REESE LIBRARY
OF THE
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA.
Class
I m
I '\
DAVID ELGINBROD
GEORGE MAC DONALD, M.A.,
AUTHOR OP "annals OF A QUIET NEIGHBORHOOD," "THE SEABOARD
PARISH," *'ALEG FORBES OF HOWGLEN," "GUILD COURT," ETC.
' ' And gladly toolde he lerne and gladly teche."
CHArCEB,
OHING^, Publisher,
CoR. Bromfield and Washington Streets,
BOSTON.
rnvin 1 1'lioiograiili]
(iKoRc, K Mac Don'Ali
liy Mc-sr^, Flllott and Fry
U1TIVERSIT7
DAVID ELGINBROD.
CHAPTER I.
THE FIR-WOOD.
. Of all the flowers in the mead,
Then love I most these flowers white and redo,
Such that men oallen daisies in our town.
I renne blithe
As soon as ever the sun ginnoth west,
To see this flower, how it will go to rest,
For fear of night, so hateth she darkness;
Her cheer is plainly spread in the brightness
Of the suuue, for there it will unclose.
Chaucer. — Prologue to the Legend jf Good Women.
" Meg ! whaur are ye gaein' that get, like a wuU shuttle?
Come in to the beuk."
Meg's mother stood at the cottage door, with arms akimbo,
and clouded brow, calling through the boles of a little forest
of fir-trees after her daughter. One would naturally pre-
sume that the phrase she employed, comparing her daughter's
motions- to those of a shuttle that had " gane wull," or lost its
way, implied that she was watching her as she threaded her
way through the trees. But, although she could not see her,
the fir-wood was certainly the likeliest place for her daughter
to be in ; and the figure she employed was not in the least in-
applicable to Meg's usual mode of wandering through the
trees, that operation being commonly performed in the most
erratic manner possible. It was the ordinary occupation of
the first hour of almost every day of Margaret's life. Aa
m?5
4 DAVID ELGINCROD.
soCyii as she woke in the morning, the fir-wood drew her to-
wards it, and she rose and went. Through its cro)vd of idcndor
piHars she stnijcd hither and thither, in an aimless manner,
as if resignedly haunting the neighborhood of something she
had lost, or, hopefully, that of a treasure she expected one day
to find.
It did not soem that she had heard her mother's call, for
no response followed ; and Janet Elginbrod returned into the
cott:ige, where David, of the same surname, who Avas already
seated at the white deal table with "the beuk," or large
family Bible, before him, straightway commenced reading a
cliapter in tlie usual routine from the Old Testament, the New
being reserved for the evening devotions. The chapter was
the fortieth of the prophet Isaiah ; and as the voice of the
reader reuttered the words of old inspiration, one might have
thought that it was the voice of the ancient prophet himself,
pouring forth the expression of his own faith in bis expostula-
tions with the unbelief of his brethren. The chapter finished
— it is none of the shortest, and Meg had not yet returned —
the two knelt, and David prayed thus : — -
" Thoa who boldest the waters in the hollow of ae han',
ind carriest the lambs o' thy own making in thy bosom with
the other han', it would be altogether unworthy o' thee, and
o' thy Maijesty o' love, to require o' us that which thou
knowcst we cannot bring unto thee, until thou enrich us with
that same. Therefore, like thine own bairns, we boo doon
afore thee, an' pray that thou wouldst tak thy wull o' us, thy
holy, an' perfect, an' blessed wull o' us ; for, God, we are
a' thine ain. An' for oor lassie, wha's oot amo' thy trees, an'
wha Ave dinna think forgets her Maker, though she may whiles
forget her prayers, Lord, keep her a bonnie lassie in thy sicht,
as white an' clean in thy een as she is fair an' halesome in
oors ; an' oh ! Ave thank thee, Father in heaven, for giein' her
to us. An' noo, for a' oor Avrang-duins an' ill-min'ins, for a'
oor sins an' trespasses o' mony sorts, dinna forget them,
God, till thou pits them a' richt, an' syne exerceese thy michty
power e'en OAver thine ain sel', an' clean forget them a'the-
gither ; cast them ahint thy back, Avhaur e'en thine ain een
shall ne'er see them again, that aa^c may Avalk bold an' upricht
afore thee for evermore, an' see the face o' Ilim wha Avas a
DAVID ELGINBROD. 5
muckle God in doin' thy biddin', as gin he bad been orderin'
a' thing himsel'. For his sake, Ahmen."
I hope mj readers will not suppose that I give this as a
specimen of Scotch prayers. I know better than that. David
was an unusual man, and his prayers were unusual prayers.
The present was a little more so in its style, from the fiict
that one of the subjects of it was absent, a circumstance that
rarely happened. But the degree of diiFerence was too small
to be detected by any but those who were quite accustomed to
his forms of thought and expression. How much of it Janet
understood or sympathized with it is difficult to say ; for any-
thing that could be called a thought rarely crossed the thresh-
old of her utterance. On this occasion, at the moment the
prayer was ended, she rose from her knees, smootiied down her
check apron, and .went to the door, where, shading her eyes
from the. blinding sun with her hand, she peered from under
its penthouse into the fir-wood, and said, in a voice softeneJ
apparently by the exercise in which she had taken a silent
share : —
" Whaur can the lassie be?''
And where was the lassie? In the fir-wood, to be sure,
with the thousand shadows, and the sunlight throu2;h it all :
for at this moment the light fell upon her far in its depth-;, and
revealed her hastening towards the cotta2;e in as straight a
line as the trees would permit, now blotted out by a crossing
shadow, and anon radiant in the sunlight, appearing and
vanishing as she threaded the upright warp of the fir-wood.
It was morning all around her ; and one might see that it was
morning within her too, as, emerging at last in the small open
space around the cottage, Margaret — I cannot call her Meg^
although her mother does — her father always called her
"Maggy, my doo,'' Anglice, dove — Margaret approached her
mother with a bright, healthful fixce, and the least possible
expression of unea,siness on her fair forehead. She carried a
book in her hand.
" What gars ye gang stravaguin' that get, Meg, whan ye
ken weel aneuch ye sud a' been in to worship lang syne ? An'
sae we maun hae worship our lanes for want o' you, ye
hizzy! "
" I didna ken it was sae late, mither," i-eplied Margaret, in
6 DAVID ELGINBROD.
a submissivo tone, musical in spite of the rugged dialect into
which the sounds were fashioned.
'•Nae dout ! Ye had jer brakfast. an' ye warna that
hungry for the word. But here comes yer father, an' ye' 11
no mend for his fly tin', Ise promise."
"Hoots! lat the bairn alane, Janet, my woman. The
word" 11 be mair to her afore lang."'
" I Avat she has a word o' her nain there. What beuk hae
ye gotten there, Meg? Whaur got ye't? "
Had it not been for the handsome binding of the book in her
daughter's hand, it would neither have caught her eye, nor
roused the suspicions of Janet. David glanced at the book in
his turn, and a faint expression of surprise, embodied chiefly
in the opening of his eyelids a little wider than usual, crossed
his face. But he only said with a smile : —
" I didna ken that the tree o' knowledge, wi' sic fair fruit,
grew in our wud, Maggy, my doo."
" Whaur gat ye the beuk? " reiterated Janet.
Margaret's face was by this time the color of the crimson
boards of the volume in her hand, but she replied at once : —
" I got it frae Maister Sutherlan', I reckon."
Janet's first response was an inverted whistle ; her next,
another question : —
" Maister Sutherlan' ! wha's that o't? "
" Hoot, lass ! " interposed David, "ye ken weel aneuch.
It's the new tutor lad up at the hoose ; a fine, douce, honest
chieLl, an' weel-faured, forby. Lat's see the bit beuky, lassie."
Margaret handed it to her father.
" ' Col e-ridge's Poems,' " read David, with some diflSculty.
" Tak' it hame direckly," said Janet.
" Na, na," said David ; " a' the apples o' the tree o' knowl-
edge are no stappit wi' sut an stew;_ an' gin this ane be, she'll
sune ken by the taste o't what's comin'. It's no muckle o' an
ill beuk 'at ye'll read, Maggie, my doo."
" Guid preserve's, man ! I'm no sayin' it's an ill beuk. Bat
it's no riclit to make appintments wi' stranger lads i' the wud
sae ear' i' the mornin'. Is't noo, yersel' Meg ? "
" Mither ! mither ! " said Margaret, and her eyes flashed
through the watery veil that tried to hide them, " hoo can ye?
Ye ken yersel I had nae appintmcnt wi' him or ony man."
DAVID ELGINBROD. 7
" Weel, weel ! " said Janet ; and apparently either satisfied
with, or overcome by, the emotion she had excited, she turned
and went in to pursue her usual house avocations ; while
David, handing the the book to his daughter, went away down
the path that led from the cottage door, in the direction of a
road to be seen at a little distance through the trees, which
yurrounded the cottage on all sides. Margaret followed- her
mother into the cottage, and was soon as busy as she with her
share of the duties of the household ; but it was a good
many minutes before the cloud caused by her mother's hasty
words entirely disappeared from a forehead which might with
especial justice be called the sky of her face.
Meantime David emerged upon the more open road, and
bent his course, still through fir-trees, towards a house for
whose sake alone the road seemed to have been constructed.
CHAPTER II.
DAVID ELGINBROD AND THE NEW TUTOR.
. . . Concord between our wit and will,
Where highest notes to godliness are raised,
And lowest sink not down to jot of ill.
What Languetus taught Sir Philip Sidney.
The Arcadia — Third Eclogue.
The House of Turriepufiit stood about a furlong from Da-
vid's cottage. It was the abode of the Laird, or landed proprie-
tor, in Avhose employment David filled several ofiices ordinarily
distinct. The estate was a small one, and almost entirely
farmed by the owner himself; who, with Davids help, man-
aged to turn it to good account. Upon week-days, he appeared
on horseback in a costume more fitted for following the plough ]
but he did not work with his own hands ; and on Sundays was
at once recognizable as a country gentleman.
David Avas his bailiff, or grieve, to overlook the laborers on
the estate ; his steward, to pay them, and keep the fiirm ac-
counts ; his head gardener, for little labor was expended in
8 DAVID ELGINBROD.
that direction, there being only one lady, the mistress of the
house, and she no patroness of useless flowers. David "was. in
fact, the laird's general adviser and executor.
The laird's family, besides the lady already mentioned, con-
sisted only of two boys, of the ages of eleven and fourteen,
■\vhoni he wished to enjoy the same privileges he had himself
possessed, and to whom, therefore, he was giving a classical
and mathematical education, in view of the University, by
means of private tutors ; the last of whom — for the changes
were no't few, seemg the salary was of the smallest — was
Hugh Sutherland, the young man concerning whom David
Elginbrod has already given his opinion. But, notwithstand-
ing the freedom he always granted his daughter, and his good
opinion of Hugh as Avell, David could not help feeling a little
aiixious, in his walk along the road towards the house, as to
wdiat the apparent acquaintance between her and the new tutor
might evolve ; but he got rid of all the difficulty, as far as he
was concerned, by saying at last : —
'• "What richt liae I to interfere, even supposin' I wanted to
interfere ? But I can lippen weel to my bonny doo ; an' for
the rest, she maun tak' her chance like the lave o's. An'
M'ha kens but it micht jist be stan'in' afore Him, i' the very
get that He meant to gang. The Lord forgie me for speakin'
o' chance, as gin I believed in ony sic havers. There's no
fear o' the lassie. Gude-mornin' t'ye, Maister Sutherlan'.
Tl)at's a braw beuk o' ballants ye gae the len' o' to my Mag-
gy, this mornin', sir."
Sutherland was just entering a side-door of the house when
David accosted him. He was not old enough to keep from
blushing at David's words ; but, having a good conscience, he
was ready with a good answer.
" It's a good book, Mr. Elginbrod. It will do her no harm,
though it be ballads."
" I'm in no dreed o' that, sir. Bairns maun hae ballants.
An', to tell the truth, sir, I'm no muckle mair nor a bairn in
that 'respeck mysel'. In fac, this verra mornin', at the beuk,
I jist thocht I was readin' a gran' godly ballant, an' it soundet
luinc the waur for the notion o't."
" You should have been a poet yourself, Mr. Elginbrod."
" Na, na ; I ken uaething aboot yer poetry. I hae read
DAVID ELGINBROD. 9
auld John. Milton ov/er an' ower, though I clinna believe the
half o't ; but. oh ! weel I like some o' the bonnj bitties at the
en' o't."
" ' i^ Penseroso,' for instance? "
" Is that hoo ye ca't ? I ken't weel by the sicht, but hardly
by the soun'. I aye missed the name o't, an' took to the
thing itsel'. Eh, man! — I beg yer pardon, sir, — but it's
-/fonnerfu' bonny !"
" I'll come in some evening, and we'll have a chat about it,"
replied Sutherland. " I must go to my work now."
" We'll a' be verra happy to see you, sir. Gude-mornin',
sir."
" Good-morning."
David went to the garden, where there was not much to be
done in the way of education at this season of the year ; and
Sutherland to the school-room, where he was busy, all the rest
of the morning and part of the afternoon, with Caesar and Vir-
gil, Algebra and Euclid, — food upon which intellectual babes
are reared to the stature of college youths.
Sutherland was himself only a youth ; for he had gone early
to college, and had not yet quite completed the curriculum.
He was now filling up with teaching the recess between his
third and his fourth winter at one of the Aberdeen universities.
He was the son of an officer, belonging to the younger branch
of a family of some historic distinction and considerable wealth.
This officer, though not far removed from the estate and title
as well, had nothing to live upon but his half-pay ; for, to the
disgust of his family, he had married a Welsh girl of ancient
descent, in whose line the poverty must have been at least coe-
val with the history, to judge from the perfection of its devel-
opment in the case of her fatlier ; and his relations made this
the excuse for quarrelling with him ; so relieving themselves
from any obligation they might have been supposed to lie un-
der, of rendering him assistance of some sort or other. This,
however, rather suited the temperament of Major Robert Suth-
erland, who was prouder in his poverty than they in their
riches. So he disowned them forever, and accommodated
himself, with the best grace in the world, to his yet move
straitened circumstances. He resolved, however, cost what it
might in pinching and squeezing, to send his son to college
©
10 DAVID ELGINBROD.
before turning him out to shift for himself. In this Mrs.
Sutherhmd was ready to support him to the utmost ; and so
they liad managed to keep their boj at college for three ses-
sions : after the last of which, instead of returning home, as
he had done on previous occasions, he had looked about him for
a temporary engagement as tutor, and soon found tlie situation
he now occupied in the family of William Glasford. Esq., of
Turriepuffit, where he intended to remain no longer than the
commencement of the session, which would be his fourth and
last. To what he should afterwards devo'e himself he had by
no means made up his mind, except that it must of necessity
be hard work of some kind or other. So he had at least the
virtue of desiring to be independent. His other goods and
bads must come out in the course of the story. His pupils
were rather stupid and rather good-natured ; so that their tem-
perament operated to confirm their intellectual condition, and
to render the labor of teaching them considerably irksome.
But he did his work tolerably well, and was not so much inter-
ested in the result as to be p.iined at the moderate degree of
his success. At the time of which I write, however, the prob-
ability as to his success was scarcely ascertained, for he had
been only a fortnight at the task.
It was the middle of the month of April, in a rather back-
ward season. The weather had been stormy, with frequent
showers of sleet and snow. Old Winter was doing his best to
hold young Spring back by the skirts of her garment, and very
few of the wild flowers had yet ventured to look out of their warm
beds in the mould. Sutheiland, therefore, iiad made but few dis-
coveries in the neighborhood. Not that the weather would
have kept him to the house, had he had any particular desire
to go out ; but, like many other students, he had no predilec-
tion for objectless exertion, and preferred the choice of his own
Aveather indoors, namely, from books and his own imaginings,
to an encounter with the keen blasts of the North, charged
as they often were with sharp bullets of liail. When the sun
did shine out between the showers, his cold glitter upon the
pools of rain or melted snow, and on the wet evergreens and
gra'^el walks, always drove him back from the window with a
shiver. The house, which was of very moderate size and
comfort, stood in the midst of plantations, principally of Scotch
DAVID ELGINBROD. 11
firs and larches, liome of the former old and of great growth,
so that thej had arrived at the true condition of the tree, which
seems to require old age for the perfection of its idea. There
was very little to be seen from the windows except this wood,
which, somewhat gloomy at almost any season, was at the
present cheerless enough ; and Sutherland found it very dreary,
iideed, as exchanged for the wide view fi'om his own home on -
■ 30 side of an open hill in the Highlands.
In the midst of circumstances so uninteresting, it is not to .
be Avondered at, that the glimpse of a pretty maiden should,
one morning, occasion him some welcome excitement. Passing
downstairs to breakfast, he observed the drawing-room door
ajar, and looked in to see what sort of a room it was ; for so
seldom was it used that he had never yet entered it. There
stood a young girl, peeping, with mingled curiosity and rever-
ence, into a small gilt-leaved volume, which she had lifted
from the table by which she stood. He watched her for a
moment with some interest ; when she, seeming to become raes-
merically aware that she was not alone, looked up, blushed
deeply, put down the book in confusion, and proceeded to dust
some of the furniture. It was his first sight of Margaret.
Some of the neighbors were expected to dinner, and her aid
was in requisition to get the grand room of the house prepared
for the occasion. He supposed her to belong to the household,
till, one day, feeling compelled to go out for a stroll, he caught
' sight of her so occupied at the door of her father's cottage,
that he perceived at once that must be her home : she was, in
fact, seated upon a stool, paring potatoes. She saw him as
well, and, apparently ashamed at the recollection of having been
discovered idling in the drawing-room, rose and went in. He
had met David once or twice about the house, and, attracted
by his appearance, had had some conversation with him ; but
he did not know where he lived, nor that he was the father of
the girl whom he had seen.
12 DAVID ELGINBROD.
CHAPTER III.
THE DAISY AND THE PRIMROSE.
Dear secret Greenness, nursed below
Tempests and winds and winter nights !
V Vex not that but one sees thee grow;
That One made all these lessor lights.
Henry VAUGOAy.
It was, of course, quite by accident that Sutherland had
met jNIargaret in the fir-wood. The wind had changed during
the night, and sv/ept all the clouds from the face of the sky ;
and when he looked out in the morning, he saw the fir-tops
waving in the sunlight, and heard the sound of a south-west
wind sweeping through them with the tune of running Avaters
in its course. It is a well-practised ear that can tell Avhether
the sound it hears be that of gently falling Avaters, or of wind
flowing through the branches of firs. Sutherland's heart, re-
viving like a dormouse in its hole, began to be joyful at the
sisrht of the genial motions of Nature, telling of warmth and
blessedness at hand. Some goal of life, vague, but sure,
seemed to glimmer through the appearances around him, and
to stimulate him to action. He dressed in haste, and went
out to meet the spring He Avandered into the heart of the
Avood. The sunlight shone like a sunset upon the red trunks
and bouijhs of the old fir-trees, but like the first sunrise of the
world upon the ncAV green fringes that edged the young shoots
of the larches. High up hung the memorials of past summers
in the rich broAvn tassels of the clustering cones ; Avhile the
ground under foot Avas dappled Avith sunshine on the fiillen fir-
needles, and the great fallen cones Avhich had opened to scatter
their autumnal seed, and now lay Avaiting for decay. Over-
head, the tops Avhence they had fallen Avaved in the Avind, as
in Avelcome of the spring, Avith that peculiar swinging motion
which made the poets of the sixteenth century call them " sail-
ing pines." The Avind blew cool, but not cold; and Avas filled
with a delicious odor from the earth, which Sutherland took
as a sign that she Avas coming alive at last. And the spring
he Avent out to meet met him. For, first, at the foot of a tree,
he spied a tiny primrose, peeping out of its rough, careful
DAVID ELUINBROD. liS
leaves ; and he wondered liow; hy any metamorphosis, such
leaves cuuld pass into such a flower. Had he seen the mother
of the next spring-messenger he was about to meet, the same
thought -would have returned in another form. For, next, as
he passed on with the prinn-ose in his hand, thinking it was
almost cruel to pluck it, the spring met him, as if in her own
shape, in the person of Margaret, whom he spied a little Avaj
off, leaning against the stem of a Scotch fir, and looking up to
its top swaying overhead in the first billows of the outburst
ocean of life. He went up to her Avith some shyness ; for the
presence of even a child-mv.iden was enough to make Suther-
land shy, — partly from the fear of startling her shyness, as
one feels when drav/ing near a crouching fawn. But she,
when she heard his footsteps, dropped her eyes slowly from the
tvee-top, and, as if she were in her own sanctuary, waited his
approach. He said nothing at first, but offered her, instead
of speech, the primrose he had just plucked, wdiich she received
with a smile of the eyes only, and the sweetest "Thank you,
sir," he had ever heard. But while she held the primrose in
her hand, her eyes wandered to the book which, according to
his custom, Sutherland had caught up as he left the house.
It was the only well-bound book in his possession ; and tlie
eyes of Margaret, not yet tutored by experience, naturally
expected an entrancing page within such beautiful boards ; for
the gayest bindings she had seen were those of a few old
annuals up at the house, — and wei'e they not full of the most
lovely tales and pictures ? In this case, hoAvever, her expecta-
tion was not vain ; for the volume was, as I have already dis-
closed, "Coleridge's Poems."
Seeing her eyes fixed upon the book, "Would you like to
read it?" said he.
" If you please, sir," answered Margaret, her eyes brighten-
ing with the expectation of delight.
" Are you fond of poetry ? "
Her face fell. The only poetry she knew was the Scotch
Psalms and Paraphrases, and such last-century verses as
iDrmed the chief part of the selections in her school-books ; for
this Avas a very retired parish, and the ncAver books had not
yet reached its school. She had Loped chiefly for talcs.
" I dinna ken much about poetry," she answered, trying to
11 DAVID ELGINBROD.
speak English, "There's an aukl book o't on my father's
shelf; but the letters o't are auld-fashioned, an' I dinna care
aboot it."
"But this is quite easy to read, and very beautiful," said
Hugh.
The girl's eyes glistened for a moment, and this was all her
i-eply.
" Would you like to read it?" resumed Hugh, seeing no
further answer was on the road.
Slio held out her hand towards the volume. When he, in
his turn, held the volume towards her hand^ she almost
snatched it from him, and ran towards the house, without a
word of "thanks or leave-taking — whether from eagerness, or
doubt of the propriety of accepting the offer, Hugh could not
conjecture. He stood for some moments looking after her, and
tiien retraced his steps towards the house.
It would have been something, in the monotony of one of
the most trying of positions, to meet one who snatched at the
offered means of spiritual growth, e^ven if that disciple had not
been a lovely girl, with the woman waking in her eyes. He
commenced the duties of the day with considerably more of
energy than he had yet brought to bear on his uninteresting
pupils ; and this energy did not flag before its effects upon the
boys began to react in fresh impulse upon itself.
CHAPTER IV.
THE COTTAGE.
little Bcthlem! poor in walls,
But rich in furniture.
John Masox's Spiritual Songs.
There was one great alleviation to the various discomforts
of Sutherland's tutor-life. It was, that, except during school-
hours, he was expected to take no charge whatever of his pu-
pils. They ran wild all other times; which was far better, in
DAVID ELGINBROD. 15
^yrsxj way, both for them and for him. Consequently he was
entirely his own master beyond the fixed margin of scholastic
du'es; and he soon found that his absence, even from the
table, was a matter of no interest to the family. To be sure,
it iiivolved his own fasting till the next meal-time came round,
for the lady Avas quite a household martinet ; but that was
his own concern.
That very evening, he made his way to David's cottage,
about the country supper-time, when he thought he should
most likely find him at home. It was a clear, still, moonlit
night, with just an air of frost. There was light enough for
him to see that the cottage was very neat and tidy, looking, in
the midst of its little forest, more like an English than a Scotch
habitation. He had had the advantage of a few months' residence
in a leafy region on the other side of the Tweed, and so was
able to make the comparison. But what a different lea/age
that was from this ! That was soft, floating, billowy ; this, -
h-i.rd, stiff, and straight-lined, interfering so little with the
skeleton form, that it needed not to be put off in the wintry
season of death, to make the trees in harmony with the land-
scape. A light was burning in the cottage, visible through
the inner curtain of muslin, and the outer one of frost. As he
approached the door he heard the sound of a voice, and from
the even pitch of the tone, he concluded at once that its owner
was reading aloud. The measured cadence soon convinced him
that it was verse that was being read ; and the voice was evi-
dently that of David, and not of Margaret, He knocked at
the door. The voice ceased, chairs were pushed back, and a
heavy step approached. David opened the door himself
"Eh! Maister Sutherlan','' said he, "I thocht it micht
aiblins be yersel'. You're welcome, sir. Come butt the hoose.
Our place is but sma', but ye'll no min' sittin' doon wi' our ain
sels. Janet, ooman, this is Maister Sutherlan'. Maggy, my
doo, he's a frien' o' yours, o' a day auld, already. Ye're
kindly welcome, Maister Sutherlan'. I'm sure it's verra kin'
o' you to come an' see the like o' huz."
As Hugh entered, he saw his own bright volume lying on
the table evidently that from which David had just been
reading.
Margaret had already plac*.^ for him a cushioned ai'm-chair,
IG DAVID ELGINJ3R0D.
the only comfortable one in the house ; and presently, the table
being drawn back, they were all seated round the peat-fire on
the liearth, — the best sort for keeping feet warm at least. On
the crook, or hooked iron chain susjended witliin the chimney,
hung a three-footed pot, in which potatoes were boiling away
merrily for supper. liy the side of the wide chimney, or more
properly lum, hung an iron lamp, of an old classical form
common to the country, from the beak of which projected,
almost horizontally, the lighted wick, — the pith of a rush.
The light perclied upon it was small but clear, and by it David
had been reading. Margaret sat right under it, upon a small
three-le2;2;ed wooden stool. Sitting thus, Avith the licrht falling
on her from above, Hugh could not help thinking she looked
very pretty. Almost the only object in the distance from
Avhich the feeble light was reflected was the patchwork coun-
terpane of a little bed filling a recess in the wall, fitted with
doors which stood open. It was probably Margaret's refuge
for the night.
"Well," said the tutor, after they had been seated a few
minutes, and had had some talk about the weather, — surely no
despicable subject after such a morning, — the first of spring,
— " Avell, how do you like the English poet, Mr. Elgin-
brod?"
" Spier that at me this day week, Maister Sutherlan', an'
I'll aiblins answer ye; but no the nicht, no the nicht."
"What for no?" said Hugh, taking up the dialect.
" Forae thing, we're nae clean through wi' the auld sailor's
story yet ; an' gin I hae learnt ae thing aboon anither, it's no
to pass jeedgment upo' halves. I hae seen ill weather half the
simmer, an' athrang corn-yard after an' a,' an thato' the best.
No that I'm ill pleased wi' the bonny ballant aither."
" Weel, will ye jist lat me read the lave o't till ye ? "
" Wi' muckle pleesur, sir, an' mony thanks."
He showed Hugh how far they had got in the reading of the
"Ancient Mariner;" whereupon he took up the tale, and
carried it on to the end. lie had some facility in reading with
expression, and his few affectations — for it must be confessed
he was not free of such faults — were not of a nature to strike
uncritical hearers. When he had finished, he looked up, and
his eye chancing to light upon Margaret first, he saw that her
DAVID ELGIXUROD. 17
clieek was quite pale, and her eyes overspread with the film,
not of coming tears, but of emotion notwithstanding.
" Well," said Hugh again, willing to break the silence, and
turning towards David, " what do you think of it now you
have heard it all ? "
AVhether Janet interrupted her husband or not, I cannot
tell ; but she certainly spoke first : —
'• Tshavah ! " — equivalent to pshaw — " it's a' lees. AVhat
for are ye knittin' yer broos ower a leein" ballant, — a' havers
as weel as lees? "
"I'm no jist prepared to say sue muckle, Janet," replied
David ; " there's mony a thing 'at's lees, as ye ca't, 'at's no lees
a' through. Ye see, Maister Sutherlan', I'm no gleg at the
uptak, an' it jist taks me twise as lang as ither fowk to see to
the ootside o' a thing. Whiles a sentence 'ill Icuk to me clean
nonsense a" thegither; an' maybe a haill ook efter, it'll come
upo' me a' at ance ; an' fegs ! it's the best thing in a' the
beuk."
IMargaret's eyes were fixed on her father with a look which
I can only call faitJi/idness, as if every word he spoke w^as
truth, whether she could understand it or not.
" But perhaps we may look too far for meanings sometimes,"
suggested Sutherland.
"Maybe, maybe; but when a body has a suspeecion o' a
trowth, he sud never lat sit till he's gotten eyther hit, or an
assurance that there's nothing there. But there's jist ae thing
in the poem 'at I can pit my finger upo', an' say 'at it's no
richt clear to me whether it's a' straucht-foret or no? "
" What's that, Mr. Elginbrod? "
"It's jist this: what for a' thae sailor-men fell doon deid,
an' the chicld 'at shot the bonnie burdie, an' did a' the mis-
cheef, cam' to little hurt i' the en' — comparateevely."
" Well," said Hugh, " I confess I'm not prepared to an-
swer the question. If you get any light on the subject — "
" Ow, I daur say I may. A heap o' things comes to me as
I'm takin' a dauncler by mysel' i' the gloamin'. I" 11 no say
a thing's wrang till I hae tried it ower an' ower; for maybe
I haena a richt grip o' the thing ava."
" What can ye expec, Dawvid, o' a leevin' corp, an' a'
that ? — ay, twa hunner corps — fower times fifty's twa hunner
18 DAVID ELGINBllOD.
— an' angels tiirnin' sailors, an' sangs gaeiu fleein' aboot liko
laverocks, and tummelin' doon again, tired like? — Guid pre-
serve's a' ! "
" Janet, do ye believe 'at ever a serpent spak? "
" Hoot ! Dawvid, the deil was in him, ye ken."
"The deil a word o' that's i' the word itsel' though," re-
joined David, with a smile.
'•Dawvid," said Janet, solemnly, and with some consterna-
tion, "ye're no gaein' to tell me, sittin' there, 'at ye dinna
believe ilka word 'at's prentit at ween tiie twa brods o' the
Bible? What loill Maister Sutherlan' think o' ye? "
"Janet, my bonnie lass," — and here David's eyes beamed
upon his wife, — " I believe as mony o' them as ye do, an'
maybe a wheen mair, my dawtie. Keep yer min' easy aboot
that. But ye jist see 'at fowk warna a'thegither saitisfeed
aboot a sairpent speikin', an' sae they leiikit aboot and aboot
till at last they fand the deil in him. Guid kens whether he
was there or no. Noo, ye see hoo, gin we was to leuk weel
aboot thae corps, an' thae angels, an' a' that queer stuff — but
oh ! it's bonny stuff tee ! — we micht fa' in wi' something we
didna awthegither expec', though we was leukin' for't a' the
time. Sae I maun jist think aboot it, Mr. Sutherlan' ; an' I
wad fain read it ower again, afore I lippen on giein' my opingan
on the maitter. Ye cud lave the bit beukie, sir? We'se
tak' guid care o't."
"Ye're verra welcome to that or ony ither beuk I hae,"
replied Hugh, who began to feel already as if he were in the
hands of a superior.
" Mony thanks; but ye see, sir, we hae eneuch to chow upo'
for an aucht days or so."
By this time the potatoes were considered to be cooked, and
were accordingly lifted off the fire. The water Avas then
poured away, the lid put aside, and the pot hung once more
upon the crook, hooked a few rings further up in the chimney,
in order that the potatoes might be thoroughly dry before they
were served. Margaret was now very busy spreading the
cloth and laying spoons and plates on the table. Hugh rose
to go.
"Will ye no bide," said Jariet, in a most hospitable tone,
" an' tak' a het pitawta wi' us ? "
DAVID ELGINBROD. 19
•'I'm afraid of being troublesome," answered he.
" Nae fear o' that, gin je can jist pit up wi' oor hamclj
meat."
" Mak nae apologies, Janet, mj woman," said David.
" A het pitawta's aje guid fare, for gentle or semple. Sit ye
doun again, Maister Sutherlan'. Maggj, mj doo, whaur's
the milk?"
" I thocht Hawkie wad hae a drappy o' het milk by this
time," said Margai'et, " and sae I jist loot it be to the last; but
I'll hae't drawn in twa minutes." And away she went with
a jug, commonly called a decanter in that part of the north,
in her hand.
" That's hardly fair play to Hawkie," said David to Janet
with a smile.
" Hoot ! Dawvid, ye see we haeua a stranger ilka nicht."
" But really," said Hugh, " I hope this is the last time you
will consider me a stranger, for I shall be here a great many
times, — that is, if you don't get tired of me."
" Gie us the chance at least, Maister Sutherlan'. It's no
sma' preevilege to fowk like us to hae a frien' wi' sae muckle
bulk learnin' as ye hae, sir."
" I am afraid it looks more to jou. than it really is."
" Weel, ye see, we maun a' leuk at the starns frae the
hicht o' oor ain een. An' ye seem nigher to them by a lang
growth than the lave o's. My man, ye ought to be thankfu'."
With the true humility that comes of worshipping the
truth, David had not the smallest idea that he was immeas-
urably nearer to the stars than Hugh Sutherland.
Maggie having returned Avith her jug full of frothy milk
and the potatoes being already heaped up in a wooden bowl or
hossie in the middle of the table, sendino; the smoke of their
hospitality to the rafters, Janet placed a smaller wooden bowl,
called a caup, filled with deliciously yellow milk of Ilawkie's
latest gathering, for each individual of the company, with an
attendant horn-spoon by its side. They all drew their chairs
to the table, and David, asking no blessing as it was called,
but nevertheless giving thanks for the blessing already be-
stowed, namely, the perfect gift of food, invited Hugh to make
a supper. Each, in primitive but not ungraceful fashion, took
a potato from the dish with the fingers, and ato it, " bite and
20 DAVID ELGINBROD.
sup." with the liclp of the horn-spoon for the milk. Hugh
thoaght he had never supped more pleasantly, and could not
help observing how far real good-bi-ecding is independent of
the forms and refinements of what has assumed to itself the
name of socict//.
Soon after supper was over, it was time for him to go ; so,
after kind hand-shakings and good nights, David accompanied
him to the road, where he left him to find his way home by
the starlight. As he went, he could not help pondering a
little over the fact that a laboring man had discovered a diffi-
culty, perhaps a fault, in one of his favorite poems, whicli had
never suggested itself to him. lie soon satisfied himself,
however, by coming to the conclusion that the poet had not
cared about the matter at all, having had no further intention
in tlie poem than Hugh himself had found in it, namely,
witchery and loveliness. But it seemed to the young student
a wonderful fact, that the intercourse wdiich was denied him in
the laird's family, simply from their utter incapacity of yield-
ing it, should be afforded him in the family of a man who had
followed the plough himself once, perhaps did so still, having
risen only to be the overseer and superior assistant of laborers.
He certainly felt, on his way home, much more reconciled to
the prospect of his sojourn at Turriepuffit than he would have
thought it possible he ever should.
David lingered a few moments, looking up at the stars, be-
fore he re-entered his cottage. YV^hen he rejoined his wife and
child, he found the Bible already open on the table for their
evening devotions. I will close this chapter, as I began the
first, with something like his prayer. David's prayers were
characteristic of the whole man ; but they also partook, in far
more than ordinary, of the mood " of the moment. His last
occupation had been star-gazing : —
" Thou, wha keeps the stars alicht, an' our souls burnin'
wi' a licht aboon that o' the stars, grant that they may shine
afore thee as the stars forever and ever. An' as thou bauds
the stars burnin' a' the nicht, Avhan there's no man to see, so
baud thou the licht burnin' in our souls, whan we see neither
thee nor it, but are buried in the grave o' sleep an' forgetfu"-
ness. Be thou by us, even as a mother sits by the bedside
o' her aiiin' wean a' the lang nicht ; only be thou nearer to us,
DAVID ELGINBROD. 21
even in our verra souls, an' watch ower the wavl' o' drtiama
that they mak' for themsels'. Grant that more an' Tiiore
thochts o' thy thinkin' may come into our herts day by day,
till there shall be at last an open road atween thee an' us, an'
tliy angels may ascend and descend upon us, so that yve may
be in thy hea-ven, e'en while we are upo' thy earth : Amen "
CHAPTER V.
THE STUDENTS.
In wood and stone, not the softest, but liardest, be always aptest for portraiture,
both fairest for pleasure, and most durable for profit. Hard wits bo hard to receive,
but sure to keep; painful without weariness, heedful without waverint;, constant
without new-fang!eness; bearing heavy things, though not lightlj', yet williu'i.ly ;
entering hard things, though not easily, j'ct deeply; and so come to that porfeetness
of learning in the end, that quick wits setin in liopo but do not in deed, or else very
seldom ever attain unto. — RoGEii Ascham. — The Schoolmaster.
Two or three very simple causes united to prevent Hugh
from repeating his visit to David so soon as he would other-
wise have done. One was, that, the fine weather continuing,
lie was seized with the desire of exploring the neighborhood.
The spring, which sets some wild animals to the construction
of new dwellings, incites man to the enlarging of his, making,
as it were, by discovery, that which lies around him his own.
So he spent the greater parts of several evenings in wandering
about the neighborhood ; till at length the moonlight failed
him. Another cause was, that in the act of searchino; for
some books for his boys in an old garret of the house, which
was at once lumber-room and library, he came upon some
stray volumes of the Waverley novels, with which he was as
yet only partially acquainted. These absorbed many of his
spare hours. But one evening, while reading the '•Heart of
Midlothian," the thought struck Lira, what a character David
would have been for Sir Walter ! Whether he Avas right or
not is a question ; but the notion brought David so vividly
before him. that it roused tlie desire to see him. He closed
the book at once, and wont to the cottasre.
22 DAVID ELGINBROD.
" We're no lilc'lj to c<a' ye onjthing but a stranger yet,
Maister Sutherlan','' said David, as he entered.
" I've been busy since I saw you," was all the excuse Hugh
offered.
" Weel, ye're welcome noo ; and ye've jist come in time after
a', for it's no that mony hours sin' I fand it oot awthegither
to my ain settisfaction."
" Found out what?" said Hugh : for he had foro;otten all
about the perplexity in which he had left David, and which
had been occupying his thoughts ever since their last inter-
view.
" Aboot the cross-bow an' the birdie, ye ken," answered
David, in a tone of surprise.
" Yes, to be sure. How stupid of me ! " said Hugh.
•'Weel, ye see, the meanin' o' the haill ballant is no that
ill to win at, seein' the poet himsel' tells us that. It"s jist no
to be proud or ill-natured to oor neebours, the beasts and birds,
for God made ane an' a' o's. But there's harder things iu't
nor that, and yon's the hardest. But ye see it was jist an un-
lucky thochtless deed o' the puir auld sailor's, an' I'mthinkin'
he was sair reprocht in's hert the minit he did it. His mates
was fell angry at him, no' for killiu' the puir innocent craytur,
but for fear o' ill luck in consequence. Syne whan nane fol-
lowed, they turned rich t roun', an' took awa' the character o'
the puir beastie efter 'twas deid. They appruved o' the verra
thing 'at he was nae doot sorry for. But onything to baud
aff o' themsels ! Nae suner cam the calm, than roun' they
gaed again like the weathercock, an' naething wad content
them bit hingin' the deid craytur about the auld man's craig,
an' abusin' him forby. Sae ye see hoo they war a wheen
selfish crayters, an' a hantle waur nor the man 'at was led
astray into an ill deed. But still he maun rue't. Sae Death
got them^ an' a kin' o' leevin Death, a she Death as 'twar, an'
in some respecks may be waur than the ither, got grips o' him,
puir auld body ! It's a' fair an' richt to the backbane o' the
ballant, Maister Sutherlan', an' that Ise uphaud."
Hugh could not help feeling considerably astonished to hear
this criticism from the lips of one whom he considered an un-
educated man. For he did not know that there are many
other educations besides a college one, some of them tending
DAVID ELGxNBROD. 23
far more than that to develop the common sense, or fticulty
of judging of things by their nature. Life intelligentlj met,
and honestly passed, is the best education of all; except that
higher one to which it is mtended to lead, and to which it had
led David. Both these educations, however, were nearly un-
known to the student of books. But he was still more aston-
ished to hear from the lips of Margaret, who was sitting by : —
"That's it, father; that's it!" I was jist ettlin' efter -that
same thing mysel', or something like it, but ye put it in the
richt words exackly."
The sound of her voice drew Hugh's eyes upon her ; he was
astonished at the alteration in her countenance. While she
spoke, it was absolutely beautiful. As soon as she ceased
speaking, it settled back into its former shadowless calm. Her
father gave her one approving glance and nod, expressive of
Jio surprise at her having approached the same discovery as
himself, but testifying pleasure at the coincidence of their
opinions. Nothing Avas left for Hugh but to express his satis-
faction with the interpretation of the difficulty, and to add that
the poem would henceforth possess fresh interest for him.
After this, his visits became more frequent ; and at length
David made a request Avhich led to their greater frequency still.
It was to this effect : —
" Do ye think, Mr. Sutherlan', I could do ony thing at my
age at the mathematics? I unnerstan' weel eneuch hoo to
measur' Ian', an' that kin' o' thing. I jist follow the rule.
But the rule itsel's a puzzler to me. I dinna understan' it by
half Noo it seems to me that the best o' a rule is, no to mak
ye able to do a thing, but to lead ye to what maks the rule
richt, — to the prenciple o' the thing. It"s no 'at I'm mis-
believin' the rule, but I want to see the richts o't."
" I've no doubt you could learn fast enough," replied Hugh.
" I shall be very happy to help you Avith it."
" Na, na; I'm no gaein' to trouble you. Ye hae eneuch to
do in that way. But if ye could jist spare me ane or twa o'
yer beuks whiles, ony o' them 'at ye think proper, I sud be
muckle obleeged te ye."
Hugh promised and fulfilled ; but the result was, that before
long, both the father and the daughter wore seated at the
kitchen-table, every evening, busy with Euclid and Algebra":
24 DAVID ELGINBROD.
and that, on most evenings, Hugh was present as their instruc-
tor. It Avas quite a new pleasure to nim. Few delights sur-
pass those of imparting knowledge to the eager recipient.
What made Hugh's tutor-life irksome, was partly the excess
of his desire to communicate, over the desire of his pupils to
partake. But here there was no labor. All the questions
were asked by the scholars. A single lesson had not passed,
however, before David put questions which Hugh was unable
to answer, and concerning which he was obliged to confess his
ignorance. Instead of being discouraged, as eager questioners
are very ready to be when they receive no answer, David mere-
ly said, " Weel, weel, we maun bide a wee," and Aventon with
what he was able to master. Meantime Margaret, though
forced to lag a good Avay behind her uitlier, and to apply much
more frequently to their tutor for help, yet secured all she got;
and that is great praise for any student. She was not by any
means remarkably quick, but she knew when she did not un-
derstand ; and that is a sure and indispensable step towards
understanding. It is, indeed, a rarer gift than the power of
understanding itself
The gratitude of David was too deep to be expressed in any
formal thanks. It broke out at times in two or three simple
words when the conversation presented an opportunity, or
in the midst of their work, as by its own self-birth, ungen-
erated by association.
During the lesson, which often lasted more than two hours,
Janet Avould be busy about the room, and in and out of it, Avith
a manifest care to suppress all unnecessary bustle. As soon
as Hugh made his appearance, she Avould put off the stout shoes,
— man's shoes, as we should consider them — Avhich she al-
Avays Avore at other times, and put on a pair of hauddes ; that
is, an old pair of her Sunday shoes, put down at heel, and so
conA^erted into -slippers, Avith Avhich she could move about less
noisily. At times her remarks would seem to imply that she
considered it rather absurd in her husband to trouble himself
Avith book-learning ; but evidently on the ground that he kncAV
everything already that Avas Avorthy of the honor of his ac-
quaintance ; Avhereas, Avith regard to Margaret, her heart Avas
as evidently full of pride at the idea of the education her
daughter was getting from the laird's own tutor.
DAVID ELGINBROD. 25
Now and then she would stand still for a moment, and gaze
at them, with her bright black Qjes, from under the white
frills of her mutch, her bare brown arms akimbo, and a lool:
of pride upon her equally brown, honest face.
Her dress consisted of a wrapper, or short loose jacket, of
printed calico, and a blue winsoy petticoat, which she had a
habit of tucking between her knees, to keep it out of harm's
way, as often as she stooped to any wet work, or, more espe-
cially, when doing anything by the fire. Margaret's dress was,
in ordinary, like her mother's, with the exception of the cap ;
but every evening when their master was expected she put
off her wrapper, and substituted a gown of the same material,
a cotton print ; and so, with her plentiful dark hair gathered
neatly under a net of brown silk, — the usual head-dress of girls
in her position, both in and out of doors, — sat down dressed for
the sacrament of wisdom. David made no other preparation
than the usual evening washing of his large, well-wrought hands,
and bathing of his head, covered with thick dark hair, plenti-
fully lined with gray, in a tub of cold water ; from which his
face, which was " cremsin dyed ingrayne " by the weather,
emerged glowing. He sat down at the table in his usual rough
blue coat and plain brass buttons, with his breeches of broad-
striped corduroy, his blue-ribbed stockings, and leather gaiters.
or ciiiticans, disposed under the table, and his shoes, with five
rows of broad-headed nails in the soles, projecting from beneath
it on the other side ; for he was a tall man, — - six feet still, al-
though five and fifty, and considerably bent in the shoulders
with hard work. Sutherland's style was that of a gentleman
who must wear out his dress-coa.t.
Such was the group which, three or four evenings in the
week, might be seen in David Elginbrod's cottage, seated
around the white deal table, with their books and slates upon
it, and searching, by the light of a tallow candle, substituted,
as more convenient, for the ordinary lamp, after the mysteries
of the universe.
The influences of reviving nature and of genial companion-
ship operated very favorably upon Hugh's spirits, and conse-
quently upon his whole powers. For some time he had, as I
have already hinted, succeeded in interesting his boy pupils in
their studies ; and now the progress they made began to be
26 DAVID ELGINBROD.
appreciable to themselves as well as to their tutor. This of
course made them more happy and more diligent. There were
no attempts now to work upon their parents for a holiday ; no
real or pretended head or tooth aches, whose disability was
urged against the greater torture of ill-conceded mental labor.
They began, in fact, to understand ; and, in proportion to the
beauty and value of the thing understood, to understand is to
enjoy. Therefore the laird and his lady could not help seeing
that the boys Avcre doing Avell, — far better, in fact, than they
had ever done before ; and, consequently, began not only to
prize Hugh's services, but to think more highly of his office
than had been their wont. The laird would now and then
invite him to join him in a tumbler of toddy after dinner, or in a
ride round the farm after school hours. But it must be con-
fessed that these approaches to friendliness were rather irk-
some to Hugh ; for, whatever the laird might have been as a
collegian, he was certainly now nothing more than a farmer.
Where David Elginbrod would have descried many a ' ' bonny
sicht," the laird only saw the probable results of harvest, in
the shape of figures in his banking-book. On one occasion
Hugh roused his indignation by venturing to express his ad-
miration of the deli2;htful mino-lino; of colors in a field where a
good many scarlet poppies grew among the green blades of the
corn, indicating, to the agricultural eye. the poverty of the
soil Avhere they were found. This fault in the soil, the laird,
like a child, resented upon the poppies themselves.
''• Nasty, ugly weyds ! We'll hae ye admirin' the smut
neist," said he, contemptuously ; " 'cause the bairns can bleck
ane anither's faces wit."
"But surely," said Hugh, "putting other considerations
aside, you must allow that the color, especially when mingled
with that of the corn, is beautiful."
" Deil hae't ! It's jist there 'at I canna bide the sicht o't.
Beauty ye may ca't ! I see nane o't. I'd as sune hae a
reid-heedit bairn, as see the reid-coatit rascals i' my corn. I
houp ye're no gaein' to cram stuff like that into the heeds o'
the twa laddies. Faith ! we'll hae them sawin' thae ill-fliurcd
weyds amang the Avheyt neist. Poapies ca' ye them? Weei
I wat they're the Popp's ain bairns, an' the scarlet wumman
to the mitlier o' them. Ha ! ha ! ha ! "
DAVID ELGINBROD. 27
Having manifested both wit and Protestantism in the closing
sentence of his objurgation, the hiird relapsed into good humor
and stupidity. Hugh would gladly have spent such hours in
David's cottage instead ; but he was hardly prepared to refuse
his company to Mr. Glasford.
CHAPTER yi.
THE laird's lady.
Ye archewyves, standith at defence,
Syn ye been strong, as is a great camayle;
Ne suffer not that men you don offence.
And slender wives, fell as in battaile,
Beth eager, as is a tiger, yond in Inde ;
Aye clappith as a mill, I you counsaile.
Chaucer. — The Cleric's Tale,
The length and frequency of Hugh's absences, careless as
she was of his presence, had already attracted the atten-
tion of Mrs. Glasford; and very little trouble had to be
expended on the discovery of his haunt. For the servants
knew well enough where he went, and of course had come to
their own conclusions as to the object of his visits. So the
lady chose to think it her duty to expostulate with Hugh on
the subject. Accordingly, one morning after breakfast, the
laird having gone to mount his horse, and the boys to have a
few minutes' play before lessons, Mrs. Glasford, who had kept
her seat at the head of the table, waiting for the opportunity,
turned towards Hugh, who sat reading the week's news, folded
her hands on the tablecloth, drew herself up yet a little more
stiffly in her chair, and thus addressed him : —
"It's my duty, Mr. Sutherland, seein' ye have no mother
to look after ye — "
Hugh expected something matronly about his linen or his
socks, and put down his newspaper with a smile ; but, to his
astonishment, she went on : —
— "To remonstrate wi' ye, on the impropriety of going so
28 DAVID ELGINCROD.
often to David ElginbrocVs. They're not company for a young
gentleman like you, j\Jr. Sutlierlantl."
" They're good company enough for a poor tutor, Mrs.
Glasford," replied Hugh, foolishly enough.
" Not at all, not at all," insisted the lady. "With your
connexions — "
" Good gracious ! ■whoever said anything about my connex-
ions ? I never pretended to have any." Hugh was getting
angry already.
Mrs. Glasford nodded her head significantly, as much as to
say, " I know more about you than you imagine," and then
wont v>n : —
" Your mother will never forgive mo if you get into a scrape
with that smooth-faced hussy ; and if her father, honest man,
hasn't eyes enough in his head, other people have, — ay, an'
tongues too, Mr. Sutherland."
Hugh was on the point of forgetting his manners, and con-
signing all the above-mentioned organs to perdition ; but he
managed to restrain his wrath, and merely said that Margaret
was one of the best girls he had ever known, and that there
was no possible danger of any kind of scrape with her. This
mode of argument, however, was not calculated to satisfy Mrs.
Glasford. She returned to the charge.
" She's a sly puss, with her shy airs and graces. Her
father's jist daft wi' conceit o' her, an' it's no to be surprised
if she cast a glamour ower you. Mr. Sutherland, ye're but
young yet."
Hugh's pride presented any alliance with a lassie who had
herded the laird's covfs barefoot, and even now tended their
own cow, as an all but inconceivable absurdity ; and he
resented, more than he could have thought possible, the enter-
tainment of such a deoiradiDo; idea in the mind of Mrs. Glas-
ford. Indignation prevented him from replying ; while she
went on, getting more vernacular as she proceeded.
" It's no for lack of company 'at yer driven to seek theirs,
I'm sure. There's twa as fine lads an' gude scholars as ye'll
fin' in the haill kintra-side, no to mention the laird and
mysel'."
But Hugh could bear it no longer ; nor would he condescend
to excuse or explain his conduct.
DAVID ELQINBROD. 29
"Madam, I beg you will not mention this subject again."
" But I ivill mention't, Mr. Sutherlan' ; an' if ye'll no
listen to rizzon, 111 go to them 'at maun do't."
" I am accountable to you, madam, for my conduct in your
house, and for the way in which I discharge my duty to your
children, — no further."
" Do ye ca' that dischairgin' yer duty to my bairns, to set
them the example o' hingin' at a quean's apron-strings, and
filling her lug wi' idle havers ? Ca' ye that dischairgin' yer
duty ? My certie ! a bonny dischairgin' ! "
" I never see the girl but in her father and mother's pres-
ence."
'^Weel, weel, Mr. Sutherlan'," said Mrs. Glasford, in a
final tone, and trying to smother the anger which she felt she
had allowed to carry her farther than was decorous, "we'll
say nae mair aboot it at present ; but I maun jist speak to the
laird himsel', an' see what he says till't."
And with this threat she walked out of the room in what
she considered a diOTified manner.
Hugh was exceedingly annoyed at this treatment, and
thought, at first, of throwing up his situation at once ; but he
got calmer by degrees, and saw that it would be to his own
loss, and perhaps to the injury of his friends at the cottage.
So he took his revenge by recalling the excited face of Mrs.
Glasford, whose nose had got as red with passion as the protu-
berance of a turkey-cock when gooblmg out its unutterable
feelings of disdain. He dwelt upon this soothing contempla-
tion till a fit of laughter relieved him, and he was able to go
and join his pupils as if nothing had happened.
Meanwhile the lady sent for David, who Avas at work in the
garden, into no less an audience-chamber than the drawing-
room, the revered abode of all the tutelar deities of the house ;
chief amongst which were the portraits of the laird and her-
self : he, plethoric and wrapped in voluminous folds of necker-
chief ; she, long-necked, and lean, and bare-shouldered. Tlie
original of the latter Avork of art seated herself in the most
important chair in the room : and Avhen David, after carefully
wiping the shoes he had already wiped three times on his way
up, entered with a respectful but nowise obsequious bow, she
ord^^red him, with the air of an empress, to shut the door.
80 DAVID ELGINBllOD.
When he hail obeyed, she ordered him, in a similar tone, to be
seated ; for she sought to mingle condescension and conciliation
■with severity.
•'David," she then began, "lam informed that ye keep
open door to our Mr. Sunderland, and tha,t he spends most
forenichts in your company."
" Weel, mem, it's verra true," was all David's answer.
He sat in an expectant attitude.
" Dawvid, I wonner at ye!" returned Mrs. Glasford, for-
getting her dignity, and becoming confidentially remonstrative.
"Here's a young gentleman o' talans, wi' ilka prospeck o'
waggin' his hcid in a poopit some day, an' ye aid an' abet him
in idlin' aAva' his time at your chimla-lug, duin' waur nor nae-
thing ava ! I'm surprised at ye, Dawvid. I thocht ye had
mair sense."
David looked out of his clear, blue, untroubled eyes, upo?
the ruffled countenance of his mistress, with an almost pa.
ternal smile.
" Weel, mem, I maun say I dinna jist think the young
man's in the warst o' company, whan he's at our ingle-neuk.
An' for idlin' o' his time awa', it"s weel waured for himsel',
forby for us, gin holy words binna lees."
" What do ye mean, Dawvid? " said the lady, rather sharp-
ly, for she loved no riddles.
"I mean this, mem : that the young man is jist actin' the
pairt o' Peter an' John at the bonny gate o' the temple, whan
they said, ' Such as I have, gie I thee ; ' an' gin' it be more
blessed to gie than to receive, as Sant Paul say^ 'at the Mais-
ter himsel' said, the young man' ill no be the waur aif in's
ain learnin', that he impairts o't to them that hunger for't."
' ' Ye mean by this, Dawvid, gin ye could express yersel' to
the pint, 'at the young man, wha's ower weel paid to instruck
my bairns, neglecks them, an' lays himsel' oot upo' ither
fowk's weans, wha hae no richt to ettle aboon the station in
which their Maker pat them."
This was uttered with quite a religious fervor of expostu-
lation; for the lady's natural indignation at the thought of
Meg Elginbrod having lessons from her boys' tutor, was coAved
beneath the quiet, steady gaze of the noble-minded peasant father.
" He lays himsel' oot mair upo' the ither fowk themsels
DAVID ELGINBROD. 81
than upo' their weans, mem ; though, nae doubt, my Magg_y
comes in for a gude share. But for negleckin' o' his duty to
you, mem, I'm sure I kenna hoc that can be ; for it was only
yestreen 'at the laird himsel' said to me, 'at hoo the bairns
had never gotten on naething like it wi' ony ithcr body."
" Tlie laird's ower ready wi's clayers," quoth the laird's
«vife, nettled to find herself in the wrong, and forgetful of her
own and her lord's dignity m once. " But," she pursued,
"all I can say is, that I consider it verra improper o' you, wi'
a young lass-bairn, to encourage the nichtly veesits o' a young
gentleman, wha's sae far aboou her in station, an' dootless will
some day be farther yet."
" Mem ! " said David, with dignity, " I'm willin' no to un-
derstan' what ye mean. My Maggy's no ane 'at needs luikin'
efter ; an' a body had need to be carefu' an' no interfere wi'
the Lord's herdin', for he ca's himsel' the Shepherd o' the
sheep ; an' weel as I loe her I maun lea' him to lead them
v-ha follow him Avherever he goeth. She'll no be ill guidit,
and I'm no gaein' to kep her at ilka turn."
"Weel, weel! that's yer ain affair, Dawvid, my man," re-
joined Mrs. Glasford, with rising voice and complexion.
" A' 'at I hae to add is jist this : 'at as lang as my tutor vees-
its her — "
" He veesits her no more than me, mem," interposed David ;
but his mistress went on with dignified disregard of the inter-
ruption.
— " Veesits her, I canna, for the sake o' my own bairns, an'
the morals o' my hoosehold, eraploy her aboot the hoose, as I
was in the way o' doin' afore. Gude-mornin', Dawvid. I'll
speak to the laird himsel', sin' yc'U no heed me."
"It's more to my lassie, mem, excuse m.e, to learn to un-
nerstan' the works o' her Maker, than it is to be emploj'^ed in
your household. Mony thanks, mem, for what yc hev' done
in tliat way afore ; an' gude-mornin' to ye, mem. I'm sorry
we should hae ony misunderstandin', but I canna help it for
my pairt."
With these words David withdrew, rather anxious about
the consequences to Hugh of this unpleasant interference on
the part of Mrs. Glasford. That lady's wrath kept warm
without mucli nursing, till the laird came home ; when she
32 DAVID ELGINBROD.
turned the ■svholo of her battery upon him, and kept up a
steady fire until he yielded, and promised to turn his upon
David. But he had more common sense than his Avife in some
tilings, and saw at once how ridiculous it would be to treat
the afiliir as of importance. So, the next time he saw David,
he addressed him half jocularly: —
" Weel, Dawvid, you an' the mistress hae been haein a bit
o' a dispute thegither, eh ? "
"Weel, sir, we warna a'thegither o' ae min'," said David,
with a smile.
" Weel, weel, we maun humor her, ye ken, or it may be
the w^aur for us a', ye ken." And the laird nodded Avith hu-
morous significance.
" I'm sure I sud be glaid, sir ; but this is no sma' maitter
to me an' my Maggie, for we're jist gettin' food for the very
sowl, sir, frae him an' his bcuks."
" Cudna ye be content wi' the beuks wi'out the man, Daw-
vid ? "
"We sudmak' but sma' progress, sir, that get."
The laird began to be a little nettled himself at David's
stiffness about such a small matter, and held his peace. Da-
vid resumed : —
" Besides, sir, that's a maitter for the young man to sattle,
an' no for me. It Avad ill become me, efter a' he's dune for
us, to steek the door in's face. Na, na ; as lang's I hae a
door to baud open, it's no to be steekit to him."
" Efter a', the door's mine, DaAvvid," said the laird.
" As lang's I'm in your hoose an' in your serAdce, sir, the
door's mine," retorted Da\'id, quietly.
The laird turned and rode away without another word.
What passed between him and his Avife never transpired. Noth-
ing more Avas said to Hugh as long as he remained at Tur-
riepuffit. But Margaret Avas never sent for to the house af-
ter this, upon any occasion AvhateA'er. The laird gave her a
nod as often as he saAv her; but the lady, if they .chanced to
meet, took no notice oT her. Margaret, on her part, stood or
passed Avith her eyes on the ground, and no further change of
countenance than a slight flush of discomfort.
The lessons Avent on as usual, and happy hours they Avere
for all those concerned. Often, in after years, and in far dif-
DAVID ELGINBROD. 33
ferent circumstances, the thoughts of Hugh reverted, with a
painful yearning, to the dim-lighted cottage, with its clay
floor and its deal table ; to the earnest pair seated with him at
the labors that unfold the motions of the stars ; and even to
the homely, thick-set, but active form of Janet, and that pe-
culiar smile of hers with which, after art apparently snappish
speech, spoken with her back to the person addressed, she
would turn round her honest face half-apologeticaily, and
shine full upon some one or other of the three, whom she lion
ored with her whole heart and soul, and who, she feared,
might be oifended at what she called her " hame-ower fashion
of speaking." Indeed it was wonderful what a share the
motherhood of this woman, incapable as she was of entering
into the intellectual occupations of the others, had in produc-
ing that sense of home-blessedness, which inwrapt Hugh also
in the folds of its hospitality, and drew him towards its heart.
Certain it is that not one of the three would have worked so
well without the sense of the presence of Janet, here and there
about the room, or in the immediate neighborhood of it, — love
watching over labor. Once a week, always on Saturday
nights, Hugh stayed to supper with them ; and on these oc-
casions, Janet contrived to have something better than or-
dinary in honor of their guest. Still it was of the homeliest
country fare, such as Hugh could partake of without the least
fear that his presence occasioned any inconvenience to his en-
tertainers. Nor was Hugh the only giver of spiritual food.
Putting aside the rich gifts of human affection and sympathy,
which grew more and more pleasant — I ^n hardly use a
stronger word yet — to Hugh everyday, many things were
spoken by the simple wisdom of David, which would have en-
lightened Hugh far more than they did, had he been sufficient-
ly advanced to receive them. But their very simplicity was
often far beyond the grasp of his thoughts ; for the higher we
rise, the simpler we become ; and David was one of those of
whom is the kingdom of heaven. There is a childhood into
which we have to grow, just as there is a childhood which we
must leave behind ; a childlikeness which is the highest gain of
.humanity, and a childishness from which but few of those who
are counted the wisest among men have freed themselves in
their imagined progress towards the reality of things.
3
34 DAVID ELGINBROD.
CHAPTER VII.
TUE SECRET OF THE WOOD.
The unthrift sunno shot vitall gold,
A thousand pieces;
And heaven ita azuro did unfold,
Chequered with snowy fleecea.
The air was all in spice,
And every bush
A garland wore : Thus fed my Eyes,
But all tho Earo lay hush.
Henry Vadghan.
It was not in mathematics alone tliat Hugh Sutherland was
serviceable to Margaret Elginbrod. That branch of study had
been chosen for her father, not for her ; but her desire to learn
had led her to lay hold upon any mental provision with which
the table happened to be spread ; and the more eagerly that
her father was a guest at the same feast. • Before long, Hugh
bethought him that it might possibly l)e of service to her, in
the course of her reading, if he taught her English a little
more thoroughly than she had probably picked it up at the
parish school, to which she had been in the habit of going till
within a very short period of her acquaintance with the tutor.
The English reader must not suppose the term j^ttrlsli school
to mean what the same term vrould mean if used in England.
'Boys and girls of very different ranks go to the Scotch parish
schools, and the fees are so small as to place their education
within the reach Of almost the humblest means. To his pro-
posal to this effect Margaret responded thankfully ; and it
gave Hugh an opportunity of directing her attention to many
of the more delicate distinctions in literature, for the apprecia-
tion of which she manifested at once a remarkable aptitude.
Coleridge's poems had been read long ago ; some of them, in-
deed, almost committed to memory in the process of repeated
perusal. No doubt a good many of tliem must have been as
yet too abstruse for her ; not in the least, however, from in-
aptitude in her for such subjects as they treated of, but simply
because neither the terms nor the modes of thought could pos-
sibly have been as yet presented to her in so many different
positions as to enable her to comprehend their scope. Hugh
DAVID ELGINBROD. 35
lent her Sir Walter's poems next ; but those she read at an eye
glance. She returned the volume in a week, saying merely,
they were " verra bonnie stories." He saw at once that^ to
have done them justice with the girl, he ought to have lent
them first. But that could not be helped now ; and what
should come next ? Upon this he took thought. His library
was too small to cause much perplexity of choice, but for a few
days he continued undecided.
Meantime the interest he felt in his girl-pupil deepened
greatly. She became a kind of study to him. The expression
of her countenance was far inferior to her intelligence and
power of thought. It was still to excess, — almost dull in
ordinary ; not from any fault in the mould of the features,
except, perhaps, in the upper lip, which seemed deficient in
drawing, if I may be allowed the expression ; but from the
absence of that light which indicates the presence of active
thought and feeling within. In this respect her face was like,
the earthen pitcher of Gideon : it concealed the light. She
seemed to have, to- a peculiar degree, the faculty of retiring
inside. But now and then, while he was talking to her. and
doubtful, from the lack of expression, whether she was even
listening with attention to what he was saying, her face would
lighten up with a radiant smile of intelligence ; not, however,
throwing the light upon him, and in a moment reverting to its
former condition of still twilight. Her person seemed not to
be as yet thoroughly possessed or informed by her spirit. It
sat apart within her ; and there was no ready transit from her
heart to her face. This lack of presence in the face is quite
common in pretty school-girls and rustic beauties ; but it was
manifest to an unusual degree in the case of IMargaret. Yet
most of the forms and lines in her fiice were lovely ; and when
the light did shine through them for a passing moment, her
countenance seemed absolutely beautiful. Hence it grew into
an almost haunting temptation with Hugh to try to produce
this expression, to unveil the coy light of the beautiful soul.
Often he tried ; often he fliiled, and sometimes he succeeded.
Had they been alone, it might have become dangerous — I
mean for Hugh ; I cannot tell for Margaret.
When they first met, she had just completed her seventeenth
year: but, at an age when a town-bred girl is all but a woman,
36 DAVID ELGINBROD.
her manners were tliose of a child. This chiltlishnes3,'how-
ever, soon began to disappear, and the peculiar stillness of her
face, of Avhich I have already said so much, made her seem
older than she wm.
It was now eai'l y summer, and all the other trees in the
wood — of which there were not many besides the firs of various
kinds — had put on their fresh leaves, heaped up in green
clouds between the Avanderer and the heavens. In the morning
the sun shone so clear upon these, that, to the eyes of one
standing beneath, the light seemed to dissolve them away tc
the most ethereal forms of glorified foliage. They were to be
claimed for earth only by the shadows that the one cast upon
the other, visible from below through the transparent leaf.
This efiect is very lovely in the young season of the year, when
the leaves are more delicate and less crowded ; and especially
in the early morning, when the light is most clear and pene-
trating. By the way I do not think any man is compelled to
bid good-by to his childhood : every man may feel young in
the morning, middle-aged in the afternoon, and old at night.
A day corresponds to a life, and the portions of the one are
"pictures in little" of the seasons of the other. Thus far
man may rule even time, and gather up, in a perfect being,
youth and age at once.
One morning, about six o'clock, Hugh, who had never been
so early in the wood since the d^ay he met Margaret there,
was standing under a beech-tree, looking up through its mul-
titudinous leaves, illuminated, as *I have attempted to describe,
with the sidelong rays of the biilliant sun. He was feeling
young, and observing the forms of nature with a keen, dis-
criminating gaze : that was all. Fond of writing verses, he
was studying nature, not as a true lover, but as one who would
hereafter turn his discoveries to use. For it must be con-
fessed that nature afiected him chiefly through the medium of
poetry ; and that he was far more ambitious of writing beauti-
ful things about nature than of discovering and understanding,
for their own sakes, any of her hidden yet patent meanings.
Changing his attitude after a few moments, he flescried, under
another beech-tree, not far from" him, Margaret, standing and
looking up fixedly as he had been doing a moment before. He
approached her, and she, hearing his advance, looked, and saw
DAVID ELGINBUOD. 87
him, but did not move. He thought he saw the glimmer of
tears in her ejes. She was the first to speak however.
'' What were jou seeing up there, Mr. Sutherhmd? "
" I was only looiving at the bright leaves, and the shadows
upon them."
" Ah ! I thocht maybe ye had seen something."
" What do you mean, Margaret? "
"I dinna richtly ken mysel'. But I aye expeck to see
something in this fir-wood. I'm here maist mornin's as the
day dawns, but I'm later the day."
" W^e were later than usual at our work last night. But
what kind of thing do you expect to see ? "
" That's jist what I dinna ken. An' I canna min' whan I
began to come here first, luikin' for something. I've tried
mony a time, but I canna min', do what I like."
Margaret had never said so much about herself before. I
can account for it only on the supposition that Hugh had
gradually assumed in her mind a kind of pastoral superiority,
which, at a fiivorable moment, inclined her to impart her
thoughts to him. But he did not know what to say to this
strange fiict in her history. She went on to say, however, as
if, having broken the ice, she must sweep it away as well : —
'' The only thing 'at helps me to account for't is a picter in
our auld Bible, o' an angel sitten' aneth a tree, and haudin' up
his han' as gin he were speakin' to a Avoman 'at's stan'in' afore
him. Ilka time at I come across that picter, I feel direckly
as gin I war my lane in this fir- wood here ; sae I suppose that
when I was a wee bairn, I maun hae come oot some mornin'
my lane, wi' the expectation o' seein' an angel here waitin' for
me to speak to me like the ane i' the Bible. But never an
angel hae I seen. Yet I aye hae an expectation like o' seeiu'
something, I kenna what ; for the whole place aye seems fu'
o' a presence, an' it's a hantle mair to men or the kirk an' the
sermon forby ; an' for the singin', the soun' i' the fir-taps is
far mair solemn and sweet at the same tim, an' muckle mair
like praisin' o' God than a' the psalms thegither. But I aye
think 'at gin I could hear Milton playin' on's organ, it would
be mair like that soun' o' mony waters than onything else 'at
I can think o'."
Hugh stood and gazed at her in astonishment. To his more
S8 ' DAVID ELGINBKOD.
refined ear there was a strange incongruity between the some-
■\vliat coarse dialect in Avhich she spoke, and the things she
uttered in it. Not that he was capable of entering into her
feelings, much less of explaining them to her. lie felt that
there was something remarkable in them, but attributed both
the thoughts themselves und their influence on him to an un-
common and weird imagination. As of such origin, however,
he Avas just the one to value them highly.
*' Those are very strange ideas," he said.
" But what can there be about the wood? The very prim-
roses — ye brocht me the first this spring yersel', Mr. Suther-
land — come out at the fit o' the trees, and look at me as if
they said, ' ^Ve ken — we ken a' aboot it ; ' but never a word
mair they say. There's something by ordinar' in't."
" Do you like no other place besides? " said Hugh, for the
sake of saying something.
" Ou, ay, mouy ane ; but nane like this."
" What kind of place do you like best ? "
''I like places wi' green grass an' flo^vers amo't."
'■' You like flowers then ? "
" Like them ! whiles they gar me greet, an' whiles they gar
me lauch ; but there's mair i' them than that, an'-i' the wood
too. I canna richtly say my prayers in ony ither place."
The Scotch dialect, especially to one brought up in the High-
lands, was a considerable antidote to the eiiect of the beauty
of Avhat JNIargaret said.
Suddenly it struck Hugh, that, if Margaret were such an
admirer of nature, possibly she might enjoy VV^ordsworth. He
himself was as yet incapable of doing him anything like jus-
tice ; and, with the arrogance of youth, did not hesitate to
smile at the "Excursion," picking out an awkward line here
and there as especial food for laughter even. But many of his
smaller pieces he enjoyed very heartily, although not thor-
oughly, — the element of Christian Pantheism, which is their
soul, being beyond his comprehension, almost perception, as
yet. So he made up his mind, after a moment s reflection,
that this should be the next author he recommended to his
pupil. He hoped likewise so to end an interview, in which
he might otherwise be compelled to confess that he could
render Margaret no assistance in her search after the somethina:
DAVID ELGINBROD. 39
ill the wood ; and lie was unwilling to say lie could not under-
stand her ; for a power of universal sympathy was one of those
mental gifts which Hugh was most anxious to believe he pos-
sessed.
'• I will bring jou another book to-night," said he, " which
I think you will like, and which may perhaps help you to find
out what is in the wood."
He said this smiling, half in playful jest, and without any
idea of the degree of likelihood that there was, notwithstanding,
in what he said. For certainly, Wordsworth, the Jiigh-priest
of nature, though perhaps hardly the apostle of nature, was
more likely than any other writer to contain something of the
secret after which Margaret was searching. Whether she can
find it there may seem questionable.
"Thank you, sir." said Margaret, gratefully; but her
whole countenance looked troubled, as she turned towards her
home. Doubtless, however, the trouble vanished before she
reached it, for hers was net a nature to cherish disquietude.
Hugh, too, went home, rather thoughtful.
In the evening, he took a volume of Wordsworth, and re-
paired, according to his wont, to David's cottage. It was
Saturday, and he would stay to supper. After they had
given the usual time to their studies, Hugh setting Margaret
some exercises in Englis-h to write on her slate, while he
hciped David with some of the el'.'ments of Trigonometry, and
again going over these elements with her, while David worked
out a calculation, — after these were over, and while Janet
was puttiu|[ the supper on the table, Hugh pulled out his vol-
ume, and, without any preface, read them the "Leech-Gatherer."
All listened very intently, Janet included, who delayed several
of the operations, that she might lose no word of the verses :
David nodding assent every now and then, and ejaculating ai/ !'
ay ! or eh, man ! or producing that strange, mufiled sound at
once common and peculiar to Scotchmen, which cannot be
expressed in letters by a nearer approach than km — hm,
uttered, if that can be called uttering, with closed lips and
open nasal passage ; and Margaret, sitting motionless on her
creepie, with upturned pale face, and ejcs fixed upon the lips
of the reader. When lie had ceased, all were silent for a mo-
ment, when Janet made some little sign of anxiety about her
40 DAVID ELGINBEOD.
supper, winch certainly had suffered by the delay. Then,
without a Avord, David turned towards the table and gave
thanks. Turning again to Hugh, Avha had risen to place his
chair, he said : —
" That maun be the wark o' a great poet, Mr. Sutherlan'."
" It's Wordsworth's ! " said Hugh.
" Ay ! ay ! That's Wordsworth's ! Ay ! Weel, I hae jist
heard him made mention o', but I never read word o' his afore.
An' he never repentit o' that same resolution, I'se warrant,
'at he eynds aff wi'. Hoo does it gang, Mr. 'Sutherlan' ? "
Sutherland read : —
" 'God,' said I, 'be my help and stay secure!
I'll think of the Icech-gatherer on the louely moor; ' "
and added, " It is said Wordsworth never knew what it was to
be in want of money all his life."
'' Nae doubt, nae doubt : he trusted in Him."
It was for the sake of the minute notices of nature, and not
for the religious lesson, which he now seemed to see for the
first time, that Hugh had read the poem. He could not help
being greatly impressed by the confidence with which David
received the statement he had just made on the authority of
De Quincey in his unpleasant article about Wordsworth.
David resumed : —
"He maun hae had a gleg 'ee o' his ain, that Maister
Wordsworth, to notice a'thing that get. Weel he maun hae
likit leevin' things, puir maukin an' a' — jist like oor Robbie
Burns for that. An' see hoo they a' ken ane anither, thae
poets. What says he aboot Burns ? — ye needna tell me, Mr.
Sutherlan' ; I mm't weel aneuch. He says : —
" ' Ilim wha walked in glory an' in joy,
Followiu' his ploo upo' tho muutaiu-sido.'
Puir Robbie ! puir Robbie ! But, man, he was a gran' chield,
cfter a' ; an' I trust in God he's Avon hame by this ! "
Both Janet and Hugh, Avho had had a very orthodox educa-
tion, started, mentally, at this strange utterance ; but they saw
the eye of DaAdd solemnly fixed, as if in deep contemplation,
and lighted in its blue depths Avith an ethereal brightness, and
neither of them ventured to speak. Margaret seemed absorbed
DAVID ELGINBROD. 41
for the moment in gazing on lier father's face ; but not in the
least as if it perplexed her like the fir-wood. To the seeing
eje, the same kind of expression would have been evident in^
both countenances, as if Margaret's reflected the meaning of
her father's; whether through the medium of intolleptual sym-
pathy, or that of the heart only, it v/ould have been hard to
say. Meantime supper had been rather neglected ; but ita
operations were now resumed more earnestly, and the conver-
sation became lighter, till at last it ended in hearty laughter,
and Husch rose and took his leave.
CHAPTER VIII.
A SUNDAY MORNING.
It is the property of good and sound knowledge, to putrifie and dissolve into a
number of subtle, idle, unwholsome, and (as I may tearmo them) vermiculato ques-
tions; which have indeed a kindo of quiokncsse, and life of spirito, but no soundnosse
of matter, or goodnesso of quality. — Lord Eacon. — Advancement of Learning.
The following, morning, the laird's family went to church
as usual, and Hugh went with them. Their Avalk was first
across fields, by pleasant footpaths ; and then up the valley of
a little noisy stream, that obstinately refused to keep Scotch
Sabbath, praising the Lord after its owil fashion. They
emerged into rather a bleak country before reaching the church,
which was quite new, and perched on a barren eminence, that
it might be as conspicuous by its position as it was remarkable
for its ugliness. One grand aim of the reformers of the Scot-
tish ecclesiastical modes appears to have been to keep the
worship pure and the worshippers sincere, by embodying the
Avl'ole in the ugliest forms that could be associated with the
name of Christianity. It might be wished, hovfever, that
some of their folloAvers, and amongst them the clergyman of
the church in question, had been content to stop there, and
had left the object of worship, as represented by them, in the
possession of some lovable attribute ; so as not to require a mau
42 DAVID ELGINBROD.
to love that which is unlovable, or worship that which is not
honorable, — in a word, to bow down before that which is not
divine. The cause of this dcgcneracj they share in common
Avith the followers of all other great men as well as of Calvin.
They take up what their leader, urged by the necessity of the
time, spoke loudest, never heeding what he loved most ; and
then work the former out to a logical perdition of everything
belontTinsT to the latter.
Hugh, however, thought it was all right ; for he had the
same good reasons, and no other, for receiving it all, that a
Mohammedan or a Buddhist has for holding his opinions ;
namely, that he had heard those doctrines, and those alone,
from his earliest childhood. He was therefore a good deal
startled when, having, on his way home, strayed from the
laird's party towards David's, he heard the latter say to Mar-
garet, as he came up : —
" Dinna ye believe, my bonny doo, 'at there's onymak' ups
or mak' shifts wi' JElm. He's aye bringin' things to the
licht, no coverin' them up and lattin them rot, an' the moth
tak' them. He sees us jist as we are, and ca's us jist Avhat
we are. It wad be an ill day for a' o's, Llaggy, my doo, gin
be war to close his een to oor sins, an' ca' us just in his sicht,
whan we cudna possibly be just in oor ain or in ony ither
body's, no to say his."
" The Lord preserve's, Dawvid Elginbrod ! Dinna ye
believe i' the doctrine o' Justification by t'aith, an' you a'maist
made an elder o' ? "
Janet was the respondent, of course ; Margaret listened in
silence.
" Ou, ay, I believe in't, nae doot ; but, troth ! the minister,
honest man, near-han' gart me disbelieve in't a'thegither vfi'
his gran' sermon this mornin', about imputit richteousness,
an' a clean robe hidin' a foul skin or a crookit back. Na, na.
May Him 'at woosh the feet o' his friens, wash us a'thegither,
and straucht oor crookit banes, till we're clean and weel-faured
like his ain bonny sel'."
" Weel, Dawvid — but that's sanctificaition, ye ken."
" Ca't ony name 'at you or the minister likes, Janet, my
woman. I daursay there's neither o' ye far wrang after a' ;
only this is jist my opingan aboot it in sma' — that thot man,
DAVID ELGINBROD. 43
and that man only, is justifeed, wha pits liimsel' into the Lord's
han's to sanctifee him. Noo ! An' that'll no be dune bj pit-
tin' a robe o' richteousness upo' him, afore he's gotten a clean
skin aneath't. As gin a father cudna bide to see the puir
scabbit skin o' his ain wee bit bairnie, aj, or o' his prodigal
son either, but bude to hap it a' up afore he cud lat it come
near him ! xVhva ! "
Here Hugh ventured to interpose a remark.
" But you don't think, Mr. Elginbrod, that the minister in-
tended to say that justification left a man at liberty to sin, or
that the robe of Christ's righteousness would hide him from
the work of the Spirit ? ^'
" Na ; but there is a notion in't o' hidin' frae God himsel'.
I'll tell ye what it is, Mr. Sutherlan' : the minister's a' richt
in himsel', an' sae's my Janet here, an' mony mair; an' aib-
lins there's a kin' o' trowth in a' 'at they say ; but this is mj
quarrel wi' a' thae Avords, an' airguments, an' seemilies
as they ca' them, an' doctrines, an' a' that — they jist
hand a puir body at airm's lenth oot OAver frae God himsel'.
An' they raise a mist an' a stour a' aboot him, 'at the puir
bairn canna see the Father himsel', stan'iii wi' his airms
streekit oot as wide's the heavens, to tak' the worn crater —
and the mair sinner, the mair welcome — hame to his verra
hert. Gin a body wad lea' a' that, an' jist get fowk persuadit
to speyk a word or twa to God him lane, the loss, in my opin-
gan, wad be unco sma', an' the gain verra great."
Even Janet dared not reply to the solemnity of this speech ;
for the seer-like look was upon David's fiice, and the tears had
gathered in his eyes and dimmed their blue. A kind of trem-
ulous, pathetic smile flickered about his beautifully curved
mouth, like the glimmer of water in a vallej'', betAvixt the
lofty aquiline nose and the powerful but finely modelled chin.
It seemed as if he dared not let the smile break out, lest it
should be followed instantly by a burst of tears.
Margaret went close up to her father, and took his hand as
if she had been still a child, A\'hile Janet v>'alked reverentially
by him on the other side. It must not be supposed that
Janet felt any uneasiness about her husband's opinions, al-
though she never hesitated to utter what she considered her
common-sense notipns, in attempted modification cf some of the
44 DAVID ELGINBROD.
more extreme of tliem. The fact was that, if he was wrong,
Janet did not care to be riglit ; and if be Avas right, Janet
was sure to be ; " for," said she, — and in spirit, if not in the
letter, it was quite true, — "I never mint at contradickin' him.
My man sail hae bis ain get, that sail be." But she bad one
especial grudge at his opinions : which was, tluit it must have
been in consequence of them that he had declined, with a
queer smile, the honorable position of Elder of the Kirk ; for
which Janet considered him, notwithstanding bis opinions, im-
measurably more fitted than any other man "in the baill
country-side — ye may add Scotlan' forby." The fact of bis
having been requested to fill the vacant place of Elder is
proof enough that David was not in the habit of giving open
expression to bis opinions. He was looked upon as a douce
man, long-headed enough, and somewhat precise in the exac-
tion of the laird's rights, but open-hearted and open-handed
with what was bis own. Every one respected him, and felt
kindly towards him ; some were a little afraid of him ; but few
suspected him of being religious beyond the degree which is
commonly supposed to be the general inheritance of Scotch-
men,' possibly in 'virtue of their being brought up upon oat-
meal porridge and the Shorter Catechism.
Hugh walked behind the party for a short way, contemplat-
ing them in their Sunday clothes ; David wore a suit of fine
black cloth. He then turned to rejoin the laird's company.
Mrs. Glasford was questioning her boys, in an intermittent
and desultory fashion, about the sermon.
' ' An' what was the fourth beid, — can ye tell me, Wil-
lie ? "
Willie, the eldest, who bad carefully impressed the fourth
bead upon his memory, and bad been anxiously waiting for an
opportunity of bringing it out, replied at once : —
' ' Fourthly. The various appellations by which those who
have indued the robe ,of righteousness are designated in Holy
Wi-it."
" Weel done, Willie ! " cried the laird.
" That's richt, Willie," said bis mother. Then turning to
the younger, whose attention was attracted by a strange bird in
the hedge in front, "An' what called he them Johnnie, that
put on the robe? " she asked. ,
DAVID ELGINBROD. 45
" Whited sepulchres," answered Johnnie, indebted for his
wit to his wool-gathering.
This put an end to the catecliizing. Mrs. Glasford glanced
round at Ilun-h, whose defection she had seen with indi2;na-
tion, and who, waiting for them bj the roadside, had heard the
last question and reply, with an expression that seemed to at-
tribute anv defect in the answer entirely to the carelessness
of the tutor, and the withdrawal of his energies from her boys
to that " saucy quean, Meg Elginbrod."
CHAPTER IX.
NATURE.
When the Soul is kindled or enlightened by the Holy Ghost, then it beholds what
God its Father does, as a Son beholds what his Father does at Home in his own
House. — Jacob Beiiiien's Aurora — Laiifs Translation.
Margaret began to read Wordsworth, slowly at first, but
soon with greater facility. Ere long she perceived that she
had found a friend ; for not only did he sympathize with her in
her love for nature, putting many vague feelings into thoughts,
and many thoughts into words for her, but he iiitroduced her to
nature in many altogether new aspects, and taught her to re-
gard it in ways which had hitherto been unknown to her. Not
only was the pine-wood now dearer to her than before, but its
mystery seemed more sacred, and, at the same time, more
likely to be one day solved. She felt far more assuredly the
presence of a spirit in nature,
" Whoso dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean, and the living air; "
for he taught her to take wider views of nature, and to per-
ceive and feel the expressions of more extended aspects of the
world around her. The purple hill-side was almost as dear to
her as the fir-wood now ; and the star that crowned its summit
at eve sparkled an especial message to her, before it went on
46 DAVID ELGINBROD.
its way up the blue. She extended her rambles in all direc-
tions, and began to get with the neighbors the character of an
idle girl. Little they knew liow early she rose, and how dili-
gently she did her share of the work, urged by desire to read
the' word of God in his own handwriting ; or, rather, to pore
upon that expression of the face of God, which, however little
a man may think of it, yet sinks so deeply into his nature,
and moulds it towards its own likeness.
Nature was doing for Margaret what she had done before
for Wordsworth's Lucy : she was making of her " a lady of
her own." She grew taller and more graceful. The lasting
quiet of her face began to look as if it were ever upon the
point of blossoming into an expression of lovely feeling. The
principal change was in her mouth, which became delicate and
tender in its curves, the lips seeming to kiss each other for
very sweetness. But I am anticipating these changes, for it
took a far longer time to perfect them than has yet been occu-
pied by my story.
But even her mother was not altogether proof against the
appearance of listlessness and idleness which Margaret's be-
havior sometimes wore to her eyes ; nor could she quite under-
stand or excuse her long lonely walks ; so that now and
then she could not help addressing her after this fash-
ion : —
"Meg! Meg! ye do try my patience, lass, idlin' awa' yer
time that get. *It's an awfu' wastry o' time, what wi' beuks,
an' what wi' stravaguin', an' what wi' naething ava. Jist pit
yer han' to this kirn noo, like a gude bairn."
Margaret would obey her mother instantly, but with a look
of silent expostulation which her mother -could not resist;
sometimes, perhaps, if the words were sharper than usual,
with symptoms of gathering tears ; upon which Janet would
say, with her honest smile of sweet relenting : — •
" Hootoots, bairn ! never heed me. My bark's aye waur
nor my bite ; ye ken that."
Then Margaret's face would brighten at once, and she would
work hard at whatever her mother set her to do, till it vfas
finished ; upon which her mother would be more glad than
she, and in no haste to impose any further labor out of the
usual routine.
DAVID ELGINBKOD. 47
In the course of reading Wordsworth, Margaret had fre-
quent occasion to applj to Hugh for help. These occasions,
however, generally involved no more than small external diffi-
culties, which prevented her from taking in the scope of a,
passage. Hugh was always able to meet these, and Margaret
supposed that the whole of the light which flashed upon her
mind, when thej were removed, was poured upon the page by
the wisdom of her tutor ; never dreaming — such was her hu-
mility with regard to herself, and her reverence towards him
— that it came from the depths of her own lucent nature,
ready to perceive what the poet came prepared to show. Now
and then, it is true, she applied to him with difficulties in
which he was incapable of aiding her ; but she put down her
failure in discovering the meaning, after all which it must be
confessed he sometimes tried to say, to her own stupidity or
peculiarity, — never to his incapacity. She had been helped
to so much by his superior acquirements and his real gift for
communicating what he thoroughly understood ; he had been
so entirely her guide to knowledge, that she would at once
have felt self-condemned of impiety, — in the old meaning of
the word, — if she had doubted for a moment his ability to
understand or explain any difficulty v/hich she could place
clearly before him.
By and by he began to lend her harder, that is, more purely
intellectual books. He was himself preparing for the class of
Moral Philosophy and Metaphysics; and he chose for her some
of the simpler of his books on these subjects, — of course all
of the Scotch school, — beginning with Abercrombie's "Intel-
lectual Powers." She took this eagerly, and evidently read
it with great attention.
One evening, in the end of summer, Hugh climbed a waste
heathery hill that lay behind the house of Turriepuffit, and
overlooked a great part of the neighboring country, the peaks
of some of the greatest of the Scotch mountains being visible
from its top. Here he intended to wait for the sunset. He
threw himself on the heather, that most delightful and luxu-
rious of all couches, supporting the body with a kindly up-
holding of every part ; and there he lay in the great slumber-
ous sunlight of the late afternoon, with the blue heavens, into
which he was gazing full up, closing down upon him, as the
48 DAVID ELGINBROD.
light descended the side of the sky. lie fell ftxst asleep. If
ever there he an excuse for falling asleep out of bed, surely it
is when stretched at full length upon heather in bloom. When
he awoke, the last of the sunset was dying away ; and between
him and the sunset sat Margaret, book in hand, waiting appar-
ently for his waking. He lay still for a few minutes, to come
to himself before she should see he was awake. But she rose
at the moment, and, drawing near very quietly, looked down
upon him with her sweet sunset face, to see whether or not he
■was beginning to rouse, for she feared to let him lie much
longer after sundown. Finding him awake, she drew back
again without a word, and sat down as before with her book.
At length he rose, and, approaching her, said : —
" Well, Margaret, what book are you at now ?"
"Dr. Abercrombie, sir," replied Margaret.
" How do you like it ? "
" Verra weel for some things. It makds a body think; but
not a'thesiither as I like to think either."
It will be observed that Margaret's speech had begun to
improve, that is, to be more like English.
" What is the matter with it ? "
'' Weel, ye see, sir, it taks a body a' to bits like, and never
pits them together again. An' it seems to me that a body's
min' or soul, or Avhatever it may be called, — but it's jist a
body's ain sol', — can no more be ta'en to pieces like, than you
could tak' that red licht there oot o' the blue, or the haill sun-
set oot o' the heavens an' earth. It may be a' verra weel, Mr.
Sutherland, but oh ! it's no like this ! "
And Margaret looked around her from the hill-top, and then
up into the heavens, where the stars were beginning to crack
the blue with their thin, steely sparkle.
" It seems to me to tak' a' the poetry oot o' us, Mr. Suther-
land." I
" Well, well, said Hugh, with a smile, "you must just go
to W^ordsworth to put it in again ; or to set you up again after
Dr. Abercrombie has demolished you."
" Na, na, sir, he shanna demolish me ; nor Iwinna trouble
Mr. Wordsworth to put the poetry into me again. A' the
power on earth shanna tak' that oot o' me, gin it be God's
will ; for it's his ain gift, Mr. Sutherland, ye ken."
DAVID ELGINBROD. 49
" Of course, of course," replied Hugh, who very likely
thought this too serious a way of speaking of poetry, and
therefore, perhaps, rather an irreverent way of speaking of
God; for he saw neither the divine in poetry, nor the human
in God. Could he be said to believe that God made man, when
he did not believe that God created poetry, — and yet loved it
us he did ? It was to him only a grand invention of humanity
in its loftiest development. In this development, then, he must
have considered humanity as farthest from its origin; and God
as the creator of savages, caring nothing for poets or their
work.
They turned, as by common consent, to go down the hill
together.
"Shall I take charge of the offending volume? You will
not care to finish it, I fear," said Hugh.
"No, sir, if you please. I never like to leave onything
unfinished. I'll read ilka word in't. I fancy the thing 'at'
sets me against it is mostly this : that, readin' it alang wi'
Euclid, I canna help aye thinkin' o' my ain min' as gin it
were in some geometrical shape or ither, whiles ane an' whiles
anither ; and syne I try to draw lines an' separate this power
frae that power, the memory frae the jeedgement, an' the im-
agination frae the rizzon ; an' syne I try to pit them a' thegither
again in their relations to ane anither. And this aye takes
the shape o' some proposition or ither, generally i' the second
beuk. It near-han' dazes me whiles. I fancy gin' I under-
stood the pairts o' the sphere, it would be mair to the purpose ;
but I wat I wish I were clear o't a'thegither."
Hugh had had some experiences of a similar kind himself,
though not at all to the same extent. He could therefore un-
derstand her.
" You must just try to keep the things altogether apart,"
said he, "and not think of the two sciences at once."
" But I canna help it," she replied. " I suppose you can,
sir, because ye're a man. My father can understan' things ten
times better nor me an' my mother. But nae sooner do I be-
gin to read and think about it; than up comes ane o' thae
parallelograms, an' nothing will drive't oot o' my head again
but a verse or twa o' Coleridge or Wordsworth."
4
50 DAVID ELGINBROD.
Hugh immcdiatelj began to repeat the first poem of the lat-
ter that occurred to him : —
" I wandered lonely as a cloud."
She listened, walking along with her eyes fixed on the
ground ; and when he had finished gave a sigh of delight and
relief, — all the comment she uttered. She seemed never- to
find it necessary to say what she felt ; least of all when the
feeling was a pleasant one ; for then it was enough for itself
This was only the second time since their acquaintance tliat
she had spoken of her feelings at all ; and in this case they
were of a purely intellectual origin. It is to be observed,
however, that in both cases she had taken pains to explain
thoroughly what she meant, as far as she was able.
It was dark before they reached home, at least as dark as it
ever is at this season of the year in the north. They found
David looking out with some slight anxiety for his daughter's
return, for she was seldom out so late as this. In nothing
could the true relation between them have been more evident
than in the entire absence from her manner of any embarrass-
ment when she met her father. She went up to him and told
him all about finding Mr. Sutherland asleep on the hill, and
waiting beside him till he woke, that she might walk home
with him. Her father seemed perfectly content with an expla-
nation which he had not sought, and, turning to Hugh, said,
smiling : —
" Weel, no to be troublesome, Mr. Sutherlan', ye maun gie
the auld man a turn as weel as the young lass. We didna
expec' ye the nicht, but I'm sair puzzled wi' a sma' eneuch
matter on my sklet in there. V/ill you no come in and gie
me a lift ? "
"With all my heart," said Sutherland. So there were five
lessons in that week.
When Hugh entered the cottage he had a fine sprig of heathei
in his hand, which he laid on the table.
He had the weakness of being proud of small discoveries, —
the tinier the better ; and was always sharpening his senses, a&i
well as his intellect, to a fine point, in order to make them.
I fear that by these means he shut out some great ones, which
DAVID ELGINBROD. 51
could not enter during such a concentration of the faculties.
He would stand listening to the sound of goose-feet upon the
road, and watch how those webs laid hold of the earth like a
hand. He Avould struggle to enter into their feelings in fold-
ing their wings properly on their backs. He would calculate,
on chemical and arithmetical grounds, whether one might not
hear the nocturnal growth of plants in the tropics. He was
quite elated hj the discovery, as he considered it, that Shake-
speare named his two officers of the watch, Dogberry and
Vei'jicice; the poisonous dogberry, and the acid liquor of green
fruits, affording suitable names for the stupidly innocuous con-
stables, in a play the very essence of which is ' ' Much Ado
about Nothing." Another of his discoveries he had, during
their last lesson, unfolded to David, who had certainly contem-
plated with interest. It was, that the original forms of the
Arabic numerals were these : —
/.LJ.
Q^^^^^ZZ^^
the number for which each figure stands being indicated by
the number of straight lines employed in forming that numeral.
I fear that the comparative anatomy of figures gives no counte-
nance to the discovery which Hugh flattered himself he had
made.
After he had helped David out of his difficulty, he took up
the heather, and, stripping off the bells, shook them in his hand
at Marcraret's ear. A half smile, like the moonlight of lauiih-
ter, dawned on her face ; and she listened with something of
the same expression with which a child listens to the message
from the sea, enclosed in a twisted shell. He did the same at
David's ear next.
" Eh, man ! that's a bonny wee soun' ! It's jist like sma'
sheep-bells — fairy-sheep, I reckon, Maggy, my doo."
" Lat me hearken as weel," said Janet.
Hugh obeyed. She laughed.
"It's naething but a reestlin'. I wad raither hear the sheep
baain', or the kye routin'."
"Eh, Mr. Sutherlan' ! but ye hae a gleg ee an' a sharp
lug. Weelj the warld's fu' o' bonny sichts and soun's, doon
52 DAVID ELGTNBROD.
to tlie verra sma'cst. The Lord lats nacthin' gang. I wadna
wonner noo but there micht be thousands sic like, ower snia'
a'thegither for human ears, jist as we ken there are creatures
as perfect in beowtj as ony we see, but far ower sma' for our
een Avintin' the glass. But for my pairt, I aye like to see a
heap o' things at ance, an' tak' them a' in thegither, an' see
them playin' into ane unither's han' like. I Avas jist thinkin',
as I came hame the nicht in the sinset, hoo it wad hae been nae-
wise sae complete, wi' a' its red an' gowd an' green, gin it
hadna been for the cauld blue east ahint it, wi' the twa-three
shiverin' starnies leukin' through' t. An' doubtless the warld
jO come 'ill be a' the warmer to them 'at hadna ower muckle
happin here. But I'm jist haverin', clean haverin', Mr.
Sutherlan'," concluded David, with a smile of apologetic hu-
mor.
" I suppose you could easily believe with Plato, David, that
the planets make a grand choral music as they roll about the
heavens, only that as some sounds are too small, so that is too
loud for us to hear."
" I cud weel believe that," was David's unhesitating answer.
Margaret looked as if she not only could believe it, but would
be delighted to know that it was true. Neither Janet nor
Hugh gave any indicai.^on of feeling on the matter.
CHAPTER X.
HARVEST.
So a small seed that in the earth lies hid
And dies, reviving, bursts her cloddy side,
Adorned with yellow locks, of new is born.
And doth b^oomo a mother great with corn.
Of grains brings hundreds with it, which when old
£nr;ch Jhe rurrows with a sea of gold.
SiH W:l¥.iam Drummond. — Hymn of the Resurrection.
Hugh had watobed the green corn grow, and ear, and turn
dim; then brighten tv.'* ye (low, and ripen at last under the
declinins: autumn sun, ti.ud the low skirtino; moon of the har-
/^^" OK ™."^^/\
rUlTIVERSITT]
DAVID ELaiNBROD), q^ ftg
vest, which seems too full and heavy -^mh: mellaw-Aiiaboun-
tiful li2;ht to rise hio;h above the fields which it comes to bless
with perfection. The long threads, on each of which hung an
oat grain, — the harvest here was mostly of oats, — had got
dry and brittle ; and the grains began to spread out their
chalf-wings, as if ready to fly, and rustled with sweet sounds
against each other, as the wind, which used to billow the fields
like the waves of the sea, now swept gently and tenderly over
it, helping the sun and moon in the drying and ripening of the
joy to be laid up for the dreary winter. Most graceful of all
hung those delicate oats ; next bowed the bearded barley ; and
stately and wealthy and strong stood the few fields of wdieat,
of a rich, ruddy, golden hue. Above the yellow harvest rose
the purple hills, and above the hills the pale-blue autumnal sky,
full of lisiht and heat, but fadino; somewhat from the color "with
which it deepened above the vanished days of summer. For
the harvest here is much later than in England.
At length the day arrived when the sickle must be put into
the barley, soon to be followed by the scythe in the oats. And
now came the joy of labor. Everything else was abandoned
for the harvest-field. Books were thrown utterly aside ; for,
even when there was no fear of a change of weather to urge to
labor prolonged beyond the natural hours, there was weariness
enough in the work of the day to prevent even David from
reading, in the hours of bodily rest, anything that necessitated
mental labor.
Janet and Margaret betook themselves to the reaping-hook ;
and the somewhat pale face of the latter needed but a single
day to change it to the real harvest-hue, — the brown livery of
Ceres. But when the oats were attacked, then came the tug of
war. The laird Avas in the fields from morning to night, and
the boys would not stay behind ; but, with their father's per-
mission, much to the tutor's contentment, devoted what powers
they had to the gathering of the fruits of the earth. Hugh
himself, whose strength had grown amazingly during his stay
at Turriepufiit, and who, though he was quite helpless at the
sickle, thought he could wield the scythe, would not be behind.
Throwing off coat and waistcoat, and tying his handkerchief
tight around his loins, he laid hold on the emblematic weapon
of Time and Death, determined likewise to earn the name of
54 DAVID ELGINBROD.
Reaper. He took the last scythe. It was desperate Av^ork for
a while, and he was far behind the first hout ; but David, who
was the best scythcr in the whole country-side, and of course
had the leading scythe, seeing the tutor dropping behind, put
more power into his own arm, finished his bout, and brought
up Hugh's before the others had done sharpening their scythes
for the next.
" Tak' care an' nae rax yersel' ower sair, Mr. Sutherlan'.
Ye' 11 be up wi' the best o' them in a day or twa ; but gin ye
tyauve at it aboon yer strenth, ye'll be clean forfochten. Tak'
a guid sweep wi' the scythe, 'at ye may hae the weicht o't to
ca' thr6ugh the strae, an' tak' nae shame at being hindmost.
Here, Maggy, my doo, come an' gather to Mr. Sutherlan'.
Ane o' the young gentlemen can tak' your place at the bin'in'.
The work of Janet and JMargaret had been to form bands
for the sheaves, by folding together cunningly the heads of
two small handfuls of the corn, so as to make them long enough
together to go round the sheaf; then to lay this down for the
gatherer to place enough of the mown corn upon it ; and last,
to bind the band tightly around by another skilful twist and
an insertion of the ends, and so form a sheaf. From this work
David called his daughter, desirous of giving Hugh a gatherer
who would not be disrespectful to his awkwardness. This ar-
rangement, however, Vas far from pleasing to some of the young
men in the field, and brought down upon Hugh, who was too
hard-wrought to hear them at first, many sly hits of country
wit and human contempt. There had been for some time
great jealousy of his visits to David's cottage ; for Margaret,
though she had very little acquaintance with the young men
of the neighborhood, was greatly admired amongst them, and
not regarded as so far above the station of many of them as
to render aspiration useless. Their remarks to each other got
louder and louder, till Hugh at last heard some of them, and
could not help being annoyed, not by their wit or personality,
but by the tone of contempt in which they were uttered.
" Tak' care o' your legs, sir. It'll be ill cuttin' upo'
stumps."
" Fegs ! he's ta'en the wings afi' o' a pairtrick."
" Gin he gang on that get, he'll cut twa bouts at ance."
" Ye'll hae the scythe ower the dyke, man. Tak' tent."
DAVID ELGINBIIOD. 66
"Losh ! sir; ye've ta'en aiF my leg at the hip! "
" Ye're shavin' ower close; ye'll draw the bluid, sir."
" Hoot, man ! lat alane. The gentleman's only mista'en
his trade, an' imaigins he's howkin' a grave."
And so on. Hugh gave no further sign of hearing their
remarks thaii lay in increased exertion. Looking round, how-
ever, he saw that Margaret was vexed, evidently not for her
own sake. He smiled to her, to console her for his annoyance ;
and then, ambitious to remove the cause of it, made a fresb
exertion, recovered all his distance, and was in his own place,
with the best of them at the end of the bout. But the smile
tliat had passed between them did not escape unobserved ; and
he had aroused yet more the wrath of the youtlis, by threaten-
ing soon to rival them in the excellences to which they had an
especial claim. They had regarded him as an interloper, who
had no right to captivate one of their rank by arts beyond
their reach ; but it was still less pardonable to dare them to a
trial of skill with their own weapons. To the fire of this jeal-
ousy, the admiration of the laird added fuel ; for he was de-
lighted with the spirit with Avhich Hugh laid himself to the
scythe. I'ut, all the time, nothing was further from Hugh's
thoughts than the idea of rivalry with them. Whatever he
might have thought of Margaret in relation to himself, he
never thought of her, though laborincr in the same field with
them, as in the least degree belonging to their class, or stand-
ing in any possible relation to them, except that of a common
work.
In ordinary, the laborers would have had sufficient respect
for Sutherland's superior position to prevent them from giving
such decided and articulate utterance to their feelings. But
they were incited by the presence and example of a man of
doubtful character from the neighboring village, a travelled
and clever ne' er-do-ioeel, Avhose reputation for wit was equalled
by his reputation for courage and skill as well as profligacy.
