcelessgloryoutofthe business. Their savage haste, the skillwithwhichDand had found andfollowedthetrail,thebarbaritytothewoundedDickieson(whichwaslikeanopensecretinthecounty),andthedoomwhichitwascurrentlysupposedtheyhad intended for the others, struck and stirred popular imagination. Some

century earlier the last of theminstrelsmight have fashioned the last of theballads out of thatHomeric fight and chase; but the spiritwas dead, or hadbeenreincarnatedalreadyinMr.SheriffScott,andthedegeneratemoorsmenmust be content to tell the tale in prose, and to make of the “Four BlackBrothers” a unit after the fashion of the “Twelve Apostles” or the “ThreeMusketeers.”

Robert, Gilbert, Clement, and Andrew—in the proper Border diminutives,Hob,Gib,Clem,andDandElliott—theseballadheroes,hadmuchincommon;in particular, their high sense of the family and the family honour; but theywent diverse ways, and prospered and failed in different businesses.According toKirstie, “theyhada’bees in theirbonnetsbutHob.” Hob thelairdwas,indeed,essentiallyadecentman.AnelderoftheKirk,nobodyhadheardanoathuponhis lips, saveperhaps thriceor so at the sheep-washing,since the chase of his father’smurderers. The figure he had shownon thateventfulnightdisappearedasifswallowedbyatrap.Hewhohadecstaticallydippedhishandintheredblood,hewhohadriddendownDickieson,became,from that moment on, a stiff and rather graceless model of the rusticproprieties;cannilyprofitingbythehighwarprices,andyearlystowingawaya little nest-egg in the bank against calamity; approved of and sometimesconsulted by the greater lairds for themassive and placid sense ofwhat hesaid,whenhecouldbeinducedtosayanything;andparticularlyvaluedbytheminister, Mr. Torrance, as a right-hand man in the parish, and a model toparents.Thetransfigurationhadbeenforthemomentonly;someBarbarossa,someoldAdamofour ancestors, sleeps in all of us till the fit circumstanceshall call it intoaction; and, for as soberashenowseemed,Hobhadgivenonceforallthemeasureofthedevilthathauntedhim.Hewasmarried,and,byreasonoftheeffulgenceofthat legendarynight,wasadoredbyhiswife.Hehadamoboflittlelusty,barefootchildrenwhomarchedinacaravanthelongmilestoschool,thestagesofwhosepilgrimageweremarkedbyactsofspoliation andmischief, andwhowere qualified in the country-side as “fairpests.”Butinthehouse,if“faitherwasin,”theywerequietasmice.Inshort,Hobmoved through life in a great peace—the rewardof anyonewho shallhavekilledhisman,withanyformidableandfigurativecircumstance, in themidstofacountrygaggedandswaddledwithcivilisation.

ItwasacurrentremarkthattheElliottswere“guidandbad,likesanguishes”;and certainly there was a curious distinction, the men of business comingalternately with the dreamers. The second brother, Gib, was a weaver bytrade,hadgoneoutearlyintotheworldtoEdinburgh,andcomehomeagainwithhiswings singed. Therewasanexaltation inhisnaturewhichhad ledhimtoembracewithenthusiasmtheprinciplesoftheFrenchRevolution,andhad ended by bringing him under the hawse ofmy LordHermiston in that

furiousonslaughtofhisupon theLiberals,whichsentMuirandPalmer intoexileanddashed theparty intochaff. Itwaswhispered thatmy lord, inhisgreat scorn for the movement, and prevailed upon a little by a sense ofneighbourliness,hadgivenGibahint.MeetinghimonedayinthePotterrow,mylordhadstoppedinfrontofhim:“Gib,yeeediot,”hehadsaid,“what’sthisIhearofyou?Poalitics,poalitics,poalitics,weaver’spoalitics,isthewayofit,I hear. If ye arena a’thegither dozenedwith cediocy, ye’ll gang yourwaysback to Cauldstaneslap, and ca’ your loom, and ca’ your loom,man!” AndGilberthadtakenhimatthewordandreturned,withanexpeditionalmosttobecalledflight,tothehouseofhisfather.Theclearestofhisinheritancewasthat family gift of prayer of which Kirstie had boasted; and the baffledpoliticiannowturnedhisattentiontoreligiousmatters—or,asotherssaid, toheresyandschism.EverySundaymorninghewasinCrossmichael,wherehehadgatheredtogether,onebyone,asectofaboutadozenpersons,whocalledthemselves “God’s Remnant of the True Faithful,” or, for short, “God’sRemnant.”Totheprofane,theywereknownas“Gib’sDeils.”BailieSweedie,anotedhumoristinthetown,vowedthattheproceedingsalwaysopenedtothetuneof“TheDeilFlyAwaywiththeExciseman,”andthatthesacramentwasdispensedintheformofhotwhisky-toddy;bothwickedhitsattheevangelist,whohadbeensuspectedofsmugglinginhisyouth,andhadbeenovertaken(asthephrasewent)on thestreetsofCrossmichaeloneFairday. ItwasknownthateverySundaytheyprayedforablessingonthearmsofBonaparte. Forthis“God’sRemnant,”astheywere“skailing”fromthecottagethatdiddutyforatemple,hadbeenrepeatedlystonedbythebairns,andGibhimselfhootedbyasquadronofBordervolunteersinwhichhisownbrother,Dand,rodeinauniformandwithadrawnsword.The“Remnant”werebelieved,besides,tobe “antinomian in principle,” which might otherwise have been a seriouscharge,but thewaypublicopinionthenblewitwasquiteswallowedupandforgotteninthescandalaboutBonaparte.Fortherest,Gilberthadsetuphisloom in an outhouse at Cauldstaneslap, where he laboured assiduously sixdaysoftheweek.Hisbrothers,appalledbyhispoliticalopinions,andwillingtoavoiddissensioninthehousehold,spokebutlittletohim;helesstothem,remainingabsorbedinthestudyoftheBibleandalmostconstantprayer.Thegaunt weaver was dry-nurse at Cauldstaneslap, and the bairns loved himdearly.Exceptwhenhewascarryinganinfantinhisarms,hewasrarelyseentosmile—as,indeed,therewerefewsmilersinthatfamily.Whenhissister-in-law ralliedhim,andproposed thathe shouldget awifeandbairnsofhisown, sincehewas so fondof them, “Ihavenoclearnessofmindupon thatpoint,”hewouldreply.Ifnobodycalledhimintodinner,hestayedout.Mrs.Hob, a hard, unsympathetic woman, once tried the experiment. He wentwithoutfoodallday,butatdusk,asthelightbegantofailhim,hecameintothehouseofhisownaccord,lookingpuzzled.“I’vehadagreatgaleofprayer

uponmyspeerit,”saidhe.“Icannamindsaemuckle’swhatIhadfordenner.”ThecreedofGod’sRemnantwasjustifiedinthelifeofitsfounder.“AndyetIdinna ken,” said Kirstie. “He’s maybe no more stockfish than hisneeghbours! He rodewi’ the rest o’ them, and had a good stamach to thework, by a’ that I hear! God’sRemnant! Thedeil’s clavers! TherewasnamuckleChristianityinthewayHobguidedJohnnyDickieson,attheleastofit;butGuidkens!IsheaChristianeven?HemightbeaMahommedanoraDeeviloraFire-worshipper,forwhatIken.”

Thethirdbrotherhadhisnameonadoor-plate,noless,inthecityofGlasgow,“Mr. Clement Elliott,” as long as your arm. In his case, that spirit ofinnovationwhichhadshownitselftimidlyinthecaseofHobbytheadmissionof new manures, and which had run to waste with Gilbert in subversivepoliticsandhereticalreligions,boreusefulfruitinmanyingeniousmechanicalimprovements.Inboyhood,fromhisaddictiontostrangedevicesofsticksandstring,hehadbeencountedthemosteccentricofthefamily.Butthatwasallbynow;andhewasapartnerofhisfirm,andlookedtodieabailie.Hetoohad married, and was rearing a plentiful family in the smoke and din ofGlasgow; hewaswealthy, and could have bought out his brother, the cock-laird, six times over, it was whispered; and when he slipped away toCauldstaneslap for a well-earned holiday, which he did as often as he wasable,heastonishedtheneighbourswithhisbroadcloth,hisbeaverhat,andtheamplepliesofhisneckcloth.Thoughaneminentlysolidmanatbottom,afterthe pattern of Hob, he had contracted a certain Glasgow brisknessandaplombwhichsethimoff.AlltheotherElliottswereasleanasarake,butClementwas laying on fat, and he panted sorelywhen hemust get into hisboots. Dandsaid,chuckling:“Ay,Clemhastheelementsofacorporation.”“A provost and corporation,” returned Clem. And his readiness wasmuchadmired.

Thefourthbrother,Dand,wasashepherdtohistrade,andbystarts,whenhecouldbringhismindtoit,excelledinthebusiness.NobodycouldtrainadoglikeDandie;nobody,throughtheperilofgreatstormsinthewintertime,coulddomoregallantly. But ifhisdexteritywereexquisite,hisdiligencewasbutfitful; and he served his brother for bed and board, and a trifle of pocket-moneywhenheaskedfor it. Helovedmoneywellenough,knewverywellhow to spend it, and couldmake a shrewd bargainwhen he liked. But hepreferred a vague knowledge that hewaswell towindward to any countedcoinsinthepocket;hefelthimselfricherso.Hobwouldexpostulate:“I’manamatureherd.”Dandwouldreply,“I’llkeepyoursheeptoyouwhenI’msominded,butI’llkeepmylibertytoo.Thir’snomancancoandescendonwhatI’mworth.”Cleinwouldexpoundtohimthemiraculousresultsofcompoundinterest,andrecommendinvestments. “Ay,man?”Dandwouldsay;“anddo

you think, if I took Hob’s siller, that I wouldna drink it or wear it on thelassies?And,anyway,mykingdomisnoofthisworld.EitherI’mapoetorelseI’mnothing.”Clemwouldremindhimofoldage.“I’lldieyoung,like,Robbie Burns,” he would say stoutly. No question but he had a certainaccomplishmentinminorverse.His“HermistonBurn,”withitsprettyrefrain—

“Ilovetogangthinkingwhauryeganglinking,Hermistonburn,inthehowe;”

his“Auld,auldElliotts,clay-cauldElliotts,dour,bauldElliottsofauld,”andhisreallyfascinatingpieceaboutthePrayingWeaver’sStone,hadgainedhimintheneighbourhoodthereputation,stillpossibleinScotland,ofalocalbard;and, thoughnotprintedhimself,hewas recognisedbyotherswhowereandwhohadbecomefamous.WalterScottowedtoDandiethetextofthe“Raidof Wearie” in theMinstrelsy; and made him welcome at his house, andappreciatedhis talents,suchastheywere,withallhisusualgenerosity. TheEttrickShepherdwashissworncrony;theywouldmeet,drinktoexcess,roarout their lyrics in each other’s faces, and quarrel andmake it up again tillbedtime.Andbesidestheserecognitions,almosttobecalledofficial,Dandiewasmadewelcomeforthesakeofhisgiftthroughthefarmhousesofseveralcontiguous dales, and was thus exposed to manifold temptations which herathersought thanfled. Hehadfiguredon thestoolof repentance, foroncefulfillingtotheletterthetraditionofhisheroandmodel.Hishumorousversesto Mr. Torrance on that occasion—“Kenspeckle here my lane I stand”—unfortunatelytooindelicateforfurthercitation,ranthroughthecountrylikeafierycross—theywere recited,quoted,paraphrased,and laughedoveras farawayasDumfriesontheonehandandDunbarontheother.

These four brothers were united by a close bond, the bond of that mutualadmiration—or rather mutual hero-worship—which is so strong among themembersofsecludedfamilieswhohavemuchabilityandlittleculture.Eventheextremesadmiredeachother.Hob,whohadasmuchpoetryasthetongs,professedtofindpleasureinDand’sverses;Clem,whohadnomorereligionthanClaverhouse,nourishedaheartfelt,atleastanopen-mouthed,admirationofGib’sprayers;andDandiefollowedwithrelishtheriseofClem’sfortunes.Indulgence followed hard on the heels of admiration. The laird,Clem, andDand, who were Tories and patriots of the hottest quality, excused tothemselves,withacertainbashfulness, theradicalandrevolutionaryheresiesofGib.Byanotherdivisionofthefamily,thelaird,Clem,andGib,whoweremenexactlyvirtuous,swallowedthedoseofDand’sirregularitiesasakindofclogordrawback in themysteriousprovidenceofGodaffixed tobards,anddistinctly probative of poetical genius. To appreciate the simplicity of theirmutual admiration it was necessary to hear Clem, arrived upon one of his

visits, and dealing in a spirit of continuous irony with the affairs andpersonalities of that great city of Glasgow where he lived and transactedbusiness.Thevariouspersonages,ministersofthechurch,municipalofficers,mercantile big-wigs, whom he had occasion to introduce, were all alikedenigrated,allservedbutasreflectorstocastbackaflatteringside-lightonthehouse of Cauldstaneslap. The Provost, for whom Clem by exceptionentertainedameasureofrespect,hewouldlikentoHob.“Hemindsmeo’thelaird there,”hewouldsay. “HehassomeofHob’sgrand,whunstanesense,andthesamewaywithhimofsteikinghismouthwhenhe’snoverypleased.”AndHob,allunconscious,woulddrawdownhisupperlipandproduce,asiffor comparison, the formidable grimace referred to. The unsatisfactoryincumbentofSt.Enoch’sKirkwasthusbrieflydismissed:“Ifhehadbuttwafingers o’Gib’s, hewouldwaken them up.” AndGib, honestman!wouldlookdownandsecretlysmile.Clemwasaspywhomtheyhadsentoutintothe world of men. He had come back with the good news that there wasnobodytocomparewiththeFourBlackBrothers,nopositionthattheywouldnotadorn,noofficialthatitwouldnotbewelltheyshouldreplace,nointerestofmankind, secular or spiritual,whichwouldnot immediatelybloomundertheirsupervision.Theexcuseoftheirfollyisintwowords:scarcethebreadthofahairdividedthemfromthepeasantry.Themeasureoftheirsenseisthis:thatthesesymposiaofrusticvanitywerekeptentirelywithinthefamily,likesome secret ancestral practice. To theworld their serious faceswere neverdeformed by the suspicion of any simper of self-contentment. Yet it wasknown. “Theyhaeaguidprideo’ themsel’s!”was theword in thecountry-side.

Lastly,inaBorderstory,thereshouldbeaddedtheir“two-names.”HobwasThe Laird. “Roy ne puis, prince ne daigne”; he was the laird ofCauldstaneslap—say fifty acres—ipsissimus. Clement was Mr. Elliott, asupon his door-plate, the earlier Dafty having been discarded as no longerapplicable,andindeedonlyareminderofmisjudgmentandtheimbecilityofthe public; and the youngest, in honour of his perpetual wanderings, wasknownbythesobriquetofRandyDand.

Itwill beunderstood that not all this informationwas communicatedby theaunt, who had too much of the family failing herself to appreciate itthoroughly in others. But as time went on, Archie began to observe anomissioninthefamilychronicle.

“Istherenotagirltoo?”heasked.

“Ay:Kirstie. Shewas named forme, ormy grandmother at least—it’s thesame thing,” returned the aunt, and went on again about Dand, whom shesecretlypreferredbyreasonofhisgallantries.

“Butwhatisyourniecelike?”saidArchieatthenextopportunity.

“Her? Asblack’syourhat! But Idinnasupposeshewouldmaybebewhatyouwouldca’ill-lookeda’thegither.Na,she’sakindofahandsomejaud—akindo’gipsy,”saidtheaunt,whohadtwosetsofscalesformenandwomen—orperhapsitwouldbemorefairtosaythatshehadthree,andthethirdandthemostloadedwasforgirls.

