Girlhood and Womanhood Page 7

  THE OLD YEOMANRY WEEKS.

  I.--THE YEOMEN'S ADVENT.--PRIORTON SPRUCES ITSELF UP.

  Time changes both defences and amusements. Now we have volunteer reviewsin place of old yeomanry weeks. But it is worth while looking back onwhat was so hearty, quaint, humorous, and stirring in times bygone.

  Beasts as well as men had their day in the past. The tramp of horses,their brisk neigh, and the flourish of their long tails added to thegeneral attraction. The coats of the Yeomen, too, were of the mostsanguinary red. And there were other charms. The calling out of thetroop for ten days involved a muster from all the county for twelve orfifteen miles round. There was thus an inroad of country friends. Thegenial system of billeting was in vogue, too, so that every bed wasfull. And allies and satellites called in, in happy succession, to sharethe bustle and glee. A company of respectable theatrical stars,patronized both by officers and privates, visited the town; and awonderfully brilliant yeomanry ball, attended alike by gentle andsimple, wound up the successful interlude in ordinary life.

  The little town of Priorton spruced itself up for its yeomanry weeks,and was all agog, as it never was at any other time. The campaigncommenced by the arrival on horseback of a host of country gentlemen andfarmers, in plain clothes as yet. But they carried at their saddle-bows,packages containing their cherished ensigns and symbols--in their casethe very glory of the affair. Along with these in many cases camejudicious presents of poultry and game.

  There were such hand-shakings in the usually quiet streets, suchgroomings of horses at stables behind old-fashioned little taverns, suchpipe-claying of belts and polishing of helmets, and, above all, suchjoyous anticipatory parties in private houses!

  The season was always the height of the summer, not perhaps in everyrespect the best for such a muster. Stout Yeomen had even been known tofaint while at drill; the combined influences of the fatigue, the heat,and last night's hilarity being too much for them. But farmers andfarming lairds could well quit their lands unless in the beginning ofJuly, when the June hoeing of turnips and beans had been got through,the first grass cut, and while there was still a good three weeks beforebarley-harvest. Trees were then dusky in their green, and gooseberriesand currants tinted the Priorton gardens with rich amber and crimson.Roses redder than the yeomen's coats were in full flower for everywaistcoat and waistband. The streets and roads were dusty, under blueskies or black thunderclouds; but the meadows were comparatively cooland fresh, and now white with the summer snow of daisies. The bustle ofthe Yeomen, like the trillings of wandering musicians, was heard only inthe brooding heat of summer afternoons, or the rosy flush of summersunset, the prime of the year lending a crowning charm to their advent.

  It was a delightful start, that first reveillee of the bugle at five ofthe clock on a July morning. Youngsters whom nought else could havetempted out of bed so early darted up at the summons. They envied papasand uncles, brothers and cousins in the ranks of the Yeomen. Comelyblooming young faces joined the watch at the windows. Cloaks wereloosely cast about rounded shoulders, and caps were hastily snatched upto hide dishevelled hair; while little bare pink feet would sometimesshow themselves. But the young ladies only peeped out behind the windowcurtains, in the background of the noisy demonstrative band ofyoungsters.

  Distant voices, excited and impatient, were soon heard; then the jingleof spurs, and the clank of swords, as half-bashful Yeomen descended thestairs for their _debut_ in the street. At last appeared importantfamiliar persons, now strikingly transformed by their martial dress, butterribly uncomfortable and self-conscious.

  The horses were led to the doors, and to the women who stayed at homethe mounts were the exquisitely comic incidents of the day. The returnof the members of the troop, now broken to their work, and detached intogroups of threes and fours, and chatting and laughing at their ease, wasquite tame in comparison. The country gentlemen and farmers were, ofcourse, generally well used to the saddle, and could get upon theirBucephaluses without difficulty, and ride cavalierly, or prick brisklyout of sight, as they were in good time or too late. But here and therea solicitor or banker, or wealthy shopkeeper, ambitious of being amongthe Yeomen, would meet with unhappy enough adventures. He might be seenissuing from his doorway with pretended unconcern, but with anxiousclearings of the throat and ominously long breaths, while his nag,strange to him as John Gilpin's, was brought up to the mounting-place.The worthy man would plant his foot in the stirrup next him, but, notthrowing himself round decidedly enough, the horse would swerve andrear, while he looked on beseechingly and helpless. Then he would trythe other side, still failing to swing himself into the saddle. He wouldgrow more and more flustered. His wife, in her clean muslin cap andspotless calico wrapper, with her little lads and lasses--one, two,three--would then step out on the pavement to give cautious advice. Thewould-be Yeoman would become more and more nervous, while his comradesrode by with jeering glances, and the passengers stood still. Littleboys would begin to whoop and hurrah, and a crowd, even at this earlyhour, would gather round to enjoy the experiment. "Hey, Nancy! get me akitchen chair," the town-bred Yeoman at last would say in desperation tohis elderly commiserating maid-servant in the distance; and from thatsteady halfway stand he would climb into the saddle with a groan, settlehimself sack fashion, and, working the bridle laboriously with his arms,trot off, to return very saddle-sick.