Roused by the ciFervescence of his genius, they Avent on from
one thing to another, till Hugh saw it must be put a stop to
somehow, else he must abandon the field. They dared not
have gone so far if David had been present ; but he had been
called away to superintend some operations in another part of
the estate ; and they paid no heed to the expostulations of some
66 DAVID ELQINBROD.
of the other older men. At the close of the clay's work, there-
fore, Hugh "walked up to this fellow, and said : —
'•I hope you Avill be satisfied with insulting me all to-day,
and leave it alone to-morrow."
The man replied, with an oath and a gesture of rude con-
tempt : —
'"I dinna care the black afore my nails for ony skelp-doup
o' the lot o' ye."
Hugh's Highland blood flew to his brain, and, before the ras-
cal finished his speech, he had measured his length on the
stubble. He sprang to his feet in a fury, threw off the coat
which he had just put on, and darted at Hugh, Avho had by
this time recovered his coolness, and was besides, notwithstand-'
ing his unusual exertions, the more agile of the two. The
other was heavier and more powerful. Hugh sprang aside, as
he would have done from the rush of a bull, and again Avitli a
quick blow felled his antagonist. Beginning rather to enjoy
punishing him, he now went in for it ; and, before the other
would yield, he had rendered his next day's labor somewhat
doubtful. He withdrew, with no more injury to himself than
a little water would remove. Janet and Margaret had left the
field before he addressed the man.
He went home and to bed, — more weary than he had ever
been in his life. Before he went to sleep, however, he made
up his mind to say nothing of his encounter to David, but to
leave him to hear of it from other sources. He could not help
feeling a little anxious as to his judgment upon it. That the
laird would approve, he hardly doubted ; but for his opinion
he cared very little.
" Dawvid, I Avonner at ye," said Janet to her husband, the
moment he came home, " to lat the young lad warstle himsel'
deid that get wi' a scythe. His banes is but saft yet. There
"wasna a dry steek on him or he wan half the lenth o" the first
bout. He's sair disjaskit, I'se warran'."
" Nae fear o' him, Jatet; it'll do him guid, Mr. Suther-
lan's no feckless winlestrae o' a creator. Did he baud his
ain at a' wi' the lave? "
"Ilaud his ain! Gin he be fit for ony thing the day, he
maun be pitten neist yersel', or he'll cut the legs aff o' ony
ither man i' the corn."
DAVID ELGINBROD. ^ 57
A glow of pleasure mantled in Margaret's face at her moth-
er's praise of Hugh. Janet went on : —
" But I was jist clean affronted wi' the way 'at the young
chields behaved themselves till him."
" I thocht I heard a toot-moot o' that kin' afore I left, but
I thocht it better to tak' nae notice o't. I'll be wi' je a' day
the morn though, an' I'm thinkin' I'll clap a rouch han' on
their mou's 'at I hear ony mair o't frae."
But there was no occasion for interference on David's part.
Hugh made his appearance, — not, it is true, with the earliest
in the hairst-rig, but after breakfast, with the laird, who was
delighted with the way in which he had handled his scythe the
day before, and felt twice the respect for him in consequeilce.
It must be confessed he felt very stiff; but the best treatment
for stiffness being the homoeopathic one of more work, he
had soon restored the elasticity of his muscles, and lubricated
his aching joints. His antagonist of the foregoing evening
was nowhere to be seen ; and the rest of the young men were
shamefaced and respectful enough.
David, having learned from some of the spectators the facts
of the combat, suddenly, as they were walking home together,
held out his hand to Hugh, shook his head, and said : —
" Mr. Sutherlan', I'm sair obleeged to ye for giein' that
vratch, Jamie Ogg, a guid doonsettin'. He's a coorse crater;
but the warst maun hae meat, an' sae I didna like to refeeso
him when he cam for wark. But it's a greater kin'ness to
clout him nor to deed him. They say ye made an' awfu'
munsie o' him. But it's to be houpit he'll live to thank ye.
There's some fowk 'at can respeck no airgument but frae steekit
neives ; an' it's fell cruel to baud it frae them, gin ye hae't to
gie them. I hae had eneuch ado to baud my ain ban's aff o'
the ted, but it comes a hantle better frae you, Mr. Suther-
lan'."
Hugh wielded the scythe the whole of the harvest, and
Margaret gathered to him. By the time it was over, leading-
home and all, he measured an inch less about the waist, and
two inches more about the shoulders ; and was as brown as a
berry, and as strong as an ox, or " owse," as David called it,
when thus describing Mr. Sutherland's progress in corporal
development ; for he took a fatherly pride in the youth, to
68 DAVID ELGINBROD.
wJiom, At the same time, he looked up with submission, as his
4o.^i,ttd n learning.
CHAPTER XL
A CHANGE AND NO CHANGE.
Affliction, when I know it, is but this:
A deep alloy, whereby man tougher is
To bear the hammer; and the deeper still,
* We still arise more imago of his will.
Sickness, — an humorous cloud 'twixt us and light;
And death, at longest, but another night.
Man is his own star; and that soul that can
Be honest is the only perfect man.
John Fletcheii. — Upon an Honest Man's Fortune.
HaJj {Sutherland been in love with Margaret, those would
kave been bappy days ; and that 'a yet more happy night,
when, under the mystery of a low moonlight and a gathering
storm, the crop was oast in haste into the carts, and hurried
home to be built up in safety ; when a strange low wind crept
sighing across the stubble, as if it came wandering out of the
past and the land of dreams, lying far oflF and withered in the
green west ; and when Margaret and he came and went in the
moonlight like creatures in a dream, — for the vapors of sleep
were floating in Hugh's brain, although he was awake and
working.
" Margaret," he said, as they stood waiting a moment for
the cart that was coming up to be filled with sheaves, '' what
does that wind put you in mind of? "
" Ossian's poems," replied Margaret, without a moment's
hesitation.
Hugh was struck by her answer. He had meant something
quite different. But it harmonized with his feeling about
Ossian ; for the genuineness of whose poetry, Highlander as he
was, he had no better argument to give than the fact that they
produced in himself an altogether peculiar mental condition ;
that the spiritual sensations he had in reading them were quite
different from those produced by anything else, prose or verse ;
BAVID ELGINBROD. 59
in fact, that they created moods of their own in his mind. He
was unwilling to believe, apart from national prejudices (which
have not prevented the opinions on this question from being as
strong on the one side as on the other), that this individuality
of influence could belong to mere affectations of a style which
had never sprung from the sources of real feeling. " Could
they," he thought, " possess the power to move us like remem-
bered dreams of our childhood, if all that they possessed of
reality was a pretended imitation of what never existed, and
all that they inherited from the past was the halo of its
strangeness? "
But Hugh was not in love with Margaret, though he could
not help feelmg the pleasure of her presence. Any youth
must have been the better for having her near him ; but there
was nothing about her quiet, self-contained being, free from
manifestation of any sort, to rouse the feelings commonly called
love, in the mind of an inexperienced youth like Hugh Suther-,
land. I say commonly called^ because I believe that within
the whole sphere of intelligence there are no two loves the same.
Not that he was less easily influenced than other youths. A
designing girl might have caught him at once, if she had no
other beauty than sparkling eyes ; but the womanhood of the
beautiful Margaret kept so still in its pearly cave, that it rarely
met the glance of neighboring eyes. How Margaret regarded
him I do not know ; but I think it was with a love almost
entirely one with reverence and gratitude. Cause for grati-
tude she certainly had, though less than she supposed ; and
very little cause indeed for reverence. But how could she fail
to revere one to whom even her father looked up ? Of course
David's feeling of respect for Hugh must have sprung chiefly
from intellectual grounds ; and he could hardly help seeing, if
he thought at all on the subject, which is doubtful, that Hugh
was as far behind Margaret in the higher gifts and graces, as
he was before her in intellectual acquirement. But whether
David perceived this or not, certainly Margaret did not even
think in that direction. She was pure of self-judgment, — con-
scious of no comparing of herself with others, least of all with
those next her.
At length the harvest was finished ; or, as the phrase of the
district waSj clyack was gotten, — a phrase with the derivation.
60 DAVID ELGINBROD.
or even the exact meaning of which I am unacquainted;
knowing only that it implies something in close association
with the feast of harvest-home, called the Idrn in other parts
of Scotland. Thereafter, the fields lay bare to the frosts of
morning and evening, and to the wind that grew cooler and
cooler with the breath of Winter, who lay behind the northern
hills, and waited for his hour. But many lovely days remained,
of quiet and slow decay, of yellow and red leaves, of warm
noons and lovely sunsets, followed by skies — green from the
west horizon to the zenith, and walked by a moon that seemed
to draw up to her all the white mists from pond and river and
pool, to settle again in hoar-frost during the colder hours that
precede the dawn. At length every leafless tree sparkled in
the morning sun, incrusted with fading gems ; and the ground
was hard under foot ; and the hedges were filled with frosted
spider-webs ; and winter had laid the tips of his fingers on the
land, soon to cover it deep with the flickering snow-flakes,
shaken from the folds of his outspread mantle. But long ere
this, David and Margaret had returned with renewed diligence,
and powers strengthened by repose, or at least by intermission,
to their mental labors, and Hugh was as constant a visitor at
the cottage as before. The time, however, drew nigh Avhen he
must return to his studies at Aberdeen ; and David and Mar-
garet were looking forward with sorrow to the loss of their friend.
Janet, too, " cudna bide to think o't."
" He'll tak' the daylicht wi' him, I doot. my lass," she
said, as she made the porridge for breakfast one morning, and
looked down anxiously at her daughter, seated on the creepie
by the ingle-neuk.
" Na, na, mither," replied Margaret, looking up from hei
book ; " he'll lea' sic gifts ahin' him as'll mak' daylicht i' th«
dark; " and then she bent her head and went on with her read-
ing, as if she had not spoken.
The mother looked away with a sigh and a slight sad shak»
of the head.
But matters were to turn out quite differently from all antici
pations. Before the day arrived on which Ilugh must leav«
for the university, a letter from home informed him that hit;
father was dangerously ill. He hastened to him, but only to
comfort his last hours by all that a son could do, and to support
DAVID ELGINBROD- 61
his mother by his presence during the first hours of her lone-
liness. But anxious thoughts for the future, which so often
force themselves on the attention of those who would gladly
prolong their brooding over the past, compelled them to adopt
an alteration of their plans for the present.
The half-pay of Major Sutherland was gone, of course ; and
all that remained for Mrs. Sutherland was a small annuity,
secured by her husband's payments to a certain fund for the
use of officers' widows. From this she could spare but a mere
trifle for the completion of Hugh's university education ; while
the salary he had received at Turriepuffit, almost the whole
of which he had saved, was so small as to be quite inadequate
for the very moderate outlay necessary. lie therefore came to
the resolution to write to the laird, and offer, if they were not
yet provided with another tutor, to resume his relation to the
young gentlemen for the winter. It was next to impossible to
spend money there; and he judged that, before the following'
winter, he should be quite able to meet the expenses of his
residence at Aberdeen during the last session of his course.
He would have preferred trying to find another situation, had
it not been that David and Janet and Margaret had made there
a home for him.
Whether Mrs. Glasford was altogether pleased at the pro-
posal I cannot tell ; but the laird wrote a very gentlemanlike
epistle, condoling with him and his mother upon their loss, and
urging the usual commonplaces of consolation. The letter
ended with a hearty acceptance of Hugh's ofier, and, strange
to tell, the unsolicited promise of an increase of salary to the
amount of five pounds. This is another to be added to the
many proofs that verisimilitude is not in the least an essential
element of verity.
He left his mother as soon as circumstances would permit,
and returned to Turriepuffit ; an abode for the winter very
difierent indeed from that in which he had expected to spend
it.
He reached the place early in the afternoon ; received from
Mrs. Glasford a cold "I hope you're well, Mr. Sutherland; "
found his pupils actually reading, and had from them a wel-
come rather boisterously evidenced ; told them to get their
books: aad sat down with them at once to commence their
62 DAVID ELGINBROD.
winter labors. He spent two hours thus ; had a hearty shake
of the hand from the laird, when he came home ; and, after a
substantial tea, walked down to David's cottage, where a wel-
come awaited him worth returning for.
"Come yer wa's butt," said Janet, who met him as he
opened the door without any prefatory knock, and caught him
with both hands ; " I'm blithe to see yer bonny face ance mair.
We're a' jist at ane mair wi' expeckin' o' ye."
David stood in the middle of the floor, waiting for him.
" Come awa', my bonny lad," Avas all his greeting, as he
held out a great fatherly hand to the youth, and, grasping his
in the one, clcqjped him on the shoulder with the other, the
water standing in his blue eyes the while. Hugh thought of
his own father, and could not restrain his, tears. Margaret
gave him a still look full in the face, and, seeing his emotion,
did not even approach to offer him any welcome. She hastened,
instead, to place a chair for him as she had done when first he
entered the cottage, and when he had taken it sat down at his
feet on her creepie. With true delicacy, no one took any
notice of him for some time. David said at last : —
" An' hoo's yer puir mother, Mr. Sutherlan' ? "
'' She's pretty well," was all Hugh could answer.
" It's a sair stroke to bide," said David ; " but it's a gran'
thing whan a man's won weel throw't. Whan my father deit,
I min' weel, I was sae prood to see him lyin' there, in the
cauld grandeur o' deith, an' no man 'at daured say he ever
did or spak the thing 'at didna become him, 'at I jist gloried
i' the mids o' my greetin'. He was but a puir auld shepherd,
Mr. Sutherlan', wi' hair as white as the sheep 'at followed
him ; an' I wat as they followed him, he followed the great
Shepherd; an' followed an' followed, till he jist followed Him
hame, whaur we're a' boun', an' some o' us far on the road,
thanks to Him ! "
And with that David rose, and got down the Bible, and,
opening it reverently, read with a solemn, slightly tremulous
voice, the fourteenth chapter of St. John's Gospel. When he
had finished, they all rose, as by one accord, and knelt down,
and David prayed : —
"0 Thou, in whase sicht oor deith is precious, an' no licht
maitter; wha through darkness leads to licht, an' through
DAVID ELGINBROD. 68
deith to the greater life ! — we canna believe that thou
wouldst gie us ony guid thing, to tak' the same again ; for that
NYOuld be but bairns' play. We believe that thou taks, that
ihou may gie again the same thing better nor afore — mair o't
ind better nor we could ha' received it itherwise; jist as the
Lord took himsel' frae the sicht o' them 'at lo'ed him weel,
that instead o' bein' veesible afore their een, he micht hide
himsel' in their verra herts. Come thou, an' abide in us, an'
tak' us to bide in thee ; an' syne gin we be a' in thee, we canna
be that far frae ane anither, though some sud be in haven, an'
some upo' earth. Lord, help us to do oor Avark like thy men
an' maidens doon the stair, remin"in' oursel's, at' them 'at we
miss hae only gane up the stair, as gin 'twar to baud things to
thy ban' i' thy ain presence-chaumer, whaur we houp to be
called or lang, an' to see thee an' thy Son, wham we lo'e
aboon a' ; an' in his name we say. Amen ! "
Hugh rose from his knees with a sense of solemnity and re-
ality that he had never felt before. Little was said that even-
ing ; supper was eaten, if not in silence, yet with nothing that
could be called conversation. ' And, almost in silence, David
walked home with Hugh. The spirit of his father seemed to
walk beside him. He felt as if he had been buried with him ;
and had found that the sepulchre was clothed Avith green
things and roofed with stars ; was in truth the heavens and
the earth in which his soul Avalked abroad.
If Hugh looked a little more into his Bible, and tried a lit-
tle more to understand it, after his father's death, it is not to
be wondered at. It is but another instance of the fact that,
whether from education or from the leading of some higher
instinct, we are ready, in every more profound trouble, to feel
as if a solution or a refuge lay somewhere, — lay in sounds of
wisdom, perhaps, to be sought and found in the best of books,
the deepest of all the mysterious treasuries of words. But
David never sought to influence Hugh to this end. He read
the Bible in his family, but he never urged the reading of it
on others. Sometimes he seemed rather to avoid the subject
of religion altogether ; and yet it was upon those very occa-
sions that, if he once began to speak, he would pour out, be-
fore he ceased, some of his most impassioned utterances.
64 DAVID ELGINBROD.
CHAPTER XII.
Knowledge bloweth up, but chiiritj' buildoth up.
LoiiD Bacon's rendering of 1 Cor. -yiii. 1.
Thin^GS went on as usual for a few days, when Hugh began
to encounter a source of suffering of a very material and unro-
mantic kind, but which, nevertheless, had been able before
now, namely, at the commencement of his tutorship, to cause
him a very sufficient degree of distress. It was this : that he
had no room in which he could pursue his studies in private
without having to endure a most undesirable degree of cold.
In summer this was a matter of little moment, for the universe
might then be his secret chamber ; but in a Scotch spring or
autumn, not to say winter, a bedroom without a fireplace,
which, strange to say, was the condition of his, was not a
study in which thought could operate to much satisfactory re-
sult. Indeed, pain is a far less hurtful enemy to thinking
than cold. And to have to fight such sufiering and its be-
numbing influences, as well as to follow out a train of reason-
ing, difficult at any time, and requiring close attention, is
too much for any machine whose thinking wheels are driven
by nervous gear. Sometimes — for he must make the at-
tempt — he came down to his meals quite blue with cold, as
his pupils remarked to their mother; but their observation
never seemed to suggest to her mind the necessity of making
some better provision for the poor tutor. And Hugh, after
the way in which she had behaved to him, was far too proud
to ask of her a favor, even if he had had hopes • of receiving
his request. He knew too, that, in the house, the laird, to
interfere in the smallest degree, must imperil far more than
he dared. The prospect, therefore, of the coming winter, in a
country where there was scarcely any afternoon, and where
the snow might lie feet deep for weeks, was not at all agreea-
ble. He had, as I have said, begun to suffer already, for the
mornings and evenings were cold enough now, although it was
a bright, dry October. One evening Janet remarked that he
had caught cold, for he was ' hostin'' sair ; ' and this led
Hugh to state the discomfort he was condemned to experience
up at the Jid' house.
DAVID ELGINBROD- 65
'• Weel," said David, after some silent deliberation, " tliat
sattles't; we maun set aboot it immcdantlj."
Of course Hugh Avas quite at a loss to understand what he
meant, and begged him to explain.
"Ye see," replied David, " we hae verra little hoosc-room
i' this bit cot; for, excep this kitchen, we hae but the ben
whaur Janet and me sleeps ; and sae last year I spak' to the
laird to lat me hae as muckle timmer as I Avad need to big a
kin' o' a lean-to to the house ahin', so 'at we micht hue a kin'
0' a bit parlour like, or rather a roomie 'at onj o' us micht
retire till for a bit, gin we Avanted to be oor lanes. He had
nae objections, honest man. But somehoo or ither I never set
han' till't ; but noo the Ava's maun be up afore the Avat Aveathcr
sets in. Sae I'se be at it the morn, an' maybe ye'll len' me
a han', Mr. Sutherlan', and tak' oot yer Avages in house-
room an' firin' efter its dune."'
"Thank you heartily!" said Hugh; " that would be de-
lightful. It seems too good to be possible. But Avill not
wooden walls be rather a poor j^rotection against such Avinters
as I suppose you have in these parts? "
" Hootoot, Mr. Sutherlan', ye micht gie me credit for rai-
ther mair rumgumption nor that comes till. Timmer Avas the
only thing I not {needed) to spier for ; the lave lies to ony
body's han', — a few cartfu's o' sods frae the hill ahint the
hoose, an' a han'fu' or tAA'a o' stanes for the chimla oot o' the
quarry, — there's eneuch there for oor turn ohn blastit mair;
an' we'll saw the wood oursel's ; an' gin we had ance the wa's
up, we can carry on the inside at oor leisur'. That's the way
'at the Maker does Avi' oorsels; he gie's us the Ava's an the
material, an' a whole lifetime, maybe mair, to furnish the hoose."
" Capital ! " exclaimed Hugh. "I'll Avork like a horse, and
we'll be at it the morn."
"I'se be at it afore daylicht, an^ ane or twa o' the lads'll
len' me a han' efter wark-hours; and there's yersel', Mr,
Sutherlan', worth ane an' a half o' ordinary Avorkers ; an
well hae truflf aneuch for the aaVs in a jiffcy. I'll mark a
feow saplin's i' the Avud here at denner-time, and Ave"ll hae
them for bauks, an' couples, an' things ; an' there's plenty dry
eneuch for beurds i' the shed, an' bein' but a lean-to, there'll
be but half Avark, ye ken."
6
66 DAVID ELGINBROD.
Thej went out directly, in the moonlight, to choose the sj.ot;
and soon came to the resolution to build it so that a certain
back door, which added more to the cold in winter than to the
convenience in summer, should be the entrance to the new
chamber. The chimney was the chief difficulty ; but all the
materials being in the immediate neighborhood, and David
capable of turning his hands to anything, no obstruction was
feared. Indeed, he set about that part first, as was necessary ;
and had soon built a small chimney, chiefly of stones and lime;
while, under his directions, the walls were making progress at
the same time, by the labor of Hugh and two or three of the
young men from the farm, who were most ready to oblige
David with their help, although they were still rather unfriend-
ly to the colllgine}', as they called him. But Plugh's frank-
ness soon won them over, and they all formed Avithin a day or
two a very comfortable party of laborers. They worked very
hard ; for if the rain should set in before the roof was on,
their labor would be almost lost from the soaking of the walls.
They built them of turf, very thick, with a slight slope on the
outside tOAvards the roof; before commencing which, they par-
tially cut the windows out of the walls, putting wood across to
support the top. I should have explained that the turf used in
bu'.lding was the upper and coarser part of the peat, which
wa?, plentiful in the neighborhood. The thatch-eaves of the
cottage itself projected over the joining of the new roof, so as
to protect it from the drip ; and David soon put a thick thitch
of new straw upon the little building. Second-hand windows
were procured at the village, and the holes in the walls cut to
their size. They next proceeded to the saw-pit on the estate,
- — for almost everything necessary for keeping up the offices
was done on the farm itself, — where they sawed thin planks
of deal, to floor and line the room, and make it more cosey.
These David planed upon tne side ; and when they were nailed
against slight posts all round the Avails, and the joints filled in
with putty, the room began to look most enticingly habitable.
The roof had not been thatched two days before the rain set
in ; but noAV they could Avork quite comfortably inside ; and as
the space was small, and the /orerdghts Avere long, they had
it quite finished before the end of November. David bought
an old table in the village, and one or two chairs ; mended them
DAVID ELUINBROD. 07
up ; made a kind of rustic sofa or settle ; put a few book-shelves
against the wall ; had a peat fire lighted on the hearth every
daj ; and at length, one Saturday evening, they had supper in
the room, and the place was consecrated henceforth to friend-
ship and learning. From this time, every evening, as soon as
lessons, and the meal which immediately followed them, were
over, Hugh betook himself to the cottage, on the shelves of
which all his books by degrees collected themselves, and there
spent the whole long evening, generally till ten o'clock ; the
first part alone, reading or writing ; the last in company with
his pupils, who, diligent as ever, now of course made more
rapid progress than before, inasmuch as the lessons were both
longer and more frequent. The only drawback to their com-
fort was, that they seemed to have shut Janet out ; but she
soon remedied this, by contriving to get through with her
house-work earlier than she had ever done before ; and, taking
her place on the settle behind them, knitted away diligently at
her stocking, which, to inexperienced eyes, seemed always the
same, and always in the same state of progress, notwithstanding
that she provided the hose of the whole family, blue and gray,
ribbed and plain. Her occasional withdrawings, to observe the
progress of the supper, were only a cheerful break in the con-
tinuity of labor. Little would the passer-by imagine that beneath
that roof, which seemed worthy only of the name of a shed, there
sat, in a snug little homely room, such a youth as Hugh, such a
girl as Margaret, such a grand peasant king as David, and such
a true-hearted mother to them all as Janet. There were no
pictures and no music ; for Margaret kept her songs for solitary
places ; but the sound of verse was often the living wind which
set a~waving the tops of the trees of knowledge, fast growing in
the sunlight of Truth. The thatch of that shed-roof was like
the grizzled hair of David, beneath which lay the temple not
only of holy but of wise and poetic thought. It was like the
sylvan abode of the gods, where the architecture and music are
all of their. own making; in their kind the more beautiful, the
more simple and rude ; and if more doubtful in their intent,
and less precise in their finish, yet therein the fuller of life
and its grace, and the more suggestive of deeper harmo-
nies.
68 DAVID ELGINBROD.
CHAPTER XIIL
HERALDKY.
' And like his father of i"aco and of stature,
And false of love — it camo him of nature;
As doth the fox Renard, the fox's son;
Of Iviudo, he coud liis old father's wone,
Without lore, as can a drake swim,
When it is caught, and carried to the brim.
Chaucer. — Legend cf Phillis.
Of course, the yet more lengthened absences of Hugh frou,
the house were subjects of remark as at the first; but Hugh
had made up his mind not to trouble himself the least about
that. For some time Mrs. Glasford took no notice of them to
himself; but one evening, just as tea Avas finished, and Hugh
was rising to go, her restraint gave way, and she uttered one
spiteful speech, thinking it, no doubt, so witty that it ought to
see the light.
"Ye' re a day -laborer it seems, Mr. Sutherlan', an' gang
hame at night."
"Exactly so, madam," rejoined Hugh. "There is no
other relation between you and me than that of work and
wages. You have done your best to convince me of that, by
making it impossible for me to feel that this house is in any
sense my home."
With this grand speech he left the room, and from that time
till the day of his final departure from Turriepuffit there was
not a single allusion made to the subject.
He soon reached the cottage. When he entered the new
room, which was always called 3Ir. Sutherland's stud//, the
mute welcome afforded him by the signs of expectation, in the
glow of the waiting fire, and the outspread arms of the elbow-
chair, which was now called his, as well as the room, made
ample amends to him for the unfriendliness of Mrs. Glasford.
Going to the shelves to find the books he wanted, he saw that
they had been carefully arranged on one shelf, and that the
others were occupied with books belonging to the house. He
looked at a few of them. They were almost all old books, and
such as may be found in many Scotch cottages ; for instance,
DAVID ELGINBROD. 69
Boston's "Fourfold State," in which the ways of God and
man may be seen through a fourfold fog ; Erskine's '•' Divine
Sonnets," which will repay the reader in laughter for the pain
it costs his reverence, producing much the same effect that a
Gothic cathedral might, reproduced by the pencil and from the
remembrance of a Chinese artist, who had seen it once ;
" Drelincourt on Death," with the famous ghost-hoax of De
Foe, to help the bookseller to the sale of the unsalable ; the
" Scots Worthies," opening of itself at the memoir of Mr.
Alexander Peden; the "Pilgrim's Progress," that wonderful
inspiration, failing never save when the theologian ivoidd
sometimes snatch the pen from the hand of the poet ; ' ' Theron
and Aspasio;" "Village Dialogues;" and others of a like
class. To these must be added a rare edition of " Blind Ilai'-
ry." It was clear to Hugh, unable as he was fully to appre-
ciate the wisdom of David, that it was not from such books as
these that he had gathered it ; yet such books as these formed
all his store. lie turned from them, found his own, and sat
down to read. By and by David came in.
"I'm ower sune, I doubt, Mr. Sutherlan'. I'm disturbin'
ye."
"Not at all," answered Hugh. "Besides, I am not muck
in a reading mood this evening ; Mrs. Glasford has been an-
noying me again."
"Poor body ! What's she been sayin' noo? "
Thinking to amuse David, Hugh recounted the short pas-
sage between them recorded above. David, however, listened
with a very different expression of countenance from what
Hugh had anticipated ; and, when he had finished, took up the
conversation in a kind of apologetic tone.
" Weel, but ye see," said he, folding his palms together,
"she hasna' jist had a'thegither fair play. She does na come
o' a guid breed. Man, it's a fine thing to come o' a guid
breed. They hae a hantle to answer for 'at come o' decent
forbears. ' '
" I thought she brought the laird a good property," said
Hugh, not quite understanding David.
" Ow, ay, she brocht him gowpenfu's o' siller; but hoo
was't gotten ? An' ye ken it's no riches 'at 'ill mak' a guid
breed — 'cep' it be o' maggots. The richer cheese the mair
70 DAVID ELGINBROD.
maggots, ye ken. Ye mauna spcyk o' this ; but the mistress's
father Avas weel kent to hae made his siller bj fardins and
bawbees, in creepin', crafty ways. He was a bit merchan' in
Aberdeen, an' aye keepit his thoom wcel ahint the point o' the
ell wan', sae 'at he made an inch or twa upo' ilka yard he
sauld. Sae he took fi'ae his soul, and pat intill his siller-bag,
an' had little to gie his dochter but a guid tocher. Mr. Suth-
erlan', it's a fine thing to come o' dacent fowk. Noo, to luik
at yersel' ; I ken naething aboot ycr f imily ; but ye seem at
eesicht to come o' a guid breed for the bodily part for ye.
That's a sma' matter ; but frae what I hae seen — an' I trust
in God I'm no mista'en — ye come o' the richt breed for the
min' as weel. I'm no flatterin' ye, Mr. Sutherlan' ; but jist
layin' it upo' ye, 'at gin ye had an honest father and gran'fa-
ther, an' especially a guid mither, ye hae a heap to answer
for ; an' ye ought never to be hard upo' them 'at's sma' creep-
in' creatures, for they canna help it sae weel as the like o' you
and me can."
David was not given to boasting. Hugh had never heard any-
thing suggesting it from his lips before. He turned full round
and looked at him. On his face lay a solemn quiet, either
from a feeling of his own responsibility, or a sense of the ex-
cuse that must be made for others. What he had said about
signs of breed -in Hugh's exterior certainly applied to himself
as well. His carriage was full of dignity, and a certain rustic
refinement ; his voice was wonderfully gentle, but deep ; and
slowest when most impassioned. He seemed to have come of
some gigantic antediluvian breed ; there was something of the
Titan slumberincr about him. He would have been a stern
man, but for an unusual amount of reverence that seemed to
overflood the sternness, and change it into strong love. No
one had ever seen him thoroughly angry ; his simple displeas-
ure with any of the laborers, the quality of whose work was
deficient, would go further than the laird's oaths.
Hugh sat looking at David, who supported the l^ok with
that perfect calmness that comes of unconscious simplicity.
At length Hugh's eye sank before David's, as he said : —
" I wMsh I had known yom^ f^^ither, then, David."
" My father was sic a ane as I tauld ye the ither day, Mr.
Sutherlan'. I'm a' richt there. A puir, semple, God-fearin'
DAVID ELGINBROD. 71
shepherd, 'at never gae his dog an ill-deserved word, nor took
the skin o' ony puir lammie, wha's woo' he was clippin',
atween the shears. He was weel worthy o' the grave 'at lie
wan till at last. An' my mither was jist sic like, wi' aiblins
raither mair heid nor my father. They're her beuks maistly
upo' the skelf there abune yer ain, Mr. Sutherlan'. I honor
them for her sake, though I seldom trouble them mysel'.
She gae me a kin' o' a scunner at them, honest woman, wi'
garrin' me read at them o' Sundays, till they near scomfisht
a' the guid 'at was in me by nater. There's doctrine for ye,
Mr. Sutherlan' ! " added David, with a queer laugh.
"I thought that they could hardly be your books," said
Hugh.
" But I hae ae odd beuk, an' that brings me upo' my pedi-
gree, Mr. Sutherlan' : for the puirest man has as lang a pedi-
gree as the greatest, only he kens less aboot it, that's a'. An'
I wat, for yer lords and ladies, it's no a' to their credit 'at's *
tauld o' their hither-come ; an' that's a' against the breed, ye 1-
ken. A wilfu' sin in the father may be a sinfu' weakness
i' the son ; an' that's what I ca' no fair play."
So saying, David went to his bedroom, whence he returned
with a very old-looking book, which he laid on the table before
Hugh. He opened it, and saw that it Avas a volume of Jacob
Boehmen, in the original lanoi;uao;e. He found out afterwards,
upon further inquiry, that it was in fact a copy of the first
edition of his first work, " The Aurora." printed in 1612. On
the title-page was written a name, either in German or Old
English character, he was not sure which ; but he was able to
read it, — Martin Elginhrodde. David, having given him
time to see all this, went on : —
'"That buik has been in oor family far langer nor I ken.
I needna say I canna read a word o't, nor I never heard o' ano
'at could. But I canna help tellin' ye a curious thing, Mr.
Sutherlan', in connection wi' the name on that buik ; there's
a gra^stane, a verra auld ane, — hoo auld I canna weel mak'
out, though I gaed ends-errand to Aberdeen to see't, — an' the
name upo' that gravestane is Martin Elginbrod^ but made
mention o' in a stran2;e fashion ; an' I'm no sure a'theirither
aboot hoo ye' 11 tak' it, for it soun's rather fearsome at first
hearin' o't. But ye'se hae't as I read it : —
72 DAVID ELGINBROD.
" ' Here lie I, Martin Elginbroddo:
Hao mercy o' my soul, Lord God;
As I wail do, wore I fjord God,
And yo wore Martin E'.^inbroddo.' "
Certainlj Hugh could not help a slight shudder at what
seemed to him the irreverence of the e])itaph, if, indeed, it
was not deserving of a worse epithet. But he made no re-
mark ; and, after a moment's pause, David resumed : —
" I was unco ill-pleased wi't at the first, as ye may suppose,
Mr. Sutherlan' ; but, after a while, I ])egude {be/jau) an' gaed
throuo-h twa or three bits o' reasonin's aboot it in this way :
By the natur' o't, this maun be the man's ainmakin', this epi-
taph; for no ither body cud hae dune't; and he had left iUin's
will to be pitten upo' the deid-stane, nae doot. I' the contem-
plation o' deith, a man wad no be lik'ly to desire the perpetu-
ation o' a blasphemy upo' a talile o' stone, to stan' against him
for centuries i' the face o' God an' man ; therefore it cudna
ha' borne the luik to him o' the presumptuous word o' a proud
man evenin' himsel' wi' the Almichty. Sae what was't, then,
'at made him mak' it ? It seems to mo, — though I confess, Mr.
Sutherlan', I may be led astray by the nateral desire 'at a man
has to think weel o' his ain forbears, — for 'at he was a forbear
o' my ain, I canna weel doot, the name bein' by no means a
common ane, in Scotland, onyway, — I'm saying, it seems to
me, that it's jist a darin' way, maybe a childlike way, o' judg-
in', as Job micht ha' dune, ' the Lord by himsel'; ' an' sayin',
'at gin he, Martin Elginbrod, wad hae mercy, surely the Lord
was not less mercifu' than he was. The offspring o' the Most
High was, as it were, avfarc o' the same spirit i' the father o'
him, as rauved in himsel'. He felt 'at the mercy in himsel'
was ane o' the best things; an' he cudna think 'at there wad
be less o't i' the Father o' lichts, frae whom cometh ilka guid
an' perfeck gift. An' maybe he remembered 'at the Saviour
himsel' said, ' Be ye perfect as your Father in heaven is per-
fect;' and. that the perfection o' God, as he had jist pinted
cot afore, consisted in causin' his bonny sun to shine on the
evil an' the good, an' his caller rain to fa' upo' the just an''
the unjust."
It may well be doubted whether David's interpretation of
the epitaph was the correct one. It will appear to most of
my readers to breathe rather of doubt lighted up by hope,
DAVID ELGINBHOD. 73
ihan of that strong faith which David read in it. But whether
from family partiality, and consequent unwillingness to be-
lieve that his ancestor had been a man who, having led a wild,
erring, and evil life, turned at last towards the mercj of God
as his only hope, which the words might imply, or simply
that he sa^y this meaning to be the best, this was the inter-
pretation which David had adopted.
"But," interposed Hugh, " supposing he thought all that,
why should he therefore have it carved on his tombstone? "
' ' I hao thocht aboot that too, ' ' answered David. ' ' For ae
thing, a body has but feow ways o' sayin' his say to his brith-
er-men. Robbie Burns cud do't in sang efter sang ; but may-
be this epitaph was a' that auld Martin was able to mak'. He
michtnahae had the gift o' utterance. But there may be mair
in't nor that. Gin the clergy o' thae times warna a gey han-
tle mair enlichtened nor a fowth o' the clergy hereabouts, he
wad hae heard a heap aboot the glory o' God, as the thing 'at '
God himsel' wasmaistanxiousabootuphaudin', jist like a prood
Greater o' a king ; an' that he wad mak' men, an' feed them,
an' deed them, an' gie them braw wives an' toddliu' bairnies,
an' syne damn them, a' for's ain glory. Maybe ye wadna get
many o' them 'at wad speyk sae fair-oot nooadays, for they
gang wi' the tide jist like the lave ; but i' my auld minny's
buiks, I hae read jist as muckle as that, an' waur too. Mony
ane 'at spak' like that had nae doot a guid meanin' in't; but,
hech, man ! it's a awsome dieevilich way o' saying a holy thing.
Noo, what better could puir auld Martin do, seein' he had no
ae word to say i' the kirk a' his lifelang, nor jist say his ae
word, as pithily as micht be, i' the kirkyard efter he was deid ;
an' ower an' ower again, wi' a tongue o' stane, lat them tak'
it or lat it alane 'at likit ? That's a' my defence o' my auld
luckie-daddy. Heaven rest his brave auld soul ! "
" But are we not in dano-er," said HuGjh, " of thinking; too
lightly and familiarly of the Maker, when we proceed to judge
him so by ourselves ? "
"Mr. Sutherlan'," replied David, v^ery solemnly, "I dinna
thenk I can be in muckle danger o' lichlyin' him, whan I ken
in my ain sel', as weel as she 'at was healed o' her plague, 'at
I wad be a horse i' that pleuch, or a pig in that stye, not
merely if it was his will, — for wha can stan' against that ? —
74 DAVID ELGINBROD.
but if it -was for liis glory ; ay, an' comfort mysel', a' the time
the cliange was passiii' upo' me, wi' the thocht that, efter an'
a', his blessed ban's made the pigs too,"
"But, a moment ago, David, you seemed to me to be making
rather little of his glory."
" 0' his glory, as they consider glory — ay; efter a warldly
fashion tliats no better nor pride, an' in him would only be a
greater pride. But his glory ! consistin' in his trowth an'
lovin'-kindness — (man! that s a bonny word) — an' grand
solf-forgettin' devotion to his creators — lord ! man, it's un-
speakable. I care little for his glory either, gin by that ye
mean the praise o' men. A heap o' the anxiety for the spread
o' his glory seems to me to be but a desire for the sempathy o'
itlier fowk. There's no fear but men'll praise him, a' in guid
time, — that is, whan they can. But, Mr. Sutherlan', for the
glory o' God, raither than, if it were possible, one jot or one tittle
should fail of his entire perfection of holy beauty, I call God to
witness, I would gladly go to hell itsel' ; for no evil worth the
fall name can befall the earth or ony creator in't as long as
God is what he is. For the glory o' God, Mr. Sutherlan', I
wad die the deith. For the will o' God, I'm ready for ony-
thing he likes. I canna surely be in muckle danger o"lichtlyin'
him. I glory in my God."
The almost passionate earnestness with which David spoke
would alone have made it impossible for Hugh to reply at onQ,e.
After a few moments, however, he ventured to ask the ques-
tion : —
" Would you do nothing that other people should know God,
then, David?"
" Ony thing 'at he likes. But I would fak' tent o' interferin'.
lie's at it himsel' frae mornin' to nicht, frae year's en' to
year's en'."
' ' But you seem to me to make out that God is nothing but
love ! "
-*' Ay, naething but love. What for no? "
" Because we are told he is just."
" Would he be lang just if he didna lo'e us ? "
" But doe.s he not punish sin? "
" Would it be ony kiu'ness no to punish sin? No to use a'
means to pit awa' the ae ill thing frae us ? Whatever may be
DAVID ELGINBROD. 75
meant by the place o' meeserj, clepen' upo't, Mr. Sutherlan',
it's onl J anither form o' love, love sliinin' through the fogs o' ill,
an" s.ie gart leuk something verra different thereby. Man, raither
nor see my Maggy, — an' ye'llno doot 'atllo'e her, — raither
nor see my Maggy do an ill thing, I'd see her lyin' deid at
my feet. But supposin' the ill thing ance dune, it's no at my
feet I Avad lay her, but upo' my heart, wi' my auld arms aboot
her, to baud the further ill aff o' her. An' shall mortal man
be more just than God? Shall a man be more pure than his
Maker ? my God ! my God ! "
The entrance of Margaret would have prevented the prosecu-
tion of this conversation, even if it had not already drawn to a
natural close. Not that David would not have talked thus
before his daughter, but simply that minds, like instruments,
need to be brought up to the same pitch, before they can
"atone together," and that one feels this instinctively on the
entrance of another who has not gone through the same im-*
Biediate process of gradual elevation of tone.
Their books and slates were got out, and they sat down to
their work ; but Hugh could not help observing that David, in
the midst of his lines and angles and algebraic computations,
Avould, every now and then, glance up at Margaret, Avith a look
of tenderness in his face yet deeper and more delicate in its
expression than ordinary. Margaret was, hoAvever, quite un-
conscious of it, pursuing her work with her ordinary even dili-
gence. But Janet observed it.
" What ails the bairn, Dawvid, 'at ye leuk at her that get? "
said she.
" Naething ails her, woman. Do ye never leuk at a body
but Avhen something ails them? "
" Oav, ay ; but no that get."
" Weel, maybe I Avas thinkin' boo I wad leuk at her gin
onything did ail her."
' ' Hoot ! hoot ! dinna further the ill hither by makin' a bien
doonsittin' an' a bed fort."
All David's ansAA^er to this was one of his own smiles.
At supper, for it ha[)pened to be Saturday, Hugh said : —
"I've been busy between Avhiles, iuA^enting, or perhaps dis-
covering, an etymological pedigree for you, David ! "
"Weel, lat's heart," said David.
76 DAVID ELGINBROD.
"First, do you know that that volume with your ances-
tor's name on it, was written by an old German shoemaker, per-
4hJi)DS only a cobbler, for anything I know ? "
" I know nothing aboot it, more or less," answered David.
"He was a wonderful man. Some people think he was al-.
most inspired."
"Maybe, maybe," was all David's doubtful response.
"At all events, though I know nothing about it myself, he
must have written wonderfully for a cobbler."
" For my pairt," replied David, " if I see no wonder in
the man, I can see but little in the cobbler. What for shouklna
a cobbler wfite Avonuerfully, as weel as auither? It's a trade
'at furthers meditation. My grandfather was a cobbler, as ye
ca't ; an' they say he was no fule in his ain way either."
"Then it does go in the family!" cried Hugh, trium-
phantly. " I was in doubt at first whether your name referred
to the breadth of your shoulders, David, as transmitted from
some ancient sire, whose back was an Ellwand-broad ; for the
g might come from a lo or v, for anything I know to the con-
trary. But it would have been braid in that case. And now
I am quite convinced that that Martin or his father was a Ger-
man, a friend of old Jacob Boehmen, who gave him the book
himself, and Avas besides of the same craft ; and he coming to
this country with a name hard to be pronounced, they found a
resemblance in the sound of it to his occupation ; and so grad-
ually corrupted his name, to them uncouth, into Elsynhrod^
Els/uiihrod, thence Elginhrod, with a soft^, and lastly Elgin-
brod, as you pronounce it now, with a hard g. This name,
curned from Scotch into English, would then be simply liar-
tin Awlbore. The cobbler is in the family, David, descended
from Jacob Boehmen himself, by the mother's side."
This heraldic blazon amused them all very much, and David
expressed his entire concurrence with it, declaring it to be in-
controvertible. INIargaret laughed heartily.
Besides its OAvn beauty, two things made Margaret's laugh
of some consequence : one was, that it was very rare; and the
other, that it revealed her two regular rows of dainty white
teeth, suiting Avell to the whole build of the maiden. She was
graceful and rather tall, with a head which, but for its small-
ness, might have seemed too heavy for the neck that supported
DAVID ELGINBROD. 77
*
it, so ready it always was to droop like a snoAvdrop. The only
parts about her which Hugh disliked were her hands and feet.
The former certainly had been reddened and roughened by
household work ; but they were well-formed notwithstanding.
The latter he had never seen, notwithstanding the barefoot
habits of Scotch maidens ; for he saw Margaret rarely exccp/
in the evenings, and then she was dressed to receive hira. Cer-
tainly, however, they were very far from following the shape of
the clumsy country shoes, by which he misjudged their pro-
portions. Had he seen them, as lie might have seen their
some part of any day during the summer, their form at leas/
would have satisfied him.
CHAPTER XIV.
WINTER.
Out of whoso womb came the ice ? and the hoai-y frost of heaven, who hath gea
dered it? The waters are hid as with a stouc, and the face of the deep is frozen,
lie giveth snow like wool ; he scattereth the hoar frost like ashes.
Job xxxviii. 29, 30 ; Psalm cxlvii. 16.
Winter was fairly come at last. A black frost had bound
the earth for many days ; and at length a peculiar sensation,
almost a smell of snow in the air, indicated an approaching
storm. The snow fell at first in a few large, unwilling flakes,
that fluttered slowly and heavily to the earth, where they lay
like the foundation of the superstructure that was about to fol-
low. Faster and faster they fell — Avonderful multitudes of
delicate crystals, adhering in shapes of beauty which outvied
all that jeweller could invent or execute of ethereal, starry
forms, structures of evanescent yet prodigal loveliness — till
the whole air was obscured by them, and night came on, hast-
ened by an hour, from the gathering of their white darkness. In
the morning all the landscape was transfigured. The snow had
ceased to fall ; but the whole earth, houses, fields and fences,
ponds and streams, were changed to whiteness. But most
78 DAVID ELGINBROD.
1
•wonderful looked the trees, — every bough and every twig
tliickcned, and bent earthward with its own individual load of
the fairy-ghost birds. Each retained the semblance of its own
'form, wonderfully, magically altered by its thick garment of
radiant whiteness, shining gloriously in the sunlight. It was
the shroud of dead nature ; but a shroud that seemed to pre-
figure a lovely resurrection ; for the very dcath-ropo was
■ unspeakably, witchingly beautiful. Again at night the snow
fell ; and again and again, with intervening days of bright
sunshine. Every morning the first fresh footprints were a
new wonder to the living creatures, the young-hearted amongst
them at Igast, who lived and moved in this death-world, this
sepulchral planet, buried in the shining air before the eyes of
its sister-stars in the blue, deathless heavens. Paths had to be
cleared in every direction towards the out-houses, and again
cleared every morning ; till at last the walls of solid rain stood
higher than the head of little Johnnie, as he was still called,
though he was twelve years old. It was a great delight to him
to wander through the snow-avenues in every direction ; and
great fun it was both to him and his brother, when they were tired
of snowballing each other and every living thing about the
place except their parents and tutor, to hollow out mysterious
caves and vaulted passages. Sometimes they would carry
these passages on from one path to within an inch or two of
another, and there lie in wait till some passer-by, unAveeting of
harm, Avas just opposite their lurking cave ; when they would
dash through the solid wall of snow with a hideous yell, al-
most endangering the wits of the maids, and causing a recoil
and startled ejaculation even of the strong man on whom they
clianced to try their powers of alarm. Hugh himself was once
glad to cover the confusion of his own fright with the hearty
fit of laughter into which the perturbation of the boys, upon
discovering whom they had startled, threw him. It was rare
fun to them ; but not to the women about the house, who
moved from place to place in a state of chronic alarm, scared
by the fear of being scared ; till one of them going into hysterics,
real or pretended, it was found necessary to put a stop to the
practice ; not, however, before Margaret had had her share of
the jest. Hugh happened to be looking out of his window at
the moment — watching her indeed, as she passed tOAvardsthe
DAVID ELGINBROD. 7&
kitchen Avith some message from her mother — when an inde-
scribaljle monster, a chaotic mass of legs and snow, burst as if out
of the earth, upon her. She turned pale as the snow around her
(and Hugh had never observed before how dark her ejes
were), as she sprang back with the grace of a startled deer.
She uttered no cry, however, perceivmg in a moment Avho it was,
gave a troubled little smile, and passed on her way as if nothing
had happened. Hugh was not sorry when maternal orders were
issued against the practical joke. The boys did not respect their
mother very much, but they dared not disobey her, when she
spoke in a certain tone.
There was no pathway cut to David's cottage ; and no track
trodden, except what David, coming to the house sometimes,
and Hugh going every afternoon to the cottage, made between
them. Hugh often went to the knees in snow, but was well
dried and warmed by Janet's care when he arrived. She had
always a pair of stockings and slippers ready for him at the fire,
to be put on the moment of his arrival ; and exchanged again
for his own, dry and warm, before he footed once more the
ghostly waste. When neither moon Avas up nor stars were out,
there v/as a strange eerie glimmer from the snow that lighted
the way home ; and he thought there must be more light from
it than could be accounted for merely by the reflection of every
particle of light that might fall upon it from other sources.
Margaret was not kept to the house by the snow, even when
it was falling. She went out as usual, — not of course wandering
far, for walkins; was difficult now. But she was in little dan^^er
of losing her way, for she knew the country as well as any one;
and although its face was greatly altered by the filling up of
its features, and the uniformity of the color, yet those features
were discernible to her experienced eye through the sheet
that covered them. It was only necessary to walk on the tops of
dykes, and other elevated ridges, to keep clear of the deep snow.
There were many paths between the cottages and the fa,rms in
the neighborhood, in which she could walk with comparative
ease and comfort. But she preferred wandering away through
the fields and towards the hills. Sometimes she would come
home like a creature of the snow, bon> of it, amd living in it •
so covered was she from head to foot with its flakes. David
used to smile at her with peculiar complacency on such occa-
80 DAVID ELGINBROD.
sions. It was evideut that it pleased liim she could be the
playmate of nature. Janet was not altogether indulgent to
these freaks, as she considered them, of Marcjet, — she had
quite given up calling her Meg, " sin' she took to the beuk so
eident." But whatever her mother might think of it, i\Iar-
garet was in this way laying up a store not only of bodily and
mental health, but of resources for thought and feeling, of
secret understandings and communions with nature, and
everything simple, ahd strong, and pure through nature, than
which she could have accumulated nothing more precious.
This kind of weather continued for some time, till the
people declared they had never known a storm last so long,
" ohn ever devallt,'' that is, without intermission. But the
frost grew harder ; and then the snow, instead of falling in
large, adhesive flakes, fell in small dry flakes, of which the boys
could make no siiaw-has. All the time, however, there vras
no wind ; and this not being a sheep-country, there was little
uneasiness or sufiering occasioned by the severity of the weather,
beyond what must befall the poorer classes in every northern
country during the winter.
One diiy, David heard that a poor old man of his acquaint-
ance was dying, and immediately set out to visit him, at a
distance of two or three miles. He returned in the evening,
only in time for his studies ; for there was of course little or
nothing to be done at present in the way of labor. As he sat
down to the table, he said : —
" I hae seen a wonderfu' sichtsin' IsaAv you, Mr. Sutherlan'.
I gaed to see an auld Christian, whase body an' brain are nigh
worn oot. He was never onything remarkable for intellect
and jist took what the minister tellt him for true, an' K:ccpit
the guid o't; for his hert was aye richt, an' his faith a himtle
stronger than maybe it had ony richt to be, accordin' to his
ain opingans ; but, hech ! there's something far better nor his
opingans i' the hert o' ilka God-fearing' body. Whan I gaed
butt the hoose, he was sittin' in's auld arm-chair by the side o'
the fire, an' his face luikit dazed like. There was no liclit
in't but what cam' noo an' than frae a low i' the fire.
The snaw was driftin' a wee aboot the bit winnock, an' hia
auld een was fiked upo't ; an' a' 'at he said, takin' no notice o'
me, was jist, ' The birdies is flutterin' ; the birdies is flut-
^^y,, DAVID ELaiNBROD. 81
terin'.' I spak' till him, an' tried to roose.him, wi' ae thing
after anither ; bit I micht as weel hae spoken to the door-cheek
for a" the notice that he took. Never a word he spak'. bu*
aje, ' The birdies is fluttering'.' At last, it cam' to my min'
'at the body was aye fu' o' ane o' the psalms in particler:
an' sae I jist said till him at last, ' John, hae ye forgotten tlifi
twenty-third psalm? ' — ' Forgotten the twenty-third psalm !'
quo' he ; an' his face lighted up in a moment frae the inside :
' '' 'The Lord's my sheplierd^''^ — an" I hae followed him through
a' the smorin' drift o' the warl', an' he'll bring me to the green
pastures an' the still Ayaters o' his summer-kingdom at the
lang last. "7 shall not wani.^^ An' I hae Avanted for nae-
thing, naething.' He had been a shepherd hims^l' in's young
days. And soon he gaed, wi' a kin' o' a personal commentary
on the haill psalm frae beginnin' to en', and syne he jist fell
back into the auld croonin' sang, ' The birdies is flutterin' ; '
the birdies is flutterin'. The licht deid oot o' his face, an' a' that .
I could say could na' bring back the licht to his face, nor the sense
to his tongue. He'll sune be in a better Avarl'. Sae I was jist
forced to leave him. But I promised his dochter, puir body, that
I would ca' again an' see him the morn's afternoon. It's unco
dowie wark for her ; for they hae scarce a neebor within reach o'
them, in case o' a change ; an' there had hardly been a creater
inside o' their door for a Aveek."
The following afternoon, David set out according to his
promise. Before his return, the Avind, Avhich had been threat-
ening to wake all day, had risen rapidly, and now blew a
snoAV-storm of its own. When Hugh opened the door to take
his usual walk to the cottage, just as darkness was beginning
to fall, the sight he saAV made his young, strong heart dance
Avith delight. The snow that fell made but a small part of the
Aviid, confused turmoil and uproar of the tenfold storm. For
the Avind, raving OA^er the surface of the snow, Avhich, as I
have already explained, lay nearly as loose as dry sand, SAA'ept
it in thick, fierce clouds along Avith it, tearing it up and casting
it doAvn again no one could tell where, — for the Avhole air was
filled with drift, as they call the snoAV when thus driven. A
fcAv hours of this Avould alter the face of the Avhole country,
leaving some parts bare, and others buried beneath heaps on
heaps of snow, called here snaw-vreaths. For the word snow<
82 DAVID ELGIIsBROD.
wi'caths doe3 not jnean the lovclj garlands hung upon every
tree and bush m its feathery fall; but awful mounds of drifted
enow, that may be the smooth, soft, white sepulchres of dead
men, smothered in the lapping folds of the almost solid wind.
Path or way was none before him. He could see nothing but
the surface of a sea of froth and foam, as it appeared to him
with the spray torn from it, whirled in all shapes and contor-
tions, and driven in every direction ; but chiefly in the main
direction of the wind, in long, sloping spires of misty whiteness,
swift as arrows, and as keen upon the face of him who dared
to oppose them. .
Hugh plunged into it with a wild sense of life and joy. In
the course of his short walk, however, if walk it could be
Culled, which was one chain of plunges and emergings, strug-
gles Avith the snow, and wrestles with the wind, he felt that it
needed not a stout heart only, but sound lungs and strong
limbs as well, to battle with the storm, even for such a dis-
tance. When he reached the cottage, he found Janet in con-
siderable anxiety, not only about David, Avho had not yet re-
turned, but about Mari2;aret as well, whom she had not seen for
some time, and who must be out somicwdiere in tlie storm, —
" the wull hizzie." Hugh suggested that she might have gone
to meet her father.
"The Lord forbid!" ejaculated Janet. "The road lies
owcr the tap o' the Halshach, as eerie and bare a place as ever
was hill-moss, Avi' never a scoug or bield in"t frae the tae side
to the tither. The win' there jist gangs clean Avud a'the-
gither. An' there's mony a well-ee forbye, that gin ye fell
intiirt, ye Avud never come at the boddom o't. The Lord pre-
serve's ! I wis' Dawvid Avas hame."
" HoAV could you let him go, Janet? "
" Lat him gang, laddie ! It's a Strang tow 'at wud hand or
bin' DaAvvid, Avhan he considers he bud to gang, an' 'twere in-
till a deil's byke. But I'm no that feared aboot feim. I maist
believe he's under special protection, if ever man Avas or
oucht to be ; an' he's no more feared at the storm, nor gin the
snaAV AA'as angels' feathers flauchterin' oot o' their wings a'
aboot him. But I'm no easy i' my min' aboot, Maggy — the •
wull hizzie ! Gin she be meetin her father, an chance to misa
him, the Lord kens what may come o' her."
DAVID ELGINBROD. 8fS
Hugh tried to comfort her ; but all that could be done was
to v.ait David's return. The sto/m seemed to increase rather
than abate its force. The footprints Hugh had made had all
but vanished already at the very door of tlie hous.e, which
stood quite in the shelter of the fir-wood. As they looked
out, a dark figure appeai'ed within a yard or two of the house.
" The Lord grant it be my bairn!" prayed poor Janet.
But it Avas David, and alone. Janet gave a shriek.
'* Dawvid, whaur's Maggy? "
" I haena seen the bairn," replied David, in repressed per-
turbation. " She's no theroot, is she, the nicht? "
" She's no at hame, Dawvid, that's a' 'at I ken."
" Whaur gaed she ? "
"The Lord kens. She's smoored i' the snaw by this
time."
" She's i' the Lord's ban's, Janet, be she aneath a snaw-
vraith. Dinna forget that, wuman. Hoo lang is't sin' ye,
missed her? "
"An hour an' mair ; I dinna ken hoo lang. I'm clean
doitit wi' dreid."
"I'll awa' an' leuk for her. Jist baud the hert in her till
I come back, Mr. Sutherlan'."
" I won't be left behind, David. I'm going with you."
" Ye dinna ken what ye're sayin', Mr. Sutherlan'. I wud
sune hae twa o' ye to seek in place o' ane."
" Never heed me. I'm going on my own account, come
what may."
" Weel, weel ; I downa bide to differ. I'm gaein' up the
burn-side ; baud ye ower to the farm, and spier gin onybody's
seen her : an' the lads'll be oot to leuk for her in a jiffey.
My puir lassie ! "
The sigh that must have accompanied the last words was
lost in the wind, as they vanished in the darkness. Janet fell
on her knees in the kitchen, with the door wide open, and the
wind drifting in the powdery snow, and scattering it with the
ashes from the hearth over the floor. A picture of more
thorough desolation can hardly be imagined. She soon came
to herself however ; and reflecting that, if the lost child was
found, there must be a warm bed to receive her, else she
migbt be a second time lost, she rose and shut the door, and
84 DAVID ELGINBRUD. -
mended the fire. It was as if the dumb attitude of her prayer
was answered ; for, though she had never spoken or even
thought a Avord, strength was restored to her distnictcd brain.
"When she had made every preparation she could think of, she
went to the door again, opened it, and looked out. It was a
region of howling darkness, tossed about by pale snow-drifts ;
out of which it seemed scarce more hopeful that welcome faces
would emerge than that they should return to our eyes from
the vast unknown in which they vanish at last. She closed
the door once more, and, knowing nothing else to be done, sat
down on a chair, Avith her hands on her knees, and her eyes
fixed on the door. The clock Avent on Avith its sloAy. swino;,
tic — tac^ tic — tac, an utterly inhuman time-measurer ; but she
heard the sound of every second, through the midst of the
uproar in the fir-trees, Avhich bent their tall heads his-sing tc
the blast, and SAvinging about in the agony of tlieir strife. The
minutes went by, till an hour Avas gone, and there was neither
sound nor hearing but of the storm and the clock. Still sh^
sat and stared, her eyes fixed on the door-latch. Suddenly,
without Avarning, it AA'as lifted, and the door opened. Ilei
heart bounded and fluttered like a startled bird ; but, alas ! the
first words she heard Avere, " Is she no come yet? " It Avay
her husband, followed by seA^eral of the farm servants, lie
had made a circuit to the farm, and finding that Hugh had
never been there, hoped, though Avith trembling, that Mar-
garet had already returned home. The question fell upon
Janet's heart like the sound of the earth on the cofiin-lid, and
her silent stare Avas the only ansAver David received.
But at that very moment, like a dead man burst from the
tomb, entered from behind the party at the open door, silent
and Avhite, Avitli rigid features and fixed eyes, Hugh. He
stumbled in, leaning forAvard Avith long strides, and dragging
something behind him. He pushed and staggered through
them as if he saAV nothing before him ; and as they parted,
horror-stricken, they saw that it was Margaret, or her dead
body, that he dragged after him. He dropped her at hei
mother's feet, and fell himself on the floor, before they Avere
able to give him any support. David, avIio Avas quite calm, got
the A^hiskey-bottle out, and tried to administer some to Mar-
garet first ; but her teeth Averc firmly set, and to all appearance
DAVID ELGINBROD. 85
she was dead. Oiio of the young men succeeded better with
Hugh, Avhom at J)avid's direction they took into the study ;
while he and Janet got Margaret undressed and put to be({,
with hot bottles all about her : for in warmth lay the only
hope of restoring her. After she had lain thus for a while, she
gave a sigh ; and when they had succeeded in getting her to
swallow some warm milk she began to breathe, and soon seemed
to be only fast asleep. After half an hour's rest and Avarming
IIu2;h was. able to move and speak. David would not allow
him to say much, however, but got him to bed, sending word
to the house that he could not go home that night. He and
Janet sat by the fireside all night, listening to the stornj that
still raved without, and thanking God for both of the lives.
Every few minutes a tiptoe excursion was made to the bed-
side, and now and then to the other room. Both the patients
slept quietly. Towards morning Margaret opened her eyes,
and faintly called her mother ; but soon fell asleep once more,*
and did not awake again till nearly noon. When sufficiently
restored to be able to speak, the account she gave was, that
she had set out to meet her father; but, the storm increasing,
she had thought it more prudent to turn. It grew in violence,
however, so rapidly, and beat so directly in her face, that she
was soon exhausted with struggling, and benumbed with the
cold. The last thing she remembered was, dropping, as she
thought, into a hole, and feeling as if she were going to sleep
in bed, yet knowing it was death, and thinking how much
sweeter it was than sleep. Hugh's account was very strange
and defective, but he was never able to add anything to it.
He said that, when he rushed out into the dark, the storm,
seized him like a fury, beating him about the head and face
with icy wings, till he was almost stunned. He took the road
to the farm, which lay through the fir-wood ; but he soon be-
came aware that he had lost his way, and might tramp about
in the fir-wood till daylight, if he lived as long. Then, think-
ing of Llargaret, he lost his presence of mind, and rushed
wildly along. He thought he must have knocked his head
against the trunk of a tree, but he could not tell ; for he re-
membered nothing more but that he found himself dragging
Margaret, with his arms round her, through the snow, and
Hearing the light in the cottage window. Where or bow he
86 DAVID ELQINBROD.
had foun'l her, or what the light was that he was approaching,
ho had not the least idea. He had only a vague notion that
he was rescuing Margaret from something dreadful. ]\Iar-
g.iret, for her part, had no recollection of reacliing the fir-
wood ; and as, long before morning, all traces were obliterated,
the facts remained a mjsterj. Janet thought that David had
some wonderful persuasion about it ; but he was never heard
even to speculate on the subject. Certain it was, that Hugh
had saved Margaret's life. He seemed quite well next day,
for he was of a very powerful and enduring frame for his
years. She recovered more slowly, and perhaps never alto-
gether overcame the effects of Death's embrace that night.
From the moment when Margaret was brought home the storm
gradually died away, and by the morning all was still; but
many starry and moonlit nights glimmered and passed before
that snow was melted away from the earth ; and many a night
Janet awoke from her sleep with a cry, thinking she heard her
daughter moaning, deep in the smooth ocean of snow, and could
not find where she lay.
The occurrences of this dreadful night could not lessen the
interest his cottase friends felt in Hugh ; and a Ion*; winter
passed with daily and lengthening communion both in study
and in general conversation. I fear some of my younger
readers will think my story slow, and say, " What ! are
they not going to fall in love with each other yet ? We have
been expecting it ever so long." I have two answers to make
to this. The first is, "I do not pretend to know so much
about love as you — excuse me — think you do ; and must
confess I do not know whether they were in love with each
other or not." The second is, "That I dare not pretend to
understand thoroughly such a sacred mystery as the heart of
Margaret ; and I should feel it rather worse than presumptuous
to talk as if I did. Even Hugh's is known to me only by
gleams of light thrown, now and then, and here and there,
upon it. Perhaps the two answers are only the same answer
in different shapes."
]\Irs. Glasford, however, would easily answer the question,
if an answer is all that is wanted ; for she, notwithstanding
the facts of the story, which she could not fail to have heard
correctly from the best authority, and notwithstanding the na-
DAVID ELGINBROD. 87
ture of the night, which might have seemed sufficient to over-
throw her conclusions, uniformly remarked, as often as their
escape was alluded to in hi^r hearing : ■=—
" Lat them tak' it ! They had no business to be oot aboot
thesither."
CHAPTER XV.
TRANSITION.
Tell me, bright boy, tell me, my golden lad,
Whither away so frolic? Why so glad?
What all thy vrealth in council ? all thy state?
Are husks so dear? troth, 'tis a mighty rate.
Richard Crashaw.
The long Scotch winter passed by without any interruptioE
to the growing friendship. But the spring brought a change ;
and Hugh was separated from his friends sooner than he had
anticipated, by more than six months. For his mother wrote
to him in great distress, in consequence of a claim made upon
her for some debt which his father had contracted, very prob-
ably for Hugh's own sake. Hugh could not bear that any
such should remain undischarged, or that his father's name
should not rest in peace as Avell as his body and soul. He
requested, therefore, from the laird, the amount due to him,
and despatched almost the whole of it for the liquidation of
this debt ; so that he was now as unprovided as before for the
expenses of the coming winter at Aberdeen. But about the
same time a fellow-student wrote to him with news of a situa-
tion for the summer, worth three times as much as his present
one, and to be procured through his friend's interest. Hugh,
having engaged himself to the laird only for the winter, al-
though he had intended to stay till the commencement of the
following session, felt that, although he would much rather re-
main Avhere he was, he must not hesitate a moment to accept
his friend's offer : and therefore Avrote at once.
I will not attempt to describe the parting. It was very
quiet, but very solemn and sad.. Janet showed far more dis-
88 • DAVID ELGINBUOD.
tre,5S than Margaret, for slie wept outright. The tears stood
in David's ejes, as he grasped the youth's hand in silence.
Margaret was very pale"; that Avas all. As soon as Hugh dis-
appeared with her father, who was going to walk with him to
the village througli which the coach passed, she hurried away
and went to the fir-wood for comfort.
Hugh found his now situation in Perthshire very different
from the last. The heads of the family being themselves a
lady and a gentleman, he found himself a gentleman too. He
had more to do ; but his work left him plenty of leisure not-
withstanding. A good portion of his spare time he devoted to
verse-making, to which he felt a growing impulse ; and what-
ever may have been the merit of his compositions, they did
him intellectual good at least, if it were only through the pro-
cess of their construction. He wrote to David after his arrival,
telling him all about his new situation, and received in return a
letter from Margaret, Avritten at her father's dictation. The
mechanical part of letter-writing was rather laborious to David ;
but Margaret wrote well, in consequence of the number of
papers, of one sort and another, which she had written for
Hugh. Three or four letters more passed between them at
lengthening intervals. Then they ceased — on Hugh's side
first ; until, when on the point of leaving for Aberdeen, feeling
somewhat conscience-stricken at not having written for so long,
he scribbled a note to inform them of his approaching depart-
ure, promising to let them know his address as soon as he
found himself settled. Will it be believed that the session
went by without the redemjotion of this pledge? Surely he
could not have felt, to any approximate degree, the amount of
obligation he was under to his humble friends. Perhaps, in-
deed, he may have thought that the obligation was ^arincipallj
on their side ; as it would have been, if intellectual assistance
could outweigh heart-kindness, and spiritual impulse and en-
lightenment ; for, jinconsciously in a great measure to himself,
he had learned from David to regard in a new and more real
aspect many of those truths which he had hitherto received ab
true, and which yet had till then produced in him no other
than a feeling of the commonplace aid uninteresting at the
best.
Besides this, and many cognate advantages, a thc«isand
DAVID ELGINBROD. 89
seeds of truth must have surely remained in his mind, dropped
there from the same tongue of wisdom, and only waiting the
friendly aid of a hard winter, breaking up the cold, selfish
clods of clay, to share in the loveliness of a new spring, and be
perfected in the beauty of a new summer.
However this may have been, it is certain that he forgot his
old friends far more than he himself coitld have thought it pos-
sible he should ; for, to make the best of it, youth is easily at-
tracted and filled with the present show, and easily forgets
that which, from distance in time or space, has no show to
show. Spending his evenings in the midst of merry faces, and
ready tongues fluent with the tones of jollity, if not always of
wit, which glided sometimes into no too earnest discussion of
the difficult subjects occupying their student hours ; surrounded
by the vapors of whiskey-toddy, and the smoke of cutty-pipes,
till flir into the short hours ; then hurrying home, and lapsing
into unrefreshing slumbers over intending study, or sitting up^
all night to prepare the tasks which had been neglected for a
ball or an evening with Wilson, the great interpreter of Scot-
tish song, — it is hardly to be wondered at that he should lose
the finer consciousness of higher powers and deeper feelings,
not from any behavior in itself wrong, but from the hurry,
noise, and tumult in the streets of life, that, peneti-ating too
deep into the house of life, dazed and stupefied the silent and
lonely watcher in the chamber of conscience, far apart. He
liad no time to think or feel.
The session drew to a close. He escheAved all idleness ;
shut himself up, after class-hours, with his books ; ate little,
studied hard, slept irregularly, Avorking always best between
midnight and two in the morning ; carried the first honors in
most of his classes ; and at length breathed freely, but Avith a
ilizzy brain, and a fixce that revealed, in pale cheeks, and red,
weary eyes, the results of an excess of mental labor, — an excess
Vv'hich is as injurious as any other kind of intemperance, the
moral degradation alone kept out of view. Proud of his suc-
cess, he sat down and wrote a short note, with a simple state-
ment of it, to David ; hoping, in his secret mind, that he
would attribute his previous silence to an absorption in study
which had not existed before the end of the session Avas quite
at liand. Now that he had more lime for reflection, he could
90 DA\riD ELGINBRnD.
not bear the idea that that noble rustic face should look disap-
^provinglj, or, still worse, coldly upon him ; and he could not
help feeling as if the old ploughniau had taken the place of
his father, as the only man of whom he must stand in aAve,
and who had a right to reprove him. lie did reprove him
now, though unintentionally. For David was delighted at
having such good news from him ; and the uneasiness which he
had felt, but never quite expressed, was almost swept away in
the conclusion that it was unreasonable to expect the young
man to give his time to them both absent and present, espe-
cially when he had been occupied to such good purpose as this
letter signified. So he was nearly at peace about him —
though not quite. Hugh received from him the following let-
ter in reply to his; dictated, as usual, to his secretary, Mar-
garet : —
" My dkau Sir : Ye'll be a great nia,n some day, gin ye hand at it. But
tilings maunna be gotten at the onthxy o' niair than they're worth.
Ye'll ken what I mean. An" there's better things nor bein' a great man,
efter a'. Forgie the liberty I tak' in remin'in' ye o' sic like. I'm only
remiu'in' ye o' what ye ken weel aneiich. But ye're a brave lad, an' ye
hae been an unco fricm' to nie an' mine; an' I pi'ay the Lord to thank
ye for me, for ye hae dune mucklegnid to his bairns, — meanin' me an'
mine. It's verra kin' o' ye to vrite till's in the vcrra moment o' victory;
but weel ye kent that amid a' yer fricn's — an' ye canua fail to hae
mony a ane, wi' a head an' a face like yours — there was na ane — na,
na ane, that wad rejoice mair ower your success than Janet, or my
doo, Maggie, or yer aiu auld obleegd frieu' an' servant,
" David Elginbrod.
" P. S. — We're a' weel, an' unco blythe at 5-our letter. Maggy —
"P. S. 2. — Dear Mr. Sutherland, — I wrote all the above at my fa-
ther's dictation, and just as he said it, for I thought you would like his
Scotch better than my English. My mother and I myself are rejoiced
at the good news. My mother fairly grat outright. I gaed out to the
tree where I met you first. I wonder sair sometimes if you was the
angel I was to rae«t in the fir-wood. I am
" Your obedient servant,
" Margaret Elginbrod."
This letter certainly touched Hugh. But he could not help
feeling rather offended that David should write to him in sucb
a warning tone. He had never addressed him in this fashion
when he saw him every day. Indeed, David could not very
easily have spoken to him thus. But writing is a different
DAVID ELGINBROD. 91
thing ; and men who are not much accustomed to use a pen
often assume a more solemn tone in doing so, as if it were a
ceremonj that required state. As for David, having been a
little uneasy about Hugh, and not much afraid of offending
him, — for he did not know his weaknesses very thoroughly,
and did not take into account the eifect of the very falling
away which he dreaded, in increasing in him pride, and that
impatience of the gentlest reproof natural to every man, — he
felt considerably relieved after he had discharged his duty in
this memento vivere. But one of the results, and a very un-
expected one, was, that a yet longer period elapsed before
Hugh wrote again to David. He meant to do so, and meant
to do so ; but, as often as the thought occurred to him, was
checked both by consciousness and by pride. So much con-
tributes, not the evil alone that is in us, but the good also
sometimes, to hold us back from doing the thing we ought to
do.
It now remained for Hugh to look about for some occupa-
tion. The state of his funds rendered immediate employment
absolutely necessary ; and as there was only one way in which
he could earn money without yet further preparation, he must
betake himself to that way, as he had done before, in the hope
that it would lead to something better. At all events, it
would give him time to look about him, and make up his mind
for the future. Many a one, to whom the occupation of a tu-
tor is far more irksome than it was to Hugh, is compelled to
turn his acquirements to this immediate account ; and, once
going in this groove, can never get out of it again. But
Hugh was hopeful enough to think that his reputation at the
university would stand him in some stead ; and, however much
he would have disliked the thou^-ht of beino; a tutor all his
days, occupying a kind of neutral territory between the posi-
tion of a gentleman and that of a menial, he had enough of
strong Saxon good sense to prevent him, despite his Highland
pride, from seeing any great hardship in laboring still for a
little while, as he had labored hitherto. But he hoped to
find a situation more desirable than either of those he had oc-
cupied before; and, with this expectation, looked towards the
South, as most Scotchmen do, indulging the national impulse
to spoil the Egyptians. Nor did ho look long, sending hia
92 DAVID ELGINBROD.
tentacles afloat in every direction, before he heard, through
means of acolle2;e friend, of iust such a situation as he wanted
in the family of a gentleman of fortune in the county of Sur-
rey, not much more than twenty miles from London. Tiiis he
was fortunate enough to obtain Avithout difficulty.
Margaret was likewise on the eve of a change. She stood
like a young fledged bird on the edge of the nest, ready to
take its first long flight. It was necessary that she should do
something for herself, not so much from the compulsion of
immediate circumstances, as in prospect of the future. Her
father was not an old man, but at best he could leave only a
trifle at his death ; and if Janet outlived him, she would prob-
ably require all that, and what labor she would then be capa-
ble of as well, to support herself. Margaret was anxious, too,
though not to be independent, yet not to be burdensome.
Both David and Janet saw that, by her peculiar tastes and
habits, she had separated herself so far from the circle around
her that she couh.l never hope to be quite comfortable in that
neighborhood. It was not that by any means she despised or
refused the labors common to the young women of tho country ;
but, all things considered, they thought that something more
suitable for her might be procured.
The laird's lady continued to behave to her in the most su-
percilious manner. The very day of Hugh's departure she had
chanced to meet Margaret walking alone with a book, this time
unopened, in her hand. Mrs. Glasford stopped. Margaret
stopped too, expecting to be addressed. The lady looked at
her all over, from head to foot, as if critically examining the
appearance of an animal she thought of purchasing ; then,
without a word, but with a contemptuous toss of the head,
passed on, leaving poor Margaret both angry and ashamed.
But David was much respected by the gentry of the neigh-
borhood, with whom his position, as the laird's steward, brought
him not unfrequently into contact ; and to several of them he
mentioned his desire of finding some situation for Margaret.
Janet could not bear the idea of her ladf/-bairn leaving them,
to encounter the world alone ; but David, though he could
not help sometimes feeling a similar pang, was able to take to
himself hearty comfort from the thought, that if there Avas any
safety for her in her father's house, there could not be less in
DAVID ELGINBROD. 93
her heavenly Father's, in anv nook of which she was as full
in his eye, and as near his heart, as in their own cottage.
He felt that anxiety in this case, as in every other, would just
be a lack of confidence in God, to suppose which justifiable
would be equivalent to saying that he had not fixed the foun-
dations of the earth that it should not be moved ; that he was
not the Lord of Life, nor the Father of his children; 'in
short, that a sparrow could fill to the ground without him,
and that the hairs of our head are not numbered. Janet
admitted all this, but sighed nevertheless. So did David too,
at times ; for he knew that the sparrow must fall ; that many
a divine truth is hard to learn, all blessed as it is when learned ;
and that sorrow and suffering must come to Margaret, ere she
could be foshioned into the perfection of a child of the kingdom.
Still, she was as safe abroad as at home.
An elderly lady of fortune was on a visit to one of the fam-
ilies in the neighborhood. She was in want of a lady's-maid,
and it occurred to the house-keeper that Margaret might suit
her. This was not quite what her parents vrould have chosen,
but they allowed her to go and see the lady. Margaret was
delighted with the benevolent-looking gentlewoman ; and she,
on her part, was quite charmed with Margaret. It was true
she knew nothing of the duties of the office ; but the present
maid, who was leaving on the best of terms, would soon initiate
her into its mysteries. And David and Janet were so much
pleased with Margaret's account of the interview, that David
himself went to see the lady. The sight of him only increased
her desire to have Margaret, whom she said she would treat
like a daughter if only she were half as good as she looked.
Before David left her, the matter was arranged ; and within a
month Margaret was borne in her mistress' carriage, away'
from father and mother and cottao-e home.
94 DAVID ELGINBROD.
CHAPTER XVI.
A NEW HOME.
A wise man's home is whcrcsoe'er he's wise.
JouN Marston. — Antonio's Eevengi
Hugh left the North dead iu the arms of gray winter, «nd
found his new abode already alive in the breath of the /est
wind. As he walked up the avenue to the house he felt that
the buds were breaking all about, though, the night being
dark and cloudy, the green shadows of the coming spring were
invisible.
He was received at the hall-door, and shown to his room, by
an old, apparently confidential, and certainly important, but-
ler; whose importance, however, was inoffensive, as founded,
to all appearance, on a sense of family and not of personal dig-
nity. Refreshment was then brought him, with the message
that, as it was late, Mr. Arnold would defer the pleasure of
meeting him till the morning at breakfast.
Left to himself, Hugh began to look around him. Every-
thing suggested a contrast between his present position and
that which he had first occupied about the same time of the
year at Turriepuffit. He was in an old, handsome room of
dark wainscot, furnished like a library, with bookcases about
the walls. One of them, with glass doors, had an ancient es-
critoire underneath, which was open, and evidently left empty
for his use. A fire was burning cheerfully in an old high
grate ; but its light, though assisted by that of two wax candles
on the table, failed to show the outlines of the room, it was so
large and dark. Tiie ceiling was rather low in proportion,
and a huge beam crossed it. At one end an open door re-
vealed a room beyond, likewise lighted with fire and candles.
Entering, he found this to be an equally old-fashioned bed-
room, to which his luggage had been already conveyed.
" As far as creature comforts go," thought Hugh, "I have
fallen on my feet."' He rang the bell, had the tray removed,
and then proceeded to examine the bookcases. He found
them to contain much of the literature with which he was most
desirous of making an acquaintance. A few books of the day
DAVID ELGINBROD. 95
were interspersed. The sense of having good companions in
the authors around him added greatly to his feeling of com-
Tort ; and he retired for the night, filled with pleasant antici-
pations of his sojourn at Arnstead. All the night, however,
his dreams were of wind and snow, and Margaret out in them
alone. Janet was waiting in the cottage for him to bring her
home. He had found her, but could not move her ; for the
spirit of the storm had frozen her to ice, and she was heavy
as a marble statue.
When he awoke, the shadows of buds and budding twigs
were waving in changeful nctwork-tracerj across the bright
sunshine on his window-curtains. Before he was called he
was readj to go down ; and to amuse himself till breakfast-
time, he proceeded to make another survey of the books. lie
concluded that these must be a colony from the mother-library ;
and also that the room must, notwithstanding, be intended for
his especial occupation, seeing his bedroom opened out of it.
Next, he looked from ;ill the v/indows, to discover into what
kind of a furrow in the face of the old earth he had fallen.
All he could see was trees and trees. But oh, how different
from the sombre, dark, changeless fir-Avood at Turriepuffit,
whose trees looked small and shrunken in his memory, beside
this glory of boughs, breaking out into their prophecy of
an infinite greenery at hand ! His rooms seemed to occupy
the end of a small Aving at the back of the house, as well as he
could judge. His sitting-room AvindoAvs looked across a small
space to another wing ; and the AvindoAvs of his bedroom, Avhich
Avere at right-angles to those of the former, looked full into
AA"hat seemed an ordered ancient forest of gracious trees of all
kinds, coming almost close to the very Aviudows. They Avere
the trees which had been throAving their shadows on these Avin-
doAvs for tAvo or three iiours of the silent spring sunlight, at
once so liquid and so dazzling. Then he resolved to test his
faculty for discoA^ery, by seeing whether he could find his way
to the breakfast-room without a guide. In this he Avould have
succeeded Avithout much difficulty, — for it opened from the main
entrance hall, to Avhich the huge square-turned oak staircase,
by Avhich he had ascended, led, — had it not been for the some-
what intricate nature of the passages leading from the Aving in
Avhich his rooms Avere (evidently an older and more i-etired
96 DAVID ELGINBROD.
portion of the house) to the main staircase itself. After open-
ing many doors and finding no thorough flire, he became con-
vinced that, in phice of finding a way on, he had lost the way
back. At length he came to a small stair, which led him
down to a single door. This he opened, and straightway
found himself in the library, a long, low, silent-looking room,
every foot of the walls of which was occupied with books in
varied and rich bindings. The lozenge-paned windows, with
thick stone mullions, were much overgrown with ivy, throw-
ing a cool green shadowiness into the room. One of them,
however, had been altered to a more modern taste, and opened
with folding-doors upon a few steps, descending into an old-
fashioned terraced garden. To approach this window he had
to pass a table, lying on which he saw a paper with verses on
it, evidently in a woman's hand, and apparently just written,
for the ink of the corrective scores still glittered. Just as he
reached the window, which stood open, a lady had almost
gained it from the other side, coming up the steps from the
garden. She gave a slight start when she saw him, looked away,
and as instantly glanced tOAvards him again. Then approach-
ing him through the window, for he had retreated to allow her
to enter, she bowed with a kind of studied ease, and 'i slight
shade of something French in her manner. Her voice was
very pleasing, almost bewitching ; yet had, at the same time,
something assumed, if not affected, in the tone. All this was
'discoverable, or rather spiritually palpable, in the two words
she said, — merely "Mr. Sutherland?" interrogatively
Hugh bowed, and said : —
" I am very glad you have found me, for I had quite lost
myself. I doubt whether I should ever have reached the
breakfast-room."
" Come this way," she rejoined.
As they passed the table on which the verses lay, she stopped
and slipped them into a writing-case. Leading him through
a succession of handsome, evidently modern j^assages, she
brought him across the main hall to the breakfast-room, which
looked in the opposite direction to the library, namely, to the
front of the house. She rang the bell ; the urn was brought
in, and she proceeded at once to make the tea ; which she did
well, rising in Hugh's estimation thereby. Before he had time.
DAVID ELGINBROD. * 97
liowever, to make his private remarks on her exterior, or his
conjectures on her position in the family, Mr. Arnold entered
the room, Avith a slow, somewhat dignified step, and a dull
outlook of gray eyes from a gray head well-balanced on a tall,
rather slender frame. The lady rose, and, addressing him as
uncle, bade him good-morning ; a greeting which he returned
cordially, with a kiss on her forehead. Then accosting Hugh,
with a manner which seemed the more polite and cold after the
tone in which he had spoken to his niece, he bade him welcome
to Ai-nstead.
" I trust you were properly attended to last night, Mr.
Sutherland ? Your pupil wanted very much to sit up till you
arrived ; but he is altogether too delicate, I am sorry to say,
for late hours, though he has an unfortunate preference for
them himself Jacob" (to the man in waiting), "is not
Master Harry up yet?"
Master Harry's entrance at that moment rendered reply un-
necessary.
"Good-morning, Euphra," he said to the lady, and kissed
her on the cheek.
"Good-morning, dear," was the reply, accompanied by a
pretence of returning the kiss. But she smiled with a kind
of confectionery sweetness on him ; and, dropping an additional
lump of sugar into his tea at the same moment, placed it for
him beside herself; while he went and shook hands with his
father, and then glancing shyly up at Hugh from a pair of
large dark eyes, put his hand in his, and smiled, revealing
teeth of a pearly whiteness. The lips, however, did not con-
trast them sufiiciently, being pale and thin, with indication of
suifering in their tremulous lines. Taking his place at table,
he trifled with his breakfast ; and after making pretence of eat-
ing for a while, asked Euphra if he might go. She giving him
leave, he hastened away.
Mr. Arnold took advantage of his retreat to explain to
Hugh Avhat he expected of him with regard to the boy.
"How old would you take Harry to be, INfr. Sutherland?"
" I should say about twelve from his size," replied Hugh;
"but from his evident bad health, and intelligent expres-
sion — "
" Ah ! you perceive the state he is in," interrupted Mr.
7
98 • DAVID ELGINBROD.
Arnold, witli some sadness in his voice. "You are riglit; he
is nearly fifteen. He has not grown half an inch in the last
twelve months."
" Perhaps that is better than growing too fast," said Hugh.
"Perhaps — perhaps; Ave will hope so. But I cannot
help being unoasj about him. He reads too much, and I have
not yet been able to help it ; for he seems miserable, and with-
out any object in life, if I compel him to leave his books."
" Perhaps we can manage to get over that in a little while."
"Besides," Mr. Arnold went on, paying no attention to
what Hugh said, "I can get him to take no exercise. He
does not even care for riding. I bought him a second pony a
month ago, and he has not been twice on its back yet."
Hugh could not help thinking that to increase the sup-
ply was not always the best mode of increasing the demand ;
and that one who would not ride the first pony would hardly
be likely to ride the second. Mr. Arnold concluded with the
words : —
"I don't want to stop the boy's reading, but I can't have
him a milksop."
" Will you let me manage him as I please, Mr. Arnold? "
Hugh ventured to say.
Mr. Arnold looked full at him, with a very slight but quite
manifest expression of surprise ; and Hugh was aware that the
eyes of the lady, called by the boy Euphra, were likewise fixed
upon him penetratingly. As if he were then for the first time
struck by the manly development of Hugh's frame, Mr. Ar-
nold answered : —
" I don't want you to overdo it cither. You cannot make
a muscular Christian of him." (The speaker smiled at his
own imagined wit.) "The boy has talents, and I want him
to use them."
" I will do my best for him both ways," answered Hugh.
" if you will trust me. For my part, I think the only way is
to make the operation of the intellectual tendency on the one
side reveal to the boy himself his deficiency on the other. This
once done, all will be well."
As he said this, Hugh caught sight of a cloudy, inscrutable
dissatisfaction slightly contracting the eyebrows of the lady.
Mr. Arnold, however, seemed not to be altogether displeased
DAVID ELGINBROD. 99
"Well," he answered, " I have mj plans ; but let us see
first Avhat you can do with yours. If they fail, perhaps you
will oblige me by trying mine."
This was said with the decisive politeness of one who is ac-
customed to have his own way, and fully intends to have it, —
every word as articulate and deliberate as organs of speech
could make it. Bui he seemed at the same time somewhat im-
pressed by Hugh, and not unwilling to yield.
Throughout the conversation the lady had said nothing,
but had sat watching, or rather scrutinizing, Hugh's coun-
teuancOj with a far keener and more frequent glance than, I
presume, he was at all aware of. W^hether or not she was
satisfied with her conclusions, she allowed no sign to disclose ;
but, breakfast being over, rose and withdrew, turning, how-
ever, at the door, and saying : —
"When you please, Mr. Sutherland, I shall be glad to
show you what Harry has been doing with me ; for till now I
have been his only tutor."
"Thank you," replied Hugh;' "but for some time we
shall be quite independent of school-books. Perhaps we may
require none at all. He can read, I j^resume, foirly well ? "
"Reading is not only his forte, but his fault," replied Mr.
Arnold ; while Euphra, fixing one more piercing look upon
him, withdrew.
" Yes," responded Hugh ; " but a boy may shuflle through
a book very quickly, and have no such accurate perceptions of
even the mere Avords as to be able to read aloud intelligibly."
How little this applied to Harry, Hugh was soon to learn.
"Well, you know best about these things, I dare say. I
leave it to you. With such testimonials as you have, Mr.
Sutherland, I can hardly be wrong in letting you try your own
plans with him. Now I must bid you good-morning. You
will, in all probability, find Harry in the library."
100 DAVID ELGINBROD.
CHAPTER XVII.
HARRY'S NEW HORSE.
Spielender Unterricht bcisst niclit, dora Kimlo Anstrcngungcn ersparen und
abnebmcn, gondern eino LeiJcnschaft in ihm crwccken, welcho ibni die starkston
aufnotbigt und erlcicbtert. — Jean Paul. — Die Unsichtbare Loge.
It is not the intention of sportive instruction tbat tbo cbild should bo spared
effort, or delivered from it ; but tbat thereby a passion should bo vYukoned in him,
■which shall both necessitate and facilitate the strongest exertion.
Hugh made no haste to find his pupil in the library ; thinking
it better, with such a boy, not to pounce upon him as if he
were going to educate him directly. He went to his own
rooms instead ; got his books out and arranged them, — ■
supplying thus, in a very small degree, the scarcity of
modern ones in the bookcases ; then arranged his small ward-
robe, looked about him a little, and finally went to seek his
pupil.
He found him in the library, as he had been given to
expect, coiled up on the floor in a corner, with his back against
the book-shelves, and an old folio on his knees, which he was
reading in silence.
"Well, Harry," said Hugh, in a half-indifierent tone, as
he threw himself on a couch, " what are you reading ? "
Harry had not heard him come in. He started, and almost
shuddered ; then looked up, hesitated, rose, and, as if ashamed
to utter the name of the book, brought it to Hugh, opening it
at the title-page as he held it out to him. It was the old
romance of " Polexander." Hugh knew nothing about it ; but,
glancing over some of the pages, could not help wondering
that the bey should find it interesting.
" Do you like this very much ? " said he.
"Well — no. Yes, rather."
" I think I could find you something more interesting on
the book-shelves."
"Oh! please, sir, mayn't I read this?" pleaded Hariy
with signs of distress in his pale face.
DAVID ELGINBROD. 101
" Oh, yes, certainly, if you wish. But tell me why you
want to read it so very much."
" Because I have set myself to read it through."
Hugh saw that the child was in a diseased state of mind aa
well as of body.
"You should not set yourself to read anything before you
know whether it is worth reading."
" I could not help it. I was forced to say I would."
"To whom?"
" To myself. Mayn't I read it ? "
"Certainly," was all Hugh's answer; for he saw that he
must not pursue the subject at present : the boy was quite
hypochondriacal. His face was keen, Avith that clear definition
of feature which suggests superior intellect. He was, though
very small for his age. well proportioned, except that his head
and face were too large. His forehead indicated thought ; and
Hugh could not doubt tha.t, however uninteresting the books
which he read might be, they must have aiforded him subjects
of mental activity. But he could not help seeing as well, that
this activity, if not altered in its direction and modified in its
degree, would soon destroy itself, either by ruining his feeble
constitution altogether, or, which Avas more to be feared, by
irremediably injuring the action of the brain. He resolved,
however, to let him satisfy his conscience by reading the book;
hoping, by the introduction of other objects of thought and
feeling, to render it so distasteful that he would be in little
danger of yielding a similar pledge again, even should the
temptation return, which Hugh hoped to prevent.
" But you have read enough for the present, have you not?"
said he, rising, and approaching the book-shelves.
"Yes; I have been reading since breakfast."
" Ah ! there's a capital book. Have you ever read it, —
' Gulliver's Travels '? "
" No. The outside looked always so uninteresting."
" So does ' Polexander's ' outside."
"Yes. But I couldn't help that one."
" Well, come along. I will read to you."
" Oh, thank you. That will be delightful. But must we
not go to our lessons ? "
" I'm going to make a lesson of this. I have been talking
102 DAVID ELGINBROD.
to your papa; and we're going to begin with a holiday, instead
of ending with one. I must get better acquainted with you
first, Harry, before I can teach you right. We must be friends,
you know."
Tlie boy crept close up to him, laid one thin hand on his
knee, looked in his face for a moment, and then, without a
word, sat down on the couch close beside him. Before an
hour had passed Harry was laughing heartily at Gulliver's
adventures amongst the Liliputians. Having arrived at thia
point of success, Hugh ceased reading, and began to talk to
liim.
" Is that lady your cousin? "
" Yes. Isn't she beautiful ? "
" I hardly know yet. I have not got used to her enough
yet. What is her name ? "
" Oh ! such a pretty name, — Euphrasia."
X " Is she the only lady in the house ? "
"Yes; my mamma is dead, you know. She was ill for a
long time, they say; and she died when I was born."
The tears came in the poor boy's eyes. Hug'h thought of
his own father, and put his hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry
laid his head on Hugh's shoulder.
" But," he went on, " Euphra is so kind to me ! And she
is so clever too ! She knows everything."
" Have you no brothers or sisters ? "
" No, none. I wish I had."
"Well, I'll be your big brother. Only you must mind
what I say to you ; else I shall stop being him. Is it a bar-
gain ? ' '
"Yes, to be sure ! " cried Harry, in delight ; and, spring-
ing from the couch, he began hopping feebly about the room
on one foot, to express his pleasure.
" Well, then, that's settled. Now, you must come and
show me the horses — your ponies, you know — and the
pU,s — "
" I don't like the pigs ; I don't know where they are."
" Well, we must find out. Perhaps I shall make some dis-
« t^eries for you. Have you any rabbits? "
" No.'.'
" A dog though, surely? "
DAVID ELGINBROD. 103
"No. I liad a canary; but the cat killed it, and I have
never had a pet since."
" Well, get your cap, and come out with me. I will wait
for you here."
Harry walked away ; he seldom ran. He soon returned
AS'ith his cap, and they sallied out together.
Happening to look back at the house, when a few paces
from it. Hugh thought he saw Euphra standing at the window
of a back staircase. They made the round of the stables,
and the cow-house, and the poultry -yard ; and even the pigs,
as proposed, came in for a share of their attention.. As they
approached the sty, Harry turned away his head with a look
of disgust. They were eating out of the trough.
" They make such a nasty noise ! " he said.
" Yes, but just look ; don't they enjoy it?" said Hugh.
Harry looked at them. The notion of their enjoyment
seemed to dawn upon him as somethimg quite new. He went
nearer and nearer to the sty. At last a smile broke out over
his countenance.
" How tight that one curls his tail!" said he, and burst
out lauirhins;.
" How dreadfully this boy must have been mismanaged ! "
thought Hugh to himself. " But there's no fear of him now,
I hoi3e."
By this time they had been wandering about for more than
an hour ; and Hugh saw, by Harry's increased paleness, that
he was getting tired.
"Here, Harry, get on my back, my boy, and have a ride.
You're tired."
And Hugh knelt down.
Harry shrunk back.
" 1 shall soil your coat with my shoes."
" Nonsense ! Rub them well on the grass there. And
then get on my back directly."
Harry did as he was bid, and found his tutor's broad back
and strong arms a very comfortable saddle. So away they
went, wandering about for a long time, in their new relation
of horse and his rider. At length they got into the middle
of a long, narrow avenue, quite neglected, overgrown with
weeds, and obstructed with rubbish. But the trees were fine
104 DAVID ELGINBUOD.
beeches, of great growth and considerable age. One end led
far into a wood, and the other towards the house, a small por-
tion of which could bo seen at the end, the avenue appearing
to reach close up to it.
" Don't go down this," said Harry.
"Well, it's not a vcrj good road for a horse certainly, but
I think I can go it. What a beautiful avenue ! Why is it so
neglected? "
" Don't go down there, please, dear horse."
Harry was getting wonderfully at home with Hugh already.
"Why J" asked Hugh.
'' They call it the Gliost's Walk, and I don't much like it.
It has a strange, distracted look."
"That's a long word, and a descriptive one too," thought
Hugh ; but, considering that there would come many a better
opportunity of combating the boy's fears than now, he simply
said, "Very well, Harry," and proceeded to leave the ave-
nue by the other side. But Harry was not yet satis-
fied.
" Please, Mr. Sutherland, don't go on that side just now.
Ride me back, please. It is not safe, they say, to cross her
path. She always follows any one who crosses her path."
Hugh laughed; but again said, " Very well, my boy;"
and, returning, left the avenue by the side by which he had
entered it.
" Shall we go home to luncheon now ? " said Harry.
" Yes," replied Hugh. " Could we not go by the front of
the house? I should like very much to see it."
"Oh, certainly," said Harry, and proceeded to direct
Hugh how to go ; but evidently did not know quite to his own
satisfaction. There being, however, but little foliage yet,
Hugh could discover his way pretty well. He promised him-
self many a delightful wander in the woody regions in the
evenings.
They managed to get round to the front of the house, not
without some difficulty ; and then Hugh saw to his surprise
that, although not imposing in appearance, it was in extern
more like a baronial residence than that of a simple gentle-
man. The front was very long, apparently of all ages, and
of all possible styles of architecture, the result being some-
DAVID ELGINBROD. 105
what mysterious and eminently picturesque. All kinds of
windows ; all kinds of projections and recesses ; a house here,
joined to a hall there ; here a pointed gable, the very bell on
the top overgrown and apparently choked Avith ivy ; there a
wide front with large bay windows ; and next a turret of old
stone, with not a shred of ivy upon it, but crowded over with
gray-green lichens, which looked as if the stone itself had tak-
en to grownig ; multitudes of roofs, of all shapes and materials,
so that one might very easily be lost amongst the chimneys
and gutters and dormer windows and pinnacles, — made up the
appearance of the house on the outside to Hugh's first inquir-
ing glance, as he passed at a little distance with Harry on his
back, and scanned the wonderful pile before him. But as he
looked at the house of Arnstead, Euphra was looking at him
with the boy on his back, from one of the smaller windows.
A¥as she making up her mind ?
" You are as kind to me as Euphra," said Harry, as Hugh^
set him down in the hall. " I've enjoyed my ride very much,
thank you, Mr. Sutherland. I am sure Euphra will like you
very much ; she likes everybody."
CHAPTER XVIII.
EUPHRASIA.
. . . then purged with Euphrasy and Rue
The visual nerve, for he had much to see.
Paradise Lost, b. xi.
Soft music came to mine ear. It was like the rising breeze, that whirls, at first,
the thistle's beard ; then flics, dark-shadowy, over the grass. It was the maid of
Fuarfed wild: she raised the nightly song; for she knew that my soul was a stream
that flowed at pleasant sounds. — Ossian, — Oina-Morul.
Harry led Hugh by the hand to the dining-room, a large
oak hall with Gothic windows, and an open roof supported by
106 DAVID ELGINBROD.
richly carved woodwork, in the squares amidst which were
painted many escutcheons parted by fanciful devices. Over
the high stone carving above the chimney hung an old piece of
tapestry, occupying the whole space between that and the roof.
It represented a hunting-party of ladies and gentlemen, just
setting out. The table looked very small in the centre of
the room, though it Avould have seated twelve or fourteen. It
was already covered for luncheon ; and in a minute Euphra
entered and took her place without a word. Hugh sat on one
side, and Harry on the other. Euphra, having helped both to
soup, turned to Harry and said, " Well, Harry, I hope you
have enjoyed your first lesson."
'' Very much," answered Harry, with a smile. "I have
learned pigs and horseback."
"The boy is positively clever," thought Hugh.
"Mr. Sutherland," he continued, "has l3egun to teach
me to like creatures."
" But I thought you Avere very fond of your wild-beast
book, Harry."
"Oh ! yes; but that was only in the book, you know. I
like the stories about them, of course. But to like pigs, you
know, is quite different. They are so ugly and ill-bred. I
like them though. ' '
" You seem to have quite gained Harry already," said Eu-
phra, glancing at Hugh, and looking away as quickly.
" We are very good friends, and shall be, I think," replied
he.
Harry looked at him affectionately, and said to him, not to
Euphra, " Oh ! yes, that we shall, I am sure." Then, turn-
ing to the lady, "Do you know, Euphra, he is my big
brother? "
"You must mind how you make new relations, though,
Harry; for you know that would make him my cousin."
" Well, you will be a kind cousin to him, won't you ? "
"I Avill try," replied Euphra, looking up at Hugh with a
naive expression of shyness, and the slightest possible blush.
Hugh began to think .her pretty,* almost handsome. His
next thought was to wonder how old she was. But about this
he could not at once make up his mind. She might be four-
and-twenty; she might be tv>-o-and-thirty. She had black,
DAVID ELGINBROD. 107
lustreless hair, and ejes to match, as far as color was con-
cerni'd ; but they could sparkle, and probably flash upon
occasion; a low forehead, but very finely developed in the
faculties that dweli above the eyes ; slender but very dark eye-
brows, — just black arched lines in her rather sallow complex-
ion ; nose straight, and nothing remarkable, — "an excellent
thing^ in woman;" a mouth indifferent when at rest, but
capable of a beautiful laugh. She was rather tall, and of a
pretty enough figure ; hands good ; feet invisible. Hugh
came to these conclusions rapidly enough, now that his atten-
tion was directed to her ; for, though naturally unobservant,
his perception was very acute as soon as his attention was
roused.
'' Thank you," he replied to her pretty speech. " I shall
do my best to deserve it."
" I hope you will, Mr. Sutherland," rejoined she, with an-
other arch look. " Take some wine, Harry."
She poured out a glass of sherry, and gave it to the boy,
who drank it with some eagerness. Hugh could not approve
of this, but thought it too early to interfiere. Turning to Har-
ry, he said : —
" Now, Harry, you have had rather a tiring morning. I
should like you to go and lie down awhile."
" Very well, Mr. Sutherland," replied Harry, who seemed
rather deficient in combativeness, as well as other boyish vir-
tues. " Shall I lie doAvn in the library? "
" No have a change."
"In my bedroom?"
" No, I think not. Go to my room, and lie on the couch
till I come to you."
Harry went ; and Hugh, partly for the sake of saying some-
thing, and partly to justify his treatment of Harry, told Eu-
phra, whose surname he did not yet know, what they had been
about all the morning, ending Avith some remark on the view
of the house in front. She heard the account of their pro-
ceedings with apparent indifference, replying only to the re-
mark with which he closed it : —
" It is rather a large house, is it not, for three — I beg
your pai'don — for four persons to live in, Mr. Sutherland ? "
''It is, indeed ; it quite bewilders me."
108 DAVID ELGINBROD.
" To toll the truth, I don't quite know above the half of it
myself."
Hugh thought this rather a strange assertion, large as the
house was ; but she Avent on : —
" I lost myself between the house-keeper's room and my
own. no later than last week."
I suppose there was a particle of truth in this ; and that slie
had taken a wrong turning in an abstracted fit. Perhaps she
did not mean it to be taken as absolutely true.
" You have not lived here long, then? "
" Not long for such a great place. A few years.' I am
only a poor relation."
She accompanied this statement with another swift uplifting
of the eyelids. But this time her eyes rested for a moment on
Hugh's, with something of a pleading expression ; and when
they fell, a slight sigh followed. Hugh felt that he could not
quite understand her. A vague suspicion crossed his mind
that she was bewitching laim, but vanished instantly. He
replied to her communication by a smile, and the remark : —
" You have the more freedom then. Did you know Har-
ry's mother? " he added, after a pause.
"No. She died when Harry was born. She was very
beautiful, and, they say, very clever, but always in extremely
delicate health. Between ourselves, I doubt if there was
much sympathy, — that is, if my uncle and she quite under-
stood each otlier. But that is an old story."
A pause followed. Euphra resumed : —
"As to the freedom you speak of, Mr. Sutherland, I do
not quite know what to do with it. I live here as if the place
were my own, and give what orders I please. But Mr. Ar-
nold shows me little attention, — he is so occupied with one-
thing and another, I hardly know what ; and if he did, per-
haps I should get tired of him. So, except when we have vis-
itors, which is not very often, the time hangs rather heailvy
on my hands."
"But you are fond of reading — and writing too, I
suspect," Hugh ventured to say.
She gave him another of her glances, in which the apparent
shyness was mingled with something for which Hugh could
not find a name. Nor did he suspect, till long after, that it
DAVID ELGIN BROD. 109
was in reality slyness, so tempered with archness, that, if dis-
co verecl, it might easily pass for an expression playfully
assumed.
"Oh, yes," she said ; "one must read a book now and then ;
and if a verse " — again a glance and a slight blush — " should
come up from nobody knows where, one may as well write it
down. But, please, do not take me for a literary lady. In-
deed, I make not the slightest pretensions. I don't know
what I should do without Harry ; and indeed, indeed, you
must not steal him from me, Mr. SutherLnd.'*
"I should be very sorry," replied Rugh. "Let me beg
you, as far as I have a right to do so, oO join us as often and
as long as you please. I will go and see how he is. I am
sure the boy only wants thorough r( using, alternated with
perfect repose."