“HowcomesitthatIneverseeherinchurch?”saidArchie.

“’Deed,andIbelieveshe’sinGlesgiewithClemandhiswife.Aheapgoodshe’s like togetof it! Idinnasayformenfolk,butwhereweemenfolkareborn, there let thembide. Glory toGod, Iwas never far’er fromhere thanCrossmichael.”

InthemeanwhileitbegantostrikeArchieasstrange,thatwhileshethussangthe praises of her kinsfolk, andmanifestly relished their virtues and (Imaysay) theirvices likea thingcreditable toherself, thereshouldappearnot theleast sign of cordiality between the house of Hermiston and that ofCauldstaneslap.GoingtochurchofaSunday,astheladyhousekeepersteppedwithher skirts kilted, three tucksof herwhite petticoat showingbelow, andherbestIndiashawluponherback(ifthedaywerefine)inapatternofradiantdyes,shewouldsometimesovertakeherrelativesprecedinghermoreleisurelyin the same direction. Gib of coursewas absent: by skreigh of day he hadbeengonetoCrossmichaelandhisfellow-heretics;buttherestofthefamilywouldbeseenmarchinginopenorder:HobandDand,stiff-necked,straight-backed six-footers, with severe dark faces, and their plaids about theirshoulders;theconvoyofchildrenscattering(inastateofhighpolish)onthewayside, and every now and again collected by the shrill summons of themother; and the mother herself, by a suggestive circumstance which mighthaveaffordedmatterofthoughttoamoreexperiencedobserverthanArchie,wrappedinashawlnearlyidenticalwithKirstie’s,butathoughtmoregaudyand conspicuously newer. At the sight, Kirstie grew more tall—Kirstieshowed her classical profile, nose in air and nostril spread, the pure bloodcameinhercheekevenlyinadelicatelivingpink.

“Abrawdaytoye,MistressElliott,”saidshe,andhostilityandgentilitywerenicelymingledinhertones.“Afineday,mem,”thelaird’swifewouldreplywith amiraculous curtsey, spreading thewhile her plumage—setting off, inotherwords,andwithartsunknowntothemereman,thepatternofherIndiashawl. Behind her, the whole Cauldstaneslap contingentmarched in closerorder, andwithan indescribableairofbeing in thepresenceof the foe; andwhileDandiesalutedhisauntwithacertainfamiliarityasofonewhowaswellincourt,Hobmarchedoninawfulimmobility.Thereappeareduponthefaceof this attitude in the family the consequences of some dreadful feud.

Presumablythetwowomenhadbeenprincipalsintheoriginalencounter,andthelairdhadprobablybeendrawnintothequarrelbytheears,toolatetobeincludedinthepresentskin-deepreconciliation.

“Kirstie,”saidArchieoneday,“whatisthisyouhaveagainstyourfamily?”

“Idinnacomplean,”saidKirstie,withaflush.“Isaynaething.”

“Iseeyoudonot—notevengood-daytoyourownnephew,”saidhe.

“Ihaenaethingtobeashamedof,”saidshe.“IcansaytheLord’sprayerwitha goodgrace. IfHobwas ill, or in preeson or poverty, Iwould see to himblithely. But for curtchying and complimenting and colloguing, thank yekindly!”

Archiehadabitofasmile:heleanedbackinhischair.“IthinkyouandMrs.Robertarenotverygoodfriends,”saysheslyly,“whenyouhaveyourIndiashawlson?”

She lookeduponhim in silence,with a sparkling eye but an indecipherableexpression;andthatwasallthatArchiewaseverdestinedtolearnofthebattleoftheIndiashawls.

“Dononeofthemevercomeheretoseeyou?”heinquired.

“Mr.Archie,”saidshe,“IhopethatIkenmyplacebetter.Itwouldbeaqueerthing, I think, if Iwas to clamjamfryupyour faither’shouse—that I shouldsayit!—wi’adirty,black-a-visedclan,noaneo’themitwasworthwhiletomar soap upon but just mysel’! Na, they’re all damnifeed wi’ the blackEllwalds. I have nae patience wi’ black folk.” Then, with a suddenconsciousnessofthecaseofArchie,“Nothatitmaittersformensaemuckle,”shemadehaste to add, “but there’s naebody can deny that it’s unwomanly.Longhairistheornamento’womanonyway;we’vegoodwarrandiseforthat—it’s in theBible—andwha can doubt that theApostle had somegowden-hairedlassieinhismind—Apostleandall,forwhatwashebutjustamanlikeyersel’?”

CHAPTERVI—ALEAFFROMCHRISTINA’SPSALM-BOOK

Archiewassedulousatchurch. SundayafterSundayhesatdownandstoodupwith thatsmallcompany,heard thevoiceofMr.Torrance leaping likeanill-playedclarionetfromkeytokey,andhadanopportunitytostudyhismoth-eatengownandtheblackthreadmittensthathejoinedtogetherinprayer,andliftedupwithareverentsolemnityintheactofbenediction.Hermistonpew

was a little square box, dwarfish in proportion with the kirk itself, andenclosing a table not much bigger than a footstool. There sat Archie, anapparentprince, theonlyundeniablegentlemanand theonlygreatheritor intheparish,takinghiseaseintheonlypew,fornootherinthekirkhaddoors.Thencehemightcommandanundisturbedviewofthatcongregationofsolidplaidedmen, strappingwives anddaughters,oppressedchildren, anduneasysheep-dogs. Itwas strange howArchiemissed the look of race; except thedogs,with their refined foxyfacesand inimitablycurling tails, therewasnoone presentwith the least claim to gentility. TheCauldstaneslap partywasscarcelyanexception;Dandieperhaps,asheamusedhimselfmakingversesthroughtheinterminableburdenoftheservice,stoodoutalittlebytheglowinhis eye and a certain superior animation of face and alertness of body; butevenDandieslouchedlikearustic.Therestofthecongregation,likesomanysheep,oppressedhimwithasenseofhob-nailedroutine,dayfollowingday—of physical labour in the open air, oatmeal porridge, peas bannock thesomnolentfiresideintheevening,andthenight-longnasalslumbersinabox-bed. Yet he knew many of them to be shrewd and humorous, men ofcharacter, notable women, making a bustle in the world and radiating aninfluencefromtheirlow-broweddoors.Heknewbesidestheywerelikeothermen;belowthecrustofcustom,rapturefoundaway;hehadheardthembeatthe timbrel before Bacchus—had heard them shout and carouse over theirwhisky-toddy;andnotthemostDutch-bottomedandseverefacesamongthemall, not even the solemn elders themselves, but were capable of singulargambols at the voice of love. Men drawing near to an end of life’sadventurousjourney—maidsthrillingwithfearandcuriosityonthethresholdofentrance—womenwhohadborneandperhapsburiedchildren,whocouldremembertheclingingofthesmalldeadhandsandthepatterofthelittlefeetnowsilent—hemarvelledthatamongallthosefacesthereshouldbenofaceofexpectation,nonethatwasmobile,noneintowhichtherhythmandpoetryoflife had entered. “O for a live face,” he thought; and at times he had amemoryofLadyFlora;andattimeshewouldstudythelivinggallerybeforehimwithdespair,andwouldseehimselfgoontowastehisdaysinthatjoylesspastoralplace,anddeathcometohim,andhisgravebedugundertherowans,andtheSpiritoftheEarthlaughoutinathunder-pealatthehugefiasco.

OnthisparticularSunday,therewasnodoubtbutthatthespringhadcomeatlast.Itwaswarm,withalatentshiverintheairthatmadethewarmthonlythemore welcome. The shallows of the stream glittered and tinkled amongbunchesofprimrose.VagrantscentsoftheeartharrestedArchiebythewaywithmomentsofetherealintoxication.ThegreyQuakerishdalewasstillonlyawakenedinplacesandpatchesfromthesobrietyofitswintercolouring;andhewondered at its beauty; an essential beauty of the old earth it seemed tohim, not resident in particulars but breathing to him from the whole. He

surprisedhimselfbyasuddenimpulsetowritepoetry—hedidsosometimes,loose, gallopingocto-syllabics in theveinofScott—andwhenhehad takenhisplaceonaboulder,near somefairy fallsandshadedbyawhipofa treethatwas already radiantwithnew leaves, it stillmore surprisedhim that heshould have nothing towrite. His heart perhaps beat in time to some vastindwelling rhythmof the universe. By the timehe came to a corner of thevalley and could see the kirk, he had so lingered by the way that the firstpsalmwasfinishing.Thenasalpsalmody,fullofturnsandtrillsandgracelessgraces,seemedtheessentialvoiceofthekirkitselfupraisedinthanksgiving,“Everything’s alive,” he said; and again cries it aloud, “thank God,everything’s alive!” He lingered yet a while in the kirk-yard. A tuft ofprimroseswasbloominghardbythelegofanoldblacktabletombstone,andhestoppedtocontemplatetherandomapologue.Theystoodforthonthecoldearth with a trenchancy of contrast; and he was struck with a sense ofincompletenessin theday, theseason,andthebeautythatsurroundedhim—the chill there was in the warmth, the gross black clods about the openingprimroses, thedampearthysmell thatwaseverywhere intermingledwith thescents. The voice of the aged Torrancewithin rose in an ecstasy. And hewondered if Torrance also felt in his old bones the joyous influence of thespringmorning;Torrance,ortheshadowofwhatoncewasTorrance,thatmustcomesosoontolieoutsidehereinthesunandrainwithallhisrheumatisms,whileanewministerstoodinhisroomandthunderedfromhisownfamiliarpulpit?Thepityofit,andsomethingofthechillofthegrave,shookhimforamomentashemadehastetoenter.

Hewentup theaisle reverently,and tookhisplace in thepewwith loweredeyes, for he feared he had already offended the kind old gentleman in thepulpit,andwasseduloustooffendnofurther.Hecouldnotfollowtheprayer,noteventheheadsofit.Brightnessesofazure,cloudsoffragrance,atinkleoffalling water and singing birds, rose like exhalations from some deeper,aboriginalmemory, thatwasnothis,butbelongedtothefleshonhisbones.His body remembered; and it seemed to him that his body was in no waygross,butetherealandperishable likeastrainofmusic;andhefelt for itanexquisitetendernessasforachild,aninnocent,fullofbeautifulinstinctsanddestined to an early death. And he felt for old Torrance—of the manysupplications, of the few days—a pity that was near to tears. The prayerended. Right over him was a tablet in the wall, the only ornament in theroughlymasonedchapel—foritwasnomore;thetabletcommemorated,Iwasabout to say the virtues, but rather the existence of a former Rutherford ofHermiston; and Archie, under that trophy of his long descent and localgreatness,leanedbackinthepewandcontemplatedvacancywiththeshadowof a smile between playful and sad, that became him strangely. Dandie’ssister, sitting by the side of Clem in her new Glasgow finery, chose that

momenttoobservetheyounglaird.Awareofthestirofhisentrance,thelittleformalisthadkepthereyesfastenedandherfaceprettilycomposedduringtheprayer.Itwasnothypocrisy,therewasnoonefurtherfromahypocrite.Thegirlhadbeentaughttobehave:tolookup,tolookdown,tolookunconscious,to look seriously impressed in church, and in every conjuncture to look herbest.Thatwasthegameoffemalelife,andsheplayeditfrankly.Archiewasthe one person in church who was of interest, who was somebody new,reputed eccentric, known to be young, and a laird, and still unseen byChristina. Small wonder that, as she stood there in her attitude of prettydecency,hermindshouldrunuponhim!Ifhesparedaglanceinherdirection,he should know she was a well-behaved young lady who had been toGlasgow. In reasonhemust admireher clothes, and itwaspossible thatheshouldthinkherpretty.Atthatherheartbeattheleastthingintheworld;andshe proceeded, by way of a corrective, to call up and dismiss a series offanciedpicturesof theyoungmanwhoshouldnow,by rights,be lookingather.Shesettledontheplainestofthem,—apinkshortyoungmanwithadishfaceandnofigure,atwhoseadmirationshecouldaffordtosmile;butforallthat,theconsciousnessofhisgaze(whichwasreallyfixedonTorranceandhismittens)keptherinsomethingofafluttertillthewordAmen.Eventhen,shewas far too well-bred to gratify her curiosity with any impatience. Sheresumed her seat languidly—this was a Glasgow touch—she composed herdress,rearrangedhernosegayofprimroses, lookedfirst infront, thenbehindupontheotherside,andatlastallowedhereyestomove,withouthurry,inthedirectionoftheHermistonpew.Foramoment,theywereriveted.Nextshehadpluckedhergazehomeagainlikeatamebirdwhoshouldhavemeditatedflight.Possibilitiescrowdedonher;shehungoverthefutureandgrewdizzy;the imageof thisyoungman, slim,graceful,dark,with the inscrutablehalf-smile,attractedandrepelledherlikeachasm.“Iwonder,willIhavemetmyfate?”shethought,andherheartswelled.

Torrancewasgotsomewayintohisfirstexposition,positingadeeplayeroftextsashewentalong,layingthefoundationsofhisdiscourse,whichwastodealwithanicepointindivinity,beforeArchiesufferedhiseyestowander.They fell first of all on Clem, looking insupportably prosperous, andpatronisingTorrancewith the favourof amodified attention, asofonewhowasusedtobetterthingsinGlasgow.Thoughhehadneverbeforeseteyesonhim, Archie had no difficulty in identifying him, and no hesitation inpronouncing him vulgar, the worst of the family. Clemwas leaning lazilyforwardwhenArchie first sawhim. Presentlyhe leanednonchalantlyback;and that deadly instrument, themaiden,was suddenly unmasked in profile.Though not quite in the front of the fashion (had anybody cared!), certainartfulGlasgowmantua-makers,andherowninherenttaste,hadarrayedhertogreatadvantage.Heraccoutrementwas,indeed,acauseofheart-burning,and

almostofscandal,inthatinfinitesimalkirkcompany.Mrs.HobhadsaidhersayatCauldstaneslap.“Daft-like!”shehadpronouncedit.“Ajaiketthat’llnomeet! Whaur’s the senseofa jaiket that’llnobuttonuponyou, if it shouldcome tobeweet? Whatdoyeca’ thir things? Demmybrokens,d’yesay?They’ll be brokenswi’ a vengeance or ye canwin back! Weel, I have naething to do wi’ it—it’s no good taste.” Clem, whose purse had thusmetamorphosed his sister, andwhowas not insensible to the advertisement,hadcometotherescuewitha“Hoot,woman!Whatdoyoukenofgoodtastethathasneverbeentotheceety?”AndHob,lookingonthegirlwithpleasedsmiles,asshetimidlydisplayedherfineryinthemidstofthedarkkitchen,hadthusendedthedispute:“Thecuttylooksweel,”hehadsaid,“andit’snoverylikerain.Wearthemtheday,hizzie;butit’snoathingtomakeapracticeo’.”Inthebreastsofherrivals,comingtothekirkveryconsciousofwhiteunder-linen, and their faces splendid with much soap, the sight of the toilet hadraiseda stormofvaryingemotion, from themereunenviousadmiration thatwasexpressedinalong-drawn“Eh!”totheangrierfeelingthatfoundventinanemphatic“Setherup!” Her frockwasof straw-coloured jaconetmuslin,cut low at the bosom and short at the ankle, so as to display her demi-broquinsofRegencyviolet,crossingwithmanystrapsuponayellowcobwebstocking.Accordingtotheprettyfashioninwhichourgrandmothersdidnothesitate to appear, and our great-auntswent forth armed for the pursuit andcaptureofourgreat-uncles,thedresswasdrawnupsoastomouldthecontourofbothbreasts,andin thenookbetween,acairngormbroochmaintainedit.Here, too, surely in a very enviable position, trembled the nosegay ofprimroses. She wore on her shoulders—or rather on her back and not hershoulders,which it scarcely passed—aFrench coat of sarsenet, tied in frontwithMargatebraces,andofthesamecolourwithhervioletshoes.Aboutherface clustered a disorder of dark ringlets, a little garland of yellow Frenchroses surmounted her brow, and thewholewas crownedby a village hat ofchipped straw. Amongst all the rosy and all the weathered faces thatsurroundedherinchurch,sheglowedlikeanopenflower—girlandraiment,andthecairngormthatcaughtthedaylightandreturneditinafieryflash,andthethreadsofbronzeandgoldthatplayedinherhair.

