It was the time when we had finished our tea, or supper--I hardly know which to call it. In the silence, we could hear the rain pouring against the window, and the wind that had risen with the darkness howling round the house. My sister Judith, taking the gloomy view according to custom--copious draughts of good Bohea and two helpings of such a mutton ham as only Scotland can produce had no effect in raising her spirits--my sister, I say, remarked that there would be ships lost at sea and men drowned this night. My daughter Felicia, the brightest-tempered creature of the female s.e.x that I have ever met with, tried to give a cheerful turn to her aunt"s depressing prognostication.
"If the ships must be lost," she said, "we may surely hope that the men will be saved." "G.o.d willing," I put in--thereby giving to my daughter"s humane expression of feeling the fit religious tone that was all it wanted--and then went on with my written record of the events and reflections of the day. No more was said. Felicia took up a book. Judith took up her knitting.
On a sudden, the silence was broken by a blow on the house-door.
My two companions, as is the way of women, set up a scream. I was startled myself, wondering who could be out in the rain and the darkness and striking at the door of the house. A stranger it must be. Light or dark, any person in or near Cauldkirk, wanting admission, would know where to find the bell-handle at the side of the door. I waited a while to hear what might happen next. The stroke was repeated, but more softly. It became me as a man and a minister to set an example. I went out into the pa.s.sage, and I called through the door, "Who"s there?"
A man"s voice answered--so faintly that I could barely hear him--"A lost traveler."
Immediately upon this my cheerful sister expressed her view of the matter through the open parlor door. "Brother Noah, it"s a robber. Don"t let him in!"
What would the Good Samaritan have done in my place? a.s.suredly he would have run the risk and opened the door. I imitated the Good Samaritan.
A man, dripping wet, with a knapsack on his back and a thick stick in his hand, staggered in, and would, I think, have fallen in the pa.s.sage if I had not caught him by the arm. Judith peeped out at the parlor door, and said, "He"s drunk." Felicia was behind her, holding up a lighted candle, the better to see what was going on. "Look at his face, aunt," says she. "Worn out with fatigue, poor man. Bring him in, father--bring him in."
Good Felicia! I was proud of my girl. "He"ll spoil the carpet," says sister Judith. I said, "Silence, for shame!" and brought him in, and dropped him dripping into my own armchair. Would the Good Samaritan have thought of his carpet or his chair? I did think of them, but I overcame it. Ah, we are a decadent generation in these latter days!
"Be quick, father"" says Felicia; "he"ll faint if you don"t give him something!"
I took out one of our little drinking cups (called among us a "Quaigh"), while Felicia, instructed by me, ran to the kitchen for the cream-jug.
Filling the cup with whisky and cream in equal proportions, I offered it to him. He drank it off as if it had been so much water. "Stimulant and nourishment, you"ll observe, sir, in equal portions," I remarked to him.
"How do you feel now?"
"Ready for another," says he.
Felicia burst out laughing. I gave him another. As I turned to hand it to him, sister Judith came behind me, and s.n.a.t.c.hed away the cream-jug.
Never a generous person, sister Judith, at the best of times--more especially in the matter of cream.
He handed me back the empty cup. "I believe, sir, you have saved my life," he said. "Under Providence," I put in--adding, "But I would remark, looking to the state of your clothes, that I have yet another service to offer you, before you tell us how you came into this pitiable state." With that reply, I led him upstairs, and set before him the poor resources of my wardrobe, and left him to do the best he could with them. He was rather a small man, and I am in stature nigh on six feet.
When he came down to us in my clothes, we had the merriest evening that I can remember for years past. I thought Felicia would have had a hysteric fit; and even sister Judith laughed--he did look such a comical figure in the minister"s garments.
As for the misfortune that had befallen him, it offered one more example of the preternatural rashness of the English traveler in countries unknown to him. He was on a walking tour through Scotland; and he had set forth to go twenty miles a-foot, from a town on one side of the Highland Border, to a town on the other, without a guide. The only wonder is that he found his way to Cauldkirk, instead of perishing of exposure among the lonesome hills.
"Will you offer thanks for your preservation to the Throne of Grace, in your prayers to-night?" I asked him. And he answered, "Indeed I will!"