He went to his own room, where ha found Harry, to his
satisfaction, fast asleep on the sofa. He took care not to
wake him, but sat down beside him to read till his sleep should'
be over. But, a moment after, the boy opened his eyes witli^
a start and a shiver, and gave a slight cry. When he saw
Hugh, he jumped up, and with a smile which was pitiful tfl
see upon a scared face, said : —
" Oh ! I am so glad you are there."
" What is the matter, dear Harry?"
" I had a dreadful dream."
"What was it?"
" I don't know. It always comes. It is always the same.
I know that. And yet I can never remember what it is."
Hugh soothed him as well as he could ; and he needed it,
for the cold drops were standing on his forehead. When he
had grown calmer, he went and fetched "Gulliver," and, to the
boy's great delight, read to him till dinner-time. Before the
first bell rang he had quite recovered, and indeed seemed
rather interested in the approach of dinner.
Dinner was an affair of some state at Arnstead. Almost
immediately after the second bell had rung, Mr. Arnold made
his appearance in the drawing-room, where the others were
already waiting for him. This room had nothing of the dis-
tinctive character of the parts of the house which Hugh had
already seen. It was merely a handsome modern room, of no
110 DAVID ELGINBROD.
great size. Mr. Arnold led Euplira to dinner^ and Hugh
followed with Ilarrj.
Mr. Arnold's manner to Hugh was the same as in the
morning, — studiously polite, ■without the smallest approach to
cordiality. He addressed him as an equal, it is true ; hut an
equal who could never be in the smallest danger of thinking
he meant it. Hugh, who, without having seen a great deal of
the world, yet felt much the same wherever he was, took care
to give him all that he seemed to look for, as far at least as
Avas consistent with his own self-respect. He soon discovered
that he was one of those men, who, if you will only grant their
position, and acknowledge their authority, will allow you to
have much your own Avay in everything. His servants had
found this out long ago, and almost everything about the house
was managed as they pleased ; but as the oldest of them were
respectable family servants, nothing went very far wrong.
They all, however, waited on Euphra with an assiduity that
showed she was, or could be, quite mistress Avhen and where
she pleased. Perhaps they had found out that she had great
influence with Mr. Arnold : and certainly he seemed very fond*
of her indeed, after a stately fashion. She spoke to the serv-
ants with peculiar gentleness; never said. If you please ; but
always, Thanh you. Harry never asked for anything, but
always looked to Euphra, who gave the necessary order.
Plugh saw that the boy was quite -dependent upon her, seeming
of himself scarcely capable of originating the simplest action.
Mr. Arnold, however, dull as he was, could not help seeing
that Harry's manner was livelier than usual, and seemed
pleased at the slight change already visible for the better.
Turning to Hugh, lie said : —
"Do you find Harry very much behind with his studies,
Mr. Sutherland?"
" I have not yet attempted to find out," replied Hugh.
" Not?" said Mr. Arnold, with surprise.
" No. If he be behind, I feel confident it Avill not be for
long."
" But," began Mr. Arnold, pompously ; and then he
paused.
"You were kind enough to say, Mr. Arnold, that I might
try my own plans with him first. I have been doing so."
DAVID ELGINBROD. Ill
"Yes — certain! J. But — "
Here Harry broke in tvith some animation: —
"iMr. Sutherland has been my horse, carrying me about on
his back all the morning, — no, not all the morning; but an
hour, or an hour and a half, or was it two hours, Mr.
Sutherland? "
" I really don't know, Harry," answered Hugh. " I don't
think it matters much."
Harry seemed relieved, and went on : —
"He has been reading 'Gulliver's Travels' tome — oh,
such fun ! And we have been to see the cows and the pigs ;
and Mr. Sutherland has been teaching me to jump. Do you
know, papa, he jumped right over the pony's back without
touching it."
Mr. Arnold stared at the boy with lustreless eyes and
hanging cheeks. These grew red as if he were going to choke.
Such behavior was quite inconsistent with the dignity of
Arnstead and its tutor, who had been recommended to him as a
tliorough gentleman. But for the present he said nothing ;
probably because he could think of nothing to say.
" Certainly Harry seems better already," interposed Euphra.
" I cannot help thinking Mr. Sutherland has made a good be-
ginning."
Mr. Arnold did not reply, but the cloud wore away from his
face by degrees ; and at length he asked Hugh to take a glass
of wine with him.
When Euphra rose from the table, and Harry followed her
example, Hugh thought it better to rise as well. Mr. Arnold
seemed to hesitate whether or not to ask him to resume his seat
and have a glass of claret. Had he been a little wizened peda-
gogue, no doubt he would have insisted on his company, sure
of acquiescence from him in every sentiment he might happen
to utter. But Hugh really looked so very much like a gentle-
man, and stated his own views, or adopted his own plans, with
so much independence, that Mr. Arnold judged it safer to keep
him at arm's length for a season at least, till he should thor-
oughly understand his position, — not that of a guest, but that
of his son's tutor, belonging to the household of Arnstead only
on approval.
On leaving the dining-room, Hugh hesitated, in his tura;
112 DAVID ELGINBROD.
whether to betake himself to his own room, or to accompany
Euphra to the drawing-room, the door of which stood open on
the opposite side of the hall, revealing a brightness and warmth,
which the chill of the evening and the lowncss of the fire in
the dining-room rendered quite enticing. But Euphra, who
was half across the hall, seeming to divine his thoughts, turned,
and said, ' ' Arc you not going to favor us witli your company,
Mr. Sutherland ? "
" With pleasure," replied Hugh ; but, to cover his hesita-
tion, added, " I will be with you presently ; " and ran upstairs
to his own room. "The old gentleman sits on his dignity;
can hardly be said to stand on it," thought he, as he went.
" The poor relation, as she calls herself, treats me like a guest.
She is mistress here however; that is clear enough."
As he descended the stairs to the draAving-room a voice rose
through the house, like the voice of an ano-el. At least so
thought Hugh, hearing it for the first time. It seemed to
take his breath away, as he stood for a moment on the stairs,
listening. It was only Euphra singing, " The Flowers of the
Forest." The drawing-room door was still open, and her voice
rang through the Avide, lofty hall. He entered almost on
tiptoe, that he might lose no thread of the fine tones. Had
she chosen the song of Scotland out of compliment to him ? She
saw him enter, but went on without hesitating even. In the
high notes, her voice had that peculiar vibratory richness which
belongs to the mghtingale's ; but he could not help thinking
that the low tones were deficient both in quality and volume.
The expression and execution, however, would have made up
for a thovisand defects. Her very soul seemed brooding over
the dead upon Flodden field, as she sang this most wailful of
melodies — this embodiment of a nation's grief. The song
died away as if the last breath had gone with it ; failing as it
failed, and ceasing with its inspiration, as if the voice that sang
lived only for and in the song. A moment of intense silence
followed. Then, before Hugh had half recovered from the for-
mer, with an almost grand dramatic recoil, as if the second
sprang out of the first, like an eagle of might out of an ocean
of weeping, she burst into " Scots whahae." She might have
been a new Deborah, heraldino- her nation to battle. Hugh
was transfixed, turned icy-cold, with the excitement of his
DAVID ELGINBROD. 113
favorite song so sung. "Was that a glance of satisfied triumph
■with which Euphra looked at him for a single moment ? She
sang the rest of the song as if the battle were already gained ;
but looked no more at Hugh.
The excellence of her tones, and the lambent fluidity of her
transitions, if I may be allowed the phrase, were made by her
art quite- subservient to the expression, and owed their chief
value to the share they bore in producing it. Possibly there
was a little too much of the dramatic in her singing, but it was
all in good taste ; and, in a word, Hugh had never heard such
singing before. As soon as she had finished, she rose, and shut
the piano.
^ "Do not, do not," faltered Hugh, seeking to arrest her
hand, as she closed the instrument.
" I can sing nothing after that," she said with emotion, or
perhaps excitement ; for the trembling of her voice might be
attributed to either cause. ' ' Do not ask me. ' '
Hugh respectfully desisted ; but after a few minutes' pause*
ventured to remark : —
" I cannot understand how you should be able to sing Scotch
songs so well. I never heard any but Scotch women sing
them, even endurably, before ; your singing of them is per-
fect."
"It seems to me," said Euphra, speaking as if she would
rather have remained silent, ' ' that a true musical penetration
is independent of styles and nationalities. It can perceive, or
rather feel^ and reproduce, at the same moment. If the music
speaks Scotch, the musical nature hears Scotch. It can take
any shape, indeed cannot help taking any shape, presented to
it."
Hugh was yet further astonished by this criticism from one
whom he had been criticising with so much carelessness that
very day.
" You think, then," said he, modestly, not as if he would
bring her to book, but as really seeking to learn from her, •
' ' that a true musical nature can pour itself into the mould of
any song, in entire independence of association and educa-
tion ? "
" Yes ; in independence of any but what it may provide for
itself." •
*8
114 DAVID ELGINBROD.
Euphrasia, however, had left one important element un-
represented in the construction of her theory, — namely, the
degree of capability Avhich a mind may possess of sympathy
with any given class of feelings. The blossom of the mind,
■whether it flower in poetry, music, or any other art, must be
the exponent of the nature and condition of that whose blossom
it is. No mind, therefore, incapable of sympathizing with the
feelings whence it sprinu,s, can interpret the music of another.
And Euphra herself was rather a remarkable instance of this
forgotten fact.
Further conversation on the sulyect was interrupted by the
entrance of Mr. Arnold, who looked rather annoyed at finding
Hugh in the drawing-room, and ordered Harry off to bed,^
with some little asperity of tone. The boy rose at once, rang
the bell, bade them all good-night, and went. A servant met
him at the door with a candle, and accompanied him.
Thought Hugh : " Here are several things to be righted at
once. The boy must not have wine, and he must have only
one dinner a day; especially if he is ordered to bed so early.
I must make a man of him if I can.'"
He made inquiries, and, Avith some difficulty, found out
where the boy slept. During the night he was several times
in Harry's room, and once in happy time to wake him from a
nightmare dream. The boy Avas so overcome with terror,
that Huo^h got into bed beside him, and comforted him to sleep
in his arms. Nor did he leave him till it was time to get up,
when he stole back to his own quarters, which, happily, were
at no very great distance.
I may mention here, that it was not long before Hugh suc-
ceeded in stopping the Avine, and reducing the dinner to a
mouthful of supper. Harry, as far as he Avas concerned,
yielded at once ; and his father only held out long enough to
satisfy his own sense of dignity.
DAVID ELGINBROD. ^ 15
CHAPTER XIX.
THE CAVE IN THE STRAW.
All knowledge and wonder (which is the seed of knowledge) is an impression of
pleasure iu itself. — Lord Bacon. — Advancement of Learning.
The following morning dawned in a cloud ; which, swathed
about the trees, wetted them down to the roots, without having
time to become rain. They drank it in. like sorrow, the only
material out of which true joy can be fashioned. This cloud
of mist would yet glimmer in a new heaven, namely, in the
cloud of blooms which would clothe the limes and the chestnuts
and the beeches along the ghost's walk. But there was gloomy
weather within doors as well ; for poor Harry was especially
sensitive to variations of the barometer, without being in the
least aAvare of the fact himself Again Hugh found him ia
tho library, seated in his usual corner, with " Polexander " on
his knees. He half drojiped the book when Hugh entered,
and murmured with a sigh : —
" It's no use ; I can't read it."
" What's the matter, Harry? " said his tutor.
" I should like to tell you ; but you will laugh at me.'^
" I shall never laugh at you, Harry."
"Never?"
" No, never."
" Then tell me how I can be sure that I have read this
book."
'"I do not quite understand you."
" Ah ! I was sure nobody could be so stupid as I am. Do
you know, Mr. Sutherland, I seem to have read a page fron>
top to bottom sometimes, and when I come to the bottom i
know nothing about it, and doubt whether I have read it at all;
and then I stare at it all over again, till I grow so queer, and
sometimes nearly scream. You see I must be able to say I
have read the book."
" Why ? Nobody will ever ask you."
" Perhaps not ; but you know that is nothing. I want to
know that 1 have read the book ; really and truly read it."
Hush thought for a moment, and seemed to see that the
116 DAVID ELGINBROD.
boj, not being strong enough to be a law to himself, just needed
a benign law from without, to lift him from the chaos of fee-
ble and conflicting notions and impulses within, which gener-
ated a false law of slavery. So he said : —
"Harrj, am I your big brother? "
"Yes, Mr. Sutherland."
"Then ought you to do what I wish, or what you wish
yourself? "
" What you wish, sir."
" Then I want you to put away that book for a month at
least."
" Mr. Sutherland ! I promised."
"To whom?"
"To myself"
" But I am above you ; and I want you to do as I tell you.
Will you, Harry?"
"Yes."
" Put away the book, then."
Harry sprang to his feet, put the book on its shelf, and,
going up to Hugh, said : —
" You have done it, not me."
" Certainly, Harry."
The notions of a hypochondriacal child will hardly be in-
teresting to the greater part of my readers ; but Hugh learned
from this a little lesson about divine law which he never for-
got.
" Now, Harry," added he, "you must not open a book till
I allow you."
' ' No poetry either ? ' ' said poor Harry ; and his face
fell.
" I don't mind poetry so much ; but of prose I will read as
much to you as will be good for you. Come, let us have a
bit of 'Gulliver' again."
" Oh, how delightful ! " cried Harry. " I am so glad you
made me put away that tiresome book. I wonder why it in-
sisted so on being read."
Hugh read for an hour, and then made Harry put on his
cloak, notwithstanding the rain, which fell in a slow, thought-
ful spring-shower. Taking the boy again on his back, he
carried him into the woods. There he told him how the drops
DAVID ELGINBROU. ' 117
of wet sank into the ground, and then wen'b running about
through it iiv everj direction, looking for seeds ; which were all
thirsty little things, that wanted to grow, and could not, till a
drop came and gave them drink. And he told him how the
rain-drops were made up in the skies, and then came down,
like millions of angels, to do what they were told in the dark
earth. The good drops went into all the cellars and dufigeons
of the earth, to let out the imprisoned flowers. And he told
him how the seeds, when thej had drunk the rain-drops,
wanted another kind of drink next, which was much thinner
and much stronger, but could not do them any good till they
had drunk the rain first.
"What is that?" said Harry. "I feel as if you were
reading out of the Bible, Mr. Sutherland."
" It is the sunlight," answered his tutor. "When a seed
has drunk of the water, and is not thirsty any more, it wants
to breathe next ; and then the sun sends a long, small finger '
of fire down into the grave where the seed is lying, and it
touches the seed, and something inside the seed begins to move
instantly and to grow bigger and bigger till it sends up two
green blades out of it into the earth, and through the earth
into the air ; and then it can breathe. And then it sends roots
down into the earth ; and the roots keep drinking water, and
the leaves keep breathing the air, and the sun keeps them alive
and busy ; and so a great tree grows up, and God looks at it,
and says it is good."
" Then they really are living things ? " said Harry.
" Certainly."
" Thank you, Mr. Sutherland, I don't think I shall dislike
rain so much any more." •
Hugh took him next into the barn, where they found a great
heap of straw. Recalling his own boyish amusements, he made
him put off his cloak, and help to make a tunnel into this heap.
Harry was delighted, — the straw was so nice, and bright, and
dry, and clean. They drew it out by handfuls, and thus ex-
cavated a round tunnel to the distance of six feet or so, when
Hugh proceeded to more extended operations. Before it was
time to go to lunch, they had cleared half of a hollow sphere,
BIX feet in diameter, out of the heart of the heap.
After lunch, for which Harry had been very unwilling to
118 DAVID ELGINBROD.
relinquish the straw hut, Hugh sent him to lie down for a
•while ; when he fell fast asleep as before. After he had left
the room, Euphra said : —
" How do you get on with Harrj. Mr Sutherland? "
" Perfectly to my satisfaction," answered Hugh.
" Do you not find him very slow ? "
" Quite the contrary."
"You surprise me. But you have not given him any
lessons yet."
" I have given him a great many, and he is learning them
very fast."
" I fear he will have forgotten all my poor labors before you
talce up the work where we left it. When will you give him
any book-lessons ? "
" Not for a while yet."
Euphra did not reply. Her silence seemed intended to ex-
press dissatisfaction ; at least so Hugh interpreted it.
"I hope you do not think it is to indulge myself that I
manage Master Harry in this peculiar fashion," he said.
" The fact is, he is a very peculiar child, and may turn out a
genius or a weakling, just as he is managed. At least, so it
appears to me at present. May I ask where you left the work
you were doing with him ? "
" He was going through the Eton grammar for the third
time," answered Euphra, with a defiant glance, almost of dis-
like, at Hugh. •' But I need not enumerate his studies, for I
dare say you will not take them up at all after my fashion. I
only assure you I have been a very exact disciplinarian.
What he knows, I think you will find he knows thoroughly."
So saying, Ei^phra rose, and, with a flush on her cheek,
walked out of the room in a more stately manner than usual.
Hugh felt that he had, somehow or other, offended her.
But, to tell the truth, he did not much care, for her manner
had rather irritated him. He retired to his own room, wrote
to his mother, and, when Harry awoke, carried him again to
the barn for an hour's work in the straw. Before it grew
dusk, they had finished a little, silent, dark chamber, as
round as they could make it, in the heart of the straw. AH
the excavated material they had thrown on the top, reserving
only a little to close up tlw entrance when they pleased.
DAVID ELGINBROD. 119
The next morning was still r.iiny; and when Hugh found
HaiTj in the library as usual, he saw that the clouds had
again gathered over the boy's spirit. lie was pacing about
the room in a very odd manner. The carpet was divided
diamond-wise in a regular pattern. Harry's steps were, for
the most part, planted upon every third diamond, as he slowly
crossed the floor in a variety of directions ; for, as on previous
occasions, he had not perceived the entrance of his tutor.
But, every now and then, the boy would make the most sud-
den and irregular change in his mode of progression, setting
his foot on the most unexpected diamond, at one time the
nearest to him, at another the farthest within his reach.
When he looked up, and saw his tutor watching him, he
neither started nor blushed ; but, still retaininir on his coun-
tenance the perplexed, anxious expression which Hugh had
remarked, said to him : —
" HDw can God know on which of those diamonds I am
going to set my foot next?"
" If you could understand how God knows, Harry, then you
would know yourself; but before you have made up your
mind, you don't know which you will choose; and even then
you only know on which you intend to set your foot, for you
have often changed your mind after making it up."
Harry looked as puzzled as before.
" Why, Harry, to understand how God understands, you
would need to be as wise as he is ; so it is no use trying.
You see you can't quite -understand me, though I have a real
meaning in what I say."
" Ah ! I see it is no use ; but I can't bear to be puzzled."
" But you need not be puzzled ; you have no business to be
puzzled. You are trying to get into your little brain what ia
far too grand and beautiful to get into it. Would you not
think it very stupid to puzzle yourself how to put a hundred
horses into a stable with twelve stalls? "
Harry laughed, and looked relieved.
"It is more unreasonable a thousand times to ti-y to under-
stand such things. For my part, it would make me miserable
to think that there was nothing but what I could understand. I
should feel as if I had no room anywhere. Shall we go to
our cave ajjain? "
120 DAVID ELGINBROD.
" Oh ! yes, please," cried Harry ; and in a moment lie was
on Hugh's back once more, cantering joyously to the barn.
After various improvements, including some enlargement of
the interior, Hugh and Harry sat down together in the low
yellow twilight of their cave, to enjoy the result of their
labors. They could just see, by the light from the tunnel, the
glimmer of the golden hollow all about them. The rain was
falling heavily out-of-doors ; and they could hear the sound of
the multitudinous drops of the broken cataract of the heavens
like the murmur of the insects in a summer wood. They
knew that everything outside was rained upon, and was again
raining on everything beneath it, while they were dry and
warm.
" This is nice ! " exclaimed Harry, after a few moments of
silent enjoyment.
" This is your first lesson in architecture," said Hugh.
"Am I to learn architecture? " asked Harry, in a rueful
tone.
"It is well to know Jioiu things came to be done, if you
should know nothing more about them, Harry. Men lived in
the cellars first of all, and next on the ground floor ; but they
could get no further till they joined the two, and then they
could build higher."
"I don't quite understand you, sir."
" I did not mean you should, Harry."
"Then I don't mind, sir. But I thought architecture was
building. ' '
"So it is ; and this is one way of building. It is only
making an outside by pulling out an inside, instead of making
an inside by setting up an outside."
Harry thought for a while, and then said, joyfully : —
"I see it, sir ! I see it. The inside is the chief thing —
not the outside."
" Yes, Harry; and not in architecture only. Never forget
that."
They lay for some time in silence, listening to the rain.
At length Harry spoke : —
" I have been thinking of what you told me yesterday, Mr.
Sutherland, about the rain going to look for the seeds that
wore thirsty for it. And now I feel just as if I were a seed,
DAVID ELGINBROD. ' 1£1
lying in its little hole in the earth, and hearing the rain-dropg
pattering down all about it, Avaiting — j^h, so thirsty ! — for
some kind drop to find me out, and give me itself to drink. I
wonder what kind of flower I should grow up," added he,
lau;2;hino;.
' • There is more truth than you think, in jour pretty fancy,
Harry," rejoined Hugh, and was silent — self-rebuked; for the
memory of David came back upon him, recalled by the words
of the boy : of David, whom he loved and honored with the
best powers of his nature, and Avhom yet he had neglected and
seemed to forget ; nay, whom he had partially forgotten, he
could not deny. The old man, whose thoughts were just those
of a wise child, had said to him once : — ^
" We ken no more, Maister Sutherlan', what we're growin'
till, than that neep-seed there kens wdiat a neep is, though a
neep it will be. The only odds is, that we ken that we dinna
ken, and the neep-seed kens nothing at all aboot it. But ae
thing, Maister Sutherlan', we may be sure o' : that whatever
it be, it will be worth God's makin' an' our growin'."
A solemn stillness fell upon Hugh's spirit, as he recalled
these words ; out of which stillness, I presume, grew the little
parable which follows ; though Hugh, after he had learned far
more about the things therein hinted at, could never under-
stand how it was, that he could have put so much more into it,
than he seemed to have understood at that period of his
history.
Eor Harry said : —
" Wouldn't this be a nice place for a story, Mr. Sutherland?
Do you ever tell stories, sir ? "
"I was just thinking of one, Harry; but it is as much
yours as mine, for you sowed the seed of the story in my
mind."
" Do you mean a story that never was in a book, — a story
out of your own head? Oh, that will be grand! "
^'"\Yait till we see what it will be, Harry: for I can't tell
yet how it will turn out."
After a little further pause, Hugh began : —
"Long, long ago, two seeds lay beside each other in the
earth, waiting. It was cold, and rather wearisome; and, to
beguile the time, the one found means to speak to the other.
122 DAVID ELGINBROB.
' ' * Wheat are you going to be ? ' said the one.
" ' I don t know,' answered the other.
"Tor uie,' rejoined the first, 'I mean to be a rose.
There is nothing like a splendid rose. Everybody will love
me then ! '
" 'It's all right,' whis2')ered the second; and that was all he
could say ; for somehow when he had said that, he felt as if all
the words in the world were used up. So they were silent
again for a day or two.
'"Oh, dear!' cried the first, 'I have had some water.
I never knew till it was inside me. I'm growing! I'm grow-
ing ! Good-by ! '
" ' Good-by ! ' repeated the other, and lay still ; and waited
more than ever.
" The first grew and grew, pushing itself straight up, till at
last it felt that it was in the open air, for it could breathe. And
what a delicious breath that was ! It was rather cold, but so
refreshing. The flower could see nothing, for it was not quite
a fiower yet, only a plant ; and they never see till their eyes
come, that is, till they open their blossoms, — then they are
flowers quite. So it grew and grew, and kept its head up very
steadily, meaning to see the sky the first thing, and leave the
earth quite behind as well as beneath it. But somehow or
other, though why it could not tell, it felt very much inclined
to cry. At Icngtli it opened its eye. It was morning, and the
sky loas over its head ; but, alas ! itself was no rose, — only
a tiny white flower. It felt yet more inclined to hang down
its head and to cry ; but it still resisted, and tried hard to
open its eye wide, and to hold its head upright, and to look full
at the sky.
" • I will be a star of Bethlehem at least ! ' said the flower
to itself
'•But its head felt very heavy : and a cold wind rushed
over it, and bowed it down towards the earth. Aad the flower
saw that the time of the singing of birds was not come, that
the snow covered the whole laud, and that there was not a sin-
gle flower in sight but itself And it half-closed its leaves in
terror and the dismay of loneliness. But that instant it re-
membered what the other flower used to say ; and it said to
"*self, 'It's all right; I will be what I can.' And therooD
DAVID ELGIN.BROD. Ilia
it yielded to the wind, drooped its head to the earth, and looked
no more on the sky, but on the snow. And straightway tl'.e
wind stopped; and the cold died away, and the snow S2:)arkled
like pearls and diamonds ; and the flower knew that it was the
holding of its head up that had hurt it so ; for that its body
came of the snow, and that its name was Snoiv-chojJ. And
so it said once more, ' It's all right ! ' and waited in, perfect
peace. All the rest it needed was to hang its head after its
nature."
" And what became of the other ? "' asked Harry.
" I haven't done Avith this one yet," answered Hugh. "I
only told you -it was waiting. One day a pale, sad-looking
girl, with thin face, large eyes, and long white hands, came,
hanging her head like the snow-drop, along the snow where the
flower grew. She spied it, smiled joyously, and saying, ' Ah !
my little sister, are you come ? ' stooped and plucked the snow-
drop. It trembled and died in her hand; which was a heav-
enly death for a snow-drop ; for had it not cast a gleam of
summer, pale as it had been itself, upon the heart of a sick
girl?"
" And the other ? " repeated Harry.
" The other 'had a long time to wait; but it did grow one
of the loveliest roses overseen. iVnd at last it had the hi<ihest
honor ever granted to a flower : two lovers smelled it together,
and Avere content with it."
Harry was silent, and so was Hugh ; for he could not under-
stand himself quite. He felt all the time he was speaking, as
if he were listenins; to David, instead of talking; himself. The
fact was, he was only expanding, in an imaginative soil, the
living seed which David had cast into it. There seemed to
himself to be more in his parable than he had any right to in-
vent. But is it not so with all stories that are rightly rooted
in the human?
"What a delightful story, Mr. Sutherland! " said Harry,
at last. " Euphra tells me stories sometimes; but I don t
think I ever heard one I liked so much. I wish we were
meant to grow into something, like the flower-seeds."
" So we are, Harry."
" Ai'e we indeed ? How delightful it would be to think that
124 DAVID ELGINBROD,
I am only a seed, Mr. Sutherland ! Do you think I might
think so? "
"Yes, I do."
"Then, please, let rae begin to learn something directly. I
haven't had anything disagreeable to do since you came ; and
I don't feel as if that was right."
Poor Harry, like so many thousands of good people, had
not yet learned that God is not a hard taskmaster.
" I don"t intend that you should have anything disvagreeable
to do, if I can help it. Y\'e must do such things when they
come to us ; but we must not make them for ourselves, or for
each other."
"Then I'm not to learn any more Latin, am I?" said
Harry, in a doubtful kind of tone, as if there tvere after all a
Uttle pleasure in doing what he did not like.
" Is Latin so disagreeable, Harry? "
•' Yes ; it is rule after rule, that has nothing in it I care
for. How can anyhochj care for Latin ? But I am quite
ready to begin, if I am only a seed — really, you know."
" Not yet, Harry. Indeed, we shall not begin again — I
won't let you — till you ask me wiJh your whole heart, to let
you learn Latin."
"I'm afraid that will be a long time, and Euphra will not
like it."
' ' I will talk to her about it. But perhaps it will not be so
long as you think. . Now, don't mention Latin to me again,
till you are ready to ask me heartily to teach you. And don't
give yourself any trouble about it either. You never can
raake yourself like anything."
Harry was silent. They returned to the house, through the
pouring rain ; Harry, as usual, mounted on his big brother.
As they crossed the hall, Mr. Arnold came in. He looked
surprised and annoyed. Hugh set Harry down, who ran up-
stairs to get dressed for dinner: while he himself half-stopped,
and turned towards Mr. Arnold. But Mr. Arnold did not
speak, and so Hugh followed Harry.
Hugh spent all that evening, after Harr.y had gone to bed,
in correcting his impressions of some of the chief stories of
early Roman history ; of which stories he intended commencing
a little course to Harry the next day.
DAVID ELGINBROD. 125
Meantime there was very little intercourse between Hugh
and Euplira, whose surname, somehow or other, Hugh had
never inquired after. He disliked aslcing questions about
people to an uncommon degree, and so preferred waiting for a
natural revelation. Her later behavior had repelled him, im-
pressing him with the notion that she v^as proud, and that she
had made up her mind, notwithstanding her apparent frank-
ness at first, to keep him at a distance. That she was fitful,
too, and incapable of shovving much tenderness even to poor
Harry, he had already concluded in his private judgment-hall.
Nor could he doubt that, whether from wrong theories, inca-
pacity, or culpable indifference, she must have taken very bad
measures indeed with her young pupil.
The next day resembled the two former ; with this differ-
ence, that the rain fell in torrents. Seated in their strawy
bower, they cared for no rain. They were safe from the
whole world, and all the tempers of nature.
Then Hugh told Harry about the slow beginnings and the
mighty birth of the great Roman people. He told him tales
of their battles and conquests ; their strifes at home, and their
wars abroad. He told him stories of their grand men, great
with the individuality of their nation and their own. He
told him their characters, their peculiar opinions and grounds
of action, and the results of their various schemes for their
various ends. He told him about their love to their country,
about their poetry and their religion ; their courage and theii
hardihood; their architecture, their clothes, and their armor;
their customs and their laws ; but all in such language,
or mostly in such language, as one boy might use in
telling another of the same age ; for Hugh possessed the gift
of a general simplicity of thought, — one of the most valuable a
man can have. It cost him a good deal of labor (well-repaid
in itself, not to speak of the evident delight of Harry) to
make himself perfectly competent for this ; but ho had a good
foundation of knowledge to work upon.
This went on for a long time after the period to which I am
now more immediately confined. Every time they stopped to
rest from their rambles or games, — as often, in fact, as they
sat down alone, — Harry's constant request was : —
126 DAVID ELGIjS'BROD.
" Now, Mr. Sutherland, mightn't we have something more
about the Romans? "
And Mr. Sutherland gave him something more. But all
this time he never uttered the word — Latin.
CHAPTER XX.
LARCH AND OTHER HUNTING.
For there is neither busko nor hay
In May, that it n'ill shrouded bene,
And it with newe leaves wrene;
These woodes else rccoveren grene,
That drio in -winter ben to sene,
And the erth waxeth proud withall,
For swote dcwcs that on it fall,
And the poore estate forget,
In which that winter liad it set:
And then becomes the ground so proude,
That it wol have a newe shroude,
And maketh so queint his rube and fairo,
That it hath hewcs an hundred pairc.
Of grasse and floures, of Ind and Pers,
And many hewcs full divers:
That is the robe I mean, ywis.
Through which the ground to praison is.
Cuaucek's translation of the Romaunt of the Rose.
So passed the three days of rain. After breakfast the fol-
lowing morning, Hugh went to find Harrj, according to cus-
tom, in the library. He Avas reading.
" What are you reading, Harry? " asked he.
"A poem," said Harry; and, rising as before, he brought
the book to Hugh. It Avas Mrs. Hemans' Poems.
"You are fond of poetry, Harry."
" Yes, very."
" Whose poems do you like best ? "
" Mrs. Hemans', of course. Don't you think she is the
best, sir? "
" She writes very beautiful verses, Harry. Which poem
are you reading now ? "
" Oh ! one of my favorites — ' The Voice of Spring.' "
DAVID ELGINBROD. 127
" Who taught you to like Mrs. Hemans ? "
'• Eupbra, of course."
*• Will you read the poem to me ? "
llarrj began, and read the poem through, with much taste
and eviderrt enjoyment, — an enjoyment which seemed, however,
to spring more from the music of the thought and its embodi-
ment in sound, than from sympathy with the forms of nature
called up thereby. This was shown by his mode of reading,
in which the music was everything, and the sense little or
nothing. When he came to the line,
" And the larch has hung all his tassels forth,"
he smiled so delightedly, that H^igh said : —
" Are you fond of the larch, Harry ? "
" Yes, very."
" Are there any about here ? "
" I don't know. V/hat is it like ? "
" Yoil said you were fond of it."
" Oh, yes ; it is a tree with beautiful tassels, you know.
I think I should like to see one. Isn't it a beautiful line? "
" When you have finished the poem, we will go and see if
we can find one anywhere in the woods. We must know
where we are in the world, Harry, — what is all round about
us, you know."
" Oh, yes," said Harry ; ''let us go and hunt the larch."
" Perhaps we shall meet Spring, if we look for her — per-
haps hear her voice too."
'• That would be delightful," answered Harry, smiling.
And away they went.
I may just mention here that Mrs. Hemans was allowed to
retire gradually, till at last she Vv^as to be found only in the
more inaccessible recesses of the library -shelves ; Avhile by
that time Harry might be heard, not all over the house, cer-
tainly, but as far off as outside the closed door of the library,
reading aloud to himself one or other of Macaulay's ballads,
with an evident enjoyment of the go in it. A story with a
drum and trumpet accompaniment was quite enough, for the
presait, to satisfy Harry; and Macaulay could give him
^ha't, if little more.
128 DAVID ELGINBROD.
As tbcy -went across the lawn towards the shrubbery, on
their way to look for hxrches and Spring, Euphra joined them
in walking dress. It was a lovely morning.
"I have taken you at your word, you see, Mr. Suther-
land," said she. " I don't want to lose my Harry quite."
" You dear, kind Euphra!" said Harry, going round to
her side and taking her hand. He did not stay long with her,
however, nor did Euphra seem particularly to want him.
"There was one thing I ought to have mentioned to j^ou
the other night, Mr. Sutherland ; and I dare say I should have
mentioned it, had not Mr. Arnold interrupted our tete-a-tete.
I feel now as if I had been guilty of claiming far more that I
have a right to, on the score of musical insight. I have
Scotch blood in me, and was indeed born in Scotland, though
I left it before I was a year old. My mother, Mr. Arnold's
sister,' married a gentleman who was half Scotch ; and I was
born while they were on a visit to his relatives, the Camerons
of Lochnie. His mother, my grandmother, was a Bohemian
lady, a countess with sixteen quarterings, — not a gypsy, I beg
to say."
Hugh thought she might have been, to judge from present
appearances.
But how was he to account for this torrent of genealogical
information, into Avhich the ice of her late constraint had sud-
, denly thawed ? It was odd that she should all at once volun-
teer so much about herself. Perhaps she had made up one
of those minds which need making up, every now and then,
like a monthly magazine; and now was prepared to publish it.
Hugh responded with a question : —
"Do I know your name, then, at last? You are Miss
Cameron? "
" Euphrasia Cameron: at your service, sir." And she
dropped a gay little courtesy to Hugh, looking up at him with
a flash of her black diamonds.
" Then you must sing to me to-night."
" With all the pleasure in gypsy-land," replied she, with a
second courtesy, lower than the first ; taking fur granted, no
doubt, his silent judgment on her person and complexion.
By this time they had reached the Avoods in a different
quarter from that which Hugh had gone through the other
DAVID ELGINBROD. 129
day with Harry. And here, in very de^d, the Spring met
them, with a profusion of richness to which Hugh was quite a
stranger. The ground was carpeted with primroses, and anem-
ones, and other spring flowers, which are the loveliest of all
flowers. They were drinking the sunlight, which fell upon
them through the budded boughs. By the time the light
should be hidden from them by the leaves, which are the
clouds of the lower firmament of the woods, their need of it
would be gone : exquisites in living, they cared only for the
delicate morning of the year.
" Do look at this darling, Mr. Sutherland ! " exclaimed
Euphrasia, suddenly, as she bent at the root of a great beech,
where grew a large bush of rough leaves, with one tiny but
perfectly formed primrose peeping out between. "Is it not a
little pet ? — all eyes — all one eye staring out of its cur-
tained bed to see what ever is going on in the world. You
had better lie down again ; it is 7iot a nice place."
She spoke to it as if it had been a kitten or a baby. _ And
as she spoke she pulled the leaves yet closer over the little
starer, so as to hide it quite.
As they went on, she almost obtrusively avoided stepping
on the flowers, saying she always felt cruel, or at least rude,
when she did so. Yet she trailed her dress over them in quite
a careless way, not lifting it at all. This was a peculiarity of
hers, which Hugh never understood till he understood herself
All about in shady places, the ferns were busy untucking
themselves from their grave-clothes, unrolling their mysteri-
ous coils of life, adding continually to the hidden growth as
they unfolded the visible. In this, they were like the other
reve-lations of God the Infinite. All the wild, lovely things
were coming up for their month's life of joy. Orchis-harle-
quins, cuckoo-plants, wild arums, more properly lords-and-
ladies, were coming, and coming — slowly ; for had they not
a long way to come, from the valley of the shadow of death
into the land of life? At last the wanderers came upon a
whole company of bluebells, = — not wdiat Hugh would have
called bluebells, for the bluebells of Scotland are the sin-
gle-poised Jiarebells, — but wild hyacinths, growing in a damp
and shady spot, in wonderful luxuriance. They were quite
three feet in height, with long, graceful, drooping heads;
9
130 DAVID ELQINBROD.
hanging down from them, all along one side, tlie largest and
loveliest of bells, — one lying close above the other, on the
lower part ; •while they parted thinner and thinner as they
rose towards the lonely one at the top. Miss Cameron went
into ecstasies over these; not saying much, but breaking up
what she did say with many prettily passionate pauses.
She had a very happy turn for seeing external resem-
blances, either humorous or pathetic ; for she had much of one
clement that goes, to the making of a poet, namely, surface
impressibility.
" Look, Harry ; they are all sad at having to go down there
again so socn. They arc looking at their graves so ruefully."
Harry looked sad and ratlior sentimental immediately.
When llugh glanced at Miss Cameron, he saw tears in her
eyes.
"You have nothing like this in your country, have you,
Mr. Sutherland?" said she, with an apparent effort.
" No, indeed," answered Hugh.
And he said no more. For a vision rose before him of the
rugged pine-wood and the single primrose ; and of the thought-
ful maiden, with unpolished speech and rough hands, and —
but this he did not see — a soul slowly refining itself to a
crystalline clearness. And he thought of the grand old gray-
haired David, and of Janet with her quaint motherhood, and
of all the blessed bareness of the ancient time — in sunlight
and in snow ; and he felt again that he had forgotten and for-
saken his friends.
" How the fairies will be ringing the bells in these airy
steeples in the moonlight ! " said Miss Cameron to Hurry,
who was surprised and delighted with it all. He could not
help wondering, however, after he went to bed that night, that
Euphra had never before taken him to see these beautiful
things, and had never before said anything half so pretty to
him, as the least pretty thing she had said about the flowers
that morning when they were out with Mr. Sutherland. Had
Mr. Sutherland anything to do -with it ? Was he giving Eu-
phra a lesson in flowers, such as he had given him in pigs ?
Miss Cameron presently drew Hugh into conversation again,
and the old times were once more forgotten for a season.
They are worthy of distinguishing note, — that trio in those
DAVID ELGINBROD, 131
spring woods : the boy waking up to feel that flowers and buds
wars lovelier in the woods than in verses ; Euphra finding
everything about her sentimentally useful, and really delight-
ing in the prettinesses they suggested to her ; and Hugh regard-
ing the whole chiefly as a material and means for reproducing
in verse such impressions of delight as he had received and
still received from all (but the highest) poetry about nature.
The presence of Harry and his necessities was certainly a
saving influence upon Hugh ; but, however much he sought to
realize Harry's life, he himself, at this period of his history,
enjoyed everything artistically f;ir more than humanly.
Margaret would have walked through all this infmt sum-
mer without speaking at all, but with a deep light far back in
her quiet eyes. Perhaps she would not have had many
thoughts about the flowers. Rather she would have thought
the very flowers themselves ; would have been at home with
them, in a delighted oneness with their life and expression.
Certainly she would have Avalked through them with reverence,
and would not have petted or patronized nature by saying
pretty things about her children. Their life would have en-
tered into her, and she would have hardly known it from her
own. I dare say Miss Cameron would have called a mountain
a darling or a beauty. But there are other ways of showing
afiection than by patting and petting ; though Margaret, for
her part, would have needed no art-expression, because she had
the things themselves. It is not always those who utter best
who feel most ; and the dumb poets are sometimes dumb be-
cause it would need the " large utterance of the early gods"
to carry their thoughts through the gates of speech.
But the fancy and shins /jmjjcithi/ of Miss Cameron began
already to tell upon Hugh. He knew very little of women,
and had never heard a woijian talk as she talked. He did
not know how cheap this accomplishment is, and took it for
sensibility, imaginativeness, and even originality. He thought
she was far more en rapport with nature than he was. It was
much easier to make this mistake after hearing the really de-
lightful way in which she sang. Certainly she could not have
sung so, perhaps not even have talked so, except she had been
capable of more ; but, to be capable of more, and to be -^^^lo for
more, are two very distinct'conditions.
132 DAVID ELGINBROD.
Many walks followed this, extending themselves farther and
farther from home, as Harry's strength gradually improved.
It was quite remarkable how his interest in everything external
increased, in exact proportion as ho learned to sec into the in-
side or life of it. With most children, the interest in the external
comes first, and with many ceases there. But it is in reality
only a shallower form of the deeper sympathy ; and in those
cases where it does lead to a desire after the hidden nature of
things, it is perhaps the better beginning of the two. In such
exceptional cases as Harry's, it is of unspeakable importance
that both the difference and the identity should be recognized;
and in doing so, Hugh became to Harry his big brother indeed,
for he led him where he could not go alone.
As often as Mr. Arnold was from home, which happened not
unfrequently, Miss Cameron accompanied them in their ram-
bles. She gave as her reason for doing so only on such occa-
sions, that she never liked to be out of the way when her uncle
might want her. Traces of an inclination to quarrel with Hugh,
or even to stand upon her dignity, had all but vanished ; and
as her vivacity never failed her, as her intellect was always
active, and as by the exercise of her will she could enter sym-
pathetically, or appear to enter, into everything, her presence
was not in the least a restraint upon them.
On one occasion, when Harry had actually run a little way
after a butterfly, Hugh said to her : - —
" What did you mean, Miss Cameron, by saying you were
only a poor relation? You are certainly mistress of the
house."
" On sulFerance, yes. But I am only a poor relation. T
have no fortune of my own."
" But Mr. Arnold does not ti'eat you as such."
" Oh ! no. He likes me. He is very kind to me. Hegavo
me this ring on my last birthday. Is it not a beauty? "
She pulled ojff her glove, and showed a very fine diamond or^
a finger worthy of the ornament.
" It is more like a gentleman's, is it not?" she added,
drawing it off " Let me see how it would look on your
hand.'"
She gave the ring to Hugh ; who, laughing, got it with some
DAVID ELGINBROD. 133
difficulty just over the first joint of his little finder, and held
it up for Euphra to see.
" Ah ! I see I cannot ask you to wear it for me," said she.
'' I don't like it myself. 1 am afraid, however," she added,
with an arch look, " my uncle would not like it either — on
your finger. Put it on mine again."
Holding her hand towards Hugh, she continued : —
" It must not be promoted just yet. Besides, I see you
have a still better one of your own."
As Hugh did according to her request, the words sprang to
his lips, " There are other ways of wearing a ring than on the
finger." But they did not cross the threshold of speech. Was
it the repression of them that caused that strange flutter and
slight pain at the heart, which he could not quite under
stand ?
CHAPTER XXI.
FATIMA.
Those lips that Love's own hand did make
Breathed forth the sound that said, " I hate,"
To me that languished for her sake:
But when she saw my woful state,
Straight in her heart did mercy come,
Chiding that tongue that, ever sweet,
Was used in giving gentle doom,
And taught it thus anew to greet:
" I hate " she altered with an end,
That followed it as gentle day
Doth follow night, who, like a fiend,
From heaven to hell is flown away.
" I hate " from hate away she throw,
And saved my life, saying — " Not you."
Shakespeare.
Mr. Arnold was busy at home for a few days after this,
and Hugh and Harry had to go out alone. One day, when
the wind was rather cold, they took refuge in the barn ; for it
was part of Hugh's especial care that Harry should be ren-
dered hardy, by never being exposed to more than he could
bear without a sense of sufiering. As soon as the boy Began
134 DAVID ELGINBROD.
to feel fatigue, or cold, or any other discomfort, his tutor took
measures accordingly.
Ilarrj would have crept into the straw-house ; but Hugh
said, pulling a book out of his pocket : —
" I have a poem here for you, Harry. I want to read it to
you now ; and we cant see in there."
They threw themselves down on the straw, and Hugh, open-
ing a volume of- Robert Browning's poems, read the famous
ride from Ghent to Aix. He knew the poem well, and read it
well. Harry was in raptures.
"I wish I could read that as you do," said he.
"Try," said Hugh.
Harry tried the first verse, and threw the book down in
disgust with himself
"Why cannot I read it? " said he.
" Because you can't ride."
" I could ride, if I had such a horse as that to ride upon."
" But you could never have such a horse as that except you
could ride, and ride well, first. After that, there is no saying
but you might get one. You might, in fact, train one for
yourself till from being a little foal it became your own
wonderful horse."
" Oh ! that would be delightful ! Will you teach me
horses as well, Mr. Sutherland? "
"Perhaps I will."
That evening, at dinner, Hugh said to Mr. Arnold : —
' ' Could you let me have a horse to-morrow morning, Mr.
Arnold?"
Mr. Arnold stared a little, as he always did at anything
new. But Hugh went on : —
' ' Harry and I want to have a ride to-morrow ; and I ex-
pect we shall like it so much, that we shall want to ride vei'y
often."
" Yes, that we shall ! " cried Harry.
" Could not Mr. Sutherland have your white mare, Eu-
phra? " said Mr. Arnold, reconciled at once to the proposal.
" I wovild rather not, if you don't mind, uncle. My Fatty
is not used to such a burden as I fear Mr. Sutherland would
prove. She drops a little now, on the hard road."
Tft^ fact was. Euphra would want Fatima.
DAVID ELGINBROD. 135
'•Well, Harry," said Mr. Arnold, graciously pleased to be
facetious, "don't you think your Welch dray-horse could
carry Mr. Sutherland?"
"Ha! ha! ha! Papa, do you know, Mr. Sutherland set
him up on his hind legs yesterday, and made him Avalk on
them like a dancing-dog. He was going to lift him, but he
kicked about so when he felt himself leaving the ground, that
he tumbled Mr. Sutherland into the horse-trough."
Even the solemn face of the butler relaxed into a smile, but
Mr. Arnold's clouded instead. His boy's tutor ought to be a
gentleman.
"Wasn't it fun, Mr. Sutherland? "
■' It Avas to you, you little rogue ! " said Sutherland,
lau2:hino;.
' ' And how you did run home, dripping like a water-cart !
— and all the dogs after you ! "
Mr. Arnold's monotonous solemnity soon checked Harry's,
prattle.
" I Avill see, Mr. Sutherland, what I can do to mount you."
"I don't care what it is," said Hugh ; who, though by no
means a thorough horseman, had been from boyhood in the
habit of mounting everthing in the shape of a horse that he
could lay hands upon, from a cart-horse upwards and down-
wards. "There's an old bav that would carry me very
weU."
"That is my own horse, Mr. Sutherland."
Q^his stopped the conversation in that direction. But next
morning after breakfast, an excellent chestnut horse was wait-
ing at the door, along with Harrys new pony. Mr. Arnold
would see them go off. This did not exactly suit Miss Cameron ;
but if she frowned, it was when nobody saw her. Hugh put
Harry up himself, told him to stick fast with his knees, and
then mounted his chestnut. As they trotted slowly down the
avenue, Euphrasia heard Mr. Arnold say to himself, " The
feilow sits well, at all events." She took care to make her-
self agreeable to Hugh by reporting this, with the omission of
the initiatory epithet however.
Harry returned from his ride rather tired, but in high
spirits.
"0 Euphra ! " he cried, "Mr. Sutherland is such a
186 . DAV^D ELGINBROD.
ridei' ! He jumps hedges and ditches and everything. And
he has promised to teach me and my pony to jump too. And
if I am not too tired, wo are to begin to-morrow, out on the
common. Oh! jolly!''
The little fellow's heart was full of the sense of growing
life and strength, and Hugh Avas delighted with his own suc-
cess. He caught sight of a serpentine motion in Euphra's
eyebrows, as ehe bent her face again over the Avork from which
she had lifted it on their entrance. He addressed her.
" You will be glad to hear that Harry has ridden like a
man."
" I am glad to hear it, Harry."
Why did she reply to the subject of the remark, and not to
the speaker? Hugh perplexed himself in vain to answer this
question ; but a very small amount of experience would have
made him able to understand at once as much of her behavior
as "was genuine. At luncheon she spoke only in reply ; and
then so briefly, as not to afford the smallest peg on which to
hang a response.
"What can be the matter?" thought Hugh. "What a
peculiar creature she is ! But after what has passed between
us, I can't stand this."
When dinner was over that evening, she rose as usual and
left the room, followed by Hugh and Harry ; but as soon as"
they were in the drawing-room she left it ; and, returning to
the dining-room, resumed her seat at the table.
"Take a glass of claret, Euphra, dear?" said Mr, Ar-
nold.
" I will, if you please, uncle. I should like it. I have
seldom a minute with you alone now."
Evidently flattered, Mr. Arnold poured out a glass of
claret, rose and carried it to his niece himself, and then took a
chair beside her.
" Thank you, dear uncle," she said, with one of her be-
witching flashes of smile.
" Harry has been getting on bravely with his riding, has
he not? " she continued.
"So it would appear."
Harry had been full of the story of the day at the dinner-
table, where he still continued to present himself; for his fa
DAVID ELGINBKOD. VM
tlier ■would not be satisfied without liim. It was certaiid_y
good moral training for the boy, to sit there almost without
eating ; and none the worse that he found it rather hard some-
times. He talked much more freely now, and asked the ser-
vants for anything he wanted witliout referring to Euplira.
Now and then he would glance at her, as if afraid of ofiending
her ; but the cords which bomnd him to her were evidently
relaxing; and she saw it plainly enough, though she made no
reference to the unpleasing fact.
"I am only a little fearful, uncle, lest Mr. Sutherland
should urge the bov to do more tlian his strength will admit
of He is exceedingly kind to him, but he has evidently
never known what weakness is himself"
" True, there is danger of that. But you see he has taken
him so entirely into his own hands. I don't seem to be allov/ed
a word in the matter of his education anymore." Mr. Arnold
spoke with the peevishness of weak importance. "I wish you
would take care that he does not carry things too far, Euphra.'' '
This was just what Euphra wanted.
" I think, if you do not disaprove, uncle, I will have Fatima
saddled to-morrow morning, and go with them myself"'
" Thank you, my love ; I shall be much obliged to you."
The glass of claret was soon finished after this. A little
more conversation about nothing followed, and Euphra rose
the second time, and returned to the dravving-room. She found
it unoccupied. She sat doAvn to the piano, and sang song after
song. — Scotch. Italian, and Bohemian. But Hugh did not make
his appearance. The fact was, he was busy writing to his
mother, whom he had rather neglected since became. Writino; to
her made him think of David, and he began a letter to him too ;
but it was never finished, and never sent. He did not return
to the drawing-room that evening. Indeed, except for a short
time, while Mr. Arnold was drinking his claret, he seldom
showed himself there. Had Euphra repelled him too much —
hurt him ? She would make up for it to-morrow.
Breakfast was scarcely over, when the chestnut and the
pony passed the window, accompanied by a lovely little Arab
mare, broad-chested and liglit-linibed, with a wonderfully small
head. She Avas white as snow, with keen, dark eyes. Her
curb-rein was red instead of white. Hearing their approach.
138 DAVID ELGINBROD.
and begging her uncle to excuse her, Euphra rose from the
table, and left the room ; but reappeared in a wonderfullj
little while, in a Avell-fitted riding-habit of black velvet, with a
belt of dark red leather, clasping a waist of the roundest and
smallest. Her little hat, likewise black, had a single long,
white feather, laid horizontally within the upturned brim, and
drooping over it at the back. Her white mare would be just
the right pedestal for the dusky figure, — black eyes, tawny
skin, and all. As she stood ready to mount, and Hugh Avas
approaching to put her up, she called the groom, seemed just
to touch his hand, and was in the saddle in a moment, foot in
stirrup, and skirt falling over it. Hugh thought she was
carrying out the behavior of yesterday, and was determined
to ask her what it meant. The little Arab began to rear and
plunge with pride, as soon as she felt her mistress on her back ;
but she seemed as much at home as if she had been on the
music-stool, and patted her arching neck, talking to her in the
same tone almost in which she had addressed the flowers.
"Be quiet, Fatty, dear; you're frightening Mr. Suther-
land."
But Hugh, seeing the next moment that she Avas in no
danger, sprang into his saddle. Away they went, Fatima in-
fusing life and frolic into the equine as Euphra into the
human portion of the cavalcade. Having reached the common,
out of sight of the house. Miss Cameron, instead of looking
after Harry, lest he should have too much exercise, scampered
about like a wild girl, jumping everything that came in her
way, and so exciting Harry's pony, that it was almost more
than he could do to manage it, till at last Hugh had to beg
her to go more quietly, for Harry's sake. She drew up
alongside of them at once ; and made her mare stand as still as
she could, while Harry made his first essay upon a little ditch.
After crossing it two or three times, he gathered courage ; and
Betting his pony at a larger one beyond, bounded across it
beautifully.
" Bravo ! Harry ! " cried both Euphra and Hugh. Harry
galloped back, and over it again ; then came up to them with a
glow of proud confidence on his pale face.
'' You'll be a hoi-seman yet, Harry," said Hugh.
" I hojDe so," said Harry, in an aspiring tone, which greatly
DAVID ELGINBROD. 139
satisfied his tutor. The boj's spirit was evidently reviving.
Euphra must have managed him ilL Yet she xvas not in the
least effeminate herself. It puzzled Hugh a good deal. But
he did not think about it long ; for Ilarr j cantering away in
front, he had an opportunity of saying to Euphra : —
" Are you offended with me, Miss Cameron?"
" Offended with you! What do you mean? A girl like
me offended with a man like you ? "
She looked two and twenty as she spoke ; but even at that
she was older than Hugh. He, however, certainly looked
considerably older than he really was.
" What makes you think so ? " she added, turning her face
towards him.
' ' You would not speak to me when we came home yester-
day."
"Not speak to you?^I had a little headache; and
perhaps I was a little sullen, from having been in such bad
company all the morning."
"What company had you? " asked Hugh, gazing at her in
some surprise.
"My own," answered she, Avith a lovely laugh, thrown full
in his face. Then after a pause, " Let me advise you, if you
want to live in peace, not to embark on that ocean of dis-
covery."
"What ocean? what discovery?" asked Hugh, bewildered,
and still gazing;
"The troubled ocean of ladies' looks," she replied. "You
will never be able to live in the same house Avitli one of our
kind, if it be necessary to your peace to find out what every
expression that puzzles you may mean."
" I did not intend to be inquisitive ; it really troubled me."
" There it is. You must never mind us. We show so
much sooner than men ; but, take warning, there is no making
out what it is we do show. Your faces are legible ; ours are
so scratched and interlined, that you had best give up at once
the idea of deciphering them."
Hugh could not help looking once more at the smooth,
simple, naive countenance shining upon him.
" There you are at it again," she said, blushing a little, and
turning her head away. " \V'ell, to comfort you, 1 will confess
140 DAVID ELGINBROD.
I was rather cross yesterday — because — because you seemed
to have been quite liappy with only one of your pupils."
As she s])oko the words, she gave Eatima the rein, and
bounded off, overtaking Harry's pony in a moment. Nor did
she leave her cousin during all the rest of their ride.
Most women in whom the soul has anything like a chance
of reaching the windows are more or less beautiful in their
best moments. Euphra's best was when she was trying to
faeo.inatc. Then she was — fascinating. During the first
morning that Hugh spent at Arnstead, she had probably been
making up her mind whether, between her and Hugh, it was
to be war to the knife, or fascination. . The latter had carried
the day, and was now carrying him. But had she calculated
that fascination may react as Avell ?
Hugh's heart bounded, like her Arab steed, as she uttered
the words last recorded. He gave his chestnut the rein in his
turn, to overtake her ; but Fatimas canter quickened into a
gallop, and, inspirited by her companionsliip, and the fact that
their heads were turned stablewards, Harry's pony, one of the
quickest of its race, laid itself to the ground, and kept up,
taking three strides for Fatty's tAvo, so that Hugh never got
within three lengths of them till they drew rein at the hall
door, w^here the grooms were waiting them. Euphra was off
her mare in a moment, and had almost reached her own room
before Hugh and Harry had crossed the hall. She came down
to luncheon in a white muslin dress, with th^ smallest possible
red spot in it ; and, taking her place at the table, seemed to
Hugh to have put off not only her riding-habit, but the self
that was in it as well ; for she chatted away in the most uncon-
cerned and easy manner possible, as if she had not been out of
her room all the morning, k^he had ridden so hard, that she
had left her last speech in the middle of the common, and its
mood with it ; and there seemed now no likelihood of either
finding its way home.
DAVID ELGINBROD. 141
CHAPTER XXII.
THE PICTURE-GALLERY.
the house is crencled to and fro,
And hath so quoint waies for to go,
For it is shapen as the mase is wrought.
Chaucer. — Lt^end of Ariadne-
Luncheon over, and Hany dismissed as usual to lie down.
Miss Cameron said to Hugh : —
"You have never been over the old house yet, I believe,
Mr. Sutherland. Would you not like to see it? "
"I should indeed," said Hu'2;h. "It is what I have lonfj
hoped for, and have often been on the point of begging."
' ' Come then ; I will be your guide, — if you will trust
yourself with a madcap like me, in the solitudes of the old
hive."
" Lead on to the family vaults, if you will," said Hugh.
"That might be possible, too, from below. We are not so
very far from them. Even within the house there is an old
chapel, and some monuments worth looking at. Shall w^e take
it last?"
" As you think best," answered Hugh.
She rose and rang the bell. AVhen it was answered,
"Jacob," she said, "get nte the keys of the house from
Mrs. Horton."
Jacob vanished, and reappeared with a huge bunch of keys
She took them.
" Thank you. They should not be allowed to get quite
rusty, Jacob."
' ' Please, miss, Mrs. Horton desired me to say she would
have seen to them, if she had known you wanted them."
" Oh ! never mind. Just tell my maid to bring me an old
pair of gloves."
Jacob went; and the maid came with the required arm.oi".
"Now, Mr. Sutherland. Jane, you will come with us.
No, you need not take the keys. I will find those I want as
we go."
She unlocked a door in the corner of the hall, which Hugl)
142 DAVID ELGINBROD.
had never seen open. Passing through a long low passage,
they came to a spiral staircase of stone, up which they went,
arriving at another wide hall, very dusty, but in perfect repair.
Hugh asked if there Avas not some communication between tliiii
hall and the great oak staircase.
"Yes," answered Euphra ; "but this is the more direct
way."
As she said this, he felt somehow as if she cast on him one
of her keenest glances ; but the place was very dusky, and ho
stood in a spot where the light fell upon him from an opening
in a shutter, while she stood in deep shadow.
" Jane, open that shutter."
The girl obeyed; and the entering light revealed the walls
covered with paintings, many of them apparently of no value,
yet adding much to the effect of the place. Seeing that Hugh
was at once attracted by the pictures, Euphra said : —
" Perhaps you Avould like to see the picture-gallery first? "
Hugh assented. Euphra chose key after key, and opened
door after door, till they came into a long gallery Avell lighted
from each end. The windows were soon opened.
" Mr. Arnold is very proud of his pictures, especially of his
family portraits ; but he is content with knowing he has them,
and never visits them except to show them ; or perhaps once or
twice a year, when something or other keeps him at home for
a day, without anything particular to do."
In glancing over the portraits, some of them by famous
masters, Hugh's eyes were arrested by a blonde beauty in the
dress of the time of Charles II. There was such a reality of
self-willed boldness as well as something worse in her face
that, though arrested by the picture, Hugh felt ashamed of
looking at it in the presence of Euphra and her maid. The
pictured woman almost put him out of countenance, and yet at
the same time fascinated him. Dragging his eyes from it, he
saw that Jane had turned her back upon it, while Euphra re-
garded it steadily.
" Open that opposite window, Jane," said she. "There is
not light enough on this portrait."
Jane obeyed. While she did so, Hugh caught a glimpse of
her fixce, and saw that the formerly rosy girl was deadly pale.
He said to Euphra : —
DAVID ELGINBROD. ' 143
"Your maid seems ill, Miss Cameron."
"Jane, Avliat is the matter with you? "
She did not reply, but, leaning against the Tvall, seemed
I'eady to faint.
" The place is close," said her mistress. " Go into the
next room there," — she pointed to a door — "and open the
window. You will soon be well."
" If you please, miss, I would rather stay with you. This
place makes me feel that strange."
She had come but lately, and had never been over the house
before.
"Nonsense! " said Miss Cameron, looking at her sharply.
" What do you mean ? "
"Please, don't be angry, miss; but the first night e'er I
slept here, I saw that very lady — "
"Saw that lady! "
" Well, miss, I mean, I dreamed that I saw her; and 1 re-
membered her the minute I see her up there ; and she give me
a turn like. I'm all right now, miss."
Euphra fixed her eyes on her, and kept them fixed, till she
was very nearly all wrong again. She turned as pale as be-
fore, and began to draw her breath hard.
" You silly goo.^e ! " said Euphra, and withdrew her eyes;
upon which the girl began to breathe more freely.
Hugh was making some wise remarks in his own mind on
the unsteady condition of a nature in which the imagination
predominates over the powers of reflection, wlien Euphra turned
to him, and began to tell him that that was the picture of her
three or four times great-grandmother, painted by Sir Peter
Lely, just after she was married.
" Isn't she fair? " said she. " She turned nun at last, they
say."
" She is more fair than honest " thought Hugh. " It would
take a great deal of nun to make her into a saint." But he
only said, " She is more beautiful than lovely. What was her
name?"
"If you mean her maiden name, it was Ilalkar, ■ — -Lady
Euphrasia Halkar, — named after me, you see. She had
foreign blood in her, of course ; and, to tell tlie truth, there
were strange stories told of her, of more sorts than one. 1
144 DAVID ELGINBROD.
know nothing of her family. It was never heard of in England,
1 believe, till after the Restoration."
All the time Euphra was speaking, Hugh was being per-
plexed with that most annoying of perplexities, — the flitting
phantom of a resemblance, whichhe could not catch. He was
forced to dismiss it for the present, utterly baffled.
'• Were-you really named after her, Miss Cameron? "
"No, no. It is a family name with us. But, indeed, I
may be 'said to be named after her, for she was the first of us
who bore it. You don't seem to like the p.ortrait."
"I do not; but I cannut help looking at it, for all that."
" I am so used to the lady's face," said Euphra, "that it
makes no impression on me of any sort. But it is said," she
added, glancing at the maid, who stood at some distance, look-
ing uneasily about her, — and as she spoke she lowered her
voice to a whisper. — " it is said, she cannot lie still."
" Cannot lie still ! What do you mean ? "
" I mean down therein the chapel," she answered, pointing.
The Celtic, nerves of Hugh shuddered. Euphi'a laughed,
and her voice echoed in silvery billows, that broke on the faces
of the men and women of old time, that had owned the
whole ; whose lives had flowed and ebbed in varied tides
throuorh the ancient house ; who had married and been ffiven
in marriage ; and had gone down to the chapel below, — below
the prayers and belo"\v the psalms, — and made a Sunday of
all the week.
Ashamed of his feeling of passing dismay, Hugh said, just to
say something : —
" What a strange ornament that is ! Is it a brooch or a
pin ? iS^o, I declare ; it is a ring, — large enough for three
cardinals, and worn on her thumb. It seems almost to sparkle.
Is it ruby, or carbuncle, or what ? "
" I don't know; some clumsy old thing," answered Euphra,
carelessly.
"Oh! I see," said Hugh; " it is not a red stone. The
glow is only a reflection from part of her dress. It is as clear
as a diamond. But that is impossible — such a size. There
seems to me something curious about it ; and the longer I look
at it, the more strange it appears."
DAVID ELGINBROD. 145
Euphra stole another of her piercing glances at him, hut
said nothing.
" Surely," Hugh went on, "a ring like that would hardly
be likely to be lost out of the family ? Your uncle must have
it somewhere."
Euphra laughed ; but this laugh was very different from the
last. It rattled rather than rang.
"You are wonderfully taken with a bauble, — for a man of
letters, that is, Mr. Sutherland. The stone may have been
carried down any one of the hundred streams into which a family
river is always dividing."
" It is a very remarkable ornament for a lady's finger, not-
withstanding," said Hugh, smiling in his turn.
" But we shall never get through the pictures at this rate,"
remarked Euphra ; and, going on, she directed Hugh's atten-
tion now to this, now to that portrait, saying who each was,
and mentioning anything remarkable in the history of their
originals. She manifested a thorough acquaintance with the
family story, and made, in fact, an excellent show-woman.
Having gone nearly to the other end of the gallery.
"This door," said she, stopping at one, and turning over
the keys, ' ' leads to one of the oldest portions of the house,
the principal room in which is said to have belonged especially
to the lady over there."
As she said this, she fixecf her eyes once more on the maid.
" Oh ! don't ye now, miss," interrupted Jane. " Hannah
du say as how a whitey-blue light shines in the window of a
dark night, sometimes, — that lady's window, you know, miss.
Don't ye open the door — pray, miss."
Jane seemed on the point of falling into the same terror as
before.
" Really, Jane," said her mistress, " I am ashamed of you;
and of myself, for having such silly servants about me."
" I beg your pardon, miss, but — "
" So Mr. Sutherland and I must give up our plan of going
over the house, because my maid's nerves are too delicate to
permit her to accompany us. For shame ! "
" Oh, du ye now go without me ! " cried the girl, clasping
her hands.
" And you will wait here till we come back ? "
10
146 DAVID ELGINBROD.
" Oh f don't ye leave me here. Just show me the way
out."
And once more she turned pale as death.
" Mr. Sutherland, I am very sorry, but we must put oflFthe
rest of our ramble till another time. I am, like Hamlet, very
vilely attended, as you see. Come, then, you foolish girl," she
added, more mildly.
The poor maid, what with terror of Lady Euphrasia, and
respect for her mistress, Avas in a pitiable condition of moral
helplessness. She seemed almost too frightened to walk be-
hind them. But if she had been in front, it would have been
no better ; for, like other ghost-fearers, she seemed to feel very
painfully that she had no -eyes in her back.
They returned as they came ; and Jane, receiving the keys
to take to the house-keeper, darted away. When she reached
Mrs. Horton's room, she sank on a chair in hysterics.
"I must get rid of that girl, I fear," said Miss Cameron,
leading the way to the library; "she will infect the whole
household with her foolish terrors. We shall not hear the last
of this for some time to come. We had a fit of it the same
year I came ; and I suppose the time has come round for
another attack of the same epidemic."
" What is there about the room to terrify the poor thing? "
" Oh ! they say it is haunted ; that is all. Was there ever
an old house anywhere over EuroJ)e, especially an old family
house, but what was said to be haunted? Here the stoi-y
centres in that room, or at least in that room and the avenue
in front of its windows."
" Is that the avenue called the Ghost's Walk? "
"Yes. Who told you?"
" Harry would not let me cross it."
" Poor boy ! This is really too bad. He cannot stand
anything of that kind, I am sure. Those servants ! "
" Oh ! I hope we shall soon get him too Avell to be frightened
at anything. Are these places said to be haunted by any par-
ticular ghost? "
" Yes. By Lady Euphrasia. Rubbish ! "
Had Hugh possessed a yet keener perception of resemblance,
he would have seen that the phantom-likeness Avhich haunted
him in the portrait of Euphrasia Halkar, was that of Euphrasia
DAVIL ELGINBROD. 147
Cameron — by his side all the time. But the mere difference
of complexion was sufficient to throw him out, — insignificant
difference as that is, beside the correspondence of features and
their relations. Euphra herself was perfectly aware of the
likeness, but had no wish that Hugh should discover it.
As if the likeness, however, had been dimly identified by
the unconscious part of his being, he sat in one corner of the
library sofa, with his eyes fixed on the face of Euphra, as she
sat in the other. Presently he was made aware of his unin-
tentional rudeness, by seeing her turn pale as death, and sink
back in the sofa. In a moment she started up, and began
pacing about the room, rubbing her eyes and temples. He
was bewildered and alarmed.
" Miss Cameron, are you ill ? " he exclaimed.
She gave a kind of half-hysterical laugh, and said : —
"No; nothing worth speaking of. I felt a little faint,
that was all. I am better now."
She turned full towards him, and seemed to try to look all
right ; but there was a kind of film over the clearness of her
black eyes.
" I fear that you have a headache."
" A little, but it is nothins;. I will go and lie down."
"Do, pray; else you will not be well enough to appear at
dinner."
She retired, and Hugh joined Harry.
Euphra had another glass of claret with her uncle that
evening, in order to give her report of the morning's ride.
"Really, there is not much to be afraid of, uncle. He
takes very good care of Harry. To be sure, I had occasion
several times to check him a little ; but he has this good qual-
ity in addition to a considerable aptitude for teaching, that he
perceives a hint, and takes it at once."
Knowing her uncle's formality, and preference for precise
and judicial modes of expression, Euphra modelled her
phrase to his mind.
" I am glad he has your good opinion so far, Euphra ; for
I confess there is something about the youth that pleases me.
I was afraid at first tliat I might be annoyed by his overstep-
ping the true boundaries of his position in my family. He
seems to have been in good society too. But your assurance
148 DAVID ELGINBROD.
that lie can take a hint lessens my apprehension considerably.
To-morrow I "will ask him to resume his seat after dessert."
This was not exactly the object of Euphra's qualified com-
mendation of Hugh. But she could not help it now.
"I think, however, if you approve, uncle, that it will be
more prudent to keep a little watch over the riding for a
while. I confess, too, I should be glad of a little more of that
exercise than I have had for some time. I found my seat not
very secure to-day."
" Very desirable on both considerations, my love."
And so the conference ended.
CHAPTER XXIII.
»
NEST-BUILDING.
If you will have a tree bear more fruit than it hath used to do, it is not anything
you can do to the boughs, but it is the stirring of the earth, and putting new mould
about the roots, that must work it. — Lord Bacon's Advancement o/JLearninr/, b. ii.
In a short time, Harry's health was so much improved, and
consequently the strength and activity of his mind so much
increased, that Hugh began to give him more exact mental
operations to perform. But as if he had been a reader of
Lord Bacon, which as yet he was not, and had learned from him
that " wonder is the seed of knowledge," he came, by a kind
of sympathetic instinct, to the same conclusion practically, in
the case of Harry. He tried to wake a question in him, by
ehowing him something that would rouse his interest. The
reply to this question might be the whole rudiments of a sci-
ence.
Things themselves should lead to the science of them. If
things are not interesting in themselves, how can any amount
of knowledge about them be ? To be sure, there is such a
thing as a purely or abstractly intellectual interest, — the
pleasure of the mere operation of the intellect upon the signs
DAVID ELGINBROD. 149
of things ; but this must spring from a higlilj exercised intel-
lectual condition, and is not to be expected before the pleas-
ures of intellectual motion have been experienced through the
employment of its means for other ends. Whether this is a
higher condition or not is open to much disquisition.
One day Hugh was purposely engaged in taking the alti-
tude of the highest turret of the house, with an old quadrant
he had found in the library, when Harry came up.
" What are you doing, big brother ? " said he ; for now that
he was quite at home Avith Hugh, there was a wonderful mix-
ture of familiarity and respect in him, that was quite bewitch-
ino;.
O
" Finding out how high your house is, little brother," an-
swered Hugh.
"How can you do it with that thing? Will it measure
the heio-ht of other things besides the house? "
" Yes, the height of a mountain, or anything you like."
" Do show me how."
Hugh showed him as much of it as he could.
" But I don't understand it."
'' Oh ! that is quite another thing. To do that, you must
learn a great many things, — Euclid to begin with."
That very afternoon Harry began Euclid, and soon found
quite enough of interest on the road to the quadrant, to pre-
vent him from feeling any tediousness in its length.
Of an afternoon Hugh had taken to reading Shakespeare to
Harry. Euphra was always a listener. On one occasion
Harry said : —
" I am so sorry, Mr. Sutherland, but I don't understand
the half of it. Sometimes when Euphra and you are laugh-
ing, — and sometimes when Euphra is crying," added he,
looking at her slyly, " I can't understand what it is all about.
Am I so very stupid, Mr. Sutherland?" And he almost
cried himself
" Not a bit of it, Harry, my boy ; only you must learn a
great many other things first."
" How can I learn them ? I am willing to learn anything.
T don't find it tire me now as it used."
" There are many things necessary to understand Shakes-
peare that I cannot teach you, and that some people never
150 DAVID ELGINBROD.
learn. Most of them will come of tliemselvcs But of one
thing you may be sure, Harry, that if you k.arn anything,
Avhatever it be, you are so far nearer to understanding Shakes-
peare. ' '
The same afternoon, Avhen Harry had waked from his
siesta, upon which Hugh still insisted, they went out for a
walk in the fields. The sun was half way down the sky, but
very hot and sultry.
" I wish we had our cave of straw to creep into now," said
Harry, " I felt exactly like the little field-mouse you read to me
about in Burns' poems, when we went in that morning, and
found it all torn up, and half of it carried away. We have
no place to go to now for a peculiar own place ; and the con-
sequence is, you have not told me any stories about the Ro-
mans for a whole week."
" Well, Harry, is there any way of making another ? "
"There's no more straw lying about that I know of," an-
swered Harry; "and it won't do to pull the inside out of
a rick, I am afraid."
" But don't you think it would be pleasant to have a chanae
now ; and as we have lived underground, or say in the snow
like the North people, try living in the air like some of the
South people ? ' '
" Delightful ! " cried Harry. — " A balloon? "
" No, not quite that. Don't you think a nest would do? "
" Up in a tree? "
"Yes."
Harry darted off for a run, as the only means of expressing
his delight. When he came back, he said : —
"When shall we begin, Mr. Sutherland ? "
' ' We will go and look for a place at once ; but I am not
quite sure when we shall begin yet. I shall find out to-night
though."
They left the fields, and went into the woods in the neigh-
borhood of the house, at the back. Here the trees had grown
to a great size, some of them being very old indeed. They
soon fixed upon a grotesque old oak as a proper tree in which
to build their nest; and Harry, who, as well as Hugh, had a
good deal of constructiveness in his nature, was so delighted,
that the heat seemed to have no more influence upon him ; and
DAVID ELGINBROD. 151
Hugh, fearful of the reaction, was compelled to restrain his
gambols.
Pursuing their way through the dark warp of the Avood.
with its golden weft of crossing sunbeams, Hu;]jh began to tell
Harry the story of the killing of Csesar by Brutus and the
rest, filling up the account with portions from Shakespeare.
Fortunately, he was able to give the oi-ations of Brutus and
Antony in full. Harry was in ecstasy over the eloquence of
the two men. "Well, what language do you think they
spoke, Harry?" said Hugh.
" Why," said Harry, hesitating, "I suppose — " then, as
if a sudden light broke upon him, "Latin, of course. How
strange ! "
" Why strange ? "
" That such men should talk such a dry, unpleasant lan-
guage."
"I allow it is a difficult language, Harry; and very pon-
derous and mechanical ; but not necessarily dry or unpleasant.
The Romans, you know, were particularly fond of law in
everything; and so they made a great many laws for their
language ; or, rather, it grew so, because they were of that
sort. It was like their swords and armor generally, not very
graceful, but very strong ; like their architecture too, Har-
ry. Nobody can ever understand what a people is, without
knowing its language. It is not only that we find all these
stories about them in their lan^ijuaiiie, but the language itself is
more like them than anything else can be. Besides, Harry, I
don't believe you know anything about Latin yet."
" I know all the declensions and conjugations."
" But don't you think it must have been a very difierent
thing to hear it spoken ? "
" Yes, to be sure, and by such men. But how ever could
they speak it? "
'• They spoke it just as you do English. It was as natural
to them. But you cannot say you know anything about it,
till you read Avhat they wrote in it ; till your ears delight in
the sound of their poetry — "
"Poetry?"
" Yes ; and beautiful letters, and wise lessons, and histories
and plays."
152 DAVID ELGINBROD.
" Oh ! I should like you to teach me. Will it be as hard
to learn always as it is now ? "
" Certainly not. I am sure you will like it."
" When will you begin me? "
' ' To-morrow^ And if you get on pretty well, we will
begin our nest, too, in the afternoon."
'•' Oh, how kind you are ! I will try very hard."
" I am sure you will, Harry."
Next morning, accordingly, Hugh did begin him, after a
a fashion of his own ; namely, by giving him a short, simple
story to read, finding out all the words with him in the dic-
tionary, and telling him what the terminations of the words
signified ; for he found that he had already forgotten a very
great deal of what, according to Euphra, he had been thor-
oughly taught. No one can remember what is entirely unin-
teresting to him.
Hugh was as precise about the grammar of a language as
any Scotch Professor of Humanity, old Prosody not excepted;
but he thought it time enough to begin to that, when some in-
terest in the words themselves should have been awakened in
the mind of his pupil. He hated slovenliness as much as any
one ; but the question was, how best to arrive at thoroughness
in the end, without losing the higher objects of study ; and not
how, at all risks, to commence teaching the lesson of thorough-
ness at once, and so waste on the shape of a pin-head the in-
tellect which, properly directed, might arrive at the far more
minute accuracies of a steam-engine. The fault of Euphra in
teaching Harry had been, that, with a certain kind of tyran-
nical accuracy, she had determined to have the thing done, —
not merely decently and in order, but prudishly and pedanti-
cally ; so that she deprived progress of tbe pleasure which
ought naturally to attend it. She spoiled the walk to the dis-
tant outlook, by stopping at every step, not merely to pick
flowers, but to botanize on the Aveeds, and to calculate the dis-
tance advanced. It is quite true that we ought to learn to do
things irrespective of the reward ; but plenty of opportunities
will be given in the progress of life, and in much higher kinds
of action, to exercise our sense of duty in severe loneliness.
We have no right to turn intellectual exercises into pure oper-
ations of conscience ; these ought to involve essential duty ; al-
DAVID ELGINBROD. 153
though no doubt there is plenty of room for mingling duty
with those ; Avhile, on the other hand, the highest act of suffer-
ing self-denial is not without its accompanying reward. Nei-
ther is there any exercise of the higher intellectual powers in
learning the mere grammar of a language, necessary as it is
for a means. And language having been made before gram-
mar, a language must be in some measure understood, before
its grammar can become intelligible.
Harry's weak (though true and keen) life could not force
its way into any channel. His was a nature essentially de-
pendent on sympathy. It could flow into truth through
another loving mind ; left to itself, it could not find the way,
and sank in the dry sand of ennui and self-imposed obligations.
Euphra was utterly incapable of understanding him ; and the
boy had been dying for lack of sympathy, though neither he
nor any one about him had suspected the fact.
There was a strange disproportion between his knowledge
and his capacity. He was able, when his attention was di-
rected, his gaze fixed, and his whole nature supported by
Hugh, to see deep into many things, and his remarks were
often strikingly original ; but he was one of the most ignorant
boys, for his years, that Hugh had ever come across. A
long and severe illness, when he was just passing into boyhood,
had thrown him back far into his childhood ; and he was only
now beginning to show that he had anything of the boy-life in
him. Hence arose that unequal development which has been
sufficiently evident in the story.
In the afternoon they went to the wood, and found the tree
they had chosen for their nest. To Harry's intense admira-
tion, Hugh, as he said, went up -the tree like a squirrel, only
he was too big for a bear even. Just one layer of foliage
above the lowest branches, he came to a place where he thought
there was a suitable foundation for the nest. From the ground
Harry could scarcely see him, as, Avith an axe which he had
borrowed for the purpose (for there was a carpenter's work-
shop on the premises), he cut away several small branches
from three of the principal ones ; and so had these three as
rafters, ready dressed and placed, for the foundation of the
nest. Having made some measurements, he descended, and
repairing with Harry to the workshop, procured some boarding
154
DAVID ELGINBROD.
and some tools, wliicli Ilariy assisted in carrying to the tree.
Ascending again, and drawing up his materials, by the help of
Harry, with a piece of string, Hugh in a very little while had
a level floor, four feet square, in the heart of the oak-tree,
quite invisible from below, — buried in a cloud of green leaves.
For greater safety, he fastened ropes as hand-rails all around it
from one branch to another. And now nothing remained but
to construct a bench to sit on, and such a stair as Harry could
easily climb. The boy was quite restless with anxiety to get
up and see the nest ; and kept calling out constantly to know if
he might not come up yet. At length Hugh allowed him to
try ; but the poor boy was not half strong enough to climb the
tree without help. So Hugh descended, and with his aid Har-
ry was soon standing on the new-built platform.
" I feel just like an eagle," he cried ; but here his voice
faltered, and he was silent.
" What is the matter, Harry? " said his tutor.
"Oh, nothing," replied he; "only I didn'-t exactly know
whereabouts we were till I got up here."
" Whereabouts are we, then ? "
" Close to the end of the Ghost's Walk."
" But you don't mind that now, surely, Harry? ''
" No, sir ; that is, not so much as I used."
" Shall I take all this down again, and build our nest some-
where else? "
"Oh, no, if you don't think it matters. It would be a great
pity, after you have taken so much trouble with it. Besides,
I shall never be here without you ; and I do no.t think I should
be afraid of the ghost herself, if you were with me."
Yet Harry shuddered involuntarily at the thought of his own
daring speech.
" Very well, Harry, my boy; we will finish it here. Now,
if you stand there, I will fisten a plank across here between
these two stumps, — no, that won't do exactly. I must put a
])iece on to this one, to raise it to a level with the other;
then we shall have a seat in a few minutes."
Hammer and nails were busy again ; and in a few minutes
they sat down to enjoy the "soft pipling cold," which swung
all the leaves about like little trap-doors that opened into the
Infinite. Harry was highly contented. He drew a deep
DAVID ELGINBROD. 155
breath of satisfaction as, looking above and beneath and all
about him, he saw that thej were folded in an almost im-
penetrable net of foliage, through which nothing could steal
into their sanctuary, save "the chartered libertine, the air,"
and a few straj beams of the setting sun, filtering through the
multitudinous leaves, from which thej caught a green tint as
they passed.
" Fancy yourself a fish," said Hugh, "in the depth of a
'tavern of seaweed, which floats about in the slow, swinging
notion of the heavy waters."
" What a funny notion ! "
" Not so absurd as you may think. Harry ; for just as some
fishes crawl about on the bottom of the sea, so do we men at
the bottom of an ocean of air ; which, if it be a thinner one, is
certainly a deeper one."
" Then the birds are the swimming fishes, are they not? "
" Yes, to be sure."
" And you and I are two mermen — doing what ? Waiting
for mother mermaid to give us our dinner. I am getting
hungry. But it will be a long time before a mermaid gets up
here, I am afraid."
" That reminds me," said Hugh, " that I must build a stair
for you, Master Harry ; for you are not merman enough to get
up with a stroke of your scaly tail. So here goes. You can
eit there till I fetch you."
Nailing a little rude bracket here and there on the stem of
the tree, just where Harry could avail himself of hand-hold as
well, Hugh had soon finished a strangely irregular staircase,
which it took Harry two or three times' trying, to learn quite
:)ff.
166 DAVID ELQINBROD.
CHAPTER XXIV.
GEOGRAPHY POINT.
I will fetch you a tooth-picker now from the farthest inch of Asia ; bring you the
length of Prester John's foot ; fetch you a hair off the great Cham's beard ; do you
any embassage to the Pigmies. — Much Ado about Nothing.
The next day, after dinner, Mr. Arnold said to the tutor : —
" Well, Mr. Sutherland, how does Harry get on with his
geography? "
Mr. Arnold, be it understood, had a weakness for geography.
" We have not done anything at that yet, Mr. Arnold."
"Not done anything at geography! And the boy getting
quite robust now ! I am astonished, Mr. Sutherland. Why,
when he was a mere child, he could repeat all the counties of
England."
" Perhaps that may be the reason for the decided distaste
he shows for it now, Mr. Arnold. But I will begin to teach
him at once, if you desire it."
''I do desire it, Mr. Sutherland. A thorough geographical
knowledge is essential to the education of a gentleman. Ask
me any question you please, Mr. Sutherland, on the map of
the world, or any of its divisions."
Hugh asked a few questions, which Mr. Arnold answered at
once.
" Pooh ! pooh ! " said he, " this is mere child's play. Let
me ask you some, Mr. Sutherland."
His very first question posed Hugh, whose knowledge in
this science was not by any means minute.
"I fear I am no gentleman," said he, laughing; "but I
can at least learn as well as teach. We shall begin to-
morrow."
" What books have you ? "
" Oh ! no books, if you please, just yet. If you are satis-
fied with Harry's progress so far, let me have my own way in
this too,"
" But geography does not seem your strong point."
" No ; but I may be able to teach it all the better from
feeling the difficulties of a learner myself."
DAVID ELGINBROD. 157
"Well, you shall have a fair trial."
Next morning Hugh and Ilarrj went out for a walk to the
top of a hill in the neighborhood. When they reached it,
Hugh took a small compass from his pocket, and set it on the
ground, contemplating it and the horizon alternately.
" What are you doing, Mr. Sutherland ? "
"I am trying to find the exact liae that would go through
my home," said he.
" Is that funny little thing able to tell you ? "
" Yes ; this along with other things. Isn't it curious,
Harry, to have in my pocket a little thing with a kind of spirit
in it, that understands the spirit that is in the big world, and
always points to its North Pole ? ' '
"Explain it to me."
" It is nearly as much a mystery to me as to you."
" Where is the North Pole? "
"Look, the little thing points to it."
" But I will turn it away. Oh ! it won't go. It goes back
and back, do what I will."
"Yes, it will, if you turn it away all day long. Look,
Harry, if you were to go straight on in this direction, you
would come to a Laplander, harnessing his broad-horned rein-
deer to his sledge. He's at it now, I dare say. If you were
to go in this line exactly, you would go through the smoke and
fire of a burning mountain in a land of ice. If you were to
go this way, straight on, you would find yourself in the middle
of a forest with a lion glaring at your feet, for ft is dark night
there now, and so hot ! And over there, straight on, there is
such a lovely su»set. The top of a snowy mountain is all pink
with light, though the sun is down — oh, such colors all about,
like fairyland ! And there, there is a desert of sand, and a
camel dying, and all his companions just disappearing on the
horiton. And there, there is an awful sea, without a boat to
be seen on it, dark and dismal, with huge rocks all about it,
and waste borders of sand — so dreadful ! "
" How do you know all this, Mr. Sutherland? You havfl
never walked along those lines, I know, for you couldn't.'*
" Geography has taught me."
"No. Mr. Sutherland! " said Harry, incredulously.
158 DAVID ELGINBROD. ,
" Well, shall we travel along this line, just across that crown
of trees on the hill ? "
" Yes, do let us."
"Tlien," said Hugh, drawing a telescope from his pocket,
"this hill is henceforth Geography Point, and all the world
lies round about it. Do you know we are in the very middle
of the earth?"
" Are we, indeed ? "
" Yes. Don't you know any point you like to choose on a
ball is the middle of it?"
" Oh ! yes — of course."
"Very well. What lies at the bottom of the hill down
there? "
" Arnstead, to be sure."
" And what beyond there ? "
" I don't know."
" Look through here."
" Oh ! that must be the village we rode to yesterday, — I
forget the name of it."
Hugh told him the name ; and then made him look with the
telescope all along the receding line to the trees on the opposite
hill. Just as he caught them, a voice beside them said : —
" What are you about, Harry? "
Hugh felt a glow of pleasure as the voice fell on his ear.
It was Euphra's.
"Oh!" replied Harry, "Mr. Sutherland is teaching me
geography wilfh a telescope. It's such fun ! "
" He's a wonderful tutor, that of yours, Harry."
"Yes, isn't he just? But," Harry went on, turning to
Hugh, " Avhat are we to do now? We can't get farther for
that hill."
" Ah ! we must apply to your papa now, to lend us some of
his beautiful maps. They will teach us what lies beyond that
hill. And then we can read in some of his books about the
places ; and so go on and on, till we reach the beautiful, wide,
)-estless sea ; over which we must sail, in spite of wind and tide,
straight on and on, till we come to land again. But we
must make a great many such journeys before we really know
what sort of a place we are living in ; and we shall have ever
so many things to learn that will surprise us."
DAVID ELGINBROD. 159
" Oh ! it tvill be nice ! " cried Harry.
After a little more geographical talk, they put up their in-
struments, and began to descend the hill. Harry was in no
need of Hugh's back now, but Euphra was in need of his hand.
In fact, she spelled for its support.
'• How awkward of me ! I am stumbling over the heather
shamefully."
She was, in fact, stumbling over her own dress, which she
would not hold up. Hugh offered his hand ; and her small one
seemed quite content to be swallowed up in his large one.
' ' Why do you never let me put you on your horse ? ' ' said
Hugh. " You always manage to prevent me somehow or
other. The last time, I just turned my head, and, behold !
when I looked, you were gathering your reins."
" It's only a trick of independence, Hugh — Mr. Sutherland
— I beg your pardon."
I can make no excuse for Euphra, for she had positively
never heard him called Hugh ; there was no one to do
so. But the slip had not, therefore, the less effect ; for it
sounded as if she had been saying his name over and over again
to herself.
"I beg your pardon," repeated Euphra, hastily; for, as
Hugh did not reply, she feared her arrow had swerved from its
mark.
' ' For a sweet fault. Euphra — I beg your pardon — Miss
Cameron."
"You punish me with forgiveness," returned she, with one
of her sweetest looks.
Hugh could not help pressing the little hand.
Was the pressure returned? So slight, so airy was the
touch, that it might have been only the throb of his own pulses,
all conscioursly vital about the wonderful woman-hand that
rested in his. If he had claimed it, she might easily have
denied it, so ethereal and uncertain was it. Yet he believed
in it. He never dreamed that she was exercising her skill
upon him. What could be her object in bewitching a poor
tutor ? Ah ! what indeed ?
Meantime this much is certain, that she was drawing Hugh
closer and closer to her side ; that a soothing dream of delight
had begun to steal over his spirit, soon to make it toss in
160 DAVID BLGINBROD.
feverous unrest, — as the first effects of some poisons are like a
dawn of tenfold strength. The mountain Avind blew from her
to him, sometimes sweeping her garments about him, and
bathing him in their faint, sweet odors, — odors which some-
how seemed to belong to her whom they had only last visited ;
sometimes, so kindly strong did it blow, compelling her, or at
least giving her excuse enough, to leave his hand and cling
closely to his arm. A fresh spring began to burst from the
very bosom of what had seemed before a perfect summer. A
spring to summer ! What would the folloAving summer be ?
Ah ! and what the autumn ? And what the winter ? For if
the summer be tenfold summer, then must the winter be tenfold
■winter.
But though knowledge is good for man, foreknowledge is
not so good.
And, though Love be good, a tempest of it in the brain will
not ripen the fruits like a soft, steady wind, or waft the ships
home to their desired haven.
Perhaps what enslaved Hugh most was the feeling that
the damsel stooped to him, without knowing that she stooped.
She seemed to him in every way above him. She knew so
many things of which he was ignorant ; could say such lovely
things ; could, he did not doubt, write lovely verses ; could
sing like an angel (though Scotch songs are not of essentially
angelic strain, nor Italian songs either, in general ; and they
were all that she could do) ; was mistress of a great, rich, won-
derful house, with a history ; and, more than all, was, or ap-
peared to him to be — a beautiful woman. It was true that
his family was as good as hers ; but he had disowned his family,
— so his pride declared ; and the same pride made him despise
his present position, and look upon a tutor's employment as —
as — well, as other people look upon it ; as a rather contempti-
ble one in fact, especially for a young, powerful, six-foot fellow.
The influence of Euphrasia was not of the best upon him
from the first ; for it had greatly increased this feeling about
his occupation. It could not affect his feelings towards Har-
ry ; so the boy did not suffer as yet. But it set him upon a
very unprofitable kind of castle-building : he would be a soldier
like his father; he would leave Arnstead, to revisit it with a
sword by his side, and a Sir before his name. Sir Hugh
DAVIL ELGINliKOD. 161
Sutherland would be somebody even in the eyes of the master
of Arnstead. Yes, a six-foot fellow, though he may be sensi-
ble in the main, is not, therefore, free from small vanities, es-
pecially if he be in love. But how leave Euphra ? "
Again I outrun my story.
CHAPTER X
(Jjf Til;
UFI7SE&ix
A
ITALIAN.
Per me si va nella citti dolente.
Dante.
Through me thou goest into the city of grief.
Of necessity, with so many shafts opened into the mountain
of knowledge, a far greater amount of time must be devoted
by Harry and his tutor to the working of the mine than they
had given hitherto. This made a considerable alteration in
the intercourse of the youth and the lady ; for, although Eu-
phra was often present during school-hours, it must be said for
Hugh that, during those hours, he paid almost all his atten-
tion to Harry ; so much of it, indeed, that perhaps there was
not enough left to please the lady. But she did not say so.
She sat beside them in silence, occupied with her work, and
saving up her glances for use. Now and then she would read ;
taking an opportunity sometimes, but not often, when a fit-
ting pause occurred, to ask him to explain some passage about
which she was in doubt. It must be conceded that such pas-
sages were well chosen for the purpose ; for she was too wise
to do her own intellect discredit by feigning a difficulty where
she saw none ; intellect being the only gift in others for which
she was conscious of any reverence.
By and by she began to discontinue these visits to the
school-room. Perhaps she found them dull. Perhaps — but
we shall see.
One morning, in the course of their study, — Euphra not
present — Hugh had occasion to go from his own room, where
11
162 DAVID ELQINBROD.
for the most part, they carried on the severer portion of their
labors, clown to the library for a book, to enlighten them
upon some point on which they were in doubt. As he was
passing an open door Euphra's voice called him. He entered,
and found himself in her private sitting-room. He had not
known before where at was.
" I beg your pardon, Mr. Sutherland, for calling you, but I
am at this moment in a difficulty. I cannot manage this line
in the 'Inferno.' Do help me."
She moved the book towards him, as he now stood by her
side, she remaining seated at her table. To his mortification,
he was compelled to confess his utter ignorance of the lan-
guage.
" Oh ! I am disappointed," said Eaphra.
" Not so much as I am," replied Hugh. " But could you
spare me one or two of your Italian books? "
" With pleasure," she answered, rising and going to her
book-shelves.
" I want only a grammar, a dictionary, and a New Testa-
ment."
" There they are," she said, taking them down one after the
other and bringing them to him. ' ' I dare say you will soon
get up with poor stupid me."
"I shall do my best to get within hearing of your voice
at least, in which Italian must be lovely."
No reply, but a sudden droop of the head.
"But," continued Hugh, "upon second thoughts, lest I
should be compelled to remain dumb, or else annoy your deli-
cate ear with discordant sounds, just give me one lesson in the
pronunciation. Let me hear you read a little first."
" With all my heart."
Euphra began, and read delightfully ; for she was an excel-
lent Italian scholar. It was necessary that Hugh should look
over the book. This was difficult while he remained standing,
as she did not offer to lift it from the table. Gradually, there-
fore, and hardly knowing how, he settled into a chair by her
side. Half an hour went by like a minute, as he listened to
the silvery tones of her voice, breaking into a bell-like sound
upon the double consonants of that sweet lady-tongue. Then
it was hiff turn to read and be corrected, and read again and
DAVID ELGINBROD. 163
be again corrected. Another half-hour glided awaj, and yet
another. But it must be confessed he made good use of the
time — if only it had been his own to use ; for at the end of it
he could pronounce Italian very tolerably, — well enough, at
least, to keep him from fixing errors in his pronunciation,
while studying the language alone. Suddenly he came to
himself, and looked up as from a dream. Had she been be-
witching him ? He Avas in Euphra's room — alone with her.
And the door was shut — hoAv or when ? And — he looked
at his watch — poor little Harry had been waiting his return
from the library for the last hour and a half. He was con-
science-stricken. He gathered up the books hastily, thanked
Euphra in the same hurried manner, and left the room with
considerable disquietude, closing the door very gently, almost
guiltily, behind him.
I am afraid Euphra had been perfectly aware that he knew^
nothing about Italian. Did she see her own eyes shine in the
mirror before her, as he closed the door ? Was she in love
with him, then ?
When Hugh returned with the Italian books, instead of the
encyclopcedia he had gone to seek, he found Harry sitting
where he had left him, with his arms and head on the table,
fast asleep,
" Poor boy ! " said Hugh to himself; but he could not help
feeling glad he was asleep. He stole out of the room again,
passed the fatal door with a longing pain, found the "volume of
his quest in the library, and, returning with it, sat down be-
side Harry. There he sat till he awoke.
When he did awake at last, it was almost time for luncheon.
The shamefiiced boy was exceedingly penitent for what waa
no fault, while Hugh could not relieve him by confessing his.
He could only say : —
' '• It was my fault, Harry dear. I stayed away too long.
You were so nicely asleep I would not wake you. You will
not need a siesta, that is all."
lie was ashamed of himself, as he uttered the false words to
the true-hearted child. But this, alas ! was not the end of it
all.
Desirous of learning the language, but far more desirous of
commending himself to Euphra, Hugh began in downright
164 DAVID ELGINBROD.
earnest. That very evening, he felt that he had a little hold
of the language. Ilarry was left to liis own resources. Nor
was there any harm in this in itself Hugh had a right to part
of every day for his own uses. But then, he had been with
Ilarry almost every evening, or a great part of it, and the boy
missed him much ; for he was not yet self-dependent. He
would have gone to Euphrasia, but somehow she happened to
be engaged that evening. So he took refuge in the library,
whfere, in the desolation of his spirit, " Polexander " began,
almost immediately, to exercise its old dreary fascination upon
him. Although he had not opened the book since Hugh had
requested him to put it away, yet he had not given up the in-
tention of finishing it some day ; and now he took it down, and
opened it listlessly, with the intention of doing something
towards the gradual redeeming of the pledge he had given to
himself But he found it more irksome than ever. Still he
read on ; till at length he could discover no meaning at all in
the sentences. Then he began to doubt whether he had read
the words. He fixed his attention by main force on every in-
dividual word ; but even then he began to doubt whether he
could say he had read the words, for he might have missed
seeing some of the letters composing each word. He grew so
nervous and miserable over it, almost counting every letter,
that at last he burst into tears, and threw the book down.
His intellect, which in itself was excellent, was quite of the
parasitic order, requiring to wind itself about a stronger intel-
lect, to keep itself in the region of fresh air and possible
growth. Left to itself, its weak stem could not raise it above
the ground ; it would grow and mass upon the earth, till it
decayed and corrupted, for lack of room, light, and air. But,
of course, there was no danger in the mean time. This was but
the passing sadness of an occasional loneliness.
He crept to Hugh's room, and received an invitation to enter,
in answer to his gentle knock ; but Hugh Avas so absorbed in
his new study, that he hardly took any notice of him, and
Harry found it almost as dreary here as in the study. He
would have gone out, but a drizzling rain was falling ; and he
shrank into himself at the thought of the Ghost's Walk. The
dinner-bell was a welcome summons.
Hugh, inspirited by the reaction from close attention, by the
DAVID ELGINEROD. 165
presence of Euphra, and by the desire to make himself generally
agreeable, which sprung from the consciousness of having done
wrong, talked almost brilliantly, delighting Euphra, over-
coming Harry with reverent astonishment, and even interesting
slow Mr. Arnold. With the latter Hugh had been gradually
becoming a favorite ; partly because he had discovered in him
what he considered high-minded sentiments ; for, however stupid
and conventional Mr. Arnold might be, he had a foundation of
sterling worthiness of character. Euphra, instead of showing
any jealousy of this growing friendliness, favored in every way
in her power, and now and then alluded to it in her conversa-
tions with Hugh, as affording her great satisfaction.
"I am so glad he likes you!*' she would say.
"Why should she be glad? " thought Hugh.
This gentle claim of a kind of property in him added con-
siderably to the strength of the attraction that drew him
towards her, as towards the centre of his spii'itual gravitation ; '
if indeed that could be called spiritual which had so little of
the element of moral or spiritual admiration, or even approval,
mingled with it. He never felt that Euphra was good. He
only felt that she drew him with a vague force of feminine
sovereignty, — a charm which he could no more resist or ex-
plain, than the iron could the attraction of the loadstone.
Neither could he have said, had he really considered the
matter, that she was beautiful — only that she often, very often,
looked beautiful. I suspect if she had been rather ugly, it
would have been all the same to Hugh,
He pursued his Italian studies with a singleness of aim and
eifort that carried him on rapidly. He asked no assistance
from Euphra, and said nothing to her about his progress. But
he was so absorbed in it, that it drew him still further from his
pupil. Of course he went out with him, walking or riding
every day that the weather would permit ; and he had regular
school-hours with him within doors. But during the latter,
while Harry was doing something on his slate, or writing, or
learning some lesson (which kind of work happened oftener
now than he could have approved of), he would take up his
Italian ; and, notwithstanding Harry's quiet hints that he had
finished what had been set him, remain buried in it for a long
time. When he woke at last to the necessity of taking some
166 DAVID ELGINBROD.
notice of the boy, he would only appoint him something else to
occupy him again, so as to leave himself free to follow his new
bent. Now and then he would become aware of his blamable
neglect, and make a feeble struggle to rectify what seemed to
be growing into a habit, and one of the worst for a tutor; but
he gradually sank back into the mire, for mire it was, comforting
himself with the resolution that as soon as he was able to read,
Italian without absolutely spelling his way, he would let
Euplira see what progress he had made, and then return with
renewed energy to Harry's education, keeping up his own new
accomplishment by more moderate exercise therein. It must
not be supposed, however, that a long course of time passed in
this way. At the end of a fortnight he thought he might
venture to request Euphra to show him the passage which had
perplexed her. This time he knew where she was, — in her
own room ; for his mind had begun to haunt her ivhereahouts.
He knocked at her door, heard the silvery, thrilling, happy
sound, " Come in," and entered trembling.
"Would you show me the passage in Dante that perplexed
you the other day ? "
Euphra looked a little surprised ; but got the book and
pointed it out at -once.
Hugh glanced at it. His superior acquaintance with the
general forms of language enabled him, after finding two words
in Euphra' s larger dictionary, to explain it, to her immediate
satisfaction.
"You astonish me," said Euphra.
"Latin gives me an advantage, you see," said Hugh,
modestly.
" Its seems to me very wonderful, nevertheless."
These were sweet sounds to Hugh's ear. He had gained his
end. And she hers.
" Well," she said, " I have just come upon another passage
that perplexes me not a little. Will you try your powers
upon that for me ? "
So saying, she proceeded to find it,
"It is school-time," said Hugh, " I fear I must not wait
now."
" Pooh ! pooh ! Don't make a pedagogue of yourself. You
know you are here more as a guardian — big brother, you
DAVID ELBINBROD. 167
know — to the dear child. Bj the way, I am rather afraid
you are working him a little more than his constitution will
stand."
" Do you think so? " returned Hugh, quite willing to be
convinced. " I should be very sorry."
"This is the passage," said Euphra.
Hugh sat down once more at the table beside her. He
found this morsel considerably tougher than the last. But at
length he succeeded in pulling it to pieces and reconstructing
it in a simpler form for the lady. She was full of thanks and
admiration. Naturally enough, they went on to the next line,
and the next stanza, and the next, and the next ; till — shall I
be believed? — they had read a whole canto of the poem.
Euphra knew more words by a great many than Hugh ; so
that, what with her knowledge of the words, and his insight
into the construction, they made rare progress.
" What a beautiful passage it is ! "' said Euphra.
"It is indeed," responded Hugh ; "I never read anything
more beautifal."
" I wonder if it would be possible to turn that into English.
I should like to try."
" You mean verse, of course ?"
" To be sure."
" Let us try, then. I will bring you mine when I have
finished it. I fear it will take some time, though, to do it well.
Shall it be in blank verse, or what ? "
" Oh ! don't you think we had better keep the Terza Rima
of the original ? "
" As you please. It Avill add much to the difficulty."
"Recreant knight! will you shrink from following where
your lady leads ? ' '
" Never ! so help me, my good pen ! " answered Hugh, and
took his departure, with burning cheeks and a trembling at the
heart. Alas ! the morning was gone. Harry was not in his
^tudy. He sought and found him in the library, apparently
buried in " Polexander."
"I am so glad your are come," said Harry; " I am so
tired."
" Why do you read that stupid book then ? "
" Oh ! you know, I told you."