Archiewasattractedbythebrightthinglikeachild.Helookedatheragainandyetagain,andtheirlookscrossed.Thelipwasliftedfromherlittleteeth.Hesawtheredbloodworkvividlyunderhertawnyskin.Hereye,whichwasgreat as a stag’s, struck and held his gaze. He knew who she must be—Kirstie,sheoftheharshdiminutive,hishousekeeper’sniece,thesisteroftherusticprophet,Gib—andhefoundinhertheanswertohiswishes.

Christina felt the shock of their encountering glances, and seemed to rise,clothedinsmiles,intoaregionofthevagueandbright.Butthegratification

was not more exquisite than it was brief. She looked away abruptly, andimmediatelybegantoblameherselffor thatabruptness. Sheknewwhatsheshould have done, too late—turned slowly with her nose in the air. Andmeantime his lookwas not removed, but continued to play upon her like abatteryofcannonconstantlyaimed,andnowseemedtoisolateheralonewithhim,andnowseemed touplifther,asonapillory,before thecongregation.ForArchiecontinuedtodrinkherinwithhiseyes,evenasawayfarercomesto a well-head on a mountain, and stoops his face, and drinks with thirstunassuageable.Inthecleftofherlittlebreaststhefieryeyeofthetopazandthepalefloretsofprimrosefascinatedhim.Hesawthebreastsheave,andtheflowers shake with the heaving, and marvelled what should so muchdiscompose the girl. And Christina was conscious of his gaze—saw it,perhaps,with thedaintyplaythingofanear thatpeepedamongher ringlets;shewasconsciousofchangingcolour,consciousofherunsteadybreath.Likeacreaturetracked,rundown,surrounded,shesoughtinadozenwaystogiveherselfacountenance.Sheusedherhandkerchief—itwasareallyfineone—thenshedesistedinapanic:“HewouldonlythinkIwastoowarm.”Shetooktoreadinginthemetricalpsalms,andthenremembereditwassermon-time.Lastsheputa“sugar-bool”inhermouth,andthenextmomentrepentedofthestep. It was such a homely-like thing! Mr. Archie would never be eatingsweetiesinkirk;and,withapalpableeffort,sheswalloweditwhole,andhercolourflamedhigh.AtthissignalofdistressArchieawoketoasenseofhisill-behaviour. What had he been doing? He had been exquisitely rude inchurch to the niece of his housekeeper; he had stared like a lackey and alibertineatabeautifulandmodestgirl.Itwaspossible,itwasevenlikely,hewouldbepresentedtoherafterserviceinthekirk-yard,andthenhowwashetolook?Andtherewasnoexcuse.Hehadmarkedthetokensofhershame,of her increasing indignation, and he was such a fool that he had notunderstood them. Shamebowedhimdown,andhe looked resolutelyatMr.Torrance;wholittlesupposed,good,worthyman,ashecontinuedtoexpoundjustificationbyfaith,whatwashistruebusiness:toplaythepartofderivativetoapairofchildrenattheoldgameoffallinginlove.

Christinawasgreatlyrelievedatfirst. Itseemedtoher thatshewasclothedagain.Shelookedbackonwhathadpassed.Allwouldhavebeenrightifshehadnotblushed,asillyfool!Therewasnothingtoblushat,ifshehadtakenasugar-bool. Mrs. MacTaggart, the elder’s wife in St. Enoch’s, took themoften.Andifhehadlookedather,whatwasmorenaturalthanthatayounggentleman should look at the best-dressed girl in church? And at the sametime,sheknewfarotherwise,sheknewtherewasnothingcasualorordinaryinthelook,andvaluedherselfonitsmemorylikeadecoration.Well,itwasablessinghehadfoundsomethingelsetolookat!Andpresentlyshebegantohaveotherthoughts.Itwasnecessary,shefancied,thatsheshouldputherself

rightbyarepetitionoftheincident,bettermanaged.Ifthewishwasfathertothethought,shedidnotknoworshewouldnotrecogniseit.Itwassimplyasamanœuvreofpropriety,assomethingcalledfortolessenthesignificanceofwhathadgonebefore, thatsheshouldasecond timemeethiseyes,and thistimewithoutblushing. Andat thememoryof theblush, sheblushedagain,andbecameonegeneralblushburningfromheadtofoot.Waseveranythingsoindelicate,soforward,donebyagirlbefore?Andhereshewas,makinganexhibition of herself before the congregation about nothing! She stole aglance upon her neighbours, and behold! theywere steadily indifferent, andClemhadgonetosleep.Andstilltheoneideawasbecomingmoreandmorepotent with her, that in common prudence she must look again before theserviceended.SomethingofthesamesortwasgoingforwardinthemindofArchie,ashestruggledwiththeloadofpenitence.Soitchancedthat,intheflutterof themomentwhen the last psalmwasgivenout, andTorrancewasreadingtheverse,andtheleavesofeverypsalm-bookinchurchwererustlingunderbusyfingers,twostealthyglancesweresentoutlikeantennæamongthepewsandontheindifferentandabsorbedoccupants,anddrewtimidlynearerto the straight line betweenArchie and Christina. Theymet, they lingeredtogether for the least fractionof time, and thatwasenough. Achargeasofelectricity passed throughChristina, and behold! the leaf of her psalm-bookwastornacross.

Archiewasoutsidebythegateofthegraveyard,conversingwithHobandtheministerandshakinghandsall roundwith thescatteringcongregation,whenClemandChristinawerebroughtuptobepresented.Thelairdtookoffhishatandbowedtoherwithgraceandrespect.ChristinamadeherGlasgowcurtseytothelaird,andwentonagainuptheroadforHermistonandCauldstaneslap,walkingfast,breathinghurriedlywithaheightenedcolour,andinthisstrangeframeofmind, thatwhen shewas alone she seemed inhighhappiness, andwhenanyoneaddressedhersheresenteditlikeacontradiction.Apartofthewayshehadthecompanyofsomeneighbourgirlsandaloutishyoungman;neverhadtheyseemedsoinsipid,neverhadshemadeherselfsodisagreeable.Butthesestruckasidetotheirvariousdestinationsorwereout-walkedandleftbehind;andwhenshehaddrivenoffwithsharpwordstheprofferedconvoyofsomeofhernephewsandnieces, shewas free togoonaloneupHermistonbrae,walkingonair,dwellingintoxicatedamongcloudsofhappiness.Neartothe summit she heard steps behindher, aman’s steps, light andvery rapid.Sheknewthefootatonceandwalkedthefaster.“Ifit’smehe’swanting,hecanrunforit,”shethought,smiling.

Archieovertookherlikeamanwhosemindwasmadeup.

“MissKirstie,”hebegan.

“MissChristina, ifyouplease,Mr.Weir,”sheinterrupted. “Icannabearthecontraction.”

“Youforgetithasafriendlysoundforme.Yourauntisanoldfriendofmine,andaverygoodone.IhopeweshallseemuchofyouatHermiston?”

“Myauntandmysister-in-lawdoesnaagreeverywell.NotthatIhavemuchadowithit.ButstillwhenI’mstoppinginthehouse,ifIwastobevisitingmyaunt,itwouldnotlookconsiderate-like.”

“Iamsorry,”saidArchie.

“I thankyoukindly,Mr.Weir,” shesaid. “Iwhiles thinkmyself it’sagreatpeety.”

“Ah,Iamsureyourvoicewouldalwaysbeforpeace!”hecried.

“Iwouldnabetoosureofthat,”shesaid. “Ihavemydayslikeotherfolk,Isuppose.”

“Doyouknow,inouroldkirk,amongourgoodoldgreydames,youmadeaneffectlikesunshine.”

“Ah,butthatwouldbemyGlasgowclothes!”

“IdidnotthinkIwassomuchundertheinfluenceofprettyfrocks.”

Shesmiledwithahalflookathim.“There’smorethanyou!”shesaid.“ButyouseeI’monlyCinderella.I’llhavetoputallthesethingsbyinmytrunk;nextSundayI’llbeasgreyastherest.They’reGlasgowclothes,yousee,andit would never do to make a practice of it. It would seem terribleconspicuous.”

Bythattheywerecometotheplacewheretheirwayssevered.Theoldgreymoorswereallaboutthem;inthemidstafewsheepwandered;andtheycouldseeontheonehandthestragglingcaravanscalingthebraesinfrontofthemforCauldstaneslap,andontheother, thecontingentfromHermistonbendingoffandbeginningtodisappearbydetachmentsintothepolicygate.Itwasinthese circumstances that they turned to say farewell, and deliberatelyexchangedaglanceas theyshookhands. Allpassedas it should,genteelly;and in Christina’s mind, as she mounted the first steep ascent forCauldstaneslap, agratifying senseof triumphprevailedover the recollectionofminorlapsesandmistakes.Shehadkiltedhergown,asshedidusuallyatthatruggedpass;butwhenshespiedArchiestillstandingandgazingafterher,theskirtscamedownagainasifbyenchantment.Herewasapieceofnicetyforthatuplandparish,wherethematronsmarchedwiththeircoatskiltedintherain,andthelasseswalkedbarefoot tokirk throughthedustofsummer,andwentbravelydownbytheburn-side,andsatonstonestomakeapublictoilet

before entering! Itwas perhaps an airwafted fromGlasgow; or perhaps itmarkedastageofthatdizzinessofgratifiedvanity,inwhichtheinstinctiveactpassed unperceived. He was looking after! She unloaded her bosom of aprodigioussighthatwasallpleasure,andbetookherselftorun.Whenshehadovertakenthestragglersofherfamily,shecaughtuptheniecewhomshehadso recently repulsed, andkissedand slappedher, anddroveher awayagain,andranafterherwithprettycriesandlaughter.Perhapsshethoughtthelairdmightstillbelooking!Butitchancedthelittlescenecameundertheviewofeyes less favourable; for she overtook Mrs. Hob marching with Clem andDand.

“You’reshürelyfey,lass!”quothDandie.

“Thinkshametoyersel’,miss!”saidthestridentMrs.Hob.“Isthisthegaittoguide yersel’ on theway hame frae kirk? You’re shiirely no sponsible theday!AndanywayIwouldmindmyguidclaes.”

“Hoot!” said Christina, and went on before them head in air, treading theroughtrackwiththetreadofawilddoe.

Shewasinlovewithherself,herdestiny,theairofthehills,thebenedictionofthesun.Allthewayhome,shecontinuedundertheintoxicationofthesesky-scrapingspirits.AttableshecouldtalkfreelyofyoungHermiston;gaveheropinionofhimoff-handandwithaloudvoice,thathewasahandsomeyounggentleman, realwellmanneredandsensible-like,but itwasapityhe lookeddoleful. Only—the moment after—a memory of his eyes in churchembarrassedher.Butforthisinconsiderablecheck,allthroughmeal-timeshehadagoodappetite,andshekeptthemlaughingattable,untilGib(whohadreturnedbeforethemfromCrossmichaelandhisseparativeworship)reprovedthewholeofthemfortheirlevity.

Singing “in to herself” as she went, hermind still in the turmoil of a gladconfusion,sheroseandtrippedupstairstoalittleloft,lightedbyfourpanesinthegable,whereshesleptwithoneofhernieces. Theniece,who followedher,presumingon“Auntie’s”highspirits,wasflouncedoutof theapartmentwithsmallceremony,andretired,smartingandhalftearful,toburyherwoesin thebyreamong thehay. Stillhumming,Christinadivestedherselfofherfinery,andputhertreasuresonebyoneinhergreatgreentrunk.Thelastofthesewas thepsalm-book; itwas a finepiece, thegift ofMistressClem, indistinctold-facedtype,onpaperthathadbeguntogrowfoxyinthewarehouse—notbyservice—andshewasusedtowrapitinahandkerchiefeverySundayafter its periodof servicewasover, andbury it end-wise at the headof hertrunk.Asshenowtookitinhandthebookfellopenwheretheleafwastorn,and she stood and gazed upon that evidence of her bygone discomposure.Therereturnedagainthevisionofthetwobrowneyesstaringather,intentand

bright,outofthatdarkcornerofthekirk.Thewholeappearanceandattitude,thesmile,thesuggestedgestureofyoungHermistoncamebeforeherinaflashatthesightofthetornpage.“Iwassurelyfey!”shesaid,echoingthewordsofDandie,andatthesuggesteddoomherhighspiritsdesertedher.Sheflungherselfproneuponthebed,andlaythere,holdingthepsalm-bookinherhandsfor hours, for themore part in amere stupor of unconsenting pleasure andunreasoningfear.Thefearwassuperstitious;therecameupagainandagaininhermemoryDandie’sill-omenedwords,andahundredgrislyandblacktalesout of the immediate neighbourhood readher a commentary on their force.Thepleasurewasneverrealised.Youmightsaythejointsofherbodythoughtandremembered,andweregladdened,butheressentialself,intheimmediatetheatre of consciousness, talked feverishlyof something else, like a nervouspersonatafire.TheimagethatshemostcomplacentlydweltonwasthatofMissChristinainhercharacteroftheFairLassofCauldstaneslap,carryingallbefore her in the straw-coloured frock, the violet mantle, and the yellowcobwebstockings.Archie’simage,ontheotherhand,whenitpresenteditselfwasneverwelcomed—farlesswelcomedwithanyardour,anditwasexposedat times tomerciless criticism. In the longvaguedialogues sheheld in hermind,oftenwith imaginary,oftenwithunrealised interlocutors,Archie, ifhewere referred to at all came in for savage handling. He was described as“lookinglikeastork,”“staringlikeacaulf,”“afacelikeaghaist’s.”“Doyoucall that manners?” she said; or, “I soon put him in his place.” “‘MissChristina,ifyouplease,Mr.Weir!’saysI,andjustflypedupmyskirttails.”With gabble like this she would entertain herself long whiles together, andthenhereyewouldperhapsfallonthetornleaf,andtheeyesofArchiewouldappear again from the darkness of thewall, and the volublewords desertedher,andshewouldliestillandstupid,andthinkuponnothingwithdevotion,andbesometimesraisedbyaquietsigh.Hadadoctorofmedicinecomeintothat loft, he would have diagnosed a healthy, well-developed, eminentlyvivacious lass lying on her face in a fit of the sulks; not onewho had justcontracted,orwasjustcontracting,amortalsicknessofthemindwhichshouldyetcarryhertowardsdeathanddespair.Haditbeenadoctorofpsychology,he might have been pardoned for divining in the girl a passion of childishvanity,self-love inexcelsis, andnomore. It is tobeunderstood that Ihavebeen painting chaos and describing the inarticulate. Every lineament thatappearsistooprecise,almosteverywordusedtoostrong.Takeafinger-postin themountainsonadayofrollingmists; Ihavebutcopied thenames thatappearuponthepointers, thenamesofdefiniteandfamouscitiesfardistant,andnowperhapsbaskinginsunshine;butChristinaremainedallthesehours,asitwere,atthefootofthepostitself,notmoving,andenvelopedinmutableandblindingwreathsofhaze.