  Then some stubborn young fellow, possessed with the notion of showingoff a dashing horse, would insist on riding a vicious, almost dangerousanimal, which would on no account endure the sight of his flamingregimentals on the occasions of his mountings and dismountings. Once inthe saddle, he would master it thoroughly, and pay it back in kind withwhip and spur, compelling the furious beast to face a whole line of redcoats, and wheel, march, charge, and halt, with perfect correctness. Butthe horse would have its moment of revenge as its rider leapt to andfrom the saddle. If it encountered the scarlet and the glitter of brassand steel, at that instant it would get quite wild, paw the air, flingout its hoofs, snort and dart off wildly, to the danger of its own andits master's life. But the young soldier would not be beat. Day afterday the contest would be renewed. At length he would resort to acompromise, and his groom would bring out the animal with its headignominiously muffled in a sack; and now the Yeoman would mount withcomparative safety.

  But the bugle is sounding to drill in the early summer morning.Tra-li-la! the clear music suits with the songs of the birds and the dewon the grass. The last lagging Yeoman is off, gone to receive a publicreprimand from his strict commanding officer, but sure to have theaffront rubbed out next morning by a similar fault, and a similarexperience, on the part of a comrade.

  The drill ends at the common breakfast hour, when the Yeoman may besupposed to return and feast sumptuously. Then "civil" work commences.Yeomen who had offices or shops, attended them with slight relics oftheir uniform. A stranger might have been pardoned had he imagined aninvasion was daily expected, or that an intestine war was on the pointof breaking out. In consideration of the hot weather, undress uniformwas permitted on all save field days, and thus the toiling Yeomenenjoyed a little cool in their white ducks and jackets, though the redmark, the helmet's line, was still to be traced on their sun-brownedforeheads.

  There was an afternoon's drill. It was a little of a fag, being in factrather like a dish heated up a second time, as a duty twice done mostlyalways is. But the evening was particularly gay. Then the Yeomen weresupposed to be enjoying themselves. Pleasant, if they had always enjoyedthemselves in an innocent fashion. That many of them did so, it is onlycharitable to believe. And while the fast and foolish, the gross andwicked were swilling and roystering in evil localities, the generous,manly, gentle souls gratified the matrons with whom they were billetedby walking with them and their daughters through the streets, or intothe nearest meadow; or perhaps they treated them to the play.

  I have only heard of those days. But I should have liked to have seenthe bluff kind faces above the stiff stocks and scarlet co
ats, and thejoyous smiles which shone upon them. I should have liked to have heardthe quiet town ringing with such blithe laughter. Little jokes wouldcause the people to laugh, as little accidents would cause them to shaketheir heads. Sandy Hope's horse, for instance, lost a shoe while at thegallop, stumbled, and threw its rider, dislocating his shoulder, andbreaking his arm. What a sensation the news created! It could scarcelyhave been greater even though Sandy's brains had been dashed out. Notonly Sandy himself, but Sandy's kindred to the remotest degree, weredeeply commiserated. The commanding officer sent his compliments everymorning with inquiries after him. The troop doctor was besieged byanxious acquaintances. Sandy's comrades never ceased calling upon him,and sat for hours drinking beer at his open window. Delicious messes andrefreshing drinks a thousand times better than beer, were sent to Sandy.Then the nosegays, the books he got! Sandy received a perfect ovation.It was even proposed that the ball should be put off because Sandy waslying in pain; and it was certain that no fewer than three reputedsweethearts of Sandy's stayed at home on the ball night. Yet the stupidfellow was so slightly hurt, that within the fortnight he was walkingthe streets of Priorton more briskly than ever!

  Priorton was kindly in its gaiety, and each had an interest in theother. I should have liked to have known the old town when it was thusgiven up for ten days, half to military exercises, half to fraternityand feasting. I should have been sorry when the feasting wasintemperate, but I would no more have condemned the general feastingbecause of that circumstance, than I would condemn the gift of speechbecause some of us are so left to ourselves as to tell lies or say badwords.