168 DAVID ELGINBROD.
"Tut! tut! nonsense ! Put it away," said Hugh, his dis-
satisfaction with himself making him cross with Harry, who
felt, in consequence, ten times more desolate than before. He
could not understand the change.
If it went ill before with the hours devoted to common
labor, it went worse now. Hugh seized every gap of time,
and widened its margins shamefully, in order to work at his
translation. He found it very difficult to render the Italian in
classical and poetic English. The three rhyming words, and
the mode in which the stanzas are looped together, added
greatly to the diflSculty. Blank verse he would have found
quite easy compared to this. But he would not blench. The
thought of her praise, and of the yet better favor he might
gain, spurred him on ; and Harry was the sacrifice. But he
would make it all up to him, when this was once over. In-
deed he would.
Thus he baked cakes of clay to choke the barking of
Cerberean conscience. But it would growl notwithstanding.
The boy's spirit was sinking ; but Hugh did not^or would not
see it. His step groAV less elastic. He became more listless,
more like his former self, — sauntering about with his hands in
his pockets. And Hugh, of course, found himself caring less
about him ; .for the thought of him, rousing as it did the sense
of his own neglect, had become troublesome. Sometimes he
even passed poor Harry without speaking to him.
Gradually, however, he grew still further into the favor of
Mr. Arnold, until he seemed to have even acquired some in-
fluence with him. Mr. Arnold would go out riding with them
himself sometimes, and express great satisfaction, not only with
the way Harry sat his pony, for which he accorded Hugh the
credit due to him, but with the Avay in which Hugh managed
his own horse as well. Mr. Arnold was a good horseman, and
his praise was especially grateful to Hugh, because Euphra
was always near, and always heard it. I fear, however, that his
progress in the good graces of Mr. Arnold was, in a considerable
degree, the result of the greater anxiety to please, which
sprung from the consciousness of not deserving approbation.
Pleasing was an easy substitute for well-doing. Not acceptable
to himself, he had the greater desire to be acceptable to others ;
and so reflect the side-beams of a false approbation on himself,
DAVID ELaiNBROD. X69
— who needed true light and would be ill-provided for with
anj substitute. For a man who is received as a millionnaire
can hardly help feeling like one at times, even if he knows he
has overdrawn his banker's account. The necessity to Hugh's
nature of /eel ing right drove him to this false mode of pro-
ducing the false impression. If one only wants to feel virtuous,
there are several royal roads to that end. But, fortunately,
the end itself would be unsatisfactory if gained ; while not one
of these roads does more than pretend to lead even to that land
of delusion.
The reaction in Husrh's mind was sometimes torturing
enough. But he had not strength to resist Euphra, and so
reform.
Well or ill done, at length his translation was finished. So
was Euphra's. They exchanged papers for a private reading
first ; and arranged to meet afterwards, in order to compare-
criticisms.
CHAPTER XXVI.
THE FIRST MIDNIGHT.
Well, if anything be damned,
It will be twelve o'clock at night ; that twelve
Will never scape.
CrRiL ToTJRNEUR. — The Revenger's Tragedy.
Letters arrived at Arnstead generally while the family was
seated at breakfast. One morning, the post-bag having been
brought in, Mr. Arnold opened it himself, according to his un-
varying custom ; and found, amongst other letters, one in an
old-fashioned female hand, which, after reading it, he passed to
Euphra.
" You remember Mrs. Elton, Euphra ? "
" Quite well, uncle, — a dear old lady ! "
But the expression which passed across her face rather
belied her words, and seemed to Hugh to mean, ' ' I tope she
is not going to bore us again."
170 DAVID ELGI-NBROD.
She took care, however, to show no sign with regard to the
contents of the letter ; but, hijing it beside her on tlie table,
waited to hear her uncle's mind first.
" Poor, dear girl ! " said he at last. "You must try to
make her as comfortable as you can. There is consumption in
the family, you see," he added, with a meditative sigh.
" Of course I will, uncle. Poor girl ! I hope there is not
much amiss though, after all."
But, as she spoke, an irrepressible flash of dislike, or dis-
pleasure of some sort, broke from her eyes, and vanished. No
one but himself seemed to Hugh to have observed it ; but he
was learned in the lady's eyes, and their weatlier-signs. Mr.
Arnold rose from the table and left the room, apparently to
write an answer to the letter. As soon as he was gone, Euphra
gave the letter to Hugh. He read as follows: —
"My dear Mr. Arxoi.d: Will 3'ou extend the hospitality of your
beautiful house to me and my yountj friend, who has the honor of being
3'our relative, Lady Emily Lake ? For some time her health has seemed
to be failing, and she is ordered to spend the winter abroad, at Pan, or
somewhere in the South of France. It is considered highly desirable
that in the mean time she should have as much change as possible ; and
it occurred to me, remembering tlie charming month I passed at your
seat, and recalling the fact that Lady Emily is cousin only once removed
to j'our late most lovely Vv'ife, that there would be no impropriety in
wanting to ask you whether you could, without inconvenience, receive
us as your guests for a short time. I say us ; for the dear girl has taken
such a fancy to unworthy old me, that she almost refuses to set out
without me. Not to be cumbersome either to our friends or ourselves,
we shall bring only our two maids, and a steady old man-servant,
who has been in my family for many years. I trust you will not
hesitate to I'efuse my request, should I happen to have made it at an
unsuitable season ; assured, as you must be, that we cannot attribute
the refusal to any lack of hospitality or friendliness on your part. At
all events, I trust you will excuse what seems — now I have committed
it to paper — a great liberty, I hope not presumption, on mine. I am,
my dear Mr. Arnold,
" Yours most sincerely,
"Hannah Elton."
Hugh refolded the letter, and laid it down without remark.
Harry had left the room.
" Isn't it a bore? " said Euphra.
Hugh answered only by a look. A pause followed.
" Who is Mrs. Elton?" he said at last.
" Oh, a good-hearted creature enough. Frightfully prosy."
DAVID ELGINBROD. 171
" But that is a well-written letter? "
"Ob, yes. She 'is famed for her letter-writing; and, I
beli'jve, practises every morning on a slate. It is the only
thing that redeems her from- absolute stupidity."
Euphra, with her taper forefinger, tapped the tablecloth
impatiently, and shifted back in her chair, as if struggling
with an inward annoyance.
" And what sort of person is Lady Emily ? " asked Hugh.
" I have never seen her. Some blue-eyed milkmaid with
a title, I suppose. And in a consumption too ! I presume
the dear girl is as religious as the old one. Good heavens !
what slicdl we do ? " she burst out at length ; and, rising from
her chair, she paced about the room hurriedly, but all the
time with a gliding kind of footfall, that would have shaken
none but the craziest floor.
' ' Dear Euphra ! ' ' Hugh ventured to say, ' ' never mind.
Let us try to make the best of it.'"
She stopped in her walk, turned towards him, smiled as if
ashamed and delighted at the same moment, and slid out of the
room. Had Euphra been the same all through, she could
hardly have smiled so without being in love with Hugh.
That morning he sought her again in her room. They
talked over their versions of Dante. Hugh's was certainly
the best, for he was more practised in such things than
Euphra. He showed her many faults, which she at once per-
ceived to be faults, and so rose in his estimation. But at the
same time there were individual lines and passages of hers,
which he considered not merely better than the corresponding
lines and passages, but better than any part of his version.
This he was delighted to say ; and she seemed as delighted
that he should think so. A great part of the morning was
spent thus.
" I cannot stay longer," said Hugh.
" Let us read for an hour, then, after we come upstairs to-
night."
" With more pleasure than I dare to say."
" But you mean what you do say? " .
" You can doubt it no more than myself"
Yet he did not like Euphra' s making the proposal. No
more did he like the flippant, almost cruel way in which she
172 DAVID ELGINBROD.
referroi to Lady Emily's illness. But he put it down tc an-
noyance and haste ; got over it somehow — anjdiow ; and be-
gan to feel that if she were a devil he could not help loving
her, and would not help it if he could. The hope of meeting
her alone that night gave him S{)int and energy with Ilarry;
and the poor boy was more cheery and active than he had
been for some time. He thought his big brother was going
to love him again as at the first. Hugh's treatment of his pu-
pil might still have seemed kind from another, but Harry felt
it a great change in him.
In the course of the day Euphra took an opportunity of
whispering to him : —
"Not in my room — in the library." I presume she
thought it would be more prudent, in the case of any interrup-
tion.
After dinner that evening Hu2;h did not go to the drawing-
room with Mr. Arnold, but out into the woods about the house.
It was early in the twilight ; for now the sun set late. The
month was June; and even a rich, dreamful, rosy even, — the
sleep of a gorgeous day. " It Avas like the soul of a gracious
woman," thought Hugh, charmed into a lucid interval of pas-
sion by the loveliness of the nature around him. Stri^nge to tell,
at that moment, instead of the hushed gloom of the library,
towards which he was hoping and leaning in his soul, there
arose before him the bare, stern, leafless pine-wood, — for who
can call its foliage leaves ? — with the chilly wind of a north-
ern spring morning blowing through it with a wailing noise of
waters ; and beneath a weird fir-tree, lofty, gaunt, and huge,
with bare goblin arms, contorted sweepily, in a strange ming-
ling of the sublime and the grotesque, — beneath this fir-tree,
Margaret sitting on one of its twisted roots, the very image of
peace, with a face that seemed stilled by the unexpected ap-
proach of a sacred and unknown gladness, — a face that would
blossom the more gloriously because its joy delayed its com-
ing. And above it, the tree shone a " still," almost '• awful
red," in the level lischt of the mornins;.
The vision came and passed, for he did not invite its stay ;
it rebuked him to the deepest soul. He strayed in troubled
pleasure, restless and dissatisfied. Woods of the richest
growth were around him ; heaps on heaps of leaves floating
DAVID ELGINBROD. 173
above him like clouds, a trackless wilderness of airy green,
wherein one might wish to dwell forever, looking down into
the vaults and aisles of the long-ranging boles beneath. But
no peace could rest on his face ; only, at best, a false mask,
put on to hide the trouble of the unresting heart. Had he
been doing his duty to Harry, his love for Euphra, however
unwortliy she might be, would not have troubled him thus.
He came upon an avenue. At the further end the boughs
of the old trees, bare of leaves beneath, met in a perfect pointed
arch, across which were barred the lingering colors of the
sunset, transforming the whole into a rich window full of
stained glass and complex tracery, closing up a Gothic aisle
in a temple of everlasting worship. A kind of holy calm fell
upon him as he regarded the dim, dying colors ; and the spirit
of the night, a something that is neither silence nor sound,
and yet is like both, sank into his soul, and made a moment
of summer twilio;ht there. He walked alon^T the avenue for
some distance; and then, leaving it, passed on through the
woods. Suddenly it flashed upon him that he had crossedr the
Ghost's Walk. A slight but cold shudder passed through the
region of his heart. Then he laughed at himself, and, as il
were in despite of his own tremor, turned, and crossed yei
again the path of the ghost.
A spiritual epicure in his pleasures, he would not spoil the
effect of the coming meeting, by seeing Euphra in the drawing-
room first; he went to his own study, where he remained till
the hour had nearly arrived. He tried to write some verses.
But he found that, although the lovely form of its own Naiad lay
on the brink of the Well of Song, its waters would not flow :
during the sirocco of passion, its springs Avithdraw into the
cool caves of the Life beneath. At length he rose, too much
preoccupied to mind his want of success ; and, going down
the back stair, reached the library. There he seated himself,
and tried to read by the light of his chamber-candle. Bn.t it
was scarcely even an attempt, for every moment he was look-
ing up to the door by which he expected her to enter.
Suddenly an increase of light warned him that she was in
the room. How she had entered he could not tell. One
hand carried her candle, the light of which fell on her pale
face, with its halo of blackness ; her hair, which looked like
174 DAVID ELGINBROD.
a well of darkness, that threatened to break from its bonds and
overflood the room with a second night, dark enough to blot
out that which was now looking in, treeful and deep, at the
uncurtained windows. The other hand was busy trying to in-
carcei-ate a stray tress which had escaped from its net, and
made her olive shoulders look white beside it.
" Let it alone," said Hugh ; " let it be beautiful."
But she gently repelled the hand he raised to hers, and,
though she was forced to put down her candle first, persisted
in confining the refractory tress ; then seated herself at the
table, and taking from her pocket the manuscript which Hugh
had been criticising in the morning, unfolded it, and showed
him all the passages he had objected to neatly corrected or al-
tered. It was wonderfully done for the time she had had.
He went over it all with her again, seated close to her, their
faces almost meeting as tliey followed the lines. They had
just finished it, and were about to commence reading from the
original, when Hugh, who missed a sheet of Euphra's trans-
lation, stooped under the table to look for it. A few moments
were spent in search, before he discovered that Euphra's foot
was upon it. He begged her to move a little, but received no
reply either by word or act. Looking up in some alarm, he
saw that she was either asleep or in a faint. By an impulse
inexplicable to himself at the time, he went at once to the
windows, and drew down the green blinds. When he turned
towards her again, she was reviving or awaking, he could not
tell which.
" How stupid of me to go to sleep ! " she said. " Let us
go on with our reading. ' '
They had read for about half an hour, when three taps upon
one of the windows, slight, but peculiar, and as if given with
the point of a finger, suddenly startled them. Hugh turned
at once towards the Avindows ; but, of course, he could see
nothing, having just lowered the blinds. He turned again
towards Euphra. She had a strange, wild look ; her lips were
slightly parted, and her nostrils wide ; her face was rigid, and
glimmering pale as death from the cloud of her black hair.
•' What was it? " said Hugh, affected by her fear with the
horror of the unknown. But she made no answer, and con-
tinued staring towards one of the windows. He rose and waa
DAVID ELGINBROD. 175
about to advance to it, when she caught him by the hand with
a grasp of which hers would have been incapable except under
the influence of terror. At that moment a clock in the room
began to strike. It was a slow clock, and went on deliberate-
ly, striking one . . . two . . . three . . . till it had struck
twelve. Every stroke Avas a bloAV from the hammer of fear,
and his heart was the bell. He could not breathe for dread so
long as the awful clock was striking. When it had ended,
they looked at each other again, and Hugh breathed once.
"Euphra ! " he sighed.
But she made no answer ; she turned her eyes again to one
of the windows. They were both standing. He sought to
draw her to him, but she yielded no more than a marble statue.
"I crossed th6 Ghost's Walk to-night," said he, in a hard
whisper, scarcely knowing that he uttered it, till he heard his
own words. They seemed to fall upon his ear as if spoken by
some one outside the room. She looked at him once more, an^.
kept looking with a fixed stare. Gradually her face became
less rigid, and her eyes less wild. She could move at last.
"Come, come,' she said, in a hurried whisper. "Let us
go — no, no, not that way ; " — as Hugh Avould have led her
towards the private stair, — "let us go the front way, by the
oak staircase."
They went up together. When they reached the door of
her room, she said, " Good-niglit," without even looking at
him, and passed in. Hugh went on, in a state of utter be-
Avilderment, to his own apartment ; shut the door and locked
it, — a thing he had never done before : lighted both the
candles on his table ; and then walked up and down the room,
trying, like one aware that he is dreaming, to come to his real
self.
" Pshaw ! " he said at last. " It was only a little bird, or
a large moth. How odd it is that darkness can make a fool of
one ! I am ashamed of myself. I wish I had gone out at the
Avindow, if only to show Euphra I Avas not afraid, though of
course there was nothing to be seen."
As he said this in his mind, — he could not have spoken it
aloud, for fear of hearing his own A^oice in the solitude, — he
Avent to one of the Avindows of his sitting-room, Avliich was
nearly oA^er the library, and looked into the woo(l. Could it
176 DAVID ELGINBROD.
be ? — Yes, — he did see something white, gliding through
the wood, away in the direction of the Ghost's Walk. It
vanished ; and he saw it no more.
The morning was for advanced before he could go to bed.
When the first light of the aurora broke the sky, he looked out
again ; and the first glimmerings of the morning in the
Avood were more dreadful than the deepest darkness of the past
niglit. Possessed by a new horror, he thought how awful it
would be to see a belated ghost, hurrying away in helpless
haste. The spectre would be yet more terrible in the gray
light of the coming day, and the azure breezes of the morning,
which to it would be like a new and more fearful death, than
amidst its own homely, sepulchral darkness ; while tlie silence
all around — silence in light — could befit only that dread
season of loneliness when men are lost in sleep, and ghosts, if
they walk at all, walk in dismay.
But at length fear yielded to sleep, though still he troubled
her short reign.
When he awoke, he found it so late, that it was all he could
do to get down in time for breakfast. But so anxious was ho
not to be later than usual, that he was in the room before Mr.
Arnold made his appearance. Euphra, however, was there be-
fore him. She greeted him in the usual way, quite circum-
spectly. But she looked troubled. Her face was very pale,
and her eyes were red, as if from sleeplessness or weeping.
When her uncle entered, she addressed him with more gayety
than usual, and he did not perceive that anything was amiss
with her. But the whole of that day she walked as in a
reverie, avoiding Hugh two or three times that they chanced to
meet without a third person in the neighborhood. Once iu
the forenoon — when she was generally to be fouad in her
room — he could not refrain from trying to see her. The
change and the mystery were insupportable to him. But
when he tapped at her door, no answer came ; and he walked
back to Harry, feeling as if, by an unknown door in his own
soul, he had been shut out of the half of his being. Or, rather,
a wall seemed to have been built right before his eyes,
which still was there wherever ho went.
As to the gliding phantom of the previous night, the day
denieji it all, telling him it was but the coinage of his owu
DAVID ELGINBROD. 177
overwrought brain, weakened by prolonged tension of the
intellect, and excited by the presence of Euphra at an hour
claimed by phantoms when not yielded to sleep. This was the
easiest and most natural way of disposing of the dijEculty.
The cloud around Euphra hid the ghost in its skirts.
Althouo;h fear in some measure returned with the returnino:
shadows, he yet resolved to try to get Euphra to meet him
again in the library that night. But she never gave him a
chance of even dropping a hint to that purpose. She had not
gone out with them in the morning ; and when he followed her
into the drawing-room she was already at the piano. He
thought he might convey his wish without interrupting the
music ; but as often as he approached her she broke, or rather
glided, out into song, as if she had been singing in an under-
tone all the while. He could not help seeing she did not
intend to let him speak to her. But, all the time, whatever
she sang was something she knew he liked ; and as often as she
spoke to him in the hearing of her uncle or cousin, it was in a
manner peculiarly graceful and simple.
He could not understand her ; and was more bewitched,
more fascinated than ever, by seeing her through the folds of the
incomprehensible, in which element she had wrapped herself
from his nearer vision. She had always seemed above him ;
now she seemed miles away as well; a region of Paradise into
which he was forbidden to enter. Everything about her, to
her handkerchief and her gloves, was haunted by a vague
mystery of worshipfulness, and drew him towards it with
wonder and trembling. When they parted for the night, she
shook hands with him with a cool frankness that put him
nearly beside himself with desjmir: and when he found himself
in his own room, it was some time before he could collect his
thoughts. Having succeeded, however, he resolved, in spite
of growing fears, to go to the library, and see whether it were
not possible she might be there. He took up a candle, and
went down the back stair. But when he opened the library
door, a gust of wind blew his candle out; all was darkness
within. A sudden horror seized him; and, afraid of yielding to
the inclination to bound up the stair, lest he should go wild
with the terror of pursuit, he crept slowly back, feeling his way
to his own room with a determined deliberateness. Could the
12
178 PAVID ELGINBROD.
library window have been left open ? Else whence the gust
of wind ?
Next day, and tlie next, and the next, he fired no better;
her behavior continued the same ; and she allowed him no
opportunity of requesting an explanation.
CHAPTER XXVIL
A SUNDAY.
A man may bo a heretic in the truth; and if he believe things only because his
pastor says so, or the assembly so determines, witliout knowing other reason,
though his belief bo true, yet the very truth he holds becomes his heresy. —
Milton. — Areopayitica.
At length the expected visitors arrived. Hugh saw noth-
ing of them till they assembled for dinner. Mrs. Elton was a
benevolent old lady, — not old enough to give in to being old,
— rather tall, and rather stout, in rich widow-costume, whose
depth had been moderated by time. Iler kindly gray eyes
looked out from a calm face, which seemed to have taken com-
fort from loving everybody in a mild and moderate fxshion.
Lady Emily was a slender girl, rather shy, with fair hair, and
a pale, innocent face. She wore a violet dress, which put out
her blue eyes. She showed to no advantage beside the sup-
jjresscd glow of life which made Euphra look like a tropical
twilight. I am aware there is no such thing, but, if there
were, it would be just like her.
Mrs. Elton seemed to have concentrated the motherhood of
her nature, which was her most prominent characteristic, not-
withstanding — or perhaps in virtue of — her childlessness,
upon Lady Emily. To her Mrs. Elton was solicitously atten-
tive ; and she, on her part, received it all sweetly and grate-
fully, taking no umbrage at being treated as more of an
invalid than she was.
Lady Emily ate nothing but chicken, and custard-pudding
or rice, all the time she was at Arnstead.
DAVID ELGINBROD. 179
The richer and more seasoned any dish, the more grateful
it was to Euphra.
]\Ir. Arnold was a saddle-of-mutton man.
Hugh preferred roast beef, but ate anything.
" What sort of a clergyman have you now, Mr. Arnold? "
asked Mrs. Elton, at the dinner-table.
" Oh ! a very respectable young gentleman, brother to Sir
Richard, who has the gift, you know. A very moderate, ex-
cellent clergyman he makes too ! ' '
"Ah! but you know. Lady Emily and I" — here she
looked at Lady Emily, who smiled and blushed faintly — "are
very dependent on our Sundays, and — "
'• We all go to church regularly, I assure you, Mrs. Elton;
and of course my carriage shall be always at your disposal."
" I was in no doubt about either of those things, indeed, Mr.
Arnold. But what sort of a preacher is he ? "
" Ah, well ! let me see. AVhat was the subject of his ser-
mon last Sunday, Euphra, my dear?"
"The devil and all his angels," answered Euphra. with a
wicked flash in her eyes.
" Yes, yes ; so it was. Oh, I assure you, Mrs. Elton, he is
quite a respectable preacher, as well as a clergyman. He is
an honor to the cloth."
Hugh could not help thinking that the tailor should have
his due, and that Mr. Arnold gave it him.
"He is no Puseyite either," added Mr. Arnold, seeing but
not understanding Mrs. Elton's baffled expression, "though he
does preach once a month in his surplice."
" I am afraid you will not find him very original though,"
eaid Hugh, wishing to help the old lady.
" Original ! " interposed Mr. Arnold. " Really, I am bound
to say I don't knoAv how the remark applies. How is a man
to be original on a subject that is all laid down in plain print,
— to use a vulgar expression. — and has been commented upon
for eighteen hundred years and more ? "
"Very true, Mr. Arnold," responded Mrs. Elton. "We
don't want originality, do we ? It is only the gospel we want.
Does he preach the gospel ? "
" How can he preach anything else? His text is; always
out of some part of the Bible."
180 DAVID ELGINBROD.
"I am glad to see you hold by the inspiration of the Scrip-
tures, Mr. Arnold," said Mrs. Elton, chaotically bewildered.
"Good heavens! Madam, what do you mean? Could you
for a moment suppose me to be an atheist ? Surely you have
not become a student of German Neology? " And Mr. Arnold
smiled a grim smile.
" Not I, indeed ! " protested poor Mrs. Elton, moving un-
easily in her seat. " I quite agree with you, Mr. Arnold."
"Then you may take my word for it, that you will hear
nothing but what is highly orthodox, and perfectly worthy of
a gentleman and a clergyman, from the pulpit of Mr. Penfold.
He dined with us only last week."
This last assertion was made in an injured tone, just suffi-
cient to curl the tail of the sentence. After which, what was
to be said ?
Several vain attempts followed, before a new subject was
started, sufficiently uninteresting to cause, neither from
warmth nor stupidity, any damage of dissension^ and quite
worthy of being here omitted.
Dinner over, and the ceremony of tea — in Lady Emily's
case, milk and water — having been observed, the visitors
withdrew.
The next day was Sunday. Lady Emily came downstairs
in black, which suited her better. She was a pretty, gentle
creature, interesting from her illness, and good because she
knew no evil, except what she heard of from the pulpit. They
walked to church, which was no great distance, along a
meadow-path paved with flags, some of them worn through by
the heavy shoes of country generations. The church was one
of those which are, in some measure, typical of the Church
itself; for it was very old, and would have been very beauti-
ful, had it not been all plastered over, and whitened to a
smooth uniformity of ugliness, — the attempt having been more
successful in the case of the type. The open roof had had a
French heaven added to it, — I mean a ceiling; and the pil-
lars, which, even if they were not carved — though it was im-
possible to come to a conclusion on that point — must yet have
been worn into the beauty of age, had been filled up, and
stained with yellow ochre. Even tlie renmants of stained glass
in some of the windows were half concealed by modern appli-
DAVID ELJINBROD. 181
ances for the part/al exclusion of the light. The church had
fared as Chaucer in the hands of Dryden. So had the truth,
that flickered through the sermon, fared in the hands of the
clergyman, or of the sermon-wright whose manuscript he had
bought for eighteen pence — I am told that sermons are to be
procured at that price — on his last visit to London. Having,
although a Scotchman, had an Episcopalian education, Hugh
could not help rejoicing that not merely the Bible, but the
church- service as well, had been fixed beyond the reach of
such degenerating influences as those which had operated on
the more material embodiments of religion; for otherwise such
would certainly have been the first to operate, and would have
found the greatest scope in any alteration. We may hope that
nothing but a true growth in such religion as needs and seeks
new expression for new depth and breadth of feeling, will ever
be permitted to lay the hand of change upon it, — a hand,
otherwise, of desecration and ruin.
The sermon was chiefly occupied with proving that God i?
no respecter of persons ; a mark of indubitable condescension in
the clergyman, the rank in society which he could claim for
himself duly considered. But, unfortunately, the church was
so constructed that its area contained three platforms of posi-
tion, actually of differing level ; the loftiest, in the chancel, on
the right hand of the pulpit, occupied by the gentry ; the middle,
opposite the pulpit, occupied by the tulip-beds of their ser-
vants ; and the third, on the left of the pulpit, occupied by the
common parishioners. Unfortunately, too, by the perpetua-
tion of some old custom, whose significance was not worn out,
all on the left of the pulpit were expected, as often as they
stood up to sing, — which was three times, — to turn their
backs to the pulpit, and so face away from the chancel where
the gentry stood. But there was not much inconsistency,
after all ; the sermon founding its argument chiefly on the
antithetical' facts, that death, lowering the rich to the level of
the poor, was a dead leveller ; and that, on the other hand,
the life to come would raise the poor to the level of the rich.
It was a pity that there was no phrase in the language to
justify him in carrying out the antithesis, and so balancing
his sentence like a rope-walker, by saying that life was a live
leveller. The sermon ended with a solemn warning: " Those
182 DAVID ELGINBROD.
who neglect the gospel-scheme, and never think of death and
judgment, — be they rich or poor, be thej wise or ignorant, —
•\viiether they dwell in the palace or the hut, — shall be
damned. Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the
Holy Ghost," etc.
Lady Emily was forced to confess that she had not been
much interested in the sermon. Mrs. Elton thought he spoke
plainly, but there was not much of the gospel in it. Mr.
Arnold opined that people should not go to church to hear
sermons, but to make the responses ; whoever read prayers, it
made no difference, for the prayers were the Church's, not
the parson's; and for the sermon, as long as it showed the un-
educated how to be saved, and taught them to do their duty in
the station of life to which God had called them, and so lonoj
as the parson preached neither Puseyism nor Radicalism — he
frowned solemnly and disgustedly as he repeated the word —
nor Radicalism, it was of comparatively little moment whether
he was a man of intellect or not, for he could not m wrons.
Little was said in reply to this, except something not very
audible or definite, by Mrs. Elton, about the necessity of faith.
The conversation, which took place at luncheon, flagged, and
the visitors withdrew to their respective rooms, to comfort
themselves with their Daily Po7'tlons.
At dinner, Mr. Arnold, evidently believing he had made an
impression by his harangue of the morning, resumed the sub-
ject. Hugh was a little surprised to find that he had, even of
a negative sort, strong opinions on the subject of religion.
" What do you think, then, Mrs. Elton, my dear madam,
that a clergyman ought to preach? "
" I think, Mr. Arnold, that he ought to preach salvation by
faith in the merits of the Saviour."
" Oh ! of course, of course. We shall not differ about that.
Everybody believes that."
" I doubt it very much. He ought, in order that men may
believe, to explain the divine plan, by which the demands of
divine justice are satisfied, and the punishment due to sin
averted from the guilty, and laid upon the innocent ; that, by
bearing our sins, he might make atonement to the wrath of a
justly offended God ; and so — "
"Now, my dear madam, permit me to ask what right we,
DAVID ELG.TNBROD. 183
the subjects of a Supreme Authority, have to inquire into the
reasons of his doings. It seems to me — I should be soitj to
offend any one, but it seems to me quite as presumptuous as
the present arrogance of the lower classes in interfering with
government, and demanding a right to give their opinion, for-
sooth, as to the laws bj which they shall be governed ; as if
tliey were capable of understanding the principles by which
kings rule, and governors decree justice. I believe I quote
Scripture."
" Are we, then, to remain in utter ignorance of the divine
character ? ' '
' ' What business have we with the divine character ? Or
how could we understand it ? It seems to me we have enough
to do with our own. Do I inquire into the character of my
sovereign ? All we have to do is, to listen to what we are
told by those who are educated for such studies, whom the
Church approves, and who are appointed to take care of the,
souls committed to their charge ; to teach them to respect their
superiors, and to lead honest, hard-working lives."
Much more of the same sort flowed from the oracular lips
of Mr. Arnold. When he ceased, he found that the conversa-
tion had ceased also. As soon as the ladies withdrew, he said,
without looking at Hugh, as he filled his glass : —
" Mr. Sutherland, I hate cant."
And so he canted against it.
But the next day, and during the whole week, he seemed to
lay himself out to make amends for the sharpness of his remarks
on the Sunday. He was~" afraid he had made his guests
uncomfortable, and so sinned against his own character as a
host. Everything that he could devise was brought to bear
for their entertainment ; daily rides in the open carriage, in
which he always accompanied them, to show his estate, and the
improvements he was making upon it ; visits sometimes to the
more deserving, as he called them, of the poor upon his
property, — the more deserving being the most submissive and
obedient to the wishes of their lord ; inspections of the schools,
etc., etc. ; in all of Avhich matters he took a stupid, benevolent
interest. For if people would be content to occupy the corner
in Avhich he chose to place them, he would throw them morsel
184 DAVID ELGINBROD.
after morsel, as long as ever they chose to pick it up. But
woe to them if thej left this corner a single pace !
Euphra made one of the party always ; and it was dreary
indeed for Hugh to be left in the desolate house without her,
though but for a few hours. And when she was at home, she
never yet permitted him to speak to her alone.
There might ha-ve been some hope for Harry in Hugh's
separation from Euphra ; but the result was that, although he
spent school-hours more regularly with him, Hugh was yet
more dull and uninterested in the work than he had been be-
fore. Instead of caring that his pupil should understand this
or that particular, he would be speculating on Euphra's
behavior, trying to account for this or that individual look or
tone, or seeking, perhaps, a special symbolic meaning in some
general remark that she had happened to let fall. Meanwhile,
poor Harry would be stupefying himself with work which he
could not understand for lack of some explanation or other that
ought to have been given him weeks ago. Still, however, he
clung to Hugh with a far-off, worshipping love, never suspect-
ing that he could be to blame, but thinking at one time that he
must be ill, at another that he himself was really too stupid,
and that his big brother could not help getting tired of him.
When Hugh would be wandering about the place, seeking to
catch a glimpse of the skirt of Euphra's dress, as she went about
with her guests, or devising how he could procure an interview
with her alone, Harry would be following him at a distance,
like a little terrier that had lost its master, and did not know
whether this man would be friendly or-not; never spying on his
actions, but merely longing to be near him, — for had not Hugh
set him going in the way of life, even if he had now left him
to walk in it alone ? If Hugh could have ,once seen into that
warm, true, pining little heart, he would not have neglected it
as he did. He had no eyes, however, but for Euphra.
Still, it may be that even now Harry was able to gather,
though with tears, some advantage from Hugh's neglect. He
used to wander about alone ; and it may be that the hints
which his tutor had already given him enabled him now to
find for himself the interest belonging to many objects never
before remarked. Perhaps even now he began to take a few
steps alone; tho waking independence of which was of more
DAVID ELGINBROD, 185
value for the future growth of his nature than a thousand
miles accomplished bj the aid of the strong arm of his "tutor.
One certain advantage was, that the constitutional trouble of
the boy's nature had now assumed a definite form, bj gathering
around a definite object, and blending its own shadowy being
Avith the sorrow he experienced from the loss of his tutor's
sympatliy. Should that sorrow ever be cleared away, much
besides might be cleared away along with it.
Meantime, nature found some channels, worn by his grief,
through which her comforts, that, like waters, press on all
sides, and enter at every cranny and fissure in the house of life,
might gently flow into him with their sympathetic soothing.
Often he would creep away to the nest which Hugh had built
and then forsaken ; and seated there in the solitude of the
wide-bourgeoned oak, he would sometimes feel for a moment as
if lifted up above the world and its sorrows, to be visited by an
all-healing wind from God, that came to him, through ther
wilderness of leaves around him, gently, like all powerful
things.
But / am putting the boy's feelings into forms and worda
for him. He had none of either for them.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
A STORM.
"When the mind's free.
The body's delicate : the tempest in my mind
Doth from my senses take all feeling else
Save what beats there. King Lear.
While Harry took to wandering abroad in the afternoon
sun, Hugh, on the contrary, found the bright weather so dis-
tasteful to him, that he generally trifled away his afternoons
with some old romance in tlie dark library, or lay on the couch
in his study, listless and suffering. He could neither read nor
write. V/hat he felt he maat do he did ; but nothino; more.
186 DAVID ELGINBROD.
One day, about noon, the weather began to change. In the
afternoon it grew dark; and Hugh, going to the window, per-
ceived with dcliglit — the first he had experienced for many
days — that a great thunder-storm was at liand. Harry was
rather frightened ; but under his fear there evidently lay a
deep delight. The storm came nearer and nearer ; till at
length a vivid flash broke from the mass of darkness over the
woods, lasted for one brilliant moment, and vanished. The
thunder followed, like a pursuing wild beast, close on the
traces of the vanishing light ; as if the darkness were hunting
the light from the earth, and bellowing with rage that it could
not overtake and annihilate it. Without the usual prelude of
a few great drops, the rain poured at once, in continuous
streams, from the dense canopy overhead ; and in a few mo-
ments there were six inches of water all round the house,
which the force of the falling streams made to foam, and fume,
and flash like a seething torrent. Harry had crept close to
Hugh, who stood looking out of the window ; and as if the con-
vulsion of the elements had begun to clear the spiritual and
moral, as well as the physical, atmosphere, Hugh looked down
on the boy kindly, and put his arm round his shoulders.
Harry nestled closer, and wished it would thunder forever.
But longing to hear his tutor's voice, he ventured to speak,
looking up to his face : —
" Euphra says it is only electricity, Mr. Sutherland. AVhat
is that?"
A common tutor would have seized the opportunity of ex-
plaining what he knew of the laws and operations of electric-
ity. Bui Hugh had been long enough a pupil of David to
feel that to talk at such a time of anything in nature but God,
would be to do the boy a serious wrong. One capable of so
doing would, in the presence of the Saviour himself, speculate
on the nature of his own faith ; or upon the death of his child
seize the opportunity of lecturing on anatomy. But before
Hugh could make any reply, a flash, almost invisible from ex-
cess of light, was accompanied rather than followed by a roar
that made the house shake ; and in a moment more the room
was filled with the terrified household, which, by an unreason-
ing impulse, rushed to the neighborhood of him who was con-
eidered the strongest. Mr. Arnold was not at home.
DAVID ELGINBROD. 187
" Come from the window instantly, Mr. Sutherland. How
can you be so imprudent!" cried Mrs. Elton, her usually
calm voice elevated in command, but tremulous with fear.
" Why, Mrs. Ellon," answered Hugh, on Avhose temper, as
well as conduct, recent events had had their operation, "do
you think the devil makes the thunder? "
Lady Emily gave a fiiint shriek, whether out of reverence
for the devil, or fear of God, I hesitate to decide ; and, flitting
out of the room, dived into her bed, and drew the clothes over
her head, — at least so. she was found at a later period of the
day. Euphra walked up to the window beside Hugh, as if to
show her approval of his rudeness ; and stood looking out with
eyes that filled their own night with home-born flashes, though
her lip was pale, and quivered a little. Mrs. Elton, confound-
ed at Hugh's replj'-, and perhaps fearing the house might in
consequence share the fate of Sodom, notwithstanding the pres-
ence of a goodly proportion of the righteous, fled, accompanied
by the house-keaper, to the wine-cellar. The rest of the house-
hold crept into corners, except the coachman, who, retaining
his composure, in virtue of a greater degree of insensibility
from his nearer approximation to the inanimate creation, emp-
tied the jug of ale intended for the dinner of the company, and
went out to look after his horses.
But there was one in the house who, left alone, threw the
window Avide open ; and, with gently clasped hands and calm
countenance, looked up into the heavens; and the clearness of
Avhose eye seemed the prophetic symbol of the clearness that
rose all untroubled above the wild turmoil of the earthly
storm.
Truly God was in the storm ; but there was more of God in
the clear heaven beyond ; and yet more of him in the eye that
regarded the whole with a still joy, in which was mingled
no dismay.
Euphra, Hugh, and Harry were left together, looking out
upon the storm. Hugh could not speak in Harry's presence.
At length the boy sat down in a dark corner on the floor, con-
cealed from the others by a Avindow-curtain. Hugh thought
he had left the room.
" Euphra," he began.
Euphra looked round for Harry, and not seeing him,
188 DAVID ELGINBROD.
:hought likewise that he had left the room. She glided away
without making any answer to Hugh's invocation.
Pie stood for a few moments in motionless despair ; ther
glancing round the room, and taking in all its desertedness,
caught up his hat, and rushed out into the storm. It Avas the
best relief his feelings could have had ; for the sullen gloom,
alternated with bursts of jflarne, invasions of horrid uproar, and
long, wailing blasts of tyrannous wind, gave him his own mood
to walk in ; met his spirit with its own element ; widened, as
it were, his microcosm to the expanse of the macrocosm
around him. All the walls of separation were thrown down,
and he lived, not in his own frame, but in the universal frame
of nature. The world was, for the time, to the reality of his
feeling, what Schleiermacher, in his "Monologen," describes
it as being to man,'^ — an extension of the body in which he
dwells. His spirit flashed in the lightning, raved in the thun-
der, moaned in the wind, and wept in the rain.
But this could not last long, either without or within him.
He came to himself in the woods. IIow far he had wan-
dered, or whereabout he was, he did not know. The storm
had died away, and all that remained was the wind and the
rain. The tree-tops* swayed wildly in the irregular blasts,
and shook new, fitful, distracted, and momentary showers upon
him. It was evening, but Avhat hour of the evening he could
not tell. He was wet to the skin ; but that to a young Scotch-
man is a matter of little moment.
Although he had no intention of returning home for some
time, and meant especially to avoid the dinner-table, — for, in
the mood he was in, it seemed more than he could endure —
lie yet felt the weakness to which we are subject as embodied
beings, in a common enough form ; that, namely, of the neces-
sity of knowing the precise portion of space Avhich at the mo-
ment we fill ; a conviction of our identity not being sufficient
to make us comfortable, without a knowledge of our locality
So, looking all about him, and finding- where the wood seemed
thinnest, he went in that direction ; and soon, by forcing his
way through obstacles of all salvage kinds, found himself in
the high road, within a quarter of a mile of the country town
next to Arnstead, removed from it about three miles. This
little town he knew pretty well ; and, beginning to feel ex-
DAVID ELGINBROD. 189
hausted, resolved to go to an inn there, dry his clothes, and
then walk back in the moonlight ; for he felt sure the storm
would be quite over in an hour or so. The fatigue he now
felt was proof enough in itself that the inward storm had, for
the time, raved itself off; and now — must it be confessed?
— he wisted very much for something to eat and drink.
He was soon seated by a blazing fire, with a chop and a.
jug of ale before him.
CHAPTER XXIX.
AN EVENING LECTURE:
The Nightmare
Shall call thee when it walks.
MiDDLETON. — The Witch.
The inn to which Hugh had betaken himself, though not
the first in the town, was yet what is called a respectable
house, and was possessed of a room of considerable size, in
which the farmers of the neighborhood were accustomed to
hold their gatherings. While eating his dinner Hugh
learned from the conversation around him — for he sat in the
kitchen for the sake of the fire — that this room was being
got ready for a lecture on •' Bilology," as the landlady called
it. Bills in red and blue had been posted all over the town ;
and before he had finished his dinner, the audience had begun
to arrive. Partly from curiosity about a subject of which he
knew nothing, and partly because it still rained, and, hav-
ing got nearly dry, he did not care about a second wetting if
he could help it, Hugh resolved to make one of them. So
he stood by the fire till he Avas informed that the lecturer had
made his appearance, when he went upstairs, paid his shilling,
and was admitted to one of the front seats. The room was
tolerably lighted with gas ; and a platform had been construct-
ed for the lecturer and his subjects. When the place was
about half filled, he came from another room alone, — a little,
thick-set, bull-necked man, with vulgar face and rusty black
190 DAVID ELGINBROD.
clothes, — and, mounting the platform, commenced his lecture,
if lecture it could be called, in which there seemed •to be no
order, and scarcely any sequence. No attempt even at a the-
ory showed itself in the mass of what he called facts and sci-
entific truths ; and he 2^Gr2}etia'(ited the most awful blunders
in his English. It will, not be desired that I should give any
further account of such a lecture. The lecturer himself
seemed to depend chiefly for his success upon the manifesta-
tions of his art which he proceeded to bring forward. He
called his familiar by the name of Willl-am, and a stunted,
pale-faced, dull-looking youth started up from somewhere, and
scrambled upon the platform beside his master. Upon this
tutored slave a number of experiments was performed. lie
was first cast into whatever abnormal condition is necessary
for the operations of biology, and then compelled to make a
fool of himself by exhibiting actions the most inconsistent with
his real circumstances and necessities. But, aware that all
this was open to the most palpable objection of collusion, the
operator next invited any of the company that pleased to sub-
mit themselves to his influences. Alter a pause of a few mo-
ments, a stout country fellow, florid and healtliy, got up and
slouched to the platform. Certainly, whatever might be the
nature of the influence that was brought to bear, its operative'
power could not, with the least probability, be attributed to
an over-activity of imagination in either of the subjects sub-
mitted to its exercise. In the latter as well as in the former
case the operator was eminently successful ; and the cloAvn re-
turned to his seat, looking remarkaljly foolish and conscious of
disgrace, — a sufficient voucher to most present, that in this
case at least there had been no collusion. Several others vol-
unteered their negative services ; but Avith no one of them did
he succeed so Avell, and in one case the failure was evident.
The lecturer pretended to account for this, in making some
confused and unintelligible remarks about the state of the
weather, the thunder-storm, electricity, etc., of which things
he evidently did not understand the best known laws.
" The blundering idiot ! " growled, close to Hugh's ear, a
voice with a foreign accent.
He looked round sharply.
DAVID ELGINBROD. 191
A tall, powerful, eminently handsome man, with his face aa
foreign as his tone and accent, sat beside him.
"I beg jour pardon," he said to Hugh; "I thought
aloud."
" I should like to know, if jou wouldn't mind telling me,
what JOU detect of the blunderer in him. I am quite ignorant
of these matters."
" I have had manj opportunities of observing them ; and I
see at once that this man, though he has the natural power, is
excessivelj ignorant of the whole subject."
This was all the answer he vouchsafed to Hugh's modest
inquirj. Hugh had not jet learned that one will alwajs fare
better bj cojjcealing than bj acknowledging ignorance. The
man, whatever his capacitj, who honestlj confesses even a
partial ignorance, will instantlj be treated as more or less in-
capable, bj the ordinarj man who has alreadj gained a partial
knowledge, or is capable of assuming a knov/ledge which he
does not possess. But, for God's sake ! let the honest and
modest man stick to his honestj and modestj, cost what thej
maj.
Hugh was silent, and fixed his attention once more on what
was going on. But presentlj he became aware that the for-
eiojner was scrutinizino; him with the closest attention. He
knew this, somehow, Avithout having looked round ; and the
knowledge was accompanied with a feeling of discomfort that
caused him to make a restless movement on his seat. Pres-
entlj he felt that the annojance had ceased; but not manj
minutes had passed before it again commenced. In order to
relieve himself from a feeling Avhich he could on] j compare to
that which might be produced bj the presence of the dead, he
turned towards his neighbor so suddenlj, that it seemed for a
moment to embarrass him, his ejes being caught in the verj
act of devouring the stolen indulgence. But the stranger re-
covered himself instantlj with the question : —
" Will JOU permit me to ask of what Tountr j jou are ? "- "
Hugh thought he made the request onlj for the sake of cov-
ering his rudeness ; and so merelj answered : —
" Whj, an Englishman of course."
"Ah! jGS ; it is not necessarj to be told that. But it
seems to me, from jour accent, that jou are a Scotchman."
192 DAVID ELGINBROD.
" So I am."
•'A Highlander?"
" I was born in the Highlands. But, if you are very anx-
ious to know my pedigree, I have no reason for concealing the
fact that I am, by birth, half a Scotchman and half a Welch-
man."
The foreigner riveted his gaze, though but for the briefest
moment sufficient to justify its being called a gaze, once more
upon Hugh ; and then, with a slight bow, as of acquiescence,
turned towards the lecturer.
When the lecture was over, and Hugh was walking away in
the midst of the withdrawing audience, the stranger touched
him on the shoulder. ^
"You said that yon would like to know more of this sci-
ence; will you come to my lodging? " said he.
" With pleasure," Hugh answered; though the look with
which he accompanied the words must have been one rather
of surprise.
"You are astonished that a stranger should invite you so.
Ah ! you English always demand an introduction. There is
mine."
He handed Hugh a card, — Herr von Fanlcelstein. Hugh
happened to be provided with one in exchange.
The two walked out of the inn, along the old High Street,
full of gables and all the delightful irregularities of an old
country-town, till they came to a court, down which Herr von
Funkelstein led the way.
He let himself in with a pass-key at a low door, and then
conducted Hugh, by a stair whose narrowness was equalled by
its steepness, to a room, which, though not many yards above
the level of the court, was yet next to the roof of the low
house. Hugh could see nothing till his conductor lighted a
candle. Then he found himself in a rather large room with a
shaky floor and a low roof. A chintz-curtained bed in one
corner had the skin of a tiger thrown over it ; and a table in
another had a pair of foils lying upon it. The German — for
such he seemed to Hugh — offered him a chair in the politest
manner, and Hugh sat down.
" I am only in lodgings here," said the host ; "so you will
forgive the poverty of my establishment."
DAVID ELGINBROD. 193
"There is no occasion for forgiveness, I assure you, "'an-
swered Hugh.
" You wished to know something of the subject with which
that lecturer was befooling himself and the audience at the
same time."
'' I shall be grateful for any enlightenment."
" Ah ! it is a subject for the study of a benevolent scholar ;
not for such a clown as that. He jumps at no conclusions;
yet he shares the fate of one who does : he flounders in the
mire between. No man will make anything of it who has not
the benefit of the human race at heart. Humanity is the only
safe guide in matters such as these. This is a dangerous
study indeed in unskilful hands."
Here a frightful caterwauling interrupted Herr von Funkel-
stein. The room had a storm-window, of which the lattice
stood open. In front of it on the roof, seen against a white'
house opposite, stood a demon of a cat, arched to half its
length, with a tail expanded to double its natural thickness.
Its antagonist was invisible from where Hugh sat. Von Fun-
kelstein started up without making the slightest noise, ti'od as
softly as a cat to the table, took up one of the foils, removed
the button, and, creeping close to tlie window, made one rapid
pass at the enemy, which vanished with a shriek of hatred and
fear. He then, replacing the button, laid the foil down, and
resumed his seat and his discourse. This, after dealing with
generalities and commonplaces for some time, gave no sign of
coming either to an end or to the point. All the time he was
watching Hugh — at least so Hugh thought — as if speculat-
ing on him in general. Then appearing to have come to some
conclusion, he gave his mind more to his talk, and encouraged
Hugh to speak as well. The conversation lasted for nearly
half an hour. At its close, Hugh felt that the stranger had
touched upon a variety of interesting subjects, as one possessed
of a minute knowledge of them. But he did not feel that he
had gained any insight from his conversation. It seemed,
rather, as if he had been giving him a number of psychological,
social, literary, and scientific receipts. During the course of
the talk, his eyes had appeared to rest on Hugh by a kind of
compulsion ; as if by its own will it would have retired from
the scrutiny, but the will of its owner was too strong for it
13
/' ^' OF THc
194 DAVID ELGINBROD.
It seemed, in relation to him, to be only a kind of tool, which
he used for a particular purpose.
At length Fuukelstein rose, and, marching across the room
to a cupboard, brought out a bottle and glasses, saying, in the
most bj-the-by way, as he went : —
"Have you the second-sight, Mr. Sutherland? "
" Certainly not, as far as I am aware."
" Ah ! the Welch do have it, do they not? "
"Oh, yes, of course!" answered Hugh, laughing. "I
should like to know, though," he added, " whether they in-
herit the gift as Celts or as mountaineers."
" Will you take a glass of — ? "
" Of nothing, thank you," answered and interrupted Hugh.
"It is time for me to be going. Indeed, I fear I have stayed
too long already. Good-night, Herr von Funkelstein."
" You will allow me the honor of returning your visit ? "
Hugh felt he could do no less, although he had not the
smallest desire to keep up the acquaintance. He wrote Arn-
stead on his card.
As he left the house, he stumbled over something in the
court. Looking down, he saw it was a cat, apparently dead.
' ' Can it be the cat Herr Funkelstein made the pass at ? "
thought he. But presently he foriiot all about it, in the vis-
ions of Euphra which filled his mind during his moonlight
Avalk home. It just occurred to him, however, before those
visions had blotted everything else from his view, that he had
learned simply nothing whatever about biology from his late
host.
When he reached home, he was admitted by the butler, and
retired to bed at once, where he slept soundly, for the first
time for many nights.
But, as he drew near his own room, he might have seen,
though he saw not, a little white figure gliding away in the
far distance of the long passage. It was only Harry, who
could not lie still in his bed, till he knew that his big brother
was safe at home.
DAVID ELGINBROD. 195
CHAPTER XXX.
ANOTHER EVENING LECTURE. .
This Eneas is come to Paradise
Out of tho swolowe of Hell.
Chaucer. — Legend of Dido.
The next day, Hugh was determined to find or make an
opportunity of speaking to Euplira ; and fortune seemed to
favor him. Or was it Euphra herself in one or other of her in-
explicable moods ? At all events, she bad that morning allowed
the ladies and her uncle to go without her ; and Hugh met
her as he went to his study. o
" May I speak to you for one moment? " said he, hurriedly,
and with trembling lips.
" Yes, certainly," she replied, with a smile, and a glance in
his face as of wonder as to what could trouble him so much.
Then turning, and leading the way, she said : —
" Come into my room."
He followed her. She turned and shut the door, which he
had left open behind him. He almost knelt to her ; but some-
thing held him back from that.
" Euphra," he said, " what have I done to offend you? "
"Offend me! Nothing." This was uttered in a perfect
tone of surprise.
" How is it that you avoid me as you do, and will not allow
me one moment's speech with you? You are driving me to
distraction."
"Why, you foolish man!" she answered, half playfully,
pressing the palms of her little hands together, and looking up
in his face, " how can I? Don't you see how those two dear
old ladies swallow me up in their faddles ? Oh, dear ! Oh,
dear ! I wish they would go. Then it would be all right
again, — wouldn't it ? "
But Hugh was not to be so easily satisfied.
" Before they came, ever since that night — "
" Hush-sh ! " she interrupted, putting her finger on his lips,
and looking hurriedly round her with an air of fright, of which
196 DAVID ELGINBROD.
he could hardlj judge whether it was real or assumed, —
"hush!"
Comforted wondrouslj by the hushing finger, Hugh would
yet understand more.
" I am no baby, dear Euphra," he said, taking hold of t!ie
hand to which the finger belonged, and laying it on his mouth ;
" do not make one of me. There is some mystery in all this,-
at least something I do not understand."
"I will tell you all about it one day. But, seriously, you
must be careful how you behave to me ; for if my uncle should,
but for one moment, entertain a suspicion — good-by to you
— perhaps good-by to Arnstead. All my influence with him
comes from his thinking that I like him better than anybody
else. So you must not make the poor old man jealous. By-
the-by," she went* on, — rapidly, as if she .would turn the
current of the conversation aside, — " what a favorite you have
grown with him ! You should have heard him talk of you to
the old ladies. I might well be jealous of you. There never
was a tutor like his."
Hugh's heart smote him that the praise of even this common
man, proud of his own vanity, should be undeserved by him.
He was troubled, too, at the flippancy with which Euphra
spoke ; yet not the less did he feel that he loved her passion-
ately.
" I dare say," he replied, " he praised me as he would
anything else that happened to be his. Isn't that old bay
horse of his the best hack in the county ? ' '
" You naughty man ! Are you going to be satirical ? "
" You claim that as your privilege, do you? "
''Worse and worse ! I will not talk to you. But, seriously,
for I must go — bring your Italian to — to — " She hesitated.
" To the library, — why not ? " suggested Hugh.'
" No-o," she answered, shaking her head, and looking quite
Bolemn.
"Well, will you come to my study? Will that please you
better?"
" Yes, I will," she answered, with a definitive tone. " Good-
by now."
She opened the door, and, having looked out to see that no
DAVID ELGINBROD. 197
one was passing, told him to go. As he went, he felt as if the
oaken floor were elastic beneath his tread.
It was some time after the household had retired, however,
before Euphra made her appearance at the door of his study.
She seemed rather shy of entering, and hesitated, as if she felt
she was doing something she ought not to do. But as soon as
she had entered, and the door was shut, she appeared to re-
cover herself quite ; and they sat down at the table with their
books. They could not get on very well with their reading,
however. Hugh often forgot what he was about, in looking at
her; and she seemed nowise inclined to avert his gazes, or
check the growth of his admiration.
Rather abruptly, but apparently starting from some sugges-
tion in the book, she said to him : —
"By-the-by, has Mr. Arnold ever said anything to you
about the family jewels ? "
" No," said Hugh. " Are there many? "
" Yes, a great many. Mr. Arnold is very proud of them, as
well as of the portraits ; so he treats them in the same way, —
keeps them locked up. Indeed, he seldom allows them to see
daylight, except it be as a mark of especial favor to some
one.''
"I should like much to see them. I have always been
curious about stones. They are wonderful, mysterious things
to me."
Euphra gave him a very peculiar, searching glance, as he
spoke.
" Shall I," he continued, " give him a hint that I should
like to see them ? "
"By no means," answered Euphra, emphatically, "except
he should refer to them himself He is very jealous of his
possessions, — his flimily possessions, I mean. Poor old man !
he has not much else to plume himself upon ; has he ? "
" He is kind to you, Euphra."
She looked at him as if she did not understand him.
"Yes. What then?"
"You ought not to be unkind to him."
" You odd creature ! I am not unkind to him. I like
him. But we are not getting on with our reading. What
could have led me to talk about family jewels ? Oh ! I see.
198 DAVID ELGINBROD.
What a strange thing the association of ideas is ! There is not
a very obvious connection here, is there? "
*' No. One cannot account for such things. The links in
the chain of ideas are sometimes slender enough ; jet the
slenderest is sufficient to enable the electric flash of thought to
pass along the line."
She seemed pondering for a moment.
" That strikes me as a fine simile," she said. '' You ought
to be a poet yourself."
Hugh made no reply.
" I dare say you have hundreds of poems in that old desk,
now? "
" I think they might be counted by tens."
" Do let me see them."
" You would not care for them."
" Wouldn't I, Hugh ? "
"I will, on one condition — two conditions, I mean."
"What are they?"
" One is, that you show me yours."
"Mine?"
"Yes."
" Who told you I wrote verses ? That silly boy ? "
" No. I saw your verses before I saw you. You remem-
ber?"
" It was very dishonorable in you to read them."
" I only saw they were verses. I did not read a word."
" I forgive you, then. You must show me yours first, till I
see whether I could venture to let you see mine. If yours
were very bad indeed, then I might risk showing mine."
And much more of this sort, with which I will not weary my
readers. It ended in Hugh's taking from the old escritoire a
bundle of papers, and handing them to Euphra. But the
reader need not fear that I am going to print any of these
verses. I have more respect for my honest prose page than to
break it up so. Indeed, the whole of this interview might
have been omitted, but for two circumstances. One of them
was, that, in getting these papers, Hugh had to open a con-
cealed portion of the escritoire, Avhich his mathematical knowl-
edge had enabled him to discover. It had evidently not been
opened for many years before he found it. He had made use
DAVID ELGINBROD. 199
of it to hold the only treasures he had, --poor enough
treasures, certainly ! Not a loving note, not a lock of hair
even had he, — nothing but the few cobAvebs spun from his own
bi'ain. It is true, we are rich or poor according to what wo
are, not what we have. But what a man has produced is not
what he is. He may even impoverish his true self by pro-
duction.
When Euphra saw him open this place, she uttered a sup-
pressed cry of astonishment.
• ' Ah ! ' ' said Hugh, ' ' you did not know of this hidie-liole,
did you? "
"Indeed, I did not. I had used the desk myself, for this
was a favorite room of mine before you came, but I never found
that. Dear me ! Let me look."
She put her hand on his shoulder and leaned over him, aa
he pointed out the way of opening it.
"Did you find nothing in it?" she said, with a light
tremor in her voice.
" Nothing whatever."
" There may be more places."
" No. I have accounted for the whole bulk, I believe."
' ' How strange ! ' '
" But now you must give me my guerdon," said Hugh,
timidly.
The fact was, the poor youth had bargained, in a playful
manner, and yet with an earnest, covetous heart, for one, the
first kiss, in return for the poems she begged to see.
She turned her face towards him.
The second circumstance which makes the interview worth
recording is, that, at this moment, three distinct knocks were
heord on the window. They sprang asunder, and saw each
other's face paie as death. In Euphra's, the expression of
fright was mingled with one of annoyance. Hugh, though his
heart trembled like a bird, leaped to the window. Nothing
was to be seen but the trees that " stretched their dark arms "
within a few feet of the oriel. Turning again towards Euphra,
he found, to his mortification, that she had vanished and had
left the packet of poems behind her.
He replaced them in their old quarters in the escritoire ;
and his vague dismay at the unaccountable noises waa
200 DAVID ELGINBKOD.
drowned in the bitter waters of miserable humiliation. He
slept at last from the exhaustion of disappointment.
When he awoke, however, he tried to persuade himself that
he had made far too much of the trifling circumstance of her
leaving the verses behind. For was she not terrified ? —
Whj, then, did she leave him and go alone to her own room ?
— She must have felt that she ought not to be in his, at that
hour, and therefore dared not stay. — Why dared not ? Did
she think the house was haunted by a ghost of propriety ?
What rational theory couUl he invent to account for the
strange and repeated sounds ? lie puzzled himself over it to
the verge of absolute intellectual prostration.
He was generally the first in the breakfast-room; that is,
after Euphra, who was always the first. She went up to him
as he entered, and said, almost in a whisper : —
" Have you got the poems for me ? Quick ! "
Hugh hesitated. She looked at him.
" No," he said at last. " You never wanted them."
'' That is ?"e?'?/ unkind; when you know I was frightened
out of my wits. Do give me them."
" They are not worth giving you. Besides, I have not got
them. I don't carry them in my pocket. They are in the
escritoire. I couldn't leave them lying about. Never mind
them."
" I have a right to them," she said, looking up at him
slyly and shyly.
" Well, I gave you them, and you did not think them worth
keeping. I kept my part of the bargain."
She looked annoyed.
"Never mind, dear Euphra; you shall have them, or any-
thing else I have ; — the brain that made them if you like."
" Was it only the brain that had to do -with the making of
them?"
" Perhaps the heart too; but you have that already."
Her face flushed like a damask rose.
At that moment Mrs. Elton entered, and looked a little sur-
prised. Euphra instantly said : —
"I think it is rather too bad of you, Mr. Sutherland, to
keep the boy so hard to his work, when you know he is not
strong. Mrs. Elton, I have been begging a holiday for poor
DAVID ELGINBROD. 201
Harry, to let him go with us to Wotton House ; but he has
such a hard task-master ! He will not hear of it."
The flush, which she could not get rid of all at once, was
thus made to do dutj as one of displeasure. Mrs. Elton was
thoroughly deceived, and united her entreaties to those of Miss
Cameron. Hugh was compelled to join in the deception, and
pretend to yield a slow consent. Thus a holiday was extem-
porized for Harry, subject to the approbation of his father.
This was readily granted ; and Mr. Arnold, turning to Hugh,
said : —
" You will have nothing to do, Mr. Sutherland; had you
not better join us ? "
"With pleasure," replied he; "but the carriage will be
full."
" You can take your horse."
" Thank you very much. I will."
The day was delightful ; one of those gray summer-days,
that are far better for an excursion than bright ones. In the
best of spirits, mounted on a good horse, riding alongside of
the carriage in which Avas the lady who was all womankind to
him, and who, without taking much notice of him, yet con-
trived to throw him a glance now and then, Hugh would have
been overflowingly happy, but for an unquiet, distressed feel-
ing, which all the time, made him aware of the presence of a
sick conscience somewhere within. Mr. Arnold was exceed-
ingly pleasant, for he was much taken with the sweetness and
modesty of Lady Emily, who, having no strong opinions upon
anything, received those of Mr. Arnold with attentive submis-
sion. He saw, or fancied he saw, in her, a great resemblance
to his deceased wife, to whom he had been as sincerely at-
tached as his nature would allow. In fact. Lady Emily ad--
vanced so rapidly in his good graces, that either Euphra was,
or thought fit to appear, rather jealous of her. She paid her
every attention, however, and seemed to gratify Mr. Arnold by
her care of the invalid. She even joined in the entreaties
which, on their way home, he made with evident earnestness,
for an extension of their visit to a month. Lady Emily was
already so much better for the change, that Mrs. Elton made
no objection to the proposal. Euphra gave Hugh one look of
misery, and, turning again, insisted with increased warmth on
202 DAVID ELGINBROD.
tlicir immediate consent. It was gained without much diffi-
culty, before thej reached home.
Harry, too, was captivated by the gentle kindness of Lady
Emily, and hardly took his eyes off her all the way ; while, on
the other hand, his delicate little attentions had already
gained the heart of good Mrs. Elton, who from the first had
remarked and pitied the sad looks of the boy.
CHAPTER XXXI.
A NEW VISITOR AND AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE.
lie's enough
To bring a woman to confusion,
More than a wiser man, or a far greater.
iMiDDLETO>f. — The Witch.
When they reached the lodge, Lady Emily expressed a wish
to walk up the avenue to the house. To this Mr. Arnold
gladly consented. The carriage was sent round the back way;
and Hugh, dismounting, gave his horse to the footman in at-
tendance. As they drew near the house, the rest of the party
having stopped to look at an old tree which was a favorite with
its owner, Hugh and Harry were some yards in advance,
when the former spied, approaching them from the house, the
distinguished figure of Herr von Funkelstein. Saluting; as
they met, the visitor informed Hugh that he had just been
leaving; his card for him, and would call some other morninor
soon; for, as he was rusticating, he had little to occupy him.
Hugh turned Avith him towards the rest of the party, who Avere
now close at hand, Avhen Funkelstein exclaimed, in a tone of
surprise : —
" What ! Miss Cameron here ! " and advanced with a pro-
found obeisance, holding his hat in his hand.
Hugh thought he saw her look annoyed ; but she \e\d out
her hand to him, and, in a voice indicating — still as it ap-
peared to Hugh — some reluctance introduced him to her
uncle, with the words ; — -
DAVID ELGINBROD. 203
" We met at Sir Edward Laston's, when I was visiting Mrs
Elkingham, two years ago, uncle."
Mr. Arnold lifted his hat, and bowed politely to the stran-
ger. Had Euphra informed him that, although a person of
considerable influence in Sir Edward's household, Ilerr von
Funkelstein had his standing there only as Sir Edward's pri-
vate secretary, Mr, Arnold's aversion to foreigners generally
would not have been so scrupulously banished into the back-
ground of his behavior. Ordinary civilities passed between
them, marked by an air of flattering deference on Funkel-
stein's part, which might have been disagreeable to a man less
uninterruptedly conscious of his own importance than Mr. Ar-
nold ; and the new visitor turned once more, as if forgetful of
his previous direction, and accompanied them towards the
house. Before they reached it he had, even in that short
space, ingratiated himself so far with Mr. Arnold, that he*
asked him to stay and dine with them, — an invitation which*
was accepted with manifest pleasure.
" Mr. Sutherland," said Mr. Arnold, "will you show your
friend anything worth note about the place ? He has kindly
consented to dine with us ; and in the mean time I have some
letters to write."
"With pleasure," answered Hugh.
But all this time he had been inwardly commenting on the
appearance of his friend, as Mr. Arnold called him, with the
jealousy of a youth in love ; for was not Funkelstein an old
acquaintance of Miss Cameron ? What might not have passed
between them in that old hidden time? — for love is jealous
of the past as well as of the future. Love, as well as meta-
physics, has a lasting quarrel with time and space ; the lower
love fears them, while the higher defies them. And he could
not help seeing that Funkelstein was one to win favor in
ladies' eyes. Very regular features and a dark complexion
were lighted up by eyes as black as Euphra's, and capable of
a wonderful play of light ; while his form was remarkable for
strength and symmetry. Hugh felt that in any company he
would attract immediate attention. His long, dark beard, of
which just the centre was removed to expose a finely turned
chin, blew over each shoulder as often as they met the wind in
2oin"; round the house. From what I have heard of him from
204 DAVID ELGINBROD.
other deponents besides Hugh, I should judge that he did well
to conceal the lines of his mouth in a long mustache, which
flowed into his bifurcated beard. He had just enough of the
foreign in his dress to add to the appearance of fashion which
it bore.
As they Avalked, Hugh could not help observing an odd
peculiarity in the carriage of his companion. It was, that,
every few steps, he gave a backward and downward glance to
the right, with a sweeping bend of his body, as if he were try-
ing to get a view of the calf of his leg, or as if he fancied he
felt something trailing at his foot. So probable, from his
motion, did the latter supposition seem, that Hugh changed
sides to satisfy himself whether or not there was some dragging
briar or straw annoying him ; but no follower was to be dis-
covered.
" You are a happy man, ]Mr. Sutherland," said the guest,
"to live under the same roof with that beautiful Miss Cam-
eron."
" Am I ? " thought Hugh, but he only said, aflfecting some
surprise : —
" Do you think her so beautiful ? "
Funkelstein's eyes were fixed upon him, as if to see the
effect of his remark. Hugh felt them, and could not conform
his face to the indifference of his words. But his companion
only answered indifferently : —
"Well, I should say so; but beauty is not, that is not
beauty for us."
Whether or not there was poison in the fork of this remark,
Hugh could only conjecture. He made no reply.
As they walked about the precincts of the house, Funkel-
steiu asked many questions of Hugh, which his entire igno-
rance of domestic architecture made it impossible for him to
answer. This seemed only to excite the questioner's desire for
information to a higher pitch ; and, as if the very stones could
reply to his demands, he examined the whole range of the
various buildings constituting the house of Arnstead " as he
would draw it."
" Certainly," said he, "there is at least variety enough iu
the style of this mass of material. There is enough for one
pyramid."
DAVID ELGINBROD. 205
•'That would be rather at the expense of the variety, T^ould
it not ? " said Hugh, in spiteful response to the inconsequence of
the second member of Funkelstein's remark. But the latter
was apparently too much absorbed in his continued inspection
of the house, from every attainable point of near view, to heed
the comment.
" This they call the Gliost's Walk," said Hugh.
" Ah ! about these old houses there are always such tales.'*
" What sort of tales do you mean ? "
" I mean of particular spots and their ghosts. You must
have heard many such ? "
" No, not I.-'
" I think Germany is more prolific of such stories. I could
tell you plenty."
" But you don't mean you believe such things ? "
"To me it is equal. I look at them entirely as objects of
art."
" That is a new view of a ghost to me. An object of art ?
I should have thougiit them considerably more suitable objects
previous to their disembodiment."
"Ah ! you do not understand. You call art painting, don't
you, or sculpture at most? I give up sculpture certainly,
and painting too. But don't you think a ghost a very effective
object in literature now ? Confess : do you not like a ghost-
story very much? "
" Yes, if it is a very good one."
" Hamlet now? "
"Ah ! we don't speak of Shakespeare's plays as stories. His
characters are so real to us, that, in thinking of their de-
velopment, we go back even to their fathers and mothers, and
sometimes even speculate about their future."
' ' You islanders are always in earnest somehow. So are
we Germans. We are all one."
" I hope you can be in earnest about dinner, then, for I
hear the bell."
"We must render ourselves in the drawing-room, then?
Yes."
When they entered the di'awing-room, they found Miss
Cameron alone. Funkelstein advanced, and addressed a • few
words to het in German which Hugh's limited acquaintance
206 DAVID ELGINBROD.
with the language prevented him from catching. At the
some moment, Mr. Arnold entered, and Funkelstein, turning
to him imracdiatelj, proceeded, as if by way of apology for
speaking in an unknown tongue, to interpret for Mr. Arnold's
benefit : —
" I have just been telling Miss Cameron, in the language
of my country, how much better she looks than when I saw
ler at Sir EdAvard Laston's."
"I know I was quite a scarecrow then," said Euphra.
-ittempting to laugh.
" And now you are quite a decoy-duck, eh, Euphra? " said
Mr. Arnold, laughing in reality at his o\fn joke, which put
him in great good-humor for the whole time of dinner and
dessert.
" Thank you, uncle," said Euphra, with a prettily pretended
affectation of humility. Then she added gayly : —
"When did you rise on our Sussex horizon, Herr von
Funkelstein?"
"Oh! I have been in the neighborhood for a few days;
but I owe my meeting with you to one of those coincidences
■which, were they not so pleasant, — to me in this case, at
least, — one would tliink could only result from the blundering
of old Dame Nature over her knitting. If I had not had the
good fortune to meet Mr. Sutherland the other evening, I
should have remained in utter ignorance of your neighborhood
and my' own felicity. Miss Cameron. Indeed, I called now to
see him, not you."
IIuo;h saw Mr. Arnold lookino; rather doubtful of the
foreigner's fine speeches.
Dinner was announced. Funkelstein took Miss Cameron,
Hugh Mrs. Elton, and Mr. Arnold followed with Lady Emily,
who would never precede her older friend. Hugh tried to talk
to iilrs. Elton, but with meagre success. He was suddenly a
nobody, and felt more than he had felt for a long time what,
in his present deteriorated moral state, he considered the
degradation of his position. A gulf seemed to have suddenly
yawned between himself and Euphra, and the loudest voice of
his despairing agony could not reach across that gulf. An
awful conviction awoke within him, that the woman he wor-
shipped would scarcely receive his worship at the worth of
DAVID ELGINBROD. 207
inceniBe now ; and yet in spirit he fell clown grovelling before
his idol. The words '' euphrasy and rue " kept ringing in his
brain, coming over and over with an awful mingling of chime
and toll. When he thought about it afterwards, he seemed to
have been a year in crossing the hall with Mrs. Elton on his
arm. But as if divining his thoughts, just as they passed
through the dining-room door, Euphra looked round at him,
almost over Funkelstein's shoulder, and, without putting into
her face the least expression discernible by either of the others
following, contrived to banish for the time all Hugh's despair,
and to convince him that he had nothing to fear from Funkel-
stein. How it was done Hugh himself could not tell. He
could not even recall the look. He only knew that he had
been as miserable as one waking in his coffin, and that now he
was out in the sunny air.
During dinner, Funkelstein paid no very particular atten-^
tion to Euphrasia, but was remarkably polite to Lady Emily.
She seemed hardly to know how to receive his attentions, but
to regard him as a strange animal, Tj'hich she did not know how
to treat; and of which she was a little afraid. Mrs. Elton, on
the contrary, appeared to be delighted with his behavior and
conversation ; for, without showing the least originality, he yet
had seen so much, and knew so well how to bring out what he
had seen, that he was a most interesting companion. Hugh
took little share in the conversation beyond listening as well as
he could, to prevent himself from gazing too much at Euphra.
" Had Mr. Sutherland and you been old acquaintances then,
Herr von Funkelstein?" asked Mr. Arnold, reverting to the
conversation which had been interrupted by the announcement
of dinner.
"Not at all. We met quite accidentally, and introduced
ourselves. I believe a thunder-storm and a lecture on biology
were the mediating parties between us. Was it not so, Mr.
Sutherland?"
" I beg your pardon," stammered Hugh. But Mr. Arnold
interposed : —
" A lecture on what, did you say? "
"On biology."
Mr. Arnold looked posed. He did not like to say he did
no know what the word meant ; for, like many more ignorant
208 DAVID ELGINBROD.
men, lie thought iuch a confession humiliating. Von Funkel-
stein hastened to his relief.
" It would be rather surprising if you -were acquainted with
the subject, Mr. Arnold. I fear to explain it to you, lest both
Mr. Sutherland and myself should sink irrecoverably in your
estimation. But young men want to know all that is going
on."
Herr Funkelstein was not exactly what one would call a
young man ; but, as he chose to do so himself, there was no
one to dispute the classification.
"Oh! of course," replied Mr. Arnold; "quite right.
What, then, pray, is biology ? "
" A science, falsely so called," said Hugh, who, waking up
a little, wanted to join in the conversation.
" What does the loord mean? " said Mr. Arnold.
Yon Funkelstein answered at once : —
" The science of life. But I must say, the name, as now
applied, is no indication of the thing signified."
" How, then, is a gentleman to know what it is? " said Mr.
Arnold, half pettishly, and forgetting that his knowledge had
not extended even to the interpretation of the name.
"It is one of the sciences, true or false, connected with
animal magnetism."
" Bah ! " exclaimed Mr. Arnold, rather rudely.
"You would have said so if you had heard the lecture,"
said Funkelstein.
The conversation had not taken this turn till quite late in
the dining ceremony. Euphra^ rose to go; and Hugh re-
marked that her face was dreadfully pale. But she walked
steadily out of the room.
This interrupted the course of the talk, and the subject was
not resumed. Immediately after tea, which was served very
soon, Funkelstein took his leave of the ladies.
'• We shall be glad to see you often while in this neighbor-
hood," said Mr. Arnold, as he bade him good-night.
" I shall, without fail, do myself the honor of calling again
soon," replied he, and bowed himself out.
Lady Emily, evidently relieved by his departure, rose, and,
approaching Euphra, said, in a sweet, coaxing tone, which
even she could hardly have resisted : —
DAVID ELGINBROD. 209
" Dear Miss Cameron, you promised to sing, for me in par-
ticular, some evening. May I claim the fulfilment of your
promise? "
Euphra had recovered her complexion, and she, too, seemed
to Hugh to be relieved by the departure of Funkelstein.
" Certainly," she answered, rising at once. " What sliall 1
sing? ■'
Hugh was all ear now.
" Something sacred, if you please."
Euphra hesitated, but not long.
" Shall I sing Mozart's ' Agnus Dei,' then ? "
Lady Emily hesitated in her turn.
" I should prefer something else. I don't approve of sing-
ing popish music, howevei; beautiful it may be."-
"Well, what shall it be ? "
" Something of Handel or Mendelssohn, please. Do you
sing, 'I kuow that my Redeemer liveth ' ? "
" I dare say I can sing it,"' replied Euphra, with some petu-
lance, and Avent to the piano.
This was a favorite air with Hugh ; and he placed himself
so as to see the singer without being seen himself, and to lose
no slightest modulation of her voice. But what was his dis-
appointment to find that oratorio-music was just what Euphra
was incapable of ! No doubt she sang it quite correctly ; but
there was no religion in it. Not a single tone worshipped or
rejoiced. The quality of sound necessary to express the
feeling and thought of the composer was lacking ; the palace
of sound was all right constructed, but of wrong material.
Euphra, however, was quite unconscious of failure. She did
not care for the music ; but she .attributed her lack of interest
in it to the music itself, never dreaming that, in fact, she had
never really heard it, having no inner ear for its deeper
harmonies. As soon as she had finished, Lisdy Emily thanked
her, but did not praise, her more than by saying : —
'• I wish I had a voice like yours. Miss Cameron."
" I dare say you have a better of your own," said Eupnra.
falsely.
Lady Emily laughed.
" It is the poorest little voice you ever heard; yet I confess
u
210 DAVID ELGINBROD.
I jiin glad, for my own sake, that I have even that. What
should I Jo if I never heard Handel !"'
Every simple mind has a little well of beauty somewhere in
its precincts, which flows and Avarbles, even when the owner is
unheedful. The religion of Lady Emily had led her into a
region far beyond the reach of her intellect, in which there
sprang a constant fountain of sacred song. To it she owed her
highest moods.
"Then Handel is your musician?" said Euphra. "You
should not have put mo to such a test. It was very unfair of
you, Lady Emily."
Lady Emily laughed, as if quite amused at the idea of hav-
ing done Euphra any wrong. Euphra added: —
"You must sing now. Lady Emily. You cannot refuse,
after the admission you have just made."
'' I confess it is only fair ; but I warn you to expect nothing."
She took her place at the piano, and sang, " He shall feed
jis flock." Her health had improved so much during her so-
journ at Arnstead, that when she began to sing, the quantity
of her voice surprised herself; but, after all, it was a poor voice,
and the execution, if clear of any great faults, made no other
pretence to merit. Yet she effected the end of the music, the
very result which every musician would most desire, Avherein
Euphra had failed utterly. This was worthy of note, and
Hugh was not even yet too blind to perceive it. Lady Emily,
with very ordinary intellect, and paltry religious opinions,
yet because she Avas good herself, and religious, could, in the
reproduction of the highest kind of music, greatly surpass the
spirited, intellectual musician, whose voice was as superior to
hers as a nightingale's to a sparrow's, and whose knowledge of
music, and musical poAver generally, surpassed hers beyond all
comparison.
It must be allowed for Euphra, that she seemed to have
gained some perception of the fact. Perhaps she had seen
signs of emotion in Hugh's face, which he had shaded Avith his
hand as Lady Emily sang ; or perhaps the singing produced
in her a feeling Avhich she had not had Avhen singing herself
All I knoAV is, that the same night — while Hugh was walking
up and down his room, meditating on this defect of Euphra's,
and yet feeling that if sLe could sing only devil's music, he must
DAVID ELGINBROD. 211
love her — a tap came to the door, which made him start with
the suggestion of the former mysterious noises of a simihir
kiiid ; that he sprang to the door ; and that, instead of looking
out on a vacant corridor, as he all but anticipated, he saw
Euphra standing there in the dark, who said in a whisper : —
"Ah! you do not love me any longer, because Lady Emily
can sing psalms better than lean ! "
There was both pathos and spite in the speech.
" Come in, Euphra."
"No. I am afraid I have been very naughty in coming here
at all."
"Do come in. I want you to tell me something about
Funkelstein."
" What do you want to know about him? I suppose you are
jealous of him. Ah ! you men can both be jealous and make
jealous at the same moment." A. little broken sigh followed.
Hugh answered : —
" I only want to know what he is."
" Oh ! some twentieth cousin of mine."
" Mr. Arnold does not know that? "
•' Oh, dear, no ! It is so far off /can't count it. In fact, I
doubt it altogether. It must date centuries back."
" His intimacy, then, is not to be accounted for by his rela-
tionship? "
" Ah ! ah ! I thought so. Jealous of the poor count ! "
"Count?"
" Oh, dear ! what does it matter ? He doesn't like to be called
county because all foreigners are counts or barons, or some-
thing equally distinguished. I oughtn't to have let it out."
" Never mind. Tell me sometliing about him."
"He is a Bohemian. I met him first, some years ago, on
the continent."
"Then that w^as not your first meeting, — at Sir Edward
Laston's ? "
"No."
" How candid she is ! " thought Hugh.
' ' He calls me his cousin ; but if he be mine, he is yet more
Mr. Arnold's. But he does not want it mentioned yet. I
am sure I don't know why."
"Is he in love -with you ? "
212 DAVID ELGINBROD.
"How can I tell ? " she answered, archly. "By his being
very jealous? Is that the way to know Avhether a man is
in love with one ? But if he is in love with me, it does not
follow that I am in love with him, — does it? Confess. Am
I not very good to answer all your impertinent downright
questions ? They are as point blank as the church catechism, —
mind, I don't say as rude. How can I be in love with two
at — a — ?"
She seemed to check herself. But Hugh had heard enough
— as she had intended he should. She turned instantly, and
sped, surrounded by the " low, melodious thunder," of her
silken garments, to her own door, where she vanished noise-
lessly.
" What care I for oratorios? " said Hugh to himself, as he
put the light out, towards morning.
Where was all this to end ? What goal had Hugh set him-
self ? Could he not go away, and achieve renown in one of
many ways, and return fit, in the eyes of the Avorld. to claim
the hand of Miss Cameron ? But would he marry her if he
could? He would not answer the question. He closed the
ears of his heart to it, and tried to go to sleep. He slept,
and dreamed of Margaret in the storm.
A few days passed without anything occurring sufSciently
marked for relation. Euphra and he seemed satisfied without
meeting in private. Perhaps both were afraid of carrying it
too far ; at least, too far to keep clear of the risk of discovery,
seeing that danger was at present greater than usual. Mr.
Arnold continued to be thoroughly attentive to his guests, and
became more and more devoted to Lady Emily. There was
no saying where it might end ; for he Avas not an old man yet,
and Lady Emily appeared to have no special admirers. Arn-
stead was such an abode, and surrounded with such an estate,
as tew even of the nobility could call their own. And a remi-
niscence of his first wife seemed to haunt all Mr. Arnolds con-
templations of Lady Emily, and all his attentions to her. These
were delicate in the extreme, evidently bringing out the best
life that yet remained in a heart that was almost a fossil. Hugh
made some fresh efforts to do his duty by Harry, and so far
succeeded, that at least the boy made some progress — evident
enough to the moderate expectations of his father. But what
DAVID ELGINCROD. 213
helped Harrj as much as anything was the motherly kind-
ness, even tenderness, of good Mrs. Elton, who often had him
to sit with her in her own room. To her he generally fled for
refuge, when he felt deserted and lonely.
CHAPTER XXXIL
MATERIALISM alias GHOST-HUNTING.
Wie der Mond sich leuchtend dranget
Duich den dunkelii Wolkenflor,
Also taucht aus dunkohi Zcitea
Mir ein lichtes I3ild hervor.
Heinrich Heine.
As the moon her face advances
Through the darkened cloudy veil ;
■ So, from darkened times arising,
Dawns on me a vision pJile.
In consequence of what Euphra had caused him to believe
ffithout saying it, Hugh felt more friendly towards his new
icquaintance ; and happening — on his side at least it did liap^
pen — to meet him a few days after, Avalking in the neighbor-
hood, he joined him in a stroll. Mr. Arnold met them on
horseback, and invited Von Funkelstein to dine with them
that evening, to which he willingly consented. It was no-
ticeable that no sooner was the count within the doors of Arn-
stead House, than he behaved with cordiality to every one of
the company except Hugh. With him he made no approach
to familiarity of any kind, treating him, on the contrary, with
studious politeness.
In the course of the dinner, Mr. Arnold said : —
"It is curious, Herr von Funkelstein, how often, if you
meet with something new to you, you fall in with it again al-
most immediately. I found an article on biology in the
newspaper, the very day after our conversation on the subject.
But absurd as the whole thing is, it is quite surpassed by a
letter in to-day's ' Times ' about spirit-rapping and mediums,
and what not ! "
214 DAVID ELGINBROD.
This observation of the host at once opened the whole ques-
tion of those physico-psychological phenomena to which tiie
name of spiritualism has been so absurdly applied. Mr. Ar-
nold was profound in his contempt of the whole system, if not
very profound in his arguments against it. Every one luid
something to remark in opposition to the notions which
were so rapidly gaining ground in the country, except Funk-
elstein, who maintained a rigid silence.
This silence could not continue long without attracting the
attention of the rest of the party ; upon which Mr. Arnold
said : —
" You have not given us your oj)inion on the subject, Herr
von Funkelstein."
"I have not, Mr. Arnold; I should not like to encounter
the opposition of so many fair adversaries, as well as of my
host."
"We are in England, sir; and every man is at liberty to
say what he thinks. For my part, I think it all absurd, if
not improper."
" I would not willingly differ from you, Mr. Arnold. And
I confess that a great deal that finds its way into the public
prints does seem very ridiculous indeed ; but I am bound, for
truth's sake, to say, that I have seen more than I can account
for, in that kind of thing. There are strange stories connected
with my own family, which, perhaps, incline me to believe in
the supernatural ; and, indeed, without making the smallest
pretence to the dignity of what they call a medium, I have
myself had some curious experiences. I fear I have some
natural proclivity towards what you despise. But I beg that
my statement of my own feelings on the subject may not in-
terfere in the least with the prosecution of the present conver-
sation ; for °I am quite capable of drawing pleasure from listen-
ing to what I am unable to agree Avith."
" But let us hear your arguments, strengthened by your
facts, in opposition to ours ; for it will be impossible to talk
with a silent judge amongst us," Hugh ventured to say.
" I set up for no judge, Mr. Sutherland, I assure you ; and
perhaps I shall do my opinions more justice by remaining si-
lent, seeing I am conscious of utter inability to answer the
a priori arguments which you in particular have brought
DAVID j;lginbrod. 215
against tliem. All I would venture to saj is, that an a pri-
ori argument maj owe its force to a mistaken hypothesis with
regard to the matter in question: and that the true Baconian
method, which is the glorj of your English philosophy, would
be to inquire first what the tiling is, by recording observa-
tions and experiments made in its supposed direction."
"At least Herr von Funkelstein has the best of the argu-
ment now, I am compelled to confess," said Hugh.
Funkelstein bowed stiffly, and was silent.
' ' You rouse our curiosity, ' ' said Mr. Arnold ; ' ' but I fear,
after the free utterance which we have already given to our
own judgments, in ignorance, of course, of your greater ex-
perience, you will not be inclined to make us wiser by com-
municating any of the said experience, however much we may
desire to hear it."
■ Had he been speaking to one of less evident social standing
than Funkelstein, Mr. Arnold, if dying with curiosity, Avould
not have expressed the least Avish to be made acquainted with
bis experiences. He would have sat in apparent indifference,
but in real anxiety that some one else would draw him out,
and thus gratify his curiosity without endangering his dig-
nity. . _
" I do not think," replied Funklestein, "that it is of any
use to bring testimony to bear on such a matter. I have seen,
— to use the words of some one else, I forget whom, on a sim-
ilar subject, — I have seen with my own eyes what I certainly
should never have believed on the testimony of another. Con-
sequently, I have no right to expect that my testimony should
be received. Besides, I do not Avish it to be received, although
I confess I shrink from presenting it with a certainty of its
being rejected. I have no wish to make converts to my opin-
ions."
"Really, Herr von Funkelstein, at the risk of your consid-
ering me importunate, I Avould beg — "
"Excuse me, Mr. Arnold. The recital of some of the mat-
ters to which you refer, Avould not only be painful to myself.
but would be agitating to the ladies present."
" In. that case, I have only to beg your pardon for pressing
the matter,— I hope jio further than to the verge of incivil-
ity."
216 DAVID ELGINBROD.
"In no degree approaching it, I assure you, Mr. Arnold.
In proof that I do not think so, I am ready, if jou wish it, —
although I rather dread the possible effects on the nerves of
the ladies, especiallj as this is an old house, — to repeat, with'
the aid of those present, certain experiments which I have
somtimes found perhaps only too successful."
" Oh ! don't," said Euphra, faintly.
An expression of the opposite desire followed, however, from
the other ladies. Their curiosity seemed to strive with their
fears, and to overcome them.
" I hope loe shall have nothing to do with it in any other
way than merely as spectators ? ' ' said Mrs. Elton.
" Nothing more than you please. It is doubtful if you can
even be spectators. That remains to be seen."
'•'Good gracious ! " exclaimed Mrs. Elton.
Lady Emily looked at her with surprise — almost reproof,
" I beg your pardon, my dear; but it sounds so dreadful.
What can it be ? "
" Let me entreat you, ladies, not to imagine that I am urg-
ing you to anything," said Funkelstein,
" Not in the least," replied Mrs. Elton. " I was very fool-
ish." And the old lady looked ashamed, and was silent.
" Then, if you will allow me, I will make one small prepa-
ration. Have you a tool-chest anywhere, Mr. Arnold? "
" There must be tools enough about the place, I know, I
will ring for Atkins."
" I know where the tool-chest is," said Hugh ; " and, if you
will allow me a suggestion, would it not be better the ser-
vants should know nothing about this ? There are some fool-
ish stories afloat amongst them already."
"A very proper suggestion, Mr. Sutherland," said Mr.
Arnold, graciously. " Will you find all that is wanted,
then?"
" What tools do 3'ou want? " asked Hugh.
" Only a small drill. Could you get me an earthenware
plate — not china — too ? "
" I will manage that," said Euphra,
Hugh soon returned with the drill, and Euphra with the
plate. The Bohemian, with some difficulty, and the remark
that the English ware was very hard, drilled a small hole in
DAVID ELGINBROD. 21?
the rim of the plate, — a dinner-plate ; then begging an H. B.
drawing-pencil from Miss Cameron, cut off a small piece, and
fitted it into the hole, makino; it iust lono; enou^-h to touch the
table with its point when the plate lay in its ordinary position.
" Now I am ready," said he. "Bat," he added, raising
his head, and looking all round the room, as if a sudden
thought had struck him, " I do not think this room will be
quite satisfactory."
They were now in the drawing-room.
" Choose the room in the house that will suit you," said
Mr. Arnold. " The dining-room ? "
" Certainly not," answered Funkelstein, as he took from his
watch-chain a small compass and laid it on the table. " Not
the dining-room, nor the breakfast-room — I think. Let me
see — how is it situated?" He went to the hall, as if to,
refresh his memory, and then looked again at the compass.
" No, not the breakfast-room."
Hugh could not help thinking there was more or less of the
charlatan about the man.
" The library? " suggested Lady Emily.
They adjourned to the library to see. The library would
do. After some further difficulty, they succeeded in procuring
a large sheet of paper and fastening it down to the table by
drawing-pins. Only two candles were in the great room, and
it was scarcely lighted at all by them ; yet Funkelstein
requested that one of these should be extinguished, and the
other removed to a table near the door. He then said,
solemnly : —
"Let me request silence, absolute silence, and quiescence
of thought even."
After stillness had settled down with outspread wings of in-
tensity, he resumed : —
" Will any one, or, better, two of you, touch the plate as
lightly as possible with your fingers ? "
All hung back for a moment. Then Mr. Arnold came
forward.
" I will," said he, and laid his fingers on the plate.
"As lightly as possible, if you please. If the plate moves,
follow it with your fingers, but be sure not to push it in any
direction."
218 DAVID ELGINBROD.
" I understand," said Mr. Arnold ; and silence fell again.
The Bohemian, after a pause, spoke once more, but in a
foreign tongue. Tiie words sounded first like entreaty, then
like command, and, at last, almost like imprecation. The ladies
shuddered.
" Any movement of the vehicle? " said he to Mr. Arnold.
"If by the vehicle you mean the plate, certainly not," said
Mr. Arnold, solemnly. But the ladies were very glad of the
pretext for attempting a laugh, in order to get rid of the op-
pression which they had felt for some time.
" Hush ! " said Funkelstein, solemnly. " Will no one else
touch the plate as Avell ? It will seldom move with one. It
does with me. But I fear I might be suspected of treachery,
if I offered to join Mr. Ai-nold."
" Do not hint at such a thing. You are beyond suspicion."
What ground Mr. Arnold had for making such an assertion
was no better known to himself than to any one else present.
Yon Funkelstein, without another word, put the fingers of one
hand lightly on the plate beside Mr. Arnold's. The plate
instantly began to move upon the paper. The motion was a
succession of small jerks at first ; but soon it tilted up a little,
and moved upon a changing point of support. Now it careered
rapidly in wavy lines, sweeping back towards the other side, as
often as it approached the extremity of the sheet, the men
keeping their fingers in contact with it, but not appearing to
influence its motion. Gradually the motion ceased. Yon
Funkelstein Avithdrew his hand, and requested that the other
candle should be lighted. The paper was taken up and ex-
amined. Nothing could be discovered upon it but a labyrinth
of wavy and sweepy lines. Funkelstein pored over it for some
minutes, and then confessed his inability to make a single letter
out of it, still less words and sentences, as he had expected.
'•But," said he, "we are at least so far successful: it
moves. Let us try again. Who will try next?"
" I will," said Hugh, Avho had refrained at first, partly from
dislike to the whole afiair, partly because he shrank from
putting himself forward.
A new sheet of paper was fixed. The candle was extin-
guished. Hugh put his fingers on the plate. In a second or
two, it began to move. .
'DAVID ELGINBROD. _ 219
'A :heduim ! " murmured Funkelstein. He then spoke
aloud some words unintelligible to the rest.
Whether from the peculiarity of his position and the consequent
excitement of his imagination, or from some other cause, Hugh
grew quite cold, and began to tremble. The plate, which had
been careering violently for a few moments, now went more
slowlj, making regular short motions and returns, at right
angles to its chief direction, as if letters were being formed bj
the pencil. Hugh shuddered, tliinking he recognized the
letters as they grew. The writing ceased. The candles were
brought. Yes ; there it was ! — not plain, but easily decipher-
able — David Elginhrod. Hugh felt sick.
Euphra, looking on beside him, whispereil : —
" What an odd name ! Who can it mean? "
He made no reply.
Neither of the other ladies saw it; for Mrs. Elton had
discovered, the moment the second candle was lighted, that
Lady Emily was either asleep or in a faint. She was soon all
but satisfied that she was asleep.
Hugh's opinion, gathered from what followed, was, that the
Bohemian had not been so intent on the operations with the
plate, as he had appeared to be ; and that he had been employing
part of his energy in mesmerizing Lady Emily. Mrs. Elton,
remembering that she had had quite a long Avalk that morning,
was not much alarmed. Unwilling to make a disturbance, she
rang the bell very quietly, and, going to the door, asked the
servant who answered it to send her maid with some eau-de-
cologne. ]\Ieantime, the gentlemen had been too much absorbed
to take any notice of her proceedings, and, after removing the
one and extinguishing the other candle, had reverted to the
plate. Hugh was still the operator.
Von Funkelstein spoke again in an unknown tongue. The
plate began to move as before. After only a second or two of
preparatory gyration, Hugh felt that it Avas writing Turrie-
pujfit^ and shook from head to foot.
Suddenly, in the middle of the word, the plate ceased its
motion, and lay perfectly still. Hugh felt a kind of surprise
come upon him, as if he waked from an unpleasant dream, and
saw the sun shining. The morbid excitement of his nervous
220 . DAVID ELGINBROD,
Bystem had sucldenlj ceased, and a healthful sense of strength
and every-day life took its place.
Simultaneously with the stop|:ung of the plate, and this new
feeling "which I have tried to describe, llugh involuntarily
raised his eyes towards the door of the room. In the all-but-
darkness between him and the door, he saw a pale, beautiful
face, — a ftice only. It was the face of Margaret Elginbrod ;
not, however, such as he had used to see it — but glorified.
That was the only word by which he could describe its new
aspect. A mist of darkness fell upon his brain, and the room
swam round with him. But he Avas saved from falling, or at-
tracting attention to a weakness for which he could have made
no excuse, by a sudden cry from Lady Emily.
" See ! see ! " she cried, wildly, pointing towards one of the
window^s.
These looked across to another part of the house, one of the
oldest, at some distance. One of its windows, apparently on
the first floor, shone with a faint bluish light.
All the company had hurried to the window at Lady
Emily's exclamation.
" Who ca7i be in that part of the house ? " said Mr. Arnold,
angrily.
"It is Lady Eujohrasia's window," said Euphra, in a Ioav
voice, the tone of which suggested, somehow, that the speaker
was very cold.
" What do you mean by speaking like that ? " said Mr. Ar-
nold, forgetting his dignity. "Surely you are above being
superstitious. Is it possible the servants could be about any
mischief? I will discharge any one at once that dares go
there. without permission."
The light disappeared, fading slowly out.
"Indeed, the servants are all too much alarmed, after what
took place last year, to go near that wing — much less that
room," said Euphra. "Besides, Mrs. Horton has all the
keys in her own charge."
" Go yourself and get me them, Euphra. I will see at once
what this means. Don't say why you want them."
"Certainly not, ancle."
Hugh had recovered almost instantaneously. Though full
of amazement, he had yet his perceptive faculties sufiiciently
1
DAVID ELGINBROD. 22]
unimpaired to recognize the real source of the light in the win-
dow. It seemed to him more like moonlight than anything
else ; and he thought the others would have seen it to be such,
but for the effect of Lady Emily's sudden exclamation. Per-
haps she was under the influence of the Bohemian at the mo-
ment. Certainly they were all in a tolerable condition for
seeing whatever might be required of them. True, there Avas
no moon to be seen ; and if it was the moon, why did the light
go out? But he found afterwards that he had been right.
The house stood upon a rising ground ; and, every recurring
cycle, the moon would shine, through a certain vista of trees
and branches, upon Lady Euphrasia's window ; provided there
had been no growth of twigs to stop up the channel of the
light, which was so narrow that in a few moments the moon
had crossed it. A gap in a hedge, made by a bull that morn-
ing, had removed the last screen. Lady Euphrasia's window
was so neglected and dusty, that it could reflect nothing more
than a dim bluish shimmer.
"Will you all accompany me, ladies and gentlemen, that
you may see with .your own eyes that there is nothing danger-
ous in the house ? ' ' said Mr. Arnold-
Of course Funkelstein was quite ready, and Hugh as well,
although he felt at this moment ill-fitted for ghost-hunting.
The ladies hesitated ; but at last, more afraid of being left
behind alone than of going with the gentlemen, they consented.
Euphra brought the keys, and they commenced their march of
investigation. Up the grand staircase they went, ]\Ir. Arnold
first with the keys, Hugh next with Mrs. Elton and Lady
Emily, and the Bohemian, considerably to Hugh's dissatisfiic-
tion, bringing up the rear with Euphra. This misarrange-
ment did more than anything else could have done, to deaden
for the time .the distraction of feeling produced in Hugh's
mind by the events of the last few minutes. Yet even now he
seemed to be wanderinu; through the old house in a dream, in-
stead of following Mr. Arnold, whose presence might well
have been sufficient to destroy any illusion, except such as a
Chinese screen might superinduce ; for, possessed of far less
imagination than a horse, he was incapable of any terrors, but
such as had to do with robbers, or fire, or chartists, — which
latter fear included both the former. He strode on securely,
222 DAVID ELGINBROD.
carrjing a candle in one hand, and tlie keys in the other.
Each of the other gentlemen likewise bore a light. They had
to go through various doors, some locked, some open, following
a diifercnt route from that taken by Euphra on a former occa-
sion.
Put Mr. Arnold found the keys troublesome. lie could not
easily distinguish those he \vanted, and was compelled to apply
to Euphra. She left Funkelstein in consequence, and walked
in front with her uncle. Her former companion got beside
Lady Emily, and as they could not well walk four abreast, she
fell behind with him. So Hugh got next to Euphra, behind
her, and was comforted.
At length, by tortuous ways, across old rooms, and up and
down abrupt little stairs, they reached the door of Lady Eu-
phrasia's room. The key was found, and the door opened with
some perturbation, — manifest on the part of the ladies, and
concealed on the part of the men. The place was quite dark.
They entered ; and Hugh was greatly struck with its strange
antiquity. Lady Euphrasia's ghost had driven the last oc-
cupant out of it nearly a hundred years. ago; but most .of
the furniture was much older than that, having probably be-
longed to Lady Euphrasia herself The room remained just
as the said last occupant had left it. Even the bedclothes re-
mained, folded down, as if expecting their occupant for the
last hundred years. The fine linen had grown yellow ; and
the rich counterpane lay like a church-yard after the resurrec-
tion, full of the open graves of the liberated moths. On the
wall hung the portrait of a nun in convent-attire.
" Some have taken that for a second portrait of Lady Eu-
phrasia," said Mr. Arnold; " but it cannot he. — Euphra, we
will go back through the picture gallery. — I suspect it of orig-
inating the tradition that Lady Euphrasia became a nun at
last. I do not believe it myself. The picture is certainly old
enough to stand for her, but it does not seem to me in the
least like the other."
It was a great room, with large recesses, and therefore ir-
regular in form. Old chairs, with remnants of enamel and
gilding;, and seats of faded damask, stood all about. But the
beauty of the chamber was its tapestry. The walls were en-
tirely coyt^red wuth it, and the rich colors had not yet receded
DAVID ELGINBROD. 223
into the dull graj of the past, though their gorgeousuess had
become sombre with age. The subject was the story of Sam-
sou.
"Come and see this strange piece of furniture," said Eu-
phra to Hugh, who had kept by her side since they entered
this room.
She led him into one of the recesses, almost concealed by
the bed-hangings. In it stood a cabinet of ebony, reaching
nearly to the ceiling, curiously carved in high relief.
" I wish I could show you the inside of it," she went on.
"but I cannot now."
This was said almost in a whisper. Hugh replied with only
a look of thanks. He gazed at the carving, on whose black
surface his candle made little light, and threw no shadows.
" You have looked at this before, Euphra," said he. " Ex-
plain it to me."
"I have often tried to find out what it is," she answered;'
" but I never could quite satisfy myself about it."
She proceeded, however, to tell hira what she fancied it
mi^dit mean, speakinsr still in the low tone which seemed suita-
ble to the awe of the place. She got interested in showing
him the relations of the different figures ; and he made sev-
eral suggestions as to the possible intention of the artist.
More than one well-known subject was proposed and rejected.
Suddenly becoming aware of the sensation of silence, they
looked up, and saw that theirs was the only light in the room.
They were left alone in the haunted chamber. They looked
at each other for one moment, then said, with half-stifled
voices : —
" Euphra ! "
"Hugh!"
Euphra seemed half amused and half perplexed. Hugh
looked half perplexed and wholly pleast-d.
"Come, come," said Euphra, recovering herself, and lead-
ing the way to the door.
When they reached it, they found it closed and locked.
Euphra raised her hand to beat on it. Hugh caught it.
"You will drive Lady Emily into fits Did you not see
how awfully pale she was ? "
Euphra instantly lifted her hand again, as if she would just
224 DAVID ELGINBROD. ,
like to try that result. But Hugh, who was in no haste for
any result, held her back.
She struggled for a moment or two, but not very stren-
uously, and, desisting all at once, let her arms drop by her
sides.
"I fear it is too late. This is a double door, and Mr.
Arnold will have locked all the doors between this and the
picture-gallery. They are there now. What shall we do ? "
She said this with an expression of comical despair, Avhich
would have made Hugh burst into laughter, had he not been
too much pleased to laugh.
" Never mind," he said, " we will go on with our study of
the cabinet. They will soon find out that we are left behind,
and come back to look for us."
" Yes, but only fancy being found here ! "
She laughed ; but the laii2;h did not succeed. It could not
hide a real embarrassment. She pondered, and seemed irres-
olute. Then, with the words, " They will say we stayed
behind on purpose," she moved her hand to the door, but
again withdrew it, and stood irresolute.
"Let us put out the light," said Hugh, laughing, "and
make no answer."
" Can you starve well ? "
"With you."
She murmured something to herself; then said aloud and
hastily, as if she had made up her mind by the compulsion of
circumstances : —
" But this won't do. They are still looking at the portrait,
I dare say. Come."
So saying, she went into another recess, and, lifting a
curtain of tapestry, opened a door.
"Come quick," she said. •
Hugh followed her down a short stair into a narrow passage,
nowhere lighted from the outside. The door Avent to behind
them, as if some one had banged it in anger at their intrusion.
The passage smelt very musty, and was as quiet as death.
" Not a word of this, Hugh, as you love me. It may be
useful yet."
" Not a word."
DAVID ELGINBROD. 22.'
They came tlirough a sliding panel into an empty room
Euphra closed it behind them.
" Now shade your light."
He did so. She took him by the hand. A few more turns
brought them in sight of the lights of the rest of the party.
As Euphra had conjectured, they were looking at the picture
of Lady Euphrasia, Mr. Arnold prosing away to them, in
proof that the nun could not be she. They entered the
gallery Avithout being heard; and parting a little way, one
pretending to look at one picture, the other at another, crept
gradually round till they joined the group. It Avas a piece of
most successful generalship. Euphra was, doubtless, quite
prepared with her story in case it should fail.
' ' Dear Lady Emily, ' ' said she, ' ' hoAV tired you look ! D«
let us go, uncle."