The day was growing late and the sunbeams long and level, when she sat

suddenly up, and wrapped in its handkerchief and put by that psalm-bookwhichhad alreadyplayed apart sodecisive in the first chapter ofher love-story. In theabsenceof themesmerist’seye,weare toldnowadays that theheadofabrightnailmayfillhisplace, if itbesteadfastlyregarded. Sothattornpagehadrivetedherattentiononwhatmightelsehavebeenbutlittle,andperhaps soon forgotten; while the ominous words of Dandie—heard, notheeded,andstillremembered—hadlenttoherthoughts,orrathertohermood,acastofsolemnity,andthatideaofFate—apaganFate,uncontrolledbyanyChristian deity, obscure, lawless, and august—moving indissuadably in theaffairs ofChristianmen. Thus even that phenomenonof love at first sight,which is so rare and seems so simple andviolent, like a disruption of life’stissue,maybedecomposedintoasequenceofaccidentshappilyconcurring.

Sheputonagreyfrockandapinkkerchief,lookedatherselfamomentwithapproval in the small squareofglass that servedher for a toiletmirror, andwent softly downstairs through the sleeping house that resounded with thesoundofafternoonsnoring. Justoutsidethedoor,Dandiewassittingwithabookinhishand,notreading,onlyhonouringtheSabbathbyasacredvacancyofmind.Shecamenearhimandstoodstill.

“I’mforoffupthemuirs,Dandie,”shesaid.

Therewassomethingunusuallysoftinhertonesthatmadehimlookup.Shewas pale, her eyes dark and bright; no trace remained of the levity of themorning.

“Ay,lass?Ye’llhaveyerupsanddownslikeme,I’mthinkin’,”heobserved.

“Whatfordoyesaythat?”sheasked.

“O,fornaething,”saysDand.“OnlyIthinkye’remairlikemethanthelaveofthem.Ye’vemairofthepoetictemper,tho’Guidkenslittleenoughofthepoetic taalent. It’s an ill gift at the best. Look at yoursel’. At denner youwere all sunshine and flowers and laughter, and nowyou’re like the star ofeveningonalake.”

Shedrankinthishackneyedcomplimentlikewine,anditglowedinherveins.

“But I’msaying,Dand”—shecamenearerhim—“I’mfor themuirs. Imusthaveabraithofair.IfClemwastobespeiringforme,tryandquaiethim,willyeno?”

“Whatway?”saidDandie.“Ikenbuttheaeway,andthat’sleein’.I’llsayyehadasairheid,ifyelike.”

“ButIhavena,”sheobjected.

“Idaursayno,”hereturned.“IsaidIwouldsayyehad;andifyeliketonay-

saymewhen ye come back, it’ll nomateeriallymaitter, formy chara’ter’scleanganea’readypastreca’.”

“O,Dand,areyealecar?”sheasked,lingering.

“Folkssaysae,”repliedthebard.

“Whasayssae?”shepursued.

“Themthatshouldkenthebest,”heresponded.“Thelassies,forane.”

“But,Dand,youwouldneverleetome?”sheasked.

“I’ll leave that foryourpairtof it,yegirzie,” saidhe. “Ye’ll lee tome fasteneuch,whenyehaegottenajo.I’mtellin’yeandit’strue;whenyouhaveajo,MissKirstie,it’llbeforguidandill.Iken:Iwasmadethatwaymysel’,butthedeilwasinmyluck!Here,gangawawi’yetoyourmuirs,andletmebe;I’minanhourofinspiraution,yeupsettingtawpie!”

Butsheclungtoherbrother’sneighbourhood,sheknewnotwhy.

“Willyenogie’sakiss,Dand?”shesaid.“Iayelikityefine.”

Hekissedher and consideredher amoment; he found something strange inher. But hewas a libertine through and through, nourished equal contemptandsuspicionofallwomankind,andpaidhiswayamongthemhabituallywithidlecompliments.

“Gaewa’wi’ye!”saidhe.“Ye’readentiebaby,andbecontentwi’that!”

That was Dandie’s way; a kiss and a comfit to Jenny—a bawbee and myblessing to Jill—and goodnight to the whole clan of ye, my dears! Whenanythingapproachedtheserious,itbecameamatterformen,heboththoughtandsaid.Women,whentheydidnotabsorb,wereonlychildrentobeshoo’daway. Merely in his character of connoisseur, however, Dandie glancedcarelesslyafterhissisterasshecrossedthemeadow.“Thebrat’snothatbad!”hethoughtwithsurprise,forthoughhehadjustbeenpayinghercompliments,hehadnotreallylookedather. “Hey!what’syon?”Forthegreydresswascutwith short sleeves and skirts, and displayed her trim strong legs clad inpinkstockingsofthesameshadeasthekerchiefsheworeroundhershoulders,andthatshimmeredasshewent. Thiswasnotherwayinundress;heknewherways and theways of thewhole sex in the country-side, no one better;whentheydidnotgobarefoot,theyworestout“rigandfurrow”woollenhoseofaninvisiblebluemostly,whentheywerenotblackoutright;andDandie,atsightofthisdaintiness,puttwoandtwotogether.Itwasasilkhandkerchief,then theywould be silken hose; theymatched—then thewhole outfitwas apresentofClem’s,acostlypresent,andnotsomethingtobewornthroughbogandbriar, or on a late afternoonofSunday. Hewhistled. “MydentyMay,

either your heid’s fair turned, or there’s some ongoings!” he observed, anddismissedthesubject.

Shewentslowlyatfirst,buteverstraighterandfasterfortheCauldstaneslap,apassamongthehillstowhichthefarmoweditsname.TheSlapopenedlikeadoorwaybetweentworoundedhillocks;andthroughthisrantheshortcut toHermiston. Immediately on the other side itwent down through theDeil’sHags, a considerable marshy hollow of the hill tops, full of springs, andcrouching junipers, andpoolswhere theblackpeat-water slumbered. Therewas no view fromhere. Amanmight have sat upon the PrayingWeaver’sstoneahalf century, and seennonebut theCauldstaneslapchildren twice inthetwenty-fourhoursontheirwaytotheschoolandbackagain,anoccasionalshepherd,theirruptionofaclanofsheep,orthebirdswhohauntedaboutthesprings,drinkingandshrillypiping.So,whenshehadoncepassedtheSlap,Kirstiewasreceivedintoseclusion.Shelookedbackalasttimeatthefarm.Itstill lay deserted except for the figure of Dandie, whowas now seen to bescribbling inhis lap, thehourofexpected inspirationhavingcometohimatlast. Thenceshepassedrapidly through themorass,andcame to thefartherend of it, where a sluggish burn discharges, and the path for Hermistonaccompanies it on the beginning of its downward path. From this corner awideviewwasopenedtoherofthewholestretchofbraesupontheotherside,still sallowand inplaces rustywith thewinter,with thepathmarkedboldly,here and there by the burn-side a tuft of birches, and—twomiles off as thecrow flies—from its enclosures and young plantations, the windows ofHermistonglitteringinthewesternsun.

Hereshesatdownandwaited,and looked fora long timeat these far-awaybrightpanesofglass.Itamusedhertohavesoextendedaview,shethought.ItamusedhertoseethehouseofHermiston—tosee“folk”;andtherewasanindistinguishablehumanunit,perhaps thegardener,visiblysaunteringonthegravelpaths.

Bythetimethesunwasdownandalltheeasterlybraeslayplungedinclearshadow,shewasawareofanotherfigurecomingupthepathatamostunequalrateofapproach,nowhalfrunning,nowpausingandseemingtohesitate.Shewatchedhimatfirstwithatotalsuspensionofthought.Sheheldherthoughtasapersonholdshisbreathing.Thensheconsentedtorecognisehim.“He’llnobecominghere,hecannabe;it’snopossible.” Andtherebegantogrowuponher a subdued choking suspense. Hewas coming; his hesitations hadquite ceased, his step grew firm and swift; no doubt remained; and thequestion loomedupbeforeher instant:whatwas she todo? Itwasallverywelltosaythatherbrotherwasalairdhimself:itwasallverywelltospeakofcasual intermarriages and to count cousinship, like Auntie Kirstie. Thedifferenceintheirsocialstationwastrenchant;propriety,prudence,allthatshe

hadeverlearned,allthatsheknew,badeherflee.Butontheotherhandthecupoflifenowofferedtoherwastooenchanting.Foronemoment,shesawthequestionclearly,anddefinitelymadeherchoice.Shestoodupandshowedherself an instant in the gap relieved upon the sky line; and the next, fledtremblingandsatdownglowingwithexcitementontheWeaver’sstone.Sheshuthereyes,seeking,prayingforcomposure.Herhandshookinherlap,andhermindwasfullofincongruousandfutilespeeches.Whatwastheretomakeaworkabout? Shecould takecareofherself, shesupposed! Therewasnoharminseeingthelaird.Itwasthebestthingthatcouldhappen.Shewouldmarkaproperdistancetohimonceandforall. Graduallythewheelsofhernatureceasedtogoroundsomadly,andshesatinpassiveexpectation,aquiet,solitaryfigureinthemidstofthegreymoss.Ihavesaidshewasnohypocrite,buthereIamatfault.SheneveradmittedtoherselfthatshehadcomeupthehilltolookforArchie.Andperhapsafterallshedidnotknow,perhapscameasastonefalls.Forthestepsofloveintheyoung,andespeciallyingirls,areinstinctiveandunconscious.

In the meantime Archie was drawing rapidly near, and he at least wasconsciouslyseekingherneighbourhood.Theafternoonhadturnedtoashesinhismouth;thememoryofthegirlhadkepthimfromreadinganddrawnhimaswithcords;andatlast,asthecooloftheeveningbegantocomeon,hehadtakenhishatandsetforth,withasmotheredejaculation,bythemoorpathtoCauldstaneslap. Hehadnohope tofindher;he tooktheoffchancewithoutexpectation of result and to relieve his uneasiness. The greater was hissurprise, ashe surmounted the slopeandcame into thehollowof theDeil’sHags, tosee there, likeananswer tohiswishes, the littlewomanlyfigure inthegreydressandthepinkkerchiefsittinglittle,andlow,andlost,andacutelysolitary,inthesedesolatesurroundingsandontheweather-beatenstoneofthedeadweaver. Those things that still smackedofwinterwereall rustyabouther,andthosethingsthatalreadyrelishedofthespringhadputforththetenderand livelycoloursof theseason. Even in theunchanging faceof thedeath-stone,changesweretoberemarked;andinthechanneledlettering,themossbegantorenewitselfinjewelsofgreen.Byanafterthoughtthatwasastrokeofart,shehadturnedupoverherheadthebackofthekerchief;sothatitnowframed becomingly her vivacious and yet pensive face. Her feet weregathered under her on the one side, and she leaned on her bare arm,whichshowedout strongand round, tapered toa slimwrist, andshimmered in thefadinglight.

YoungHermistonwas struckwith a certain chill. Hewas reminded that henowdealt inseriousmattersof lifeanddeath. Thiswasagrownwomanhewasapproaching,endowedwithhermysteriouspotenciesandattractions,thetreasuryof the continued race, andhewasneitherbetternorworse than the

averageofhis sex and age. Hehad a certaindelicacywhichhadpreservedhimhithertounspotted,andwhich(hadeitherofthemguessedit)madehimamoredangerouscompanionwhenhisheartshouldbereallystirred.Histhroatwas dry as he came near; but the appealing sweetness of her smile stoodbetweenthemlikeaguardianangel.

Forsheturnedtohimandsmiled,thoughwithoutrising.Therewasashadeinthis cavaliergreeting thatneitherof themperceived;neitherhe,whosimplythoughtitgraciousandcharmingasherself;noryetshe,whodidnotobserve(quick as she was) the difference between rising to meet the laird, andremainingseatedtoreceivetheexpectedadmirer.

“Areyesteppingwest,Hermiston?”saidshe,givinghimhisterritorialnameafterthefashionofthecountry-side.

“Iwas,”saidhe,a littlehoarsely,“but I thinkIwillbeabout theendofmystrollnow.Areyoulikeme,MissChristina?Thehousewouldnotholdme.Icamehereseekingair.”

Hetookhisseatattheotherendofthetombstoneandstudiedher,wonderingwhatwasshe.Therewasinfiniteimportinthequestionalikeforherandhim.

“Ay,”shesaid.“Icouldnabeartheroofeither.It’sahabitofminetocomeuphereaboutthegloamingwhenit’squaietandcaller.”

“Itwasahabitofmymother’salso,”hesaidgravely. The recollectionhalfstartledhimasheexpressedit.Helookedaround.“Ihavescarcebeenheresince.It’speaceful,”hesaid,withalongbreath.

“It’snolikeGlasgow,”shereplied.“Awearyplace,yonGlasgow!ButwhatadayhaveIhadformyhomecoming,andwhatabonnyevening!”

“Indeed, itwas awonderful day,” saidArchie. “I think Iwill remember ityearsandyearsuntilIcometodie.Ondayslikethis—IdonotknowifyoufeelasIdo—buteverythingappearssobrief,andfragile,andexquisite,thatIamafraidtotouchlife.Wearehereforsoshortatime;andalltheoldpeoplebefore us—Rutherfords of Hermiston, Elliotts of the Cauldstaneslap—thatwereherebutawhilesinceridingaboutandkeepingupagreatnoiseinthisquietcorner—makinglovetoo,andmarrying—why,wherearetheynow?It’sdeadly commonplace, but, after all, the commonplaces are the great poetictruths.”

Hewassoundingher,semi-consciously,toseeifshecouldunderstandhim;tolearnifshewereonlyananimalthecolourofflowers,orhadasoulinhertokeep her sweet. She, on her part, her means well in hand, watched,womanlike, foranyopportunity toshine, toaboundinhishumour,whateverthatmight be. The dramatic artist, that lies dormant or only half awake in

mosthumanbeings,hadinhersprungtohisfeetinadivinefury,andchancehadservedherwell.Shelookeduponhimwithasubduedtwilightlookthatbecamethehourofthedayandthetrainofthought;earnestnessshonethroughherlikestarsinthepurplewest;andfromthegreatbutcontrolledupheavalofherwholenaturetherepassedintohervoice,andranginherlightestwords,athrillofemotion.

“Have youmind ofDand’s song?” she answered. “I think he’ll have beentryingtosaywhatyouhavebeenthinking.”

“No,Ineverheardit,”hesaid.“Repeatittome,canyou?”

“It’snothingwantingthetune,”saidKirstie.

“Thensingitme,”saidhe.

“OntheLord’sDay?Thatwouldneverdo,Mr.Weir!”

“IamafraidIamnotsostrictakeeperoftheSabbath,andthereisnooneinthisplacetohearus,unlessthepooroldancientunderthestone.”

“NothatI’mthinkingthatreally,”shesaid.“Bymywayofthinking,it’sjustasseriousasapsalm.WillIsoothittoye,then?”

“Ifyouplease,”saidhe,and,drawingneartoheronthetombstone,preparedtolisten.

She sat up as if to sing. “I’ll only can sooth it to ye,” she explained. “Iwouldna like tosingout loudon theSabbath. I think thebirdswouldcarrynewsofittoGilbert,”andshesmiled.“It’sabouttheElliotts,”shecontinued,“andIthinkthere’sfewbonnierbitsinthebook-poets,thoughDandhasnevergotprintedyet.”

Andshebegan,inthelow,cleartonesofherhalfvoice,nowsinkingalmosttoa whisper, now rising to a particular note which was her best, and whichArchielearnedtowaitforwithgrowingemotion:—

“Otheyradeintherain,inthedaysthataregane,Intherainandthewindandthelave,Theyshoutitintheha’andtheyroutitonthehill,Butthey’rea’quaititnoointhegrave.Auld,auldElliotts,clay-cauldElliotts,dour,bauldElliotteofauld!”