  II.--A MATCH-MAKER'S SCHEME.

  It was a well-known and accredited fact that in consequence of thesefestivities of the Yeomen more matches were made up in this briefinterval than during any other period of the year. Match-makingindividuals seriously counted on the yeomanry weeks; and probablyfar-seeing young ladies had fitting matches in their eye, as well as thefireworks and the introductory gaiety, when they came in troops toPriorton to entertain the lucky Yeomen.

  "My dear," said Mrs. Spottiswoode, the wife of the chief magistrate, whowas likewise banker of Priorton, to her spouse, "your cousin, Bourhope,has asked his billet with us: I must have my sister Corrie in to meethim."

  Mrs. Spottiswoode was a showy, smart, good-humoured woman, but notover-scrupulous. She was very ready at adapting herself tocircumstances, even when the circumstances were against her. For thatreason she was considered very clever as well as very affable, among thematrons of Priorton. Mr. Spottiswoode was "slow and sure:" it wasbecause of the happy alliance of these qualities in him that the peopleof Priorton had elected him chief magistrate.

  "My dear," deliberately observed long, lanky Mr. Spottiswoode, "would itnot be rather barefaced to have Bourhope and Corrie here together?"

  "Oh, I'll take care of that," answered the lady, with a laugh and a tossof her ribbons; "I shall have some other girl of my acquaintance to bearCorrie company;--some worthy, out-of-the-way girl, to whom the visitwill be like entering another world," continued Mrs. Spottiswoode, witha twinkle of her black eyes. "What do you think of Corrie and my cousinChrissy Hunter, of Blackfaulds? The Hunters have had such a deal ofdistress, and so much fighting with embarrassment--though I believe theyare getting clearer now--that the poor lassie has had no amusement buther books, and has seen absolutely nothing."

  Mr. Spottiswoode had no inclination to contradict his wife forcontradiction's sake, and as he could rely on her prudence as on herother good qualities, he said, "Well, Agnes, I have no objection; Hunterof Blackfaulds is an honest man though he is poor, and he is rightinghimself now."

  The invitations were dispatched, and accepted gratefully. The guestsarrived before Bourhope occupied his quarters; ostensibly they came sosoon to prepare for him. Corrie had nothing Roman about her except hername, Cornelia. She was a tall, well-made, fair-faced, serene beauty;the sole remaining maiden daughter of a Scotchman who had returned fromthe Indies with a fortune, as so many returned then. He had alreadyendowed Mrs. Spottiswoode with a handsome "tocher," and since hismarriage had settled within five miles of Priorton. Chrissy, again, wasone of a large, struggling family; a small girl, a very little crookedin figure, and with irregular features, and a brown complexion. If shehad not possessed a bright, intelligent expression, she would certainlyhave been plain--as indeed she was to those who did not heed expression.It was a delightful chance to Chrissy, this brief transplanting intothe flourishing, cheerful town-house, amid the glowing gaiety of theyeomanry weeks. Accordingly she was constantly engaged in checking offevery little detail on the finger-points of her active mind, in orderthat she might be able to describe them to her secluded sisters and hersick mother at home. She was determined not to miss one item ofinterest; never to sleep-in so as to lose the mount; never to stray inher walks and fail to be in the house for the return of the afternoondrill. She would pace the meadows among the gay promenaders, even whenthe evening was cloudy, and would not care though she walked alone. Shewould enjoy the play when Mrs. Spottiswoode chose to take her, and noteven object to a squeeze in the box. The squeeze was really part of thefun! But she did not care to have her attention distracted from thestage, even by the proffers of fruit from the Yeomen. As to the ball,she did not allow herself to think much of that. Who would ever havedreamt of Chrissy figuring at a fine yeomanry ball! She would nottrouble herself because she wore an old worked white frock of hermother's, taken up by tucks to suit her, and yellowed by frequentwashing and long keeping. She would not fret because she could not spendmoney upon a hair-dresser. She must dress her own hair--which wasscanty, like every other outward adornment of hers. This was littlematter, she reflected, for it would not dress under the most skilfulartist into those enormous bows on the crown of the head which everybodythen wore--it would only go into comb-curls like little hair turrets oneach side of her round, full forehead, which was by no means scanty. Shehad no ornaments in the way of jewellery, save a coral necklace; whileCorrie had a set of amethysts--real amethysts--ear-rings, brooch, andnecklace, and a gold cross and a gold watch, which she rarely wound up,and which was therefore, as Chrissy said, "a dead-alive affair." ButCorrie was a beauty and an heiress, and ornaments became her person andposition; while on Chrissy, as she herself admitted with great goodsense, they would only have been thrown away. And what did Chrissy carefor her appearance so long as her dress was modest and neat? She couldwalk about and listen to the ravishing music, and study the charactersshe saw, from Corrie up to the Countess, wife of the one earl who cameto Priorton, and who was Colonel of the yeomanry. The day or two beforethe Yeomanry arrived was spent by the two girls in walking about,shopping and making calls. Corrie, though a beauty, proved herself avery dull companion for another girl to walk with. Very pretty to lookat was Corrie in a fair, still, swan-like style of beauty; and she had agreat many pretty dresses, over which she became a little more animatedwhen Chrissy, as a last resource and for their relief, would ask her toturn them over and show them again. Corrie, of course, never dreamt ofoffering poor Chrissy a loan of any of those worked pelerines or aprons,which would have fitted either equally well. But Chrissy did not wantthem, and she got a use out of them as they were brought out one by oneand spread before her. Ere the Yeomanry came, Chrissy knew the stock byheart, and could have drawn them, and cut out patterns and shapes ofthem, and probably did so, the little jade, when she got home.

