"He isna changed. He has to go wi" his uncle."
"What did he say about marrying you? He ought to hae asked your feyther for ye?"
"For me?"
"Ay, for you."
"Don"t say such words, Mither. There was no talk of marriage between us. What would Angus do with a girl like me for a wife?"
"You are gude enou" for any man."
"We are friends. We arena lovers. The lad has been friendly with the hale village. You mustna think wrang o" him."
"I do think vera wrang o" him. He is just one kind o" a scoundrel."
"You hurt me, Mither. Angus is my friend. I"ll think nae wrang o" him.
If he was wrang, I was wrang, and you should hae told me I was wrang."
"I was feared o" hurting Neil"s chances wi" him."
"Sae we baith had a second motive."
"Ay, few folk are moved by a single one."
"Angus came, and he went, he liked me, and I liked him, but neither o"
us will fret o"er the parting. It had to be, or it wouldn"t hae been.
Them above order such things. They sort affairs better than we could."
"I don"t understand what you"re up to, but I think you are acting vera unwomanly."
"Na, na, Mither! I"ll not play "maiden all forlorn" for anyone. If Angus can live without me, there isna a woman i" the world that can live without Angus as weel as Christine Ruleson can. Tuts! I hae you, Mither, and my dear feyther, and my six big brothers, and surely their love is enough for any soul through this life; forbye, there is the love beyond all, and higher than all, and truer than all--the love of the Father and the Son."
"I see ye hae made up your mind to stand by Ballister. Vera weel! Do sae! As long as he keeps himsel" in foreign pairts, he"ll ne"er fret me; but if he comes hame, he"ll hae to keep a few hundred miles atween us."
"Nonsense! We"ll a" be glad to see him hame."
"Your way be it. Get your eating done wi", and then awa" to the manse, and get me thae powders. I"m restless and feared if I have none i" the house."
"I"ll be awa" in ten minutes now. Ye ken the Domine doesna care for seeing folk till after ten o"clock. He says he hes ither company i"
the first hours o" daybreak."
"Like enou", but he"ll be fain to hear about the doings last night, and he"ll be pleased concerning Faith getting a sweetheart. I doubt if she deserves the same."
"Mither! Dinna say that. The puir la.s.sie!"
"Puir la.s.sie indeed! Her feyther left her forty pounds a year, till she married, and then the princ.i.p.al to do as she willed wi". I dinna approve o" women fretting and fearing anent naething."
"But if they hae the fret and fear, what are they to do wi" it, Mither?"
"Fight it. Fighting is better than fearing. Weel, tak" care o"
yoursel" and mind every word that you say."
"I"m going by the cliffs on the sea road."
"That will keep you langer."
"Ay, but I"ll no require to mind my words. I"ll meet naebody on that road to talk wi"."
"I would not say that much."
A suspicion at once had entered Margot"s heart. "I wonder," she mused, as she watched Christine out of sight--"I wonder if she is trysted wi"
Angus Ballister on the cliff road. Na, na, she would hae told me, whether or no, she would hae told me."
The solitude of the sea, and of the lonely road, was good for Christine. She was not weeping, but she had a bitter aching sense of something lost. She thought of her love lying dead outside her heart"s shut door, and she could not help pitying both love and herself. "He was like sunshine on my life," she sighed. "It is dark night now. All is over. Good-by forever, Angus! Oh, Love, Love!" she cried aloud to the sea. "Oh, you dear old troubler o" the warld! I shall never feel young again. Weel, weel, Christine, I"ll not hae ye going to meet trouble, it isna worth the compliment. Angus may forget me, and find some ither la.s.s to love--weel, then, if it be so, let it be so. I"ll find the right kind o" strength for every hour o" need, and the outcome is sure to be right. G.o.d is love. Surely that is a" I need.
I"ll just leave my heartache here, the sea can carry it awa", and the winds blow it far off"--and she began forthwith a tender little song, that died down every few bars, but was always lifted again, until it swelled out clear and strong, as she came in sight of the small, white manse, standing bravely near the edge of a cliff rising sheerly seven hundred feet above the ocean. The little old, old kirk, with its lonely acres full of sailors" graves, was close to it, and Christine saw that the door stood wide open, though it was yet early morning.
"It"ll be a wedding, a stranger wedding," she thought. "Hame folk wouldna be sae thoughtless, as to get wed in the morning--na, na, it will be some stranger."
These speculations were interrupted by the Domine"s calling her, and as soon as she heard his voice, she saw him standing at the open door.
"Christine!" he cried. "Come in! Come in! I want you, la.s.sie, very much. I was just wishing for you."
"I am glad that I answered your wish, Sir. I would aye like to do that, if it be His will."
"Come straight to my study, dear. You are a very G.o.dsend this morning."
He went hurriedly into the house, and turned towards his study, and Christine followed him. And before she crossed the threshold of the room, she saw Angus and his Uncle Ballister, sitting at a table on which there were books and papers.
Angus rose to meet her at once. He did it as an involuntary act. He did not take a moment"s counsel or consideration, but sprang to his feet with the joyful cry of a delighted boy. And Christine"s face reflected the cry in a wonderful, wonderful smile. Then Angus was at her side, he clasped her hands, he called her by her name in a tone of love and music, he drew her closer to his side. And the elder man smiled and looked at the Domine, who remembered then the little ceremony he had forgotten.
So he took Christine by the hand, and led her to the stranger, and in that moment a great change came into the countenance and manner of the girl, while a peculiar light of satisfaction--almost of amus.e.m.e.nt--gleamed in her splendid eyes.
"Colonel Ballister," said the Domine, "I present to you Miss Christine Ruleson, the friend of your nephew, the beloved of the whole village of Culraine."
"I am happy to make Miss Ruleson"s acquaintance," he replied and Christine said,
"It is a great pleasure to meet you, Sir. When you know Angus, you wish to know the man who made Angus well worth the love he wins."
The Domine and Angus looked at the beautiful girl in utter amazement.
She spoke perfect English, in the neat, precise, pleasant manner and intonation of the Aberdeen educated cla.s.s. But something in Christine"s manner compelled their silence. She willed it, and they obeyed her will.
"Sit down at the table with us, Christine," said the Domine. "We want your advice;" and she had the good manners to sit down, without affectations or apologies.
"Colonel, will you tell your own tale? There"s none can do it like you."
"It is thus, and so, Miss Ruleson. Two nights ago as I sat thinking of Angus in Culraine, I remembered my own boyhood days in the village. I thought of the boats, and the sailors, and the happy hours out at sea with the nets, or the lines. I remembered how the sailors" wives petted me, and as I grew older teased me, and sang to me. And I said to my soul, "We have been ungratefully neglectful, Soul, and we will go at once, and see if any of the old playfellows are still alive." So here I am, and though I find by the Domine"s kirk list that only three of my day are now in Culraine, I want to do some good thing for the place. The question is, what. Angus thinks, as my memories are all of playtime, I might buy land for a football field, or links for a golf club. What do you say to this idea, Miss Ruleson?"
"I can say naething in its favor, Sir. Fishers are hard-worked men; they do not require to play hard, and call it amus.e.m.e.nt. I have heard my father say that ball games quickly turn to gambling games. A game of any sort would leave all the women out. Their men are little at home, and it would be a heartache to them, if they took to spending that little in a ball field, or on the golf links."