Allthetimeshesangshelookedsteadfastlybeforeher,herkneesstraight,herhands upon her knee, her head cast back and up. The expression wasadmirable throughout, forhadshenot learned it from the lipsandunder thecriticism of the author? When it was done, she turned uponArchie a facesoftly bright, and eyes gently suffused and shining in the twilight, and his

heartroseandwentouttoherwithboundlesspityandsympathy.Hisquestionwasanswered.Shewasahumanbeingtunedtoasenseofthetragedyoflife;therewerepathosandmusicandagreatheartinthegirl.

Hearoseinstinctively,shealso;forshesawshehadgainedapoint,andscoredthe impression deeper, and she hadwit enough left to flee upon a victory.They were but commonplaces that remained to be exchanged, but the low,movedvoicesinwhichtheypassedmadethemsacredinthememory.Inthefalling greyness of the evening he watched her figure winding through themorass, saw it turn a last time andwave a hand, and then pass through theSlap; and it seemed to him as if somethingwent alongwith her out of thedeepest of his heart. And something surely had come, and come to dwellthere.Hehadretainedfromchildhoodapicture,nowhalfobliteratedbythepassageof timeandthemultitudeoffreshimpressions,ofhismother tellinghim,withtheflutteredearnestnessofhervoice,andoftenwithdroppingtears,the taleof the“PrayingWeaver,”on thevery sceneofhisbrief tragedyandlong repose. Andnow therewasacompanionpiece;andhebeheld,andheshould behold for ever, Christina perched on the same tomb, in the greycolours of the evening, gracious, dainty, perfect as a flower, and she alsosinging—

“Ofold,unhappyfaroffthings,Andbattleslongago,”

of their common ancestors now dead, of their rude wars composed, theirweapons buried with them, and of these strange changelings, theirdescendants,wholingeredalittleintheirplaces,andwouldsoonbegonealso,and perhaps sung of by others at the gloaming hour. By one of theunconsciousartsoftendernessthetwowomenwereenshrinedtogetherinhismemory.Tears,inthathourofsensibility,cameintohiseyesindifferentlyatthe thought of either; and the girl, from being somethingmerely bright andshapely,wascaughtupintothezoneofthingsseriousaslifeanddeathandhisdeadmother. So that in all ways and on either side, Fate played his gameartfullywith this poor pair of children. The generationswere prepared, thepangsweremadeready,beforethecurtainroseonthedarkdrama.

In thesamemomentof time thatshedisappearedfromArchie, thereopenedbeforeKirstie’seyesthecup-likehollowinwhichthefarmlay.Shesaw,somefivehundredfeetbelowher,thehousemakingitselfbrightwithcandles,andthiswasabroadhinttohertohurry.FortheywereonlykindledonaSabbathnightwithaviewtothatfamilyworshipwhichroundedin the incomparabletediumofthedayandbroughtontherelaxationofsupper.Alreadysheknewthat Robert must be within-sides at the head of the table, “waling theportions”;for itwasRobert inhisqualityoffamilypriestandjudge,not the

gifted Gilbert, who officiated. She made good time accordingly down thesteepascent,andcameuptothedoorpantingasthethreeyoungerbrothers,allroused at last from slumber, stood together in the cool and the dark of theeveningwitha fryofnephewsandniecesabout them,chattingandawaitingtheexpectedsignal.Shestoodback;shehadnomindtodirectattentiontoherlatearrivalortoherlabouringbreath.

“Kirstie,yehaveshaveditthistime,mylass?”saidClem.“Whaurwereye?”

“O,justtakingadanderbymysel’,”saidKirstie.

And the talk continuedon the subject of theAmericanWar,without furtherreferencetothetruantwhostoodbytheminthecovertof thedusk, thrillingwithhappinessandthesenseofguilt.

Thesignalwasgiven,andthebrothersbegantogoinoneafteranother,amidthejostleandthrongofHob’schildren.

OnlyDandie,waiting till the last,caughtKirstieby thearm. “Whendidyebegintodanderinpinkhosen,MistressElliott?”hewhisperedslyly.

She looked down; she was one blush. “I maun have forgotten to changethem,” said she; and went into prayers in her turn with a troubled mind,between anxiety as to whether Dand should have observed her yellowstockings at church, and should thusdetect her in a palpable falsehood, andshame that she had alreadymade good his prophecy. She remembered thewordsofit,howitwastobewhenshehadgottenajo,andthatthatwouldbeforgoodandevil.“WillIhavegottenmyjonow?”shethoughtwithasecretrapture.

And all through prayers,where itwas her principal business to conceal thepink stockings from the eyes of the indifferentMrs. Hob—and all throughsupper, as she made a feint of eating and sat at the table radiant andconstrained—andagainwhen shehad left themandcome intoherchamber,andwasalonewithhersleepingniece,andcouldatlastlayasidethearmourof society—the samewords soundedwithin her, the same profound note ofhappiness,ofaworldallchangedandrenewed,ofadaythathadbeenpassedinParadise,andofanightthatwastobeheavenopened.Allnightsheseemedto be conveyed smoothly upon a shallow stream of sleep and waking, andthrough the bowers of Beulah; all night she cherished to her heart thatexquisite hope; and if, towards morning, she forgot it a while in a moreprofoundunconsciousness,itwastocatchagaintherainbowthoughtwithherfirstmomentofawaking.

CHAPTERVII—ENTERMEPHISTOPHELES

TwodayslateragigfromCrossmichaeldepositedFrankInnesatthedoorsofHermiston.Onceinaway,duringthepastwinter,Archie,insomeacutephaseofboredom,hadwrittenhimaletter.Ithadcontainedsomethinginthenatureofaninvitationorareferencetoaninvitation—preciselywhat,neitherofthemnowremembered.WhenInneshadreceivedit,therehadbeennothingfurtherfromhismindthantoburyhimselfinthemoorswithArchie;butnoteventhemostacutepoliticalheadsareguided through the stepsof lifewithunerringdirectness. Thatwould requireagiftofprophecywhichhasbeendenied toman. For instance,whocouldhave imagined that,notamonthafterhehadreceivedtheletter,andturneditintomockery,andputoffansweringit,andinthe end lost it, misfortunes of a gloomy cast should begin to thicken overFrank’scareer?Hiscasemaybebrieflystated.Hisfather,asmallMorayshirelairdwithalargefamily,becamerecalcitrantandcutoffthesupplies;hehadfittedhimselfoutwiththebeginningsofquiteagoodlawlibrary,which,uponsomesuddenlossesontheturf,hehadbeenobligedtosellbeforetheywerepaid for; and his bookseller, hearing some rumour of the event, took out awarrant for his arrest. Innes had early word of it, and was able to takeprecautions.Inthisimmediatewelterofhisaffairs,withanunpleasantchargehangingoverhim,hehadjudgeditthepartofprudencetobeoffinstantly,hadwrittenafervidletter tohisfatheratInverauld,andputhimself inthecoachforCrossmichael.Anyportinastorm!HewasmanfullyturninghisbackontheParliamentHouseanditsgaybabble,onporterandoysters,therace-courseandthering;andmanfullyprepared,untilthesecloudsshouldhaveblownby,tosharealivinggravewithArchieWeiratHermiston.

Todohimjustice,hewasnolesssurprisedtobegoingthanArchiewastoseehimcome;andhecarriedoffhiswonderwithaninfinitelybettergrace.

“Well,here Iam!”saidhe,ashealighted. “Pyladeshascome toOrestesatlast.Bytheway,didyougetmyanswer?No?Howveryprovoking!Well,hereIamtoanswerformyself,andthat’sbetterstill.”

“I am very glad to see you, of course,” saidArchie. “Imake you heartilywelcome,ofcourse. Butyousurelyhavenotcome to stay,with theCourtsstillsitting;isthatnotmostunwise?”

“Damn the Courts!” says Frank. “What are the Courts to friendship and alittlefishing?”

Andsoitwasagreedthathewastostay,withnotermtothevisitbutthetermwhichhehadprivilysettoithimself—theday,namely,whenhisfathershouldhavecomedownwiththedust,andheshouldbeabletopacifythebookseller.

Onsuchvagueconditionstherebeganforthesetwoyoungmen(whowerenotevenfriends)alifeofgreatfamiliarityand,asthedaysdrewon,lessandlessintimacy.Theyweretogetheratmealtimes,togethero’nightswhenthehourhad come forwhisky-toddy; but itmight havebeennoticed (had there beenanyonetopayheed)thattheywererarelysomuchtogetherbyday. ArchiehadHermistontoattendto,multifariousactivitiesinthehills,inwhichhedidnotrequire,andhadevenrefused,Frank’sescort.Hewouldbeoffsometimesin themorningand leaveonlyanoteon thebreakfast table toannounce thefact;andsometimes,withnonoticeatall,hewouldnotreturnfordinneruntilthehourwaslongpast. Innesgroanedunderthesedesertions; itrequiredallhisphilosophytositdowntoasolitarybreakfastwithcomposure,andallhisunaffected good-nature to be able to greet Archie with friendliness on themorerareoccasionswhenhecamehomelatefordinner.

“Iwonderwhatonearthhe finds todo,Mrs.Elliott?”saidheonemorning,afterhehadjustreadthehastybilletandsatdowntotable.

“I suppose itwillbebusiness, sir,” replied thehousekeeperdrily,measuringhisdistanceofftohimbyanindicatedcurtsy.

“ButIcan’timaginewhatbusiness!”hereiterated.

“Isupposeitwillbehisbusiness,”retortedtheaustereKirstie.

He turned to her with that happy brightness that made the charm of hisdisposition,andbrokeintoapealofhealthyandnaturallaughter.

“Wellplayed,Mrs.Elliott!”hecried;andthehousekeeper’sfacerelaxedintotheshadowofanironsmile.“Wellplayedindeed!”saidhe.“Butyoumustnotbemakingastrangerofmelikethat.Why,ArchieandIwereattheHighSchooltogether,andwe’vebeentocollegetogether,andweweregoingtotheBartogether,when—youknow!Dear,dearme!whatapitythatwas!Alifespoiled, a fine young fellow as good as buried here in the wilderness withrustics;andallforwhat?Afrolic,silly,ifyoulike,butnomore.God,howgoodyoursconesare,Mrs.Elliott!”

“They’re nomines, itwas the lassiemade them,” saidKirstie; “and, savingyourpresence,there’slittlesenseintakingtheLord’snameinvainaboutidleviversthatyoufillyourkytewi’.”

“I daresay you’re perfectly right, ma’am,” quoth the imperturbable Frank.“Butas Iwassaying, this isapitiablebusiness, thisaboutpoorArchie;andyouandImightdoworsethanputourheadstogether,likeacoupleofsensiblepeople,andbringit toanend. Letmetellyou,ma’am,thatArchieisreallyquiteapromisingyoungman,andinmyopinionhewoulddowellattheBar.Asforhisfather,noonecandenyhisability,andIdon’tfancyanyonewould

caretodenythathehasthedeil’sowntemper—”

“Ifyou’llexcuseme,Mr.Innes,Ithinkthelassiscryingonme,”saidKirstie,andflouncedfromtheroom.

“Thedamned,cross-grained,oldbroomstick!”ejaculatedInnes.

In themeantime,Kirstiehadescaped into thekitchen,andbeforehervassalgaveventtoherfeelings.

“Here, ettercap! Ye’ll have towaitonyon Innes! I cannahaudmyself in.‘PuirErchie!’ I’d‘puirErchie’him, if Ihadmyway! AndHermistonwiththedeil’saintemper!God,lethimtakeHermiston’ssconesoutofhismouthfirst. There’s no a hair on ayther o’ theWeirs that hasna mair spunk anddirdumtoitthanwhathehasinhishaledwaiblybody!Settin’uphissnashtome! Lethimgang to theblack toonwherehe’smebbewantit—birling in acurricle—wi’ pimatum on his heid—making a mess o’ himsel’ wi’ nestyhizzies—a fair disgrace!” It was impossible to hear without admirationKirstie’s graduated disgust, as she brought forth, one after another, thesesomewhat baseless charges. Then she remembered her immediate purpose,andturnedagainonherfascinatedauditor.“Doyenohearme,tawpie?Doyenohearwhat I’m tellin’ye? Will Ihave toshooye in tohim?If Icome toattend to ye, mistress!” And the maid fled the kitchen, which had becomepracticallydangerous,toattendonInnes’wantsinthefrontparlour.

Tantaene irae? Has the readerperceived the reason? SinceFrank’scomingthere were no more hours of gossip over the supper tray! All hisblandishmentswereinvain;hehadstartedhandicappedontheraceforMrs.Elliott’sfavour.

But it was a strange thing howmisfortune dogged him in his efforts to begenial. I must guard the reader against accepting Kirstie’s epithets asevidence; shewasmore concerned for their vigour than for their accuracy.Dwaibly,forinstance;nothingcouldbemorecalumnious.Frankwastheverypicture of good looks, good humour, andmanly youth. He had bright eyeswith a sparkle and a dance to them, curly hair, a charming smile, brilliantteeth,anadmirablecarriageofthehead,thelookofagentleman,theaddressofoneaccustomedtopleaseatfirstsightandtoimprovetheimpression.Andwithalltheseadvantages,hefailedwitheveryoneaboutHermiston;withthesilentshepherd,withtheobsequiousgrieve,withthegroomwhowasalsotheploughman, with the gardener and the gardener’s sister—a pious, down-heartedwomanwithashawloverherears—hefailedequallyandflatly.Theydid not like him, and they showed it. The little maid, indeed, was anexception;sheadmiredhimdevoutly,probablydreamedofhiminherprivatehours; but shewas accustomed to play the part of silent auditor toKirstie’s

tiradesandsilentrecipientofKirstie’sbuffets,andshehadlearnednotonlytobeaverycapablegirlofheryears,butaverysecretandprudentonebesides.Frankwasthusconsciousthathehadoneallyandsympathiserinthemidstofthatgeneralunionofdisfavourthatsurrounded,watched,andwaitedonhiminthehouseofHermiston;buthehadlittlecomfortorsocietyfromthatalliance,and the demure littlemaid (twelve on her last birthday) preserved her owncounsel,andtrippedonhisservice,brisk,dumblyresponsive,butinexorablyunconversational. For the others, they were beyond hope and beyondendurance. Never had a young Apollo been cast among such rusticbarbarians.Butperhapsthecauseofhisill-successlayinonetraitwhichwashabitual and unconscious with him, yet diagnostic of the man. It was hispractice to approach any one person at the expense of some one else. Heofferedyouanallianceagainstthesomeoneelse;heflatteredyoubyslightinghim;youweredrawnintoasmallintrigueagainsthimbeforeyouknewhow.Wonderfularethevirtuesofthisprocessgenerally;butFrank’smistakewasinthechoiceofthesomeoneelse.Hewasnotpoliticinthat;helistenedtothevoiceofirritation.Archiehadoffendedhimatfirstbywhathehadfelttoberatheradryreception,hadoffendedhimsincebyhisfrequentabsences. HewasbesidestheonefigurecontinuallypresentinFrank’seye;anditwastohisimmediatedependantsthatFrankcouldofferthesnareofhissympathy.Nowthe truth is that theWeirs, father and son, were surrounded by a posse ofstrenuousloyalists.Ofmylordtheywerevastlyproud.Itwasadistinctioninitself to be one of the vassals of the “Hanging Judge,” and his gross,formidable joviality was far from unpopular in the neighbourhood of hishome. For Archie they had, one and all, a sensitive affection and respectwhichrecoiledfromawordofbelittlement.