" By all means. Take my arm, Lady Emily. Euphra,
will you take the keys again, and lock the doors ? "
Mrs. Elton had already taken Hugh's arm, and was leading
him away after Mr. Arnold and Lady Emily.
' ' I will not leave you behind Avith the spectres, Miss Cam-
eron," said Funkelstein. ,
"Thank you; they will not detain me long. They don't
mind being locked up."
It was some little time, howcA^er, before they presented
themselves in the drawir g-room, to which, and not to the
library, the party had go'Xe : they had had enough of horrors
for that night.
Lest my readers should think they have had too many
wonders at least, I Avill explain one of them. It was really
Margaret Elo-inbrod whom Hu2:h had seen. Mrs. Elton was
the lady in whose service she had left her home. It was
nothing strange that they had not met, for Margaret knew
he was in the same house, and had several times seen him, but
had avoided meeting him. Neither was it a wonderful coinci-
dence that they should be in such close proximity ; for the
college friend from whom Huo-h had first heard of Mr. Arnold,
was the son of the gentleman Avhom Mrs. Elton was visitmg,
when she first saw Margaret.
Margaret had -obeyed her mistress' summons to the draAV-
ing-room, and had entered while Hugh was stooping over the
15
l226 DAVID ELGINBROD.
pLate. As the room was nearly dark, and she was dressed in
black, her palo face alone caught the light and his eye as he
looked up, and the giddiness which followed had prevented him
from seeing more. She left the room the next moment, while
they were all looking out of the window. Nor was it any
exercise of his excited imagination that had presented her face
as glorified. She was now a woman : and, there being no
divine law against saying so, I say that she had grown a lady
as well ; as indeed any one might have foreseen who was capa-
ble of foreseeing it Her whole nature had blossomed into a
still, stately, lily-like beauty ; and the face that Hugh saw
was indeed the realized idea of the former face of Margaret.
But how did the plate move ? and whence came tiie writing
of old David's name ? I must, for the present, leave the whole
matter to the speculative power of each of my readers.
But Margaret was in mourning. Was David indeed dead?
He was dead. Yet his name will stand as the name of mj
story for pages to come ; because, if he had not been in it. the
story would never have been worth writing ; because the in-
fluence of that ploughman is the salt of the whole ; because a
man's life in the earth is not, to be measured by the time he is
visible upon it ; and because, when the story is Avound up, it
will be in the presence of his spirit.
Do I then believe that David liimself did write that name
of his ?
Heaven forbid that any friend of mine should be able to be-
lieve it !
Long before she saw him, Margaret had known, from what
she heard among the servants, that iJaster Harry's tutor could
be no other than her own tutor of the old time. By and by
she learned a great deal about him from Harry's talk with
Mrs. Elton and Lady Emily. But she did not give the least
hint that she knew him, or betray the least desire to see him.
Mrs. Elton was amusingly bewildered by the occurrences
of the evening. Her theories were sornetliing astounding ;
and followed one another with such alarming rapidity, that had
they been in themselves such as to imply the smallest exercise
of the thinking faculty, she might well have been considered in
danger of an attack of brain fever. As it was, none such
supervened. Lady Emily said nothing, but seemed unhappy.
DAVID ELGINBROD. 227
As for Hugh, he simply could not tell what to make of the
\vritin<T. But he did not for a moment doubt that the vision
he had seen was only a vision, — a home-made ghost, sent out
from his own creative brain. Still he felt that Margaret's
face, come whence it might, was a living reproof to him ; for
he was losing his life in passion, sinking deeper in it day by
diiy. His powers were deserting him. Poetiy. usually sup-
posed to be the attendant of love, had deserted him. Only by
fits could he see anything beautiful ; and then it was but in
closest association of thouo;ht with the oneima2;e which was burn-
ing itself deeper and deeper into his mental sensorium. Come
what might, he could not tear it away. It had become a part of
himself, — of his inner life, — even while it seemed to be
working the death of life. Deeper and deeper it would burn,
till it reached the innermost chamber of life. Let it burn.
Yet he felt that he could not trust her. Vague hopes he
had, that,- by trusting, she might be made trustworthy ; but he-
feared they were vain as well as vague. And yet he would
not cast them away, for he could not cast her away.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
MORE MATERIALISM AND SOME SPIRITUALISM.
Qoil wisheth none should wreck on a strange shelf :
To Him man's dearer than to himself.
Ben Jonson. — The Forest: To Sir Robert Wroth.
At breakfast the following morning", the influences of the
past day on the family were evident. There was a good deal
of excitement, alternated with listlessness. The moral atmos-
phere seemed unhealthy ; and Harry, although he had, fortu-
nately for him, had nothing to do with the manifestations of
the previous evening, was affected by the condition of those
around him. Hugh was still careful enough of him to try to
divert the conversation entirely from what he knew would have
a very injurious effect upon him ; and Mr. Arnold, seeing the
228 DAVID ELGINBROD.
anxious way in which he glanced now and then at his pupil,
and divining the reason, by tlio instinct of his affection, with
far more than his usual acuteness, tried likewise to turn it
aside, as often as it inclined that way. Still a few words were
let fall by the visitors, which made Harry stare. Hugh took
him away as soon as breakfast was over.
In the afternoon, Funkelstein called to inquire after the
ladies; and hoped he had no injury to their health to lay on
his conscience. Mr. Arnold, who had a full allowance of
curiosity, its amount being frequently in an inverse ratio to
that of higher intellectual gifts, begged him to spend the rest
of the day Avith them ; but not to say a word of what had
passed the day before, till after Harry had retired for the
night.
Renewed conversation led to renewed experiments in the
library. Hugh, however, refused to have anything more to
do with the plate-writing ; for he dreaded its influe»ce on his
physical nature, attributing:, as I have said, the vision of
Margaret to a cerebral aifection. And the plate did not seem
to work satisfactorily with any one else, except Funkelstein,
who, for his part, had no great wish to operate. Recourse
was had to a more vulgar method, that of expectant solicita-
tion of those noises whereby the prisoners in the aerial vaults
are supposed capable of communicating with those in this
earthly cell. Certainly, raps were heard from some quarter or
another ; and when the lights were extinguished, and the cres-
cent moon only allowed to shine in the room, some commotion
was discernible amongst the furniture. Several light articles
flew about. A pen-wiper alighted on Euphra's lap, and a
sofa-pillow gently disarranged Mrs. Elton's cap. Most of the
artillery, however, Avas directed against Lady Emily ; and she
it was who saw, in a faint stream of moonlight, a female arm
uplifted towards her, from under a table, with a threatening
motion. It was bare to the elbow, and draped above. It
showed first a clenched fist, and next an open hand, palm out-
wards, making a repellent gesture. Then the back of the
band was turned, and it motioned her away, as if she had been
an importunate beggar. But at this moment, one of the
doors opened, and a dark figure passed through the room
towards the opposite door. Everything that could be called
DAVID ELGINBROD. 229
•
ghostly ceased instantaneously. The arm vanished. The
company breathed more freely.
Lady Emily, who had been on the point of going into hyster-
ics, recovered herself, and overcame the still lingering impulse ;
she felt as if she had awaked from a momentary aberration of
the intellect. Mr. Arnold proceeded to light the candles, say-
ieo;, in a rifjhteous tone : —
" I think we have had enough of this nonsense."
When the candles were lighted, there was no one to be seen
in the room besides themselves. Several, Hugh amongst them,
had observed the figure; but all had taken it for part of the
illusive phantasmagoria. Hugh would have concluded it a
variety of his vision of the former night : but others had seen
it as well as he.
There was no renewal of the experiments that night. But
all were in a very unhealthy state of excitement. Vague
fear, vague wonder, and a certain indescribable oppression, had
dimmed for the time all the clearer vision, and benumbed all
the nobler faculties of the soul. Lady Emily was affected the
most. Her eyes looked scared : there was a bright spot on
one cheek amidst deathly paleness ; and she seemed very un-
happy. Mrs. Elton became alarmed, and this brought her
back to a more rational condition. She persuaded Lady
Emily to go to bed.
But the contagion spread; and indistinct terrors were no
longer confined to the upper portions of the family. The
bruit revived, which had broken out a year before, — that the
house was haunted. It was whispered that, the very night
after these occurrences, the Ghost" s Walk had been in use as
the name signified ; a figure in death-garments had been seen
gliding along the deserted avenue, by one of the maid-ser-
vants ; the truth of whose story was corroborated by the fact,
that, to support it, she did not hesitate to confess that she had es-
caped from the house, nearly at midnight, to meet one of the
grooms in a part of the wood contiguous to the avenue in
question. Mr. Arnold instantly dismissed her, — not on the
ground of the intrigue, he took care to let her know, although
that was bad enough, but because she was a fool, and spread
absurd and annoying reports about the house. Mr. Arnold's
usual hatred of what he called superstition was rendered yet
230 DAVID ELGINBROI).
more spiteful by the fact that the occurrences of the week had
had Pjuch an effect on his own mind that he was mortally afraid
lest he should himself sink into the same limbo of vanity.
The girl, however, was, or pretended to be, quite satisfied with
her discharge, protesting she would not have stayed for the
worli; and as the groom, whose wages happened to have been
paid the day before, took himself off the same evening, it may
be hoped her satisfaction was not altogether counterfeit.
"If all tales be true," said Mrs. Elton, " Lady Euphrasia
is where she can't get out."
" But if she repented before she died ? " said Euphra, with
a muffled scorn in her tone.
" My dear Mrs. Cameron, do you call hecoming a nun —
repentance? We Protestants know very well what that
means. Besides, your uncle does not believe it."
"Haven't you found out yet, dear Mrs. Elton, what my
uncle's favorite phrase is? "
"No. What is it?"
" I doiiH believe it.^^
"You naughty girl ! "
" I'm not naughty," answered Euphra, affecting to imi-
tate the simplicity of a chidden child. My uncle is so fond of
casting doubt upon everything ! If salvation goes by quan-
tity, his faith won't save him."
Euphra knew well enough that Mrs. Elton was no telltale.
The good lady had hopes of her from this moment, because she
all but quoted Scripture to condemn her uncle ; the verdict
corresponding with her own judgment of Mr. Arnold, founded
on the clearest assertions of Scripture ; strengthened some-
what, it must be confessed, by the fact that the spirits^ on the
preceding evening but one, had rapped out the sentence :
" Without faith it is impossible to please him."
Lady Emily was still in bed, but apparently more sick in
mind than in body. She said she had tossed about all the pre-
vious night without once falling asleep ; and her maid, who
had slept in the dressing-room without waking once, corrobo-
rated the assertion. In the morning, Mrs. Elton, wishing to
velievft the maid, sent Margaret to Lady Emily. Margaret
arrang(Mi the bedclothes and pillows, which were in a very
uncomfortable condition, sat down behind the curtain, and
DAVID ELGINBKOD. 231
knowing that it would please Lady Emilj, began to sing, in
what the French call a veiled voice, "The Land o' the Leal."
Now the air of this lovely song is the same as that of " Scots
wha hae ; " but it is the inbrocli of onset changed into the cor-
onach of repose, singing of the land beyond the battle, of the
entering in of those who have fought the good fight, and
fallen in the field. It is the silence after the thunder. Be-
fore she had finished, Lady Emily was fast asleep. A sweet,
peaceful, half smile lighted her troubled face graciously, like
the sunshine that creeps out when it can, amidst the rain of an
autumn day, saying, "I am with you still, though we are all
troubled." Finding her thus at rest, Margaret left the room
for a minute, to fetch some work. When she returned, she
found her tossing and moaning, and apparently on the point
of waking. As soon as she sat down by her, her trouble di-
minished by degrees, till she lay in the same peaceful sleep aa.
before. In this state she continued for two or three hours,
and awoke much refreshed. She held out her little hand to
Margaret, and said : —
' ' Thank you. Thank you. What a sweet creature you
are ! "
And Lady Emily lay and gazed in loving admiration at the
face of the lady's-maid.
" Shall I send Sarah to you now, my lady?" said Mar-
garet ; "or would you like me to stay with you ? "
" Oh ! you, you, please — if Mrs. Elton can spare you."
" She will only think of your comfort, I know, my lady."
" That recalls me to my duty, and makes me think of her."
"But your comfort will be more to her than anything
else."
"In that case you must stay, Margaret."
"With pleasure, my lady."
Mrs. Elton entered, and quite confirmed what Margaret had
said.
" But," she added, "it is time Lady Emily had something
to eat. Go to the cook, Margaret, and see if the beef tea
Miss Cameron ordered is ready."
Margaret went.
" What a comfort it is," said Mrs. Elton, wishing to inter-
est Lady Emily, "that nowadays, when infidelity is soj*am-
232 DAVID ELGINBROD.
pant, such corroborations of Sacred Writ are springing up on
all sides ! Tlicre are the discoveries at Nineveh ; and now
these Spiritual Manifestations, which bear witness so clearly
to another world."
But Lady Emily made no reply. She began to toss about
as before, and show signs of inexplicable discomfort. Mar-
garet had hardly been gone two minutes, when the invalid
moaned out : —
' ' What a time Margaret is gone ! — when Avill she be
back ? "
" I am here, my love," said Mrs. Elton.
" Yes, yes; thank you. But I want Margaret."
" She will be here presently. Have patience, my dear."
"Please, don't let Miss Cameron come near me. lam
afraid I am very wicked, but I can't- bear her to come neai
me."
"No, no, dear; we will keep you to ourselves."
"Is Mr. , the foreign gentleman, I mean — below?"
" No. He is^one."
" Are you sure? I can hardly believe it."
" What do you mean, dear? I am sure he is gone."
Lady Emily did not answer. Margaret returned. She
took the beef tea, and grew quiet again.
" You must not leave her ladyship, Margaret," whispered
her mistress. " She has taken it into her head to like no one
but you, and you must just stay with her."
" Very well, ma'am. I shall be most happy."
Mrs. Elton left the room. Lady Emily said : —
" Read something to me, Margaret."
"AVhat shall I read?"
" Anything you like."
Margaret got a Bible, and read to her one of her father's
favorite chapters, the fortieth of Isaiah.
" I have no right to trust in God. Margaret."
" Why, my lady ? "
" Because I do not feel any faith in him; and you know we
cannot be accepted without faith." .
" That is to make God as changeable as we are, my lady."
" But the Bible says so."
DAVID ELGIXBROD. 233
" I don't think it does ; but if an angel from heaven said so
I -would not believe it."
" Margaret ! "
'' My ladj, I love God -with all mj heart, and I cannot bear
you should think so of him. You might as well say that a
mother would go away from her little child, lying moaning in
the dark, because it could not see her, and was afraid to put
its hand out into the dark to feel for lier."
'• Then you think he does care for us, even when we are
very wicked. But he cannot bear wicked people."
'• Who dares to say that ? " cried Margaret. " Has he not
been making the world go on and on, with all the wickedness
that is in it ; yes, making new babies to be born of thieves and
murderers and sad women and all, for hundreds of years?
God help us, Lady Emily ! If he cannot bear wicked people,
then this world is hell itself, and the Bible is all a lie, and the^
Saviour did never die for sinners. It is only the holy Phari-
sees that cant bear wicked people."
" Oh ! how happy I should be, if that were true ! I should
not be afraid now."
"You are not wicked, dear Lady Emily; but if you were,
God would bend over you, trying to get you back, like a fathei
over his sick child. Will people never believe about the losi
sheep? "
•• Oh ! yes ; I believe that. But then — "
" Y^u can't trust it quite. Trust in God, then, the very
father of you — and never mind the words. You have been
taught to turn the very words of God against himself."
Lady Emily was weeping.
'• Lady Emily," Margaret went on, " if I felt my heart as
hard as a stone ; if I did not love God, or man, or woman, or
little child. I would yet sa}' to God in my .heart, '"O^Cbd, see
how I trust thee, because thou art perfect, and not changeable
like me. I do not love thee. I love nobody. I am not even
sorry for it. Thou seest how much I need thee to come close
to me, to put thy arm round me, to say to me, my child ; for
the worse my state, the greater my need of my father who loves
me. Come to me, and my day Avill dawn. My beauty and
my h>ve will come back ; and oh i how I shall love thee, my
234 DAVID ELGINBROD.
God ! and know tliat mj love is thy love, my blessedness thy
being.'"
As Margaret spoke, she seemed to have forgotten Lady
Emily's presence, and to be actually praying. Those Avho
cannot receive such words from the lips of a lady's-maid must
be reminded what her father was, and that she had lost him.
She had had advantages at least equal to those which David
the Shepherd had — and he wrote the Psalms.
She ended with : —
" I do not even desire thee to come, yet come thou."
She seemed to pray entirely as Lady Emily, not as Margaret.
When she had ceased, Lady Emily said, sobbing : —
"You will not leave me, Margaret? I will tell you why
another time."
" I will not leave you, my dear lady."
Margaret stooped and kissed her forehead. Lady Emily
threw her arms round her neck, and offered her mouth to be
kissed by the maid. In another minute she was fast asleep,
with INIargaret seated by her side, every now and then glancing
up at her from her work, with a calm face, over which brooded
the mist of tears.
That night, as Hugh paced up and down the floor of his
study about midnight, he was awfully startled by the sudden
opening of the door and the apparition of Harry in his night-
shirt, pale as death, and scarcely able to articulate the words : —
" The ghost ! the ghost ! "
He took the poor boy in his arms, held him fast, and com-
forted him. When he was a little soothed,
"0 Harry!" he said, lightly, "you've been dreaming.
Where's the ghost?"
"In the Ghost's Walk," cried Harry, almost shrieking
anew with terror.
" How do you knoAv it is there ? "
" I saw it from my window. I couldn't sleep. I got up
and looked out, — I don't know why, — and I saw it ! I saw
it!"
Tlie words were followed by a long cry of terror.
" Come and show it to me," said Hugh, wanting to make
lisiht of it.
DAVID ELGINBROD, 235
"No, Tio, Mr. Sutherland — please not. I couldu t go
back into that room."
"Very well, dear Harrj ; joa shan't go back. You shall
sleep with me to-night."
" Oh ! thank you, thank you, dear Mr. Sutherland. You
ivill love me again, won't you? "
This touched Hugh's heart. He could hardly refrain from
tears. His old love, bui'ied before it was dead, revived. He
clasped the boy to his heart, and carried him to his own bed ;
then, to comfort him, undressed and lay down beside him,
without even going to look if he, too, might not see the ghost.
She had brought about one good thing at least that night ;
though,- 1 fear, she had no merit in it.
Lady Emily's room likewise looked out upon the Ghost's
Walk. Margaret heard the cry as she sat by the sleeping
Emily ; and, not knowing whence it came, went, naturally
enough, in her perplexity, to the window. From it she could
see distinctly, for it was clear moonlight : a white figure went
gliding away along the deserted avenue. She immediately
guessed what the cry had meant ; but as she had heard a door
bang directly after (as Harry shut his behind him with a
terrified instinct, to keep the awful Avindow in), she was not
very uneasy about him. She felt besides that she must re-
main where she was, according to her promise to Lady Emily.
But she resolved to be prepared for the possible recurrence of
the same event, and accordingly revolved it in her mind. She
was sure that any report of it coming to Lady Emily's ears
would greatly impede her recovery ; for she instinctively felt
that her illness had something to do with the questionable
occupations in the library. Slie watched by her bedside all
the night, slumbering at times, but roused in a moment by any
restlessness of the patient ; when she found that, simply by laying
her hand on hers, or kissing her forehead^ she could restore hei
at once to quiet sleep.
236 DAVID ELGINBROD.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE ghost's walk.
Thierry. — 'Tis full of fearful shadows.
Ordclla. — So is sleep, sir ;
Or anything that's merely ours, and mortal ;
AVe wore begotten gods else. But those fears,
Feeling but once the fires of nobler thoughts,
Fly, like the shapes of clouds we form, to nothing.
Beaumont and Flktcher. — Thierry and Theodoret.
Margaret sat watching tlie waking of Ladj Emilj.
Knowing •how much the first thought colors the feeling of the
whole day, she wished that Ladj Emilj should at once be
aware that she was hy her side.
She opened her eyes, and a smile broke over her face when
she perceived her nurse. But Margaret did not yet speak to
her.
Eveiy nurse should remeraiber that waking ought always to
be a gradual operation ; and, except in the most triumphant
health, is never complete on the opening of the eyes.
"Margaret, I am better," said Lady Emily, at last.
" I am very glad, my lady."
" I have been lying aAvake for some time, and I am sure I
am better. I don't see strange-colored figures floating about
the room as I did yesterday. Were you not out of the room
a few minutes ago? "
"Just for one moment, my lady."
" I knew it. But I did not mind it. Yesterday, when you
left me, those figures grew ten times as many, the moment
you were gone. But you will stay with me to-day. too. Mar-
garet? " she added, with some anxiety.
" I will, if you find you need me. But I muT/ be forced to
leave you a little Avhile this evening, — you must try to allow
me this, dear Lady Emily."
" Of course I will. 1 will be quite patient, I promise you,
whatever comes to me."
When Harry woke, after a very troubled sleep, from which
he had often started with sudden cries of terror, Hugh made
him promise not to increase the confusion of the household, by
DAVID ELGINBROD. 237
speaking of what he had seen. Harry promised at once, but
begged in his turn that Hugh would not leave him all day.
It did not need the pale, scared fiice of his pupil to enforce the
re(|uest ; for Hugh was already anxious lest the fright the boy
had had should exercise a permanently deleterious effect on
his constitution. Therefore he hardly let him out of his
sight.
But although Harry kept his -word, the cloud of perturba-
tion o;athered thicker in the kitchen and the servants' hall.
Nothing came to the ears of their master and mistress ; but
gloomy looks, sudden starts, and sidelong glances of fear, in-
dicated the prevailing character of the feelings of the house-
hold.
And although Lady Emily was not so ill, she had not yet
taken a decided turn for the better, but appeared to suffer from
some kind of low fever. The medical man who was called Jn
confessed to Mrs. Elton, that as yet he could say nothing very
decided about her condition, but recommended great quiet and
careful nursing. Margaret scarcely left her room, and the in-
valid showed far more than the ordinary degree of dependence
upon her nurse. In her relation to her she was more like a
child than an invalid.
About noon she was better. She called Margaret and said
to her : —
"Margaret, dear, I should like to tell you one thing that
annoys me very much."
" What is it, dear Lady Emily ? "
" That man haunts me. I cannot bear the thought of him ;
and yet I cannot get rid of him. I am sure he is a bad man.
Are you certain he is not here? "
"Yes, indeed, my lady. He has not been here since the
day before yesterday."
" And yet, when you leave me for an instant, I always feel
as if he were sitting in the very seat where you were the mo-
ment before, or just coming to the door and about to open it.
That is why I cannot bear you to leave me."
Margaret mi^rht have confessed to some slioihter sensations of
the same kind ; but they did not oppress her as they did Lady
Emily.
" God is nearer to you than any thought or feeling of yours,
238 DAVID ELGINBROD.
Lady Emily. Do not he afraid. If all the evil things in the
universe were around us, they could not come inside the ring
that he makes ahout us. He always keeps a place for himself
and his child, into which no other being can enter."
" Oh ! how you must love God, Margaret ! "
" Indeed. I do love him, my lady. If ever anything looks
beautiful or lovely to me, then I know at once that God is
that."
"But, then, what right have we to take the good of that,
however true it is, when we are not beautiful ourselves ? "
"That only makes God the more beautiful, — in that he
will pour out the more of his beauty upon us to make us beau-
tiful. If we care for his glory, we shall be glad to believe all
this about him. But we are too anxious about feeling good
ourselves, to rejoice in his perfect goodness. I think we
should find that enough, my lady. For, if he be good, are not
we his children, and sure of having it, not merely feeling it,
some day? "
Here Margaret repeated a little poem of George Herbert's.
She had found his poems amongst Mrs. Eltons books, who,
coming upon her absorbed in it one day, had made her a pres-
ent of the volume. Then, indeed, Margaret had found a
friend.
The poem is called " Dialogue " : —
" Sweetest Saviour, if luy soul
Were but worth the having — "
"Oh, what a comfort you are to me, Margaret! " Lady
Emily said, after a short silence. " ^Yheredid you learn such
things?"
" From my father, and from Jesus Christ, and from God
himself, showing them to me in my heart."
"Ah! that is why, as often as you come into my room,
even if I am very troubled, I feel as if the sun shone, and the
wind blew, and the birds sang, and the tree-tops went waving
in the wind, as they used to do before I was taken ill, — I mean
before they thought I must go abroad. You seem to make
everything clear, and right, and plain. I wish I were you.
Margaret."
" If I were you, my lady, I would rather be what God
DAVID ELG[NBROD. 289
chose to mal<e me, than the most glorious creature that 1 could
think of. For to have heen thought about, — born In God's
thoughts, — and then made by God, is the dearest, grandest,
most precious thing in all thinking. Is it not, my lady? "
"It is," said Lady Emily, and was silent.
The shadows of evening came on. As soon as it was dark,
Margaret took her place at one of the windows hidden from
Lady Emily by a bed-curtain. She raised the blind, and
pulled aside one curtain, to let her have a view of the trees
outside. She had placed the one candle so as not to shine
either on the window or on her OAvn eyes. Lady Emily was
asleep. One hour and another passed, and still she sat there
— motionless, watching.
Margaret did not know that at another window — the one,
indeed, next to her own — stood a second watcher. It was
Hugh, in Harry's room; Harry was asleep in Hugh's. He,
had no light. He stood with his face close against the win-
dow-pane, on which the moon shone brightly. All below him
the woods were half dissolved away in the moonlight. The
Ghost's Walk lay full before him, like a tunnel through- the
trees. He could see a great way down, by the light that fell
into it, at various intervals, from between the boughs over-
head. He stood thus for a lonji time, sazins; somewhat list-
lessly. Suddenly he became all eyes, as he caught the Avhite
glimmer of something passing up the avenue. He stole out
of the room, down to the library by the back-stair, and so
through the library window into the wood. He reached the
avenue sideways, at some distance from the house, and peeped
from behind a tree, up and down. At first he saw nothing.
But a moment after, while he was looking down the avenue,
that is, away from the house, a veiled figure in white passed
him noiselessly from the other direction. From the way in
which he was looking at the moment, it had passed him before
he saw it. It made no sound. Only some early-fiilling leaves
rustled as they hurried away in uncertain eddies, startled by
the sweep of its trailing garments, which yet were held up by
hands hidden within them. On it went. Hugh's eyes were
fixed on its course. He could not move, and his heart labored
so frightfully that he could hardly breathe. The figure had
not advanced fixr, however, before he heard a repressed cry of
240 DAVID ELGINBrvOD.
agony, and it sank to the earth and vanished ; while from
where it disappeared, down the path, came, silently too, turn-
ing neither to the right nor tlie left, a second figure, veiled in
black from head to foot.
"It is the nun in Lady Euphrasia's room," said Hugh to
himself.
This passed him too, and, walking slowly towards, the house,
disappeared somewhere near the end of the avenue. Turning
once more, with reviving courage, — for his blood had begun to
flow more equably, — Hugh ventured to approach the spot
where the white figure had vanished. He found nothing there
but the shadow of a large tree. He walked through the ave-
nue to the end, and then back to the house, but saw nothing,
though he often started at fimcied appearances. Sorely bewil-
dered, he returned to his own room. After speculating till
thought was weary, he lay down beside Harry, whom he was
thankful to find in a still repose, and fell fast asleep.
Margaret lay on a couch in Lady Emily's room, and slept
likewise ; but she started wide awake at every moan of the in-
valid, who often moaned in her sleep.
CHAPTER XXXV.
THE BAD MAN.
She kcnt he was nae gentle knight,
That she had letten in ;
Por neither when ho gaod nor cam'
Kissed he hor check or chin.
He neither kissed her when he cam',
Nor clappit her when ho gaed;
And in and out at her bower window
The moon shono like the gleed.
Glenkindie. — Old Scotch Ballad.
When Euphra recovered from the swoon into which she had
fallen, — for I need hardly explain to my readers, that it was
«he who walked the Ghost's Walk in white, — on seeing Mar-
DAVID ELGINBROD. 241
garet. whom, under the irresistible influences of the moonlight
and a bad conscience, she took for the very being whom Eu-
phra herself was personating, — when she recovered, I saj,
she found herself lying in the wood, with Funkelstein, whom
slie had gone to meet, standing beside her. Her first worda
were of anger, as she tried to rise, and found she could not.
"How long, Count Halkar, am I to be jour slave? "
" Till you have learned to submit."
" Have I not done all I can ? "
_" You have not found it. You are free from the moment
you place that ring, belonging to me in right of my family,
into my hands."
I do not believe the man really was Count Halkar, although
he had evidently persuaded Euphra that such was his name
and title. I think it much more probable that, in the course
of picking up a mass of trifling information about various
families of distinction, for which his position of secretary in
several of their houses had aiforded him special facilities, he
had learned something about the Halkar family, and this par-
ticular ring, of which, for some reason or other, he wanted to
possess himself.
"What more can I do?" moaned Euphra, succeeding at
length in raising herself to a sitting posture, and leaning thus
against a tree. "I shall be found out some day. I have
been already seen wandering through the house at midnight,
with the heart of a thief I hate you. Count Halkar ! "
A low laugh was the count's only reply. ^
" And now Lady Euphrasia herself dogs my steps, to keep
me from the ring." She gave a low cry of agony at the re-
membrance.
'• Miss Cameron — Euphra — are you going to give way to
such folly?"
' ' Eolly ! Is it not worse folly to torture a poor girl as you
do me, — all for a worthless ring ? What can you want with
the ring? I do not know that he has it even."
" You lie. You know he has. You need not think to take
me in."
" You base man ! You dare not give the lie to any but a
woman."
"Why?"
16
242 DAVID ELGINBROD.
'• Because you are a coward. You are afraid of Lady Eu-
phrasia yourself. See there ! "
Von Funkelstein glanced round him uneasily. It was only
the moonlight on the bark of a silver birch. Conscious of
having betrayed weakness, he grew spiteful.
" If you do not behave to me better, I will compel you.
Rise up ! "
After a moment's hesitation, she rose.
" Put your arms round me."
She seemed to grow to the earth, and to drag herself from
it one foot after another. But she came close up to the
Bohemian, and put one arm half round him, looking to the
earth all the time.
" Kiss me."
" Count Halkar ! " — her voice sounded hollow and harsh,
as if from a dead throat, — " I Avill do what you please. Only
release me."
' ' Go then ; but mind you resist me no more. I do not care
for your kisses. You were ready enough once. But that idiot
of a tutor has taken my place, I see."
' ' Would to God I had never seen you ! — never yielded to
your influence over me ! Swear that. I shall be free if I find
you the ring."
' ' You find the ring first. Why should I swear ? I can
compel you. You know you laid yourself out to entrap me
first Avith your arts, and I only turned upon you with mine.
And you are in my power. But you shall be free, notwith-
standing ; and I will torture you till you free yourself Find
the ring."
" Cruel ! cruel ! You are doing all you can to ruin me."
" On the contrary, I am doing all I can to save myself If
you had loved me as you allowed me to think once, I should
never have made you my tool."
" You would, all the same."
" Take care. I am irritable to-night."
For a few moments Euphra made no reply.
" To what will you drive me? " she said at last.
"I will not go too far. I should lose my power over you
if I did. I prefer to keep it."
" Inexorable man ! "
DAVID ELaiNBROD. 24§
"Yes."
Another despairing pause.
" What am I to do ? "
" Nothing. But keep yourself readj to carry out any plan
that I may propose. Something will turn up, now that I have
got into the house myself. Leave me to find out the means.
I can expect no invention from your brains. You can go
home."
Euphra turned without another word, and went ; murmuring,
as if in excuse to herself: —
"It is for my freedom. It is for my freedom."
Of course this account must have come originally from
Euphra herself, for there was no one else to tell it. She, at
least, believed herself compelled to do what the man pleased.
Some of my readers will put her down as insane. She may
have been ; but, for my part, I believe there is such a power
of one being over another, though perhaps only in a rare con-
tact of psychologically peculiar natures. I have testimony
enough for that. She had yielded to his will once. Had she
not done so, he could not have compelled her; but, having once
yielded, she had not strength suiEcient to free herself again.
Whether even he could free her, further than by merely
abstaining from the exercise of the power he had gained, I
doubt much.
It is evident that he had come to the neighborhood of Arn-
stead for the sake of finding her, and exercising his power over
her for his own ends ; that he had made her come to him once,
if not oftener, before he met Hugh, and by means of his
acquaintance obtained admission into Arnstead. Once admitted,
he had easily succeeded, by his efibrts to please, in so far in-
gratiating himself with Mr. Arnold, that now the house-door
stood open to him, and he had even his recognized seat at the
dinner-table.
244 DAVID ELGINBROD.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
SPIRIT VERSUS MATERIALISM.
Nest this marble-venomed seat,
Smeared with gums of glutinous heat,
I touch Vith ciin.^to palms moist and cold —
Now the spell hath lost his hold.
Milton. — Comts.
Next morning Ladj Etnilj felt better, and wanted to get
up ; but her eyes were still too bright, and her hands too hot ;
and Margaret would not hear of it.
Fond as Lady Emily was in general of INIrs. Elton's society,
she did not care to have her with her now, and got tired of her
when Margaret was absent.
They had taken care not to allow Miss Cameron to enter the
room ; but to-day there was not much likelihood of her making
the attempt, for she did not appear at breakfast, sending a
message to her uncle that she had a bad headache, but hoped
to take her place at the dinner-table.
During the day, Lady Emily was better, but restless by fits.
" Were you not out of the room for a little while last night,
Margaret? " she said, rather suddenly.
" Yes, my lady. I told you I should have to go, perhaps."
" I remember I thought you had gone, but I was not in the
least afraid, and that dreadful man never came near me. I
do not know when you returned. Perhaps I had fallen asleep ;
but when I thought about you next, there you were by my
bedside."
"I shall not have to leave you to-night," was all Margaret's
answer.
As for Hugh, when first he woke, the extraordinary
experiences of the previous night appeared to him to belong
only to the night, and to have no real relation to the daylight
v/orld. But a little reflection soon convinced him of the
contrary ; and then he went through the duties of the day like
one who had nothing to do with them. The phantoms he had
seen even occupied some of the thinking space formerly appro-
priated by the image of Euphra, though he knew to his concern
DAVID ELGINBROD. 245
that she was ill, and confined to her room. ' He had heard the
message sent to Mr. Arnold, however, and so kept hoping for
the dinner-hour.
With it came Euphra, very pale. Her eyes had an unsettled
look, and there were dark hollows under them. She would,
start and look sideways without any visible cause ; and was
thus very different from her usual self, — ordinarily remark-
able for self-possession, almost to coolness, of manner and
speech. Hugh saw it, and became both distressed and
speculative in consequence. It did not diminish his discomfort
that, about the middle of dinner, Funkelstein was announced.
Was it, then, that Euphra had been tremulously expectant of
him ?
" This is an unforeseen pleasure, Herr Von Funkelstein,"
said Mr. Arnold.
" It is very good of you to call it a pleasure, Mr. Arnold,"
said he. ' ' Miss Cameron — but, good heavens ! how ill you
look ! "
" Don't be alarmed. I have only caught the plague."
^'■Onlif?''^ was all Funkelstein said in reply; yet Hugh
thought he had no right to be so solicitous about Euphra'j^
health.
As the gentlemen sat at their wine, Mr. Arnold said : —
■"I am anxious to have one more trial of those strange things
you have brought to our knowledge. I have been thinking
about them ever since."
"Of course I am at your service, Mr. Arnold; but don't
you think, for the ladies' sakes, we have had enough of it? "
" You are very considerate, Herr Von Funkelstein; but
they need not be present if they do not like it."
"Very well, Mr. Arnold."
They adjourned once more to the library instead of the
drawing-room. Hugh went and told Euphra, who was alone
in the drawing-room, what they were about. She declined
going, but insisted on his leaving her, and joining the other
gentlemen.
Hugh left her with much reluctance.
" Margaret," said Lady Emily, " I am certain that man ia
in the house."
" He is, my lady," answered Margaret.
246 DAVID ELGINBROD.
" They are about some more of those horrid experiments, aa
they call them."
" I do not know."
i\Irs. Elton entering the room at that moment, Margaret
Baid : —
'• Do you know, ma'am, whether the gentlemen are — in the
library again? "
"I don't know, Margaret. I hope not. We have had
enough of that. I will go and find out, though."
' ' Will you take my place for a few minutes first, please,
ma'am? "
Margaret had felt a growing oppression for some time. She
had scarcely left the sick-room that day.
"Don't leave me, dear Margaret," said Lady Emily,
imploringly.
" Only for a little while, my lady. I shall be back in less
than a quarter of an hour."
" Very well. Margaret," she answered, dolefully.
Margaret went out into the moonlight, and walked for ten
minutes. She sought the more open parts, where, the winds
were. She then returned to the sick-chamber, refreshed and
strong,
"Now I will go and see what the gentlemen are about,"
said Mrs. Elton.
The good lady did not like these proceedings, but she was
irresistibly attracted by them notwithstanding. Having gone
to see for Lady Emily, she remained to see for herself.
After she had left. Lady Emily grew more uneasy. Not
even Margaret's presence could make her comfortable. Mrs.
Elton did not return. Many minutes elapsed. Lady Emily
said at last : —
" Margaret, I am terrified at the idea of being left alone, I
confess ; but not so terrified as at the idea of what is going on
in that library. Mrs. Elton will not come back. Would you
mind just running down to ask her to come to me ? "
"I Avould go with pleasure," said Margaret; "but I don't
want to be seen."
Margaret did not want to be seen by Hugh. Lady Emily,
with her dislike to Funkelstein, thought Margaret did not
want to be seen by him.
DAVID ELGINBROD. 247
" fou will find a black veil of mine," she said, " in that
wardrobe ; just throw it over your head, and hold a hand-
kerchief to your. face. They will be so busy that they will
never see you."
Margaret yielded to the request of Lady Emily, who herself
arranged her head-dress for her.
Now I must go back a little. When Mrs. Elton reached
the room, she found it darkened, and the gentlemen seated at
the table. A. running fire of knocks was going on all around.
She sat down in a corner. In a minute or two, she fancied
she saw strange figures moving about, generally near the floor,
and very imperfectly developed. Sometimes only a hand,
sometimes only a'foot, shadowed itself out of the dim obscurity.
She tried to persuade herself that it was all done, somehow or
other, by Funkelstein, yet she could not help watching with a
curious dread. She was not a very excitable woman, and her
nerves were safe enough.
In a minute or two more, the table at which they were
seated began to move up and down with a kind of vertical
oscillation, and several things in the room began to slide about,
by short, apparently purposeless jerks. Everything threatened
to assume motion, and turn the library into a domestic chaos.
Mrs. Elton declared afterwards that several books were thrown
about the room. But suddenly everything was as still as the
moonlight. Every chair and table was at rest, looking per-
fectly incapable of motion. Mrs. Elton felt that she dai-ed not
say they had moved at all, so utterly ordinary was their
appearance. Not a sound was to be heard from corner or ceil-
ing. After a moment's silence, ]Mrs. Elton was quite restored
to her sound mind, as she said, and left the room.
" Some adverse influence is at work," said Funkelstein, with
some vexation. " What is in that closet ? "
So saying, he approached the door of the private staircase,
and opened it. They saw him start aside, and a veiled, dark
figure pass him, cross the library, and go out by another door.
"I have my suspicions," said Funkelstein, with a rathei:
tremulous voice.
" And your fears too, I think. Grant it now," said Mr,
Arnold.
" Granted, Mr. Arnold. Let us go to the drawing-room."
248 DAVID ELGINBROD.
Just as Margaret had reached the librarj-door at the bottom
of the private stair, either a pufF of wind from an open loop-
hole window, or some other cause, destroyed the arrangement
of the veil, and made it fall quite over her face. She stopped
for a moment to readjust it. She had not quite succeeded,
when Funkelstein opened the door. Without an instant's
hesitation', she let the veil fall, and walked forward.
Mrs. Elton had gone to her own room, on her way to Lady
Emily's. When she reached the latter, she found Margaret
seated as she had left her, by the bedside. Lady Emily said : —
" I did not miss you, Margaret, half so much as I expected.
But indeed you were not many moments gone. I do not care
for that man now. He can't hurt me, can he? "
" Certainly not. I hope he will give you no more trouble
either, dear Lady Emily. But if I might presume to advise
you, I would say, Get well as soon as you can, and leave
this place."
"Why should I? You frighten me. Mr. Arnold is very
kind to me."
" The place quite suits Lady Emily, I am sure, Margaret."
" But Lady Emily is not so well as when she came."
"No; but that is not the ftxult of the place," said Lady
Emily. " I am sure it is all that horrid man's doing."
"How else will you get rid of him, then? What if he
wants to get rid of you ? "
" What harm can I be doing him, — a poor girl like me ? "
"I don't know. But I fear there is something not right
going on."
"We will tell Mr. Arnold at once," said Mrs. Elton.
"But what could you tell him, ma'am? Mr. Arnold is
hardly one to listen to your maid's suspicions. Dear Lady
Emily, you must get Avell and go."
"I will try," said Lady Emily, submissive as a child.
" I think you will be able to get up for a little while to-
morrow."
A tap came to the door. It was Euphrasia, inquiring aftei
Lady Emily.
"Ask Miss Cameron to come in," said the invalid.
She entered. Her manner was much changed — was sub-
dued and suffering.
DAVID ELGINBKOD. 249
" Dear Miss Cameron, you and I ought to change places.
I am sorry to see you looking so ill," said Lady Emily.
" I have had a headache all day. I shall be quite well to-
morrow, thank you."
" I intend to be so too," said Lady Emily, cheerfully.
After some little talk, Euphraw^ent, holding her hand to her
forehead. Margaret did not look up, all the time she was in
the room, but went on busily with her needle.
That night was a peaceful one.
CHAPTER XXXVIL
THE RING.
. . shining crystal, whicli . .
Out of her womb a thousand rayons threw.
Bellay. — Translated by Spenser.
The next day. Lady Emily was very nearly as well as she
had proposed being. She did not, however, make her appear-
ance below. Mr. Arnold, hearing at luncheon that she was
out of bed, immediately sent up his compliments, with the re-
quest that he might be permitted to see her on his return from
the neighboring village, where he had some business. To this
L^dy Emily gladly consented.
He sat Avith her a long time, talking about various things ;
for the presence of the girl, reminding him of his young wife,
brought out the best of the man, lying yet alive under the in-
crustation of self-importance, and its inevitable stupidity. At
length, subject of further conversation failing,
" I wonder what we can do to amuse you. Lady Emily,"
said he.
" Thank you, Mr. Arnold ; I am not at all dull. With my
kind friend, Mrs. Elton, and — "
She would have said Margaret, but became instinctively
aware that the mention of her would make Mr. Arnold open
his eyes, for he did not even know her name ; and that he
250 DAVID ELGINBROD
would stare yet wider when he learned that the valued com-
panion referred to was Mrs. Elton's maid.
Mr. Arnold left tlie room, and presently returned with hia
arms filled with all the drawing-room books he could find, Avith
grand bindings outside, and equally grand plates inside. These
he heaped on the table beside Lady Emily, who tried to look
interested, but scarcely succeeded to Mr. Arnold's satisfaction,
for he presently said : —
"You don't seem to care much about these, dear Lady
Emily. I dare say you have looked at them already, in this
dull house of ours."
This was a wonderful admission from Mr. Arnold. He pon-
dered, then exclaimed, as if he had just made a grand dis-
covery : —
" I have it ! I know something that will interest you."
"Do not trouble yourself, pray, Mr. Arnold," said Lady
Emily. But he was already half-way to the door.
He went to his own room, and his own strong closet therein.
Returning toward the inv^alids quarters with an ebony box
of considerable size, he found it rather heavy, and, meeting
Euphra by the way, requested her to take one of the silver
handles, and help him to carry it to Lady Emily's room.
She started when she saw it, but merely said : —
" With pleasure, uncle."
" Now, Lady Emily," said he, as, setting down the box, he
took out a curious antique, enamelled key, " we shall be able
to amuse you for a little while."
He opened the box, and displayed such a glitter and show aa
would have delighted the eyes of any lady. All kinds of
strange ornaments : ancient watches, — one of them a death's
head in gold ; cameo necklaces ; pearls abundant ; diamonds,
rubies, and all the colors of precious stones, — every one of
them having 'some history, whether known to the owner or not;
gems that had flashed on many a fair finger and many a shin-
ing neck, lay before Lady Emily's delighted eyes. But
Euphrasia's eyes shone, as she gazed on them, with a very
dijGferent expression from that which sparkled in Lady Emily's.
They seemed to search them with fingers of lightning.
Mr. Arnold chose two or three, and gave Lady Emily her
choice of them.
DAVID ELGINBROD. 251
*' I could not think of depriving you."
" Thej are of no use to uie,"' said Mr. Arnold, making
light of the handsome offer.
" You are too kind. I should like this ring."
" Take it then, dear Lady Emilj."
Euphrasia's eyes were not on the speaker's, nor was any envy
to be seen in her face. She still gazed at the jewels in the
box.
The chosen gem was put aside ; and then, one after another,
the various articles were taken out and examined. At length,
a large gold chain, set with emeralds, was lifted from where it
lay coiled up in a corner. A low cry, like a muffled moan, es-
caped from Euphrasia's lips, and she turned her head away
from the box.
".What is the matter, Euphra? " said Mr. Arnold.
"A sudden shoot of pain, — I beg your pardon, dear uncle.
I fear I am not quite so well yet as I thought I was. Ho\^
stupid of me ! "
" Do sit down. I fear the weight of the box was too much
for you."
" Not in the least. I want to see the pretty things."
"But you have seen them before."
" No, uncle. You promised to show them to me, but you
never did."
" You see what I get by being ill," said Lady Emily.
The chain was examined, admired, and laid aside.
Where it had lain, they now observed, in the corner, a huge
stcme like a diamond.
" What is this ? " said Lady Emily, taking it up. " Oh !
I see. It is a ring. But such a ring for size I never saw.
Do look. Miss Cameron."
For Miss Cameron was not looking. She was leaning her
head on her hand, and her face was ashy pale. Lady Emily
tried the ring on. Any two of her fingers would go into the
broad gold circlet, beyond which the stone projected far in
every direction. Indeed, the ring was attached to the stone,
rather than the stone set in the ring.
"That is a curious thing, is it not?" said Mr. Arnold.
'•* It is of no value in itself, I believe ; it is nothing but a
crystal. But it seems to have been always thought something
252 DAVID EL-GINBROD.
of in the family, — I presume from its being evidently the
very ring painted by Sir Peter Lely in that portrait of Lady
Euphrasia which I showed you the other day. It is a clumsy
affair, — is it not ? ' '
It might have occurred to Mr. Arnold, that such a thing
must have been thought something of. before its owner would
have chosen to wear it when sitting for her portrait.
Lady Emily was just going to lay it down, when she spied
something that made her look at it more closely.
"What curious engraving is this upon the gold?" she
asked.
" I do not know, indeed," answered Mr. Arnold. "I have
never observed it."
' ' Look at it, then — all over the gold. What at first looks-
only like chasing is, I do believe, words. The character
looks to me like German. I wish I could read it. I am but
a poor German scholar. Do look at it, please, dear Miss
Cameron."
Euphra glanced slightly at it without touching it, and
said : —
" I am sure I could make nothing of it. But," she added,
as if struck by a sudden thought, " as Lady Emily seems in-
terested in it, suppose we send for Mr. Sutherland. I have
no doubt he will be able to decipher it."
She rose as if she would go for him herself; but, apparently
on second thoughts, went to the bell and rang it.
" Oh ! do not trouble yourself," interposed Lady Emily, in a
tone that showed she would like it notwithstanding.
"No trouble at all," answered Euphra and her uncle in a
breath.
"Jacob," said Mr. Arnold, "take my compliments to Mr.
Suthei'land, and ask him to step this way."
The man went, and Hugh came.
"There's a puzzle for you, Mr. Sutherland," said Mr. Ar-
nold, as he entered. " Decipher that inscription, and gain the
favor of Lady Emily forever."
As he spoke he put the ring in Hugh's hand. Hugh recog-
nized it at once.
" Ah ! this is Lady Euphrasia's wonderful ring," said he.
Euphra cast on him one of her sudden glances.
DAVID ELGIXBROD. 253
" What do jou know about it? " said Mr. Arnold, hastily.
Euphra flashed at him once more, covertly.
"I only know that this is the ring in her portrait. Any
one may see that it is a very wonderful ring indeed, by only
looking at it," answered Hugh, smiling.
" I hope it is not too wonderful for you to get at the mys-
tery of it though, Mr. Sutherland? " said Lady Emily.
"Lady Emily is dying to understand the inscription," said
Euphrasia.
By this time Hugh was turning it round and round, trying
to get a beginning to the legend. But in this he met with a
difficulty. The fact was, that the initial letter of the inscrip-
tion could only be found by looking into the crystal, held
close to the eye. The words seemed not altogether unknown
to him, though the characters were a little strange, and the
words themselves were undivided. The dinner-bell rans.
"Dear me! how the time goes in your room,- Lady
Emily ! " said Mr. Arnold, who was never known to keep din-
ner waiting a moment. "Will you venture to go down with
us to-day ? ' '
"I fear I must not to-day. To-morrow, I hope. But do
put up these beauties before you go. I dare not touch them
■without you, and it is so much more pleasure seeing them,
when I have you to tell me about them."
" Well, throw them in," said Mr. Arnold, pretending an in-
diiFerence he did not feel. " The reality of dinner must not
be postponed to the fancy of jewels."
All this time Hugh had stood poring over the ring at the
window, whither he had taken it for better light, as the shad-
ows were falling. Euphra busied herself replacing everything
in the box. When all were in, she hastily shut the lid.
" W^ell, Mr. Sutherland? " said Mr. Arnold.
' ' I seem on the point of making it out, Mr. Arnold, but I
certainly have not succeeded yet."
" Confess yourself vanquished, then, and come to dinner."
" lam very unwilling to give in, for I feel convinced that if
I had leisure to copy the inscription as far as I can read it, I
should, with the help of my dictionary, soon supply the rest.
I am very unwilling, as well, to lose a chance of the favor of
Lady Emily."
254 DAVID ELaiNBROD.
" Yes, do read it, if you can. I, too, am dying to hear it,"
said Euplira.
" Will you trust me with it, Mr. Arnold ? I will take the
greatest care of it."
" Oh, certainly ! " replied Mr. Arnold, with a little hesi-
tation in his tone, however, of which Hugh was too eager to
take any notice.
He carried it to his room immediately, and laid it beside his
manuscript verses, in the hiding-place of the old escritoire.
He was in the drawing-room a moment after.
There he found Euphra and the Bohemian alone. — Von
Funkelstein had, in an incredibly short space of time, estab-
lished himself as Haiisfreiind. and came and went as he
pleased. — They looked as if they had been interrupted in a
hurried and earnest conversation — their faces were so impas-
sive. Yet Euphra' s wore a considerably heightened color, —
a more articulate indication. She could school her features,
but not her complexion.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE WAGER.
He . . . stakes this ring:
* And would so, had it been a carbuncle
Of Phoebus' wheel; and might so safely, had it
Been all the worth of his car.
Cymbeline,
Hugh, of course, had an immediate attack of jealousy.
Wishing to show it in one quarter, and hide it in every other,
he carefully abstained from looking once in the direction of
Euphra ; while, throughout the dinner, he spoke to every one
else as often as there was the smallest pretext for doing so.
To enable himself to keep this up, he drank wine freely. As
he was in general very moderate, by the time the ladies rose
it had begun to affect his brain. It was not half so potent,
however, in its influences, as the parting glance which Eu-
PAVID ELGINBROD. 255
phra succeeded at last, as she left the room, in sending through
his eyes to his heart.
Hugh sat down to the table again, with a quieter tongue,
but a busier brain. He drank still, without thinking of the
ooMsequences. A strong will kept him from showing any
signs of intoxication ; but he was certainly nearer to that state
than he had ever been in his life before.
The Bohemian started the new subject which generally fol-
loAved the ladies' departure.
" How long is it since Arnstead was first said to be haunted,.
Mr. Arnold?"
' ' Haunted ! Ilerr von Funkelstein ? I am at a loss to un-
derstand you," replied Mr. Arnold, who resented any such al-
lusion, being subversive of the honor of his house, almost as
much as if it had been depreciative of his own.
' ' I beg your pardon, Mr. Arnold. I thought it was an
open subject of remark."
"So it is," said Hugh ; " every one knows that."
Mr. Arnold was struck dumb with indignation. Before he
had recovered himself sufiiciently to know what to say, the
conversation between the other two had assumed a form to
which his late experiences inclined him to listen with some de-
gree of interest. But, his pride sternly forbidding him to join
in it, he sat sipping his wine in careless sublimity.
" You have seen it yourself, then? " said the Bohemian.
" I did not say that," answered Hugh. " But I heard one
of the maids say once — when — "
He paused.
This hesitation of his witnessed against him afterwards, in
Mr. Arnold's judgment. But he took no notice now. Hugh
ended tamely enough : —
" Why, it is commonly reported amongst the servants."
" With a blue light? — such as we saw that night from the
library window. I suppose."
'■ I did not. say that," answered Hugh. "Besides, it was
nothing of the sort you saw from the library. It was only the
moon. But — "
He paused again. Von Funkelstein saw the condition he
was in, and pressed him.
" You know something more, Mr. Sutherland."
256 DAVID ELQINBROD.
Hugh hesitated again, but only for a moment.
"Well, then," he said, "I have seen the spectre myself,
walking in her white grave-clothes, in the Ghost's Avenue —
ha! ha!"
Funkelstein looked anxious.
" Wei'e you not frightened? " said he.
"Frightened!" repeated Hugh, in a tone of the greatest
contempt. " I am of Don Juan's opinion with regard to such
gentry. ' '
"What is that?"
" ' That soul and body, on the whole,
Are odds against a disembodied soul.' "
" Bravo I " cried the count. " You despise all these tales
about Lady Euphrasia, wandering about the house with a
death-candle in her hand, looking everywhere about a» it' she
had lost something, and couldn't find it? "
" Pooh ! pooh ! I wish I could meet her ! "
" Then you don't believe a word of it? "
" I don't say that. There would be less of courage than
boasting in talking so, if I did not believe a word of it."
" Then you do believe it? "
But Hugh was too much of a Scotchman to give a hasty
opinion, or rather a direct answer, — even when half tipsy ;
especially when such was evidently desired. He only shook
and nodded his head at the same moment.
" Do you really mean you would meet her if you could? "
"I do."
"Then, if all tales are true, you may, without much diffi-
culty. For the coachman told me only to-day, that you may
see her light in the window of that room almost any i^ight,
towards midnight. He told me, too (for I made quite a fiiend
of him to-day, on purpose to hear his tales), that one o^' the
maids, who left the other day, told the groom — and hfc told
the coachman — that she had once heard talking ; and, pe^^ping
through the keyhole ()f a door that led into that part of the
old house, saw a figure, dressed exactly like the picture of
Lady Euhprasia, wandering up and down, wringing her hands
and beating her breast, as if she were in terrible trouble. She
DAVID ELGINBROD. 257
had a light in her hand which burned awfully blue, and her
face was the face of a corpse, with pajie-green spots."
"You think to frighten me, Funkelstein, and make me
tremble at what I said a minute ago. Instead of repeating
that, I say now, I will sleep in Lady Euphrasia's room this
night, if you like."
" I lay you a hundred guineas you won't ! " cried the Bohe-
mian.
" Done !" said Hu2;h, offerino- him his hand. Funkelstein
took it ; and so the bet was committed to the decision of courage.
"Well, gentlemen," interposed Mr. Arnold, at last, "you
might have left a corner for me somewhere. Without my
permission you will hardly settle your wager."
" I beg your pardon, Mr. Arnold," said Funkelstein. " We
got rather excited over it, and forgot our manners. But I am
quite willing to give it up', if Mr. Sutherland will."
" Not I," said Hugh, — " that is, of course, if Mr. Arnold*
has no objection."
" Of course not. My house, ghost and all, is at your ser-
vice, gentlemen," responded Mr. Arnold, rising.
They went to the drawing-room. Mr. Arnold, strange to
say, was in a good humor. He walked up to Mrs. Elton, and
said : —
" These wicked men have been betting, Mrs. Elton."
" I am surprised they should be so silly," said she, with a
smile, taking it as a joke.
"What have they been betting about?" said Euphra,
coming up to her uncle.
' ' Herr Von Funkelstein has laid a hundred guineas that Mr.
Sutherland will not sleep in Lady Euphrasia's room to-night."
Euphra turned pale.
" By sZee^9, I suppose you mean spend the night?'''' said
Hugh to Funkelstein. " I cannot be certain of sleeping, you
know."
" Of course, I mean that," answered the other; and, turning
to Euphrasia, continued : —
' • I must say I consider it rather courageous of him to dare
the spectre as he does, for he cannot say he disbelieves in her.
But come and sing me one of the old songs," he added, in an
uuder-tone.
17
258 DAVID ELGINBROD.
Euphra allowed him to lead her to the piano ; but, instead
of singing a song to him, 'she played some noisy music, through
which he and she contrived to talk for some time, Avithout beinji
overheard ; after which he left the room. Euphra then looked
round to Hugh, and begged him with her eyes to come to her.
He could not resist, burning with jealousy as he was.
"Are you sure you have nerve enough for this, Hugh?"
she said, still playing.
"I have had nerve enough to sit .still and look at you for
the last half hour," answered Hugh, rudely.
She turned pale, and glanced up at him with a troubled
look. The'n, without responding to his answer, said : —
" I dare say the count is not over-anxious to hold you to
your bet."
" Pray intercede for me with the county madam," answered
Hugh, sarcastically. " He would not wish the young fool to
be frightened, I dare say. But perhaps he wishes to have an
interview with the ghost himself, and grudges me the privi-
lege."
She turned deadly pale this time, and gave him one terrified
glance, but made no other reply to his words. Still she played
on.
" You will arm yourself? "
" Against a ghost? Yes, with a stout heart."
" But clonH forget the secret door through ivhich we came
that night, Hugh. I distrust the count.'"
The last words were spoken in a whisper, emphasized into
almost a hiss.
" Tell him J shall be armed. I tell you I shall meet him
bare-handed. Betray me if you like."
Hugh had taken his revenge, and now came the reaction.
He gazed at Euphra ; but instead of the injured look, which
was the best he could hope to see, an expression of " pity and
ruth " grew slowly in her face, making it more lovely than ever
in his eyes. At last she seemed on the point of bursting into
tears ; and, suddenly changing the music, she began playing a
dead-march. She kept her eyes on the keys. Once more,
onlj'-, she glanced round, to see whether Hugh was still by her side :
and he saw that her face was pale as death, and wet with silent
tears. He had never seen her weep before. He would have
DAVID ELGINBROD. 259
fallen at her feet, had he been alone with her. To hide his
feelings, he left the room, and then the house.
He Avandered into the Ghost's Walk ; and, fiading himself
there, walked up and down in it. This was certainly throwing
the ladj a bold challenge, seeing he was going to spend the
night in her room.
The excitement into which jealousy had thrown him had
been suddenly checked by the sight of Euphra's tears. The
reaction, too, after his partial intoxication, had already began
to set in : to be accounted for partly by the fact that its source
had been chiefly champagne, and partly by the other fact, that
he had bound himself in honor to dare a spectre in her own
favorite haunt.
On the other hand, the sight of Euphra's emotion had given
him a far better courage than jealousy or wine could afford.
Yet, after ten minutes passed in the shadows of the Ghost's
Walk, he would not have taken the bet at ten times its amount.
But to lose it now would have been a serious affair for him.
the disgrace of failure unconsidered. If he could have lost a
hundred guineas, it would have been comparatively a slight
matter ; but to lose a bet, and be utterly unable to pay it,
would be disgraceful, — no better than positive cheating. He
had not thought of this at the time. Nor even now was it
more than a passing thought; for he had not the smallest
desire to recede. The ambition of proving his courage to
Euphra, and, far more, the strength just afforded him by the
sight of her tears, were quite sufficient to carry him on to the
ordeal. Whether they would carry him through it with dignity
he did not ask himself.
And, after all, would the ghost appear ? At the best, she
might not come ; at the very worst, she would be but a ghost ]
and he could say with Hamlet : —
" for my soul, what can it do to that,
Being a thing immortal as itself? "
But then, his jealousy having for the moment intermitted,
Hugh was not able to say with Hamlet : —
" I do not set my life at a pin's fee ; "
260 DAVID ELGINBROD.
and that had much to do with Hamlet's courage in the affair
of the ghost.
He walked up and down the avenue, till, beginning to feel
the night chilly, he began to feel the avenue eerie ; for cold is
very antagonistic to physical courage. But what refuge Avould
he find in the ghost's room ?
He returned to the drawing-room. Von Funkelstein and
Euphra were there alone, but in no proximity. Mr. Arnold
soon entered.
" Shall I have the bed prepared for you, Mr. Sutherland?"
said Euphra.
" Which of your maids will you persuade to that oflBce? "
said Mr. Arnold, with a facetious expression.
" I must do it myself," answered Euphra, " if Mr. Suther-
land persists."
Hugh saw, or thought he saw, the Bohemian dart an angry
glance at Euphra, who shrank under it. But before he could
speak, Mr. Arnold rejoined : —
"You can make a bed, then? That is the housemaid's
phrase, — is it not ? "
" I can do anything another can, uncle."
" Bravo ! Can you see the ghost ? "
"Yes," she answered, with a low liiigering on the sibilant;
looking round, at the same time, with an expression that im-
plied a hope that Hugh had heard it ; as indeed he did.
" What ! Euphra too ? " said Mr. Arnold, in a tone of gentle
contempt.
" Do not disturb the ghost's bed for me," said Hugh. " It
would be a pity to disarrange it, after it has lain so for an age.
Besides, I need not rouse the wrath of the poor spectre more
than can't be helped. If I must sleep in her room, I need not
sleep in her bed. I will lie on the old couch. Herr Von
Funkelstein, what proof shall I give you ? "
' ' Your word, Mr. Sutherland, ' ' replied Funkelstein, with a
bow.
" Thank you. At what hour must I be there ? "
" Oh ! I don't know. By eleven I should think. Oh ! any
time before midnight. That's the ghost's own, is it not ? It
is now — let me see — almost ten."
" Then I will go at once," said Hugh, thinking it better to
DAVID ELGIXBROD. 261
meet the ^'radual approach of the phantom-hour in the room
itself, than to walk there through the desolate house, and enter
the room just as thfe fear would be gathering thickest within it.
Besides, he was afraid that his courage might have broken
down a little by that time, and that he would not be able to
conceal entirely ,the anticipative dread, whose inroad he had
reason to apprehend.
'• I have one good cup of tea yet, Mr. Sutherland,'' said
Euphra. " Will you not strengthen your nerves with that,
before we lead you to the tomb ? ' '
"Then she will go with me," thought Hugh. "I will,
thank you. Miss Cameron."
He approached the table at which she stood pouring out the
cup of tea. She said, low and hurriedly, without raising her
head : —
" Don't go, dear Hugh. You don't know what may hap-
pen."
"I will go, Euphra. Not even you shall prevent me."
''' I will pay the wager for you, — lend you the money."
" Euphra! " — The tone implied many things.
Mr. Arnold approached. Other conversation followed.
As half-past ten chimed from the clock on the chimney-piece,
Hugh rose to go.
" I will just get a book from my room." he said; "and
then perhaps Herr von Funkelstein will be kind enough to see
me make a bejiinning at least."
" Certainly I will. I advise you te let the book be Edgar
Poe"s Tales."
' ' No. I shall need all the courage I have, I assure you.
I shall find you here ? ' '
"Yes."
Hugh went to his room, and washed his face and hands.
Before doing so, he pulled oflF his finger a ring of considerable
value, which had belonged to his fither. As he was leaving
the room to return to the company, he remembered that he
had left the ring on the wash-hand-stand. He generally left
it there at night ; but now he bethought himself that, as he
was not going to sleep in the room, it might be as well to
place it in the escritoire. He opened the secret place, and
laid the diamond beside his poems and the crystal ring belong-
262 DAVID ELGINBROD.
ing to Mr. Arnold. This done, he took up his boolc again,
and, returning to the drawing-room, found the "whole partj?
prepared to accompany him. Mr. Arnold had the keys.
Von Funkelstein and he went first, and Hugh followed with
Euphra.
" We will not contribute to your discomfiture by locking
the doors on the way, Mr. Sutherland," said Mr. Arnold.
" That is, you will not compel me to win the wager in spite
of my fears," said Hugh.
" But you will let the ghost loose on the household/' said
the Bohemian, lauo-hino;.
" I Avill be responsible for tliat," replied Mr. Arnold.
Euphra drooped a little behind with Hugh.
"Remember the secret passage," said she. " You can get
out when you will, whether they lock the door or not. Don't
carry it too far, Hugh."
" The ghost you mean, Euphra. — I don't think I shall,"
said Hugh, laughing. But as he laughed, an involuntary
shudder passed through him.
" Have I stepped over my own grave ? " thought he.
They reached the room, and entered. Hugh would have
begged them to lock him in, had he not felt that his knowledge
of the secret door Avould, although he intended no use of it,
render such a proposal dishonorable. They gave him the key
of the door, to lock it on the inside, and bade him good-night.
They Avere just leaving him, when Hugh, on whom a new light
had broken at last, in the gradual restoration of his faculties,
said to the Bohemian : —
" One word with you, Herr von Funkelstein, if you
please."
Funkelstein followed him into the room ; when Hugh, half-
closing the door, said : —
"I trust to your sympathy, as a gentleman, not to misun-
derstand me. I wagered a hundred guineas with you in the
heat of after-dinner talk. I am not at present worth a hun-
dred shillings."
" Oh ! " began Funkelstein, Avith a sneer, " if you wish to
get off on that ground — ' '
"Herr von Funkelstein," mterrupted Hugh, in a very de-
cided tone, " I pointed to your sympathy as a gentleman, as
DAVID ELGINBROD. 263
the ground on -which I had hoped to meet you now. If jou
have difficulty in finding that ground, another may be found
to-morrow without much seeking."
Hugh paused for a moment after making this grand speech ;
but Funkelstein did not seem to understand him ; he stood in
a waitino; attitude. Huo-h therefore went on : —
" Meantime, what I wanted to say is this : I have just left
a ring in my room, which, though in value considerably below
the sum mentioned between us, may yet be a pledge of my
good faith, in as far as it is of infinitely more value to me
than can be reckoned in money. It was the property of one
who by birth, and perhaps by social position as well, was Herr
von Funkelstein's equal. The ring is a diamond, and belonged
to my fiither."
Von Funkelstein merely replied : —
" I beg your pardon, Mr. Sutherland, for misunderstanding
you. The ring is quite an equivalent." And, making him a
respectful bow, he turned and left him.
CHxiPTER XXXIX.
THE LADY EUPHRASIA.
The black jades of swart night trot foggy rings
'Bout heaven's brow. 'Tis now stark dead night.
John JIarstox. — Second Part of Antonio and Mellida.
As soon as Hugh was alone, his first action was to lock the
door by which he had entered ; his next was to take the key
from the lock, and put it in his pocket. He then looked if
there were any other fastenings, and finding an old tarnished
brass bolt as well, succeeded in making it do its duty for the
first time that century, which required some persuasion, as may
be supposed. He then turned towards the otlier door. As he
cros::.ed the room, he found four candles, a decanter of port,
and some biscuits, on a table, — placed there, no doubt, by the
kind hand of Euphra. He vowed to himself that he would not
264 DAVID ELGINBROD.
touch the wine. " I have had enough of that for one nit^ht,"
said he. But he lighted the candles ; and then saw that the
couch was provided with plenty of wraps for the night. One
of them — he recognized, to his delight — was a Cameron
tartan, often worn by Euphra. He buried his face in it for a
moment, and drew from it fresh courage. He then went into
the furthest recess, lifted the tapestry, and proceeded to fasten
the concealed door. But, to his discomfiture, he could find no
fastening upon it. "No doubt," thought he, "it does fasten,
in some secret way or other." But he could discover none.
There was no mark of bolt or socket to show whence one had
been removed, nor sign of friction to indicate that the door had
ever been made secure in such fashion. It closed with a spring.
"Then," said Hugh, apostrophizing the door, "I must
watch you."
As, however, it was not yet near the time when ghosts are
to be expected, and as he felt very tired, he drank one glass
of the wine, and, throwing himself on the couch, drew Eu-
phra's shawl over him, opened his book, and began to read.
But the words soon vanished in a bewildering dance, and he
slept.
He started awake in that agony of fear in which I suppose
most people have awaked in the night, once or twice in their
lives. He felt that he was not alone. But the feeling seemed,
when he recalled it, to have been altogether different from that
with which we recognize the presence of the most unwelcome
bodily visitor. The Avhole of his nervous skeleton seemed to
shudder and contract. Every sense was intensified to the acme
of its acuteness ; while the powers of volition were inoperative.
He could not move a finger.
The moment in which he first saw the object I am about to
describe, he could not recall. The impression made seemed to
have been too strong for the object receiving it, destroying
thus its own traces, as an overheated brand-iron would in dry
timber. Or it may be that, after such a presensation, the
cause of it could not surprise him.
He saw, a few paces off, bending as if looking down upon
him, a face which, if described as he described it, would be
pronounced as far past the most liberal boundary-line of art,
as itself had passed beyond that degree of change at which a
DAVID ELGINBROD. 265
human countenance is fit for the upper world no longer, and
must be hidden away out of sight. The lips ivere dark, and
drawn back from the closed teeth, which were Avhite as those
of a skull. There were spots, — in fact, the fxce corresponded
exactly to the description given by Funkelstein of the reported
ghost of Lady Euphrasia. The dress was point for point cor-
respondent to that in the picture. Had the portrait of Lady
Euphrasia been hanging on the wall above, instead of the por-
trait of the unknown nun. Hu^j-h would have thou'Z'ht, as flir as
dress was concerned, that it had come alive, and stepped from
its frame, — except for one thing : there was no ring on the
thumb.
It was wonderful to himself afterwards that he should have
observed all these particulars ; but the fact was, that they
rather burnt themselves in upon his brain, than were taken
notice of by him. They returned upon him afterwards by de->-
grees, as one becomes sensible of the pain of a wound.
But there was one sign of life. Though the eyes were
closed, tears flowed from them, and seemed to have worn
channels for their constant flow down this face of death, which
ought to have been lying still in the grave, returning to its
dust, and was weeping above ground instead. The figure
stood for a moment as one who would gaze, could she but open her
heavy, death-rusted eyelids. Then, as if in hopeless defeat,
she turned away. And then, to crown the horror literally as
well as figuratively, Hugh saw t^at her hair sparkled and
gleamed goldenly, as the hair of a saint might, if the aureole
were combed down into it. She moved towards the door with
a fettered pace, such as one might attribute to the dead if
they walked. To the dead body I say, not to the living ghost;
to that which has lain in the prison-hold till the joints are de-
cayed with the grave-damps, and the muscles are stifi'with
moi'e than deathly cold. She dragged one limb after the other
slowly and, to appearance, painfully, as she moved towards the
door Avhich Hugh had locked.
When she had gone half-way to the door, Hugh, lying as he
was on a couch, could see her feet, for her dress did not reach
the ground. They were bare, as the feet of the dead ought
to be, which are about to tread softly in the realm of Hades.
But how stained and mouldy and iron-spotted, as if the rain
266 DAVID ELGINBROD.
had been soaking through the spongy coffin, did the dress sho-\v
beside the pure Avhiteness of those exquisite feet ! Not a sign
of the tomb was upon them. Small, living, delicately formed,
Hugh, could he have forgotten the face they bore above, might
have envied the floor which in their nakedness they seemed to
-.I'ess, so lingeringly did they move from it in their noiseless
^ egress.
■She reached the door, put out her hand and touched it.
jtiugh saw it open outwards and let her through. Nor did this
strike him as in the smallest degree marvellous. It closed
again behind her noiseless as her footfalls.
The moment she vanished the power of motion returned
to him, and Hugh sprang to his feet. He leaped to the door.
With trembling hand he inserted the key, and the lock creaked
as he turned it.
In proof of his being in tolerable possession of his faculties
at the moment, and that what he was relating to me actually
vrccurred, he told me that he remembered at once that he had
heard that peculiar creak a few moments before Euphra and
he discovered that they were left alone in this very chamber.
He had never thought of it before.
Still the door would not open ; it was bolted as well, and
the bolt was very stiff to withdraw. But at length he suc-
ceeded.
When he reached the passage outside, he thought he saw
the glimmer of a light, perhaps in the picture-gallery beyond.
Towards this he groped his way. He could never account for the
fact that he left the candles burning in the room behind him and
went forward into the darkness, except by supposing that his
wits had gone astray in consequence of the shock the appari-
tion had occasioned them. — When he reached the gallery
there was no light thero ; but somewhere in the distance he
saw, or fancied, a faint shimmer.
The impulse to go towards it was too strong to be disputed
with. He advanced with outstretched arms groping. After
a few steps he had lost all idea of Avhere he was, or how he
ought to proceed in order to reach any known quarter. The
light had vanished. He stood. — Was that a stealthy step
be heard beside him in the dark ? He had no time to specu-
late, for the next moment he fell senseless.
DAVID ELGINBROD. 267
CHAPTER XL.
NEXT MORNING.
Darkness is fled: look, infant morn hath drawn
Bright silver curtains 'bout the couch of night;
And now Aurora's horse trots azure rings,
Breathing fair light about the firmament.
Stand; what's that?
John Marstox. — Secnnd Part of Antonio and Mellida.
When he came to himself it waa with a slow flowing of the
tide of consciousness. His head ached. Had he fallen down-
stairs? — or had he struck his head against some projection
and so stunned himself? The last he remembered was —
standing quite still in the dark, and hearing something. Had
he been knocked down ? He could not tell. Where was ,
he ? Could the gliost have been all a dream, and this head-
ache be nature's revenge upon last night's wine ? For he
laj on the couch in the haunted chamber, and on his bosom
lay the book over which he had dropped asleep.
Mingled with all this doubt there was another. For he re-
membered that, when consciousness first returned, he felt as if
he had seen Euphra's face bending down close over his. —
Could it be possible ? Had Euphra herself come to see how
he had fared ? The room laj in the gray light of the dawn,
but Euphra was nowhere visible. Could she have vanished,
ashamed, through the secret door ? Or had she been only a
fantasy, a projection outwards of the form that dwelt in his
brain? — a phenomenon often occurring when the last of sleeping
and the first of waking are indistinguishably blended in a vague
consciousness.
But if it was so, then the ghost ? — What of it? Had not
his brain, by the events of the preceding evening, been
similarly prepared with regard to ic? Was it not more likely,
after all, that she, too, was the offspring of his own imagination.,
— the power that makes images, — especially Avhen considered,
that she exactly corresponded to the description given by the
Bohemian ? But had he not observed many points at which
the count had not even hinted? Still, it was as natural to
expect that an excited imagination should supply the details
268 DAVID ELGINBROD.
of a wholly imaginary spectacle as that, given the idea of
Euphra's presence, it should present the detail of her counte-
nance ; for the creation of that which is not belongs as much
to the realm of the imagination as the reproduction of that
which is.
It seemed very strange to Hugh himself, that he should be
able thus to theorize, before even he had raised himself from
the couch on which perhaps, after all, he had lain without
moving throughout that terrible night, swarming Avith the
hori'ors of the dead that would not sleep. But the long un-
consciousness in which he had himself visited tlie regions of
death seemed to have restored him, in spite of his acliing head,
to perfect mental equilibrium. Or at least his brain Avas quiet
enough to let his mind Avork. Still, he felt very ghastly
within. He raised himself on his elbow, and looked into the
room. Everything Avas the same as it had been the night be-
fore, only with an altered aspect in the daAvn-light. The
dawn has a peculiar terror of its own, sometimes perhaps even
more real in character, but very different from the terrors of
the night and of candle-light. The room looked as if no ghost
could have passed through its still old musty atmosphere, so
perfectly reposeful did it appear ; and yet it seemed as if some
umbra, some temporary and noAV cast-off body of the ghost,
must be lying or lingering somewhere about it. He rose
and peeped into the recess where the cabinet stood. Nothing
was there but the well-remembered carving and blackness.
Having once yielded to the impulse, he could not keep from
peering every moment, noAV into one, and noAV into another,
of the many hidden corners. The next suggesting itself for
examination was always one he could not see from where he
stood ; after all, even in the daylight, there might be some
dead thing there, — who could tell ? But he remained man-
fully at his post till the sun rose ; till bell after bell rang
from the turret; till, in short, Funkelstein came to fetch
him.
"Good-morning, Mr. Sutherland/'" said he. " Hoav have
you slept? "
"Like a — somnambulist," answered Hugh, choosing the
word for its intensity. "I slept so .sound that I woke quite
early."
DAVID ELGINBROD. 269
" I am glad to hear it. But it is nearly time for breakfast,
for which ceremony I am myself hardly in trim yet."
So saying, Funkelstein turned, and walked aAvay Avith some
precipitation. What occasioned Hugh a little surprise was,
that he did not ask him one question more as to how he had
passed the night. He had, of course, slept in the house,
seeing he presented himself in dishabille.
Hugh hastened to his own room, where, under the anti-
ghostial influences of the bath, he made up his mind not to say
a Avord about the apparition to any one.
"Well, Mr. Sutherland, how have you spent the night?"
said Mr. Arnold, greeting him.
" I slept with profound stupidity," answered Hugh, — "a
stupidity, in fact, quite worthy of the folly of the preceding
wager."
This was true, as relating to the time during which he had^
slept, but was of course false in the impression it gave.
"Bravo!" exclaimed Mr. Arnold, with an unwonted im-
pulsiveness. " The best mood, I consider, in which to meet
such creations of other people's brains ! And you positively
passed a pleasant night in the awful chamber ? That is some-
thing to tell Euphra. But she is not down yet. You have
restored the chai-acter of my house, Mr. Sutherland ; and, next
to his own character, a man ought to care for that of his
house. I am greatly in your debt, sir."
At this moment Euphra's maid brought the message that
her mistress was sorry she was unable to appear at break-
fast.
Mrs. Elton took her place.
" The day is so warm and still, Mr. Arnold, that I think
Lady Emily might have a drive to-day. Perhaps Miss Came-
ron may be able to join us by that time."
" I cannot think what is the matter with Euphra," said Mr.
Arnold. " She never used to be affected in this way."
" Should you not seek some medical opinion?" said Mrs.
Elton. " These constant headaches must indicate something
wrong."
The constant headache had occurred just once before since
Mrs. Elton had formed one of the family. After a pause Mr.
Arnold reverted to the former subject.
270 DAVID ELGINBROD.
*' You are most welcome to the carriage, Mrs. Elton. I am
sorry I cannot accompany you myself; but I must go to town
to-day. You can take Mr. Sutherland with you, if you like.
He will take care of you."
" I shall be most iiappy," said Hugh.
" So shall we all,'' responded Mrs. Elton, kindly. " Tbank
you, Mr. Arnold; though I am sorry you can't go with us."
" What hour shall I order the carriage ? "
"About one, I think. Will Herr von Funkelstein favor
us with his company ? "
" I am sorry," replied Funkelstein ; " but I, too, must leave
for London to-day. Shall I have the pleasure of accompany-
ing you, Mr. Arnold ? "
" With all my heart, if you can leave so early. I must go
at once to catch the express train."
" I shall be ready in ten minutes."
"Very well."
" Pray, Mrs. Elton, make my adieus to Miss Cameron. I
am concerned to hear of her indisposition."
" With pleasure. I am going to her now. Good-by."
As soon as Mrs. Elton left the breakfast-room, Mr. Arnold
rose, saying : —
" I will walk round to the stable and order the carriage
myself. I shall then be able, through your means, Mr.
Sutherland, to put a stop to these absurd rumors in person.
Not that I mean to say anything direct, as if I had placed any
importance upon it ; but, the coachman being an old servant, I
shall be able through him to send the report of your courage,
and its result, all over the house."
This was a very gracious explanation of his measures. As
he concluded it, he left the room, Avithout allowing time for,
a reply.
Hugh had not expected such an immediate consequence of his
policy, and felt rather uncomfortable ; but he soon consoled
himself by thinking, " At least it will do no harm."
While Mr. Arnold was speaking, Funkelstein had been
writing at a side table. He now handed Hugh a cheque on
a London banking-house for a hundred guineas. Hugh, in
his innocence, could not help feeling ashamed of gaining such
a sum by such means; for betting, like tobacco-smoking, needs
DAVID ELGINBROD. 271
a special training before it can be carried out quite comfortably,
especially by the winner, if he be at all of a generous nature.
But he felt that to show the least reluctance would place him
at groat disadvantage with a man of the world like the count.
He therefore thanked him slightly, and thrust the cheque into
his trowsers-pocket, as if a greater sum of money than he had
ever handled before were nothing more for him to win than
the count would choose it to be considered for him to lose. He
thought with himself: " Ah ! Avell, I need not make use of it ; "
and repaired to the school-room.
Here he found Harry waiting for him, looking tolerably
well, and tolerably happy. This was a great relief to Hugh,
for he had not seen him at the breakfast-table, Harry having
risen early and breakfasted before ; and he had felt very uneasy
lest the boy should have missed him in the night (for they
were still bedfellows), and should in consequence have had
one of his dreadful attacks of fear. It was evident that this
bud not taken place.
CHAPTER XLI.
AN ACCIDENT.
There's a special providence in the fall of a sparrow.
Hamlet.
When Mrs. Elton left the breakfast-table, she went straight
to Miss Cameron's room to inquire after her, expecting to find
her maid with her. But when she knocked at the door there
was no reply.
She went therefore to her own room, and sent her maid to
find Euphra's maid.
She came.
"Is your mistr.ess going to get up to-day, Jane?" asked
Mrs. Elton.
" I don't know, ma'am. She has not rung yet."
" Have you not been to see how she is ? "
272 DAVID ELQINBROD.
"No, ma'am."
" How was it you brouglit that message at breakfast,
then?"
Jane looked confused, and did not reply.
"Jane ! " said Mrs. Elton, in a tone of objurgation.
" Well, ma'am, she told me to say so," answered Jane.
" How did she tell you ? "
Jane paused again.
"Through the door, ma'am," she answered at length ; and
then muttered, that they would make her tell lies by asking
her questions she couldn't answer; and she wished she was
out of the house, that she did.
Mrs. Elton heard this, and, of course, felt considerably
puzzled.
" Will you go now, please, and inquire after your mistress,
with my compliments ? ' '
" I daren't, ma'am."
" Daren't ! What do you mean ? "
"Well, ma'am, there is something about my mistress — "
Here she stopped abruptly ; but as Mrs. Elton stood expect-
ant, she tried to go on. All she could add, however, was,
" No, ma'am ; I daren't."
" But there is no harm in going to her room."
" Oh, no, ma'am. I go to her room, summer and winter,
at seven o'clock every morning," answered Jane, apparently
glad to be able to say something.
" Why won't you go now, then ? "
"Why — why — because she told me — " Here the girl
stammered and turned pale. At length she forced out the
words, " She wonH let me tell you why," and burst into
tears.
" Won't let you tell me ? " repeated Mrs. Elton, beginning
to think the girl must be out of her mind. Jane looked
hurriedly over her shoulder, as if she expected to see her mis-
tress standing behind her, and then said, almost defiantly : —
" No, she won't; and I can't."
With these words, she hurried out of the room, while Mrs.
Elton turned with baffled bewilderment to seek counsel from
the face of Margaret. As to what all this meant, I am in
doubt. I have recorded it as Margaret told it to Hugh after-
DAVID ELGINBROD. 273
wards, — because it seems to indicate something. It shows
evidently enough, that if Euphra had more than an usual influ-
ence over servants in general, she had a great deal more over
this maid in particular. Was this in virtue of a power
similar to that of Count Halkar over herself? And was this,
or something very diiFerent, or both combined, the art which
he had accused her of first exercising upon him? Might the
fact that her defeat had resulted in such absolute subjection
be connected with her possession of a power similar to his,
which she had matched with his in vain ? Of course I only
suggest these questions. I cannot answer them.
At one o'clock, the carriage came round to the door; and
Hugh, in the hope of seeing Euphra alone, was the first in the
hall. Mrs. Elton and Lady Emily presently came, and pro-
ceeded to take their places, without seeming to expect Miss
Cameron. Hugh helped them into the carriage ; but, instead
of getting in, lingered, hoping that Euphra was yet going to
make her appearance.
"I fear Miss Cameron is unable to join us," said Mrs.
Elton, divining his delay.
"Shall I run upstairs, and knock at her door?" said
Hugh.
"Do," said Mrs. Elton, who, after the unsatisfactory con-
versation she had held with her maid, had felt both uneasy and
curious, all the morning.
Hugh bounded upstairs ; but just as he was going to knock,
the door opened, and Euphra appeared.
" Dear Euphra ! how ill you look ! " exclaimed Hugh.
She was pale as death, and dark under the eyes ; and had
evidently been weeping.
" Hush ! hush ! " she answered. " Never mind. It is only
a bad headache. Don't take any notice of it."
" The carriage is at the door. Will you not come with
us?"
"With whom?"
"Lady Emily and Mrs. Eltou."
" I am sick of them."
" I am going, Euphra."
" Stay with me."
" I must go. I promised to ^ake care of them."
18
274 DAVID ELGIjTBROD.
"Oh, nonsense! What should haj^pen to them? Stay
with me."
" No. I am very sorrj. I wish I could."
" Then I must go with you, I suppose." Yet her tone ex-
pressed annoyance.
" Oh ! thank you," cried Hugh, in delight. " Make haste.
I will run down, and tell them to wait."
He bounded away, and told the ladies that Euphra would
join tliem in a few minutes.
But Euphra was cool enough to inflict on them quite
twenty minutes of Avaiting ; by which time she was able to be-
have with tolerable propriety. When she did appear at last,
she was closely veiled, and stepped into the carriage without
once showing her face. But she made a very pretty apology
for the delay she had occasioned; which was certainly due,
seeing it had been perfectly intentional. She made room for
Hugh ; he took his place beside her, and away they drove.
Euphra scarcely spoke ; but begged indulgence, on the
ground of her headache. Lady Emily enjoyed the drive very
much, and said a great many pleasant little nothings.
" Would you like a glass of milk ? " said Mrs. Elton to her,
as they passed a farm-house on the estate.
" I should — very much," answered Lady Emily.
The carriage was stopped, and the servant sent to beg a
glass of milk. Euphra, who, from riding backward with a
headache, had been feeling very uncomfortable for some time,
wished to get out while the carriage was waiting. Hugh
jumped out, and assisted her. She walked a little way, lean-
ing on his arm, up to the house, where she had a glass of
water ; after which she said she felt better, and returned with
him to the carriage. In getting in again, either from the
carelessness or the weakness occasioned by suffering, her foot
slipped from the step, and she fell Avith a cry of alarm. Hugh
caught her as she fell ; and she would not have been much
injured, had not the horses started and sprung forward at the
moment, so that the hind wheel of the carriage passed over her
ankle. Hugh, raising her in his arms, found she was insensi-
ble.
He laid her down upon the grass by the roadside. Water
was procured, but she showed no sign of recovering. What
DAVID ELGIXBROD. 275
vvas to be done ? Mrs. Elton tliouslit she had better be carried
to the farm-house. Hugh judged it better to take her home at
once. To this, after a little argument, Mrs. Elton agreed.
They lifted her into the carriage, and made what arrange-
ments thej best could to allow her to recline. Blood was flow-
ing from her foot; and it was so much swollen that it was
impossible to guess at the amount of the injury. The foot
was already twice the size of the other, in which Hugh for the
first time recognized such a delicacy of form, as, to his fastid-
ious eye and already ensnared heart, would have been perfectly
enchanting, but for the agony he suffered from the injury to
the other. Yet he could not help the thought crossing his
mind, that her habit of never lifting her dress was a very
strange one, and that it must have had something to do with
the present accident. I cannot account for this habit, but on
one of two suppositions : that of an affected delicacy, or that of.
the desire that the beauty of her feet should have its full
power, from being rarely seen. But it was dreadful to think
how far the effects of this accident might permanently injure
the beauty of one of them.
Hu^h would have walked home that she micrht have more
room, but he knew he could be useful when they arrived.
He seated himself so as to support the injured foot, and pre-
vent, in some measure, the torturing effects of the motion of
the carriage. When they had gone about half-way, she opened
her eyes feebly, glanced at him, and closed them again with a
moan of pain.
He carried her in his arms up to her own room, and laid her
on a couch. She thanked him by a pitiful attempt at a smile.
He mounted his horse, and galloped for a surgeon.
The injury was a serious one ; but, until the swelling could
be a little reduced, it was impossible to tell how serious. The
surgeon, however, feared that some of the bones of the ankle
might be crushed. The ankle seemed to be dislocated, and the
suffering was frightful. She endured it well, however, — so
far as absolute silence constitutes endurance.
Hugh's misery was extreme. The surgeon had required
his assistance ; but a suitable nurse soon arrived, and there
was no pretext for his furtlier presence in the sick-chamber.
He wandered about the grounds, Harry haunted his stops like
276 DAVID ELGINBROD.
a spaniel. The poor boj felt it mucli ; and the suffering ab-
straction of Hugh sealed up his chief well of comfort. At
length he went to Mrs. Elton, who did her best to console
him.
By the surgeon's express orders, every one but the nurse
was excluded from Euphra's room.
CHAPTER XLII.
MORE TROUBLES.
Come on and do your best
To fright me with your sprites : you're powerful at it.
You smell this business with a sense as cold
As is a dead man's nose.
A Winter's Tale.
When Mr. Arnold came home to dinner, and heard of the
accident, his first feeling, as is the case with weak men. was
one of mingled annoyance and anger. Hugh was the chief
object of it ; for had he not committed the ladies to his care ?
And the economy of his house being partially disarranged by
it, had he not a good right to be angry ? His second feeling
was one of concern for his niece, which was greatly increased
when he found that she was not in a state to see him. Still
nothing must interfere with the order of things ; and when
Hugh went into the drawing-room at the usual hour, he
found Mr. Arnold standing there in tail coat and white neck-
cloth, looking as if he had just arrived at a friend's house, to
make one of a stupid party. And the party which sat down
to dinner, was certainly dreary enough, consisting only, be-
sides the host himself, of Mrs. Elton, Hugh, and Harry.
Lady Emily had had exertion enough for the day, and had be-
sides shared in the shock of Euphra's misfortune.
Mr. Ari^old was considerably out of humor, and ready to
pounce upon any object of complaint. Pie would have at-
tacked Hui^h with a pompous speech on the subject of his care-
DAVID ELGINBROD, 277
lessness ; but he was rather afraid of his tutor now ; — so cer-
tainly will the stronger get the upper hand in time. He did
not even refer to the subject of the accident. Therefore, al-
though it filled the minds of all at table, it was scarcely more
than alluded to. But having nothing at hand to find fault
with more suitable, he laid hold of the first wise remark vol-
unteered by good Mrs. Elton ; whereupon an amusing pas de
deux immediately followed ; for it could not be called a duel,
inasmuch as each antagonist kept skipping harmlessly about
the other, exploding theological crackers, firmly believed by
the discharger to be no less than bomb-shells. At length Mrs.
Elton withdrew.
"By the way, Mr. Sutherland," said Mr. Arnold, "have
you succeeded in deciphering that curious inscription yet? I
don't like the ring to remain long out of my own keeping. It
is quite an heirloom, I assure you."
Hugh was forced to confess that he had never thought of fb
again.
" Shall I fetch it at once? " added he.
" Oh ! no," replied Mr. Arnold. " I should really like to
understand the inscription. To-morrow will do jDcrfectly
well."
They went to the drawing-room. Everything was wretched.
However many gliosis might be in the house, it seemed to
Hugh that there was no soul in it except in one room. The
wind sighed fitfully, and the rain fell in slow, soundless
showers. Mr. Arnold felt the vacant oppression as well as
Hugh. Mrs. Elton having gone to Lady Emily's room, he
proposed backgammon ; and on that surpassing game the gen-
tlemen expended the best part of two dreary hours. When
Hugh reached his room he was too tired and spiritless for any
intellectual effort ; and, instead of trying to decipher the ring,
went to bed, and slept as if there were never a gtiost or a woman
in the universe.
His fiist proceeding, after breakfast next day, was to get
together his German books ; and his next to take out the ring,
which was to be subjected to their analytical influences. He
went to his desk, and opened the secret place. There he
stood fixed. The ring was gone. His packet of papers was
there, rather crumpled ; the ring was nowhere. What had
i?78 DAVID ELGINBROD.
]iccome of it ? It was not long before a conclusion suggested
itself. It flashed upon him all at once.
" The ghost has got it," he said, half aloud. " It is shining
now on her dead finger. It loas Ladj Euphrasia. She was
goinii; for it then. It wasn't on her thumb when she went. She
came back Avith it, shining through the dark — stepped over
me, perhaps, as I lay on the floor in her way."
He shivered, like one in an ague-fit.
Again and again, with that frenzied, mechanical motion,
which, like the eyes of a ghost, has "no speculation" in it,
he searched the receptacle, although it freely confessed its
emptiness to any asking eye. Then he stood gazing, and his
heart seemed to stand still likewise.
But a new thought stung him, turning him almost sick with
a sense of loss. Suddenly and frantically he dived his hand
into the place yet again, useless as he knew the search to be.
He took up his papers, and scattered them loose. It was all
unavailing; his father's ring was gone as well.
He sank on a chair for a moment; but, instantly recovering,
found himself, before he was quite aware of his own resolution,
half way downstairs, on his way to Mr. Arnold's room. It
was empty. He rang for his servant. Mr. Arnold had gone
away on horseback, and would not be home till dinner-time.
Counsel from Mrs. Elton was hopeless. Help from Euphra
he could not ask. He returned to his own room. There he
found Harry waiting for him. His neglected pupil was now
his only comforter. Such are the revenges of divine goodness.
" Harry ! " he said, " I hav6 been robbed."
" Robbed ! " cried Harry, starting up. " Never mind, Mr,
Sutherhtnd; my papa's a justice of the peace. He'll catch
the thief for you."
" But it's your papa's ring that they've stolen. He lent it
to me, and what if he should not believe me ? "
" Not believe you, Mr. Sutherland? But he must believe
you. I will tell him all about it ; and he knows I never told
him a lie in my life."
" But you don't know anything about it^ Harry."
" But you will tell me, won't you ? "
Hugh could not help smiling with pleasure at the ponfi-
dence his pupil placed in him. He had not much fear about
DAVID ELGINBROD. 279
being believed, but, at the best, it was an ulipleasant occur-
rence.
The loss of his own ring not onlj added to his vexation, but
to his perplexity as well. What could she want with his ring ?
Could she have carried with her such a passion for jewels, as
to come from the grave to appropriate those of others as well
as to reclaim her OAvn ? Was this lier comfort in Hades, ' ' poor
ghost"?
Would it be better to tell Mr. Arnold of the loss of botli
rings, or should he mention the crystal only ? He came to the
conclusion that it would only exasperate him the more, and
perhaps turn suspicion upon himself, if he communicated the
fact that he, too, was a loser, and to such an extent ; for Hugh's
ring was worth twenty of the other, and was certainly as
sacred as Mr. Arnold's, if not so ancient. He would bear it
in silence. If the one could not be found, there could cer-
tainly be no hope of the other.
Punctual as the clock, Mr. Arnold returned. It did not
prejudice him in favor of the reporter of bad tidings, that he
be!J;2;ed a word with him before dinner, when that was on the
point of being served. It was, indeed, exceeding impolitic ;
but Hugh would have felt like an impostor, had he sat down
to the table before making his confession.
" Mr. Arnold, I am sorry to say I have been robbed, and in
your house too,"
'•In?7i?/ house? Of what, pray, Mr. Sutherland?"
My. Arnold had taken the information as some weak men take
any kind of information referring to themselves or their be-
longings, — namely, as an insult. He drew himself up, and
lowered portentously.
" Of your ring, Mr. Arnold."
"0/' — my — ring ? ' '
And lie looked at his ring-finger, as if he could, not under-
stand the import of Hugh's words.
" Of the ring you lent me to decipher," explained Hugh.
" Do you suppose I do not understand you, Mr. Suther-
land? A ring which has been in the family for two hundred
years at least ! Robbed of it ? In my house ? You must
have been disgracefully careless, Mr, Sutherland. You have
lost it."
280 DAVID ELGINBROD.
"Mr. Arnold," said Hugh, with dignity, "I am above
using such a subterfuge, even if it were not certain to throw
suspicion where it was undeserved."
Mr. Arnold was a gentleman as far as his self-importance
allowed. He did not apologize for what he had said, but he
changed his manner at once.
"I am quite bcAvildered, Mr. Sutherland. It is a very an-
noying piece of news — for many reasons."
" I can show you where I laid it, — in the safest corner in
my room, I assure yout"
" Of course, of course. It is enough you say so. We must
not keep the dinner waiting now. But after dinner I shall
have all the servants up, and investigate the matter
thoroughly."
"So," thought Hugh with himself, "some one will be
made a felon of, because the cursed dead go stalking about this
infernal house at midnight, gathering their own old baubles.
No, that will not do. I must at least tell Mr. Arnold what I
know of the doings of the night."
So Mr. Arnold must still wait for his dinner ; or rather,
which was really of more consequence in the eyes of Mr. Ar-
nold, the dinner must be kept waiting for him. For order and
custom were two of Mr. Arnold's divinities ; and the economy
of his whole nature was apt to be disturbed by any interrup-
tion of their laws, such as the postponement of dinner for ten
minutes. He was walking towards the door, and turned Avith
some additional annoyance when Hugh addressed him again : —
" One moment, Mr. Arnold, if you please."
Mr. Arnold merely turned and waited.
' ' I fear I shall in some degree forfeit your good opinion by
what I am about to say, but I must run the risk."
Mr. Arnold still waited.
" There is more about the disappearance of the ring than I
can understand."
" Or I either, Mr. Sutherland."
' ' But I must tell you what happened to myself, the night
that I kept watch in Lady Euphrasia's room."
" You said you slept soundly."
" So I did, part of the time."
" Then you kept back part of the truth ? "
"I did."
DAVID ELGINBROD. 281
" Was that worthy of you ? "
" I thought it best. I doubted myself."
"What has caused you to change your mind now ? "
" This event about the ring."
" What has that to do with it? How do you even know
that it was taken on that night ? "
"I do not know; for till this morning I had not opened
the place where it lay ; I only suspect. ' "
" I am a mag-istrate, Mr. Sutherland ; I Avould rather not be
prejudiced by suspicions."
" Tlie person to whom my suspicions refer is beyond your
jurisdiction, Mr. Arnold."
"I do not understand you."
" I will explain myself."
Hugh gave Mr. Arnold a hurried yet circumstantial sketcli
of the apparition he believed he had seen.
"What am I to judge from all this?" asked he, coldly,
almost contemptuously.
" I have told you the facts ; of course I must leave the con-
clusions to yourself, Mr. Arnold ; but I confess, for my part,
that any disbelief I had in apparitions is almost entirely re-
moved since — "
" Since you dreamed you saw one."
" Since the disappearance of the ring," said Hugh.
"Bah!" exclaimed Mr. Arnold, with indignation. "Can
a ghost fetch and carry like a spaniel ? Mr. Sutherland, I am
ashamed to have such a reasoner for tutor to my son. Come to
dinner, and do not let me hear another word of this folly. I
beg you will not mention it to any one."
"I have been silent hitherto, Mr. Arnold; but circum-
stances, such as the commitment of any one on the charge of
stealing the ring, might compel me to mention the matter. It
would be for the jury to determine whether it was relevant or
not."
It was evident that Mr. Arnold was more annoyed at the
imputation against the nocturnal habits of his house than at
the loss of the ring, or even its possible theft by one of his ser-
vants. He looked at Hugh for a moment as if he would break
into a furious rage ; then his look gradually changed into one
of suspicion, and, turning without another word, he led the
282 DAVID ELGINBROD.
way to the dining-room, followed by Hugh. To have a ghost
held in his face in this fashion, one bred in his own house too,
when he had positively declared his absolute contempt for
every legend of tlie sort, was more than man could bear. He
sat down to dinner in gloomy silence, breaking it only as often
as he was compelled to do the duties of a host, which he per-
formed with a greater loftiness of ceremony than usual.
There was no summoning of the servants after dinner how-
ever. Hugh's warning had been effectual. Nor was the sub-
ject once more alluded to in Hugh's hearing. No doubt Mr.
Arnold felt that something ought to be done ; but I presume
he never could make up his mind what that something ought
to be. Whether any reasons for not prosecuting the inquiry had
occurred to him upon further reflection, I am unable to tell.
One thing is certain, — that from this time he ceased to behave
to Hugh with that growing cordiality which he had shown him
for weeks past. It was no great loss to Hugh ; but he felt it ;
and all the more, because he could not help associating it with
that look of suspicion, the remains of which were still discern-
ible on Mr. Arnold's face. Although he could not determine
the exact direction of Mr. Arnold's suspicions, he felt that they
bore upon something associated with the crystal ring, and the
story of the. phantom-lady. Consequently, there was little
more of comfort for him at Arnstead.
Mr. Arnold, however, did not reveal his change of feeling
so much by neglect as by ceremony, which, sooner than any-
thing else, builds a wall of separation between those who meet
every day. For the oftener they meet, the thicker and the
faster are the bricks and mortar of cold politeness, evidently
avoided insults, and subjected manifestations of dislike, laid
together.
DAVID ELGINBROD. 283
CHAPTER XLIII.
A bird's-eye view.
Oh, cocks are crowing a merry midnight.
I wot tho wild-fowls are boding day;
Give me my faith and troth again,
And let me faro me on my way._
Sae painfully she clam tho wa',
She clam the wa' up after him;
Hosen nor shoon upon her feet,
She hadna time to put them on.
Scotch Ballad. — Clerk Saunders.
Dreary days passed. The reports of Euphra were .as
favorable as the nature of the injury had left room to expect.
Still they were but reports. Hugh could not see her, and thQ
days passed drearily. He heard that the swelling was reduced,
and that the ankle was found not to be dislocated, but that the
bones were considerably injured, and that the final effect upon
the use of the parts was doubtful. The pretty foot lay aching
in Hugh's heart. When Harry went to bed, he used to walk
out and loiter about the grounds, full of anxious fears and no
less anxious hopes. If the night was at all obscure, he would
pass, as often as he dared,. under Euphra's window ; for all he
could have of her noAV was a few rays from the same light that
lighted her chamber. Then he would steal away down the
main avenue, and thence watch the same light, whose beams,
in that strange play which the intellect will keep up in spite
of, yet in association with, the heart, made a photo-mate-
rialist of him. For he would now no longer believe in the pul-
sations of an ethereal medium ; but — that the very, material
rays which enlightened Euphra's face, whether she waked or
slept, stole and filtered through the blind and the gathered
shadows, and entered in bodily essence into the mysterious
convolutions of his brain, where his soul and heart sought and
found them.
When a week had passed, she was so far recovered as to be
able to see Mr. Arnold ; from whom Hugh heard, in a some-
what reproachful tone, that she was but the wreck of her for-
mer self. It was all that Hu<ih could do to restrain the natu-
284 DAVID ELGINBROD.
ral outbreak of his feelings. A fortnight passed, and she saw
]\Irs. Elton and Lady Emilj for a few moments. They would
have left before, but had yielded to Mr. Arnold's entreaty, and
were staying till Euphi a sliould be at least able to be carried
from her room.
One day, when the visitors were out with Mr. Arnold, Jane
brought a message to Hugh, requesting him to walk into Miss
Cameron's room, for she wanted to see him. Hugh felt his
heart flutter as if doubting Avhether to stop at once, or to dash
throui!;h its confinin-jf bars. He rose and followed the maid.
He stood over Euphra, pale and speechless. She lay before
him wasted and wan ; her eyes twice their former size, but
with half their former light ; her fingers long and transparent ;
apd her voice low and feeble. She had just raised herself with
diflBculty to a sitting posture, and the effort had left her more
weary.
" Hugh ! " she said kindly.
" Dear Euphra ! " he answered, kissing the little hand he
held in his.
She looked at him for a little while, and the tears rose in
her eyes.
" Hugh, I am a cripple for life."
" God forbid, Euphra ! " was all he could reply.
She shook her head mournfully. Then a strange, wild look
came in her eyes, and grew till it seemed from them to over-
flow and cover her whole face with a troubled expression, which
increased to a look of dull agony.
" What is the matter, dear Euphra? " said Hugh, in alarm.
" Is your foot very painful ? '"'
She made no answer. She was looking fixedly at his hand.
" Shall I callJane ? "
She shook her head.
" Can I do nothing for you? "
" No," she answered, almost angrily.
"Shall I go, Euphra?"
"Yes — yes. Go."
He left the room instantly. But a sharp though stifled cry
of despair drew him back at a bound. Euphra had fainted.
He rang the bell for Jane ; and lingered till he saw signs
of returning consciousness.