We have a spare room at the manse; but it had not been inhabited for more than a year past. Therefore we made his bed, for that night, on the sofa in the parlor; and so left him, with the fire on one side of his couch, and the whisky and the mutton ham on the other in case of need.
He mentioned his name when we bade him good-night. Marmaduke Falmer of London, son of a minister of the English Church Establishment, now deceased. It was plain, I may add, before he spoke, that we had offered the hospitality of the manse to a man of gentle breeding.
September 15th.--I have to record a singularly pleasant day; due partly to a return of the fine weather, partly to the good social gifts of our guest.
Attired again in his own clothing, he was, albeit wanting in height, a finely proportioned man, with remarkably small hands and feet; having also a bright mobile face, and large dark eyes of an extraordinary diversity of expression. Also, he was of a sweet and cheerful humor; easily pleased with little things, and amiably ready to make his gifts agreeable to all of us. At the same time, a person of my experience and penetration could not fail to perceive that he was most content when in company with Felicia. I have already mentioned my daughter"s comely looks and good womanly qualities. It was in the order of nature that a young man (to use his own phrase) getting near to his thirty-first birthday should feel drawn by sympathy toward a well-favored young woman in her four-and-twentieth year. In matters of this sort I have always cultivated a liberal turn of mind, not forgetting my own youth.
As the evening closed in, I was sorry to notice a certain change in our guest for the worse. He showed signs of fatigue--falling asleep at intervals in his chair, and waking up and shivering. The spare room was now well aired, having had a roaring fire in it all day.
I begged him not to stand on ceremony, and to betake himself at once to his bed. Felicia (having learned the accomplishment from her excellent mother) made him a warm sleeping-draught of eggs, sugar, nutmeg, and spirits, delicious alike to the senses of smell and taste. Sister Judith waited until he had closed the door behind him, and then favored me with one of her dismal predictions. "You"ll rue the day, brother, when you let him into the house. He is going to fall ill on our hands."
II.
November 28th.--G.o.d be praised for all His mercies! This day, our guest, Marmaduke Falmer, joined us downstairs in the sitting-room for the first time since his illness.
He is sadly deteriorated, in a bodily sense, by the wasting rheumatic fever that brought him nigh to death; but he is still young, and the doctor (humanly speaking) has no doubt of his speedy and complete recovery. My sister takes the opposite view. She remarked, in his hearing, that n.o.body ever thoroughly got over a rheumatic fever. Oh, Judith! Judith! it"s well for humanity that you"re a single person! If haply, there had been any man desperate enough to tackle such a woman in the bonds of marriage, what a pessimist progeny must have proceeded from you!
Looking back over my Diary for the last two months and more, I see one monotonous record of the poor fellow"s sufferings; cheered and varied, I am pleased to add, by the devoted services of my daughter at the sick man"s bedside. With some help from her aunt (most readily given when he was nearest to the point of death), and with needful services performed in turn by two of our aged women in Cauldkirk, Felicia could not have nursed him more a.s.siduously if he had been her own brother. Half the credit of bringing him through it belonged (as the doctor himself confessed) to the discreet young nurse, always ready through the worst of the illness, and always cheerful through the long convalescence that followed. I must also record to the credit of Marmaduke that he was indeed duly grateful. When I led him into the parlor, and he saw Felicia waiting by the armchair, smiling and patting the pillows for him, he took her by the hand, and burst out crying. Weakness, in part, no doubt--but sincere grat.i.tude at the bottom of it, I am equally sure.
November 29th.--However, there are limits even to sincere grat.i.tude. Of this truth Mr. Marmaduke seems to be insufficiently aware. Entering the sitting-room soon after noon today, I found our convalescent guest and his nurse alone. His head was resting on her shoulder; his arm was round her waist--and (the truth before everything) Felicia was kissing him.
A man may be of a liberal turn of mind, and may yet consistently object to freedom when it takes the form of unlicensed embracing and kissing; the person being his own daughter, and the place his own house. I signed to my girl to leave us; and I advanced to Mr. Marmaduke, with my opinion of his conduct just rising in words to my lips--when he staggered me with amazement by asking for Felicia"s hand in marriage.