Nor was Frank more successful when he went farther afield. To the FourBlackBrothers, for instance,hewasantipathetic in thehighestdegree. Hobthoughthimtoolight,Gibtooprofane.Clem,whosawhimbutforadayortwobeforehewenttoGlasgow,wantedtoknowwhatthefule’sbusinesswas,and whether he meant to stay here all session time! “Yon’s a drone,” hepronounced. As forDand, itwill be enough to describe their firstmeeting,when Frank had been whipping a river and the rustic celebrity chanced tocomealongthepath.

“I’mtoldyou’requiteapoet,”Frankhadsaid.

“Whatell’tyethat,mannie?”hadbeentheunconciliatinganswer.

“O,everybody!”saysFrank.

“God!Here’sfame!”saidthesardonicpoet,andhehadpassedonhisway.

Come to think of it, we have here perhaps a truer explanation of Frank’s

failures. Had he met Mr. Sheriff Scott he could have turned a neatercompliment, because Mr. Scott would have been a friend worth making.Dand, on the other hand, he did not value sixpence, and he showed it evenwhilehetriedtoflatter.Condescensionisanexcellentthing,butitisstrangehowone-sided the pleasure of it is! Hewho goes fishing among the Scotspeasantrywithcondescensionforabaitwillhaveanemptybasketbyevening.

Inproofof this theoryFrankmadeagreat successof it at theCrossmichaelClub, to which Archie took him immediately on his arrival; his own lastappearanceonthatsceneofgaiety. Frankwasmadewelcomethereatonce,continued togo regularly, andhadattendedameeting (as thememberseverafter loved to tell) on the evening before his death. YoungHay and youngPringle appeared again. There was another supper at Windiclaws, anotherdinner at Driffel; and it resulted in Frank being taken to the bosom of thecountypeopleasunreservedlyashehadbeenrepudiatedbythecountryfolk.HeoccupiedHermistonafterthemannerofaninvaderinaconqueredcapital.Hewasperpetually issuing from it, as fromabase, to toddyparties, fishingparties, and dinner parties, to which Archie was not invited, or to whichArchie would not go. It was now that the name of The Recluse becamegeneral for theyoungman. Somesay that Innes invented it; Innes,at least,spreaditabroad.

“How’sallwithyourRecluseto-day?”peoplewouldask.

“O, reclusing away!” Innes would declare, with his bright air of sayingsomethingwitty;andimmediatelyinterruptthegenerallaughterwhichhehadprovokedmuchmorebyhisairthanhiswords,“Mindyou,it’sallverywelllaughing, but I’m not verywell pleased. PoorArchie is a good fellow, anexcellent fellow,a fellowIalways liked. I think it smallofhim to takehislittledisgracesohard,andshuthimselfup.‘Grantthatitisaridiculousstory,painfullyridiculous,’Ikeeptellinghim.‘Beaman!Liveitdown,man!’Butnothe.Ofcourse,it’sjustsolitude,andshame,andallthat.ButIconfessI’mbeginningtofeartheresult.ItwouldbeallthepitiesintheworldifareallypromisingfellowlikeWeirwastoendill. I’mseriously temptedtowrite toLordHermiston,andputitplainlytohim.”

“Iwould if Iwere you,” some of his auditorswould say, shaking the head,sitting bewildered and confused at this new view of the matter, so deftlyindicatedbyasingleword.“Acapitalidea!”theywouldadd,andwonderattheaplombandpositionofthisyoungman,whotalkedasamatterofcourseofwritingtoHermistonandcorrectinghimuponhisprivateaffairs.

AndFrankwouldproceed,sweetlyconfidential:“I’llgiveyouanidea,now.He’s actually sore about the way that I’m received and he’s left out in thecounty—actually jealous and sore. I’ve rallied him and I’ve reasonedwith

him,toldhimthateveryonewasmostkindlyinclinedtowardshim,toldhimeventhatIwasreceivedmerelybecauseIwashisguest.Butit’snouse.Hewill neither accept the invitations he gets, nor stop brooding about the oneswherehe’sleftout.WhatI’mafraidofisthatthewound’sulcerating.Hehadalwaysoneofthosedark,secret,angrynatures—alittleunderhandandplentyofbile—youknowthesort.HemusthaveinheriteditfromtheWeirs,whomIsuspecttohavebeenaworthyfamilyofweaverssomewhere;what’sthecantphrase?—sedentary occupation. It’s precisely the kind of character to gowronginafalsepositionlikewhathisfather’smadeforhim,orhe’smakingfor himself, whichever you like to call it. And for my part, I think it adisgrace,”Frankwouldsaygenerously.

Presently thesorrowandanxietyof thisdisinterested friend tookshape. Hebeganinprivate,inconversationsoftwo,totalkvaguelyofbadhabitsandlowhabits. “Imust say I’mafraidhe’sgoingwrongaltogether,”hewould say.“I’ll tellyouplainly,andbetweenourselves,Iscarcelylike tostaythereanylonger;only,man,I’mpositivelyafraidtoleavehimalone.You’llsee,Ishallbeblamedforitlateron.I’mstayingatagreatsacrifice.I’mhinderingmychancesattheBar,andIcan’tblindmyeyestoit.AndwhatI’mafraidofisthatI’mgoingtogetkickedforitallroundbeforeall’sdone.Yousee,nobodybelievesinfriendshipnowadays.”

“Well,Innes,”hisinterlocutorwouldreply,“it’sverygoodofyou,Imustsaythat. If there’sanyblamegoing,you’llalwaysbesureofmygoodword, foronething.”

“Well,”Frankwouldcontinue,“candidly, Idon’tsay it’spleasant. Hehasaveryroughwaywithhim;hisfather’sson,youknow.Idon’tsayhe’srude—of course, I couldn’t be expected to stand that—but he steers very near thewind. No, it’snotpleasant;but I tellye,man, inconscienceIdon’t think itwouldbe fair to leavehim. Mindyou, Idon’t say there’sanythingactuallywrong. What I say is that I don’t like the looks of it,man!” and hewouldpressthearmofhismomentaryconfidant.

IntheearlystagesIampersuadedtherewasnomalice.Hetalkedbutforthepleasure of airing himself. He was essentially glib, as becomes the youngadvocate,andessentiallycarelessofthetruth,whichisthemarkoftheyoungass; and sohe talked at random. Therewasnoparticularbias, but that onewhichisindigenousanduniversal,toflatterhimselfandtopleaseandinterestthepresentfriend.Andbythusmillingairoutofhismouth,hehadpresentlybuiltupapresentationofArchiewhichwasknownandtalkedofinallcornersof thecounty. Wherever therewasa residentialhouseandawalledgarden,wherevertherewasadwarfishcastleandapark,whereveraquadruplecottagebytheruinsofapeel-towershowedanoldfamilygoingdown,andwherevera

handsomevillawithacarriageapproachandashrubberymarkedthecomingupofanewone—probablyonthewheelsofmachinery—Archiebegantoberegarded in the light of a dark, perhaps a vicious mystery, and the futuredevelopmentsofhiscareertobelookedforwithuneasinessandconfidentialwhispering. He had done something disgraceful, my dear. What, was notprecisely known, and that good kind youngman,Mr. Innes, did his best tomakelightofit.Butthereitwas.AndMr.Inneswasveryanxiousabouthimnow; he was really uneasy, my dear; he was positively wrecking his ownprospectsbecausehedarednotleavehimalone.Howwhollywealllieatthemercyofasingleprater,notneedfullywithanymalignpurpose!Andifamanbuttalksofhimselfintherightspirit,referstohisvirtuousactionsbytheway,and never applies to them the name of virtue, how easily his evidence isacceptedinthecourtofpublicopinion!

Allthiswhile,however,therewasamorepoisonousfermentatworkbetweenthe two lads, which came late indeed to the surface, but hadmodified andmagnified their dissensions from the first. To an idle, shallow, easy-goingcustomerlikeFrank,thesmellofamysterywasattractive. Itgavehismindsomethingtoplaywith,likeanewtoytoachild;andittookhimontheweakside, for likemanyyoungmencoming to theBar,andbefore theyhadbeentried and found wanting, he flattered himself he was a fellow of unusualquicknessandpenetration. TheyknewnothingofSherlockHolmes in thosedays, but therewas a gooddeal said ofTalleyrand. And if you couldhavecaughtFrankoffhisguard,hewouldhaveconfessedwithasmirkthat,ifheresembledanyone,itwastheMarquisdeTalleyrand-Perigord.Itwasontheoccasion ofArchie’s first absence that this interest took root. Itwas vastlydeepened when Kirstie resented his curiosity at breakfast, and that sameafternoonthereoccurredanotherscenewhichclinchedthebusiness.HewasfishingSwingleburn,Archieaccompanyinghim,whenthelatterlookedathiswatch.

“Well,good-bye,”saidhe.“Ihavesomethingtodo.Seeyouatdinner.”

“Don’tbeinsuchahurry,”criesFrank.“HoldontillIgetmyrodup.I’llgowithyou;I’msickoffloggingthisditch.”

Andhebegantoreeluphisline.

Archiestoodspeechless.Hetookalongwhiletorecoverhiswitsunderthisdirectattack;butbythetimehewasreadywithhisanswer,andtheanglewasalmost packed up, he had become completely Weir, and the hanging facegloomed on his young shoulders. He spoke with a laboured composure, alabouredkindnesseven;butachildcouldseethathismindwasmadeup.

“I beg your pardon, Innes; I don’t want to be disagreeable, but let us

understandoneanotherfromthebeginning.WhenIwantyourcompany,I’llletyouknow.”

“O!”criesFrank,“youdon’twantmycompany,don’tyou?”

“Apparentlynot justnow,” repliedArchie. “I even indicated toyouwhen Idid,ifyou’llremember—andthatwasatdinner.Ifwetwofellowsaretolivetogetherpleasantly—andIseenoreasonwhyweshouldnot—itcanonlybebyrespectingeachother’sprivacy.Ifwebeginintruding—”

“O,come!I’lltakethisatnoman’shands.Isthisthewayyoutreataguestandanoldfriend?”criedInnes.

“Just go home and think over what I said by yourself,” continued Archie,“whetherit’sreasonable,orwhetherit’sreallyoffensiveornot;andlet’smeetatdinnerasthoughnothinghadhappened,I’llputitthisway,ifyoulike—thatI knowmy own character, that I’m looking forward (with great pleasure, Iassure you) to a long visit fromyou, and that I’m taking precautions at thefirst. Isee the thingthatwe—thatI, ifyoulike—mightfalloutupon,andIstepinandobstoprincipiis.Iwageryoufivepoundsyou’llendbyseeingthatImeanfriendliness,andIassureyou,Francie,Ido,”headded,relenting.

Burstingwithanger,butincapableofspeech,Innesshoulderedhisrod,madeagestureof farewell,andstrodeoffdowntheburn-side. Archiewatchedhimgo without moving. He was sorry, but quite unashamed. He hated to beinhospitable,butinonethinghewashisfather’sson.Hehadastrongsensethathishousewashisownandnomanelse’s;andtolieataguest’smercywaswhatherefused. Hehatedtoseemharsh. But thatwasFrank’s lookout. IfFrankhadbeencommonlydiscreet,hewouldhavebeendecentlycourteous.Andtherewasanotherconsideration.Thesecrethewasprotectingwasnothisownmerely; itwas hers: it belonged to that inexpressible shewhowas fasttakingpossessionofhissoul,andwhomhewouldsoonhavedefendedatthecost of burning cities. By the time he had watched Frank as far as theSwingleburn-foot, appearing and disappearing in the tarnished heather, stillstalkingatafiercegaitbutalreadydwindledinthedistanceintolessthanthesmallnessofLilliput,hecouldaffordtosmileattheoccurrence.EitherFrankwouldgo,and thatwouldbea relief—orhewouldcontinue tostay,andhishostmust continue to endure him. AndArchiewas now free—by deviouspaths,behindhillocksand in thehollowofburns—tomake for the trysting-place where Kirstie, cried about by the curlew and the plover, waited andburnedforhiscomingbytheCovenanter’sstone.

Inneswentoffdown-hillinapassionofresentment,easytobeunderstood,butwhichyieldedprogressively to theneedsofhis situation. HecursedArchiefor a cold-hearted, unfriendly, rude, rude dog; and himself still more

passionately for a fool in having come to Hermiston when he might havesoughtrefugeinalmostanyotherhouseinScotland.Butthesteponcetaken,waspractically irretrievable. Hehadnomore readymoney togoanywhereelse;hewouldhavetoborrowfromArchiethenextclub-night;andillashethoughtofhishost’smanners,hewassureofhispracticalgenerosity.Frank’sresemblancetoTalleyrandstrikesmeasimaginary;butatleastnotTalleyrandhimselfcouldhavemoreobedientlytakenhis lessonfromthefacts. HemetArchie at dinnerwithout resentment, almostwith cordiality. Youmust takeyourfriendsasyoufindthem,hewouldhavesaid.Archiecouldn’thelpbeinghis father’s son, or his grandfather’s, the hypothetical weaver’s, grandson.Thesonofahunks,hewasstillahunksatheart,incapableoftruegenerosityand consideration; but he had other qualitieswithwhichFrank could diverthimself in the meanwhile, and to enjoy which it was necessary that Frankshouldkeephistemper.

Soexcellentlywasitcontrolledthatheawokenextmorningwithhisheadfullofadifferent,thoughacognatesubject.WhatwasArchie’slittlegame?WhydidheshunFrank’scompany?Whatwashekeepingsecret?Washekeepingtrystwithsomebody,andwasitawoman?Itwouldbeagoodjokeandafairrevengetodiscover.Tothattaskhesethimselfwithagreatdealofpatience,whichmighthave surprisedhis friends, forhehadbeenalwayscreditednotwith patience so much as brilliancy; and little by little, from one point toanother,heat last succeeded inpiecingout the situation. Firsthe remarkedthat, althoughArchie set out in all thedirectionsof the compass, he alwayscame home again from some point between the south andwest. From thestudy of a map, and in consideration of the great expanse of untenantedmoorland running in thatdirection towards thesourcesof theClyde,he laidhis finger onCauldstaneslap and two other neighbouring farms,Kingsmuirsand Polintarf. But it was difficult to advance farther. With his rod for apretext, he vainly visited each of them in turn; nothing was to be seensuspiciousaboutthistrinityofmoorlandsettlements.Hewouldhavetriedtofollow Archie, had it been the least possible, but the nature of the landprecludedtheidea.Hedidthenextbest,ensconcedhimselfinaquietcorner,andpursuedhismovementswithatelescope. Itwasequallyinvain,andhesoonweariedofhisfutilevigilance,leftthetelescopeathome,andhadalmostgiventhematterupindespair,when,onthetwenty-seventhdayofhisvisit,hewassuddenlyconfrontedwiththepersonwhomhesought.ThefirstSundayKirstiehadmanagedtostayawayfromkirkonsomepretextofindisposition,whichwasmoretrulymodesty;thepleasureofbeholdingArchieseemingtoosacred, too vivid for that public place. On the two following, Frank hadhimself been absent on some of his excursions among the neighbouringfamilies. Itwasnotuntil thefourth,accordingly, thatFrankhadoccasiontoseteyesontheenchantress.Withthefirstlook,allhesitationwasover.She

camewith theCauldstaneslapparty; then she livedatCauldstaneslap. HerewasArchie’ssecret,herewasthewoman,andmorethanthat—thoughIhaveneedhereofeverymanageableattenuationof language—with the first look,hehadalreadyenteredhimselfasrival.Itwasagooddealinpique,itwasalittleinrevenge,itwasmuchingenuineadmiration:thedevilmaydecidetheproportions!Icannot,anditisverylikelythatFrankcouldnot.

“Mightyattractivemilkmaid,”heobserved,onthewayhome.

“Who?”saidArchie.