DAVID ELGINBROD. 285
What could this mean ? He was more perplexed with her
than ever he had been. Cunning love, however, soon found
a way of explaining it. A waj ? — Twenty ways, — not one
of them the way.
Next day, Lady Emily brought him a message from
Euphra, — not to distress himself about her ; it was not his
fault.
This message the bearer of it understood to refer to the
original accident, as the sender of it intended she should ; the
receiver interpreted it of the occurrence of the day before, as
the sender likewise intended. It comforted him.
It had become almost a habit with Hugh to ascend the oak-
tree in the evening, and sit alone, sometimes for hours, in the
nest he had built for Harry. One time he took a book with
him; another he went without: and now and then Harry ac-
companied him. But I have already said that often after tea,
when the house became oppressive to him fr(fm the longing tor
see Euphra, he would wander out alone : when, even in the
shadows of the coming night, he would sometimes climb the
nest, and there sit, hearing all that the leaves whispered about
the sleeping birds, without listening to a word of it, or trying
to interpret it by the kindred sounds of his own inner world,
and the tree-talk that went on there in secret. For the
divinity of that inner world had abandoned it for the present,
in pursuit of an earthly maiden. So its birds were silent, and
its trees trembled not.
An aging moon was feeling her path somewhere through
the heavens ; but a thin veil of cloud was spread like a tent
binder the hyaline dome where she walked ; so that, instead of
\ white moon, there was a great white cloud to enlighten the
earth, — a cloud soaked full of her pale rays. Hugh sat in
the oak-nest. He knew not how long he had been there.
Light after light was extinguished in the house, and still he
sat there brooding, dreaming, in that state of mind in which to
the good, good things come of themselves, and to the evil, evil
things. The nearness of the Ghost's Walk did not trouble him,
for he was too much concerned about Euphra to fear ghost or
demon. His mind heeded them not, and so was beyond their
influence.
But while he sat, he became aware of human voices. He
286 DAVID ELGINBROD.
looked out from his leafy screen, and saw once' more, at tlie
end of the Ghost's Walk, a form clothed in white. But there
were voices of two. He sent his soul into his ears to listen.
A horrible, incredible, impossible idea forced itself upon him,
• — that the tones wei'e those of Euphra and Funkelstein. The
one voice was weak and complaining ; the other firm and
strong.
" It must be some horrible ghost that imitates her," he said
to himself; for he was nearly crazj at the very suggestion.
He would see ^nearer, if only to get rid of that frightful
insinuation of the tempter. He descended the tree noiselessly.
He lost sight of the figure as he did so. He drew near the
place where he had seen it. But there was no sound of voices
now to guide him. As he came within sight of the spot, he
saw the white figure in the arms of another, a man. Her head
was lying on his shoulder. A moment after, she was lifted in
those arms and boirne towards the house, — down the Ghost's
Avenue.
A burning agony to be satisfied of his doubts seized on Hugh.
He fled like a deer to the house by another path ; tried, in his
suspicion, the library window ; found it open, and was at Eu-
phra's door in a moment. Here he hesitated. She must be
inside. How dare he knock or enter ?
If she was tliere, she would be asleep. He would not wake
her. There was no time to lose. He would risk anything to
be rid of this horrible doubt.
He gently opened the door. The night-light was burning.
He thought, at first, that Euphra was in the bed. He felt like
a thief, but he stole nearer. She loas not tliere. She was not
on the couch. She was not in the room Jane Avas fast asleep
in the dressing-room. It was enough.
He withdrew. He would watch at his door to see her
return, for she must pass his door to reach her own. He
waited a time that seemed liours. At length — horrible, far
more horrible to him than the vision of the ghost — Euphra
crept past him, appearing in the darkness to crawl along the
wall against which she supported herself, and scarcely sup-
pressing her groans of pain. She reached her own room, and,
entering, closed the door.
Hugh was nearly mad. He rushed down the stair to the
DAVID ELGINBHOD. 287
library, and out into the wood. "Why or whither he knew
not.
Suddenly he received a blow on the head. It did not stun
him, but he staggered under it. Ilad he run against a tree ?
No. There was the dim bulk of a man disappearing through
the boles. He darted after him. The man heard his footsteps,
stopped, and Avaited in silence. As Hugh came up to him, he
made a thrust at him with some weapon. He missed his aim.
The weapon passed through his coat and under his arm. The
next moment, Hugh had wrenched the sword-stick from him,
thrown it away, and grappled with — Funkelstein. But,
strong as Hugh was, the Bohemian was as strong, and the
contest was doubtful. Strange as it may seem, in the midst
of it, while each held the other unable to move, the conviction
flashed upon Hugh's mind, that, whoever might have taken
Lady Euphrasia's ring, he was grappling with the thief of his
father's.
" Give me my ring," gasped he.
An imprecation of a sufficiently emphatic character was the
only reply. The Bohemian got one hand loose, and Hugh
heard a sound like the breaking of glass. Before he could
gain any advantage — for his antagonist seemed for the moment
to have concentrated all his force in the other hand — a wet
handkerchief was held firmly to his face. His fierceness died
away ; he was lapped in the vapor of dreams, and his senses
departed.
288 DAVID ELGINBROD.
CHAPTER XL IV.
hu3h's awaking.
But ah ! believe me, there is more than so,
That works such wonders in tlio minds of men;
I, that have often proved, too well it know;
And whoso list the like assays to ken,
Shall find by trial, and confess it then,
That beauty is not, as fond men misdeem,
An outward shew of things that only seem!
But ye, fair dames, the world's dear ornaments,
And lively images of lieaven's light,
Let not your beams with such disparagements
Be dimmed, and your bright glory darkened quite,
But, mindful still cf your first country's sight.
Do still preserve your 'irst informed grace.
Whose shadow yet shines in your beauteous face.
Spenser. — Hymn in Hoior of BtarUy
When Hugh cawo to himself, he was lying, in the first
gray of the dawn, am^st the dews and vapors of the raorning
woods. He ro?e and looked around him. The Ghost's Walk
laj in long silence before him. Here and there a little bird
moved and peeped. The glorj of a new day was climbing up
the eastern coast of heaven. It would be a day of late summer,
crowned with flame, and throbbing with ripening life. But
for him the spirit was gone out of the world, and it was nought
but a mass of blind, heartless forces.
Possibly, had he overheard the conversation, the motions
only of which he had overseen the preceding night, he would,
although equally perplexed, have thought more gently of Eu-
phra ; but, in the mood into which even then he must have
been thrown, his deeper feelings towards her could hardly have
been different from what they were now. Although he had
rften felt that Euphra was not very good, not a suspicion had
crossed his mind as to what he would have called the purity
of her nature. Like many youths, even of character inferior
to his own, he had the loftiest notions of feminine grace, and
unspottedness in thought and feeling, not to say action and aim.
Now he found that he had loved a woman who would creep
from her chamber, at the cost of great suffering, and almost at
the risk of her life, to meet, in the night and the woods, a man
DAVID ELGINBROD. 289
no Letter than an assassin, — probably a thief. Had Le been
more versed in the ways of women, or in the probabilities of
things, he would have judged that the very extrava^nce of the
action demanded a deeper explanation that what seemed to lie
on the surface. Yet, although he judged Eupbra very hardly
upon those grounds, Avould he have judged her differently had
he actually known all? About this I am left to conjecture
alone.
But the effect on Hugh was different from what the ordinary
reader of human nature might anticipate. Instead of being
torn in pieces by storms of jealousy, all the summer growths
of his love were chilled by an absolute frost of death. A kind
of annihilation sank upon the image of Euphra. There had
been no such Euphra. She had been but a creation of his own
brain. It was not so much that he ceased to love, as that the
being beloved — not died, but — ceased to exist. There were
moments in which he seemed to love her still with a wild out-
cry of passion ; but the frenzy soon vanished in the selfish
feeling of his own loss. His love was not a high one, — not
such as thine, my Falconer. Thine was love indeed ; though
its tale is too good to tell, simply because it is too good to be
believed ; and we do men a wrong sometimes when we tell them
more than they can receive.
Thought, speculation, suggestion, crowded upon each other,
till at length his mind sank passive, and served only as the
lists in which the antagonist thoughts fought a confused battle
without herald or umpire.
But it is amazing to think how soon he began to look back
upon his former fascination with a kind of wondering unbelief.
This bespoke the strength of Hugh's ideal sense, as well as the
weakness of his actual love. He could hardly even recall the
feelings with which, on some well-remembered occasion, he had
regarded her, and which then it had seemed impossible he
should ever forget. Had he discovered the cloven foot of a
demon "under those trailing garments, he could hardly have
ceased to love her more suddenly or entirely. But there is an
aching that is worse to bear than pain.
I trust my reader will not judge very hardly of Hugh, be-
cause of the change which had thus suddenly passed upon his
feelings. He felt now just as he had felt on waking in the
19
290 DAVID ELGINBROD.
morning and finding that he had been in love with a dreara-<
lady ?11 the night ; it had been very delightful, and it was sad
that it was all gone, and could come back no more. But the
wonder to me is, not that some loves Avill not stand the test of
absence, but that, their nature being what it is, they should
outlast one week of familiar intercourse.
He mourned bitterly over the loss of those feelings, for they
had been precious to him. But could he help it ? Indeed he
could not ; for his love had been fascination ; and the fascination
having ceased, the love was gone.
I believe some of ray readers will not need this apology for
Hugh ; but will rather admire the fixcility with which he rose
above a misplaced passion, and dismissed its object. So do not
I. It came of his having never loved. Had he really loved
Euphra, herself, her own self, the living woman who looked at
him out of those eyes, out of that face, such pity Avould have
blended with the love as would have made it greater, and
permitted no indignation to overwhelm it. As it was, he was
utterly passive and helpless in the matter. The fault lay in
the original weakness that submitted to be so fascinated ; that
gave in to it, notwithstanding the vague expostulations of his
better nature, and the consciousness that he was neglecting his
duty to Harry, in order to please Euphra and enjoy her
society. Had he persisted in doing his^duty, it would at least
have kept his mind more healthy, lessened the absorption of
his passion, and given him opportunities of reflection, and
moments of true perception as to what he was about. But now
tlic spell was broken at once, and the poor girl had lost a
worshipper. The' golden image with the feet of clay might
arise in a prophet's dream, but it could never abide in such a
lover's. Her glance was powerless now. Alas, for the
withering of such a dream ! Perhaps she deserved nothing
else ; but our deserts, when we get them, are sad enough some-
times.
All that day he walked as in a dream of loss. As for the
person whom he had used to call Euphra, she was removed to
a vast distance from him.- An absolutely impassable gulf lay
between them.
She §ent for him. He went to her filled with a sense of in-
sensibility. She was much Avorse, and suffering great pain.
DAVID ELGINBROD. 291
Hui^h saw at once that she knew that all was ovei between
them, and that he had seen her pass his door, or had been in
her room, for he had left her door a little open, and she had
left it shut. One pathetic, most pitiful glance of deprecating
entreaty she fixed upon him, as, after a few moments of speech-
less waiting, he turned to leave the room, — Avhich would have
remained deathless in his heart, but that he interpreted it to
mean, '■ Don't tell : " so he got rid of it at once bj the grant
of its supposed request. She made no effort to detain him.
She turned her face away, and. hard-hearted, he heard her
sob, not as if her heart would break, — that is little, — but like
an immortal woman in immortal agony, and he did not turn to
comfort her. Perhaps it Avas better, — how could he comfort
her ? Some kinds of comfort — the only kinds which poor
mortals sometimes have to give — are like the food on which
the patient and the disease live together ; and some griefs are
soonest got rid of by letting them burn out. All the fire-
engines in creation can only prolong the time, and increase the
sense of burning. There is but one cure : the fellow-feeling
of the human God, which converts the agony itself into the
creative fire of a higher life.
As for Yon Funkelstein, Hugh comforted himself with the
conviction that they were destined to meet again.
The day went on, as days will go, unstayed, unhastened by
the human souls, through which they glide silent and awful.
After such lessons as he was able to get through with Harry,
— who, feeling that his tutor did not want him, left the room
as soon as they were over, — he threw himself on the couch,
and tried to think. But think he could not. Thoughts passed
through him ; but he did not think them. He was powerless
in regard to them. They came and went of their own will :
he could neither say come nor go. Tired at length of the
couch, he got up and paced about the room for hours. When
he came to himself a little, he found that the sun was nearly
setting. Through the top of a beech-tree taller than the rest
it sent a golden light, full of the floating shadows of leaves and
branches, upon the Avail of his room. But there Avas no
beauty foi- him in the going down of the sun ; no glory in the
golden light : no message from dream-land in the flitting and
blending and parting, the constantly dissolving yet ever ro-
292 DAVID ELGINBROD.
maining plily of the lovely and wonderful shadowrleaves. The
sun sank below the beech-top, and was hidden behind a cloud
of green leaves, thick as the wood was deep. A gray light
instead of a golden filled the room. The change had no inter-
est for him. The pain of a lost passion tormented him, — the
achin<T that came of the falling to";ether of the ethereal walls
cif his soul about the space where there had been and where
"here was no longer a <vorkl.
A young bird flew against the window, and fluttered its
wings two or three times, vainly seeking to overcome the un-
seen obstacle which the glass presented to its flight. Hugh
started and shuddered. Then first he knew, in the influence
of the signs of the approaching darkness, how much his nerves
had suffered from the change that had passed. ^ He took refuge
with Harry. His pupil was noAv to be his consoler ; who in
his turn Avould fare henqeforth the better, for the decay of
Hugh's pleasures. The poor boy was filled with delight at
having his big brother all to himself again, and worked harder
than ever to make the best of his privileges. For Hugh, it
was wonderful how soon his peace of mind began to return
after he gave himself to duty, and how soon the clouds
of disappointment descended below the far horizon, leaving the
air clear above and around. Painful thoughts about Euphra
would still present themselves ; but, instead of becoming more
gentle and sorroAvful as the days went on, they grew more and
more severe and unjust and angry. He even entertained
doubts whether she did not know all about the theft of both
rings, for to her only had he discovered the secret place in the
old desk. If she was capable of what he believed, why should
she not be capable of anytkiruj else ? It seemed to him most
simple and credible. An impure woman might just as Avell be
a thief too. I am only describing Hugh's feelings.
But along with these feelings and thoughts, of mingled good
and bad, came one feeling which he needed more than any, —
repentance. Seated alone upon a fallen tree one day, the
face of poor Harry came back to him, as he saw it first, poring
over " Polexander " in the library; and, full of the joy of life
himself, notwithstanding his past troubles, strong as a sunrise,
and hopeful as a Prometheus, the quivering perplexity of that
sickly little face smote him with a pang. ' ' What might I not
DAVID ELGINBROD. 293
have doue for the boj ? He, too, was in the hands of the en-
chantress, and, instead of freeing him, I became her slave to
enchain him further." Yet, even in this, he did Euphra in-
justice ; for he had come to the conclusion that she had laid
her plans with the intention of keeping the boy a dwarf, by
giving him only food for babes, and not good food either, with-
holding from him every stimulus to mental digestion and con-
sequent hunger ; and that she had objects of her own in doing
so, — one, perhaps, to keep herself necessary to the boy as she
was to the father, and so secure the future. But poor Eu-
phi'a's own nature and true education had been sadly neglected.
A fine knowledge of music and Italian, and the development
of a sensuous sympathy with nature, could hardly be called
education. It was not certainly such a development of her
own nature as would enable her to sympathize with the neces-
sities of a boy's nature. Perhaps the worst that could justly
be said of her behavior to Harry was, that, with a strong incR-
nation to despotism, and some feeling of loneliness, she had ex-
ercised the one upon him in order to alleviate the other in
herself Upon him, therefore, she expended a certain, or
rather an uncertain, kind of affection, which, if it might have
been more fittingly spent upon a lapdog, and was worth but
little, might yet have become worth everything, had she been
moderately good.
Hugh did not see Euphra again for more than a fortnight.
CHAPTER XLV.
CHANGES.
Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' thyme!
And the thyme it is withered, and rue is in prinle.
Refrain of an old Scotch song, altered by BURXS.
He hath wronged me; indeed he hath; — at a word, he hath ; — believe me;
Robert Shallow, Esquire, saith he is wronged.
Merry Wives of Windsor.
At length, one evening, entering the drawing-room before
dinner, Hugh found Euphra there alone. He bowed with em-
294 DAVID ELGINBROD.
barrassment, and uttered some commonplace congratulation on
her recovery. She answered him gentlj and coldly. Iler
whole air and appearance were signs of acute suffering. She
did not make the slightest approach to their former familiarity,
but she spoke without any embarrassment, like one wiio had
given herself up, and was, therefore, indifferent. Hugh could
not hel}) feeling as if she knew every thought that was passing
in his mind, and having withdrawn herself from him, Avas
watching him with a cold, ghostly interest. She took liis arm
to go into the dining-room, and actually leaned upon it, as,
indeed, she was compelled to do. Her uncle was delighted to
see her once more. ]\Irs. Elton addressed her with kindness,
and Lady Emily with sweet coriliality. She herself seemed to
care for nobody and nothing. As soon as dinner was over, she
sent for her maid, and Avithch'ew to her own room. It was a
great relief to Hugh to feel that he was no longer in danger
of encountering her eyes.
Gradually she recovered strength, though it was again some
days before she appeared at the dinner-table. The distance
between Hugh ancl her seemed to increase instead of diminish,
till at length he scarcely dared to offer her the smallest civil-
ity, lest she should despise him as a hypocrite. The further
she removed herself from him, the more he felt inclined to re-
spect her. By common consent they avoided, as much as
before, any behavior that might attract attention ; though
the effort was of a very different nature now. It was
wretched enough, no doubt, for both of them.
The time drew near for Lady Emily's departure.
"What are your plans for the winter, Mrs. Elton?" said
Mr. Arnold, one day.
" I intend spending the winter in London," she answered.
" Then you are not going with Lady Emily to Madeira? "
" No. Her father and one of her sisters are going with
her."
"I have a great mind to spend the winter abroad myself;
but the difficulty is what to do with Harry."
" Could you not leave him with Mr. Sutherland?"
" No. I do not choose to do that."
" Then let him come to me. I shall have all my little es-
tablishment up, and there will be plenty of room for Harry."
DAVID ELGINBROD. 295
" A veiy kind offer. I may possibly avail myself of it."
"I fear we could hardly accommodate his tutor though.
But that will be very easily arranged. He could sleep out of
the house, could he not? "
"Give yourself no trouble about that. I wish Harry to
have masters for the various branches he will study. It will
teach him more of men and the world generally, and prevent
his being too much influenced by one style of thinking."
" But Mr. Sutherland is a very good tutor."
" Yes. Very."
To this thei-e could be no reply but a question ; and Mr.
Arnold's manner not inviting one, the conversation wa3
dropped.
Euphra gradually resumed her duties in the house, as far
as great lameness would permit. She continued to show a
quiet and dignified reserve towards Hugh. She made no at-
tempts to fascinate him, and never avoided his look when it
chanced to meet hers. But although there was no reproach
any more than fascination in her eyes, Hugh's always fell be-
fore hers. She walked softly like Ahab, as if, now that Hugh
knew, she, too, was ever conscious.
Her behavior to Mrs. Elton and Lady Emily was likewise
improved, but apparently only from an increase of indifference.
When the time came, and they departed, she did not even ap-
pear to be much relieved.
Once she asked Hugh to help her with a passage of Dante,
but betrayed no memory of the past. His pleased haste to as-
sist her showed that he at least, if fancy-free, was not memory-
clear. She thanked him very gently and truly, took up her
book like a school-girl, and limped away. Hugh was smitten
to the heart. " If I could but do something for her!"
thought he ; but there was nothing to be done. Although she
had deserved it, somehow her behavior made him feel as if he
had wronged her in ceasing to love her.
One day, in the end of September, Mr. Arnold and Hugh
were alone after breakfast. Mr. Arnold spoke : —
"Mr. Sutherland, I have altered my plans with regard to
Harry. I wish him to s^end the winter in London."
Hugh listened and waited. Mr. Arnold went on, after a
Blight pause : —
296 DAVID ELQINBROD.
" There I wish him to reap such advantages as are to be
gained in the metropolis. He has improved wonderfully under
your instruction ; and is now, I think, to be benefited princi-
pally by a variety of teachers. I therefore intend that he
shall have masters for the diiferent branches which it is desir-
able he should study. Consequently I shall be compelled to
deny him your services, valuable as they have hitherto been."
"Very well, Mr. Arnold,'' said Mr. Sutherland, with the
indifference of one who feels himself ill-used. " When shall I
take my leave of him ? "
" Not before tlie middle of the next month, at the earliest.
But I will write you a cheque for your salary at once."
So saying, Mr. Arnold left the room for a moment, and re-
turning, handed Hugh a cheque for a year's salary. Hugh
glanced at it, and offering it again to Mr. Arnold, said : —
"No, Mr. Arnold; I can claim scarcely more than half a
year's salary."
" Mr. Sutherland, your engagement was at so much a year;
and if I prevent you from fulfilling your part of it, I am bound
to fulfil mine. Indeed, you might claim further provision,"
" You are very kind, Mr. Arnold."
"Only just," rejoined Mr. Arnold, with conscious dignity,
"lam under great obligation to you for the way in which you
have devoted yourself to Harry."
Hugh's conscience gave him a pang. Is anything more
painful than undeserved praise ?
" I have hardly done my duty by him," said he.
" I can only say that the boy is wonderfully altered for the
better, and I thank you. I am obliged to you ; oblige me by
putting the cheque in your pocket."
Hugh persisted no longer in his refusal ; and indeed it had
been far more a feeling of pride than of justice that made him
decline accepting it at first. Nor was there any generosity in
Mr. Arnold's cheque ; for Hugh, as he admitted, might have
claimed board and lodging as well. But Mr. Arnold was one
of the ordinarily honorable, who, with perfect characters for up-
rightness, always contrive to err on the safe side of the purse,
and the doubtful side of a severely interpreted obligation.
Such people, in so doing, not unfrequently secure for them-
selves, at the same time, the reputation of generosity.
DAVID ELGINBROD. 297
Hugh could not doubt that his dismissal was somehow or
other connected with the loss of the ring; but he would not
stoop to inquire into the matter. He hoped that time would
set all right ; and, in fact, felt considerable indifference to the
opinion of Mr. Arnold, or of any one in the house, except
Harry.
The boy burst into tears when informed of his father's decis-
ion with regard to his winter studies, and could only be con-
soled by the hope which Hugh held out to him, — certainly
upon a very slight foundation, — that they might meet some-
times in London. For the little time that remained, Hugh
devoted himself unceasingly to his pupil ; not merely studying
with him, but walking, riding, reading stories, and going
through all sorts of exercises for the strengthening of his per-
son and constitution. The best results followed both for
Harry and his tutor.
CHAPTER XLVI.
EXPLANATIONS.
I hare done nothing good to win belief,
My life hath been so faithless; all the creatures
Made for heaven's honors, have their ends, and good ones;
All but .... false women .... When they die", like tales
Ill-told, and unbelieved, they pass away.
I will redeem one minute of my age,
Or, like another Niobe, I'll weep
Till I am water.
Beaumont and Fletcher. — The Maid's Tragedy.
The days passed quickly by ; and the last evening that
Hugh was to spend at Arnstead arrived. He wandered out
alone. He had been with Harry all day, and now he wished
for a few moments of solitude. It was a lovely autumn even-
ing. He went into the woods behind the house. The leaves
were still thick upon the trees, but most of them had changed
to gold, and brown, and red ; and the sweet faint odors of
those that had fallen, and lay thick underfoot, ascended like a
298 DAVID ELGINBROD.
voice from the grave, saying, "Here dwclleth some sad-
Ticss, but no despair." As lie strolled about among them-, the
■whole history of his past life arose before him. This often
h{>pperis before any change in our history, and is surest to take
plice at the approach of the greatest change of all, when v,e
are about to pass into the unknown, Avhence we came.
In this mood, it was natural that his sins should rise before
him. They came as the shadows of his best pleasures. For
now, in looking back, he could fix on no period of his history,
around which the aureole, Avhich glorifies the sacred things of
the past, had gathered in so golden a hue, as around the
memory of the holy cottage, the temple in which abode David,
and Janet, and Margaret. All the story glided past, as the
necromantic Will called up the sleeping dead in the mausoleum
of the bruin. And that solemn, kingly, gracious old man,
who had been to him a father, he had forgotten ; the homely
tenderness which, from fear of its own force, concealed itself
behind a humorous roughness of manner, he had — no, not
despised, but — forgotten, too ; and if the dim pearly loveli-
ness of the trustful, grateful maiden had not been quite for-
gotten, yet she, too, had been neglected, had died, as it were,
and been buried in the church-yard of the past, where tlie
grass grows long over the graves, and the moss soon begins to
fill up the chiselled records. He was ungrateful. lie dared not
allow to himself that he was unloving ; but he must confess
himself ungrateful.
Musing sorrowfully and self-reproachfully, he came to the
Ghost's Avenue. Up and down its aisle he walked, a fit place
for remembering the past and the sins of the present. Yield-
ing himself to what thoughts might arise, the strange sight he
bad seen here on that moonlit night, of two silent wandering
figures, — or could it be that they were .one and the same,
suddenly changed in hue? — returned upon him. This vision
had been so speedily followed by the second and more alarming
apparition of Lady Euphrasia, that he had hardly had time to
speculate on what the former could have been. He was medi-
tating upon all these strange events, and remarking to himself
that, since his midnight encounter with Lady Euphrasia, the
house had been as quiet as a church-yard at noon, when all
suddenly, he saw before him, at some little distance, a dark
DAVID ELGINBROD. 299
figure approaching him. His heart seemed to bound into his
throat and choke him^ as he said to himself, " It is the nun
again ! " But the next moment he saw that it was Eupbra.
I do not know which he would have preferred not meeting
alone, and in the deepening twilight; Euphra, too, had become
like a ghost to him. His first impulse was to turn aside into
the wood, but she had seen him, and was evidently going to
address him. He therefore advanced to meet her. She spoke
first, approaching him with painful steps.
"I have been looking for you, Mr. Sutherland. I wanted
very much to have a little conversation with you before you
go. Will you allow me ? "
Hugh felt like a culprit directly. Euphra's manner was
quite collected and kind ; yet through it all a consciousness
showed itself that the relation which had once existed between
them had passed away forever. In her voice there was some-
thing like the tone of wind blowing through a ruin.
" I shall be most happy," said he.
She smiled sadly. A great change had passed upon her.
"lam going to be quite open with you," she said. "I
am perfectly aware, as well as you are, that the boyish fancy
you had for me is gone. Do not be oiFended. You are manly
enough, but your love for me was boyish. Most first loves
are childish, quite irrespective of age. I do not blame you in
the least."
This seemed to Hugh rather a strange style to assume, if all
was true that his own eyes had reported. She went on : —
" Nor must you think it has cost me much to lose it."
Hugh felt hurt, at which no one who understands will be
surprised.
" But I cannot afibrd to lose you^ the only friend I have,"
she added.
Hugh turned towards her with a face full of manhood and
truth.
" You shall not lose me, Euphra, if you will be honest to
yourself and to me."
" Thank you. I can trust you. I will be honest."
At that moment, without the revival of a trace of his for-
mer feelings, Hugh felt nearer to her than he had ever felt
800 DAVID ELGINBROD.
before. Now there seemed to be truth between them, the only
medium through which beings can unite.
" I fear I have wronged you much," she went on. "I do
not mean some time ago." Here she hesitated. "I fear I
am the cause of your leaving Arnstead."
" You, Euphra ? No. You must be mistaken."
" I think not. But I am compelled to make an unwilling
disclosure of a secret, — a sad secret about myself Do not
hate me quite — I am a somnambulist."
She hid her face in her hands, as if the night which had
now closed around them did not hide her enough. Huo;h did
not reply. Absorbed in the interest which both herself and
her confession aroused in him, lie could only listen eagerly.
She went on, after a moment's pause : —
" I did not think at first that I had taken the ring. I
thought another had. But last night, and not till then, I dis-
covered that I was the culprit."
"How?"
" That requires explanation. I have no recollection of the
events of the previous night when I have been walking in my
sleep. Indeed, the utter absence of a sense of dreaming always
makes me suspect that I have been wandering. But sometimes
I have a vivid dream, which I know, though I can give no
proof of it, to be a reproduction of some previous somnambulic
experience. Do not ask me to recall the horrors I dreamed
last night. I am sure I took the ring."
" Then you dreamed what you did with it? "
" Yes, I gave it to — "
Here her voice sank and ceased. Hugh would not urge
her.
" Have you mentioned this to Mr. Arnold ? "
" No. I do not think it would do any good. But I will;
if you wish it," she added, submissively.
" Not at all. Just as you think best."
" I could not tell him everything. I cannot tell you every-
thing. If I did, Mr. Arnold would turn me out of the house.
I am a very unhappy girl, Mr. Sutherland."
From the tone of these words, Hugh could not for a moment
suppose that Euphra had any remaining design of fascination
in tliem.
DAVID ELGINBROD. 301
" Perhaps he might want to keep jou, if I told him all ; but
I do not think, after the way he has behaved to you, that you
could stay with ])im. for he vrould never apologize. It is very sel-
fish of me ; but indeed I have not the courage to confess to him."
"I assure you nothing could make me remain now. But
what can I do for you ? "
" Only let me depend upon you, in case I should need your
help ; or — " o
Here Euphra stopped suddenly, and caught hold of Hugh's
left hand, which he had lifted to brush an insect from his face.
" Where is your ring? '' she said, in a tone of suppressed
anxiety.
"Gone, Euphra. My father's ring! It was lying beside
Lady Euphrasia's."
Euphra's face was again hidden in her hands. She sobbed
and moaned like one in despair. ^Vhen she grew a little calmer,
she said : —
" I am sure I did not take your ring, dear Hugh, — I am not
a thief. I had a kind of right to the other, and he said it
ought to have been his, for his real name was Count von Hal-
kar, — the same name as Lady Euphrasia's before she was
married. He took it, I am sure."
" It was he that knocked me down in the dark that night,
then, Euphra."
" Did he ? Oh ! I shall have to tell you all. That wretch
has a terrible power over me. I loved him once. But I re-
fused to take the ring from your desk, because I knew it would
get you into trouble. He threw me into a somnambulic sleep,
and sent me for the ring. But I should have remembered if
I had taken yours. Even in my sleep, I dont think he could
have made me do that. You may know I speak the truth,
when I am telling my own disgrace. He promised to set me
free if I would get the ring ; but he has not done it, and he
will not."
Sobs again interrupted her.
"I was afraid your ring was gone. I don't know why I
thought so, except that you hadn" t it on when you came to see
me. Or perhaps it was because I am sometimes forced to
think what that wretch is thinkino;. He made me go to him
that night you saw me, Hugh. But I was so ill, I don't tfcink
302 DAVID ELGINBROD.
I should have been able, but that I could not rest till I had
asked him about your ring. He said he knew nothing about
it."
" I am sure he has it," said Hugh. And he related to
Euphra the struggle he had had with Funkelstein and its re-
sult. She shuddered.
" I have been a devil to you, Hugh ; I have betrayed you
to hhi^ You will never see your ring again. Here, take
mine. It is not so good as yours, but for the sake of the old
way you thought of me, take it."
"No, no, Euphra; Mr. Arnold would miss it. Besides,
you know it would not be my father's ring, and it was not for
the value of the diamond I cared most about it. And I am
not sure that I shall not find it again. I am going up to Lon-
don, where I shall foil in with him, I hope."
" But do take care of yourself. He has no conscience. God
knows I have had little, but he has none."
" I know he has none; but a conscience is not a bad auxil-
iary, and there I shall have some advantage of him. But what
could he want that ring of Lady Euphrasia's for ? "
" I don't know. He never told me."
" It was not worth much."
" Next to nothing."
' ' I shall be surer to find that than my own. And I will
find it, if I can, that Mr Arnold may believe I was not to
blame."
" Do. But be careful."
" Don't fear. I will be careful."
She held out her hand, as if to take leave of him, but with--
drew it again with the sudden cry : —
" What shall I do ? I thought he had left me to myself,
till that night in the library."
She held down her head in silence. Then she said, slowly,
in a tone of agony : —
"I am a slave, body and soul. Hugh ! " she added, pas-
sionately, and looking up in his face, "do you think there is
a God?"
Her eyes glimmered with the faint reflex from gatliered
tears that silently overflowed.
And now Hugh's own poverty struck him with grief and
DAVID ELaiNBROD. 303
humiliation. Here was a soul seeking God, and he had no
right to say that there was a God, for he knew nothing about
him. He had been told so; but what could that far-off wit-
ness do for the need of a desolate heart ? She had been told
so a million of times. He could not say that he knew it. That
was what she wanted and needed.
He was honest, and so replied : —
" I do not know. I hope so."
He felt that she was already beyond him ; for she had begun
to cry into the vague, seemingly heartless void, and say : —
" Is there a God somewhere to hear me when I cry ? "
And with all the teaching he had had, he had no word of
comfort to give. Yes, he had ; he had known David El-
ginbrod.
Before he had shaped his thought, she said : —
" I think, if there were a God, he would help me ; for I am
nothing but a poor slave now. I have hardly a will of my own.','
The sigh she heaved told of a hopeless oppression.
" The best man, and the wisest, and the noblest I ever
knew," said Hugh, '• believed in God with his whole heart
and soul and strength and mind. In fact, he cared for noth-
ing but "God; or rather, he cared for everything, because it be-
longed to God. He was never afraid of anything, never vexed
at anything, never troubled about anything. He loas a good
man."
Hugh was surprised at the light which broke upon the char-
acter of David, as he held it before his mind's eye, in order to
describe it to Euphra. He seemed never to have understood
him before.
"Ah ! I wish I knew him. I would go to that man, and
ask him to save me. Where does he live? "
" Alas ! I do not know whether he is alive or dead, — the
more to my shame. But he lives, if he lives, far away in the
north of Scotland."
She paused.
" No. I could not go there. I will write to him."
Hugh could not discourage her, though he doubted whether
a real communication could be established between them.
" I will write down his address for you, when I go in," said
he. " But what can he save you from ? "
304 DAVID ELGINBROD.
«
" From no God," she' answered, solemnly. " If there is no
God, then I am sure that there is a devil, and that he has got
me in his power."
Hugh felt her shudder, for she was leaning on his arm, she
was still so lame. She continued : —
" Oh ! if I had a God, he would right me, I know."
Hugh could not reply. A pause followed.
" Good-by. I feel pretty sure we shall meet again. My
presentiments are generally true," said Euphra, at length.
Hugh kissed her hand with far more real devotion than he
had ever kissed it with before.
She left him, and hastened to the house " with feeble speed."
He was sorry she was gone. He walked up and down for
some time, meditating on the strange girl and her strange
words ; till, hearing the dinner-bell, he, too, must hasten in to
dress.
Euphra met him at the dinner-table without any change of
her late manner. Mr. Arnold wished him good-night more
kindly than usual. When he went up to his room, he found
that Harry had already cried himself to sleep.
CHAPTER XLVII.
DEPARTURE.
I fancy deemed fit guide to lead ray way,
And as I deemed I did pursue her track ;
Wit lost his aim, and will was fancy's prey;
The rebel won, the ruler went to wrack.
But now sith fancy did with folly end,
Wit^ bought with loss — will, taught by wit, will mend.
Southwell. — David's Peccavi,
After dinner, Hugh wandered over the well-known places,
to bid them good-by. Then he went up to his room, and, with
the vanity of a young author, took his poems out of the fatal
old desk ; Avrote, •' Take them, please, such as they are. Let
me be your friend;" enclosed them with the writing, and
DAVID ELGINBROD. 305
addressed them to Euphra. By the time he saw them again,
they were so much waste-paper in his eyes.
But what Avere his plans for the future ?
First of all he would go to^ London. There he Avould do
many things. lie would try to find Funkelstein. lie would
write. He would make acquaintance Avitli London life ; for had
he not plenty of money in his pocket ? And who could live
more thriftily than he ? During his last session at Aberdeen
he had given some private lessons, and so contrived to eke out
his small means. These Avere Avretchodly paid for, namely,
not quite at the rate of sevenpence-halfpenny a lesson ; but still
that Avas something, Avhere more could not be had. Noav he
would try to do the same in London, where he Avould be much
better paid. Or perhaps he might get a situation in a school
for a short time, if he Avere driven to ultimate necessity. At
all events, he Avould see London, and look about him for a
little Avhile, before he settled to anything definite.
With this hopeful prospect before him, he next morning bade
adieu to Arnstead. I Avill not describe the parting Avith poor
Harry. The boy seemed ready to break his heart, and Hugh
himself had enough ado to refrain from tears. One of the
grooms droA^e him to the railway in the dog-cart. As they
came near the station, Hugh gave him half a crown. EnliA'ened
by the gift, the man began to talk.
" He's a rum customer, that ere gemman with the foi'ing
name. The color of his puss I couldn't swear to noAV. Never
saw sixpence o' his'n. My opinion is, master had better look
arter his spoons. And for missus — well, it's a pity ! He's
a rum un, as I say, anyhow."'
The man here nodded several times, half compassionately,
half importantly.
Hugh did not choose to inquire Avhat he meant. They
reached the station, and in a few minutes he Avas shootins:
along tOAvards London, that social vortex, which draws every-
thing towards its central tumult.
But there is a central repose beyond the motions of the
worlds ; and through the turmoil of London, Hugh was
journeying tOAvards that Avide stillness, — that silence of the
soul, which is not desolate, but rich with unutterable harmonies.
20 . .
306 DAVID ELGINBROD.
CHAPTER XLVIIL
LODdPlNGS.
c
Heigh ho ! sing heigh ho ! unto the green holly :
Most frieadship is feigning, mnst loving mere folly :
Then, heigh ho ! the holly !
This life is most jolly.
Sana in As iTou Lihe It.
[
\ Hugh felt rather drearj as, through Bermondsej, he drew
high to the London Bridge Station. Fog, and drizzle, and
smoke, and stench composed the atmosphere*. He got out in a
drift of human atoms. Leavin"; liis ]u2;":ag;e at the office, he
set out on foot to explore, — in fact, to go and look for his
future, which, even Avlien he met it, he would not be able to
recognize witli any certainty. The first form in which he was
interested to find it embodied was that of lodgings ; but where
even to look, he did not know. He had been in London for a
few days in the spring, on his way to Arnstcad, so he was not
utterly ignorant of the anatomy of the monster city ; but his
little knowledge could not be of much service to him now.
And how different it was from the London of spring, Avhich had
lingered in his memoiXi^d imagination ; when, transformed
by the "heavenly alcheimy"' of the piercing sunbeams that
slanted across the streets from chimney-tops to opposite base-
ments, the dust and smoke showed great inclined pianes of
light, up whose steep slopes one longed to climb to the fountain
glory whence they flowed ! Now the streets, from garret to
cellar, seemed like huge kennels of muddy, moist, filthy air,
down through which settled the heavier particles of smoke and
rain upon the miserable human beings who crawled below in
the deposit, like shrimps in the- tide, or whitebait at the bottom
of the muddy Thames. He had to wade through deep thin mud
even on the pavements. Everybody looked depressed, and
hurried by with a cowed look ; as if conscious that the rain and
general misery v/ere a plague drawn down on the city by his
own individual crime. Nobody seemed to care for anybody or
anything. " Good heavens ! '' thought Hugh ; " what a place
% this must be for one without money ! '' It looked- like a chaos
DAVID ELGINBROD. 307
of liUQian monads And yet, in reality, the whole mass was
so bojnd together, interwoven, and matted, by the crossing and
intertwisting threads of interest, mutual help, and relationship
of every kind, that Hugh soon found how hard it was to get
within the mass at all, so as to be in any degree partaker of
the benefits it shared within itself.
He did not wish to get lodgings in the outskirts, for he
thought that would remove him from every centre of action or
employment. But he saw no lodgings anywhere. Growing
tired and hungry, he went at length into an eating-house,
which he thought looked cheap ; and proceeded to dine upon a
cinder, which had been a steak. He tried to delude himself
into the idea that it was a steak still, by withdrawing his
attention from it, and fixing it upon a newspaper two days old.
Finding nothing of interest, he dallied with the advertisements
He soon came upon a column from which single gentlemen
appeared to be in request as lodgers. Looking over these ad-
vertisements, Avhich had more interest for him at the moment
than all home and foreign news, battles and murders included,
he drew a map from his pocket, and began to try to find out
some of the localities indicated. Most of them were in or
towards the suburbs. At last he spied one in a certain square,
which, after long and diligent search, and with the assistance
of the girl who waited on him, he found on his map. It was
in the neighborhood of Holborn, and, from the place it occupied
in the map, seemed central enough for his vague purposes.
Above all, the terms were said to be moderate.. But no de-
scription of the character of the lodgings was given, else Hugh
would not have ventured to look at them. What he wanted
was something of the same sort as he had had in Aberdeen. — ■
a single room, or a room and bedroom, for which he should
have to ])ajj only a few shillings a week.
Refreshed by his dinner, wretched as it was, he set out
again. To his great joy, the rain was over, and an afternoon
sun was trying, with some slight measure of success, to pierce
the clouds of the London atmosphere ; it had already succeeded
Avith the clouds of the terrene. He soon found his way into
Holborn, and thence into the square in question. It looked to
him very attractive ; for it was quietness itself, and had no
thoroughfare except across one of its corners. True, it was
808 DAVID ELGINBROD.
invaded by the universal roar, — for ■what place in London is
not? — but it contributed little or nothing of its own manu-
facture to the general production of sound in the metropolis.
The centre was occupied by grass and trees, enclosed within an
iron railing. All the leaves were withered, and many had
dropped already on the pavement below. In the middle stood
the statue of a queen, of days gone by. The tide of fashion
had rolled away far to the west, and yielded a free passage to
the inroads of commerce, and of the general struggle for igno-
ble existence, upon this once flxvored island in its fluctuating
waters. Old windows, flush with the external walls, whence
had glanced fair eyes to which fashion was even dearer than
beauty, now displayed "Lodgings to Let" between knitted
curtains, from which all idea of drapery had been expelled by
severe starching. Amongst these he soon found the house he
sought, and shrunk from its important size and brigh-t equip-
ments : but, summoning courage, thought it better to ring the
bell. A withered old lady, in just the same stage of decay as
the square, and adorned after the same fashion as the house,
came to the door, cast a doubtful look at Hugh, and, when he
had stated his object, asked him, in a hard, keen, unmodulated
voice, to walk in. He followed her, and found himself in a
dining-room, Avhich to him, judging by his purse, and not by
what he had been used to of late, seemed sumptuous. He said
at once : —
"It is needless for me to trouble you further. I see your
rooms will not suit me."
The old lady looked annoyed.
"Will you see the drawing-room apartments then?" she
said, crustily.
" No, thank you. It would be giving you quite unnecessary
trouble."
" My apartments have always given satisfaction, I assure
you, sir."
"Indeed, I have no reason to doubt it. I wish I could
afford to take them," said Hugh, thinking it better to be open
than to hurt her feelings. " I am sure I should be very com-
fortable. But a poor — "
He did not know what to call himself.
DAVID ELGINBROD. SOS
" 0-oh ! " said the landlady. Then, after a pause, "Well ? "
interrogativelj.
" Well, I was a tutor last, but I don't know what I may be
next."
She kept looking at him. Once or twice she looked at him
from head to foot.
' ' You are respectable ? ' '
" I hope so," said Hugh, laughing.
"Well ! " — this time not interrogatively.
" How many rooms would you like? "
"The fewer the better. Half a one, if there were nobody
in the other half"
"Well! — And you wouldn't give much trouble, I dare
say."
" Only for coals, and water to wash and drink."
. " And you wouldn't dine at home? "
"No — nor anywhere else," said Hugh; but the second
and larger clause was sotio voce.
" And you wouldn't smoke in-doors? "
"No."
"And you would wipe your boots clean before you went up-
stairs? "
"Yes, cei'tainly." Hugh was beginning to be exceedingly
amused, but he kept his gravity wonderfully.
" Have you any money ? "
"Yes; plenty for the meantime. But when I shall get
more, I don't know, you see."
" Well, I've a room at the top of the house, which I'll make
comfortable for you ; and you may stay as long as you like to
behave yourself"
" But what is the rent? "
" Four shillings a week — to you. Would you like to
Bee it?"
" Yes, if you please."
She conducted him up to the third floor, and showed him a
good-sized room, rather bare, but clean.
" This will do delightfully," said Hugh.
" I will make it a little more comfortable for you, you
know."
310 DAVID ELGINBRCD.
" Thank you very mucli. Shall I pay i month in ad-
vance? "
" No, 'iio, ' she answered, with a grim smile. " I might
Avant to get lid of you, you know. It must be a week's warn-
ing, no more."
" Very well. I have no ohjcction. I wnll go and ftitch ray
luirgage. I suppose I may come in at once ? "
" The sooner the better, young man, in a place like London.
The sooner you come home the better pleased I shall be. Tliere
now ! "
So saying, she walked solemnly downstairs before him, and
let him out. Hugh hurried away to fetch his luggage, de-
lighted that he had so soon succeeded in finding just what he
wanted. As he went, he speculated on the nature of his land-
lady, trying to account for her odd, rough manner, and the real
kindness of her rude words. He came to the conclusion that
she was naturally kind to profusion, and that this kindness
had, some time or other, perhaps repeatedly, been taken shame-
ful advantage of; that at last she had come to the resolution
to defend herself by means of a general misanthropy, and sup-
posed that she had succeeded, when she had got no further
than to have so often imitated the tone of her own behavior
when at its crossest as to have made it habitual by repeti-
tion.
In all probability some unknown sympathy had drawn her
to Hu^h. She mio;ht have had a son about his age, who had
run away thirty years ago. Or rather, for she seemed an
old maid, she had been jilted some time by a youth about the
same size as Hu";h ; and therefore she loved him the moment
she saw him. Or, in short, a thousand things. Certainly
seldom had lodgings been let so oddly or so cheaply. But
some impulse or other of the whimsical old human heart, which
■will have its way, was satisfied therein.
When he returned in a couple of hours, with his boxes on
the top of a cab, tlie door was opened, before he knocked, by a
tidy maid, who, without being the least like her mistress, yet
resembled her excessively. She helped him to carry his boxes
upstairs ; and when he reached his room, he found a fire burn-
ing cheerily, a muflBn down before it, a teakettle singing on
the hob, and the tea-tray set upon a nice white cloth on a table
DAVID ELGINBROD. 811
right in front of the fire, with an old-fashioned high-backed
easj-chair bj its side, — the very chair to go to sleep in over a
novel. The old lady soon made her appearance, with the tea-
pot in one hand, and a plate of butter in the other.
" Oh ! thank jou," said Hugh. " This is comfortable ! "
She answered only by compressing her lips till her mouth
vanished altogether, and nodding her head as much as to say,
" I know it is. I intended it should be." She then poured
water into the teapot, set it down by the fire, and vanished.
Hugh sat down in the easy-cliair, and resolved to be com-
fortable, at least till he had had his tea ; after which he would
think what he was to do next. A knock at the door — and
his landlady entered, laid a penny newspaper on the table, and
went away. This was just what he wanted to complete his com-
fort. He took it up, and read while he consumed his bread
and butter. When he had had enough of tea and ncAvspaper,
he said to himself : —
" Now, what am I to do next ? "
It is a happy thing for us that this is really all we have to
concern ourselves about, — what to do next. No man c.a)i do
the second thing. He can do the first. If he omits it, the
wheels of the social Juojo-ernaut roll over him, and leave him
more or less crushed behind. If he does it, he keeps in front,
and finds room to do the next again ; and so l^,e is sure to arrive
at something, for the onward march will Carry him with it. There
is no saying to what perfection of success a man may come,
Avho begins Avith what he can do, and uses the means at his
hand. He makes a vortex of action, however slight, towards
which all the means instantly begin to gravitate. Let a man but
lay hold of something, — anything, — and he is in the higli rond
to success, though it maybe very long before he can walk com-
fortably in it. It is true the success -may be measured out
according to a standard very different from his.
But in Hugh's case, the difficulty was to grasp anything, —
to make a beginning anywhere. He knew nobody ; and the
globe of society seemed like a mass of adamant, on which he
could not gain the slightest hold, or make the slightest im-
pression. Who would introduce him to pupils ? Nobody. He
had the testimonials of his professors ; but who would ask to
see them? His eye fell on the paper. He would advertise.
?-2 DAVID ELQINBROD.
CHAPTER XLIX.
LETTERS FOR TEE POST,
Nothing but drought and dearth, but bush and brake,
Which way soo'cr I look, I see.
Some may dream merrily, but when they wake.
They dress themselves, and come to thee.
George Herbert. — Home.
He got his writing matericals, and wrote to the effect, that a
graduate of a Scotch university was prepared to give private
lessons in the classics and mathematics, or even in any of the
inferior branches of education, etc., etc. This he would take
to the " Times," next day.
As soon as he had done this. Duty lifted up her head, and
called him. He obeyed, and wrote to his mother. Duty
called again ; and he wrote, with much trepidation and humilia-
tion, to David Elginbrod.
It was a good beginning. He had commenced his London
life in doing what he knew he ought to do. His trepidation
in writing to David arose in part, it must be confessed, from
the strange result of one of the experiments at Arnstead.
This was his letter ; but he sat and meditated a long time
before he began it : —
"My dear Frieind: — If I did not think you would forgive me, I
should feel, now tiiat I have once allowed my mind to rest upon my con-
duct to you, as if I could never hold up my head again. After much
occupation of thought and feeling with other things, a season of
silence has come, and my sins look me in the fnce. First of tliem all is
my neglect of you, to whom I owe more than to any man else, except,
perhaps, mj' father. Forgive me, for forgiveness' sake. You know it takes
a long time for a child to know its mother. It takes everything as a
matter of course, till suddenly one day it lifts up its eyes, and knows
that a fae,e is looking at it. I have been like the child towards you;
but I am begimiing to feel what j'ou have been to me. I want to be
good. I am very lonely now in great, noisy London. Write to me,
if you please* and comfort me. I wish I were as good as you. Then
everything would go right with me. Do not suppose that I am in great
troul)le of any kind. As yet I am very comfortable, as far as external
circumstances go. But I have a kind of aching inside me. Something
is not right, and I want your help. You will know what I mean.
What am I to do? Please to remember me in the kindest, most grate-
ful manner to Mrs. Elginbrod and Margaret. It is more than I de-
DAVID ELGINBROD. 813
lerve ; but I hope they have not forgotten me as I have seemed to for-
get them.
" I am, mj' dear Mr. Elginbrod,
"Your old friend,
'• Hugh Sutherlaxd."
I may as well insert here another letter, which arrived at
TurriepufRt, likewise addressed to David, some six weeks after
the foregoing. They were both taken to Janet, of course : —
"Siii: — I have heard from one who knows you, that you believe,
really believe, in God. That is why I v»'rite to you. It may seem very
strange in me to do so, but how can I help it ? I am a very unhappy
" "Iti^^'ijf— ^ ^™ "^ ^^^^ power of a bad mau. I cannot explain it all to
yoii^^iUai^'ill not attempt it; for sometimes I almost think I am out
of my mincf. and that it is all a delusion. But, alas! delusion or not,
it is a dreadful reality to me in all its consequences. It is of such a
nature that no one can help me — but G(a1, if there be a God; and if
you can make me believe that there is a God, I shall not need to be
persuaded that he will help me; for I will besiege him with prayers ,
night and day to set me free. And even if I am out of my mind, who
can help me but him? Ah! is it not when we are driven to despair,
^hen there is no more help anywhere, that we look around for some
power of good that can put right all that is wrong? Tell me, dear sir,
what to do. Tell me that there certainly is a God ; else I shall die
raving. He said j-ou knew about him better than anybody else.
" I am, honored sir,
" Your obedient servant,
" Euphrasia Cameuox.
"Arxstead,. Surrey, etc., etc."
David's answer to this letter would have been something
worth having. But I think it would have been all summed
up in one word : Try and see ; call and listen.
But what could Janet do with such letters ? She did the
only thing she could, — she sent them to Margaret.
Hugh found it no great hardship to go to bed in the same
room in which he sat. The bed looked peculiarly inviting ;
for. strange to tell, it was actually hung with the same pattern
of old-fashioned chintz as the bed which had been his from
his earliest rccollectiou, till he left his father's house. How
could he mistake the trees, growing with tufts to the ground,
or the great birds Avhich he used to think were crows, notwith-
standing their red and yellow plumage ? It was all over red,
brown, and yellow. He could remember and reconstruct the
very faces, distorted and awful, which, in the delirium of
childish sicknesses, he used to discover in the foliao;e and stems
814 DAVID ELGINBROD.
of the trees. It made the wliole place seem to him homeljand
kind. When he got tired, he knelt hy his bedside, wliich he
had not done for a long time, and then went to bed. Hard-
ship ! No. It was very pleasant to see tlie <lying fire, and his
books about and his papers ; and to dream, half asleep and half
awake, that the house-fairies were stealing out to gambc^l for a,
little in the fire-lighted silence of the room as he slept, and to
vanish as the embers turned black. lie had not been so happy
for a long time as now. The writing of that letter had removed
a load from his heart. True Ave can never be at peace till
we have performed the highest duty of all, — till we have arisen,
and gone to our Father ; but the performance of smalkr dulies^
yes, even of the smallest, will do more to give us TOmporary
rejx)se, will act more as healthful anodynes, than the greateav
joys that can come to us from any other quarter. He soon fell
asleep, and dreamed that he was a- little child, lost in a snow-
storm ; and that, just as the snow had reached above his head,
and he was beginning to be smothered, a great hand caught
hold of him by the arm and lifted him out; and, lo ! the storm
had ceased, and the stars were sparkling overhead like diamonds
that had been drinking the light of the sun all day ; and he
saw that it was David, as strong as ever, who had rescued him,
the little child, and was leading him home to Janet. But he
got sleepy and fiiint upon the way, which was long and cold ;
and then David lifted him up and carried him in his bosom, and
he fell asleep. When he Avoke, and, opening his eyes, looked
up to him who bore him, it Avas David no longer. The face was
that Avhich Avas marred more than any man's, because the soul
within had loved more : it Avasthe fice of the Son of Man, and
he Avas can-ying him like a lamb in his bosom. He gazed more
and more as they travelled through the cold night ; and the
joy of lying in the embrace of that man grcAV and groAv, till
it became too strong for the bonds of sleep ; and he awoke in
the fog of a London morn in 2:.
#
DAVID ELGINBROD. 315
CHAPTER L.
ENDEAVORS.
And, even should misfortunes come,
— I, here wha sit, hae met wi' some,
An's thankfu' for them yet.
They gio the wit of ago to youth ;
They let us ken oursel';
They male' us see the naked truth.
The real guid and ill.
The' losses and crosses
^ . - Be lessons right severe,
^1^- "■: There's wit there, ye'll get there,
»i ■ Ye'll find nae other where.
;. ^ ,; Burns.
Hugh took his advertisement to tlie " Times " office, find paid
wliat seemed to him an awful amount for its insertion. Then
he wandered about London till the middle of the daj, when he
went into a baker's shop, and bought two penny loaves, which
he put in his pocket. Having found his way to the British
Museum, he devoured them at his leisure as he walked through
the Grecian and Roman saloons. "What is the use of good
health.'' he said to himself, " if a man cannot live upon bread ? "
Porridge and oatmeal cakes would have pleased him as well ;
but that food for horses is not so easily procured in London,
and costs more than the other. A cousin of his had lived in
Edinburgh for six months upon eighteen-pence. a week in that
way, and had slept the greater part of the time upon the floor,
training himself for the hardships of a soldier's life. And he
could not forget the college youth whom his comrades had con-
sidered mean, till they learned that, out of his poor bursary
of fourteen pounds a session, and what he could make besid.es
by private teaching, at the rate previously mentioned or even
less, he helped his parents to educate a younger brother ; and,
in order to do so, lived himself upon oatmeal and potatoes.
But they did not find this out till after he was dead, poor fel-
low ! He could not stand it.
I ought at the same time to mention, that Hugh rarely made
use of a crossing on a muddy day. without finding a half-penny
somewhere about him for the sweeper. He Avould rather walk
316 DAVID ELGINBROD.
through oceans of mud, than cross at the natural place when
ho had no coppers, — especially if he had patent leather boots
on.
After he had eaten his bread, he went home to get some
water. Then, as he had nothing else to do, he sat down in his
room, and began to manufacture a story, thinking it just pos-
sible it might be accepted by one or other of the pseudo-literary
publications with which London is inundated in hebdomadal
floods. He found spinning almost as easy as if lie h;id been a
spider, for he had a ready invention, and a natural gift of
speech; so that, in a few days, he had finished a story (juitc
as good as most of those that appear in the better sort of weekly
publications. This, in his modesty, he seat to one of the
inferior sort, and heard nothing more of it than if he had flung
it into the sea. Possibly he flew too low. He tried again ;
but with no better success. His ambition grew with his dis-
appointments, or perhaps rather with the exercise of his
faculties. Before many days had passed, he made up his mind
to try a novel. For three months he worked at this six hours
a day regularly. When material failed him, from the exhaus-
tion consequent upon uninterrupted production, he would
recreate himself by lying fallow for an hour or two, or walking
out in a mood for merely passive observation. But this
anticipates.
His advertisement did not produce a single inquiry, and he
shrunk from spending more money in such an apparently
unprofitable appliance. Day after day went by, and no voice
reached him from the unknown world of labor. He went at
last to several stationers' shops in the neighborhood, boufi^ht
some necessary articles, and took these opportunities of askintn-
if they knew of any one in want of sucli assistance as he could
give. But, unpleasant as he felt it to make such inquiries, he
soon found that to most people it was equally unpleasant to
reply to them. There seemed to be something disreputable in
having to answer such questions, to judge from the constrained^
indifferent, and sometimes, though not often, surly answers
which he received. '-Can it be," thought Hugh, "as dis-
graceful to ask for Avork as to ask for bread ? " If he had had
a thousand a year, and had wanted a situation of another
thousand, it would have been quite commendable ; but to try to
DAVID ELGINBROD. 317
elude cold and hunger by inquiring after paltrj shillings'
■R-orths of hard labor was despicable.
So he placed the more hope upon his novel, and worked at
that diligently. But he did not find it quite so easy as he had
at first expected. Ko one finds anything either so easy or so
difficult as, in opposite moods, he had expected to find it.
E^•erything is possible ; but without labor and failure nothing
is achievable. The labor, however, comes naturally, and
experience grows without agonizing transitions ; while the
failure generally points, in its detected cause, to the way of
future success. He worked on.
He did not, however, forget the ring. Frequent were his
meditations, in the pauses of his story, and when walking in
the streets, as to the best means of recovering it. I should
rather say any means than best ; for it was not yet a question
of choice and degrees. The count could not but have known
that the ring was of no money value ; therefore it was not
likely that he had stolen it in order to part with it again.
Consequently it Avould be of no use to advertise it, or to search
for it in the pawnbrokers' or second-hand jewellers' shops. To
find the crystal, it was clear as itself that he miist first find the
count.
But how ? He could think of no plan. Any alarm would
place the count on the defensive, and the jcAvel at once beyond
reach. Besides, he wished to keep the whole matter quiet, and
gain his object without his or any other name coming before
the public. Therefore he Avould not venture to apply to the
police, though doubtless they would be able to discover the
man, if he were anywhere in London. He surmised that in all
probability they knew him already. But he could not come
to any conclusion as to the object he must have had in view in
securing such a trifle.
Hugh had all but forgotten the count's cheque for a hundred
guineas ; for, in the first place, he had never intended presenting
it,-^- the repugnance which some minds feel to using money
which they have neither received by gift, nor acquired by
honest earning, being at least equal to the pleasure other
minds feel in gaining it without the expense of either labor or
obligation ; and, in the second place, since he knew more about
the drawer, he had felt sure that it would be of no use to
318 DAVID ELGINBROD.
present it. To make this latter conviction a certainty, he did
present it, and found that there were no eflfects.
CHAPTER LI.
A LETTER FROM THE POST.
HipoUto. Is your wife then departed ?
Orlando. She's an old dweller in those high countries, yet not from me : here,
ihe's here ; a good couple arc seldom parted. — Dekkkk.
What wonderful things letters are ! In trembling and hope
the fingers unclasp, and the folded sheet drops into — no, not
the post-office letter-box, but into — space.
I have read a story somewhere of a poor child that dropped
a letter into the post-office, addressed to Jesus Cltrist in
Heaven. And it reached him, and the child had her answer.
For was it not Christ present in the good man or woman — I
forget the particulars of the story — who sent the child the
help she needed ? There Avas no necessity for him to answer
in person, as in the case of Abgarus, King of Edessa.
Out of space from somewhere comes the answer. Such
letters as those given in a previous chapter are each a spirit-
cry sent out, like a Noah's dove, into the abyss ; and the spirit
turns its ear, where its mouth had been turned before, and leans
listening for the spirit-echo, — the echo with a soul in it, — the
answering voice which out of the abyss ^N\\\ enter by the gate
now turned to receive it. Whose will be the voice? What
will be the sense ? What chords on the harp of life have been
struck afar off by the arrow-words of the letter ? What tones
will they send back to the longing, hungering ear? The
mouth hath spoken, that the fainting ear may be filled by the
return of its words through the alembic of another soul.
One cause of great uneasiness to Hugh was, that, for some
time after a reply might have been expected, he received no
answer from David Elginbrod. At length, however, a letter
arrived, upon the handwriting of which he speculated in vain,
perplexed with a resemblance in it to some writing that he Imew ;
DAVID ELGINBROB. 819
and when he opened it, he found the following answer to his
own : —
"Dear Mr. Sutherland: — Your letter to my father has been 8ent
to me by my mother, for what you will feel to be the sad reason, that
lie is no more in tiiis world. But I cannot say it is so very sad to me to
think that he is cone home, where my mother and I will soon join him.
True love can wait well. Nor indeed, dear Mr. Sutherland, must you
be too much troubled that your letter never reached iiini. My faliivi
was like God in this, that he always forgave anything the moment
there was anything* to forgive ; for when else could there be such a good
time? — although, of course, the person forgiven could not know it till
he asked for forgiveness. But, dear Mr. Sutherland, if you could see
me smiling as I write, and could ^^et see how earnest my heart is i )
writing it, I would venture to say that, in virtue of my knowing my
father as I do, — for I am sure I know his very soul, as near as human
love could know it, — I forgive you, in his name, for anything and
everything with which you reproach yourself in regard to him. Ah!
how much I owe you! And liow much he used to say he owed you!
We shall thank you one day, when we all meet.
"I am, dear Mr. Sutherland,
" Your grateful scholar, *
" Margaret Elgixbrod."
Hugh burst into tears on readino; this letter. — with no
overpowering sense of his own sin, for he felt that he was for-
given ; but with a sudden insight into the beauty and grandeur
of the man whom he had neglected, and the Avondrous loveliness
which he had transmitted from the feminine part of his nature
to the wholly feminine and therefore delicately powerful nature
of Margaret. The vision he had beheld in the library at Arn-
stead, about which, as well as about many other things that
had happened to him there, he could form no theory capable of
embracing all the facts. — this vision returned to his mind's
eye, and he felt that the glorified fice he had beheld must
surely have been Margaret's, whether he had seen it in the
body or out of the body : such a face alone seemed to him
wortbj* of the writer of this letter. Purposely or not, there
was no address given in it; and to his surprise, when he ex-
amined the envelope with the utmost care, he could discover
no postmark but the London one. The date-stamp likewise
showed that it must have been posted in London.
" So,"' said he to himself, '^ in my quest of a devil, I may
cross the track of an angel, who knows ? But how can she be
here?"
To this of course he had no answer at hand.
820 DAVID ELQINBROD.
CHAPTER LII.
BEGINNINGS.
Siniio a man is bound no farther to himself than to do wisely, ohance is only to
trouble tbeiu that stand upon chance. — Sir Philip Sidney. — The Arcadia.
Meantime a feeble star, but sparkling some rays of comfort,
began to shine upon Hugh's wintrj prospects. This star arose
in a grocer's shop. For one day bis landlady, whose grim
attentions had been increasino; rather than diminishinij, ad-
dressed him suddenly as she was removing his breakflist
apparatus. This was a very extraordinary event, for she
seldom addressed him at all ; and replied, when he addressed
her, only in the briefest manner possible.
" Have you got any pupils yet, Mr. Sutherland? "
' ' No — I am sorry to say. But how did you come to know
I wanted any. Miss Talbot ? ' '
" You shouldn't have secrets at home, Mr. Sutherland. I
like to know what concerns my own family, and I generally
find out."
"You saw my advertisement, perhaps ? "
To this suggestion Miss Talbot made no other answer than
the usual compression of her lips.
" You wouldn't be above teaching a tradesman's son to
begin with ? "
"Certainly not. I should be very happy. Do you know
of such a pupil? "
" "Well, I can't exactly say I do know or I don't know ; but
I happened to mention to my grocer round the corner that you
wanted pupils. Don't suppose, Mr. Sutherland, that I'm in
the way of talking about any young men of mine ; but — "
" Not for a moment," interrupted Hugh; and Miss Talbol
resumed, evidently gratified.
" Well, if you wouldn't mind stepping round the corner, I
shouldn't wonder if you might make an arrangement with Mr.
Appleditch. He said you might call upon him if j^ou liked."
Hugh jumped up, and got his hat at once ; received the few
necessary directions from Miss Talbot, and soon found the
DAVID ELGINBROD. S21
shop. There were a good many poor people in it, buying
sui^ar, and soap, etc. ; and one lady apparently giving a large
order. A young man came to Hugh, and bent over the counter
in a recipient position, like a live point of interrogation. Hugh
answered : —
"Mr. Appleditch."
" Mr. Appleditch will be disengaged in a few minutes.
AYill you take a seat? "
The grocer was occupied with the lady and her order ; but
as soon as she departed, he approached Hugh behind the ram-
part, and stood towards him in the usual retail attitude.
"My name is Sutherland."
" Sutherland? " said Mr. Appleditch ; " I think I've 'eard
the name somewheres, but I don't know the face."
' ' Miss Talbot mentioned me to you, I understand, Mr.
Appleditch."
" Oh ! ah! I remember. I beg your pardon. Will you
step this way, Mr. Sutherland ? "
Hugh followed him through a sort of drawbridge which he
o c o
lifted in the counter, into a little appendix at the back of the
shop. Mr. Appleditch was a meek-looking man, with large
eyes, plump, pasty cheeks, and a thin little person.
" "Ow de do, Mr. Sutherland?" said he, holding out his
hand, as soon as they had reached this retreat.
" Thank you — quite well," answered Sutherland, shaking
hands with him as well as he could, the^es^^ n0|t|j beings
altogether pleasant. /^^ ca tij '^/^
" So you want pupils, do you, sir? " /•• *▼•-■ — _ A
"Yes'" ... (UNIVERSITT^^
" Ah ! well, you see, sir, pupils is scaf^S^- at this seag
They aint to be bought in every shop — Im ! ha?" ^ifi
laugh was veiy mild.) "But I think Mrs. Appleditch cOuTd
find you one, if you could agree with her about the charge,
you know, and all that."
" How old is he ? A boy, I suppose ? "
"Well, you're right, sir. It is a boy. Not very old,
though. My Samuel is just ten, but a Avonderful forAvard boy
for his years — bless him ! "
" And what would you wish him to learn ? "
" Oh ! Latin and Greek, and all that. We intend bringing
21
822 DAVID ELGINBROD.
him up for the ministry. I liope your opinions are decided,
Bir?"
" On some points, they are. But I do not know to what
you refer exactly."
" I mean theological opinions, sir."
" But I shall not have to teach your little boy theology."
" Certainly not, sir. That department belongs to his
mother and I. Unworthy vessels, sir ; mere earthen vessels ;
but filled with the grace of God, I hope, sir."
The grocer parted his hands, which he had been rubbing
together during this conversation, and lifted them upwards
from the wrists, like the fins of a seal : then dropping them,
fell to rubbing them again.
"I hope so. V\^ell — you know the best way will be for
me — not knowing your opinions — to avoid everything of a
religious kind."
" Ah ! but it should be line upon line, you know; here a
little, and there a little, sir. As the boiu is bent, you knoAV —
the — hoop is made, you know, sir."
Here Mr. Appleditch stepped to the door suddenly, and
peeped out, as if he feared he was wanted ; but presently
returning, he continued : —
" But time's a precious gift, sir, and we must not waste it.
So, if you'll do us the honor, sir, to dine with us next Lord's
day, — we may call it a work of necessity, you know. — you
will see the little Samuel, and — and — Mrs. Appleditch."
'•I shall be very hajjpy. What is your address, Mr. Ap-
pleditch?"
" You bad better come to Salem Chapel, Dervish town, and
we can go home together. Service commences at eleven. Mrs.
Appleditch will be glad to see you. Ask for Mr. Appleditch's
pew. Goo-ood-morning, sir."
Hugh took his leave, half inclined to send an excuse before
the day arrived, and decline the connection. But his princi-
ple w^as, to take whatever offered, and thus make way for the
next thing. Besides, he thus avoided the responsibility of
choice, from which he always shrunk.
He returned to his novel ; but, alas ! the inventive faculty
point-blank refused to work under the weight of such a Sun-
day in prospect. He wandered out, quite disjjirited ; but, be-
DAVID ELGINBROD. 328
fore long, to take his revenge upon circumstances, resolved at
least to have a dinner out of them. So he went to a chop-
house, had a chop and a glass of ale, and was astonished to
find how much he enjoyed them. In fact, abstinence gave his
very plain dinner more than all the charms of a feast, — a fact
of which Hugh has not been the only discoverer. He studied
" Punch ■' all the time he ate, and rose with his spirits perfectly
restored.
• " Now I am in for it," said he, "I will be extravagant for
once." So he went and bought a cigar, which he spun out
into three miles of smoke, as he wandered through Shoreditch,
and Iloundsditch, and Petticoat-lane, gazing at the faces of
his brothers and sisters ; which faces, having been so many
years wrapt in a fog both moral and physical, now looked out
of it as if they were only the condemned nuclei of the, same
fos; and filth.
As he was returning through Whitechapel, he passed a man
on the pavement, whose appearance was so remarkable that he
could not help looking back after him. When he reflected
about it, he thought that it must have been a certain indescrib-
able resemblance to David Elginbrod that had so attracted him.
The man was very tall. Six-foot Hugh felt dwarfed beside
him. for he had to look right up, as he jxissed, to see his face.
He was dressed in loose, shabby black. He had high and
otherwise very marked features, and a dark complexion. A
general carelessness of demeanor was strangely combined with
an expression of reposeful strength and quiet concentration of
will. At lu)w much of this conclusion Hugh arrived after
knowing more of him I cannot tell ; but such was the descrip-
tion he gave of him as he saw him first ; and it was thoroughly
correct. His countenance always seemed to me (for I knew
him well) to represent a nature ever bent in one direction, but
never in haste, because never in doubt.
To carry his extravagance and dissipation still further, Hugh
now betook himself to the pit of the Olympic Theatre ; and no
one could have laughed more heartily, or cried more helplessly
that night than he ; for he gave himself Avholly up to the influen-'
ces of the ruler of the hour, the admirable Rob^on. But what was
his surprise, when, standing up at the close of the first act and
looking around and above him, he saw, unmistakably, the same
824 DAVID ELGINBROD.
remarkable countenance looking down upon him from the front
row of the gallery, lie continued his circuit of observation,
trying to discover the face of Funkelstein in the boxes or cir-
cles ; but involuntarily he turned his gaze back to the strange
countenance, which still seemed bent towards his. The curtain
rose, and during the second act he forgot all about everything
else. At its close he glanced up to the gallery again, and
there was the face still, and still looking at him. At the close of
the third act it had vanished, and he saw nothing more of it that
evening. When the after-piece was over, for he sat it out, he
Avalked quietly home, much refreshed. He had needed some
relaxation, after many days of close and continuous labor.
But awfully solemn Avas the face of good Miss Talbot, as she
opened the door for .him at midnight. Hugh took especial
pains. with his boots and the door-mat, but it was of no use;
the austerity of her countenance would not relax in the least.
So he took his candle and walked upstairs to his room, saying
only as he Avent, being unable to think of anything else : —
"Good-night, Miss Talbot.'"
But no response proceeded from the offended divinity of the
place.
He went to bed somewhat distressed at the behavior of IMiss
Talbot, for he had a Aveakness for being on good terms with
everybody. But he resolved to have it out Avith her next
morning ; and so fell asleep and dreamed of the strange man
who had watched him at the theatre.
He rose next morning at the usual time. But his breakfast
was delayed half an hour ; and when it came, the. maid Avaited
upon him, and not her mistress, as usual. When he had
finished, and she returned to take aAvay the ruins, he asked her
to say to her mistress that he Avanted to speak to her. She
brought back a message, Avhich she delivered Avith some diffi-
culty, and evidently under compulsion, — that if Mr. Suther-
land Avanted to speak to her, he would find her in the back
parlor. Hugh Avent down instantly, and found INIiss Talbot in
a doubly frozen condition, her face absolutely blue Avith phys-
ical and mental cold combined. She Avaited for Iiim to speak.
Hugh began : —
" Miss Talbot, it seems something is wrong betAveen you and
me."
DAVID ELGINBSOD. 825
-Yes, Mr. Sutherland."
" Is it because I was rather late last night? "
" Rather late, Mr. Sutherland ? "
Miss Talbot showed no excitement. With her, the ther-
mometer, in place of rising under the influence of irritation,
steadily sank.
'■ I cannot make myself a prisoner on parole, you know,
jMiss Talbot. You must leave me my liberty."'
" Oh, yes, Mr. Sutherland. Take your liberty. You'll go
, the way of all the rest. It's no use trying to save any of you."
" But I'm not aware that I am in any particular want of
saving. Miss Talbot."
" There it is ! — Well, till a sinner is called and awakened,
of course it's no use. So I'll just do the best I can for you.
Who can tell when the Spirit may be poured from on high ?
But it's very sad to me, Mr. Sutherland, to see an amiable
young man like you, going the way of transgressors, which is
hard. I am sorry for you, Mr. Sutherland."
Though the ice was not gone yet, it had begun to melt under
the influences of Hugh's good-temper, and Miss Talbot's sym-
pathy with his threatening fate. Conscieiice, too, had some-
thing to do with the change ; for, much as one of her tempera-
ment must have disliked making such a confession, she ended
by adding, after a pause : —
" And very sorry, Mr. Sutherland, that I showed you any
bad temper last night."
Poor Miss Talbot ! Hugh saw that she was genuinely
troubled about him, and resolved to oifend but seldom while
he was under her roof.
"Perhaps, when you know me longer, you will find I am
steadier than you think."
" Well, it may be. But steadiness won't make a Christian
of you."
" It may make a tolerable lodger of me though," answered
Hugh; " and you wouldn't turn me into the street because I
am steady and nothing more, would you? "
'• I said I was sorry, Mr. Sutherland. Do you wish me to
say more ? ' '
" Bless your kind heart ! " said Hugh. " I was only
joking."
526 DAVID ELGINBROD.
He held out his hand to Miss Talbot, and her eyes glistened
as she took it. She pressed it kindly, and abandoned it in-
stantly.
So all was right between them once more.
"Who knows," murmured Miss Talbot, ''but the Lord
may save him ? He's surely not far from the kingdom of heav-
en. I'll do all I can to make him comfortable."
CHAPTER LIIL
A SUNDAY'S DINNER.
Some books arc lies frae end to end,
And some great lies were never penned:
Even ministers, they hao boen kenned,
lu holy rapture,
Great lies and nonsense baith to vend.
And nail't wi' Scripture.
Burns.
To the great discomposure of Hugh, Sunday was inevitable,
and he had to set out for Salem Chapel. He found it a neat
little Noah's Ark of a place, built in the shape of a cathedral,
I and consequently sharing in the general disadvantages to which
'dwarfs of all kinds are subjected, absurdity included. He was
shown to Mr. Appleditch's pew- That worthy man received
him in sleek black clothes, with white neckcloth, and Sunday
face composed of an absuA'd mixture of stupidity and sanctity.
He stood up, and Mrs. Appleditch stood up, and Master Apple-
ditch stood up, and Hugh saw that the ceremony of the place
required that he should force his way between the front of the
pew and the person of each of the Imnian beings occu}>ying it,
till he reached the top, where there was room for him to sit
down. No other recognition was taken till after service.
Meantime the minister ascended the pulpit-stair, with all the
solemnity of one of the self-elect, and a priest besides. He
was just old enough for the intermittent attacks of self-impcr-
tance, to which all youth is exposed, to have in his case become
DAVID ELGINBROD. 827
chronic. He stood up and worshipped his Creator aloud, uftei
a manner which seemed to say in every tone : ." Behold, I am
he that worshippeth Thee ! How mig-hty art Thou ! " Then he
read the Bible in a quarrelsome sort of way, as if he were a
bantam, and every verse were a crow of defiance to the sinner.
Tiien they sang a hymn in a fashion which brought dear old
Scotland to Hugh's mind, which has the sweetest songs in its
cottages, and the worst singing in its churches, of any country
in the world. But it was almost equalled here ; the chief cause
of its badness being the absence of a modest self-restraint, and
consequent tempering of the tones, on the part of the singers ;
so that the result was what Hugh could describe only as
scraiddn*
I was once present at the worship of some being who is sup-
posed by negroes to love drums and cymbals, and all clangorous
noises. The resemblance, according to Hugh's description^
could not liave been a very distant one. And yet I doubt not
that some thoughts of worshipping love mingled with the noise;
and perhaps the harmony of these with the spheric melodies
sounded the sweeter to the angels, from the earthly discord in
which they were lapped.
Then came the sermon. The text was the story of the good
Samaritan. Some idea, if not of the sermon, yet of the value
of it, may be formed from the fact that the first thing to be
considered, or, in other words, the first head was, " The culpa-
ble imprudence of the man in going from Jerusalem to Jericho
without an escort."
It was, in truth, a strange, grotesque, and somewhat awful
medley, — not unlike a dance of Death, in which the painter
has given here a lovely face, and there a beautiful arm or an
exquisite foot, to the Avild-prancing and exultant skeletons. But
the parts of the sermon corresponding to the beautiful face, or
arm, or foot, were but the fragments of Scripture, shining like
gold amidst the worthless ore of the man's own production, — •
worthless, save as gravel, or chaff, or husks have worth, in a
world where dilution, and not always concentration, is necessary
for healthfulness.
But there are Indians who eat clay, and thrive on it more or
• Ch guttural. The land-rail is a corn-scraich.
828 DAVID ELGINBROD.
less, I suppose. The power of assimilation Avbich a growing
nature must possess is astonishing. It will find its fbo:l, its
real Sunday dinner, in the midst of a whole cart-load of refuse ;
and it will do the whole week's work on it. On no other sup-
position would it be possible to account for the earnest face of
Miss Talbot, Avhich Ilugh espied turned up to the preacher, as
if his fjice were the very star in the east, shining to guide the
chosen kings. It was well for Hugh's power of endurance that
he had heard much the same thing in Scotland, and the same
thing better dressed and less grotesque, but more lifeless, and
at heart as ill-mannered, in the church of Arnstead.
Just before concluding the service, the pastor made an an-
nouncement in the following terms : —
"After the close of the present service, I shall be found in
the adjoining vestry by all persons desirous of communicating
with me on the state of their souls, or of being admitted to the
privileges of church-fellowship. Brethren, we have this treas-
ure in earthen vessels, and so long as this vessel lasts" — here
he struck his chest so that it resounded — " it shall be faith-
fully and liberally dispensed. Let us pray."
After the prayer, he spread abroad his arms and hands, as if
he would clasp the world in his embrace, and pronounced the
benediction in a style of arrogance that the Pope himself Avould
have been ashamed of.
The service being thus concluded, the organ absolutely
blasted the congregation out of the chapel, so did it storm and
rave with a fervor anything but divine.
My readers must not suppose that I give this chapel as the
type of orthodox dissenting chapels. I give it only as an ap-
proximate specimen of a large class of them. The religious life
which these communities once possessed still lingers in those
of many country districts and small towns, but is, I fear, all
but gone from those of the cities and lai-ger towns. What of
it remains in these has its chief manifestation in the fungous
growth of such chapels as the one I have described, the con-
gregations themselves taking this for a sure indication of the
prosperity of the body. How much even of the kind of pros-
perity which they ought to indicate is in reality at the founda-
tion of these appearances, I would recommend those to judge
who are versed in the mysteries of chapel -building societies.
DAVID ELGINr.ROD. 329
As to Hugh, whether it was thnt the whole affair was sug-
gestive of Egyptian bondage, or tliat his own mood was, at the
time, of the least comfortable sort, I will not pretend to deter-
mine ; but he assured me that he felt all the time as if. instead
of being in a chapel built of bricks harmoniously arranged, as
by the lyre of Amphion, he were wandering in the waste,
wretched field whence these bricks liad been dug, of all pla^ies
on the earth's surface the most miserable, assailed by the nau-
seous odors, which have not character enough to be described,
and only remind one of the colors on a snake's back.
When they reached the open air, Mv. Appleditch introduced
Hugh to Mrs. Appleditch on the steps in front of the cliapel.
"This is Mr. Sutherland, Mrs. Appleditch."'
Hugh lifted his hat, and ^Irs. x\ppleditch made a courtesy.
She was a very tall woman, — a head beyond her husband, —
extremely thin, with sharp nose, hollow cheeks, and good eyes.
In foct, she was partly pretty, and might have been pleasant-
looking but for a large,- thin-lipped, vampire-like mouth, and a
general expression of greed and contempt. She Avas meant for
a. lady, and had made herself a money-maggot. She was richly
and plainly dressed; and, until she began to be at her ease,
might have passed for an unpleasant ladi/. Master Appleditch,
the future pastor, was a fat boy, dressed like a dwarf, iu a
frock-coat and man"s hat. Avith a face in which the meanness
and keenness strove for mastery, and between them kept down
the appearance of stupidity consequent on fatness. They
v/alked home in silence, — Mr. and Mrs. Appleditch apparently
pondering either upon the spiritual food they had just received,
or the corporeal food for which they were about to be thauk-
fal.
Their house was one of many in a crescent. Not content
with his sign in tovr'n, the grocer had a large brass plate on his
door, with Appleditch engraved upon it in capitals : it saved
them always looking at the numbers. The boy ran on before,
and assailed this door with a succession of explosive knocks.
As soon as it was opened in he rushed, bawling : —
"Peter. Peter, here's the new apprentice ! Papa's brought
him home to dinner, because he was at chapel this morning.''
Then, in a lower tone, " I mean to havK3 a ride ou his back
this afternoon."
830 DAVID ELGINBROD.
The father and mother laughed. A solemn, priggish little
voice answered : —
"Oil, no, Johnny. Don't you know what day this is?
This is the Sabbath-day."
" The dear boy ! " sighed his mother.
" That boy is too good to live," responded the father.
Hugh was shown into the dining-room, where the table was
already laid for dinner. It was evident that the Appleditclies
were well-to-do people. The room was full of what is called
handsome furniture, in a high state of polish. Over the chim-
ney-piece hung the portrait of a preacher in gown and bands,
the most prominent of whose features were his cheeks.
In a few minutes the host and hostess entered, followed by a
pale-faced little boy, the owner of the voice of reproof
" Come here, Peetie," said his mother, " and tell Mr. Suth-
erland what you have got."
She referred to some toy, — no, not toy, for it was the Sab-
bath, — to some book, probably.
Peetie answered, in a solemn voice, mouthing every vowel : —
" I've got five bags of ci;old in the Bank of Ens-land."
" Poor child ! " said his mother, with a scornful giggle.
'You wouldn't have much to reckon on, if that were all."
Two or three gayly dressed riflemen passed the window. The
poor fellows, unable to bear. the look of their Sundaj clothes,
if they had any, after being used to tlieir uniform, had come
out in all its magnificence.
"Ah!" said Mr. Appleditch, "that's all very well in a
state of nature ; but when a man is once born into a state of
grace, Mr. Sutherland — ah ! ''
"Really," responded Mrs. Appleditch, "the worldliness
of the lower classes is quite awful. But they are spared for a
day of wrath, poor things ! I am sure that accident on tlio
railway last Sabbath might have been a warning to them all.
After that they can't say there is not a God that ruleth in the
earth, and taketh vengeance for his broken Sabbaths."
"Mr. , I don't know your name," said Peter, whose
age Hugh had just been trying in vain to conjecture.
"Mr. Sutherland," said the mother.
"Mr. Slubberman, are you a converted character?" re*
Bumed Peter.
DAVID ELGINBROD. 331
"Why do you ask me that, Master Peter?" said Hugh,
trying to smile.
" I think you look good, but mamma says she don't think
you are, because you say Sunday instead of Sabbath, and she
always finds people who do are Avorldly."
Mrs. Appleditch turned red, — not blushed, — and said,
quickly : —
" Peter shouldn't repeat everything he hears."
"No more I do, ma. I haven't told what you said
about — "
Here his mother caught him up, and carried him out of the
room, saying : —
" You naughty boy ! you shall go to bed."
"Oh, no, i shan't."
"Yes, you shall. Here, Jane, take this naughty boy to
bed."
"I'll scream."
" Will you V
"Yes, I will!"
And such a yell was there
Of sudden and portentous birth,
As if ... .
ten cats were being cooked alive.
" Well ! well ! well ! my Peetie ! He shan't go to bed, if
he'll be a good boy. Will he be good? "
" May I stay up to supper then ? May I? "
" Yes, yes ; anything to stop such dreadful screaming. You
are very naughty — very naughty indeed.''^
"No. I'm not naughty. I'll scream again."
■ "No, no. Go and get your pinafore on, and come down to
dinner. Anythmg rather than a scream."
I am sick of all this, and doubt if it is worth printing ; but
it amused me very much one night as Hugh related it over a
bottle of Chablis and a pipe.
He certainly did not represent IMrs. Appleditch in a very
favorable light on the whole ; but he took care to say that tliere
was a certain liberality about the table, and a kind of hearti-
ness in her way of pressing him to have more than he could
possibly eat, which contrasted strangely with her behavior
B32 DAVID ELGINBROI).
iftorwards in money matters. There are many people who can
be liberal in almost anything but money. They seem to say,
' Take anything but my purse.'' Miss Talbot told him after-
wards that this same lady was quite active amongst the poor
of lier district. She made it a rule never to give money, or at
least never more than si.xpenco ; but she turned scraps of
victuals and cast-off clothes to the best account; and, if site did
not make friends with the mammon of unrighteousness, she yet
kept an eye on the eternal habitations in the distribution of the
crumbs that fell from her table. Poor Mr. Appleditch, on tlie
other hand, often em})ezzled a shilling or a half crown from the
till, for the use of a poor member of the same church, —
meaning by cliiirch, the individual community to which he
belonged; but of this, Mrs. Appleditch was carefully kept
ignorant.
After dinner was over, and the children had been sent away,
which was effected without a greater amount of difficulty than,
from the anticipativc precautions adopted, appeared to be lavr-
ful and ordinary, Mr. Appleditcii proceeded to business.
" Now, Mr. Sutherland, what do you think of Johnnie,
sir?"
" It is impossible for me to say yet; but I am quite willing
to teach him if you like."
"He's a forward boy," said his mother.
" Not a doubt of it," responded Hugh : for he remembered
the boy asking him, across the table, " Isn't our Mr. Lixom "
— the pastor — "a oner ? "
" And very eager and retentive," said his father.
Hugh had seen the little glutton paint both cheeks to the
eyes with damson tart, and render more than a quantity pro-
portionate to the coloring invisible.
" Yes, he is eager, and retentive too, I dare say," he said ;
"but much will depend on whether he has a turn for study."
" Well, you will find that out to-morrow. I think you will
be surprised, sir."
"At what hour would you like me to come? "
"Stop, Mr. Appleditch," interposed his wife. "You have
said nothing yet about terms ; and that is of some importance,
considering the rent and taxes we pay."
." Well, my love, what do you feel inclined to give? "
DAVID ELGINBROD. 383
" How much do jou charge^ a lesson, Mr. Sutherland ?
Only let me remind you, sir, that he is a very little boy,
although stout, and that you cannot expect to put much Greek
and Latin into him for some time yet. Besides, we want you
to come evenj day, which ought to be considered in the rate
of cliar^e."
" Of course it ought," said Hugh.
" How much do you say, then, sir ? "
"I should be content with half a crown a lesson."
" I dare say you would ! " replied the lady, with indignation.
" Half a crown ! That's — six half crowns is — fifteen shil-
lings. Fifteen shillings a week for that mite of a boy ! Mr.
Sutherland, you ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir."
"You forget, Mrs. Appleditch, that it is as much trouble
to me to teach one little boy — yes, a great deal more than to
teach twenty grown men."
" You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir. You a Christian
man, and talk of trouble in teaching such a little cherub as
that ! "
"But do pray remember the distance I have to come, and
that it will take nearly four hours of my time every day."
"Then you can get lodo-ino-s nearer."
" But I could not get any so cheap."
" Then you can the better afford to do it."
And she threw herself back in her chair, as if she had struck
the decisive blow. Mr. Appleditch remarked, gently : —
"It is good for your health to walk the distance, sir."
Mrs. Appleditch resumed : —
" I won't give a farthincr more than one shillinof a lesson.
There, now ! "
"Very well," said Hugh, rising; "then I must wish you
good-day. We need not waste more time in talking about it."
" Surely you are not going to make any use of your time on
a Sunday? " said the grocer, mildly. " Don't be in a hurry,
Mr. Sutherland. We tradespeople like to make the best
bargain Ave can."
"Mr. Appleditch, I am ashamed of you. You always will
be vulgar. You always smell of the shop."
',' Well, my dear, how can I help it ? The sugar and soft-
Boap will smell, you know."
334 DAVID ELOINBROD.
" Mr. Applcditch, you disgust me ! "
" Dear ! dear! I am sorry for that. Suppose we say to
Mr. Sutherland — "
"Now, you leave that to me. I'll tell you what, Mr.
Sutherland — I'll give you eigh teen-pence a lesson, and your
dinner on the Sabbath ; that is, if you sit under Mr. Lixom in
our pew, and walk home with us."
"That I must decline," said Hugh. "I must have my
Sundays for myself"
Mrs. Appleditch was disappointed. She had coveted the
additional importance which the visible possession of a live
tutor would secure her at "Salem."
" Ah ! Mr. Sutherland," she said. " And I must trust my
child, Avith an immortal soul in his inside, to one who wants
the Lord's only day for himself ! — for liimself, Mr. Suther-
land ! "
Hugh made no answer, because he had none to make.
Again Mrs. Appleditch resumed : —
" Shall it be a bargain, Mr. Sutherland? Eighteen-pence
a lesson, — that's nine shillings a week, — and begin to-
morrow ? "
Hugh's heart sunk within him, not so much with disappoint-
ment as with disgust.
But to a man who is making nothing, the prospect of earning
ever so little is irresistibly attractive. Even on a shilling a
day he could keep hunger at arm's length. And a beginning
is half the battle. He resolved.
" Let it be a bargain then, Mrs. i^ppleditch."
The lady immediately brightened up, and at once put on her
company-manners again, behaving to him with great politeness,
and a sneer that would not be hid away under it. From this
Hugh suspected that she had made a better bargain than she
had hoped ; but the discovery was now too late, even if he could
have brought himself to take advantage of it. He hated
bargain-making as heartily as the grocer's wife loved it.
He very soon rose to take his leave.
"Oh!" said Mrs. Applcditch to her husband, "but Mr.
Sutherland has not seen the drawing-room ! "
Hugh wondered what there could be remarkable about the
drawing-room ; but he soon found that it was the pride of Mi s.
DAVID ELGINBROD. 335
Appleditch's heart. She abstained from all use of it except
upon great occasions, — when parties of her friends canie to
drink tea with her. She made a point, however, of showing it
to everybody who entered the house for the first time. So
Hugh was led upstairs, to undergo the operation of being
shown the drawing-room, and being expected to be astonished
at it.
I asked him what it was like. He answered, " It was ju5t
what it ought to be, — rich and ugly. Mr. Appleditch, in his
deacon's uniform, hung over the fire, and Mrs. Appleditch, in
her wedding-dress, ov^r the piano ; for there was a piano, and
she could play psalm-tunes on it with one finger. The round
table in the middle of the room had books in gilded red and
blue covers symmetrically arranged all round it. This is all I
can recollect."
Having feasted his eyes on the magnificence thus discovered
to him, he walked hom.e, more depressed at the prospect of his
new employment than he could have believed possible.
On his way, he turned aside into the Regent's Park, where
the sight of the people enjoying themselves — for it was a fine
day for the season — ^partially dispelled the sense of living cor-
ruption and premature burial which he had experienced all day
long. He kept as far off from the rank of open-air preachers
as possible, and really was able to thank God that all the
world did not keep Scotch Sabbath, — a day neither Mosaic,
nor Jewish, nor Christian : not Mosaic, inasmuch as it kills the
very essence of the fo-urth commandment, which is Hest,
transmuting it into what the chemists would call a mechanical
mixture of service and inertia; not Jewish, inasmuch as it is
ten times more severe, and formal, and full of negations, than
that of the Sabbatarian Jews reproved by the Saviour for their
idolatry of the day ; and unchristian, inasmuch as it insists,
beyond appeal, on the observance of times and seasons, abolished,
as far as law is concerned, by the Avord of the chief of the
apostles, and elevates into an especial test of piety a custom
not even mentioned by the founders of Christianity at all, — •
that, namely, of accounting this day more holy than all the rest.
These last are but outside reasons for calling it unchristian.
There are far deeper and more important ones, Avhich cannot
well be produced here.
836 DAVID ELGINBROD.
It is not Hugh, however, who is to be considered accountable
for all this, but the historian of his fortunes, between whom and
the vision of a Lord'^s day indeed, there arises too often the
nightraare-niemorj of a Scotch Sal)bath ; between which and
its cousin, the English Sunday, there is too much of a family
likeness. Tlie grand men and Avomen whom I have known in
Scotland seem to me, as I look buck, to move about in the
mists of a Scotch Sabbath, like a company of way-worn angels
in the Limbo of Vanity, in which there is no air whereupon to
smite their sounding wings, that they may rise into the sunlight
of God's presence.
CHAPTER LIV.
SUNDAY EVENING.
Now resteth in my memory but this point, which indeed is the chief to you of all
others; which is the choice of what men you are to direct yourself to; for it is certain
no vessel can leave a worse taste in the liciuor it contains, than a wrong teacher
infects an unskilful hearer with that which h.ardly will ever out.
But you may say, " IldW shall I get excellent men to take p.iins
to speak with mo ? " Trulj', in few words, cither by much expense or much humble-
ness. — Letter of Sir Philip Sidney to his brother Hubert.
How many things which, at the first moment, strike us as
curious coincidences, afterward become so operative on our
lives, and so interwoven with the whole web of their histories,
that, instead of appearing any more as strange accidents, thoy
assume the shape of unavoidable necessities, of homely,
ordinary, lawful occurrences, as much in their own place as
any shaft or pinion of a great maciiine !
It was dusk before Hugh turned his steps homeward. He
wandered along, thinking of Euphra and the count and the
stolen rings. He greatly desired to clear himself to Mr. Ar-
nold. He saw that the nature of the ring tended to justify Mr.
Arnold's suspicions ; for a man who would not steal for money's
worth might yet steal for value of another sort, addressing it-
self to some peculiar weakness ; and Mr. Arnold might have
met with instances of this nature in his position as magistrate.
DAVID ELGINBROD. 837
He greatly desired, likewise, for Euplira's sake, to have Funk-
elstein in his power. His own ring was beyond recovery ; but
if, by its means, he could hold such a lash over him as would
terrify him from again exercising his villanous influences on
her, he would be satisfied.
While plunged in this contemplation, he came upon two
policemen talking together. He recognized one of them as a
Scotchman, from his speech. It occurred to him at once to ask
his advice, in a modified manner ; and a moment's reflection
convinced him that it would at least do no harm. He would
do it. It was one of those resolutions at which one arrives by
an arrow-flight of the intellect.
" You are a countryman of mine, I think," said he, as soon
as the two had parted.
"If ye're a Scotchman, sir — maybe ay, maybe no."
" Whaur come ye frae, man? "
" Ou, Aberdeen-awa."
" It's mine ain calf-country. And what do they ca' ye? "
" They ca' me John MacPherson."
"My name's Sutherland."
" Eh, man ! It's my ain mither's name. Gie's a grup o' yer
han', Maister Sutherlan'. Eh, man ! " he repeated, shaking
Hugh's hand with vehemence.
"I have no doubt," said Hugh, relapsing into English,
" that we are some cousins or other. It's very lucky for me to
find a relative, for I wanted some — advice."
He took care to say advice, which a Scotchman is generally
prepared to bestow of his best. Had it been sixpence, the
cousinship would have required elaborate proof, before the
treaty could have made further progress.
" Tm fully at your service, sir."
" When will you be off duty ? "
" At nine o'clock, preceesely."
" Come to Number 13, Square, and ask for me. It's
not far."
" Wi' pleesir, sir, 'gin 'twar twice as far."
Hugh would not have ventured to ask him to his house on
Sunday night, when no refreshments could be procured, had he
not remembered a small pig {Anglicc, stone bottle) of real
mountain dew, which he had carried with him when he went
838 DAVID ELGraBROD.
to Arnstead, and which had lain iinoiiencd in one of hig
boxes.
JMiss Talbot received her lodger Avith more show of pleasure
than usual, for he came lap[)ed in the odor of the deacon's
sanctity. But she was considerably alarmed, and beyond
measure shocked, when the policeman called and requested to
see him. Sally had rushed in to her mistress in dismay.
" Please 'm, there's a pleaceman wants Mr. Sutherland.
Oh! lor 'm!"
"Well, go and let Mr. Sutherland know, you stupid girl,"
answered her mistress, trembling.
" Oh ! lor 'm ! " was all Sally's reply, as she vanished to
bear the aAvful tidings to Hugh.
"He can't have been housebreaking already," said Miss
Talbot to herself, as she confessed afterwards. " But it may
be forgery or embezzlement. I told the poor deluded young
man that the way of transgressors was hard."
" Please, sir, you're wanted, sir." said Sally, out of breath,
and pale as her Sunday apron.
" Who wants me? " asked Hugh.
" Please, sir, the pleaceman, sir," ansAvered Sally, and
burst into tears.
Hugh was perfectly bewildered by the girl's behavior, and
said, in a tone of surprise : —
" Well, show him up then."
" Ooh ! sir," said Sally, with a Plutonic sigh, and began
to undo the hooks of her dress; "if you wouldn't mind, sir,
just put on my frock and apron, and take a jug in your hand,
an' the pleaceman '11 never look at you. I'll take care of
everything till you come back, sir." And again she burst into
tears.
Sally was a great reader of the "Family Herald," and
knew that this was an orthodox plan of rescuing a prisoner.
The kindness of her anxiety moderated the expression of
Hugh's amusement ; and, having convinced her that he was in
no danger, he easily prevailed upon her to bring the policeman
upstairs.
Over a tumbler of toddy, the weaker ingredients of which
were procured by Sally's glad connivance, with a lingering
idea of propitiation, and a gentle hint that ^^ 3Iissus mustn't
DAVID ELGINBROD. 839
hnoio,'' — the two Scotchmen, seated at opposite corners of the
fire, had a long chat. They began about the okl country, and
the places and people they both knew, and both didn"t know.
If they had met on the shores of the central lake of Africa,
they could scarcely have been more coutliy together. At
length Hugh referred to the object of his application to Mac-
Pherson.
" What plan would you have me pursue, John, to get hold
of a man in London?"
"I could manage that for ye, sir. I ken maist the haill
mengie o' the detaictives."
" But you see, unfortunately, I don't wish, for particular rea-
sons, that the police should have anything to do with it."
"Ay! ay! hm ! hm ! I see brawly. Ye'll be efter a
stray sheep, nae doot ? ' '
Hugh did not reply ; so leaving him to form any conclusior
he pleased.
"Ye see," MacPherson continued, "it's no that easy to a
body that's no up to the trade. Hae ye ony clue like, to set
ye spierin' upo' ? "
" Not the least."
The man pondered a while.
"I hae't," he exclaimed at last. " What a fule I was no to
think o' that afore ! Gin't be a puir bit yow-lammie like 'at
ye're efter, I'll tell ye what; there's ae man, a countryman 'o
our ain, an' a gentleman forbye, that'll do mair for ye in that
way nor a' the detaictives thegither ; an' that's Robert Fal-
coner, Esquire. I ken him week"
" But I don't," said Hugh.
"But 111 inti'oduce ye till 'im. He bides close at han'
here : roun' twa corners jist. An' I'm thinkin' he'll be at
hame the noo ; for I saw him gaein' that get afore ye cam' up
to me. An' the suner we gang, the better; for he's no aye to
be gotten baud o'. Fegs ! he may be in Shoreditch or this."
" But will he not consider it an intrusion? "
" Na, na; there's no fear o' that. He's ony man's an' ilka
woman's freen', — so be he can do them a guid turn ; but he's
no for drinkin' and daffin' an' that. Come awa', Maister Suth-
erlan', he's yer verra man."
Thus urged, Hugh rose and accompanied the policeman. Ha
340 DAVID ELGINBROD.
took him round rather more than two corners ; but within five
minutes thej stood at Mr. Falconer" s door. John rang. The
door opened without visible service, and they ascended to the
first floor, which was enclosed something after the Scotch
fashion. Here a respectable-looking woman awaited their
ascent.
" Is Mr. Falconer at hom', mem ? " said Ilugirs guide.
" He is ; but I tliink he's just going out again."
"Will ye tell him, mem, 'at hoo John MacPherson, the po-
liceman, would like sair to see him? "
"I will," she answered; and w^ent in, leaving them at the
door.
She returned in a moment, and, inviting them to enter, ush
ered them into a large bare room, in which there was just light
enou.gh for Hugh to recognize, to his astonishment, the unmis-
takable figure of the man Avhom he had met in Whitechapel,
and whom he had afterwards seen apparently watching him
from the gallery of the Olympic Theatre.
■ " How are you, MacPherson? " said a deep, powerful voice,
out of the gloom.
" Verra weel, I thank ye, Mr. Falconer. PIoo are ye yer-
sel', sir? "
" Very weel too, thank you. Who is with you ? "
" It's a gentleman, sir, by the name o' Mr. Sutherlan', wha
wants your help, sir, aboot somebody or ither 'at he's enter-
esstit in, wha's disappeared."
Falconer advanced, and, bowing to Hugh, said, very gra-
ciously : —
"I shall be most happy to serve Mr. Sutherland, if in my
power. Our friend MacPherson has rather too exalted an idea
of my capabilities, however."
" Weel, Maister Falconer, I only jist spier at yersel', whether
or no ye was ever dung wi' ony thing ye took in han'."
Falconer made no reply to this. There was the story of a
whole life in his silence — past and to come.
He merely said : —
"You can leave the gentleman with me, then, John. I'll
take care of him."
"No fear o' that, sir. Deil a bit! though a' the police-
men i' Lonnon war efter 'im."
DAVID ELGINBROD. 841
"I'm much obliged to you for bringing him."
'■The obligation's mine, sir — an' the gentleman's. Good-
nicht, sir. Good-niciit, Mr. Sutherlan'. Ye '11 ken whaur to
fin' me gin ye want me. Yon's my beat for anither fort-
nicht."
" And you know my quarters," said Hugh, shaking him by
the hand. " I am greatly obliged ^o you."
" Not a bit, sir. Or gin ye war, ye sud be hcrtily wel-
come."
"Bring candles, Mrs. Ashton," Falconer called from the
door. Then, turning to Hugh, " Sit down, Mr. Sutherland,"
he said, "if you can find a chair that is not illegally occupied
already. Perhaps we had better Avait for the candles. What
a pleasant day we have had ! "
"Then you have been more pleasantly occupied than I
have," thought Hugh, to whose mind returned the images of
the Appleditch family and its drawing-room, followed by the
anticipation of the distasteful duties of the morrow. But he
only said : —
" It has been a most pleasant day."
" I spent it strangely," said Falconer.
Here the candles were brou2;ht in.
The two men looked at each other full in the face. Hugh saw
that he had not been in error. The same remarkable coun-
tenance Avas before him. Falconer smiled.
" We have met before," said he.
"We have," said Hugh.
" I had a conviction we should be better acquainted; but I
did not expect it so soon . ' '
" Are you a clairvoyant^ then ? "
"Not in the least."
" Or, perhaps, being a Scotchman, you have the secona
sight ? "
"I am hardly Celt enough for that. But I am a sort of
a seer, after all, — from an instinct of the spiritual relations of
things, I hope ; not in the least from the nervo-material side."
" I think I understand you."
" Are you at leisure ? "
"Entirely."
"Had we not better walk, then? I have to go as far a?
842 DAVID ELGINBROD.
Somvirs Town, — no great way ; and we can talk as well walk-
ing as sitting."
"With pleasure," answered Hugh, rising.
" Will you take anything before you go ? A glass of port ?
It is the only wine I happen to have."
" Not a drop, thank you. I seldom taste anything stronger
than water."
" I like that. But I like a glass of port too. Come
then."