"You need feel no doubt of my being able to offer to your daughter a position of comfort and respectability," he said. "I have a settled income of eight hundred pounds a year."
His raptures over Felicia; his protestations that she was the first woman he had ever really loved; his profane declaration that he preferred to die, if I refused to let him be her husband--all these flourishes, as I may call them, pa.s.sed in at one of my ears and out at the other. But eight hundred pounds sterling per annum, descending as it were in a golden avalanche on the mind of a Scottish minister (accustomed to thirty years" annual contemplation of seventy-four pounds)--eight hundred a year, in one young man"s pocket, I say, completely overpowered me. I just managed to answer, "Wait till tomorrow"--and hurried out of doors to recover my self-respect, if the thing was to be anywise done. I took my way through the valley. The sun was shining, for a wonder. When I saw my shadow on the hillside, I saw the Golden Calf as an integral part of me, bearing this inscription in letters of flame--"Here"s another of them!"
_November 30th._--I have made amends for yesterday"s backsliding; I have acted as becomes my parental dignity and my sacred calling.
The temptation to do otherwise, has not been wanting. Here is sister Judith"s advice: "Make sure that he has got the money first; and, for Heaven"s sake, nail him!" Here is Mr. Marmaduke"s proposal: "Make any conditions you please, so long as you give me your daughter." And, lastly, here is Felicia"s confession: "Father, my heart is set on him.
Oh, don"t be unkind to me for the first time in your life!"
But I have stood firm. I have refused to hear any more words on the subject from any one of them, for the next six months to come.
"So serious a venture as the venture of marriage," I said, "is not to be undertaken on impulse. As soon as Mr. Marmaduke can travel, I request him to leave us, and not to return again for six months. If, after that interval, he is still of the same mind, and my daughter is still of the same mind, let him return to Cauldkirk, and (premising that I am in all other respects satisfied) let him ask me for his wife."
There were tears, there were protestations; I remained immovable. A week later, Mr. Marmaduke left us, on his way by easy stages to the south. I am not a hard man. I rewarded the lovers for their obedience by keeping sister Judith out of the way, and letting them say their farewell words (accompaniments included) in private.
III.
May 28th.--A letter from Mr. Marmaduke, informing me that I may expect him at Cauldkirk, exactly at the expiration of the six months"
interval--viz., on June the seventh.
Writing to this effect, he added a timely word on the subject of his family. Both his parents were dead; his only brother held a civil appointment in India, the place being named. His uncle (his father"s brother) was a merchant resident in London; and to this near relative he referred me, if I wished to make inquiries about him. The names of his bankers, authorized to give me every information in respect to his pecuniary affairs, followed. Nothing could be more plain and straightforward. I wrote to his uncle, and I wrote to his bankers.
In both cases the replies were perfectly satisfactory--nothing in the slightest degree doubtful, no prevarications, no mysteries. In a word, Mr. Marmaduke himself was thoroughly well vouched for, and Mr.
Marmaduke"s income was invested in securities beyond fear and beyond reproach. Even sister Judith, bent on picking a hole in the record somewhere, tried hard, and could make nothing of it.
The last sentence in Mr. Marmaduke"s letter was the only part of it which I failed to read with pleasure.
He left it to me to fix the day for the marriage, and he entreated that I would make it as early a day as possible. I had a touch of the heartache when I thought of parting with Felicia, and being left at home with n.o.body but Judith. However, I got over it for that time, and, after consulting my daughter, we decided on naming a fortnight after Mr.
Marmaduke"s arrival--that is to say, the twenty-first of June. This gave Felicia time for her preparations, besides offering to me the opportunity of becoming better acquainted with my son-in-law"s disposition. The happiest marriage does indubitably make its demands on human forbearance; and I was anxious, among other things, to a.s.sure myself of Mr. Marmaduke"s good temper.
IV.
June 22d.--The happy change in my daughter"s life (let me say nothing of the change in _my_ life) has come: they were married yesterday.
The manse is a desert; and sister Judith was never so uncongenial a companion to me as I feel her to be now. Her last words to the married pair, when they drove away, were: "Lord help you both; you have all your troubles before you!"
I had no heart to write yesterday"s record, yesterday evening, as usual.