“O, thegirlyou’re lookingat—aren’tyou? Forwardthereontheroad. Shecameattendedbytherusticbard;presumably,therefore,belongstohisexaltedfamily. The single objection! for the four black brothers are awkwardcustomers.Ifanythingweretogowrong,Gibwouldgibber,andClemwouldprove inclement; andDand fly in danders, andHobblowup in gobbets. ItwouldbeaHelliottofabusiness!”

“Veryhumorous,Iamsure,”saidArchie.

“Well,Iamtryingtobeso,”saidFrank.“It’snonetooeasyinthisplace,andwithyoursolemnsociety,mydearfellow.Butconfessthatthemilkmaidhasfoundfavourinyoureyes,orresignallclaimtobeamanoftaste.”

“Itisnomatter,”returnedArchie.

Buttheothercontinuedtolookathim,steadilyandquizzically,andhiscolourslowly roseanddeepenedunder theglance,untilnot impudence itselfcouldhavedeniedthathewasblushing.AndatthisArchielostsomeofhiscontrol.He changed his stick fromone hand to the other, and—“O, forGod’s sake,don’tbeanass!”hecried.

“Ass?That’stheretortdelicatewithoutdoubt,”saysFrank.“Bewareofthehomespun brothers, dear. If they come into the dance, you’ll seewho’s anass.Thinknow,iftheyonlyapplied(say)aquarterasmuchtalentasIhaveapplied to thequestionofwhatMr.Archiedoeswithhiseveninghours,andwhyheissounaffectedlynastywhenthesubject’stouchedon—”

“Youaretouchingonitnow,”interruptedArchiewithawince.

“Thankyou.ThatwasallIwanted,anarticulateconfession,”saidFrank.

“Ibegtoremindyou—”beganArchie.

Buthewasinterruptedin turn. “Mydearfellow,don’t. It’squiteneedless.Thesubject’sdeadandburied.”

AndFrankbegan to talkhastilyonothermatters,anart inwhichhewasanadept, for itwas his gift to be fluent on anything or nothing. But although

Archiehad thegraceor the timidity tosufferhimtorattleon,hewasbynomeansdonewiththesubject.Whenhecamehometodinner,hewasgreetedwith a slydemand,how thingswere looking“Cauldstaneslapways.” FranktookhisfirstglassofportoutafterdinnertothetoastofKirstie,andlaterintheeveninghereturnedtothechargeagain.

“I say,Weir, you’ll excuseme for returning again to this affair. I’ve beenthinkingitover,andIwishtobegyouveryseriouslytobemorecareful.It’snotasafebusiness.Notsafe,myboy,”saidhe.

“What?”saidArchie.

“Well, it’syourownfault if Imustputanameon the thing;but really,asafriend,Icannotstandbyandseeyourushingheaddownintothesedangers.Mydearboy,”saidhe,holdingupawarningcigar,“consider!Whatistobetheendofit?”

“The end of what?”—Archie, helpless with irritation, persisted in thisdangerousandungraciousguard.

“Well,theendofthemilkmaid;or,tospeakmorebythecard,theendofMissChristinaElliottoftheCauldstaneslap.”

“Iassureyou,”Archiebrokeout,“this isalla figmentofyour imagination.There is nothing to be said against that young lady; you have no right tointroducehernameintotheconversation.”

“I’ll make a note of it,” said Frank. “She shall henceforth be nameless,nameless, nameless, Grigalach! I make a note besides of your valuabletestimonytohercharacter. Ionlywant to lookat this thingasamanof theworld.Admittedshe’sanangel—but,mygoodfellow,isshealady?”

This was torture to Archie. “I beg your pardon,” he said, struggling to becomposed,“butbecauseyouhavewormedyourselfintomyconfidence—”

“O,come!”criedFrank. “Yourconfidence? Itwas rosybutunconsenting.Your confidence, indeed? Now, look! This iswhat Imust say,Weir, for itconcerns your safety and good character, and therefore my honour as yourfriend.YousayIwormedmyselfintoyourconfidence.Wormedisgood.ButwhathaveIdone?Ihaveputtwoandtwotogether,justastheparishwillbedoing tomorrow, and the whole of Tweeddale in two weeks, and the blackbrothers—well, I won’t put a date on that; it will be a dark and stormymorning!Yoursecret,inotherwords,ispoorPoll’s.AndIwanttoaskofyouas a friend whether you like the prospect? There are two horns to yourdilemma,andImustsayformyselfIshouldlookmightyruefullyoneither.Do you see yourself explaining to the four Black Brothers? or do you seeyourselfpresentingthemilkmaidtopapaasthefutureladyofHermiston?Do

you?Itellyouplainly,Idon’t!”

Archierose.“Iwillhearnomoreofthis,”hesaid,inatremblingvoice.

ButFrankagainhelduphiscigar.“Tellmeonethingfirst.Tellmeifthisisnotafriend’spartthatIamplaying?”

“Ibelieveyouthinkitso,”repliedArchle.“Icangoasfarasthat.Icandosomuch justice toyourmotives. But Iwillhearnomoreof it. Iamgoing tobed.”

“That’sright,Weir,”saidFrankheartily. “Gotobedandthinkoverit;andIsay,man,don’tforgetyourprayers!Idon’toftendothemoral—don’tgoinforthatsortofthing—butwhenIdothere’sonethingsure,thatImeanit.”

SoArchiemarched off to bed, andFrank sat alone by the table for anotherhour or so, smiling to himself richly. There was nothing vindictive in hisnature; but, if revenge came in his way, it might as well be good, and thethought ofArchie’s pillow reflections that nightwas indescribably sweet tohim. Hefeltapleasantsenseofpower. HelookeddownonArchieasonavery littleboywhosestringshepulled—asonahorsewhomhehadbackedandbridledbysheerpowerofintelligence,andwhomhemightridetogloryorthegraveatpleasure.Whichwasittobe?Helingeredlong,relishingthedetailsofschemesthathewastooidletopursue.Poorcorkuponatorrent,hetastedthatnightthesweetsofomnipotence,andbroodedlikeadeityoverthestrandsofthatintriguewhichwastoshatterhimbeforethesummerwaned.

CHAPTERVIII—ANOCTURNALVISIT

Kirstiehadmanycausesofdistress.Moreandmoreaswegrowold—andyetmoreandmoreaswegrowoldandarewomen,frozenbythefearofage—wecome to relyon thevoiceas thesingleoutletof the soul. Only thus, in thecurtailment of our means, can we relieve the straitened cry of the passionwithinus;onlythus,inthebitterandsensitiveshynessofadvancingyears,canwemaintainrelationswiththosevivaciousfiguresoftheyoungthatstillshowbefore us and tend daily to becomenomore than themovingwall-paper oflife. Talk is the last link, the last relation. But with the end of theconversation,whenthevoicestopsandthebrightfaceofthelisteneristurnedaway, solitude falls again on the bruisedheart. Kirstie had lost her “canniehourate’en”;shecouldnomorewanderwithArchie,aghostifyouwill,butahappyghost, in fieldsElysian. And toher itwasas if thewholeworldhadfallen silent; to him, but an unremarkable change of amusements. And she

ragedtoknowit.Theeffervescencyofherpassionateandirritablenaturerosewithinherattimestoburstingpoint.

Thisisthepricepaidbyageforunseasonableardoursoffeeling.ItmusthavebeensoforKirstieatany timewhentheoccasionchanced;but itsofelloutthatshewasdeprivedofthisdelightinthehourwhenshehadmostneedofit,whenshehadmost to say,most toask,andwhenshe trembled to recogniseher sovereignty not merely in abeyance but annulled. For, with theclairvoyanceofagenuinelove,shehadpiercedthemysterythathadsolongembarrassedFrank. Shewasconscious,evenbeforeitwascarriedout,evenonthatSundaynightwhenitbegan,ofaninvasionofherrights;andavoicetoldhertheinvader’sname.Sincethen,byarts,byaccident,bysmallthingsobserved,andbythegeneraldriftofArchie’shumour,shehadpassedbeyondall possibility of doubt. With a sense of justice that LordHermistonmighthave envied, she had that day in church considered and admitted theattractions of the younger Kirstie; and with the profound humanity andsentimentalityofhernature,shehadrecognisedthecomingoffate.Notthuswouldshehavechosen.Shehadseen,inimagination,Archieweddedtosometall,powerful,androsyheroineofthegoldenlocks,madeinherownimage,forwhom shewould have strewed the bride-bedwith delight; and now shecouldhavewepttoseetheambitionfalsified.Butthegodshadpronounced,andherdoomwasotherwise.

Shelaytossinginbedthatnight,besiegedwithfeverishthoughts.Thereweredangerousmatters pending, a battlewas toward, over the fate ofwhich shehunginjealousy,sympathy,fear,andalternateloyaltyanddisloyaltytoeitherside. Nowshewas reincarnated inherniece,andnow inArchie. Nowshesaw,throughthegirl’seyes,theyouthonhiskneestoher,heardhispersuasiveinstanceswith a deadlyweakness, and received his overmastering caresses.Anon,witharevulsion,hertemperragedtoseesuchutmostfavoursoffortuneandlovesquanderedonabratofagirl,oneofherownhouse,usingherownname—a deadly ingredient—and that “didna ken her ain mind an’ was asblack’s your hat.” Now she trembled lest her deity should plead in vain,loving the idea of success for him like a triumph of nature; anon, withreturningloyaltytoherownfamilyandsex,shetrembledforKirstieandthecreditoftheElliotts.Andagainshehadavisionofherself,thedayoverforherold-worldtalesandlocalgossip,biddingfarewelltoherlastlinkwithlifeandbrightnessandlove;andbehindandbeyond,shesawbuttheblankbutt-endwhereshemustcrawltodie.Hadshethencometothelees?she,sogreat,so beautiful,with a heart as fresh as a girl’s and strong aswomanhood? Itcouldnotbe,andyetitwasso;andforamomentherbedwashorribletoherasthesidesofthegrave.Andshelookedforwardoverawasteofhours,andsawherselfgoontorage,andtremble,andbesoftened,andrageagain,until

thedaycameandthelaboursofthedaymustberenewed.

Suddenlysheheardfeetonthestairs—hisfeet,andsoonafterthesoundofawindow-sashflungopen.Shesatupwithherheartbeating.Hehadgonetohisroomalone,andhehadnotgonetobed.Shemightagainhaveoneofhernight cracks; and at the entrancing prospect, a change came over hermind;with the approach of this hope of pleasure, all the baser metal becameimmediatelyobliteratedfromher thoughts. Sherose,allwoman,andall thebestofwoman,tender,pitiful,hatingthewrong,loyaltoherownsex—andalltheweakestofthatdearmiscellany,nourishing,cherishingnexthersoftheart,voicelessly flattering, hopes that she would have died sooner than haveacknowledged.Shetoreoffhernightcap,andherhairfellabouthershouldersin profusion. Undying coquetry awoke. By the faint light of her nocturnalrush, she stoodbefore the looking-glass, carriedher shapelyarmsaboveherhead,andgatheredupthetreasuresofhertresses.Shewasneverbackwardtoadmire herself; that kind of modesty was a stranger to her nature; and shepaused, struckwithapleasedwonderat the sight. “Yedaft auldwife!” shesaid, answering a thought that was not; and she blushed with the innocentconsciousness of a child. Hastily she did up themassive and shining coils,hastily donned awrapper, andwith the rushlight in her hand, stole into thehall. Below stairs she heard the clock ticking the deliberate seconds, andFrank jinglingwith the decanters in the dining-room. Aversion rose in her,bitter and momentary. “Nesty, tippling puggy!” she thought; and the nextmomentshehadknockedguardedlyatArchie’sdoorandwasbiddenenter.

Archiehadbeenlookingoutintotheancientblackness,piercedhereandtherewith a rayless star; taking the sweet air of themoors and the night into hisbosom deeply; seeking, perhaps finding, peace after the manner of theunhappy.Heturnedroundasshecamein,andshowedherapalefaceagainstthewindow-frame.

“Isthatyou,Kirstie?”heasked.“Comein!”

“It’suncolate,mydear,”saidKirstie,affectingunwillingness.

“No,no,”heanswered,“notatall. Comein, ifyouwantacrack. Iamnotsleepy,Godknows!”

She advanced, took a chair by the toilet table and the candle, and set therushlightatherfoot.Something—itmightbeinthecomparativedisorderofherdress,itmightbetheemotionthatnowwelledinherbosom—hadtouchedherwithawandof transformation,andsheseemedyoungwith theyouthofgoddesses.

“Mr.Erchie,”shebegan,“what’sthisthat’scometoye?”

“I am not aware of anything that has come,” saidArchie, and blushed, andrepentedbitterlythathehadletherin.

“O,mydear,that’llnodae!”saidKirstie.“It’silltoblendtheeyesoflove.O,Mr.Erchie, tak a thocht ere it’s ower late. Ye shouldnabe impatient o’ thebrawso’life,they’lla’comeintheirsaison,likethesunandtherain.Ye’reyoungyet;ye’vemonycantieyearsaforeye.Seeanddinnawreckyersel’attheoutsetlikesaemonyithers!Haepatience—theytelledmeayethatwastheowercomeo’life—haepatience,there’sabrawdaycomingyet.Gudekensitnever cam tome; and here I am,wi’ naytherman nor bairn to ca’my ain,wearyinga’folkswi’myilltongue,andyoujustthefirst,Mr.Erchie!”

“Ihaveadifficultyinknowingwhatyoumean,”saidArchie.

“Weel,andI’lltellye,”shesaid.“It’sjustthis,thatI’mfeared.I’mfearedforye,mydear. Remember,yourfaitherisahardman,reapingwherehehasnasowedandgaitheringwherehehasnastrawed.It’seasyspeakin’,butmind!Ye’llhavetolookinthegurlyfaceo’m,whereit’silltolook,andvaintolookformercy.Yemindmeo’abonnyshippittenootintotheblackandgowstyseas—ye’re a’ safe still, sittin’ quait and crackin’ wi’ Kirstie in your lownchalmer;butwhaurwillyebethemorn,andinwhattenhorroro’thefearsometempest,cryin’onthehillstocoverye?”

“Why,Kirstie,you’reveryenigmatical to-night—andveryeloquent,”Archieputin.

“And,mydearMr.Erchie,”shecontinued,withachangeofvoice,“yemaunathink that I canna sympathise wi’ ye. Ye mauna think that I havena beenyoungmysel’. Lang syne,when Iwas a bit lassie, no twenty yet—” Shepaused and sighed. “Clean and caller, wi’ a fit like the hinney bee,” shecontinned.“Iwasayebigandbuirdly,yemaununderstand;abonnyfigureo’awoman,thoughIsayit thatsuldna—built torearbairns—brawbairnstheysuldhaebeen,andgrandIwouldhaelikitit!ButIwasyoung,dear,wi’thebonnyglinto’youthinmye’en,andlittleIdreamedI’deverbetellin’yethis,anauld, lanely, rudaswife! Weel,Mr.Erchie, therewasa ladcam’courtin’me,aswasbutnaetural.Monyhadcomebefore,andIwouldnaneo’them.But thisyinhada tongue towile thebirds frae the liftand thebees frae thefoxglovebells. Dearyme, but it’s lang syne! Folkhavedee’d sinsyne andbeenburied, and are forgotten, andbairnsbeenborn andgotmerrit andgotbairnso’theirain.Sinsynewoodshavebeenplantit,andhavegrawnupandarebonnytrees,andthejoessitintheirshadow,andsinsyneauldestateshavechangedhands,andtherehavebeenwarsandrumoursofwarsonthefaceofthe earth. And here I’m still—like an auld droopit craw—lookin’ on andcraikin’!But,Mr.Erchie,doyenothinkthatIhavemindo’ita’still?Iwasdwalling then in my faither’s house; and it’s a curious thing that we were

whilestrystedintheDeil’sHags.AnddoyenothinkthatIhavemindofthebonnysimmerdays, the langmileso’ thebluid-redheather, thecryin’of thewhaups, and the lad and the lassie thatwas trysted? Do ye no think that Imindhowthehillysweetnessranaboutmyhairt? Ay,Mr.Erchie,Ikenthewayo’it—finedoIkentheway—howthegraceo’Godtakesthem,likePaulof Tarsus, when they think it least, and drives the pair o’ them into a landwhich is like a dream, and the world and the folks in’t’ are nae mair thancloudstothepuirlassie,andheevennaemairthanwindle-straes,ifshecanbutpleesurehim!UntilTamdee’d—thatwasmystory,”shebrokeofftosay,“hedee’d,andIwasnaattheburyin’.Butwhilehewashere,Icouldtakecareo’mysel’.Andcanyonpuirlassie?”