And Falconer rose — and a great rising it was ; for, as
I have said, he was two or three inches taller than Hugli,
and much broader across the shoulders ; and Hugh Avas no
stripling now. He could not help thinking again of his old
friend, David Elginbrod, to whom he had to look up to find
the living eyes of him, just as now he 'looked up to find Fal-
coner's. But there was a great difference between those or-
gans in the two men. David's had been of an ordinary size,
pure, keen blue, sparkling out of cerulean depths of peace and
hope, full of lambent gleams when he was loving any one, and
ever ready to be dimmed with the mists of rising emotion. All
that Hugh could yet discover of Falconer's eyes was, that they
were large and black as night, and set so far back in his head
that each gleamed out of its caverned arch like the reversed
torch of the Greek Genius of Death just before going out in
night. Either the frontal sinus was very large, or his observ-
ant faculties were peculiarly developed.
They went out, and walked for some distance in silence.
Hugh ventured to say at length : —
' ' You said you had spent the day strangely ; may I ask
how?"
" In a condemned cell in Newgate," answered Falconer.
" I am not in the habit of going to such places, but the man
wanted to see me, and I went."
As Falconer said no more, and as Hugh was afraid of
showing anything like vulgar curiosity, this thread of conver-
sation broke. Nothing worth recording passed until they
entered a narrow court in Somers Town.
" Are you afraid of infection ? " Falconer said.
'' Not in the least, if there be any reason for exposing my-
self to it."
DAVID ELGINBRCD. 343
"That is right. And I need not ask if you are iu good
health."
'■I am in perfect health."
" Then I need not mind asking you to wait for me till I
come out of this house. There is typhus in it."
'' I will wait with pleasure. I will go with you if I can be
of any use."
" There is no occasion. It is not your business this time."
So sajnng, Falconer opened the door, and walked in.
Said Hugh to himself, " I must tell this man the whole
story; and Avith it all my own."
In a few minutes Falconer rejoined him, looking solemn, but
with a kind of relieved expression on his face.
" The poor fellow is gone," said he.
"Ah!"
" What a thing it must be, Mr. Sutherland, for a man to
break out of the choke-damp of a typhus fever into the clear air
of the life beyond ! "
"Yes," said Hugh; adding, after a slight hesitation, "if
he be at all prepared for the change."
" Where a change belongs to the natural order of things,"
said Falconer, "and arrives inevitably at some hour, there
must always be more or less preparedness for it. Besides, I
think a man is generally prepared for a breath of fresh air." .
Hugh did not reply, for he felt that he did not fully com-
prehend his new acquaintance. But he had a strong suspicion
that it was because he moved in a higher region than himself.
"If you Avill still accompany me," resumed Falconer, who
had not yet adverted to Hugh's object in seeking his acquaint-
ance, ••you will, I think, be soon compelled to believe that,
at whatever time death may arrive, or in whatever condition
the man may be at the time, it comes as the best and only good
that can at that moment reach him. We are, perhaps, too
much in the habit of thinking of death as the culmination
of disease, which, regarded only in itself, is an evil, and a
terrible evil. But I think rather of death as the first pulse of
the ncAV strength, shaking itself free from the old mouldy
remnants of earth-garments, that it may begin in freedom the
new life that grows out of the old. The caterpillar dies into
the butterfly. Who knows but disease may be the coming, the
844 DAVID ELGINBROD.
keener life, breaking into this, and beginning to destroy like
fire the inferior modes or garments of the present ? And then
disease would be but the sign of the salvation of fire ; of the
agony of tlic greater life to lift us to itself, out of tliat where-
in we are fiiliug and sinning. And so we praise the consum-
ing fire of life."
*' But surely all cannot fare alike in the new life."
" Far from it. According to the condition. But what
Avould be hell to one will be quietness, and hope, and progress
to another ; because he has left worse behind him, and in this
the life asserts itself, and is. But perhaps you are not inter-
ested in such subjects, Mr. Sutherland, and I weary you."
" If I have not been interested in them hitherto, I am ready
to become so now. Let me go with you."
" With pleasure."
As I have attempted to tell a great deal about Robert Fal-
coner and his pursuits elsewliere, I will not here relate the
particulars of their walk through some of the most wretched
parts of London. Suffice it to say that, if Hugh, as he
walked home, was not yet prepared to receive and understand
the half of what Falconer had said about death, and had not
yet that faith in God that gives as perfect a peace for the future
of our brothers and sisters, who. alas ! have as yet been fed
with husks, as for that of ourselves, who have eaten bread of
the finest of the wheat, and have been but a little thankful, —
he yet felt at least that it was a blessed thing that these men
and women would all die — must all die. That spectre from
which men shrink, as if it would take from them the last shiv-
ering remnant of existence, he turned to for some consolation
even for them. He was prepared to believe that they could
not be soins to worse in the end. thoujih some of the rich and
respectable and educated might have to receive their evil things
first in the other world ; and he was ready to understand that
great saying of Schiller, — full of a faith evident enough to him
who can look far enough into the saying : —
" Death cannot be an evil, for it is universal."
DAVID ELGINBROD. 345
CHAPTER LV.
EUPHRA.
SaTnson, Oh that torment should not bo confined
■To the body's wounds and sores,
But must secret passage find
To the inmost miud.
Dire inflammation, which no cooling herb
Or medicinal liquor can assuage,
Nor breath of vernal air from snowy Alp.
Sleep hath forsook and given me o'er
To death's benumbing opium as m}' only cure,
Thence faiutings, swoonings of despair,
And sense of heaven's desertion.
Milton. — Samson Agonistea.
Hitherto I have chiefly followed the history of my hero, if
hero in any sense he can yet be called. Now I must leave
him for a while, and take up the story of the rest of the few
persons concerned in my tale.
Lady Emily had gone to ^Madeira, and Mr. Arnold had
followed. Mrs. Elton and Harry, and Margaret, of course,
had gone to London. Euphra was left alone at Arnstead.
A great alteration had taken place in this strange girl. The
servants were positively afraid of her now, from the butler
down to the kitchen-maid. She used to go into violent fits of
passion, in which the mere flash of her eyes was overpowering.
These outbreaks would be followed almost instantaneously by
seasons of the deepest dejection, in which she would confine
herself to her room for hours, or, lame as she was, wander
about the house and the Ghost's Walk, herself pale as a ghost,
and looking meagre and Avretched.
Also, she became subject to frequent fainting-fits, the first
of which took place the night before Hugh's departure, after
she had returned to the house from her interview with him in
the Ghost's Walk. She was evidently miserable.
For this misery W'C know that there were very sufficient rea-
sons, wnthout taking into account the fact that she had no one
to fascinate now. Her continued lameness, which her restless-
ness aggravated, likewise gave her great cause for anxiety.
But I presume that, even during the early part of her con-
346 DAVID ELGINBROD.
finement, her mind had been thrown back upon itself, in that
consciousness which often arises in loneliness and suffering,
and that even then she had begun to feel that her own self
Avas a worse tyrant than the count, and made her a more
wretched slave than any exercise of his unlawful power could
make her.
Some natures will endure an immense amount of misery be-
fore they feel compelled to look thei^e for help whence all help
and healing comes. They cannot believe that there is verily
an unseen, mysterious power, till the world and all that is in
it has vanished in the smoke of despair ; till cause and effect is
nothing to the intellect, and possil)le glories have faded from
the imagination ; then, deprived of all that made life pleasant or
hopeful, the immortal essence, lonely and wretched and unable
to cease, looks up with its now unfettered and wakened instinct
to the source of its own life, — to the possible God who, not-
withstanding all the improbabilities of his existence, may yet
perhaps be, and may yet perhaps hear his Avretched creature
that calls. In this loneliness of, despair, life must find The
Life; for joy is gone, and life is all that is left; it is com-
pelled to seek its source, its root, its eternal life. This alone
remains as a possible thing. Strange condition of despair into
which the Spirit of God drives a man, — a condition in which
the Best alone is the Possible !
Other simpler natures look up at once. Even before the
first pang has passed away, as by a holy instinct of celestial
childhood, they lift their eyes to the heavens whence cometh
their aid. Of this class Euphra was not. She belonged to
the former. And yet even she had begun to look upward, for
the waters had closed above her head. She betook herself to
the one man of whom she had heard as knowing about God.
She Avrote, but no answer came. Days and days passed away,
and there was no reply.
" Ah ! just so ! " she said, in bitterness. " And if I cried
to God forever, I should hear no word of reply. If he be, he
sits apart, and leaves the weak to be the prey of the bad.
What cares he? "
Yet, as she spoke, she rose, and, by a sudden impulse,
threw herself on the floor, and cried for the first time : —
"0 God, help me!"
DAVID ELGINBROD. 347
Wiis there voice or hearing ?
She rose at least Avith a little hope, and with the feeling that
if she could cry to him, it might be that he could listen to her.
It seemed natural to pray; it seemed to come of itself: th^t
could not be except it was first natural for God to hear. The
foundation of her own action must be in him who made her ;
for her call could be only a response after all.
The time passed wearily by. Dim, slow November days
came on, with the fall of the last brown shred of those clouds
of living green that had floated betwixt earth and heaven.
Through the bare boughs of the overarching avenue of the
Ghost's Vfalk, themselves living skeletons, she could now look
straight up to the blue sky, Avhich had been there all the time.
And she had begun to look up to a higher heaven, through the
bare skeleton shapes of life ; for the foliage of joy had wholly
vanished, — shall we say in order that the children of the
spring might eorae ? — certainly in order first that the blue
sky of a deeper peace might reflect itself in the hitherto dark-
ened water 5 of her soul.
Perhaps some of my readers may think that she had enough
to repent of to keep her from weariness. She had plenty to
repent of, no doubt; but repentance, between the paroxysms
of its bitterness, is a very dreary and November-like state of
the spiritual weather. For its foggy morningau;4ind cheerless
noons cannot believe in the sun of spring, soon to ripen into
the sun of summer ; and its best time is the night, that shuts
out the world and weeps its fill of slow tears. But she was
not altogether so blameworthy as she may have appeared. Her
affectations had not been altogether false. Slie valued, and in
a measure possessed, the feelings for which she sought credit.
She had a genuine enjoyment of nature, though after a sensu-
ous, Keatsdike fashion, not a Wordsworth ian. It was the body,
rather than the soul, of nature, that she loved, — its beauty
rather than its truth. Had her love of nature been of the
deepest, she would have turned aside to conceal her emotions
rather than have held them up as allurements in the eyes of her
companion. But as no body and no beauty can exist without
soul and truth, she who loves the former must at least be capa-
ble of loving the deeper essence to which they owe their very
existence.
348 DAVID ELGINBROD. \
This view of her character is borne out by her love of musio
and her liking for Hugh. Both were genuine. Had the lat-
ter been either more or less genuine than it Avas, the task of
fascination would have been more difficult, and its success less
complete. Whether her own feelings became further involved
tlian she had calculated upon, I cannot tell ; but surely it says
something for her. in any case, that she desired to retain Hugh
as her friend, instead of hating him because he had been her
lover.
How glad she would have been of Harry now ! The days
crawled one after the other like weary snakes. She tried to
read the New Testament : it was to her like a mouldy chamber
of worm-eaten parchments, whose windows had not been opened
to the sun or the wind for centuries ; and in which the dust of
the decaying leaves choked the few beams that found their way
through the age-blinded panes.
This state of things could not have lasted long ; for Euphra
would have died. It lasted, however, until she felt that she
had been leading a false, worthless life ; that she had been cast-
ing from her every day the few remaining fragments of truth
and reality that yet kept her nature from falling in a heap of
helpless ruin ; that she had never been a true friend to any
one ; that she was of no value, — fit for no one's admiration,
no one's love. She must leave her former self, like a dead
body, behind her, and rise into a purer air of life and reality,
else she would perish with that everlasting death which is the
disease and corruption of the soul itself.
To those who know anything of such experiences, it will not
be surprising that such .feelings as these should be alternated
with fierce bursts of passion. The old self then started up with
feverish energy, and writhed for life. Never any one tried to
be better, without, for a time, seeming to himself, perhaps to
others, to be Averse. For the suffering of the spirit weakens
the brain itself, and the Avhole physical nature groans under it ;
while the energy spent in the effort to awake and arise from
ihe dust, leaves the regions previously guarded by prudence
naked to the wild inroads of the sudden destroying impulses
born of suffering, self-Jckness, and hatred. As in the deliri-
ous patient, they Avould dash to the earth whatever comes first
within reach; as if the thing first perceived, and so (by percep-
DAVID ELGIxN'BROD. 849
tion alone) brought into cont;ict with the suffering, ^vere the
cause of all the distress.
One day a letter arrived for her. She had had nc letter
from any one for weeks. Yet, when she saw the direction, she
flung it from her. It was from INIrs. Elton, Avhom she disliked,
because she found her utterly uninteresting and very stupid.
Poor Mrs. Elton laid no claim to the contraries of these ep-
ithets. But in proportion as she abjured thought she claimed
speech, both by word of moutli and by letter. AVhy not?
There was nothing in it. She considered reason as an awful
enemy to the soul, and obnoxious to God, especially when ap-
plied to find out what he means when he addresses us as rea-
sonable creatures. But speech ? There was no harm in that.
Perhaps it was some latent conviction that this power of speech
was the chief distinction between herself and the lower animals
that made her use it so freely, and at the same time open her
purse so liberally to the Hospital for Orphan Dogs and Cats*
Had it not been for her own dire necessity, the fact that Mrs.
Elton was religious would have been enough to convince Euphra
that there could not possibly be anything in religion.
The letter lay unopened till next day, — a fact easy to ac-
count for, improbable as it may seem; for, besides writing as
largely as she talked, and less amusingly, because more cor-
rectly, Mrs. Elton wrote such an indistinct, though punctil-
iously ne;it, hand, that the reading of a letter of hers involved
no small amount of labor. But the sun shining out next
morning, Euphra took courage to read it while drinking her
coffee, although she could not expect to make that ceremony
more pleasant thereby. It contained an invitation to visit Mrs.
Elton at her house in Street, Hyde Park, with the assur-
ance that, now that everything was arranged, they had plenty
of room for her. Mrs. Elton was sure she must be lonely at
Arnstead; and Mrs. Horton could, no doubt, be trusted^ and
so on.
Had this letter arrived a few weeks earlier, Euphra would
have infused into her answer a skilful concoction of delicate
contempt; not for the amusement of knowing that Mrs. Elton
would never discover a trace of it, but simply for a relief to
her own dislike. Now, she would have written a plain letter,
containing as brief and as true an excuse as she could find, had
350 DAVID ELGINBROD.
it not been that, enclosed in Mrs. Elton's note she found an-
other, which ran thus : —
" Dear Eupura : — Do come and see us. I "do not like London at all
without you. There arc no happy days here like tliose we had at Arn-
.stead witii Mr. Suth(M-huid. Mrs. Elton and Margaret ai'c very kind to
inc. But I wish you would come. Do, do. do. Please do.
"Your aOectionate cousin,
"Harry Arnold."
" The dear boy! " said Euphra, with a gush of pure and
grateful affection ; "I will go and see him.''''
Harry had begun to work with his masters, and was doing
his best, which was very good. If his heart was not so much
in it as when lie Avas studying with his big brother, he gained
a great benefit from the increase of exercise to his will, in the
doing of what was less pleasant. Ever since Hugh had given
his faculties a right direction, and aided him by healthful,
manly sympathy, he had been making up for the period during
which childhood had been protracted into boyhood ; and now
he was making rapid progress.
When Euphra arrived, Ha)ry rushed to the hall to meet
her. She took him in her arms, and burst into tears. Her
tears drew forth his. He stroked her pale face, and said : —
" Dear Euphra, how ill you look ! "
" I shall soon be better now, Harry."
" I was afraid you did not love me, Euphra ; but now I am
sure you do."
'• Indeed I do. I am very sorry for everything that made
you think I did not love you."
" No, no. It was all my fancy. Now we shall be very
happy."
And so Harry was. And Euphra, through means of
Harry, began to gain a little of what is better than most kinds
of happiness, because it is nearest to the best happiness, — I
mean 2^^'^<'Ce. Tiiis foretaste of rest came to her from the
devotedness Avith which she now applied herself to aid the
intellect, which she had unconsciously repressed and stunted
before. She took Harry's books Avhcn he had gone to bed,
and read over all his lessons, that she might be able to assist
him in preparing them ; venturing thus into some regions of
DAVID ELGINBROD. 351
labor into which ladies are too seldom conducted by those who
instruct them. This produced in her quite new experiences.
One of these was, that in proportion as she labored for Harrj,
hope grew for herself. It was likewise of the greatest imme-
diate benefit tliat the intervals of thought, instead of lying
vacant to melancholy, or the vapors that sprung from the
foregoing strife of the spiritual elements, should be occupied
by healthy mental exercise.
Still, however, she was subject to gi'eat vicissitudes of feel-
ing. A kind of peevishness, to which she had formerly been
a stranger, was but too ready to appear, even Avhen she was
most anxious, in her converse with Harr3'-, to behave well to
him. But the pure forgiveness of the boy was wonderful.
Instead of plaguing himself to find out the cause of her
behavior, or resenting it in the least, he only labored, by
increased attention and submission, to remove it ; and seemed
perfectly satisfied when it was folloAved by a kind word, which
to him was repentance, apology, amends, and betterment, all
in one. When he had thus driven away the evil spirit, there
was Euphra her own self So perfectly did she see, and so
thorouglily appreciate, this kindness and love of Harry, that
he began to look to her like an angel of forgiveness, come to
live a boy's life, that he might do an angel's work.
Her health continued very poor. She suffered constantly
from more or less headache, and at times from faintings. But
she had not for some time discovered any signs of somnambu-
lism.
Of this peculiarity her friends were entirely ignorant. The
occasions, indeed, on which it had manifested itself to an
excessive decree had been but few.
852 DAVID ELGINBROD.
CHAPTER LVI.
THE NEW PUPILS.
Think you a little din can daunt mine ears?
Uavo I not in my time hoard lions roar ?
And do you tell inc of a woman's tongue,
That gives not liajf so great a blow to hear,
As will a chestnut in a farmer's fire ?
Tush! tush! fear boys with bugs.
Taming of the Shrew.
Dtjring the whole of his first interview with Falconer,
which iasted so long that he had been glad to make a bed of
Falconer's sofa, Hugh never once referred to the object for
which he had accepted MacPherson's proffered introduction;
nor did Falconer ask him any questions. Hugh was too much
interested and saddened by the scenes through which Falconer
led him, not to shrink from speaking of anything less impor-
tant; and with Falconer it was a rule, a principle almost,
never to expedite utterance of any sort.
In the morning, feeling a little good-natured anxiety as to
his landlady's reception of him^ Hugh made some allusion to
it, as he sat at his new friend's breakfast-table.
Falconer said : —
" What is your landlady's name? ''
" Miss Talbot."
" Oh, little Miss Talbot? You are in good quarters, — too
good to lose, I can tell you. Just say to Miss Talbot that
you were with me."
"You know her then?"
" Oh, yes."
" You seem to know everybody."
" If I have spoken to a person once, I never forget him."
" That seems to me very strange."
" It is simple enough. The secret of it is, that, as far as I
can help it, I never have any merely business relations with
any one. I try always not to forget that there is a deeper
relation between us. I commonly succeed worst in a drawing-
room ; yet even there, for the time we are together, I try to
DAVID ELGINBROD. 353
recognize the present humanity, however much distorted or
concealed. The consequence is, I never forget anybody ; and
I generally find that others remember me, — at least those with
whom I have had any real relations, springing from my need
or from theirs. The man who mends a broken chair for you,
or a rent in your coat, renders 3^ou a human service; and, in-
virtue of that, comes nearer to your inner self than nine-
tenths of the ladies and gentlemen, whom you meet only in
Avhat is called society, are likely to do."
" But do you not find it awkward sometimes? ''
" Not in the least. I am never ashamed of knowing any
one ; and, as I never assume a familiarity that does not exist, X
never find it assumed towards me."
Hugh found the advantage of Falconer's sociology when he
mentioned to Miss Talbot that he had been his guest that
night.
"You should have sent us word. Mr. Sutherland," was al>
Miss Talbot's reply.
"I could not do so before you must have been all in bed.
I was sorry, but I could hardly help it."
Miss Talbot turned away into the kitchen. The only other
indication of her feeling in the matter was, that she sent him
up a cup of delicious chocolate for his lunch, before he set
out for Mr. Appleditch's, where she had heard at the shop
that he was going.
My reader must not be left to fear that I am about to give a
detailed account of Hugh's plans with these unpleasant little
immortals, whose earthly nature sprang from a pair whose
religion consisted chiefly in negations, and whose main duty
seemed to be to make money in small sums, and spend it in
smaller. When he arrived at Buccleuch Crescent, he was
shown into the dining-room, into which the boys were sepa-
rately dragged^ to receive the first instalment of the mental
legacy left them by their ancestors. But the legacy-duty
was so heavy that they would gladly have declined paying it
even with the loss of the legacy itself; and Hugh was dis-
mayed at the impossibility of interesting them in anything.
He tried telling them stories even, Vv'ithout success. They
stared at him, it is true ; but whether there was more specula-
tion in the open mouths, or in tlie fisiiy, overfed eyes, he found
23
354 DAVID ELOINBROD.
it impossible to determine. He could not help feeling the
ricJdle of Providence in regard to the birth of these, much
harder to read than that involved in the case of some .of the
little thieves whose acquaintance he had made, when with
Falconer, the evening before. But he did his best; and before
"the time had expired, — two hours, namely, — he had found
out, to his satisfaction, that the elder had a turn for sums, and
the younger for drawing. So he made use of these predilec-
tions to bribe them to the exercise of their intellect upon less-
favored branches of human accomplishment. He found the
plan operate as well as it could have been expected to operate
upon such material.
But one or two little incidents, relating to his intercourse
with Mrs. Appleditch, I must not omit. Though a mother's
love is more ready to purify itself than most other loves, yet
there is a class of mothers whose love is only an extended,
scarcely an expanded, selfishness. Mrs. Appleditch did not in
the least love her children because they were children, and
children committed to her care by the Father of all children ;
but she loved them dearly because they were her children.
One (lay Hugh gave ]Master Appleditch a smart slap across
the fingers, as the ultimate resource. The child screamed as
he well- knew hov;. His mother burst into the room.
" Johnny, hold your tongue ! "
" Teacher's been and hurt me."
"Hold your tongue, I say. My head's like to split. Get
out of the room, you little ruffian ! "
She seized him by the shoulders, and turned him out, ad-
ministering a box on his ear that made the room ring. Then
turning to Hugh : —
"Mr. Sutherland, how c/are you strike my child?" she
demanded.
"He required it, Mrs. Appleditch. I did him no harm.
He will mind what I say anotlier time."
"I will not have him touched. It's disgraceful. To strike
a child!"
Shi belonged to that class of humane parents who consider
it cruel to inflict any corporal suffering upon children, except
they do it themselv^es, and in a passion. Johnnie behaved
better after this, however ; and the only revenge Mrs. Apple-
DAVID ELGINBROD. 355
ditch took for this interference with the dignity of her eldest-
born, and, consequently, with her own as hi^j mother, was,
that — with the view, probably, of impressing upon Hugh a
due sense of the menial position he occupied in her family —
she always paid him his fee of one shilling and sixpence every
day before he left the house. Once or twice she contrived
accidentally that the sixpence siiould be in coppers. Hugh
was too much of a philosopher, however, to mind this from
such a woman. I am afraid he rather enjoyed her sinte ; for
he felt it did not touch him, seeing it could not be less honora-
ble to be paid by the day than by the quarter or by the year.
Certainly the coppers were an annoyance ; but if the coppers
could be carried, the annoyance could be borne. The real
disgust in the affair Avas, that he had to meet and speak with
a woman every day, for whom ho could feel nothing but con-
tempt and aversion. Hugh was not yet able to mingle with
these feelings any of the leaven of that charity which they
. need most of all who are contemptible in the eyes of their
fellows. Contempt is murder committed by the intellect, as
hatred is murder committed by the heart. Charity, having
life in itself, is the opposite and destroyer of contempt as well
as of hatred.
After this, nothing went amiss for some time. But it Avas
very dreary work to teach such boys, — for the younger came
in for the odd sixpence. Slow, stupid resistance appeared to
be the only principle of their behavior towards him. They
scorned the man whom their mother despised and valued for
the self-same reason, namely, that he was cheap. They would
have defied him had they dared, but he managed to establish
an authority over them — and to increase it.. Still, he could
not rouse them to any real interest in their studies. Indeed,
they were as near being little beasts as it was possible for
children to be. Their eyes grew dull at a story-book, but
greedily bright at the sight of bulls' eyes or toffee. It was the
same day after day, till he was sick of it. No doubt they
made some progress, but it was scarcely perceptible to him.
Through fog and fair, through frost and snow, through wind
and rain, he trudsicd to that wretched house. No one minds
the weather. — no young Scotchman, at least, — where any
pleasure waits the close of the struggle; to fight his way to
356 DAVID ELGINBllOD.
misery was more than he could avcII endure. Bat his deliver-
ance was nearer than he expected. It was not to come just
yet, however.
All went on with frightful sameness, till sundry doubtful
symptoms of an alteration in the personal appearance of Hugh
havinii; accumulated at last into a mass of evidence, forced the
conviction upon the mind of the grocer's wife that her tutor
Avas actually growing a beard. Could she believe her eyes ?
She said she could not. But she acted on their testimony
notwithstanding ; and one day, suddenly addressing Hugh, said,
in her usual cold, thin, cutting fashion of speech : —
"Mr. Sutherland, I am astonished and grieved that you, a
teacher cf babes, who should set an example to them, should
disguise yourself in such an outlandish figure."
"What do you mean, Mrs. Appleditch?" asked Hugh, who,
though he had made up his mind to follow the example of
Falconer, yet felt uncomfortable enough, during the transition
period, to know quite Avell Avhat she meant.
" What do I mean, sir? It is a shame for a man to let his
beard grow like a monkey."
"But a monkey hasn't a beard," retorted Hugh, laughing.
" Man is the only animal who has one."
This assertion, if not quite correct, was approximately so,
and went much nearer the truth than Mrs. Appleditch's
argument.
" It's no joking matter, Mr. Sutherland, with my two
darlings growing up to be ministers of the gospel."
" What ! both of them ? " thought Hugh. " Good heavens ! "
But he said : —
" Well, but .you know, Mrs. Appleditch, the apostles
themselves wore beards."
" Yes, when they were Jews. But who would have believed
them if they had preached the gospel like old clothesmen?
No, no, Mr. Sutherland, I see through all that. My own
uncle was a preacher of the word. As soon as the apostles
became Christians, they shaved. It was the sign of Christi-
anity. The Apostle Paul himself says that cleanliness is next
to godliness."
Hugh restrained his laughter, and shifted his ground,
"But there is nothing dirty about them," he said.
DAVID ELGINBROD. 357
" Not dirtj? Now really, Mr. Sutherland, you provoke
me. Nothing dirty in long hair all round your mouth, and
going into it every spoonful you take ? "
" But it can be kept properly trimmed, you know.'"
"But who's to trust you to do that? No, no, Mr.
Sutherland ; you must not make a guy of yourself."
Hudi lauo-hed, and said nothino;. Of course his beard
would go on growing, for he could not help it.
So did Mrs. Appleditch's wrath.
CHAPTER LVII.
CONSULTATIONS.
Wo keine Gottor sind, walten Gespenster.
NovALis. — Die Christenheit
Where gods are not, spectres rule.
Eia Charakter ist ein vollkommen gebildeter Wille.
NoVALIS. — Moraliache Ansichten.
A character is a perfectly formed will.
It was not long before Hugh repeated his visit to Falconer.
He was not at home. He went again and again, but still
failed in finding him. The day after the third failure, how-
ever, he received a note from Falconer, mentioning an hour at
which he would be at home on the followino; evenino;. Huo-h
went. Falconer was waiting for him.
"I am very sorry. I am out so much," said Falconer.
"I ought to have taken the opportunity when I had it,"
replied Hugh. "I want to ask your help. May I begin at
the beginning, and tell you all the story? or must I epitomize
and curtail it?"
"Be as diffuse as you please. I shall understand the thing
the better."
So Hugh began, and told the whole of his history, in as far
as it bore upon the story of tiie 'crystal. He ended with the
words : —
" I trust, Mr. Falconer, you will not think that it is from a
love of talking that I have said so much about this affair."
358 DAVID ELGINBROD.
" Certainlj not. It is a remarkable storj. I will think
what can be done. Meantime I will keep my eves and ears
open. I lY.zy find the fellow. Tell me what he is like."
Hugh gave as minute a description of the count as he could.
"I think I see the man," said Falconer. "I am pretty
Bure I shall recognize him."
" Have you any idea what he could want with the ring? "
"It is one of the curious coincidences which are alway;
happening," answered Falconer, "that a ncAvspaper of thii.
very day would have enabled me, without any previous knowl-
edge of similar facts, to give a probably correct suggestion aa
to his object. But you can judge for yourself"
So saying, Falconer went to a side-table, heaped up with
books and papers, maps, and instruments of various kinds, ap-
parently in triumphant confusion. Without a moment's
hesitation, notwithstanding, he selected the paper he wanted,
and handed it to Hugh, who read in it a letter to the editor,
of which the following is a portion : —
"I have for over thirty years been in the habit of investigating
the question by means of crystals. And since 18 — , I have
possessed the celebrated crystal, once belonging to Lady
Blcssington, in which very many persons, both children and
adults, have seen visions of the spirits of the deceased, or of
beings claiming to be such, and of numerous angels and other
beings of the spiritual Avorld. These have in all cases supported
the purest and most liberal Christianity. The faculty of seeing
in the crystal I have found to exist in about one person in ten
among adults, and in nearly nine in every ten among children;
many of whom appear to lose the faculty as they grow to adult
age, unless they practise it continually."
"Is it possible," said Hugh, pausing, "that this can be a
veritable paper of to-day? Are there people to believe such
things?"
"There are more fools in che world, Mr. Sutherland, than
there are crystals in its mountains."
Hugh resumed his readins;. He came at leno-th to this
o o o
passage : —
" The spirits — which I feel certain they are — which appear,
do not hesitate to inform us on all possible subjects which may
tend to improve our morals, and confirm our faith in thfi
DAVID ELGINBROD. 859
Christian doctrines The character thej give of the
class of spirits who are in the habit of communicating with
mortals by rapping and such proceedings, is such that it behoves
ftll Christian people to be on their guard against error and
delusion throuiih their means."
Hugh had read this passage aloud.
"Is not that a comfort, now, Mr. Sutherland?" said
Falconer. "For in all the reports which I have seen of the'
religious instruction communicated in that highly articulate
manner, Calvinism, high and low, has predominated. I
strongly suspect the crystal phantoms of Arminianism. though.
Fancy the old disputes of infant Christendom perpetuated
amongst the paltry ghosts of another realm ! ' '
" But," said Hugli, " I do not quite see how this is to help
me as to the count's object in securing the ring ; for certainly,
however deficient he may be in such knowledge, he is not.
likely to have committed the theft for the sake of instruction
in the doctrines of the sects."
" No. But such a crystal might be put to other, not to say
better, uses. Besides, Lady Blessing-ton's crystal might be a
pious crystal; and the other which belonged to Lady — "
"Lady Euphrasia."
" To Lady Euphrasia, might be a worldly crystal altogether.
This might reveal demons and their counsels, while that was
haunted by theological angels and evangelical ghosts."
^'Ah! I see. I should have thought, however, that the
count had been too much of a man of the world to believe such
things."
" He might find his account in it. notwithstanding. But no
amount of world-wisdom can set a man above the inroads of
superstition. In foct, there is but one thing that can free a
man from superstition, and that is belief. All history proves
it. The most sceptical have ever been the most credulous.
This is one of the best arguments for the existence of something
to believe."
" You remind me of a passage in my story which I omitted,
as irrelevant to the matter in hand."
" Do let me have it. It cannot fail to interest me."
Hugh gave a complete account of the experiments they had
made with the careering plate. Now the writing of the name
360 DAVID ELGINBROD.
of '■' David Elginbrod " was the most remarkable phenomenon
of the wliolo, and Hugh was compelled, in responding to the
natural interest of Falconer, to give a description of David.
This led to a sketch of his own sojourn at Turriepuffit ; in
wiiich the character of David came out far more plainly than
it could have come out in any description. When he had
finished. Falconer broke out, as if he had been hitherto
restraining his wrath with difficulty: —
"And that Avas the man the creatures dared to personate !
I hate the whole thing, Sutherland. It is full of impudence
and irreverence. Perhaps the wretched beings may want
another thousand years' damnation, because of the injury done
to their character by the homage of men who ought to know
better."
" I do not quite understand you."
"I mean, that you ought to believe as easily that such a
man as you describe is laughing with the devil and his angels,
as that he wrote a copy at the order of a charlatan, or worse."
" But it could hardly be deception."
"Not deception? A man like him could not get through
them without being recognized."
" I don't understand you. By whom ? "
" By swarms of low, miserable creatures that so lament the
loss of their beggarly bodies that they would brood upon them
in the shape of flesh-flies, rather than forsake the putrefjnng
remnants. After that, chair, or table, or anything that they
can come into contact with, possesses quite sufficient organiza-
tion for such. Don't you remember that once, rather than
have nobody to go into, they crept into the very swine?
There was a fine passion for self-embodiment and sympathy !
But the swine themselves could not stand it, and preferred
drowning."
" Then you do think there was something supernatural in
it?"
" Nothing in the least. It required no supernatural powers
to be aAvare that a great man Avas dead, and that you had
known him well. It annoys me, Sutherland, that able men,
ay, and good men too, should consult Avith ghosts whose only
possible superiority consists in their being out of the body.
Why should they be the wiser for that? I should as soon
DAVID ELGINBROD. 861
expect to gain wisdom by taking off mj clothes, and to lose
it hy getting into bed ; or to rise into the seventh heaven of
spirituality by having my hair cut. An impudent forgery
of that good man's name ! If I were you, Sutherland, I
would have nothing to do with such a low set They are the
canaille of the other world. It's of no use to lay hold on
their skirts, for they can't fly. They're just like the vultures,
— easy to catch, because they're full of garbage. I doubt if
they have more intellect left than just enough to lie with. I
have been compelled to think a good deal about these things of
late."
Falconer pat a good many questions to Hugh, about Euphra
and her relation to- the count ; and such was the confidence
with which he had inspired hnn, that Hugh felt at perfect lib-
erty to answer them all fully, not avoiding even the exposure
of his own feelings, where that was involved by the story.
"Now," said Falconer, " I have material out of which to
construct a t'Heory. The count is at present like a law of
nature concerning which a prudent question is the first half of
the answer, ns Lord Bacon says ; and you can put no question
without having first formed a theory, however slight or tempo-
rary ; for oUerwise no question will suggest itself. But, in
the mean time, as I said before, I will make inquiry, upon the
theory that he is somewhere in London, although I doubt it."
" Then I Will not occupy your time any longer at present,"
said Hugh. " Could you say, without fettering yourself in
the least, Avhc-n I might be able to see you again ? "
"■ Let me see. I will make an appointment with you next
Sunday ; her<3, at ten o'clock in the morning. Make a note
of it."
" There is no fear of my forgetting it. My consolations are
not so numeious that I can aflbrd to forget my sole pleasure.
You, I should think, have more need to make a note of it than
I though I am quite willing to be forgotten, if necessary."
" I never fofget my engagements," said Falconer.
They parted, and Hugh went home to his novel.
362 DAVID ELGINBROD.
CHAPTER LVIIL
»
QUESTIONS AND DREAMS.
Oii A certain time the Lady St. Mary had commanded the Lord Jesus to fetch her
Bomo water out of tlie well And when he had gone to fetch the water, the pitcher,
when it was brought up full, brake. But Jesus, spreading his mantle, gathered up
the water again, and brought it in that to his mother. — The First {apochryphal)
Gospel of the Infancy o/" Jesus Christ.
Mks. Elton read prajors morning and evening, — very
elaborate compositions, Avhich would have instructed the apos-
tles themselves in many things they had never anticipated.
But, unfortunately, Mrs. Elton must likewise read certain
remarks, in the form of a homily, intended to impress the
Scripture which preceded it upon the minds of the listeners.
Between the mortar of the homilists faith, and the dull blows
of the pestle of his arrogance, the fair form of truth was
ground into the powder of pious small talk. This result was
not pleasant either to Harry or to Euphra. Euphra, with her
life threatening to go to ruin about her, was crying out for
Him who made the soul of man, " who loved us into being," *
and who alone can review the life of his children ; and in such
words as those a scoffing demon seemed to mock at her needs.
Harry had the natural dislike of all childlike natures to
everything formal, exclusive, and unjust. But, having re-
ceived nothing of what is commonly called a religious train-
inr/^ this advantage resulted from his new experiences in Mrs.
Elton's family, that a good direction Avas given to his thoughts
by the dislike which he felt to such utterances. More than
this : a horror fell upon him lest these things should be true ;
lest the mighty All of nature should be only a mechanism,
without expression and without beauty ; lest the God who
made us should be like us only in this, that he, too, was selfish
and mean and proud ; lest his ideas should resemble those that
inhabit the brain of a retired money-maker, or of an arbitrary
monarch claiming a divine right, instead of towering, as the
heavens over the earth, above the loftiest moods of highest
poetj most generous child, or most devoted mother. I do not
* Goldsmith; twico_ in the " Citizen of the World."
DAVID ELGHNBROD. 863
mean that these thoughts took these shapes in Harry's mind;
but that his feelings were such as might have been condensed
into such thoughts, had his intellect been more mature.
One morning, the passage of Scripture which Mrs. Elton
read Avas the story of the young man who came to Jesus, and
went away sorrowful, because the Lord thought so well of liim,
and loved him so heartily, that he wanted to set him free from
his riches. A great portion of the homily was occupied with
proving that the evangelist could not possibly mean that Jesus
loved the young man in any pregnant sense of the word ; but
merely meant that Jesus "felt kindly disposed towards him; "
felt a poor little human interest in him, in fiict, and did not
love him divinely at all.
Harry's face was in a flame all the time she was reading.
When the service was over — and a bond service it was for
Euphra and him — they left the room together. As soon as
the door was shut, he burst out : —
"I say, Euphra! Wasn't that a shame? They would
have Jesus as bad as themselves. We shall have somebody
writing a book next to prove that after all Jesus was a
Pharisee."
" Nevermind," said the heart-sore, sceptical Euphra, " never
mind, Harry; it's all nonsense."
" No, it's not all nonsense. Jesus did love the young man.
I believe the story itself before all the Doctors of .Divinity in
the world. He loves all of us, he does — with all his heart
too."
" I hope so," was all she could reply ; but she was comforted
by Harry's vehement confession of faith,
Euphra was so far softened, or perhaps weakened, by suffer-
ing, that she yielded many things which would have seemed
impossible before. One of these Avas that she went to church
with Mrs. Elton, where that lady hoped she would get good
to her soul. Harry, of course, was not left behind. The\
church she frequented was a fashionable one, with a vicar
more fashionable still ; for, had he left that church, more than
half his congregation, which consisted mostly of ladies, would
have left it also, and followed him to the ends of London. He
was a middle-aged man, with a rubicund countenance, and a
gentle familiarity of manner, that was exceedingly pleasing to
364 DAVID ELGINBTIOD.
the fashionable sheep, who, conscious that thejr had wandered
from the fohi, were waiting Avith exemphiry patience for the
barouches and mail-phaetons of the skies to carrj them back
Avithout tlie trouble of walking. Alas for them ! thcj have to
learn that the chariots of heaven are chariots of fire.
The Sunday morning following the conversation I have just
recorded, the clergyman's sermon was devoted to the illustra-
tion of the greatness and condescension of the Saviour. After a
certain amount of tamo excitement expended upon the consider-
ation of his power and kingdom, one i^assage was wound up in
this fashion : —
" Yes, my friends, even her most gracious Majesty, Queen
Victoria, the ruler over millions diverse in speech and in hue,
to whom we all look up with humble submission, and whom
we acknowledge as our sovereign lady, — even she, great as she
is, adds by her homage a jewel to his crown ; and, hailing him
as her Lord, bows and renders him worship ! Yet this is he
who comes down to visit, yea, dwells with his own elect, his
chosen ones, whom he has led back to the fold of his grace."
For some reason, known to himself. Falconer had taken
Hugh, who had gone to him according to appointment that
morning, to this same church. As they came out, Hugh
said : —
" Mr. is quite proud of the honor done his Master by
the queen.",
"I do not think," answered Falconer, "that his Master
will think so much of it ; for he once had his feet washed by a
Avoman that was a sinner."
The homily which Mrs. Elton read at prayers that evening,
bore upon the same subject nominally as the chapter that
preceded it, — tliat of election : a doctrine which in the Bible
asserts the fiict of God's choosing certain persons for the specific
purpose of receiving first, and so communicating the gifts of
his grace to the whole world ; but which, in the homily referred
to, was taken to mean the choice of certain persons for ultimate
salvation, to the exclusion of the rest. They Avere sitting in
silence after the close, AAdien Harry started up suddenly,
saying, "I don't want God to love me, if he does not love
CA^erybody ; " and, bursting into tears, hurried out of the room.
Mrs. Elton was awfully shocked at his wickedness. Euphra
DAVID ELGINBROD. 865
hastened after him ; but he would not return, and went supper-
less to bed. Euphra, however, carried him some supper. He
sat uj) in bed and ate it with the tears in his eyes. She kissed
him, and bade him good-night ; when, just as she was leaving
the room, he broke out with : —
"But only think, Euphra, if it should be true! I would
rather not have been made."
" It is not true," said Euphra, in whom a fliint glimmer of
fjxith in God awoke for the sake of the boj whom she loved, —
awoke to comfert him, when it would not open its eyes for
herself " No, Harry dear, if there is a God at all, he is not
like that."
"No, he can't be," said Harry, vehemently, and with the
brightness of a sudden thought; " for if he were like that, he
wouldn't be a God worth being ; and that couldn't be, you
know."
Euphra knelt by her bedside, and prayed more hopefully
than for many days before. She prayed that God would let
her know that he was not an idol of man's invention.
Till friendly sleep came, and untied the knot of care, both
Euphra and Harry lay troubled with things too great for them.
Even in their sleep the care would gather again, and body
itself into dreams. The first thought that visited Harry when
he awoke was the memory of his dream ; that he died and went
to heaven; that heaven was a great church just like the one
Mrs. Elton went to, only larger ; that the pews were filled
with angels, so crowded togetlier that they had to tuck up their
wings very close indeed — and Harry could not help wondering
what they wanted them for ; tliat they were all singing psalms ;
that the pulpit by a little change had been converted into a
throne, on Avhich sat God the Father, looking very solemn and
severe ; that Jesus was seated in the reading-desk, looking very
sad ; and that the Holy Ghost sat on the clerk's desk, in the
shape of a white dove ; that a cherub, whose face reminded him
very much of a policeman he knew, took him by the shoulder
for trying to pluck a splendid green feather out of an arch-
angel's wing, and led him up to the throne, Avhere God shook
his head at him in such a dreadful way, that he was terrified,
and then stretched out his hand to lay hold on him ; that ho
shrieked with fear ; and that Jesus put out his hand and lifted
366 DAVID ELGINBROD.
him into the reading-desk, and hid him down below. And
there Harry Lay, feeling so safe, stroking and kissing tht feet
that had been weary and wounded for liim, till, in the growing
delight of the thought that he actually held those feet, he came
awake, and remembered it all. Trulj'', it was a childish dream,
but not without its own significance. For surely the only
refuge from heathenish representations of God under Christian
forms, the only refuge from man's blinding and paralyzing
theories, from the dead wooden shapes substituted for the living
forms of human love and hope and aspiration, from the inter-
pretations which render Scripture as dry as a speech in
Chancery, — surely the one refuge from all these awful evils is
the Son of man ; for no misrepresentation and no misconception
can destroy the beauty of that face which the marring of sorrow
has elevated into the region of reality, beyond the marring of
irreverent speculation and scholastic definition. From the God
of man's painting, we turn to the man of God's being, and he
leads us to the true God, the radiation of whose glory we first
see in him. Happy is that man who has a glimpse of this,
even in a dream such as Harry's ! — a dream in other respects
childish and incongruous, but not more absurd than the instruc-
tion whence it sprung.
But the troubles returned with the day. Prayers revived
them. Pie sought Euphra in her room.
" They say I must repent and be sorry for my sins," said
he. "I have been trying very hard ; but I can't think of any,
except once that I gave Gog" (his Welch pony) '-such a
beating, because he ivould go where I didn't want him. But
he's forgotten it long ago ; and I gave him two feeds of corn
after it, and so somehow I can't feel very sorry now. What
sJiall I do? But that's not what I mind most. It alwciys
seems to me it would be so much grander of God to say, ' Come
along, never mind. Ill make you good. I can't wait till you
are good, I love you so much.' "
His own words were too much for Harry, and he burst into
tears at the thought of God being so kind. Euphra, instead
of trying to comfort him, cried too. Thus they continued for
some time, Harry with his head on her knees, and she kindly
fondling it with her distressed hands. Harry was the first to
recover ; for his was the April time of life, when rain clears
DAVID ELGINBROB. 367
the heavens. All at once he sprung to his feet, and ex-
claimed : —
"Only think, Euphra ! What if, after all, I should find
out that God is as kind as you are ! "
HoAv Euphra's heart smote her !
" Dear Harry," answered she, " God must be a great deal
kinder than I am. I have not been kind* to you at all.'"
" Don't say that, Euphra. I shall be quite content if God
is as kind as you." ,
'• Harry ! I hope God is like what I dreamed about
my mother last night."
" Tell me what you dreamed about her, dear Euphra."
" I dreamed that I was a little child — "
" Were you a little girl when your mother died? "
" Oh, yes ; such a tiny ! But I can just remember her." •
" Tell me your dream, then."
" I dreamed that I Avas a little girl, out all alone on a wild*
mountain-moor, tripping and stumbling on my night-gown.
And the wind was so cold ! And, somehow or other, the wind
was an enemy to me, and it followed and caught me, and
whirled and tossed me about, and then ran away agam. Then
I hastened on, and the thorns went into my feet, and the stones
cut them. And I heard the blood from them trickling down
the hill-side as I walked."
" Then they would be like the feet I saw in my dream last
night."
" Whose feet were they? "
•'Jesus' feet."
"Tell me about it."
" You must finish yours first, please, Euphra."
So Euphra went on : —
"I got dreadfully lame. And the wind ran after me, and
caught me again, and took me in his great blue ghostly arms,
and shook mo about, and then dropped me again to go on. But
it was very hard to go on, and I couldn't stop; and there was
no use in stopping, for the Avind Avas everywhere in a moment.
Then suddenly I saw before me a great cataract, all in Avhite,
falling flash from a precipice ; and I thought Avith myself, ' I
will go into the cataract, and it will beat my life out, and then
the Aviud will not get me any more.' So I hastened towards
368 DAVID ELGINBROD.
it; but the wind caught rac many times before I got near it.
At hist I reached it, and threw nijself down into the basin it
had hollowed out of the rocks. But as I was falling, something
caught me gently, and held me fast, and it was not the wind. 1
opencfl my eyes, and behold ! I Avas in my mother's arms, and she
Avas clasping me to her breast ; for what I had taken for a cataract
falling into a gulf was only my mother, with her white grave-clothes
floating all about her, standing up in her grave, to look after me.
• It was time you came homo, my darling,' she said, and stooped
down into her grave with me in her arms. And oh ! I was so
h;ippy ; and her bosom was not cold, or her arms hard, and she
carried me just like a baby. And when she stooped down,
then a door opened, somewhere in the grave, I could not find
out where exactly, and in a moment after, We were sitting
together in a summer grove, with the tree-tops steeped in sun-
shine, and waving about in a quiet, loving wind, — oh, how
different from the one that chased me home ! — and we under-
neath in the shadow of the trees. And then I said, ' Mother,
I've hurt my feet.' "
'•Did you call her mother when you were a little girl?"
interposed Harry.
"No," answered Euphra. "I called her mamma^ like
other children; but in my dreams I always call her mother.'"
" And what did she say ? "
" She said, ' Poor child ! ' and held my feet to her bosom ;
and after that, when I looked at them, the bleeding was all
gone, and I was not lame any more."
Euphra paused with a sigh.
" Harry ! I do not like to be lame."
" What more? " said Harry, intent only on the dream.
'• Oh ! then I was so happy that I woke up directly."
" What a pity ! But if it should come true? "
'• How could it come true, dear Harry? "
"Vv^hy, this world is sometimes cold, and the road is hard, —
you know what I mean, Euphra."
"Yes, I do."
" I wish I could dream like that ! How clever you must be ! "
" But you dream dreams too, Harry. Tell mo yours,"
" Oh, no, I never dream dreams; the dreams dream me,"
answered Harry, with a smile.
DAVID ELGINBROD. 369
Then he told his dream, to which Euphra listened with an
interest uninjured by the grotesqueness of its fancy. Each
interpreted the other's with reverence.
They ceased talking, and sat silent for a while. Then Harry,
putting his arms round Euphra's neck, and his lips close to her
ear, whispered : —
"Perhaps God will say my do.rlinj to you some day,
Euphra; just as your mother did in your dream."
She was silent. Harry looked round into her face, and saw
that the tears were flowing fast.
At that instant, a gentle knock came to the door. Euphra
could not reply to it. It was repeated. After anpi;hei mo-
ment's delay the door opened, and Margaret walked in.
CHAPTER LIX.
A SUNDAY WITH FALCONER.
How bappy is lie born and taugbt,
That serveth not another's will ;
Whoso armor is his honest thought,
And simple truth bis utmost skill!
This man is freed from servile bands,
Of hope to rise or fear to fall :
Lord of himself, though not of lands,
And, having nothing, yet hath all.
Sib Henry Wotton.
It was not often that Falconer went to church ; but he
seemed to have some design in going oftener than usual at
present. The Sunday after the one last mentioned, he went
as well, thouofh not to the same church, and, calling for Huirh,
took him with him. What they found there, and the conver-
sation following thereupQin, I will try to relate, because, al'
though they do not immediately affect ray outward story, they
greatly influenced Hugh's real histoiy.
They heard the Morning Service and the Litany read in an
ordinary manner, though somewhat more devoutly tnau usual.
Then, from the communion-table, rose a voice vibrating vitb
24
870 DAVID ELGINBROD.
Bolemn emotion, like the voice of Abraham pleading for Sodom.
It thrilled through Hugh's heart. The sermon which followed
affected him no less, although, when he came out, he confessed
to Falconer that he had only caught fljing glimpses of its
meaning, scope, and drift.
'•I seldom go to church," said Falconer; "but when I do,
I come here ; and always feel that I am in the presence of one
of the holy servants of Gods great temple not made with
hands. I heartily trust that man. He is what he seems to be."
" They say he is awfully heterodox."
"They do."
"How, then, can he remain in the church, if he is as honest
as you say ? ' '
"In this way, as I humbly venture to think," Falconer
answered. " He looks upon the formulae of the church as utter-
ances of living truth, — vital embodiments, — to be regarded as
one ouglit to regard human faces. In these human faces
others may see this or that inferior expression, may find out
the mean and the small and the incomplete ; he looks for and
finds the ideal ; the grand, sacred, God-meant meaning ; and
by that he holds as the meaning of the human countenances, for
it is the meaning of Him who made them. So with the confes-
sion of the Church of England : he believes that not man only,
but God also, and God first and chief, had to do with the mak-
ing of it ; and therefore he looks in it for the Eternal and the
Divine, and he finds what he seeks. And as no words can
avoid bearing in them the possibility of a variety of interpre-
tations, he would exclude whatever the words might mean, or,
regarded merely as words, do mean, in a narrow exposition ;
he thinks it would be dishonest to take the low meaning as the
meaning. To return to the faces : he passes by moods and
tempers, and beholds the main character, — that on whose sur-
face the temporal and transient floats. Both in faces and in
formulfc he loves the divine substance, with his true, manly,
brave heart; and as for the faults in bath. — for man, too, has
his share in both, — I believe he is reaiy to die by them, if only
in so doing he might die for them. I had a vision of him this
morning as I sat and listened to his voice, which always seems
to me to come immediately from his heart, as if his heart spoke
with lips of its own. Shall I tell you my vision ?
^ DAVID ELGINBROD. 871
" I saw a crowd — priests and laymen — speeding, hurrying,
darting away, up a steep, crumbling height. Mitres, hoods,
and hats rolled behind them to the bottom. Every one for
himself, with hands and feet they scramble and flee, to save
their souls from the fires of hell which come rollinor in along
the hollow below with the forward ' pointing spires ' of billowy
flame. But beneath, right in the course of the fire, stands
one man, upon a little rock which goes down to the centre of
the great world, and faces the approaching flames. He stands
bareheaded, his eyes bright with faith in God, and the mighty
mouth that utters his truth fixed in holy defiance. His
denial comes from no fear, or weak dislike to that which is
painful. On neither side will he tell lies for peace. He is
ready to be lost for his fellow-men. In the name of God he
rebukes the flames of hell. The fugitives pause on the top, look
back, call him li/ing 2>^'ophet^ and shout evil, opprobrious
names at the man Avho counts not his OAvn life dear to him, who
has forgotten his own soul in his sacred devotion to men, who
fills up what is left behind of the sufferings of Christ, for his
body's sake, — for the human race, of which he is the head. Be
sure that, come what may of the rest, let the flames of hell
ebb or flow, that man is safe, for he is delivered already from
the only devil that can make hell itself a torture, the devil of sel-
fishness, — the only one that can possess a man and make him-
self his own living hell. He is out of all that region of things,
and already dwelling in the secret place of the Almighty."
" Go on, go on."
"He trusts in God so absolutely, that he leaves his salva-
tion to him — utterly, fearlessly ; and, forgetting it, as being no
concern of his, sets himself to do the work that God has given
him to do, even as his Lord did before him, counting that alone
worthy of his care. Let God's will be done, and all is well.
If God's will be done, he cannot fare ill. To him, God is all
in all. If it be possible to separate such things, it is the glory
of God, even more than the salvation of men, that he seeks.
He will not have it that his Father in heaven is not perfect.
He believes entirely that God loves, yea, is love ; and, there-
fore, that hell itself must be subservient to that love, and but
an embodiment of it; that the grand Avork of Justice is to
make way for a Love which will give to every man that which
372 DAVID ELOINBROD. ♦
is right, and ten times more, even if it should be bj means of
awful suffering, — a suffering t\ liich the Love of the Father Avill
not shun, either for himself or his children, but will eagerly
meet for their sakes, that he may give them all that is in his
heart."
" Surely you speak your own opinions in describing thus
warmly the faith of the preacher."
" I do. He is accountable for nothing I say. All I assert
is, that this is how I seem to myself to succeed in understand-
ing him."
" How is it that so many good people call him heterodox?"
" I do not mind that. I am annoyed only when good-
hearted people, with small natures and cultivated intellects,
patronize him, and talk forgivingly of his warm heart and
unsound judgment. To these, theology must be like a map, —
with plenty of lines in it. They cannot trust their house on
the high table-land of his theology, because they cannot see
the outlines bounding the said table-land. It is not small
enough for them. They cannot take it in. Such can hardly
be satisfied with the creation, one would think, seeing there is
no line of division anywhere in it. They would take care
there should be no mistake."
" Does God draw no lines, then? "
" When he does, they are pm-e lines, without breadth, and
consequently invisible to mortal eyes ; not Chinese walls of
separation, such as these definers Avould construct. Such
minds are a ^^'^'iorl incapable of theorizing upon his theories.
Or, to alter the figure, they Avill discover a thousand faults in
his drawing, but they can never beliold the figure constructed
by his lines, and containing the faults which they believe they
discover."
" But can those theories in religion be correct which are so
hard to see ? "
" They are only hard to certain natures."
" But those natures are above the average."
" Yes, in intellect and its cultivation — nothing more."
"You have granted them heart."
" Not much ; but what there is, good."
" That is allowing a great deal, though. Is it not hard, then,
to say that such cannot understand him? "
DAVID ELGIXBROD. 373
" Why ? They will got to heaven, Avliich is all tliej want.
And they will uuderstancl him one day, which is more than
they pray for. Till they have done being anxious about their
own salvation, we must forgive them that they can contemplate
with calmness the damnation of a universe, and believe that
God is yet more indifferent tlian they."
'• But do they not bring the charge likewise against you, of
being unable to understand tlicm? ''
" Yes. And so it must remain, till the Spirit of God decide
the matter, which I presume must take place by slow degrees.
For this decision can only consist in the enlightenment of souls
to see the truth : and therefore has to do with individuals only.
There is no triumph for the Trutli but that. She knows no
glorying over the vanquished, for in her victory the vanquished
is already of the vanquishers. Till tlien, the Right must be
content to be called the Wrong, and — which is f^ir harder —
to seem the Wrong. There is no spiritual victory gained by a
verbal conquest ; or by any kind of torture, even should the
rack employed be that of the purest logic. Nay, more : so
iong as the wicked themselves remain impenitent, there is
mourning in heaven ; and when there is no longer any hope
over one last remaining sinner, heaven itself must confess its
defeat, heap upon that sinner what plagues you will."
Hugh pondered, and continued pondering till they reached
Falconer's chambers. At the door Hugh paused.
" Will you not come in ? "
" I fear I shall become troublesome."
" No fear of that. I promise to get rid of you as soon as
I find you so."
" Thank you. Just let me know when you have had enough
of me."
They entered. Mrs. Ashton, who, unlike her class, was
never missinw when wanted, irot them some bread and cheese ;
and Falconer's Fortunatus-purse of a cellar — the bottom of
his cupboard — supplied its usual bottle of port ; to which fxre
the friends sat down.
The conversation, like a bird descending in spirals, settled
at last upon the subject Avhich had more or less occupied Hugh's
thoughts ever since his unsatisfactory conversation with Fun-
kelstein, at their first meeting ; and still more since he had
374 DAVID ELGINBROD.
learned that this man himself exercised an unlawful influence
over Euphra. He begged Falconer, if he had any theory com-
prehending such things, to let him know what kind of a rela-
tion it was in which Miss Cameron stood to Funkelstein, or
Count von Ilalkar.
"I have had occasion to think a good deol about those
things," said Falconer. " The first thing evident is, that Miss
Cameron is peculiarly constituted, belonging to a class Avhich
is, however, larger than is commonly supposed, circumstances
rarely combining to bring out its peculiarities. In those who
constitute this class, the nervous element, either from prepon-
derating, or from not being in healthy and harmonious com-
bination with the more material element, manifests itself be-
yond its ordinary sphere of operation, and so occasions results
unlike the usual phenomena of life, though, of course, in ac-
cordance with natural laws. To use a simile : it is, in such
cases, as if all the nerves of the human body came crowding to
the surface, and there exposed themselves to a thousand in-
fluences from which they would otherwise be preserved. Of
course I am not attempting to explain, only to suggest a con-
ceivable hypothesis. Upon such constitutions, it would not be
surprising that certain other constitutions, similar, yet differing,
should exercise a peculiar influence. You are, I dare say,
more or less familiar with the main features of mesmerism and
its allies, among which is what is called biology. I presume
it is on such constitutions as I have supposed, that those powers
are chiefly operative. Miss Cameron has, at some time or other
in her history, subm'tted herself to the influences of this Count
Ilalkar ; and he has thus gained a most dangerous authority
over her, which he has exercised for his own ends."
'• She more than implied as much in the last conversation I
had with her."
" So his loill became her law. There is in the world of
mind a something corresponding to physical force in the material
world. I cannot avoid just touching upon a higher analogy.
The kingdom of heaven is not come, even when God's will is
our law : it is come when Gods will is our will. While God's
will is our law, we are but a kind of noble slaves ; when his
will is our will, we are free children. Nothing in nature is
free enough to be a symbol for the state of those who act im-
DAVID ELGINBROD. 375
mecliatelj from the essence of their hidden life, and the rec-
ognition of God's will as that essence. But, as I said, this
belongs to a far higher region. I only wanted to touch on the
relation of the freedoms, — physical, mental, and spiritual./
To return to the point in hand : I recognize in the story a clear
evidence of strife and partial victory in the affair of the ring.
The count — we will call him by the name he gives himself —
had evidently been anxious for years to possess himself of this
ring ; the probable reasons we have already talked of. He had
laid his injunctions on his slave to find it for him ; and she,
perhaps at first nothing loth, perhaps loving the man as well
as submitting to him, had for a long time attempted to find it,
but had failed. The count, probably doubting her sincerity,
and hoping, at all events, to urge her search, followed her to
Arnstead, where it is very likely he had been before, although
he had avoided Mr. Arnold. Judging it advantageous to get
into the house, in order to make observations, he employed his
chance meeting Avith you to that result. But, before this, he
had watched Miss Cameron's familiarity with you, — was
jealous and tyrannical. Hence the variations of her conduct
to you ; for when his power was upon her she could not do as she
pleased. But she must have had a real regard for you ; for
she evidently refused to get you into trouble by taking the ring
from your custody. But my surprise is that the fellow limited
himself to that one jewel."
" You may soon be relieved from that surprise," answered
Hugh ; "he took a valuable diamond of mine as well."
" The rascal ! We may catch him, but you are not likely
to find your diamond again. Still, there is some possibility."
" How do you know she was not willing to take it from me ? "
"Because, by her own account, he had to destroy her
power of volition entirely, before he could make her do it. He
threw her into a mesmeric sleep."
"I should like to understand his power over her a little
better. In such cases of biology — how they came to abuse
the word, I should like to know — "
" Just as they call table-rapping^ etc., spiritualism.''^
" I suppose his relation to her must be classed amongst phe-
nomena of that sort ? "
"Certainly."
376 DAVID ELGINBROD.
'' Well, tell me, docs the influence outlast tlie mesmeric
condition? "'
" If bj mesmeric condition you mean any state evidently
approaching to that of sleep — undoubtedly. It is, in many
cases, quite independent of such a condition. Perhaps the
degree of Avilling submission at first may have something to
do with it. But mesmeric influence, whatever it may mean, is
entirely independent of sleep. That is an accident accompany-
ing it; perhaps sometimes indicating its culmination."
"Does the person so influenced act with or against his will ? "
" That is a most difficult question, involving others equally
difficult. My own impression is, that the patient — for patient
in a very serious sense he is — acts with his inclination, and
often with his will ; but in many cases with his inclination
against his will. This is a very important distinction in mor-
als, but often overlooked. When a man is acting luith his
inclination, his will is in abeyance. In our present imperfect
condition, it seems to me that the absolute will has no opportu-
nity 0^ pure action, of operating entirely as itself, except when
working in opposition to inclination. But to return: the
power of the biologist, appears to me to lie in this, — he is able,
by some mysterious sympathy, to produce in the mind of the
patient such forceful impulses to do whatever he wills, that
they are in fact irresistible to almost all who are obnoxious to
his influence. The will requires an especial training and a
distinct development, before it is capable of acting with any
degree of freedom. The men who have undergone this are
very few indeed ; and no one whose will is not educated as
will, can, if .subjected to the influences of biology, resist the
impulses roused in his passive brain by the active brain of the
operator. This at least is my impression.
" Other things no doubt combined to increase the influence in
the present case. She liked him; perhaps more than liked him
once. She was partially committed to his schemes ; and she
was easily mesmerized. It would seem, besides, that she was
naturally disposed to somnambulism. This is a remarkable
coexistence of distinct developments of the same peculiarity.
In this latter condition, even if in others she were able to resist
him, she would be quite helpless ; for all the thoughts that
passed through her brain would owe their origin to his.
DAVID ELCJINBROD. 37T
Imagine being forced to think another man's thoughts ! That
■vvoukl be 2^'^ssession indeed ! And this is not far removed
from the old stories about the demons entering into a man. He
woukl be ruler over the whole intellectual life that passed in
her during the time ; and which to her, as far :is the ideas
suggested belonged to the outward Avorld, would aj)i,)car an
outer life, passing all round her, not in her. She would, in
fact, be a creature of his imagination for the time, as much
!!S any character invented, and sent through varied cir-
cumstances, feelings, and actions, by the mind of the poet or
novelist. Look at the facts. Slie warned jou to beware of
the count that night before jou went into the haunted bed-
chamber. Even when she entered it, by your own account — "
" Entered it? Then you do thirds it was Euphra who per-
sonated the ghost?"'
'"I am sure of it. She was sleep-walking."
" But so different — such a death-like look ! "
"All that was easy enough to manage. She refused to
obey him at first. He mesmerized her. It very likely went
farther than he expected ; and he succeeded too well. Experi-
enced, no doubt, in disguises, he dressed her as like the dead
Lady Euphrasia as he could, following her picture. Perhaps
she possessed such a disguise, and had used it before. He
thus protected her from suspicion, and himsolf from implica-
tion. What was the color of the hair in the picture? "
" Golden."
•' Hence the sparkle of gold dust in her hair. The count
managed it all. He Avilled that she should go, and she went.
Her disguise was certain safety, should she be seen. You
v>ould suspect the ghost, and no one else, if she appeared to
you. and you lost the ring after. But even in this state she
yielded against her better inclination, for she was weeping
Avhen you saw her. But she could not help it. "While you
lay on the couch in the haunted chamber, where he carried
you, the awful death-ghost was busy in your room, was open-
ing your desk, fingering your papers, and stealing your ring.
It is rather a frightful idea."
" She did not take my ring, I am sure. He followed her,
and took it. But she could not have come in at either door."
'• Could not ? Did she not go out at one of them? Besides,
378 DAVID ELGINBROD.
I do not doubt that such a room as that had private communi-
cation with tlie open air as well. I should much like to exam-
ine the place."
" But how could she have gone through the bolted door
then?"
"That door may have been set in another, larger by half
the frame or so, and opening with a spring and concealed
hinges. There is no difficulty about that. There are such
places to be found now and then in old houses. But, indeed,
if you will excuse me, I do not consider your testimony, on
every minute particular, quite satisfactory."
" Why? " asked Hugh, rather offended.
" First, because of the state of excitement you must have
been in : and next, because I doubt the wine that was left in
your room. The count, no doubt, knew enough of drugs to put
a few ghostly horrors into the decanter. But poor Miss Cam-
eron ! The horrors he has put into iier mind and life ! It is
a sad fate — -all but a sentence of insanity."
Hugh sprang to his feet.
" By heaven ! " he cried, " I will strangle the knave."
" Stop, stop ! " said Falconer. •' No revenge ! Leave him
to the sleeping divinity Avithin him, which will awake one day,
and complete the hell that he is now building for himself, — for
the very fire of hell is the divine in it. Your work is to set
Euphra free. If you did strangle him, how do you know that
would free her from him? "
" Horrible ! Have you no news of him? ''
" None. whatever."
" What, then, can I do for her ? "
"You must teach her to foil him."
" How am I to do that? Even if I knew how, I cannot
Bee her, I cannot speak to her."
" I have a great faith in opportunity."
" But how sliould she foil him ? "
' ' She must pray to God to redeem her fettered will — to
strengthen her will to redeem herself. She must resist the
count, should he again claim her submission (as, for her sake,
I hope he will), as she would the devil himself. She iiv.iHt
overcome. Then she will be free — not before. This will be
\ery hard to do. His power has been excessive and peculiar,
DAVID ELGINBP.OD. 379
and her submission long and complete. Even if he left her
alone, she would not therefore be free. She must defy him;
break his bonds ; oppose his will ; assert her freedom ; and
defeat him utterly."
" Oh ! who will help her? I have no power. Even if I
were with her, I could not help her in such a struggle. I
wish David were not dead. He was the man. You could
now, Mr. Falconer."
" No. E.xcept I knew her, had known her for some time,
and had a strong hold of ay her nature, I could not, would
not, try to help her. If Providence brought this about, I
would do my best ; but otherwise I would not interfere. But
if she pray to God, he will give her whatever help she needs,
and in the best way too."
" I think it will be some comfort to her if we could find the
ring, — the crystal, I mean."
" It would be more, I think, if we could find the diamond."*
" How can Ave find either? "
" We must find the count first. I have not given that up,
of course. I will tell you what I should like to do, if I knew
the hidj."
"What?"
" Get her to come to London, and make herself as public as
possible : go to operas, and balls, and theatres ; be presented at
court ; take a stall at every bazaar, and sell charity puff-balls,
— get as much into the papers as possible. ' The lovely,
accomplished, fascinating Miss Cameron, etc., etc' "
" What do you mean ? "
"I will tell you what I mean. The count has forsaken her
now; but as soon as he heard that she was somebody, that she
was followed and admired, his vanity would be roused, his old
sense of property in her would revive, and he would begin
once more to draw her into his -toils. What the result would
be, it is impossible to foretell ; but it would at least give us a
chance of catching; him, and her a chance of resisting him."
"I don't think, however, that she would venture on that
course herself. I should not dare to propose it to her."
•' No. no. It was only an invention, to deceive mj^self Avith
the flincy that I was doing something. There would be many
objections to such a plan, even if it were practicable. I must
380 DAVID ELGINBROD.
still try to find him, and, if fresh endeavors should fail, devisa
fresher still."
''Thank you a thousand times," said Hugh. "It is too
good of you to take so much trouble."
"It is my business," answered Falconer. " Is there not a
soul in trouble? "
Hugh went home, full of his new friend. With the clue
he had given him, he was able to follow all the windings of
Euphra's behavior, and to account for almost everything thot
had taken place. It was quite^painful for him to feel that he
could be of no immediate service to her ; but he could hardly
doubt that, before long, Falconer would, in his wisdom and
experience, excogitate some mode of procedure in which he
might be able to take a part.
He sat down to his novel, which had been making but little
progress for some time; for it is hard to write a novel when
one is living in the midst of a romance. But the romance, at
this time, was not very close to him. It had a past and a pos-
sible future, but no present. That same future, however,
might at any moment dav/n into the present.
In tiie mean time, teaching the Latin grammar and the
English alphabet to young aspirants after the honors of tJie
ministrf/, was not work inimical to invention, from either the
exhaustion of its excitement or the absorption of its interest.
CHAPTER LX.
THE lady's-maid.
Her yellow hair, beyond compare,
Comes tricikliug down her swan-whito neek;
And her two eyes, like stars in skies,
AVould keep a sinking ship frae wreck.
Oh ! JVJ ally's week, Mally's sweet,
Mally's modest and discreet;
Mally's rare, Mally's fair,
Mally's every way complete.
Burns.
What arms for innocence but innocence.
UiLES Fletcher.
Margaret had sought Euphra's room, with the intention
of restorinsT to her the letter which she had written to David
DAVID ELGINCHOD. 881
Elginbrod. Janet had let it lie for some time before she sent
it to Margaret : and Euphra had given up all expectation of
an answer.
Hopes of ministration filled Margaret's heart : but she
expected, from what she knew of ber. that anger would be
Miss Cameron's first feeling. Therefore, when she heard no
answer to her application for admission, and had concluded, in
consequence, that Euphra was not in the room, she resolved to
leave the letter where it would meet her eje, and thus prepare
the way for a future conversation. When she saw Euphra and
Harry, she would have retired immediately: but Euphra,
annoyed by her entrance, was now quite able to speak.
'' AVhat do you want? "' she said, angrily.
" This is your letter, Miss Cameron, is it not? " said Mar-
garet, advancing with it in her hacd.
Euphra took it. glanced at the direction, pushed Harry
away from her, started ujj in a passion, and let loose tlie whole
gathered irritability of contempt, weariness, disappointment,
and sufi"ering, upon Margaret. Her dark eyes flashed with
rage, and her sallow cheek glowed like a peach.
'•'What right have you, pray, to handle my letters? How
did you get this ? It has never been, posted ! And open, too,
I declare ! I suppose you have read it ? " '
Margaret was afraid of exciting more wrath before she had
an opportunity of explaining ; but Euphra gave her no time to
think of a reply.
" You have read it. you shameless woman ! Why don't
you lie. like the rest of your tribe, and keep me from dying
with indignation ? Impudent prying ! My maid never posted
it, and you have found it and read it ! Pray, did you hope to
find a secret worth a bribe? ''
She advanced on Margaret till within a foot of her.
'•Why don't you answer, you hussy? i will go this
instant to your mistress. You or I leave the house."'
Margaret had stood all this time quietly, waiting for an
opportunity to speak. Her face was very pale, but perfectly
stiil. and her eyes did not quail. She had not in the least lost
her self-possession. She would nc t say at once that she had
read the letter, because that would instantly rouse the tornado
airain.
382 DAVID ELGINBROD.
"You do not know my name, Miss Cameron; of course
you could not."
" Your name ! What is that to me ? "
"That," said Margaret, pointing to the letter, "is my
father's name."
Euphra looked at her own direction again, and then looked
at Margaret. She was so bewildered, that, if she had any
thoughts, she did not know them. Margaret went on : — '
" My father is dead. My mother sent the letter to me."
" Then you have had the impertinence to read it ! "
" It was my duty to read it."
" Duty ! What business had you with it? "
Euphra felt ashamed of the letter as soon as she found that
she had applied to a man whose daughter was a servant.
Margaret answered : —
" I could at least reply to it so far, that the writer should
not think my father had neglected it. I did not know who it
was from till I came to the end."
Euphra turned her back on her, with the words : —
" You may go."
Margaret walked out of the room with an unconscious, stately
gentleness.
" Come back," cried Euphra.
INIargaret obeyed.
"Of course you will tell all your fellow-servants the con-
tents of this foolish letter."
Margaret's face flushed, and her eye flashed, at the first
words of this speech ; but the last words made her forget the
first, and to them only she replied. Clasping her hands, she
said : —
"Dear Miss Cameron, do not call it foolish. For God's
sake, do not call it foolish."
" What is it to you ? Do you think I am going to make a
confidante of you ? "
Margaret again left the room. Notwithstanding that she
had made no answer to her insult, Euphra felt satisfied that
her letter was safe from profanation.
No sooner was Mar2;aret out of sia:ht, than, with the reaction
common to violent tempers, which in this case resulted the
sooner, from the exhaustion produced in a worn frame by ^Kp,
DAVID ELGINBROD. 383
violence of the outburst, Euphra sat down, in a hopeless,
unresting "way, upon the chair from which she had just risen,
and began weeping more bitterly than before. She was not
only exhausted, but ashamed ; and to these feelings was added
a far greater sense of disappointment than she could have
believed possible, at the frustration of the hope of help from
David Elginbrod. True, this hope had been small : but
where there is only one hope, its death is equally bitter,
whether it be a great or a little hope. And there is often no
power of reaction, in a mind which has been gradually reduced
to one little faint hope, when that hope goes out in darkness.
There is a recoil, which is very helpful, from the blow that
kills a great hope.
All this time Harry had been looking on. in a kind of para-
lyzed condition, pale with perplexity and distress. He now
came up to Euphra, and, trying to pull her hand gently from
her face, "said : —
" What is it all about, Euphra, dear? "
" Oh ! I have been very naughty, Harry."
" But what is it all about? May I read the letter ? "
"If you like,'' answered Euphra, listlessly.
Harry read the letter with quivering features. Then, laying
it down on the table with a reverential slowness, went to
Euphra, put his arms round her and kissed her.
" Dear, dear Euphra. I did not know you were so unhappy.
I will find God for you. But first I will — what shall I do to
the bad man ? AVho is it? I will — "
Harry finished the sentence by setting his teeth hard.
"Oh ! you can't do anything for me, Harry, dear. Only
mind you don't say anything about it to any one. Put the
letter in the fire there for me."
" No — that I won't," said Harry, taking up the letter, and
holding it tight. " It is a beautiful letter, and it does me
good. Don't you think, though it is not sent to God himself,
he may read it, and take it for a prayer? "
" I wish he would, Harry."
"But it was very wrong of you, Euphra, dear, to speak as
you did to the daughter of such a good man.''
" Yes, it was."
384 DAVID ELGTNBIIOD.
"But then, you see, you got angry before you knew who
she was.''
'' But I shouldn't have got angry before I knew all about
it."
"Well, you have only to say you are sorry, and Margaret
won't think anything more about it. Oh, she is so good ! "
Euplini recoiled from making confession of wrong to a lady's-
maid ; and perhaps she was a little jealous of Harry's admi-
ration of ISIargaret. For Euphra had not yet cast off all her
old habits of mind, and one of them Avas the desire to be first
Avith every one whom she cared for. She had got rid of a worse,
Avhich was, a necessity of being first in every company,
whether she cared for the persons composing it, or not.
Mental sufferinor had driven the latter fiir enoudi from her :
though it would return worse than ever, if her mind were not
filled with truth in the place of ambition. So she did not re-
spond to what Harry said. Indeed, she did not speak again,
except to beg him to leave her alone. She did not make her
appearance again that day.
But at night, when the household was retiring, she rose from
the bed on Avhich she had been lying half unconscious, and
going to the door, opened it a little Avay, that she might hear
when IMargaret sliould pass from JMrs. Elton's room towards
her OAvn. She waited for some time ; but judging, at length,
that she must have passed Avithout her knoAvledge, she
went and knocked at her door. jMargaret opened it a little,
after a moment's delay, half undressed.
" May I come in, Margaret ? "
" Pray, do, Miss Cameron," answered Margaret.
And she opened the door quite. Her cap Avas off, and her
rich dark hair fell on her shoulders, and streamed thence to
her Avaist. Her under-clothing Avas Avhite as snoAv.
" AVhat a lovely skin she has ! " tiiought Euphra, compar-
ing it with her own tawny complexion. She felt, for the first
time, that Margaret was beautiful, — yes, more: that Avhatcver
her gown might be, her form and her skin (give me a prettier
word, kind reader, for a beautiful fact, and I Avill gladly use
it) Avere those of one of nature's ladies. She AA'as soon to
find that her intellect and spirit were those of one of God's
ladies.
DAVID ELaiNBROD. 385
"I am very sorry, Margaret, that I spoke to you as I did
to-day."
"Never mind it. Miss Cameron. We cannot help being
angry sometimes. And you had great provocation under the
mistake you made. I was only sorry, because I knew it would
trouble you afterwards. Please don't think of it again."
"You are very kind, Margaret."
"I regretted my father's death, for the first time, after
reading your letter, for I knew he could have helped you. But
it was very foolish of me, for God is not dead."
Margaret smiled as she said this, looking full in Euphra's
eyes. It was a smile of meaning unfathomable, and it quite
overcame Euphra. She had never liked Margaret before ; for,
from not very obscure psychological causes, she had never felt
comfortable in her presence, especially after she had encoun-
tered the nun in the Ghost's Walk, though she had had no sus-
picion that the nun was Margaret. A great many of our dis-
likes, both to persons and things, arise from a feeling of
discomfort associated with them, perhaps only accidentally
present in our minds the first time Ave met them. But this
vanished entirely now.
" Do you, then, know God too, Margaret? "
" Yes," answered Margaret, simply and solemnly. .
" Will you tell me about him? "
" I can at least tell you about my father, and what he taught
me."
" Oh ! thank you, thank you ! Do tell me about him, —
now."
" Not now, dear Miss Cameron. It is late, and you are too
unwell to stay up longer. Let me help you to bed to-night. I
will be your maid."
As she spoke, Margaret proceeded to put on her dress again,
that she might go with Euphra, who had no attendant. She
had parted with Jane, and did not care, in her present mood,
to have a woman about her, especially a new one.
"No, Margaret. You have enougji to do without adding me
to your troubles!"
" Please, do let me. Miss Cameron. It will be a great
pleasure to me. I have hardly anything to call wOrk. You
should see how I used to work when I was at home."
25
336 DAVID ELGINBROD.
Euphra still objected, but Margaret's entreaty prevailed.
She followed Euphra to her room. There she served her like
a ministering angel; brushed her hair — oh, so gently!
smoothing it out as if she loved it. There was health in the
touch of her hands, because there was love. She undressed
her; covered her in bed as if she had been a child ; made up
the fire to last as long as possible ; bade her good-night ;
and was leaving the room, when Euphra called her. Margaret
returned to the bedside.
" Kiss me, Margaret," she said.
Margaret stooped, kissed her forehead and her lips, and left
her.
Euphra cried herself to sleep. They were the first teara
she had ever shed that were not painful tears. She slept as
she had not slept for months.
In order to understand this change in Euphrasia's behavior
to Margaret — in order, in fact, to represent it to our minds as
at all credible — we must remember that she had been trying
to do right for some time ; that Margaret, as the daughter of
David, seemed the only attainable source of the knowledge she
sought ; that long illness had greatly weakened her obstinacy ;
that her soul hungered, without knowing it, for love ; and that
she was naturally gifted with a strong will, the position in
which she stood in relation to the count proving only that it
was not strong enough, and not that it was weak. Such a
character must, for any good, be ruled by itself, and not by
circumstances. To have been overcome in the process of time
by the persistent goodness of Margaret, might have been the
blessed fate of a weaker and worse woman ; but if Euphra did
not overcome herself, there was no hope of further victory. If
Margaret could even wither the power of her oppressor, it
would be but to transfer the lordship from a bad man to a good
woman; and that would not be enough. It would not be free-
dom. And, indeed, the aid that Margaret had to give hei
could only be bestowed on one who already had freedom enough
to act in some degree from duty. She knew she ought to gu
and apologize to Margaret. She went.
In Margaret's presence, and in such a mood, she was sub-
jected at once to the holy enchantment of her loving-kindnesd,
Bhe had never received any tenderness from a woman before.
DAVID ELGINBROD. 887
Perhaps she had never been in the right mood to profit bj
it if she had. Nor had she ever before seen Avhat Margaret
was. It was only when service — divine service — flowed
from her in full outgoing, that she reached the height of her
loveliness. Then her whole form was beautiful. So was it
interpenetrated by, and respondent to, the uprising soul within,
that it radiated thought and feeling as if it had been all spirit.
This beauty rose to its best in her eyes. When she was min-
istering to any one in need, iier eyes seemed to worship the
object of her faithfulness, as if all the time she felt that she was
doing it unto Him. Her deeds were devotion. She was the
receiver, and not the giver. Before this, Euphra had seen
only the still, waiting face ; and, as I have said, she had been
repelled by it. Once within the sphere of the radiation of her
attraction, she was drawn towards her, as towards the haven of
her peace ; she loved her.
To this, at length, had her struggle with herself in the
silence of her own room, and her meditations on her couch,
conducted her. Shall we say that these alone had been and
were leading her ? Or that to all these there was a hidden
root, and an informing spirit ? Who would not rather believe
that his thoughts come from an infinite, self-sphered, self-
constituting thought, than that they rise somehoAv out of a
blank abyss of darkness, and are only thought when he
thinks them, which thinking he cannot predetermine or even
foresee ?
When Euphra woke, her first breath was like a deep draught
of spiritual Avater. She felt as if some sorrow had passed
from her, and some gladness come in its stead. She thought
and thought, and found that the gladness was Margaret. She
had scarcely made the discovery, when the door gently opened,
and Margaret peeped in to see if she were awake.
" May I come in ?" she said.
"Yes, please, Margaret."
" How do you feel to-day ? "
"Oh, so much better, dear Margaret! Your kindness
will make me well."
" I am so glad ! Do lie still a while, and I will bring you
some breakfast. Mrs. Elton will be so pleased to find you let
me wait on you ! "
388 DAVID ELGINBROD.
"She asked me, Margaret, if you should, but I was too
miserable — and too naughty, for I did not like you."
"I knew that; but I felt sure you would not dislike me
always."
"Why?"
" Because I could not help loving you."
" Why did you love me? "
''I will tell you half the reason. Because you looked
>" lappy."
' What was the other half ? "
" That I cannot — I mean I will not tell you."
"Never?"
" Perhaps never. But I don't know. Not now."
" Then I must not ask you ? "
" No — please."
"Very well, I won't."
" Thank you. I will go and get your breakfast."
" What can she mean ? " said Euphra to herself.
But she would never have found out.
CHAPTER LXI.
DAVID ELGINBROD.
He being dead yet speaketh.
Heb. xi. 4.
In all " he " did
Some figure of the golden tirnea was hid.
Db. Donne.
From this time, Margaret waited upon Euphra, as if she
had been her own maid. Nor had Mrs. Elton any cause of
complaint, for Margaret was always at hand when she was
wanted. Indeed, her mistress was full of her praises.
Euphra said little.
Many and long were the conversations between the two
girlsj when all but themselves were asleep. Sometimes
1
DAVID ELGINBROD. 389
Harry made one of the company ; but they could always send
him away Avlien they wished to be alone. And now the
teaching for which Euphra had longed, sprang in a fountain
at her own door. It had been nigh her long, and she had not
known it, for its hour had not come. Now she drank as only
the thirsty drink, — as they drink whose very souls are faint-
in«; within them for drouo-ht.
But how did Margaret embody her lessons ?
The second night, she came to Euphra's room, and
said : —
' ' Shall I tell you about my father to-night ? Are you
able?"
Euphra was delighted. It was what she had been hoping
for all day.
" Do tell me. I long to hear about him."
So they sat down ; and Margaret began to talk about her
childhood ; the cottage she lived in ; the fir-wood all around
it ; the work she used to do ; — her side, in short, of the story
which, in the commencement of this book, I have partly re-
lated from Hugh's side. Summer and winter, spring-time
and harvest, storm and sunshine, — all came into the tale. Her
mother came into it often ; and often too, though not so often,
the grand form of her father appeared, remained for a little
while, and then passed away. Every time Euphra saw hira
thus in the mirror of Margaret's memory, she saw him more
clearly than before ; she felt as if, soon, she should know him
quite well. Sometimes she asked a question or tAVO ; but
generally she allowed Margaret's Avords to flow unchecked;
for she painted her pictures better when the colors did not dry
between. They talked on, or rather Margaret talked and
Euphra listened, far into the night. At length Margaret
stopped suddenly, for she became aware that a long time had
passed. Looking at the clock on the chimney-piece, she
said : —
"I have done wrong to keep you up so late. Come — I
must get you to bed. You are an invalid, you know, and I
am your nurse as well as your maid."
" You will come to-morrow night, then ? "
"Yes, I will."
" Then I will go to bed like a good child."
890 DAVID ELGINBROD.
Margaret undressed her, and left her to the nealing of
Bleep.
The next night she spoke again of her father, and what he
taught her. Euphra had thought much about him ; and at
every fresh touch which the story gave to the portrait she
knew him better ; till at last, even when circumstances not
mentioned before came up, she seemed to have known them
from the bejrinninoj.
" What was your father like, Margaret? "
Margaret described him very nearly as I have done, from
Plugh's account, in the former part of the story. Euphra
said : —
" Ah ! yes. That is almost exactly as I had fancied him.
Is it not strange?"
" It is very natural, I think," answered Margaret.
" I seem now to have known him for years."
But what is most worthy of record is, that ever as the
picture of David grew on the vision of Euphra, the idea of
God was growing unawares upon her inward sight. She Avas
learning more and more about God all the time. The sight of
human excellence awoke a faint ideal of the divine perfection.
Faith came of itself, and abode, and grew ; for it needs but
a vision of the divine, and faith in God is straightway born m
the soul that beholds it. Thus, faith and sight are one. The
being of her Father in heaven was no more strange and far off
from her, when she had seen such a father on earth as
Margaret's was. It was not alone David's faith that begot
hers, but the man himself was a faith-begetting presence. He
was the evidence of God with them. Thus he, being dead,
yet spoke, and the departed man was a present power.
Euphra began to read the story of the gospel. So did
Harry. They found much on which to desire enlightenment ;
and they always applied to Margaret for the light they needed.
It was long before she ventured to say / think. She always
said : —
" My father used to say — " or, "I think my father would
have said — "
It was not until Euphra was in great trouble, some time
after this, and required the immediate consolation of personal
testimony, that Margaret spoke as from herself; and then she
DAVID ELGINBROD. 391
spoke with positive assurance of faith. She did not then even
say I tJiink, but, lam sure; I know ; I have seen.
Many interviews of this sort did not take place between
them before Euphra, in her turn, began to confide her history
to jNIargaret.
It was a strangely different one, — full of outward event
and physical trouble ; but, till it approached the last stages,
wonderfully barren as to inward production or development.
It was a history of Euphra's circumstances and peculiarities,
not of Euphra herself. Till of late, she had scarcely had any
history. Margaret's, oh the contrary, was a true history ; for,
with much of the monotonous in circumstance, it described
individual growth, and the change of progress. Where there
is no change there can be no history : and as all change ia
either growth or decay, all history must describe progress or
retrogression. The former had now begun for Euphra as
v/ell ; and it was one proof of it that she told Margaret all I
have already recorded for my readers, at least as far as it bore
against herself. How much more she told her I am unable
to say ; but after she had told it, Euphra was still more
humble towards Margaret, and Margaret more tender, more
full of service, if possible, and more devoted to Euphra.
CHAPTER LXII.
Margaret's secret.
Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
Shakespeare. — Sonnet cxvi.
Margaret could not proceed very far in the story of her
life, without making some reference to Hugh Sutherland. But
she carefully avoided mentioning his name. Perhaps no one
less calm, and free from the operation of excitement, could
have been so successful in suppressing it.
392 DAVID ELGINBROD.
" Ah ! " said Euphra, one day, " your history is a little like
mine there ; a tutor comes into them both. Did you not fall
dreadfully in love with liim? "
" I loved him very much."
" Where is he now ? "
"In London, I believe."
" Do you never see him ? "
"No."
" Have you never seen him since he left your home — with
the curious name ? "
" Yes ; but not spoken to him."
"Where?"
Margaret was silent. Euphra knew her well enough now
not to repeat the question.
" I should have been in love with him, I know."
Margaret only smiled.
Another day, Euphra said : —
" What a good boy that Harry is ! And so'clever too. Ah !
Margaret, I have behaved like the devil to that boy. I wanted
to have him all to myself, and so kept him a child. Need I
confess all my ugliest sins ? ' '
"Not to rae, certainly, dear Miss Cameron. Tell God to
look into your heart, and take them all out of it."
" I will. I do. I even enticed Mr. Sutherland away from
him to me, when he was the only real friend he had, that I
might have them both."
" But you have done your best to make up for it since."
" I have tried a little. I cannot say I have done my best.
I have been so peevish and irritable."
" You could not quite help that."
' ' HoAv kind you are to excuse me so ! It makes me so much
stronger to try again."
" My father used -to say that God was always finding every
excuse for us that could be found ; every true one, you know ;
not one false one."
" That does comfort one."
After a pause, Euphra resumed : —
"Mr. Sutherland did me some good, Margaret."
" I do not wonder at that."
" He made me think less about Count Halkar ; and that was
DAVID ELGINBROD. 393
something, for he hi.«anted me. I did not know then how very
wicked he was. I did love him once. Oh, how I hate him
now ! "
And she started up and paced the room like a tigress in its
Cage.
Margaret did not judge this the occasion to read her a lecture
on the duty of forgiveness. She had enough to do to keep
from hating the man herself, I suspect. But she tried to turn
her thoughts into another channel.
"Mr. Sutherland loved you very much, Miss Cameron."
" He loved me once," said poor Euphra, with a sigh.
"I saw he did. That was why I began to love you
too."
Margaret had at last unwittingly opened the door of her
secret. She had told the other reason for loving Euphra.
But, naturally enough, Euphra could not understand what she^
meant. Perhaps some of my readers, understanding Margaret's
words perfectly," and their reference too, may be so far from
understanding Margaret herself, as to turn upon me and say: —
' ' Impossible ! You cannot have understood her or any other
woman."
Well !
" What do you mean, Margaret? "
Margaret both blushed and laughed outright.
"■ I must confess it," said she at once ; "it cannot hurt him
now : my tutor and yours are the same."
" Impossible ! "
" True."
" And you never spoke all the time you were both at Arn-
stead ? "
" Not once. He never knew I was in the house."
' ' How strange ! And you saw he loved me ? ' '
"Yes."
" And you were not jealous ? "
" I did not say that. But I soon found that the only way
to escape from my jealousy, if the feeling I had was jealousy,
was to love you too. I did."
" You beautiful creature ! But you could not have loved
him much."
" I loved him enough to love you for his sake. But why
894 DAVID ELGINBROD.
(lid he stop loving jou ? I fear I shall nut be able to love him
so much now."
" He could not help it, Margaret. I deserved it."
Euphra hid her face in her hands.
" lie could not have really loved you, then? "
" Which is better to believe, Margaret," said Euphra, un-
covering her face, which two tears were lingering down, and
looking up at her, — "that he never loved me, or that he
stopped loving me ? "
" For his sake, the first."
'' And for my sake, the second ? "
''■ That depends."
" So it does. He must have found plenty of faults in me.
But I Avas not so bad as he thought me when he stopped loving
me."
Margaret's answer was one of her loving smiles, in which
her eyes had more share than her lips.
It would have been unendurable to Euphra, a little while
before, to find that she had a rival in a servant. Noav she
scarcely regarded that aspect of her position. But she looked
doubtfully at Margaret, and then said : —
" How is it that you take it so quietly? — for your love
must have been very different from mine. Indeed, I am not
sure that I loved him* at all ; and after I had made up my
mind to it quite, it did not hurt me so very much. But you
must have loved him dreadfully."
" Perhaps I did. But I had no anxiety about it."
"But that you could not leave to a father such as yours
even to settle."
" No. But I could to God. I could trust God with what
I could not speak to my father about. He is my father's Father,
you know ; and so more to him and me than we could be to
each other. The more we love God, the more we love each
other ; for we find he makes the very love vfhich sometimes we
foolishly fear to do injustice to, by loving him most. I love
my father ten times more because he loves God, and because
God has secrets with him."
" I wish God were a Father to me as he is to you, Margaret."
" But he is your Father, whether you wish it or not. He
cannot be moie your Father than he is. You may be more his
DAVI% ELGINBROD. 895
child than you are, but not more than he meant you to be, nor
more than he made you for. You are infinitely more his child
than you have grown to yet. He made you altogether his
child, but you have not given in to it yet."
•' Oh ! yes ; I know Avhat you mean. I feel it is true."
"The Pi'odi^al Son was his father's child. He knew it,
and gave in to it. He did not say, ' I wish my father loved
nie enough to treat me like a child again.' He did not say
that, but — I will arise and go to my father.''''
Euphra made no answer, but wept. Margaret said no more.
Euphra was the first to resume.
' ' Mr. Sutherland was very kind, Margaret. He promised
— and I know he will keep his promise — to do all he could to
help me. I hope he is finding out where that wicked count is."
'• Write to him, and ask him to come and see you. He does
not know where you are."
•' But I don't know where he is."
"I do."
" Do you ? " rejoined Euphra, with sonlfe surprise.
"But he does not know where I am. I will give you his
address, if you like."
Euphra pondei-ed a little. She would have liked very much
to see him, for she was anxious to know of his success. The
love she had felt for him was a very small obstacle to their
meeting now ; for her thoughts had been occupied with afi'airs,
before the interest of which the poor love she had then been
capable of had melted away and vanished, — vanished, that is
in all that was restrictive and engrossing in its character.
But now that she knew the relation that had existed between
Margaret and him. she shrunk from doing anything that might
seem to Margaret to give Euphra an opportunity of regaining
his preference. Not that she had herself the smallest hope,
even had she had the "smallest desire of doing so ; but she
would not even suggest the idea of being Max'garet's rival.
At length she answered : —
" Xo, thank you, Margaret. As soon as he has anything
to report, he will write to Arnstead, and Mrs. Horton will for-
ward me the letter. No — it is quite unnecessary."
. Euphra's health was improving a little, though still she was
far from strong.
S96 DAVID ELGIJIBROD.
CHAPTER LXIIL
FOREBODINGS.
Faust. If heaven was made for man, 'twas made for me.
Good Angel. Faustus, repent ; yet Heaven will pity thee.
Bad Angel. Thou art a spirit, God cannot pity thee.
Faust. Be I a devil, yet God may pity me.
Bad Angel. Too late.
Good Angel. Never too late if Faustus will repent.
Bad Angel. If thou repent, devils will tear thee in pieces.
Old Man. I see an angel hover o'er thy head,
And with a vial full of precious grace,
Offers to pour the same into thy soul.
Marlowe. — Doctor Fattstus.
Mr. Appleditch had had some business-misfortunes, not of u
heavy nature, but sufficient to cast a gloom over the house in
Dervish Town, and especially over the face of his spouse, who
had set her heart on a new carpet for her drawing-room, and
feared she ought not to procure it now. It is wonderful how
conscientious some people are towards their balance at the
banker's. How the drawing-room, however, could Qome to
want a new carpet is something mysterious, except there is a
peculiar power of decay inherent in things deprived of use.
These influences operating, however, she began to think that
the two scions of grocery were not drawing nine shillings'
worth a week of the sap of divinity. This she hinted to Mr.
Appleditch. It was resolved to give Hugh warning.
As it would involve some awkwardness to state reasons,
Mrs. Appleditch resolved to quarrel Avith him, as the easiest
way of prefacing his discharge. It was the way she took with
her maids-of-all-work ; for it was grand in itself, and always left
her with a comfortable feeling of injured dignity.
As a preliminary coui'se, she began' to treat him with still
less politeness than before. Hugh was so careless of her be-
havior, that this made no impression upon him. But he came
to understand it all afterwards, from putting together the re-
marks of the children, and the partial communications of Mr.
Appleditch to Miss Talbot, which that good lady innocently
imparted to her lodger.
At length, one day, she came into the room where Hugh
DAVID ELGINBROU. 397
was more busy in teaching than his pupils were in learning,
and seated herself by the fire to watch for an opportunity.
This was soon found. For the boys, rendered still more in-
attentive by the presence of their mother, could not be induced
to fix the least thought upon the matter in hand ; so that
Hugh was compelled to go over the same thing again and again,
without success. At last he said : —
" I am afraid, Mrs. Appleditch, I must ask you to interfere,
for I cannot get any attention from the boys to-day."
" And how could it be otherwise, Mr. Sutherland, when you
keep wearing them out with going over and over the same
thing, till they are sick of it ? Why don't you go on ? "
"How can I go on when they have not learned the thing
they are at ? That would be to build the chimneys before the
walls."
"It is very easy to be wittj, sir ; but I beg you will behava
more respectfully to me in the presence of my children, inno-
cent lambs ! '"
Looking round at the moment, Hugh caught in his face
what the eldest lamb had intended for his back, — a grimace hide-
ous enough to have procured him instant promotion in the
kingdom of apes. The mother saw it too, and added : —
" You see you cannot make them respect you. Really, Mr.
Sutherland ! "
Hugh was about to reply, to the efiect that it was useless,
in such circumstances, to attempt teaching them at all, some
utterance of which sort was watched for as the occasion for his
instant dismission ; but at that very moment a carriage and pair
pulled shai'ply up at the door, Avith more than the usual amount
of quadrupedation^ and mother and sons darted simultaneously
to the window.
" My ! " cried Johnnie, " what a rum go ! Isn't that a jolly
carriage, Peetie?"
" Papa's bought a carriage ! " shouted Peetie.
" Be quiet, children," said their mother, as she saw a foot-
man get down and approach the door.
" Look at that bufier," said Johnnie. "Do come and see
this grand footman, Mr. Sutherland. He's such a gentleman ! "
A box on the ear from his mother silenced him. The ser-
vant, entering with some perturbation a moment after, ad-
898 DAVID ELGINBROD.
dressed her mistress, for she dared not address any one else
while she was in the room : —
" Please' m, the carriage is astin' after Mr. Sutherland."
"Mr. Sutherland?"
"Yes'm."
The ladj turned to Mr. Sutherland, who, although surprised
as well, was not inclined to show his surprise to Mrs. Apple-
ditch.
"I did not know you had carriage-friends, Mr. Suther-
land," said she, with a toss of her head.
" Neither did I," answered Hugh. " But I will go and see
who it is."
When he reached the street, he found Harry on the pave-
ment, who, having got out of the carriage, and not having been
asked into the house, was unable to stand still from impatience.
As soon as he saw his tutor, he bounded to him, and threw
his arms round his neck, standing as they were in the open
street. Tears of delight filled his eyes.
" Come, come, come," said Harry ; "we all want you."
" Who wants me? "
" Mrs. Elton and Euphra and me. Come, get in."
And he pulled Hugh towards the carriage.
"I cannot go with you now. I have pupils here."
Harry's face fell.
" When will you come ? "
" In half an hour."
" Hurrah ! I shall be back exactly in half an hour then.
Do be ready, please, Mr. Sutherland."
"I win."
Harry jumped into the carriage, telling the coachman to
drive where he pleased, and be back at the same place in half
an hour. Hugh returned into the house.
As may be supposed, Margaret was the means of this happy
meeting. Although she saw plainly enough that Euphra
would like to see Hugh, she did not for some time make up
her mind to send for him. The circumstances which made her
resolve to do so were these : —
For some days Euphra seemed to be gradually regaining her
health and composure of mind. One evening, after a longer
talk than usual, Margaret had left her in bed, and had gone
DAVID ELGINBROD. 399
to her own room. She was just preparing to get into bed her-
self, when a knock at her door startled her, and, going to it,
she saw Euphra standing there, pale as death, with nothing on
her but her night-gown, notwithstanding the bitter cold of an
early and severe frost. She thought at first she must be walk-
ing in her sleep, but the scared intelligence of her open eyes
soon satisfied her that it was not so
•'What is the matter, dear Miss Cameron?" she said, as
calmly as she could.
"He is coming. He wants me. If he calls me, I
must go."
" No, jou shall not go," rejoined Margaret, firmly.
"I must, I must," answered Euphra; wringing her hands.
" Do come in," said Margaret; "you must not stand there
in the cold."
" Let me get into your bed."
" Better let me go with you to yours. That will be more
comfortable for you."
"Oh, yes ; please do."
Margaret threw a shawl round Euphra, and went back with
her to her room.
"He wants me. He wants me. He will call me soon,"
said Euphra, in an agonized whisper, as soon as the door was
shut. " What s/ia?? I do ? "
" Come to bed first, and we will talk about it there."
As soon as they were in bed, Margaret put her arm round
Euphra, who was trembling Avith cold and fear, and said : —
" Has this man any right to call you? "
"No, no," answered Euphra, vehemently.
"Then don't go/'
" But I am afraid of him."
" Defy him, in Gods name."
"But, besides the fear, there is something thatlcan't describe,
that always keeps telling me — no, not telling me, pushing
me — no, drawing me, as if I could not rest a moment till I
go. I cannot describe it. I hate to go. and yet I feel that if
I were cold in my grave, I must rise and go if he called me.
I wish I could tell you what it is like. It is as if some demon
were shaking my soul till I yielded and went. Oh ! don't
despise me. I can't help it."
400 DAVID ELGINBROD.
" Mj darling, I don't, I can't, despise you. You shall not
go to him."
"But I must," answered she, with a despairing faintness
more convincing than any vehemence ; and then began to weep
with a slow, hopeless weeping, like the rain of a November
eve.
Margaret got out of bed. Euphra thought she was offended.
Starting up, she clasped her hands, and said : —
"0 Margaret ! I' won't crj. Don't leave me. Don't leave
me."
She entreated like a chidden child.
"No, no, I didn't mean to leave you for a moment. Lie
down again, dear, and cry as much as you like. I am going
to read a little bit out of the New Testament to you."
" I am afraid I can't listen to it."
"Never mind. Don't try. I want to read it."
Margaret got a New Testament, and read part of that chap-
ter of St. John's Gospel which speaks about human labor and
the bread of life. She stopped at these words : —
" For I came doAvn from heaven, not to do mine own will,
but the will of Him that sent me."
Euphra's tears had ceased. The sound of Margaret's voice,
which, if it lost in sweetness by becoming more Scotch when
she read the gospel, yet gained thereby in pathos, and
the power of the blessed words themselves had soothed the
troubled spirit a little, and she lay quiet.
" The count is not a good man. Miss Cameron ? "
" You know he is not, Margaret. He is the worst man alive."
" Then it cannot be God's will that you should go to him."
" But one does many things that are not God's will."
" But it is God's will that you should not go to him."
Euphra lay silent for a few moments. Suddenly she ex-
claimed, "Then I must not go to him," — got out of bed,
threw herself on her knees by the bedside, and, holding up her
clasped hands, said, in low tones that sounded as if forced from
her by agony : —
"I won't ! I won't ! God, I will not. Help me, help
me!"
Margaret knelt beside her, and put her arm round her.
Euphra spoke no more, but remained kneeling, with her ex-
DAVID ELGINBROD. 401
tended arms and clasped hands lying on the bed, and her hea(i
hk\ between them. At length, Margaret grew alarmed, and
looked at her. But she found that she was in a sweet sleep.
She gently disengaged herself, and, covering her up soft and
warm, left her to sleep out her God-sent sleep undisturbed,
Avhile ^he sat beside, and watched for her waking.
She slept thus for an hour. Then lifting her head, and see-
ing Margaret, she rose quietly, as if from her prayers, and
said with a smile : —
" Mariraret. I was dreaming that I had a mother."
" So you have, somewhere."
" Yes, so I have, somewhere," she repeated, and crept into
bed like a child, lay down, and was asleep again in a moment.
JNIargaret watched her for another hour, and then, seeing no
signs of restlessness, but that on the contrary her sleep was
profound, lay down beside her, and soon shared in that repose
which to weary w'omen and men is God's best gift.
She rose at her usual hour the next day, and was dressed
before Euphra awoke. It was a cold gray December morning,
with the hoar-frost lying thick on the roofs of the houses.
Euphra opened her eyes while Margaret was busy lighting the
fire. Seeing that she was there, she closed them again, and
fell once more fast asleep. Before she woke again, Margaret
had some tea ready for her; after taking which, she felt able
to get up. She rose looking more briglit and hopeful than
Margaret had seen her before.
But Margaret, who watched her intently through the day,
saw a change come over her cheer. Her face grew pale and
troubled. Now and then her eyes were fixed on vacancy ; and
again she would look at Margaret with a woe-begone expression
of countenance ; but presently, as if recollecting herself, would
smile and look clieerful for a moment. Margaret saw that the
conflict was coming on, if not already begun, — that at least its
shadow was upon her ; and thinking that if she could have a
talk with Hugh about what he had been doing, it Avould com-
fort her a little, and divert her thoughts from herself, even if
no farther or moi-e pleasantly than to the count, she let Hai-ry
know Hugh's address, as given in the letter to her father. She
was certain that, if Harry succeeded in finding him, nothing
more was necessary to insure his being brought to Mrs. Elton's.
26
402 DAVID ELGINBROD,
As we have seen, Harry had traced him to Buccleuch Ter-
race.
Hugh re-entered the house in the same mind in which he had
gone 3ut ; namely, that after Mrs. Appleditch's behavior to
him before his pupils, he could not remain their tutor any
longer, however great his need might be of the pittance he
received for his services.
But although Mrs. Appleditch's first feeling had been jeal-
ousy of Hugh's acquaintance with "carriage people," the
toadyism which is so essential an element of such jealousy
had by this time revived ; and when Hugh was proceeding to
finish the lesson he had begun, intending it to be his last, she
said : —
"Why didn't you ask your friend into the drawing-room,
Mr. Sutherland?"
" Good gracious ! The drawing-room ! " thought Hugh —
but answered, " He will fetch me when the lesson is over."
" I am sure, sir, any friends of yours that like to call upon
you here will be very welcoixic. It will be more agreeable to
you to receive them here, of course ; for your accommodation
at poor Miss Talbot's is hardly suitable for such visitors."
" I am sorry to say, however," answered Hugh, '• that after
the way you have spoken to me to-day, in the presence of my
pupils, I cannot continue my relation to them any longer."
" Ho ! ho! " retorted the lady, indignation and scorn ming-
ling with mortification ; " our grand visitors have set our backs
up. Very well, Mr. Sutherland, you Avill oblige me by leav-
ing the house at once. Don't trouble yourself, pray, to finish
the lesson. I will pay you for it all the same. Anything to
get rid of a man who insults me before the very faces of my
innocent lambs ! And please to remember," she added, as she
pulled out her purse, while Hugh was collecting some books he
had lent the boys, "that when you were starving, my husband
and I took you in and gave you employment out of charity —
pure charity, Mr. Sutherland. Here is your money."
" Good-morning, Mrs. Appleditch," said Hugh : and walked
out with his books under his arm, leaving her with the money
in her hand.
He had to knock his feet on the pavement in front of the
house, to keep them from freezing, for half an hour, before the
DAVID ELGIXBROD. 403
carriage arrived to take him away. As soon as it came up,
he jumped into it, and was carried off in triumph by Harrj.
Mrs. Elton received him kindlj. Euphra held out her hand
with a slight blush, and the quiet familiarity of an old friend.
Hugh could almost have fallen in love with her again, from
compassion for her pale, worn face, and subdued expression.
Mrs. Elton went out in the carriage almost directly, and
Euphra begged Harry to leave them alone, as she had some-
thing to talk to Mr. Sutherland about.
" Have you found any trace of Count Halkar, Hugh? " she
said, the moment they were by themselves.
" I am very sorry to say I have not. I have done my best."
" I am quite sure of that. I just wanted to tell you that,
from certain indications, which no one could understand so well
as myself, I think you will have more chance of finding him
now."
" I am delighted to hear it," responded Hugh. " If I only
had him ! "
Euphra sighed, paused, and then said : —
' ' But I am not sure of it. I think he is in London ; but
he may be in Bohemia, for anything I know. I shall, how-
ever, in all probability, know more about him within a few
days."
Hugh resolved to go at once to Falconer, and communicate
to him what Euphra had told him. But he said nothing to
her as to the means by which he had tried to discover the
count ; for altbouo;h he felt ;::ure that he had done right in tell-
ing Falconer all about it, he was afraid lest Euphra, not know-
ing what sort of a man he was, might not like it. Euphra, on
her part, did not mention Margaret's name ; for she had
begged her not to do so.
'• You will tell me when you know yourself? "
" Perhaps. I will, if I can. I do wish you could get the
ring. I have a painful feeling that it gives him power over me."
'•That can only be a nervous fancy, surely," Hugh ven-
tured to say.
" Perhaps it is. I don't know. But still, without that, there
are plenty of reasons for wishing to recover it. He will put
it to a bad use, if he can. But for your sake, especially, I
wish we could get it."
404 DAVID ELGINBROD.
" Thank you. You were always kind."
" No." she replied, without lifting her eyes ; "I brought it
all upon you."
" But you could not help it."
" Not at the moment. But all that led to it was my fault."
She paused ; then suddenly resumed : —
" I will confess. Do you know what gave rise to the reports
of the house being haunted? "
"No."
' ' It was me wandering about it at night, looking for that very
ring;, to give to the count. It was shameful. But I did.
Those reports prevented me from being found out. But I hope
not many ghosts are so miserable as I was. You remember
my speaking to you of Mr. Arnold's jewels? "
"Yes, perfectly."
" I wanted to find out, through you, where the ring was.
But I had no intention of involving you."
" I am sure you had not."
"Don't be too sure of anything about me. I don't know
what I might have been led to do. But I am very sorry.
Do forgive me."
" I cannot allow that I have anything to forgive. But tel)
me, Euphra, were you the creature in white that I saw in the
Ghost's Walk one night? I don't mean the last^time."
" Very likely," she answered, bending her head yet lower,
with a sigh.
" Then who was the creature in black that met you? Ano
what became of you then? "
"Did you see 7ier .'^ " rejoined Euphra, turning paler still.
" I fainted at sight of her. I took her for the nun that hangs
in that horrid room."
"So did I," said Hugh. "But you could not have lain
long ; for I went up to the spot where you vanished, and
found nothing."
" I suppose I got into the shrubbery before I fell. Or the
count dragged me in. But was that really a ghost? I feel
now as if it was a good messenger, whether ghost or not, come
to warn me, if I had had the courage to listen. I wish I had
taken the warning."
DAVID ELGINBROD. 405
They talked about these and other things, till Mrs. Elton,
who had made Hugh promise to stay to lunch, returned.
When they were seated at table, the kind-hearted woman
said : —
"Now, Mr. Sutherland, when will you begin again with
Harry?"
" I do not quite understand you," answered Hugh.
"Of course you will come and give him lessons, poor boy.
He will be broken-hearted if you don't."
"I wish I could. But I cannot — at least yet; for I
know his father was dissatisfied with me. That was one of
the reasons that made him send Harry to London."
Harry looked wretchedly disappointed, but said nothing.
" I never heard him say anything of the sort."
"I am sure of it, though. I am very sorry he has mis-
taken me ; but he will know me better some day."
"I will take all the responsibility," persisted Mrs. Elton.
" But unfortunately the responsibility sticks too fast for
you to take it. I cannot get rid of my share, if I would."
" You are too particular. I am sure Mr. Arnold never
could have meant that. This is my house too."
" But Harry is his boy. If you will let me come and see
him sometimes, I shall be very thankful, though. I may be
useful to him without giving him lessons."
" Thank you," said Harry, with delight.
"Well, well! I suppose you are so much in request in
London that you won't miss him for a pupil."
" On the contrary, I have not a single engagement. If you
could find me one, I should be exceedingly obliged to you."
" Dear ! dear ! dear ! " said Mrs. Elton. " Then you shall
have Harry."
" Oh ! yes ; please take me," said Harry, beseechingly.
" No, I cannot. I must not."
Mrs. Elton rang the bell.
"James, tell the coachman I want the carriage in an
hour."
Mrs. Elton was as submissive to her coachman as ladies who
have carriages generally are, and would not have dreamed of
orderino; the horses out so soon aojain for herself; but she for-
got everything else when a friend was in need of help, and
406 DAVID ELGINBROD.
became perfectly ijacliydermatous to the offended looks or
indijinant liints of that important functionary.
Within a few minutes after Hugh took his leave, Mrs.
Elton was on her way to repeat a visit she had already paid
the same morning, and to make several other calls, with the
express object of finding pupils for Hugh. But in this she
was not so successful as sh6 had expected. In fact, no one
whom she could think of wanted such services at present.
She returned home quite down-hearted, and all but convinced
that nothing could be done before the approach of the Loudon
season.
CHAPTER LXIV.
STRIFE.
They'll turn mo in your arms, Janet,
An adder and a snake;
But hand me fast, let me not pass,
Gin ye would be my maik.
They'll turn me in your arms, Janet,
An adder and an aske;
They'll turn mo in your arms, Janet,
A bale that burns fast.
They'll shape me in your arms, Janet,
A dove, but and a swan;
And last, they'll shape me in your arms
A mother-naked man:
Cast your green mantle over me —
An sae shall I be wan.
Scotch Ballad: Tamlanc.
As soon as Hugh had left the house, Margaret hastened to
Euphra. She found her in her own room, a little more cheer-
ful, but still strangely depressed. This appearance increased
towards the evening, till her looks became quite haggard,
revealing an inAvard conflict of growing agony. Margaret
remained with her.
Just before dinner, the upstairs bell, whose summons
Margaret was accustomed to obey, rang, and she went down.
DAVID ELGINBROD. 407
Mrs. Elton detained her for a few minutes. The moment she
was at liberty, she flew to Euphra's room by the back stair-
case. But, as she ascended, she was horrified to meet Euphra,
in a cloak and thick veil, creeping down the staii'S like a tliief.
Without saying a word, the strong girl lifted her in her arms
as if she had been a child, and carried her back to her room.
Euphra neither struggled nor spoke. Margaret laid her on
her couch, and sat down beside her. She lay without moving,
and, although wide awake, gave no other sign of existence
than an occasional low moan, that seemed to come from a heart
pressed almost to death.
Having lain thus for an hour, she broke the silence,
" Margaret, dg you despise me dreadfully? "
" No, not in the least."
" Yet you found me going to do what I knew was wrong."
" You had not made yourself strong by thinking about the
will of God. Had you, dear? "
"No. I will tell you how it was. I had been tormented
with the inclination to go to him, and had been resisting it till
I was worn out, and could hardly bear it more. Suddenly all
grew calm within me, and I seemed to hate Count Halkar no
longer. I thought with myself how easy it would be to put a
stop to this dreadful torment, just by yielding to it — onl}''
this once. I thought I should then be stron";er to resist the
next time ; for this was wearing me out so, that I must yield
the next time, if I persisted now. But what seemed to justify
me, Avas the thought that so I should find out where he was,
and be able to tell Hugh ; and then he would get the ring for
me, and perhaps that would deliver rae. But it was very
wrong of me. I forgot all about the will of God. I will not
go again, Margaret. Do you think I may try again to fight
him?"
"That is just what you must do. All that God requires
of you is to try again. God's child must be free. Do try,
dear Miss Cameron."
"I think I could, if you would call me Euphra. You are
so strong, and pure, and good, Margaret ! I wish I had
never had any though t'5 but such as you have, you beautiful
creature ! Oh, how glad I am that you found me ! Do
watch me always."
408 DAVID ELGINBROD.
" 1 will call you Euplira. I will be your sister-servant —
anything you like, if you will only try again."
" Tiiank you, with all my troubled heart, dear Margaret !
I will indeed try again."
Siie sprang from the couch in a sudden agony, and, grasping
Margaret by the arm, looked at her with such a terror-
stricken face, that she began to fear she was losing her
reason.
''Margaret," she said, as if with the voice as of one just
raised from the dead, speaking with all the charnel damps in
her throat, " could it be that I am in love with him still? "
Margaret shuddered, but did not lose her self-possession.
"No, no, Euphra, darling. You were haunted with him,
and so tired that you were not able to hate him any longer.
Then you began to give way to him. That was all. There
was no love in that."
Euphra' s grasp relaxed.
" Do you think so? "
"Yes."
A pause followed.
" Do you think God cares to have me do his will? Is it
anything to him ? "
" I am sure of it. Why did he make you else? But it is
not for the sake of being obeyed that he cares for it, but for
the sake of serving you, and making you blessed with his
blessedness. He does not think about himself, but about you."
" Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! I must not go."
" Let me read to you again, Euphra."
" Yes, please do, Margaret."
She read the fortieth chapter of Isaiah, one of her father's
favorite chapters, where all the strength and knowledge of
God ai-e urged to a height, that they may fall in overwhelming
profusion upon the wants and fears and unbelief of his children.
How should he that calleth the stars by their names forget his
people ?
While she read, the cloud melted away from Euphra's face;
a sweet sleep followed, and the paroxysm wac over for the time.
Was Euphra insane ? and were these the first accesses of
daily fits of madness, which had been growing and approaching
for who could tell how long ?
DAVID ELGINBROD. 409
Even if she were mad, or going mad, was not this the right
way to treat her ? I wonder how often the spiritual cure of
faith in the Son of Man, the Great Healer, has been tried on
those possessed with our modern demons. Is it proved that
insanity has its origin in the physical disorder which, it is now
Baid, can be shown to accompany it invariably ? Let it be so;
it yet appears to me that if the physician would, like the Son
of Man himself, descend as it were into the disorganized world
in which the consciousness of his patient exists, and receiving
as fact all that he reveals to him of its condition, — for fact it
is, of a very real sort, — introduce, by all the means that
sympathy can suggest, the one central cure for evil, spiritual
and material, namely, the truth of the Son of Man, the vision
of the perfect Friend and Helper, with the revelation of the
promised liberty of obedience, — if he did this, it seems to me
that cures might still be wrought as marvellous as those of the
ancient time.
It seems to me, too, that that can be but an imperfect
religion, as it would be a poor salvation, from which one corner
of darkness may hide us ; from whose blessed health and
freedom a disordered brain may snatch us ; making us hope-
less outcasts, till first the physician, the student of physical
laws, shall interfere and restore us to a sound mind, or the
great God's-angel, Death, crumble the soul-oppressing brain,
with its thousand phantoms of pain and fear and horror, into a
film of dust in the hollow of the deserted skull.
Hugh repaired immediately to Falconer's chambers, where
he was more likely to find him during the day than in the
evening. He was at home. He told hini of his interview
with Euphra, and her feeling that the count was not far off.
" Do you think there can be anything in it?" asked he,
when he had finished his relation.
"I think very likely," answered his friend. " I will be
more on the outlook tiian ever. It may, after all, be through
the lady herself that we shall find the villain. If she Avere to
fall into one of her trances, now, I think it almost certain she
would go to him. She ought to be carefully watched and
followed, if that should take place. Let me know all that you
learn about her. Go and see her again to-morrow, that we
410 DAVID ELGINBROD.
may be kept informed of her experiences, so far as she thinks
proper to tell them."
"I will.'* said Hugh, and took his leave.
But Maruaret, who knew Euphra's condition, both spiritual
and physical, better than any other, had far different objects
for her, through means of the unholy attraction which the
count exercised over her, than the discovery of the stolen ring.
She was determined that neither sleeping nor waking should
she follow his call, or dance to his piping. She should resist
to the last, in the name of God, and so redeem her lost Avill
from the power of this devil, to whom she had foolishly sold it.
The next day, the struggle evidently continued ; and it
had such an effect on Euphra, tha Margaret could not help
feeling very anxious about the result as regarded her health,
even if she should be victorious in the contest. But not for
one moment did Margaret quail ; for she felt convinced, come
of it what might, that the only hope for Euphra lay in resist-
ance. Death, to her mind, was simply nothing in the balance
with slavery of such a sort.
Once — but evidently in a fit of absence — Euphra rose,
went to the door, and opened it. But she instantly dashed it
to again, and, walking slowly back, resumed her seat on the
couch. Margaret came to her from the other side of the bed,
where she had been working by the window for the last
quarter of an hour, for the sake of the waning light.
" What is it, dear?" she said.
"0 Margaret! are you there? I did not know you were
in the room. I found myself at the door before I knew what
I was doing."
" But you came back of yourself this time."
"Yes, I did. But I still feel inclined to go."
"There is no sin in that, so long as you do not encourage
the feeling, or yield to it."
" I hate it."
" You will soon be free from it. Keep on courageously,
dear sister. You will be in liberty and joy soon."
"God grant it."
" He will, Euphra. lam sure he will."
"I am sure you know, or you would not say it."
4 knock came to the street door. Euphra started, and sal
DAVID ELGINBROD. 411
in the attitude of a fearful listener. A message was presently
brought her, that Mr. Sutherland was in the drawing-room,
and wished to see her.
Euphra rose imraediatelj, and went to him. Margaret, who
did not quite feel that she could be trusted jet, removed to a
room behind the drawing-room, whence she could see Euphra
if she passed to go downstairs.
Hugh asked her if she could tell him anything more about
Count Halkar.
"Only," she answered, "that I am still surer of his being
near me."
"How do you knew it ?"
" I need not mind telling you, for I have told you before
that he has a kind of supernatural power over me. I know it
by his drawing me towards him. It is true I might feel it just
the same whether he was in America or in London; but I do
not think he would care to do it, if he Avere so far oif. I
know him well enough to kn^w that he would not wish for me
except for some immediate advantage to himself"
"But what is the use of his doing so, when you don't know
where he is to be found? "
' ' I should go straight to him, without knowing where I was
going."
Hugh rose in haste.
' ' Put on your bonnet and cloak, and come with me. I will
take care of you. Lead me to him, and the ring shall soon
be in your hands again."
Euphra hesitated, half rose, but sat down immediately,
"No, no! Not for worlds," she said. "Do not tempt
me. I must not — I dare not — I will not go."
" But I shall be with you. I will take care of you. Don't
you think I am able, Euphra? "
"Oh, yes! quite able. But I must not go anywhere at
that mans bidding."
" But it won't be at his bidding ; it Avill be at mine."
"Ah! that alters the case rather, does it not? I wonder
vhat Margaret would say."
" Margaret ! What Margaret? " said Hugh.
"Oh, my new maid," answered Euphra, recollecting her-
self. " Not being well at present, she is my nurse."
412 DAVID ELGINBROD.
" We shall take a cab as soon as we get to the corner."
"I don't think the count would bo able to guide the horse,"
said Euphra, with a smile. " I must walk. But I should
like to go. I will. It would be such a victory to catch him
in his own toils."
She rose and ran upstairs. In a few minutes she came
down again, cloaked and veiled. But Margaret met her as
she descended, and, leading her into the back drawing-room,
said: —
^^ Are you going, Euphra? "
"Yes; but I am going with Mr. Sutherland," answered
Euphra, in a defensive tone. "It is to please him, and not to
obey the count."
"Are you sure it is all to please Mr. Sutherland? If it
were, I don't think you would be able to guide him right. Is
it not to get rid of your suffering by yielding to temptation,
Euphra ? At all events, if you go, even should Mr. Suther-
land be successful with him, you will never feel that you have
overcome him, or he that he has lost you. He will still hold
you fast. Don't go. I am sure you are deceiving yourself"
Euphra stood for a moment, and pouted like a naughty child.
Then, suddenly throwing her arms about Margaret's neck, she
kissed her, and said : —
"I ivon't go, Margaret. Here, take my things upstairs
for me."
She threw off her bonnet and cloak, and rejoined Hugh in
the drawing-room.
"I can't go," she said. "I must not go. I should be
yielding to him, and it would make a slave of me all my
life."
"It is our only chance for the ring," said Hugh.
Again Euphra hesitated and wavered; but again she con-
quered.
" I cannot help it," she said, "I Avould rather not have
the ring than go — if you will forgive me."
" Euphra ! " replied Hugh. "You know it is not for
myself."
" I do know it. You won't mind, then, if I don't go ? "
" Certainly not, if you have made up your mind. You,
must have a good reason for it."
1
DAVID ELGINBROD. 413
''Indeed I have." And even already she felt that resist-
ance brought its own reward.
Hugh Avent almost immediatelj, in order to make his report
to Falconer, with whom he had an appointment for the
purpose.
" She is quite right," said Falconer. "I do not think, in
the relation in which she stands to him, that she could safely
do otherwise. But it seems to me very likely that this will
turn out well for our plans, too. Let her persist, and in all
probability he will not only have to resign her perforcCj but
will so far make himself subject to her in turn, as to seek her
who will not go to him. He will pull upon his own rope till
he is drawn to the spot where he has fixed it. What remains
for you and me to do, is to keep a close watch on the house
and neighborhood. Most likely we shall find the villain before
long."
" Do you really think so ? "
•'The whole affair is mysterious, and has to do with laws
with which we are most imperfectly acquainted; but this
seems to me a presumption worth acting upon. Is there no
one in the house on whom you could depend for assistance, —
for information, at least ? "
"Yes. There is' the same old servant that Mrs. Elton had
with her at Arnstead. He is a steady old fellow, and has been
very friendly with me."
" "Well, what I would advise is, that you should find your-
self quarters as near the spot as possible ; and, besides keeping
as much of a personal guard upon the house as you can,
engage the servant you mention to let you know the moment
the count makes his appearance. It will probably be towards
night when he calls, for such a man may haA'e reasons as well
as instincts to make him love the darkness rather than the light.
You had better go at once : and when you have found a place,
leave or send the address here to me, and towards nightfall I
will join you. But we may have to watch for several days.
We must not be too sanguine."
Almost without a word, Hugh went to do as Falconer said.
The only place he could find suitable was a public house at
the corner of a back street, where the men-servants of the
neishborhood used to resort. He succeeded in securing a
414 DAVID ELGINBROD.
private room in it, for a week, and immediatelj sent Falconer
■word of his locality. He then called a second time at Mrs.
Elton's, and asked to see the butler. When he came, —
"Irwan," said he, " has Ilerr von •Eunkelstein called here
to-day?"
" No, sir, he has not."
" You would know him, would you not ? "
"Yes, sir; perfectly."
"Well, if he should call' to-night, or to-morrow, or any
time within the next few days, let me know the moment he is
in the house. You will find me at the Golden Staff, round
the corner. It is of^the utmost importance that I should see
him at once. But do not let him know that any one wants to
see him. You shall not repent helping me in this affair. I
know I can trust you."
Hugh had fi/ed him with his eyes, before he began to ex-
plain his wishes. He had found out that this was the best way
of securing attention from inferior natures, and that it was
especially necessary with London servants ; for their super-
ciliousness is cowed by it, and the superior will brought to
bear upon theirs. It is the only way a man without a car-
riage has to command attention from such. Irwan was not
one of this sort. He was a country servant, for one difference.
But Hugh made his address as impressive as possible.
" I will with pleasure, sir," answered Irwan, and Hugh felt
tolerably sure of him.
Falconer came. They ordered some supper, and sat till
eleven o'clock. There being then no chance of a summons,
they went out together. Passing the house, they saw light in
one upper window only. That light would burn there all
night, for it was in Euphra's room. They went on, Hugh
accompanying Falconer in one of his midnight walks through
London, as he had done repeatedly before. From such com-
I^anionship and the scenes to which Falconer introduced him,
he had gathered this fruit, that he began to believe in God for'
the sake of the wretched men and women he saw in the world.
At first, it was his own pain at the sight of such misery that
drove him, for consolation, to hope in God ; so, at first, it was
for his own sake. But as he saw more of them, and grew to
love them more, he felt that the only hope for them lay in the
DAVID ELGINBROD. 415
love of God ; and he hoped in God for them. He saw, too, that
a God not both humanly and absolutely divine, a G od less than
that God shadowed forth in the Redeemer of men, would not
do. But, thinking about God thus, and hoping in him for his
brothers and sisters, he began to love God. Then, last of all.
that he might see in him one to whom he could abandon every-
thing, that he might see him perfect and all in all and as he
must be, — for the sake of God himself, he believed in him as
the Saviour of these his sinful and suffering kin.
As early as was at all excusable, the following morning, he
called on Euphra. The butler said that she had not come
down yet, but he would send up his name. A message was
brought back that Miss Cameron was sorry not to see him, but
she had had a bad night, and was quite unable to get up.
Irwan replied to his inquiry, that the count had not called.
Hugh withdrew to the Golden Staff.
A bad night it had been indeed. As Euphra slept well the
first part of it, and had no attack such as she had had upon
both the preceding nights, jNiargaret had hoped the worst
was over. Still she laid herself only within the threshold of
sleep, ready to Avake at the least motion.
In the middle of the night, she felt Euphra move. She lay
still to see what she would do. Euphra slipped out of bed,
and partly dressed herself; then went to her wardrobe, and
put on a cloak with a large hood, which she drew over her
head. ^Margaret lay with a dreadful aching at her heart.
Euphra went towards the door. Margaret called her, but she
made no answer. Margaret flew to the door, and reached it
before her. Then, to her intense delight, she saw that
Euphra's eyes were closed. Just as she laid her hand on the
door. Margaret took her gently in her arms.
" Let me go, let me go ! " Euphra almost screamed. Then
suddenly opening her eyes, she stared at Margaret in a be-
wildered fashion, like one waking from the dead.
'• Euphra ! dear Euphra ! "' said Margaret.
'•0 Margaret! is it really you?'' exclaimed Euphra,
flinging her arms about her. "Oh, I am glad. Ah! you
€ee Avhat I must have been about. I suppose I knew when I
was doing it, but I don't know now. I have forgotten all
About it. Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! I thought it would come to this.''
416 ©AVID ELGINBROD.
" Come to bed, dear. You couldn't help it. It was not
yourself. There is not more than half of you awake, when
you walk in your sleep."
They went to bed. Euphra crept close to Margaret, and
cried herself to sleep again. The next day she had a bad
headache. This with her always followed somnambulation.
She did not get up all that day. When Hugh called again
in the evening, he heard she was better, but still in bed.
Falconer joined Hugh at the Golden Staff, at night; but
they had no better success than before. Falconer went out
alone, for Hugli wanted to keep himself fresh. Though very
strong, he was younger and less hardened than Falconer, Avho
could stand an incredible amount of labor and lack of sleep.
Hugh would have given way under the half.
CHAPTER LXV.
VICTORY.
my admired mistress, quench not out
The holy fires within you, though teraptatioas
Shower down upon you: clasp thine armor on;
Fight well, and thou shalt see, after those wars,
Thy head wear sunbeams, and thy feet touch stars.
Massinger. — The Virgin Martyr.
But Hugh could sleep no more than if he had been out
with Falconer. He was as restless as a wild beast in a cage.
Something would not let him be at peace. So he rose,
dressed, and went out. As soon as he turned the corner, he
could see Mrs. Elton's house. It was visible both by inter-
mittent moonlight above, and by flickering gaslight beloAv.
for the wind blew rather strong. There was snow in the air,
he knew. The light they had observed last night was burn-
ing now. A moment served to make these observations ; and
then Hugh's eyes were arrested by the sight of something
else, — a man Avalking up and down the pavement in front of
Mrs. Elton's house. He instantly stepped into the shadow
DAVID ELGINBROD. 417
of a porch to watch him. The figure might be the count's ;
it might not ; he could not be sure. Every now and then the
man looked up to the windows. At length he stopped right
under the lighted one, and looked up. Hugh was on the point
of gliding out, that he might get as near him as possible be-
fore rushing on him. when, at the moment, to his great morti-
fication, a policeman emerged from some mysterious corner,
and the figure instantly vanished in another. Hugh did not
pursue him ; because it would be to set all on a single chance,
and that a poor one ; for if the count, should it be he, suc-
ceeded in escaping, he would not return to a spot which he
knew to be watched. Hugh, therefore, withdrew once more
under a porch, and waited. But, whatever might be the
cause, the man made his appearance no more. Hugh con-
trived to keep watch for two hours, in spite of suspicious
policemen. He slept late into the following morning.
Calling at Mrs. Elton's, he learned that the count had not
been there ; that Miss Cameron had been very ill all night ;
but that she was rather better since the morning.
That night, as the preceding, Margaret had awaked
suddenly. Euphra was not in the bed beside her. She
started up in an agony of terror ; but it was soon allayed,
though not removed. She saw Euphra on her knees at the
foot of the bed, an old-fashioned four-post one. She had her
arms twined round one of the bedposts, and her head thrown
back, as if some one were pulling her backwards by the hair,
which fell over her night-dress to the floor in thick, black
masses. Her eyes were closed ; her face was death-like,
almost livid ; and the cold dews of torture were rolling down
from brow to chin. Her lips were moving convulsively, Avith
now and then the appearance of an attempt at articulation, as
if they were set in motion by an agony of inward prayer.
Margaret, unable to move, watched her with anxious sympathy
and fearful expectation. How long this lasted she could not
tell ; but it seemed a long time. At length Margaret rose, and
long-ins; to have some share in the struorgle, however small,
went softly, and stood behind her, shadowing her from a
feeble ray of moonlight which, through a wind-rent cloud, had
stolen into the room, and lay upon her upturned face. There
she lifted up her heart in prayer. In a moment after, the
27 *
418 DAVID ELGINBROD.
tension of Euplira's countenance relaxed a little ; composure
slowly followed ; her head gradually rose, so that Margaret
could see her face no longer ; then as gradually drooped for-
■\vard. Next her arms untwined themselves from the bedpost,
and her hands clasped themselves together. She looked like
one praying in the intense silence of absorbing devotion.
Margaret stood still as a statue.
In speaking about it afterwards to Hugh, IMargaret told
him that she distinctly remembered hearing, while she stood,
the measured steps of a policeman pass the house on the pave-
ment below.
la a few minutes Euphra bowed her head yet lower, and
then rose to her feet. She turned round towards Margaret,
as if she knew she was there. To Margaret's astonishment,
lier eyes were wide open. She smiled a most childlike,
peaceful, happy smile, and said : —
"It is over, Margaret, all over at last. Thank you, with
my whole heart. God Ilus helped me."
At that moment the moon shone out full, and her face ap-
peared in its light like the face of an angel. Margaret looked on
her with awe. Fear, distress, and doubt had vanished, and
she was already beautiful like the blessed. Margaret got a
handkerchief, and wiped the cold damps from her face. Then
she helped her into bed, where she fell asleep almost instantly,
and slept like a child. Now and then she moaned ; but when
Margaret looked at her, she saw the smile still upon her
countenance.
She Avoke weak and worn, but happy.
" I shall noi trouble you to-day, Margaret, dear," said she.
" I shall not get up yet, but you will not need to watch me.
A great change has passed upon me. I am free. I have
overcome him. He may do as he pleases now. I do not care.
I defy him. I got up last night in my sleep, but I remember
all about it ; and, although I was asleep, and felt powerlesi
like a corpse, I resisted him, even when I thought he was
dragging me away by bodily force. And I resisted him, till
he left me alone. Thank God ! "
It had been a terrible struggle, but she had overcome.
Nor Avas this all : she would no more lead two lives, the
waking and the sleeping. Her waking will and conscience
DAVID ELGINBROU. 419
had asserted themselves in her sleeping acts ; and the memory
of the somnambulist lived still in the waking woman. Hence
her two lives were blended into one life ; and she was no more
tsvo, but one. This indicated a mighty growth of individual
being.
" I woke without terror," she went on to say. " I always
used to wake from such a sleep in an agony of unknown fear.
I do not think I shall ever walk in my sleep again."
Is not salvation the uniting of all our nature into one
harmonious Avhole, — God first in us, ourselves last, and all in
due order between ? Something very much analogous to the
change in Euphra takes place in a man when he first learns
that his beliefs must become acts; that his religious life and
his human life are one ; that he must do the thing that he
admires. The Ideal is the only absolute Real ; and it must
become the Real in the individual life as well, however im-
possible they may count it who never try it, or who do not
trust in God to effect it, when they find themselves baffled in
the attempt.
In the afternoon, Euphra fell asleep, and, when she *^oke,
seemed better. She said to Margaret : —
"Can it be that it was all a dream, Margaret? — I mean
my association with that dreadful man. I feel as if it were
only some horrid dream, and that I could never have had any-
thing to do with him. I may have been out of my mind, you
know, and have told you things which I believed firmly
enough then, but which never really took place. Is. could not
have been me, Margaret, could it? "
'• Not your real, true, best self, dear."
" I have been a dreadful creature, Margaret. But I feel
that all that has melted away from me, and gone behind the sun-
set, which will forever stand, in all its glory and loveliness,
between me and it, an impassable rampart of defence."
Her words sounded strange and excited, but her eye and
her pulse were calm.
" How could he ever have had that hateful power ovei
me ? "
" Don't think any more about him, dear, but ei.joy the *esi
God has given you."
"I will, I will."
420 DAVID ELGINBROD.
At that moment, a maid came to the dcor, with Funkel«
Btein's card for Miss Cameron.
"Very well," said Margaret; "ask him to wait. I will
tell Miss Cameron. She may wish to send him a message.
You may go."
She told Euphra that the count was in the house. Euphra
showed no surprise, no fear, no annoyance.
" Will you see him for me, Margaret, if you don't mind ; and
tell him from me, that I defy him ; that I do not hate him,
only because I despise and forget him ; that I challenge him to
do his worst ? ' '
She had forgotten all about the ring. But Margaret had not.
" I will," said she, and left the room.
On her yray down, she went ino the drawing-room, and rang
the bell.
" Send Mr. Irwan to me here, please. It is for Miss Cam-
eron."
The man w^ent, but presently returned, saying that the but-
ler had just stepped out.
" Very well. You will do just as well. When the gentle-
man leaves Avho is calling' now, you must follow him. Take
a cab, if necessary, and follow him everywhere, till you find
where he stops for the night. Watch the place, and send me
word where you are. But don't let him knoAV. Put on plain
clothes, please, as fast as you can."
"Yes, miss, directly."
The servants all called Margaret, miss.
She lingered yet a little, to give the man time. She was
not at all satisfied with her plan, but she could think of noth-
ing better. Happily, it was not necessary. Irwan had
run as fast as his old legs would carry him to the Golden
Staff. Hugh received the news with delight. His heart
seemed to leap into his throat, and he felt just as he did, when,
deer-stalking for the first time, he tried to take aim at a great
red stag.
" I shall wait for him outside the door. We must have no
noise in the house. He is a thief, or worse, Irwan."
" Good gracious ! And there's the plate all laid out for
dinner on the sideboard ! " exclaimed Irwan, and hurried on
faster than he had come.
DAVID ELGINBROD. 421
But Hugh was standing at the door long before Irwan got
up to it. Had Margaret known who was watching outside, it
would have been a wonderful relief to her.
She entered the dining-room where the count stood impatient.
He advanced quickly, acting on his expectation of Euphra, but,
seeing his mistake, stopped and bowed politely. Margaret told
him that Miss Cameron w\as ill, and gave him her message,
word for word. The count turned pale with mortification and
rage. He bit his lip, made no reply, and walked out into the
hall, where Irwan stood with the handle of the door in his
hand, impatient to open it. No sooner was he out of the
house, than Hugh sprung upon him ; but the count, who had
been perfectly upon his guard, eluded him, and darted off down
the street. Hugh pursued at full speed, mortified at his
escape. He had no fear at first of overtaking him, for he had
found few men his equals in speed and endurance ; but he soon
saw, to his dismay, that the count was increasing the distance
between them, and feared that, by a sudden turn into some
labyrinth, he might escape him altogether. They passed the
Golden Staff at full speed, and at the next corner Hugh dis-
covered what gave the count the advantage : it was his agility
and recklessness in turning corners. But, like the sorcerer's
impunity, they failed him at last ; for, at the next turn, he ran
full upon Falconer, who staggered back, while the count reeled
and fell. Hugh was upon him in a moment. "Help!"
roared the count, for a last chance from the sympathies of a
gathering crowd.
"I've got him," cried Hugh.
" Let the man alone," growled a burly fellow in the crowd,
with his fists clenched in his trowser-pockets.
" Let me have a look at him," said Falconer, stooping over
him. " Ah ! I don't know him. That's as well for him.
Let him up, Sutherland."
The bystanders took Falconer for a detective, and did not
seem inclined to interfere, all except the carman before men-
tioned. He came up, pushing the crowd right and left. " Let
the man alone," said he, in a very offensive tone.
" I assure you," said Falconer, " he's not worth your trou-
ble ; for — "
"None o' your cursed jaw ! " said the fellow, in a louder
422 DAVID ELGINBROD.
and deeper growl, approaching Falconer with a threatening
mien.
"Well, I can't help it," said Falconer, as if to himself.
" Sutherland, look after the count."'
"That I will," said Hugh, confidently.
Falconer turned on the carman, who was just on the point
of closing with him, preferring that mode of fighting ; and
saying only, " Defend youi-self," retreated a step. The man
was good at his fists too, and, having failed in his first attempt,
made tiie best use of them he could. But he had no chance
with Falconer, whose coolness equalled his skill.
Meantime, the Bohemian had been watching his chance ; and
although the contest certainly did not last longer than one min-
ute, found opportunity, in the middle of it, to wrench himself
free from Hugh, trip him up, and dart off. The crowd gave
way before him. He vanished .so suddenly and completely,
that it Avas evident he must have studied the neighborhood
from the retreat-side of the question. With rat-like instinct,
he had consulted the holes and corners in anticipation of the
necessity of applying to them. Hugh got up, and, directed,
or possibly misdirected, by the bystanders, sped away in pur-
suit ; but he could hear or see nothing of the fugitive.
At the end of the minute the carman lay in the road.
" Look after him, somebody," said Falconer.
"No fear of him, sir; he's used to it," answered one of
the bystanders, with the respect which Falconer's prowess
claimed.
Falconer walked after Hugh, who soon returned, looking
excessively mortified, and feeling very small indeed.
"Never mind,- Sutherland," said he. "The fellow is up
to a trick or two; but we shall catch him yet. If it hadn't
been for that big fool there. But lies punished enough."
"But what can we do next? He will not come here
again."
" Very likely not. Still he may not give up his attempts
upon Miss Cameron. I almost wonder, seeing she is so im-
pressible, that she can give no account of his whereabouts. But
I presume clairvoyance depends on the presence of other quali-
fications as well. I should like to mesmerize her myself, and
see whether she could not help us theu. '
DAVID ELGINBROD. 423
" Well, why not, if you have the poAver ? "
" Because I have made up my mind not to superinduce any
condition of whose laws I am so very partially informed. Be-
sides, I consider it a condition of disease, in which, as by
sleeplessness, for instance, the senses of the soul, if you will
allow the expression, are, for its present state, rendered un-
naturally acute. To induce such a condition, I dare not exer
else a power which itself I do not understand."
CHAPTER LXVI.
MARGARET.
]
For thougli that ever virtuous was she,
She was increased in such excellence,
Of thewes good, j'set in high bounte,
And so discreet and fair of eloquence.
So benign, and su digne of reverence,
And couthe so the poeplo's hert embrace.
That each her loveth that looketh in her face.
Chaucek. — The ClerVs Tale.
Hugh returned to Mrs. Elton's, and, in the dining-room,
wrote a note to Euphra, to express his disappointment and
shame that, after all, the count had foiled him ; but, at the
same time, his determination not to abandon the quest, till
there was no room for hope left. He sent this up to her, and
waited, thinking that she might be on the sofa, and might send
for him. A little weary from the reaction of the excitement
he had just gone through, he sat down in the corner farthest
from the door. The large room was dimly lighted by one un-
trimmed lamp.
He sat for some time, thinking that Euphra was writing
him a note, or perhaps preparing herself to see him in her
room. Involuntarily he looked up, and a sudden pang, as at
the vision of the disembodied, shot through his heart. A dim
form stood in the middle of the room, gazing earnestly at him.
He saw the same face which he had seen for a moment in the
library at Arnstead, — the glorified face of Margaret Elgin-
424 DAVID ELGINBROD.
hrod, shimmering faintly in the dull light. Instinctively he
pressed his hands together, palm to palm, as if he had been
about to kneel before Madonna herself Delight, mingled with
hope, and tempered by shame, flushed his face. Ghost or
none, she brought no fear with her, only awe.
She stood still.
"Margaret! he said, with trembling voice.
"Mr. Sutherland! " she responded, sweetly.
" Are you a ghost, Margaret?"
She smiled as if she were all spirit, and, advancing slowly,
took his joined hands in both of hers.
" Forgive me, Margaret," sighed he, as if with his last
breath, and burst into an agony of tears.
She waited motionless, till his passion should subside, still
holding his hands. He felt that her hands were so good.
" He is dead ! " said Hugh, at last, with an eifort, followed
by a fresh outburst of weeping.
"Yes, he is dead," rejoined Margaret, calmly. "You
would not weep so if you had seen him die as I did, — die with
a smile like a summer sunset. Indeed, it was the sunset to
me ; but the moon has been up for a long time noAv."
She sighed a gentle, painless sigh, and smiled again like a
saint. She spoke nearly as Scotch as ever in tone, though
the words and pronunciation were almost pure English. This
lapse into so much of the old form, or rather garment, of
speech, constantly recurred, as often as her feelings were moved,
and especially when she talked to children.
" Forgive me," said Hugh, once more.
" We are the same as in the old days," answered Margaret ;
and Hugh was satisfied.
" How do you come to be here ? " said Hugh, at last, after
a silence.
" I will tell you all about that another time. Now I must
give you Miss Cameron's message. She is very sorry she
cannot see you, but she is quite unable. Indeed, she is not
out of bed. But if you could call to-morrow morning, she
hopes to be better and to be able to see you. She says she can
never thank you enough."
The lamp burned yet fainter. Margaret went, and pro-
ceeded to trim it. The virgins that arose must have looked
DAVID ELGINBROD. 425
very lovely trimming their lamps. It is a deed very fair and
■s\-omanly — the best for a woman — to make the lamp Burn.
The light shone up in her ftice, and the hands removing the
globe handled it delicately. He saw that the good hands were
very beautiful hands ; not small, but admirably shaped, and
very pure. As she replaced the globe, —
"That man," she said, '• will not trouble her anymore."
"I hope not," said Hugh: " but you speak confidently;
why?"
" Because she has behaved gloriously. She has fought
and conquered him on his own ground ; and she is a free, and
beautiful, and good crenture of God forever."
" You delight me," rejoined Hugh. " Another time, per-
haps, 3^ou will be able to tell me all about it."
" I hope so. I think she will not mind my telling you."
They bade each other good-night ; and Hugh went away
with a strange feeling, Avhich he had never experienced before.
To compare great things with small, it was something like
what he had once felt in a dream, in which, digging in his
fiither's garden, he had found a perfect marble statue, young
as life, and yet old as the hills. To think of the girl he had
first seen in the drawing-room at TurriepuflBt, idealizing her-
self into such a creature as that, so grand, and yet so womanly ;
so lofty, and yet so lovely ; so strong, and yet so graceful !
Would that every woman believed in the ideal of herself,
and hoped for it as the will of God, not merely as the goal of
her OAvn purest ambition ! But even if the lower develop-
ment of the hope were all she possessed, it would yet be well ;
for its inevitable failure would soon develop the higher and
triumpliant hope.
He thought about her till he fell asleep, and dreamed about
her till he woke. Not for a moment, however, did he fancy
he was in love with her ; the feeling was difierent from any he
liad hitherto recognized as embodying that passion. It was
the recognition and consequent admiration of a beauty which
every one who beheld it must recognize and admire ; but
mingled, in his case, Avith old and precious memories, doubly
dear now in the increased earnestness of his nature and aspi-
rations, and with a deep personal interest from the fact that,
however little, he had yet contributed a portion of the vital
426 DAVID ELQINBROD.
food whereby the gracious creature had become what she
was.
In the so-called morning, he went to Mrs. Elton's. Euphra
was expecting his visit, and he was shown up into her room,
where she was lying on the couch by the fire. She received
him Avith the Avarmth of gratitude added to that of friendship.
Her face was pale and thin, but her eyes were brilliant. She
did not appear at first sight to be very ill ; but the depth and
reality of her sickness grew upon him. Behind her couch
stood Margaret, like a guardian angel. Margaret could bear
the day, for she belonged to it ; and therefore she looked more
beautiful still than by the lamp-light. Euphra lield out a pale
little hand to Hugh, and before she withdrew it, led Hugh's
towards Margaret. Their hands joined. How different to
Hugh was the touch of the two hands ! Life, strength, per-
sistency in the one ; languor, feebleness, and fading in the
other.
" I can never thank you enough," said Euphra; "there-
fore I Avill not try. It is no bondage to remain your debtor."
" That Avould be thanks indeed, if I had done anything."
" I have found out another mystery," Euphra resumed,
after a pause.
" 1 am sorry to hear it," answered he. " I fear there will
be no mysteries left by and by."
"No fear of that," she rejoined, "so long as the angels
come down to men." And she turned towards Margaret as
she spoke.
Margaret smiled. In the compliment she felt only the
kindness.
Hugh looked at her. She turned away, and found some-
thing to do at the other side of the room.
" What mystery, then, have you destroyed ? "
" Not destroyed it; for the mystery of courage remains. I
was the wicked ghost that night in the Ghost's Walk, you
knoAv, — the white one ; there is the good ghost, the nun, the
black one."
"Who? Margaret?"
"Yes, indeed. She has just been confessing- it to me. I
bad my two angels, as one wliose fate was undetermined ; ray
evil angel in the count — my good angel in Margaret. Little
DAVID ELGIXUROD. 427
did I til ink then that the bolj powers were watching me in
her. I knew the evil one ; I knew notning of the good. I
suppose it is so with a great many people."
Hugh sat silent in astonishment. Margaret, then, had been
at Arnstead with Mrs. Elton all the time. It was herself he
had seen in the study.
'• Did you suspect me, Margaret? " resumed Euphra, turn-
ing towards her where she sat at the window.
'• Not in the least. I only knew that something was wrong
about the house : that some being was terrifying the servants
and poor Harry ; and I resolved to do my best to meet it,
especially if it should be anything of a ghostly kind."
" Then you do believe in such appearances? " said Hugh.
"I have never met anything of the sort yet. I don't
know."
" And you were not afraid ? "
" Not much. I am never really afraid of anything. Why
should I be?"
No justification of fear was suggested either by Hugh or by
Euphra. They felt the dignity of nature that lifted Margaret
above the region of fear.
" Come and see me again soon," said Euphra, as Hugh
rose to go.
He promised.
Next day he dined by invitation with Mrs. Elton and
Harry. Euphra was unable to see him, but sent a kind
message by Margaret as he was taking his leave. He had
been fearing that he should not see Margaret ; and when she
did appear, he was the more delighted ; but the interview was
necessarily short.
He called the next day, and saAV neither Euphra nor
Margaret. She was no better. ]\Irs. Elton said the physi-
cians could discover no definite ilisease either of the lungs or
of any other organ. Yet life seemed sinking. Margaret
thought that the conflict which she had passed through had
exhausted her vitality; that, had she yielded, she might have
lived a slave ; but that now, perhaps, she must die a free
woman.
Her continued illness made Hugh still more anxious to find
the ring, for he knew it would please her much. Falconer
i28 DAVID ELGINBROD.
would have applied to the police, but he feared that the man
would vanish from London, upon the least suspicion that he
was watched. Thejr held many consultations on the sub-
ject.
CHAPTER LXVII.
A NEW GUIDE.
Das Denkon ist nur ein Traum des Fiihlens, ein erstorbenes Fiihlen, ein blasS"
graues, schwaches Leben.
Thinking is only a dream of feeling; a dead feeling; a pale-gray, feeble life.
NoVALis. — Die Leftrlinge zu Sais.
For where's no courage, there's no ruth nor mono.
Faerie Queene^ vi. 7, 18.
One morning, as soon as she waked, Euphra said : —
" Have I been still all the night, Margaret? "
" Quite still. Why do you ask ? "
" Because I have had such a strange and vivid dream, thai
I feel as if I must have been to the place. It was a foolish
question, though ; because, of course, jou would not have let
me go."
" I hope it did not trouble you much."
"No, not much ; for though I was with the count, I did not
seem to be there in the body at all, only somehow near him,
and seeing him. I can recall the place perfectly."
" Do you think it really was the place he was in at the
time ? "
"I should not wonder. But now I feel so free, so far be-
yond him and all his power, that I don't mind where or when
I see him. He cannot hurt me now."
"Could you describe the place to Mr. Sutherland? It
might help him to find the count."
" That's a good idea. Will you send for him ? "
" Yes, certainly. May I tell him for what ?"
" By all means."
Margaret wrote to Hugh at once, and sent the note by
DAVID ELGINBKOD. 429
Hand. He was at home when it arrived. He hurriedly
answered it, and went to find Falconer, To his delight he was
at home, — not out of bed, in fact.
"Read that."
"Who is it from?"
" Miss Cameron's maid."
" It does not look like a maid's production."
"It is though. Will you come with me? You know
London ten thousand times better than I do. I don't think
we ought to lose a chance."
"Certainly not. I will go with you. But perhaps she
will not see me."
" Oh, yes, she will, when I have told her about you."
"It will be rather a trial to see a stranger."
"A man cannot be a stranger with you ten minutes, if he
only looks at you ; — still less, a woman."
Falconer looked pleased, and smiled.
" I am glad you think so. Let us go."
When they arrived,. Margaret came to them. Hugh told
her that Falconer was his best friend, and one who knew
London perhaps better than any other man in it. Margaret
looked at him full in the face for a moment. Falconer smiled
at the intensity of her still gaze. Margai-et returned the
smile, and said : —
" I will ask Miss Cameron to see you."
"Thank you," was all Falconer's reply; but the tone was
more than speech.
After a little while, they were shown up to Euphra's room.
She had wanted to sit up, but Margaret would not let her ;
BO she was lying on her couch. When Falconer was pre-
gented to her, he took her hand, and held it for a moment.
L kind of indescribable beam broke over his face, as if his
spii'it smiled and the smile shone through without moving one
of his features as it passed The tears stood in his eyes. Tc
understand all this look, one would need to know his history
as I do. He laid her hand gently on her bosom, and said,
" God bless you ! "
Euphra felt that God did bless her in the very words. She
had been looking at Fahioner all the time It was only
fifteen seconds or soj bv.t the outcome of a life was crowded
430 DAVID ELGINBBOD.
into Falconer's side of it ; and the confidence of Euphra rosie
to meet tlie faithfulness of a man of God. — What words those
are ! — A man of God 1 1 lave I not written a revelation ?
Yes — to him who can read it — - yes.
" I know enough of your story, Miss Cameron," he said,
"to understand without any preface what you choose to tell
me."
Euphra began at once : —
"I dreamed last night that I found myself outside the street
door. I did not knew where I was going; but ray feet seemed
to know. They carried me, round two or three corners, into
a wide, long street, which I think was Oxford Street. TJiey
carried me on into London, far beyond any quarter I knew.
All I can tell further is, that I turned to the left beside a
church, on the steeple of which stood what I took for a wander-
ing ghost just lighted there; only 1 ought to tell you, that fre-
quently in my dreams — always in my peculiar dreams — the
more material and solid and ordinary things are, the more thin
and ghostly they appear to me. Then I went on and on, turning
left and right too many times for me to remember, till at last I
came to a little, old-fashioned court, with two or three trees in it.
I had to go up a few steps to enter it. I was not afraid, because I
knew I Avas dreaming, and that my body was not there. It is a
great relief to feel that sometimes ; for it is often very much in
the way. I opened a door, upon which the moon slione veiy
bright, and walked up two flights of stairs into aback room.
And there I found him, doing something at a table by candle-
light. He had a sheet of paper before him ; but what he was
doing with it, I could not see. I tried hard ; but it was of no
use. The dream suddenly faded, and I awoke, and found
Margaret. Then I knew I was safe," she added, with a
loving glance at her maid.
Falconer rose.
"I know the place you mean perfectly," he said. " It is
too peculiar to be mistaken. Last night, let me see, how did
the moon shine ? — Yes. I shall be able to tell the very door,
I think, or almost."
" How kind of you not to laugh at me ! "
" I might make a fool of myself if I laughed at any one.
So I generally avoid it. We may as well get the good out of
DAVID ELGINBROD 431
what we do not understand, or at least try if there be any
in it. Will you come, Sutherland?"
Hugh rose, and took his leave with Falconer.
" How pleased she seemed with you, Falconer ! " said he,
as they left the house.
" Yes, she touched me."
" Won't you go and see her again ? "
'• No ; there is no need, except she sends for me."
" It would please her, — comfort her, I am sure."
" She has got one of God's angels beside her, Sutherland.
She doesn't want me."
" What do you mean ? "
" I mean that maid of hers."
A pang — of jealousy, was it ? — shot though Hugh's heart.
How could he see, — what right had he to see anything in
Margaret ?
Hugh might have kept himself at poace, even if he had
loved Margaret as much as she deserved, which would have
been about ten times as much as he did. Is a man not to rec-
ognize an angel when he sees her, and to call her by her name ?
Had Hugh seen into the core of that grand heart, — what
form sat there, and how, — he would have been at peace, —
would almost have fallen down to do the man homage. He
was silent.
" My dear fellow ! " said Falconer, as if he divined his feel-
ing, — for Falconer's power over men and Avomen came all
from sympathy with their spirits, and not their nerves, — "if
you have any hold of that woman, do not lose it ; for as sure
as there's a sun in heaven, she is one of the winged ones
Don't I know a woman when I see her? "
He sighed with a kind of involuntary sigh, which yet did
not seek to hide itself from Hu2;h.
" My dear 6oy," he added, laying a stress on the word,
"I am nearly twice your age, — don't be jealous of
me."
"Mr. Falconer," said Hugh, humbly, "forgive me. The
feeling was involuntary ; and if you have detected in it more
than I was aware of, you are at least as likely to be right as I
am. But you cannot think more highly of Margaret than 1
do."
432 DAVID ELGINBROD.
And yet Hugh did not know half the good of her then, that
the reader does now.
"Well, we had better part now, and meet again at night."
" What time shall I come to you? "
" Oh ! about nine I think will do."
So Hugh went home, and tried to turn his thoughts to his
story ; but Euphra, Falconer, Funkelstein, and Margaret per-
sisted in sitting to him, the one after the other, instead of the
heroes and heroines of his tale. He was compelled to lay it
aside, and betake himself to a stroll and a pipe.
As he went downstairs, he met Miss Talbot.
" You're soon tired of home, Mr. Sutherland. You haven't
been in above half an hour, and you're out again already."
" Why, you see. Miss Talbot, I want a pipe very much."
" Well, you aint going to the public house to smoke it, are
you?"
"No," answered Hugh, laughing. " But you know. Miss
Talbot, you made it part of the agreement that I shouldn't
smoke indoors. So I'm going to smoke in the street."
"Now, think of being taken that way!" retorted Miss
Talbot, with an injured air. " Why, that was befose I knew
anything about you. Go upstairs directly, and smoke your
pipe ; and when the room can't hoM any more, you can open
the windows. Youi' smoke won't do any harm, Mr. Sutherland.
But I'm very sorry you quarrelled with Mrs. Appleditch.
She's a hard woman, and over-fond of her money and her
drawing-room ; and for those boys of hers, — the Lord have
mercy on them, for she has none ! But she's a true Christian
for all that, and does a power of good among the poor people."
" What does she give them. Miss Talbot? "
" Oh ! — she gives them — lim-m — tracts and things.
You know," she added, perceiving the weakness of her position,
" people's souls should come first. And poor Mrs. Appleditch
— you see — some folks is made stickier than others, and their
money sticks to them, somehow, that they can't part with it,
— poor woman ! "
To this Hugh had no answer at hand ; for though Miss
Talbot's logic was more than questionable, her charity was
perfectly sound ; and Hugh felt that he had not been forbear-
ing enough with the mother of the future pastors. So he went
Dj4vid elginbrod. 483
back to his room, lighted his pipe, and smoked till he fell asleep
over a small volume of morbid modern divinity, which Miss
Talbot had lent him. I do not mention the name of the book,
lest some of mj acquaintance should abuse me. and others it,
more than either deserves. Hugh, however, found the best
refuge from the diseased self-consciousness which it endeavored
to rouse, and which is a kind of spiritual somnambulism, in an
hour of God's good sleep, into a means of which the book was
temporarily elevated. When he woke he found himself greatly
refi'eshed by the influence it had exercised upon him.
It was now the hour for the daily pretence of going to dine.
So he went out. Bat all he had was some bread, which he ate
as he walked about. Loitering here, and trifling there, passing
five minutes over a volume in every bookstall in Holborn, and
comparing the shapes of the meerschaums in every tobacconist's
■window, time ambled gently along with him ; and it struck
nine just as he found himself at Falconer's door.
" You are ready, then? " said Falconer.
"Quite."
"Will you take anything before you go ? I think we had
better have some supper first. It is early for our project."
This was a welcome proposal to Hugh. Cold meat and ale
were excellent preparatives for Avhat might be required of him ;
for a tendency to collapse in a certain region, called by courtesy
the chest, is not favorable to deeds of valor. By the time he
had spent ten minutes in the discharge of the agreeable duty
suggested, he felt himself ready for anything that might fall
to his lot.
The friends set out together ; and, under the guidance of
the two foremost bumps upon Falconer's forehead, soon arrived
at the place he judged to be that indicated by Euphra. It
was very different from the place Hugh had pictured to him-
self Yet in everything it corresponded to her description.
"Are we not great fools, Sutherland, to set out on such a
chase, with the dream of a sick girl for our only guide?''
"I am sure you don't think so. else you would not have
gone. ' '
" I think we can afford the small risk to our reputation in-
volved in the chase of this same wild-goose. There is enough
of strange testimony about things of the sort to justify us in
28
434 DAVID ELGINBROD.
attjncling to the hint. Besides, if we neglected it, it would
be mortifying to find out some day, perhaps a hundred years
after this, that it was a true hint. It is altogether different
from giving ourselves up to the pursuit of such things. — Kut
this ought to be the house," he added, going up to one that
had a rather more respectable look than the rest.
He knocked at the door. An elderly Avoman half opened
it, and looked at them suspiciously.
"Will you take fay card to the foreign gentleman who is
lodging with you, and say I am happy to wait upon him ? "
said Falconer.
She glanced at him again, and turned inwards, hesitating
whether to leave the door half open, or not. Falconer stood
BO close to it, however, that she was afraid to shut it in his
face.
"Now, Sutherland, follow me," whispered Falconer, as
soon as the woman had disappeared on the stair.
Hugh followed behind the moving tower of his friend, who
strode Avith long, noiseless strides till he reached the stair.
That he took three steps at a time. They Avent up two flights,
and reached the top just as the woman was laying her hand on
the lock of the back-room door. She turned and faced them.
" Speak one word," said Falconer, in a hissing Avhisper,
"and — "
He completed the sentence by an awfully threatening
gesture. She drew back in terror, and yielded her place at
the door.
" Come in," bawled some one, in second answer to the
knock she had already given.
" It is he ! " said Hugh, trembling Avith excitement.
" Hush ! " said Falconer, and went in.
Hugh followed. He knew the back of the count at once.
He was seated at a table, apparently wi'iting ; but, going
nearer, they saw that he Avas draAving. A single closer glance
showed them the portrait of Euphra growing under his Hand.
In order to intensify his will and concentrate it upon her, he
was drawing her portrait from memory. But at the moment
they caught sight of it, the Avretch, aAvare of a hostile
presence, sprang to his feet, and reached the chimney-piece at
one bound, whence he caught up a SAvord.
DAVID ELGINBROD. 435
"Take care, Falconer," cried Hugh; "that weapon is
poisoned. He is no everj-day villain you have to deal with,"
He remembered the cat.
Funkelstein made a sudden lunge at Hugh, his face pale
with hatred and anger. But a blow from Falconer's huge
fist, travelling flister than the point of his weapon, stretched
him on the floor. Such was Falconer's impetus, that it
hurled both him and the table across the'fallen villain. Fal-
coner was up in a moment. Not so Funkelstein. There was
plenty of time for Hugh to secure the rapier, and for Falconer
to secure its owner, before he came to himself
" Where's my ring?" said Hugh, the moment he opened
his eyes.
" Gentlemen, I protest," began Funkelstein, in a voice upon
which the cord that bound his wrists had an evident influence.
" No chafl"! " said Falconer. " We've got all our feathers.
Hand over the two rings, or be the security for them yourself"
" What witness have you against me? "
" The best of witnesses, — Miss Cameron."
" And me," added Hugh.
'■ Gentlemen, I am very sorry. I yielded to temptation.
I meant to restore the diamond after the joke had been played
out, but I was forced to part with it."
" The joke is played out, you see," said Falconer. " So
you had better produce the other bauble you stole at the same
time."
" I have not got it."
"Come, come, that's too much. Nobody would give you
more than five shillings for it. And you knew what it was
worth when you took it. Sutherland, you stand over him
while I search the room. This portrait may as well be put
out of the way first."
As he spoke, Falconer tore the portrait and threw it into
the fire. He then turned to a cupboard in the room.
Whether it was that Funkelstein feared further revelations, I
do not know, but he quailed.
" I have not got it," he repeated, however.
"You lie," answered Falconer.
" I would give it you if I could."
"You shall."
436 DAVID ELGINBROD.
The Bohemian looked contemptible enough now, despite the
handsomeness of his features. It needed freedom, and the
absence of anj urgency, to enable him to personate a gentle-
man. Given those conditions, he succeeded. But as soon as
he was disturbed, the gloss vanished and the true nature came
out, that of a ruffian and a sneak. He quite quivered at the
look with which Falconer turned again to the cupboard.
"Stop," he cried'; "here it is."
And muttering what sounded like curses, he pulled out of
his bosom the I'ing, suspended from his neck.
"Sutherland," said Falconer, taking the ring, "secure
that rapier, and be careful with it. We will have its point
tested. Meantime," — here he turned again to his prisoner
— "I give you warning that the moment I leave this house,
I go to Scotland Yard. Do you know the place ? I there
recommend the police to look after you, and they loill mind
what 1 say. If you leave London, a message will be sent,
wherever you go, that you had better be watched. My advice
to you is, to stay where you are as long as you can. I shall
meet you again."
They left him on the floor, to the care of his landlady, whom
they found outside the room, speechless with terror.
As soon as they were in the square, on which the moon was
now shining, as it had shono in Euphra's dream the night be-
fore. Falconer gave the ring to Hugh.
" Take it to a jeweller's, Sutherland, and get it cleaned, be-
fore you give it to Miss Cameron."
"I will," answered Hugh, and added, "I don't know how
to thank you."
" Then don't," said Falconer, with a smile.
When they reached the end of the street, he turned, and
bade Hugh good-night.
"Take care of that cowardly thing. It may be as you say."
Hugh turned towards home. Falconer dived into a court,
ixA was out of sight in a moment.
DAVID ELGINBROD. 437
CHAPTER LXVm.
THE LAST GROAT.
Thou hast been
As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing;
A man that fortune's buffets and rewards
Hast ta'en with equal thanks; and blessed are those
Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled
That they are not a pipe for Fortune's finger
To sound what stop she please.
Hamlet.
Most friends befriend themselves with friendship's show.
Southwell.
Hugh took the ring to Mrs. Elton's, and gave it into Mar-
garet's hand. She brought him back a message of warmest
thanks from Euphra. She h^ad asked for writing materials at
once, and was now communicating the good news to Mr.
Arnold, in Madeira.
" I have never seen her look so happy," added Margaret.
" She hopes to be able to see you in the evening, if you would
not mind calling; again."
Hugh did call, and saw her. She received him most kindly.
He was distressed to see how altered she was. The fire of one
life seemed dying out — flowing away and spending from her
eyes, which it illuminated with too much light as it passed out.
But the fire of another life, the immortal life, which lies in
thought and feeling, in truth and love divine, which death can-
not touch, because it is not of his kind, was growing as fast.
He sat with her for an hour, and then went.
This chapter of his own history concluded, Hugh returned
with fresh energy to his novel, and worked at it as his inven-
tion gave him scope. There was the more necessity that he
should make progress, from " the fact that, having sent his
mother the greater part of the salary he had received from
Mr. Arnold, he was now reduced to his last sovereign. Poverty
looks rather ugly when she comes so close as this. But she
had not yet accosted him ; and with a sovereign in his pocket,
and last week's rent paid, a bachelor is certainly not poverty-
stricken, at least when he is as independent, not only of other
people, but of himself, as Hugh was. Still, without more
438 DAVID ELGINBROD.
money than that, a man walks in fetters, and is ready to forget
that the various restraints he is under are not incompatible
with most honorable freedom. So Hugh worked as hard as
he could to finish his novel, and succeeded within a week. Then
the real anxiety began. He carried it, with much doubtful hope,
to one of the principal publishing-houses. Had he been more
jelfishly wise, he would have put it into the hands of Falconer
to negotiate for him. But he thought he had given him quite
trouble enough already. So he went without an introduction
even. The manuscript was received politely, and attention
was promised. But a week passed, and another, and another.
A human soul was in commotion about the meat that perisheth
— and the manuscript lay all the time unread, — forgotten in
a drawer.
At length he reached his last coin. He had had no meat
for several days, except once tlmt he dined at Mrs. Elton's.
But he would not borrow till absolutely compelled, and six-
pence would keep him alive another day. In the morning he
had some breakfast (for he knew his books were worth enough
to pay all he owed Miss Talbot), and then he wandered out.
Through the streets he paced and paced, looking in at all the
silversmiths' and printsellers' windows, and solacing his pov-
erty with a favorite amusement of his in uneasy circumstances,
an amusement cheap enough for a Scotchman reduced to his
last sixpence, — castle-building. This is not altogether a bad
employment where hope has laid the foundation ; but it is rather
a heartless one where the imagination has to draw the ground
plan as well as the elevations. The latter, however, Avas not
quite Hugh's condition yet. He returned at night, carefully
avoiding the cook-shops and their kindred snares, with a silver
groat in his pocket still. But he crawled upstairs rather fee-
bly, it must be confessed, for a youth with limbs moulded in
the fashion of his.
He found a letter waiting him, from a friend of his mother,
informing him that she was dangerously ill, and urging him to
Bet oflf immediately for home. This was like the blast of fiery
breath from the dragon's maw, Avhich overthrew the Red-cross
knight — but into the well of life, where all his wounds were
healed, and — and — well — board and lodging provided k'm
gratis.
DAVID ELGINBROD. 439
AVhen he had read the letter, he fell on his knees, and said
to his Father in heaven, " What am I to do? "
There Avas no lake with golden pieces in its bottom, whence
a fish might bring him a coin. Nor in all the wide London
lay there one he could claim as his, but the groat in his pocket.
He rose with the simple resolution to go and tell Falconer.
He went. He was not at home. Emboldened bj necessity.
Hugh left his card, with the words on it, ' ' Come to me ; I
need jou." He then returned, packed a few necessaries, and
sat down to wait. liut he had not sat five minutes before Fal-
coner entered.
"What's the matter, Sutherland, my dear fellow? You
haven't pricked yourself with that skewer, have you? "
Hugh handed him the letter with one hand ; and when he
had read it, held out the fourpenny piece in the other hand,
to be read likewise. Falconer understood at once.
" Sutherland," he said, in a tone of reproof, " it is a shame
of you to forget that men are brothers. Are not two who come
out of the heart of God, as closely related as if they had lain
in the womb of one mother ? Why did you not tell me ? You
have suffered — I am sure you have.
" I have — a little," Huoh confessed. " I am getting rather
low in fact. 1 haven't had quite enough to eat."
He said this to excuse the tears which Falconer's kindness
— not hunger — compelled from their cells.
"But," he added, "I would have come to you as soon as
the fourpence was gone ; or, at least, if I hadn't got another
before I was very hungry again."
" Good heavens ! " exclaimed Falconer, half angrily. Then
pulling out his watch, " We have two hours," said he, " before
a train starts for the north. Come to my place."
Hugh rose and obeyed. Falconer's attendant soon brought
them a plentiful supper from a neighboring shop : after which
Falconer got out one of his bottles of port, well known to his
more intimate friends ; and Hugh thought no more about money
than if he had had his purse full. If it had not been for
anxiety about his mother, he would have been happier than he
had ever been in his life before. For, crossing in the night
the waverini;, heavincr morass of the world, had he not set his
foot upon one spot which did not shake ; the summit, indeed.
440 DAVID ELGINBROD.
of a mighty Plutonic rock, that went down widening away to
the very centre of the earth ? As he sped along in the rail-
way that night, the prophecy of thousands of years came back :
"A man shall be a hiding-place from the wind, a covert from
the tempest, the shadow of a great rock in a weary land."
And he thought it would be a blessed time indeed, when this
was just what a man was. And then he thought of the Son
of Man, who, by being such first, was enabling all his friends
to be such too. Of him Falconer had already learned this
"truth in the inward parts ; " and had found, in tlio process of
learning it, that this was the true nature which God had made
his from the first, no new thing superinduced upon it. He
had had but to clear away the rubbish of worldliness, which
more or less buries the best natures for a time, and so to find
himself
After Hugh had eaten and drunk, and thus once more ex-
perienced the divinity that lay in food and wine, he went to
take leave of his friends at Mrs. Elton's. Like most invalids,
Euphra was better in the evening ; she requested to see him.
He found her in bed, and much wasted since he saw her last.
He could not keep the tears from filling his eyes, for all the
events of that day had brought them near the surface.
"Do not cry, dear friend," she said sweetly. " There is
no room for me here any more, and I am sent for."
Hugh could not reply. She went on : —
" I have written to Mr. Arnold about the ring, and all you
did to get it. Do you know he is going to marry Lady
Emily?"
■ Still Hugh could not answer.
Margaret stood on the other side of the bed, the graceful
embodiment of holy health, and, in his sorrow, he could not
help feeling the beauty of her presence. Her lovely hands
were the servants of Euphra, and her light, firm feet moved
only in ministration. He felt that Euphra had room in the
world while Margaret waited on her. It is not house, and fire,
and plenty of servants, and all the things that money can pro-
cure, that make a home — not father or mother or friends ; but
one heart which will not be weary of helping, will not bo
offended with the petulance of sickness, nor the ministrations
needful to weakness ; this ' ' entire affection hating nicer
DAVID ELGINBROD. 441
hands " will make a home of a cave in a rock, or a gipsy's
tent. This Euphra had in Margaret, and Hugh saw it.
"I trust you will find your mother better, Hugh," said
Euphra.
" I fear not," answered he.
" Well, Margaret has been teaching me, and I think I have
learned it, that death is not at all such a dreadful thing as it
looks. I said to her, ' It is easy for you, Margaret, who are
so far from death's door.' But she told me that she had been
all but dead once, and that you had saved her life almost with
your own. Hugh ! she is such a dear ! "
Euphra smiled with ten times the fascination of any of her
old smiles ; for the soul of the smile was love.
"I shall never see you again, I dare say," she went on.
"My heart thanks you, frofti its very depths, for your good-
ness to me. It has been a thousand times more than I
deserve."
Hugh kissed in silence the wasted hand held out to him in
adieu, and departed. And the world itself was a sad wander-
ing star.
Falconer had called for him. They drove to Miss Talbot's,
where Hugh got his " bag of needments," and bade his landlady
good-by for a time. Falconer then accompanied him to th«»
railway.
Having left him for a moment. Falconer rejoined him, say-
ing, " I have your ticket;" and put him into a first-class
carriage.
Hugh remonstrated. Falconer replied : —
" I find this hulk of mine Avorth taking care of. You will
be twice the good to your mother, if you reach her tolerably
fresh."
He stood by the carriage door, talking to him, till the train
started ; walked alongside till it was fairly in motion ; then,
bidding him good-by, left in his hand a little packet, which
Hugh, opening it by the light of the lamp, found to consist of
a few sovereigns and a few shillings folded up in a twenty-
pound note.
I ought to tell one other little fact, however. Just before
the engine whistled, Falconer said to Hugh : —
" Give me that fourpenny piece, you brave old fellow ! "
442 DAVID ELGIXBROD.
" There it is," said Hugh. " ^Yllat do jou want it for? "
" I am going to make a wcdding-jjresent of it to your wife
whoever she may hapnen to be. I hope she will be worthy of
it."
Hugh instantly thought within himself: —
" What a wife Margaret would make to Falconer ! "
The thought was followed by a pang, keen and clear.
Those who are in the habit of regarding the real and the
ideal as essentially and therefore irreconcilably opposed, will
remark that I cannot have drawn the representation of Fal-
coner faithfully. Perhaps the difficulty tliey will experience
in recognizing its trutiifulness, may spring from the fact that
they themselves are unideal enough to belong to the not small
class of strong-minded friends Avhose chief care, in performing
the part of the rock in the weary land, is — not to shelter you
imprudently. They are afraid of Aveakening your constitution
by it, especially if it is not strong to begin with ; so if they do
just take off the edge of the tempest with the sharp corners
of their sheltering rock for a moment, the next, they will
thrust you out into the rain, to get hardy and self-denying, by
being wet to the skin and Avell blown about.
The rich easily learn the wisdom of Solomon, but are unapt
scholars of Him who is greater than Solomon. It is, on the
other hand, so easy for the poor to help each other, that they
have little merit in it ; it is no virtue — only a beauty. But
there are a few rich, who, rivalling the poor in their own pecu-
liar excellences, enter into the kingdom of heaven in spite of
their riches ; and then find that by means of their riches they
are made rulers over many cities. She to whose memory this
book ifd dedicated, is — I will not say ivas — one of the noblest
of such.
There are two ways of accounting for the difficulty which a
reader may find in believing in such a character : either that,
not being poor, he has never needed such a friend : or that, be-
ing rich, he has never been such a friend.
Or if it be that, being poor, he has never found such a friend,
his difficulty is easy to remove : — I have.
DAVID ELGINBROD. 443
CHAPTER LXIX.
DEATH.
Think then, my soul, that Death is but a groom
Which brings a Taper to the outward room.
Whence thou spy'st first a little glimmering light;
And after brings it nearer to thy sight:
For such approaches doth heaven make in death.
Dk. Donne.
Hugh found his mother even worse than he had expected ;
but she rallied a little after his arrival.
In the evening he wandered out in the bright moonlit snow.
How strange it was to see all the old forms with his heart so
full of new things ! The same hills rose about him, with all
the lines of their shapes unchanged in seeming. Yet they
were changing as surely as himself; nay, he continued more
the same than they ; for in him the old forms were folded up
in the new. In the eyes of Him who creates time, there is no
rest, but a living sacred change, a journeying towards rest. He
alone rests ; and he alone, in virtue of his rest, creates change.
He thought with sadness, how all the haunts of his child-
hood would pass to others, who would feel no love or reverence
for them; that the house would be the same, but soundinor with
new steps, and ringing with new laughter. A little further
thought, however, soon satisfied him that places die as Avell as
their dwellers ; that, by slow degrees, their forms are wiped
out ; that the new tastes obliterate the old fashions ; and that
ere long the very shape of the house and farm would be lapped,
as it were, about the tomb of him who had been the soul of the
Bhape, and would vanish from the face of the earth.
All the old things at home looked sad. The look came from
this, that,' though he could sympathize with them and their
Btory, they could not sympathize with him, and he suffused
them Avith his own sadness. He could find no refuge in the
past ; he must go on into the future.
His mother lingered for some time without any evident
change. He sat by her bedside the most of the day. All she
wanted was to have him within reach of her feeble voice, that
444 DAVID ELGINBROD.
she miglit, when she pleased, draw him within touch of her
feeble hand. Once she said : —
" My bo J, I am going to your father."
"Yes, mother, I think you are," Hugh replied. "How
glad he will be to see you ! "
" But I shall leave you alone."
"Mother, I love God."
The mother looked at him, as only a mother can look,
smiled sweetly, closed her eyes as with the Aveight of her con-
tentment, fell asleep holding his hand, and slept for hours.
INIeanwhile, in London, INIargaret was watching Euphra.
She was dying, and Margaret was the angel of life watching
over her.
"I shall get rid of my lameness there, Margaret, shall I
uot? " said Euphra, one day, half playfully.
"Yes, dear."
" It will be delightful to walk again without pain."
" Perhaps you will not get rid of it all at once, though."
" Why do you think so? " asked Euphra, with some appear-
ance of uneasiness.
' ' Because, if it is taken from you before you are quite will-
ing to have it as long as God pleases, by and by you will not be
able to rest, till you have asked for it back again, that you
may bear it for his sake."
"I am willing, Margaret, I am willing. Only one can't
like it, you know."
"I know that," answered Margaret.
She spoke no more, and Margaret heard her weeping gently.
HalC an hour had passed away, when she looked up, and
said : — ■
" Margaret dear, I begin to like my lameness, I think."
"Why, dear?"
" Why, just because God made it, and bade me bear it.
May I not think it is a mark on me from His hand ? "
" Yes, I think so."
" Why do you think it came on me?"
"To walk back to Him with, dear."
" Yes, yes ; I see it all."
Until now, Margaret had not known to what a degree the
lameness of Euphra had troubled her. That her pretty ankle
DAVID ELGINB3,0D. 445
should be deformed, and ber light foot able only to limp, had
been a source of real distress to her, even in the midst of flir
deeper.
The days passed on, and every day she grew weaker. She
did not suffer much, but nothing seemed to do her good. Mrs.
Elton was kindness itself. Harry was in dreadful distress.
He haunted her room, creeping in whenever he had a chance,
and sitting in corners out of the way. Eaphra liked to have
him near her. She seldom spoke to him, or to any one but
Margaret, for Margaret alone could hear with ease what she
said. But now and then she would motion him to her bedside,
and say, — it was always the same : —
" Harrj, dear, be good."
"I will; indeed I will, dear Euphra," was still Harry's
reply.
Once, expressing to Margaret her regret that she should be
such a ti'ouble to her, she said : —
" You have to do so much for me that I am ashamed."
'' Do let me wash the feet of one of his disciples," Mar-
garet replied, gently expostulating ; after which, Euphra never
grumbled at her own demands upon her.
Again, one day, she said : —
"I am not right at all to-day, Margaret. God can't love
me, I am so hateful."
" Don't measure God's mind by your own, Euphra. It
would be a poor love that depended not on itself, but on the
feelings of the person loved. A crying baby turns away from
its mother's breast, but she does not put it away till it stops
crying. She holds it closer. For my part, in the worst
mood I am ever in, when I don't feel I love God at all, I just
look up to his love. I say to him, ' Look at me. See what
state I am in. Help me ! ' Ah ! you would wonder how that
makes peace. And the love comes of itself; sometimes so
strong, it nearly breaks my heart."
" But there is a text I don't like."
"Take another, then."
" But it will keep coming."
" Give it back to God, and never mind it."
" But would that be right? "
" One day, when I was a little girl, so high, I couldn't eat
446 DAVID ELGINIiROD.
my porridge, and sat looking at it. ' Eat jour porridge,'
said mj mother. 'I don't want it,' I answered. 'There's
nothing else for you,' said my mother; for she had not
learned so much from my father then, as she did before he
died. ' Hoots ! ' said my father — I cannot, dear Euphra,
make his words into English."
"No, no, don't," said Euphra; I shall understand them
perfectly."
" ' Hoots ! Janet, my woman ! ' said my father. ' Gie the
bairn a dish o' tay. Wadna ye like some tay, Maggy, my
doo? ' ' Ay, wad I,' said I. ' The parritch is guid eneuch,'
said my mother. ' Nae doot aboot the parritch, woman ; it's
the bairn's stamack, it's no the parritch.' My mother said
no more, but made me a cup of such nice tea ; for whenever
she gave in, she gave in quite. I drank it; and, half from
anxiety to please my mother, half from reviving hunger, at-
tacked the porridge next, and ate it up. ' Leuk at that ! '
said my father. 'Janet, my woman, gie a body the guid that
they can tak,' an' they'll sune tak' the guid that they canna.
Ye're better noo, Maggy, my doo ? ' 'I never told him that I
had taken the porridge too soon after all, and had to creep
into the wood, and be sick. But it is all the same for the
story."
Euphra laughed a feeble but delighted laugh, and applied
the story for herself.
So the winter days passed on.
" I wish I could live till the spring," said Euphra. "I
should like to see a snowdrop and a primrose again."
" Perhaps you will, dear ; but you are going into abetter
spring. I could almost envy you, Euphra."
" But shall we have spring there?"
"I think so."
" And spring-flowers ? "
" I think we shall — better than here."
" But they will not mean so much."
" Then they won't be so good. But I should think they
would mean ever so much more, and be ever so much more
spring-like. They will be the spring-flowers to all winters in
one, 1 think."
Folded in the love of this woman, anointed for her death by
DAVID ELGINBROD. • 447
her wisdom, baptized for the new life bj her sympathy and its
teors, Euphra died in the arms of Margaret.
IMarguret wept, fell on her knees, and gave God thanks.
Mrs. Elton was so distressed, that as soon as the funeral was
over she broke up her London household, sending some of the
servants home to the country, and taking some to her favorite
watering-place, to which Harry also accompanied her.
She hoped that, noAV the affiiir of the ring was cleared up,
she might, as soon as Hugh returned, succeed in persuading
him to follow them to Devonshire, and resume his tutorship.
This would satisfy her anxiety about Hugh and Harry both.
Hugh's mother died too, and was buried. When he re-
turned from the grave which now held both father and mother,
he found a short note from INIargaret, telling him that Euphra
was gone. Sorrow is easier to bear when it comes upon sor-
row ; but he could not help feeling a keen additional pang,
when he learned that she was dead whom he had loved once,
and now loved better. Margarets note informed him like-
wise that Euphra had left a written request, that her diamond
ring should be given to him to wear for her sake.
He prepared to leave the home Avhenceall the Jiomeness had
now vanished, except what indeed lingered in the presence of
an old nurse, who had remained faithful to his mother to the
last. The body itself is of little value after the spirit, the
love, is out of it ; so the house and all the old thing-s are little
enough, after the loved ones are gone who kept it alive and
made it home.
All that Hugh could do for this old nurse was to furnish a
cottage for her out of his mother's furniture, giving her every-
thing she liked best. Then he gathered the little household
treasures, the few books, the few portraits and ornaments, his
father's sword, and his mother's wedding-ring ; destroyed with
sacred fire all written papers ; sold the remainder of the fur-
niture, which he would gladly have burnt too, and so proceeded
to take his last departure from the home of his childhood.
448 DAVID ELGINBROD.
CHAPTER LXX.
NATURE AND HER LADY.
Dio Frauen sind ein liebliches Gehcimniss, nur verhullt, nicht verschlosoen. —
NoVALlS. — Morlische Ansichtm.
Women are a lovely mystery — veiled, however, not shut up.
Her twilights were more clear than oar mid-day;
She dreamt dovoutlior than most men use to pray.
Dk. Donne.
Perhaps the greatest benefit that resulted to Hugh from
being thus made a pilgrim and a stranger in the earth was,
that Nature herself saw him, and took him in. Hitherto, as I
have already said, Hugh's acquaintance with Nature had been
chiefly a second-hand one, — he knew friends of hers. Nature
in poetry — not in the form of Thomsonian or Cowperian de-
scriptions, good as they are, but closely interwoven with and
expository of human thought and feeling — had long been dear
to him. In this form he had believed that he knew her so
well, as to be able to reproduce the lineaments of her beloved
face. But now she herself appeared to him, — the grand,
pure, tender mother, ancient in years, yet ever young ; ap -
peared to him, not in the mirror of a man's words, but bend-
ing over him from the fathomless bosom of the sky, from the
outspread arms of the forest-trees, from the silent judgment of
the everlasting hills. She spoke to him from the depths of
air, from the winds that harp upon the boughs, and trumpet
upon the great caverns, and from the streams that sing as they
go to be lost in rest. She would have shone upon him out of
the eyes of her infants, the flowers, but they had their faces
turned to her breast now, hiding from the pale blue eyes and
tlie freezing breath of old Winter, who was looking for them'
with his face bent close to their refus^e. And he felt that she
had a power to heal and to instruct ; yea, that she was a power
of life, and could speak to the heart and conscience mighty
words about God and Truth and Love.
For he did not forsake his dead home in haste. He lingered
over it, and roamed about its neighborhood. Regarding all
about him with quiet, almost passive spirit, he was astonished
DAVID ELGIXBROD. 449
to find how his eyea opened to see nature in the mass. Before,
he had beheld only portions and beauties. When or how the
change passed upon him he could not tell. But he no longer
looked for a pretty eyebrow or a lovely Lp on the face of
Nature ; the soul of Nature looked out upon him from the har-
mony of all, guiding him unsouglit to the discovery of a
thousand separate delights ; while from the expanded vision
new meanings flashed upon him every day. He beheld in the
great All the expression of the thoughts and feelings of the
Maker of the heavens and the earth and the sea and the
fountains of water. The powers of the world to come, that is,
the world of unseen truth and ideal reality, were upon him in
the presence of the world that now is. For the first time in
his life, he felt at home with nature ; and while he could moan
with the wintry wind, he no longer sighed in the wintry
sunshine, that foretold, like the far-off flutter of a herald's
banner, the approach of victorious lady-spring.
"With the sorrow and loneliness of loss within him, and
nature around him seeming to siiih for a fuller expression of
the thought that throbbed within her, it is no wonder tbat the
form of Margaret, the gathering of the thousand forms of
nature into one intensity and harmony of loveliness, should
rise again upon the world of his imagination, to set no more.
Father and mother wei-e gone. Margaret remained behind.
Nature lay around him like a shining disk, that needed a
risible centre of intensest light, — a shield of silver, that
needed but a diamond boss. Margaret alone could be that
centre, ^ — that diamond light-giver; for she alone, of all the
women he knew, seemed so to drink of the sun's rays of God,
as to radiate them forth, for very fulness upon the clouded
world.
She had dawned on him like a sweet crescent moon, hanging
far-off in a cold and low horizon : now, lifting his eyes, he saw
that same moon nearly at the full, and high overhead, yet
leaning dovrn towards him through the deep blue air, that
overflowed with her calm triumph of light. He knew that he
loved her now. H" knew that every place ho went through
caught a glimmer of romance the moment he thought of her ;
that every most trifling event that happened to himself looked
like a piece of a story-book the moment he thought of telling
29
450 . DAVID ELGINBROD.
it to her. But the growth of these feelings had been gradual,
— so slow and gradual, that when he recognized them it
seemed to him as if he had felt them from the first. The fact
■was, that as soon as he began to be capable of loving ]\Iargarct,
he had begun to love her. He had never been able to under-
stand her till he was driven into the desert. But now that
Nature revealed herself to him full of Life, yea, of the Life
of Life, namely, of God himself, it was natunl that he should
honor and love that " lady of her own; " that he should rec-
ognize Margaret as greater than himself, as nearer to the
heart of Nature, — yea, of God the father of all. She had been
one with Nature from childhood, and when he began to be one
with Nature too, he must become one with her.
And now, in absence, he began to study tlie character of
her whom, in presence, he had thought he knew perfectly.
He soon found that it was a Manoa, a golden city in a land
of Paradise, — too good to be believed in, except by him who
Avas blessed with the beholding of it. He knew now that she
had always understood what he was only just waking to
recognize. And he felt that the scholar had been very
patient with the stupidity of the master, and had drawn from
his lessons a nourishment of which he had known nothing
himself.
But dared he think of marryintr her, a creature inspired
with the presence of the Sp rit of God, Avhich none but the
saints enjoy, and thence clothed Avith a garment of beauty,
which her spix'it wove out of its own loveliness? She was
a being to glorify any man merely by granting him her
habitual presence ; what, then, if she gave her love ! She would
bring Avith her the presence of God himself, for she walked
ever in his light, and that light clung to her and radiated from
her. True, many young maidens must be walking in the
sunshine of God, else whence the light and loveliness and
bloom, the smile and the laugh of their youih ? But Margaret
not only walked in this light ; she knoAV it and whence it came.
She looked up to its Source, and it illuminated her face.
The silent girl of old days, whose countenance wore the
stillness of an unsunned pool, as she listened with reverence
to his lessons, had blossomed into the calm, stately Avomau,
before whose presence he felt rebuked, he knew not Avhy, upon
DAVID ELGINBROD. 451
whose face laj slumbering thought, ever ready to wake into
life and motion. Dared he love her? Dared he tell her that
he loved her ? Dared he, so poor, so worthless, seek for him-
self such a world's treasure? He mi2;ht have known that
Avorth does not need honor ; that its lowliness is content with
ascribing it.
Some of mj readers may be inclined to think that I hide,
for the sake of my hero, — poor little hero, one of God's
children, learning to walk, — an inevitable struggle between
bis love and his pride ; inasmuch as, being but a tutor, he
Diight be expected to think the more of his good fimily, and
the* possibility of his one day coming to honor without the
drawback of having done anything to merit it, a title being
ilmost withiir his grasp ; while Margaret was a ploughman's
laughter, an i a lady's maid. But, although I know more
if Hugh's faults than I have thought it at all necessary to^
)ring out in my story, I protest that, had he been capable of
giving the name of love to a feeling in whose presence pride
dared to speak, I should have considered him unworthy of my
poor pen. In plain language, I doubt if I should have cared
to write his story at all.
He gathered together, as I have said, the few memorials of
the old ship gone down in the quiet ocean of Time ; paid one
visit of sorrowful gladness to his parent's grave, over Avhicli he
raised no futile stone, leaving it, like the forms within it,
in the hands of holy decay ; and took his road — whither ?
To Margaret's home — to see old Janet ; and to go once to the
grave of his second father. Then he would return to the toil
and hunger and hope of London.
What made Hugh go to Turriepufiit? His love for Mar-
garet? No. A better motive even than that, — Repent-
ance. Better I mean for Hugh as to the individual occasion,
not in itself; for love is deeper than repentance, seeing that
without love there can be ijo repentance. He had repented
before ; but now that he haunted in silence the regions of the
past, the whole of his history in connection Avith David re-
turned on him clear and vivid, as if passing once again before
his eyes and through his heart ; and he repented more deeply
still. Perhaps hf was not quite so much to blame as he,
thought himself. Perhaps only now was it possible for the
452 DAVID ELGINBROD.
seeds of truth, which David had sown in his heart, to show
themselves above the soil of lower, yet ministering cares.
They had needed to lie a Avinter long in the earth. Now the
keen blasts and griding frosts had done their work, and they
began to grow in the tearful prime. Sorrow for loss brought
in her train sorrow for wrong, — a sister more solemn still, and
with a deeper blessing in the voice of her lovi'.g fiirewell.
It is a great mistake to suppose that sorrow is a part of re-
pentance. It is far too good a grace to come so easily. A
man may repent^ that is, think better of it, and change his
way, and be very much of a Pharisee — I do not say a hypo-
crite — for a long time after ; it needs a saint to be sorrowful.
Yet repentance is generally the road to this sorrow. And
now that in the gracious time of grief, his eyesight purified by
tears, he entered one after another all the chambers of the
past, he humbly renewed once more his friendship with the
noble dead, and with the homely, heartful living. The gray-
headed man who walked with God like a cliild, and witii his fel-
low-men like an elder brother who was always forgetting his
birthright and serving the younger ; the woman who believed
where she could not see, and loved where she could not under-
stand ; and the maiden who was still and lustreless, because
she ever absorbed and seldom reflected the light, — all came
to him, as if to comfort him once more in his loneliness, when
his heart had room for them, and need of them yet again.
David now" became, after his departure, yet more of a father
to him than before. For that spirit, which is the true soul
of all this body of things, had begun to recall to his mind the
words of David, and so teach him the things that David knew,
the everlasting realities of God. And it seemed to him the
while, that he heard David himself uttering, in his homely,
kingly voice, whatever truth returned to him from the echo-
cave of the past. Even when a quite new thought arose
within him, it came to him in the voice of David, or at least
with the solemn music of his tones clinging about it as the
murmur about the river's course. Experience had now
brought him up to the point where he could begin to profit
by David's communion ; he needed the things which David
could teach him ; and David began forthwith to give them to
him.
DAVID ELGINBROD. 453
That birth of nature ia his soul, which enabled him to
understand and love Margaret, helped him likewise to con-
template, with admiration and awe, the towering peaks of
David's hopes, trusts, and aspirations. He had taught the
ploughman mathematics, but that ploughman had possessed
in himself all the essential elements of the grandeur of the old
prophets, glorified bj the faith which the Son of Man did not
find in the earth, but left behind him to grow in it, and which
had grown to a noble growth of beaut j and strength in this
peasant, simple and patriarchal in the midst of a self-conceited
age. And, oh, how good he had been to him ! He had
built a house that he might take him in from the cold, and
make life pleasant to him, as in the presence of God. He had
given him his heart every time he gave him his great manly
hand. And this man, this friend, this presence of Christ,
Hugh had forsaken, neglected, all but forgotten. He could
not go, and, like the prodigal, fall down before him, and say,
"Father, I have sinned against heaven and thee," for that
heaven had taken him up out of his sight. He could only
weep instead, and bitterly repent. Yes ; there was one thing
more he could do. Janet still lived. He would go to her,
and confess his sin, and beg her forgiveness. Receivins; it, he
would be at peace. Pie knew David forgave him, whether he
confessed or not ; and that, if he were alive, David would seek
his confession only as the casting away of the separation from
his heart, as the banishment of the worldly spirit, and as the
natural sign by which he might know that Hugh was one with
him yet.
Janet was David's representative on earth ; he would go to
her.
So he returned, rich and great ; rich in knowing that he was
the child of Him to whom all the gold mines belong ; and great
in that humility which alone recognizes greatness, and in the
beginnings of that meekness which shall inherit the earth.
No more would he stunt his spiritual growth by self-satisfac-
tion. No more would he lay aside, in the cellars of his mind,
poor withered bulbs of opinions, which, but for the evil minis-
trations of that self-satisfaction, seeking to preserve them by
drying and salting, might have been already bursting into
blossoms of truth, of infinite loveliness.
154 DAVID ELGINBROD.
lie knew that Margaret thought far too well of liim;
honored him greatly beyond his deserts. He would not allow
her to be any longer thus deceived. He would tell her wha*-
a poor creature he was. But he would say, too, that hi
hoped one day to be worthy of her praise, that he hoped tc
grow to what she thought him. If he should fail in convinc-
ing her, he would receive all the honor she gave him humbly
as paid, not to him, but to what he ought to be. God grant it
might be as to his future self!
In this mood he went to Janet.
CHAPTER LXXI.
u
THE FIR-WOOD AGAIN.
Er stand vor der himmlischen Jungfrau. Da hob er den leichten, glanzonden
Sehleier, und — Rosenblutchen sank in seine Arme. — Novalis. — Die Learlinje zu
iSais.
He stood before the heavenly Virgin {his, the Goddess of Nature). Then lifted
he the light, shining veil, and — Rosebud {his old love) sank into his arms.
So womanly, so benigne, and"so meek.
Chaucek. — Prol. to Leg. of Good Women.
It was with a mingling of strange emotions, that Hugh ap-
proached the scene of those not very old, and yet, to his feeling,
quite early memories. The dusk was begirming to gather.
The hoar-frost lay thick on the ground. The pine-trees stood
up in the cold, looking, in their garment of spikes, as if the
frost had made them. The rime on the gate was unfriendly,
and chilled his hand. He turned into the foot-path. He saw
the room David had built for him. Its thatch was one mass of
mosses, whose colors were hidden now in the cuckoo-fruit of
the frost. Alas ! how Death had cast his deeper frost over all ;
for the man was gone from the hearth ! But neither old Win-
ter nor Skeleton Death can withhold the feet of the little child
Spring. She is stronger than both. Love shall conquer hate ;
and God will overcome sin.
DAVID ELGINBROD. 455
He drew nigh to the dooi-, trembling. It seemed strange to
him that his nerves only, and not his mind, should feel. In
moments of unusual excitement, it sometimes happens that the
only coi.sciousness a strong man has of emotion lies in an un-
wonted physical vibration, the mind itself refusing to be dis-
turbed. It is, however, but a seeming ; the emotion is so deep,
that consciousness can lay hold of its physical result only. The
cottage looked the same as ever, only the peat-stack outside
was smaller. In the shadowiness of the firs, the glimmer of a
fire was just discernible on the kitchen window. He trembled
so much that he could not enter. He would go into the fir-
wood first, and see Margarets tree, as he always called it in
his thoughts and dreams.
Very pooF and stunted and meagre looked the fir-trees of
Turriepuffit, after the beeches and elms of Arnstead. The
evening wind whistled keen and cold through their dry needles,
and made them moan, as if because they were fettered, and
must endure the winter in helpless patience. Here and there
amongst them rose the Titans of the little forest, — the huge,
old, contorted, wizard-like, yet benevolent beings, — the Scotch
firs. Towards one of these he bent his way. It was the one
under which he had seen Margaret, when he met her first in
the wood, with her whole soul lost in the waving of its wind-
swung, sun-lighted top, floating about in the sea of air like a
golden nest for some silvery bird of heaven. To think that
the young girl to whom he had given the primrose he had just
found, the then first-born of the spring, should now be the
queen of his heart ! Her childish dream of the angel haunt-
ing the wood had been true, only she was the angel herself
He drew near the place. How Avell he knew it ! He seated
himself, cold as it was in the February of Scotland, at the foot
of the blessed tree. He did not know that it was cold.
While he sat with his eyes fi.xed on the ground, a light rus-
tle in the fallen leaves made him raise them suddenly. It was
all winter and fallen leaves about him ; but he lifted his eyes,
and in his soul it was summer : Margaret stood before him
He was not in the least surprised. For how can one wondei
to see before his eyes the form of which his soul is full ? —
there is no shock. She stood a little way off, looking — as it
she wanted to be sure before she moved a step. She waJ^
456 DAVID ELGTNBROD.
dressed in a gray winsey gown, close to her throat and wrists.
She had neither shawl nor bonnet. Her fine health kept her
warm, even in winter wood at sundown. She looked just the
same; — at home everywhere; most at home in nature's secret
chamber. Like the genius of the place, she made the winter
wood look homely. What Avere the oaks and beeches of Arn-
stead now ? Homeliness and glory are heaven.
She came nearer.
" Margai'et ! " he murmured, and would have risen.
" No, no ; sit still," she rejoined, in a pleading tone. " I
thoiujld it was the angel in the picture. Now I know it. Sit
still, dear Mr. Sutherland, one moment more."
Humbled by his sense of unworthiness,. and a little distressed
that she could so quietly reveal the depth of her feeling to-
wards him, he said : —
"Ah, Margaret! I wish you would not praise one so little
deserving it."
" Pi'aise ! " she repeated, with an accent of wonder. "I
praise you! No, Mr. Sutherland; that I am not guilty of
Next to my father, you made me know and feel. And as I
walked here, I was thinking of the old times, and older times
still ; and all at once I saw the very picture out of the old
Bible."
She came close to him now. He rose, trembling, but held
out no hand, uttered no greeting.
" Margaret, dare I love you?" he faltered.
She looked at him with Avide-open eyes.
" Mc ? " she said ; and her eyes did not move from his. A
slight rose-flush bloomed out on her motionless face.
" Will you be my wife? " he said, trembling yet more.
She made no answer, but looked at him still, with parted
lips, motionless.
" I am very poor, Margaret. I could not marry now."
It was a stupid speech, but he made it.
"I don't care," she answered, with a voice like thinking,
" if you never marry me."
He misunderstood her, and turned cold to the very heart.
He misunderstood her stillness. Her heart lay so deep, that it
took a lono; time for its feelinfirs to reach and asjitate the sur-
face. He said no more, but turned away with a sigh.
DAVID ELGINBROD. 457
" Come home to my mother," she said.
He obeyed mechanically, and walked in silence by her
side. They reached the cottage and entered. Margaret said,
"Here he is, mother," and disappeared.
Janet was seated — in her widow's mutch, with the plain
black ribbon down both sides, and round the back — in the
arm-chair by the fii'e, pondering on the past, or gently dream-
ing of him that was gone. She turned her head. Sorrow had
baptized her face with a new gentleness. The tender expression
which had been but occasional while her husband lived, was
almost constant now. She did not recognize Hugh. He saw
it, and it added weight to his despair. He was left outside.
" Mother ! " he said, involuntarily.
She started to her feet, cried, "My bairn! my bairn ! "
threw her arms around him, and laid her head on his bosom.
Hugh sobbed as if his heart Avould break. Janet wept ; but
her weeping was quiet as a summer rain. He led her to her
chair, knelt by her side, and, hiding his face in her lap like a
child, faltered out, interrupted by convulsive sobs : —
"Forgive me; forgive me. I don't deserve it, but forgive
me."
' ' Hoot awa, my bairn ! my bonny man ! Dinna greet that
gait. The Lord preserve's ! what are ye greetin' for ? Are
na ye come hame to yer ain? Didna Dawvid aye say,
' Gie the lad time, woman. It's unco chaip, for the Lord's aye
makin't. The best things is aye the maistplentifu'. Gie the
lad time, my bonny woman ! ' — didna he say that ? Ay, he
ca'd me his bonny woman, ill as I deserved it at his ban'.
An' it's no for me to say ae word agen you, Maister Suther-
lan', gin ye had been a hantle waur nor a young, thocthless lad
cudna Aveel help bein'. An' noo ye' re come hame, an' nothing
cud glaidden my heart mair, 'cop' maybe the Maister himsol'
was to say to my man, ' Dawvid, come furth ! "
Hugh could make no reply. He got hold of Margaret's
wooden stool, which stood in its usual place, and sat down
upon it, at the old woman's feet. She gazed in his face for a
while, and then, putting her arm round his neck, drew his head
to her bosom, and fondled him as if he had been her own first-
born.
" But eh ! yer bonnie face is sharp an' sma' to what it
468 DAVID ELGINBROD.
used to be, Maister Sutherlan'. Idoot je hae come through a
heap o' trouble."
"I'll tell you all about it," said Hugh.
■' Na, na; bide still a wee. I ken a' aboot it frae Maggy.
An' Guid preserve's ! ye're clean perished wi' cauld. Lat
me up, my bairn."
Janet rose and made up the fire, wliich soon cast a joyful
glow throughout the room. The peat-fire in the little cottagj
was a good symbol of the heart of its mistress, — it gave far
more heat than light. And for my part, dear as light is, I
like heat better. She then put on the kettle, — or the boiler
I think she called it, — saying : —
"I'm jist gaen' to mak' ye a cup o' tay, Mr. Sutherlan'.
It's the handiest thing, ye ken. An I doot ye're muckle in
want o' something. Wad ye no tak' a drappy oot o' the
bottle, i' the mane time? "
"No, thank you," said Hugh, who longed to bo alone, for his
heart was cold as ice ; " I would rather wait for the tea; but I
should be glad to have a good wash, after my journey."
" Come yer wa's, then, ben the hoose. I'll jist gang an'
get a drappy o' hot water in a decanter. Bide ye still by the
fire."
Hugh stood, and gazed into the peat-fire. But he saw
nothing in it. A light step passed him several time?, but he
did not heed it. The loveliest eyes looked earnestly towards
him as they passed, but his were not lifted to meet their gaze.
" Noo, Maister Sutherlan', come this way."
Hugh was left alone at length, in the room where David had
slept, where David had used to pray. He fell on his knees,
and rose comforted by the will of God. A few things of Mar-
garet's were about the room. The dress he had seen her in at
Mrs. Elton's' was hanging by the bed. Ho kissed the folds of
the garment, and said, " God's will be done." He had just
finished a hasty ablution when Janet called him.
'■ Come awa', Maister Sutherlan' ; come ben to yer ain
chauraer," said she, leading the way to the room she still callod
tliQ study. Margaret was there. The room was just as he
had left it. A bright fire was on the hearth. Tea was on the
table, with eggs, and oat-cakes, and fiour-scons in abundance;
DAVID ELGINBROD. 459
for Janet had the best she could get for ]\Iargaret, Avho wa?
only her guest for a little while. But Hugh could not eat.
Janet looked distressed, and Margaret glanced at him uneasily,
"Do eat something, Mr.' Sutherland," said Margaret.
Hugh looked at her involuntarily. She did not understand
his look, and it alarmed her. His countenance was changed.
"What is the matter, dear — Hugh?" she said, rising,
and laying her hand on his shoulder.
"• Hoots ! lassie," broke in her mother ; " are ye makin' love
till a man, a gentleman, afore my verra een ? "
" He did it first, mother," answered Margaret, with a smile.
A pang of hope shot through Hugh's heart.
" Ow ! that's the gait o't. is't ? The bairn's gane dementit !
Ye're no eftermerryin' a gentleman, Maggy? Na, na, lass ! "
So saying, the old lady, rather crossly^ and very impru-
dently, left the room to fill the teapot in the kitchen.
" Do you remember this? " said Margaret, — who felt that
Hugh must have misunderstood something or other, — taking
from her pocket a little book, and from the book a withered
flower.
Hugh saw that it was like a primrose, and hoped against
hope that it was the one which he had given to her, on the
spring morning in the fir-wood. Still, a feeling very diiferent
from his might have made her preserve it. He must know all
about it.
" Why did you keep that? " he said.
" Because I loved you."
' ' Loved me ? "
" Yes. Didn't you know ? "
" Why did you say then, that you didn't care if — if — ? "
" Because love is enough, Hugh. — That was why."
THE END.
I
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