Kirstie,hereyesshiningwithunshedtears,stretchedoutherhandtowardshimappealingly;thebrightandthedullgoldofherhairflashedandsmoulderedinthecoilsbehindhercomelyhead, like the raysofaneternalyouth; thepurecolourhadriseninherface;andArchiewasabashedalikebyherbeautyandherstory.Hecametowardsherslowlyfromthewindow,tookupherhandinhisandkissedit.

“Kirstie,” he said hoarsely, “you havemisjudgedme sorely. I have alwaysthoughtofher,Iwouldnaharmherfortheuniverse,mywoman!”

“Eh,lad,andthat’seasysayin’,”criedKirstie,“butit’snanesaeeasydoin’!Man, do ye no comprehend that it’s God’s wull we should be blendit andglamoured,andhavenaecommandoverourainmembersatatimelikethat?Mybairn,”shecried,stillholdinghishand,“thinko’thepuirlass!havepityuponher,Erchie!andO,bewisefortwa!Thinko’therisksherins! Ihaveseenye,andwhat’s toprevent ithers! I sawyeonce in theHags, inmyainhowl,andIwaswaetoseeyethere—inpairtfortheomen,forIthinkthere’saweirdon theplace—and inpairt forpurenakitenvyandbitternesso’hairt.It’s strange ye should forgather there tae! God! but yon puir, thrawn, auldCovenanter’sseenaheapo’humannatursincehelookithislastonthemusketbarrels,ifheneversawnaneafore,”sheadded,withakindofwonderinhereyes.

“IswearbymyhonourIhavedonehernowrong,”saidArchie.“Iswearbymyhonourandtheredemptionofmysoulthatthereshallnonebedoneher.Ihaveheardofthisbefore.Ihavebeenfoolish,Kirstie,notunkind,and,aboveall,notbase.”

“There’smybairn!”saidKirstie,rising.“I’llcantrustyenoo,I’llcangangtomybedwi’aneasyhairt.”Andthenshesawinaflashhowbarrenhadbeenhertriumph.Archiehadpromisedtosparethegirl,andhewouldkeepit;butwhohadpromised to spareArchie? Whatwas tobe the endof it? Over amaze of difficulties she glanced, and saw, at the end of every passage, the

flintycountenanceofHermiston.Andakindofhorrorfelluponheratwhatshehaddone.Sheworeatragicmask.“Erchie,theLordpeetyyou,dear,andpeetyme!Ihavebuilditonthisfoundation”—layingherhandheavilyonhisshoulder—“andbuildithie,andpitmyhairt in thebuildin’of it. If thehalehypothecwere to fa’, I think, laddie, Iwould dee! Excuse a daftwife thatlovesye,andthatkennedyourmither.AndforHisname’ssakekeepyersel’fraeinordinatedesires;haudyourheartinbaithyourhands,carryitcannyandlaigh;dinnasendituplikeahairn’skiteintothecollieshangico’thewunds!Mind,MaisterErchiedear,thatthislife’sa’disappointment,andamouthfu’o’moolsistheappointedend.”

“Ay, but Kirstie, my woman, you’re asking me ower much at last,” saidArchie, profoundlymoved, and lapsing into the broadScots. “Ye’re askingwhatnaemancangrantye,whatonlytheLordofheavencangrantyeifHeseefit.Ay!AndcanevenHe!IcanpromiseyewhatIshalldo,andyoucandependonthat. ButhowIshallfeel—mywoman,thatis longpastthinkingof!”

They were both standing by now opposite each other. The face of Archieworethewretchedsemblanceofasmile;herswasconvulsedforamoment.

“Promisemeaething,”shecriedinasharpvoice.“Promisemeye’llneverdonaethingwithouttellingme.”

“No,Kirstie,Icannapromiseyethat,”hereplied.“Ihavepromisedenough,Godkens!”

“MaytheblessingofGodliftandrestuponyedear!”shesaid.

“Godblessye,myoldfriend,”saidhe.

CHAPTERIX—ATTHEWEAVER’SSTONE

It was late in the afternoon when Archie drew near by the hill path to thePrayingWeaver’sstone.TheHagswereinshadow.Butstill,throughthegateof theSlap, thesunshota lastarrow,whichspedfarandstraightacross thesurface of themoss, here and there touching and shining on a tussock, andlightedat lengthon thegravestoneand thesmall figureawaitinghim there.The emptiness and solitude of the great moors seemed to be concentratedthere, and Kirstie pointed out by that figure of sunshine for the onlyinhabitant.Hisfirstsightofherwasthusexcruciatinglysad,likeaglimpseofa world from which all light, comfort, and society were on the point ofvanishing.Andthenextmoment,whenshehadturnedherfacetohimandthe

quicksmilehadenlightened it, thewhole faceofnaturesmileduponhim inhersmileofwelcome.Archie’sslowpacewasquickened;hislegshastedtoherthoughhisheartwashangingback.Thegirl,uponherside,drewherselftogether slowly and stood up, expectant; she was all languor, her face wasgonewhite;herarmsachedforhim,hersoulwasontip-toes.Buthedeceivedher,pausingafewstepsaway,notlesswhitethanherself,andholdinguphishandwithagestureofdenial.

“No,Christina,notto-day,”hesaid.“To-dayIhavetotalktoyouseriously.Sityedown,please,therewhereyouwere.Please!”herepeated.

TherevulsionoffeelinginChristina’sheartwasviolent.Tohavelongedandwaitedthesewearyhoursforhim,rehearsingherendearments—tohaveseenhimatlastcome—tohavebeenreadythere,breathless,whollypassive,histodowhathewouldwith—andsuddenlytohavefoundherselfconfrontedwithagrey-faced, harsh schoolmaster—it was too rude a shock. She could havewept,butpridewithheldher.Shesatdownonthestone,fromwhichshehadarisen,partwiththeinstinctofobedience,partasthoughshehadbeenthrustthere.Whatwasthis?Whywassherejected?Hadsheceasedtoplease?Shestoodhereofferingherwares,andhewouldnoneofthem!Andyettheywereallhis!Histotakeandkeep,nothistorefusethough!Inherquickpetulantnature, amoment agoon firewithhope, thwarted love andwoundedvanitywrought.Theschoolmasterthatthereisinallmen,tothedespairofallgirlsand most women, was now completely in possession of Archie. He hadpassedanightofsermons,adayofreflection;hehadcomewounduptodohisduty;andthesetmouth,whichinhimonlybetrayedtheeffortofhiswill,to her seemed the expression of an averted heart. Itwas the samewith hisconstrainedvoiceandembarrassedutterance;andifso—ifitwasallover—thepangofthethoughttookawayfromherthepowerofthinking.

Hestoodbeforeher somewayoff. “Kirstie, there’sbeen toomuchof this.We’ve seen toomuch of each other.” She looked up quickly and her eyescontracted. “There’snogoodevercomesof thesesecretmeetings. They’renotfrank,nothonesttruly,andIoughttohaveseenit.Peoplehavebeguntotalk;andit’snotrightofme.Doyousee?”

“Iseesomebodywillhavebeentalkingtoye,”shesaidsullenly.

“Theyhave,morethanoneofthem,”repliedArchie.

“Andwhaewere they?” she cried. “Andwhat kind o’ love do ye ca’ that,that’sreadytogangroundlikeawhirligigatfolktalking?Doyethinktheyhavenatalkedtome?”

“Havetheyindeed?”saidArchie,withaquickbreath.“ThatiswhatIfeared.Whowerethey?Whohasdared—?”

Archiewasonthepointoflosinghistemper.

Asamatteroffact,notanyonehadtalkedtoChristinaonthematter;andshestrenuouslyrepeatedherownfirstquestioninapanicofself-defence.

“Ah,well!whatdoesitmatter?”hesaid. “Theyweregoodfolkthatwishedwelltous,andthegreataffairisthattherearepeopletalking.Mydeargirl,wehavetobewise.Wemustnotwreckourlivesattheoutset.Theymaybelongandhappyyet,andwemustseetoit,Kirstie,likeGod’srationalcreaturesand not like fool children. There is one thing we must see to before all.You’reworthwaitingfor,Kirstie!worthwaitingforageneration;itwouldbeenoughreward.”—Andhereherememberedtheschoolmasteragain,andveryunwisely took tofollowingwisdom. “Thefirst thing thatwemustsee to, isthatthereshallbenoscandalaboutformyfather’ssake.Thatwouldruinall;doyenoseethat?”

Kirstiewasalittlepleased,therehadbeensomeshowofwarmthofsentimentin what Archie had said last. But the dull irritation still persisted in herbosom; with the aboriginal instinct, having suffered herself, she wished tomakeArchiesuffer.

Andbesides,therehadcomeoutthewordshehadalwaysfearedtohearfromhislips,thenameofhisfather.Itisnottobesupposedthat,duringsomanydayswithaloveavowedbetweenthem,somereferencehadnotbeenmadetotheirconjointfuture.Ithadinfactbeenoftentouchedupon,andfromthefirsthadbeen the sorepoint. Kirstiehadwilfullyclosed theeyeof thought; shewould not argue even with herself; gallant, desperate little heart, she hadaccepted the command of that supreme attraction like the call of fate andmarched blindfold on her doom. But Archie, with his masculine sense ofresponsibility, must reason; he must dwell on some future good, when thepresent good was all in all to Kirstie; he must talk—and talk lamely, asnecessitydrovehim—ofwhatwastobe.Againandagainhehadtouchedonmarriage;againandagainbeendrivenbackintoindistinctnessbyamemoryofLordHermiston.AndKirstiehadbeenswifttounderstandandquicktochokedownandsmothertheunderstanding;swifttoleapupinflameatamentionofthathope,whichspokevolumestohervanityandherlove,thatshemightonedaybeMrs.WeirofHermiston;swift,also, to recognise inhisstumblingorthrottled utterance the death-knell of these expectations, and constant, poorgirl!inherlarge-mindedmadness,togoonandtorecknothingofthefuture.Buttheseunfinishedreferences,theseblinksinwhichhisheartspoke,andhismemoryandreasonroseup tosilence itbefore thewordswerewelluttered,gave her unqualifiable agony. She was raised up and dashed down againbleeding.Therecurrenceofthesubjectforcedher,forhowevershortatime,toopenhereyesonwhatshedidnotwishtosee;andithadinvariablyended

inanotherdisappointment.Sonowagain,atthemerewindofitscoming,atthe mere mention of his father’s name—who might seem indeed to haveaccompaniedthemintheirwholemoorlandcourtship,anawfulfigureinawigwith an ironical and bitter smile, present to guilty consciousness—she fledfromitheaddown.

“Yehavenatoldmeyet,”shesaid,“whowasitspoke?”

“Yourauntforone,”saidArchie.

“AuntieKirstie?”shecried.“AndwhatdoIcareformyAuntieKirstie?”

“Shecaresagreatdealforherniece,”repliedArchie,inkindreproof.

“Troth,andit’sthefirstI’veheardofit,”retortedthegirl.

“The question here is not who it is, but what they say, what they havenoticed,”pursuedthelucidschoolmaster.“Thatiswhatwehavetothinkofinself-defence.”

“AuntieKirstie,indeed!Abitter,thrawnauldmaidthat’sfomentedtroubleinthecountrybeforeIwasborn,andwillbedoingitstill,Idaursay,whenI’mdeid!It’sinhernature;it’sasnaturalforherasit’sforasheeptoeat.”

“Pardonme,Kirstie,shewasnottheonlyone,”interposedArchie.“Ihadtwowarnings,twosermons,lastnight,bothmostkindandconsiderate. Hadyoubeenthere,Ipromiseyouyouwouldhavegrat,mydear!Andtheyopenedmyeyes.Isawweweregoingawrongway.”

“Whowastheotherone?”Kirstiedemanded.

By this timeArchiewas in the condition of a hunted beast. He had come,bracedandresolute;hewastotraceoutalineofconductforthepairoftheminafewcold,convincingsentences;hehadnowbeentheresometime,andhewas still staggering round theoutworksandundergoingwhathe felt tobeasavagecross-examination.

“Mr.Frank!”shecried.“Whatnex’,Iwouldliketoken?”

“Hespokemostkindlyandtruly.”

“Whatlikedidhesay?”

“Iamnotgoingtotellyou;youhavenothingtodowiththat,”criedArchie,startledtofindhehadadmittedsomuch.

“O, I have naething to do with it!” she repeated, springing to her feet.“A’body at Hermiston’s free to pass their opinions upon me, but I havenaethingtodowi’it!Wasthisatprayerslike?Didyeca’thegrieveintotheconsultation? Little wonder if a’body’s talking, when ye make a’body yer

confidants!Butasyousay,Mr.Weir,—mostkindly,mostconsiderately,mosttruly, I’m sure,—I have naething to do with it. And I think I’ll better begoing. I’ll bewishingyougood evening,Mr.Weir.” And shemadehimastatelycurtsey,shakingasshedidsofromheadtofoot,withthebarrenecstasyoftemper.

PoorArchiestooddumbfounded.Shehadmovedsomestepsawayfromhimbeforeherecoveredthegiftofarticulatespeech.

“Kirstie!”hecried.“O,Kirstiewoman!”

Therewas in his voice a ring of appeal, a clang ofmere astonishment thatshowedtheschoolmasterwasvanquished.

Sheturnedroundonhim.“WhatdoyeKirstiemefor?”sheretorted.“Whathaveyetodowi’me!Gangtoyourainfreendsanddeavethem!”

Hecouldonlyrepeattheappealing“Kirstie!”

“Kirstie,indeed!”criedthegirl,hereyesblazinginherwhiteface.“MynameisMissChristinaElliott,Iwouldhaveyetoken,andIdauryetoca’meoutofit.IfIcannagetlove,I’llhaverespect,Mr.Weir.I’mcomeofdecentpeople,andI’llhaverespect.WhathaveIdonethatyeshouldlightlyme?WhathaveIdone?WhathaveIdone?O,whathaveIdone?”andhervoiceroseuponthethirdrepetition.“Ithocht—Ithocht—IthochtIwassaehappy!”andthefirstsobbrokefromherliketheparoxysmofsomemortalsickness.

Archierantoher. Hetookthepoorchildinhisarms,andshenestledtohisbreastastoamother’s,andclaspedhiminhandsthatwerestronglikevices.Hefeltherwholebodyshakenbythethroesofdistress,andhadpityuponherbeyondspeech.Pity,andatthesametimeabewilderedfearofthisexplosiveengine in his arms, whose works he did not understand, and yet had beentamperingwith.Therearosefrombeforehimthecurtainsofboyhood,andhesaw for the first time the ambiguous face of woman as she is. In vain helookedbackovertheinterview;hesawnotwherehehadoffended.Itseemedunprovoked,awilfulconvulsionofbrutenature....

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