  Bourhope came with his fellows, and was more specially introduced toCorrie and Chrissy. He had had some general acquaintance with both ofthem before. He gallantly expressed his pleasure at the prospect ofhaving their society during his stay at Priorton. He was a farmer whosefather had made money at war prices. He had bought his own farm, andthus constituted his son a small laird. He had an independent bearing,as well as an independent portion of the world's goods; he was really amanly fellow in his brown, ruddy, curly, strapping comeliness. Butbetter still, Bourhope was an intelligent fellow, who read other thingsthan the news
papers, and relished them. He was a little conceited, nodoubt, in consequence of comparing himself with others, but he had agood heart. Corrie and Chrissy both regarded him with scarcely concealedinterest and admiration. Chrissy wished that the lads at home would growup to be as comely and manly; Corrie made up her mind to have just sucha husband as Bourhope.

  It was evident the very first night that Bourhope was taken with Corrie.He stared and stared at her, admiring her waxen complexion, the bend ofher white throat, and the slope of her white shoulders; and even changedhis seat at one time, as it seemed, in order to see her better. Hequickly claimed her as his partner at loo, and engaged her to walk outwith him to hear the band practising next evening. Chrissy thought itall very natural, and all the more enjoyable. But she caught herselffancying Bourhope and Corrie married, and rebuked herself for carryingher speculations so far. Only she could not help thinking how Bourhopewould weary after the marriage--say when there was a snow-storm, or athree days' fall of rain at the farmhouse. But that was Bourhope'saffair; if he was pleased, what business was it of hers? Bourhope hadthis in common with Chrissy: he could entertain himself.

  During the first three days of the week, Bourhope was zealous in lookingat, and attaching himself to, Corrie. But a sharp observer might haveremarked that after that he flagged a little, taking more as a matter ofcourse and politeness the association he had established between her andhim at tea, loo, and the evening promenade. He would even stifle a yawnwhile in Corrie's company, though he was a mettlesome and not a listlessfellow. But that was only like men, to prize less what they had covetedwhen it was half won.

  So for a short time matters stood. Corrie, fair and swan-like, Bourhopereasonably impressionable, Mr. and Mrs. Spottiswoode decidedlyfavourable, Chrissy Hunter harmless, if not even helpful. Mrs.Spottiswoode knew that those who dally with a suggestion are in greatdanger of acting on it, and had very little doubt that the next tendays' work, with the crowning performance of the ball, would issue indeciding the desirable match between Bourhope and Corrie.

  III.--A MORNING MEETING AND AN EVENING'S READING.

  At this juncture it struck Bourhope, riding home from the morningdrill, to ask himself what could possibly take Chrissy Hunter out soearly every morning. He had already seen her once or twice, keepingout of the way of him and his companions, and returning again fromthe opposite end of Priorton, which was flanked by the doctor's house.Corrie, he noticed, was never with her. Indeed, Bourhope had a strongsuspicion that Corrie retreated to her pillow again after showing himher lovely face--lovely even in the pink curl-papers. But Chrissycertainly dressed immediately, and took a morning walk, by which hercomplexion at least did not profit. Not being a very strong littlewoman, her brown face was apt to look jaded and streaky, whenBourhope, resting from the fatigues of his drill, lounged with thegirls in the early forenoon in Mrs. Spottiswoode's drawing-room. So itwas worth while, he thought, to spur up to Chrissy, and inquire whattook her abroad at such an untimely hour.

  When Bourhope caught a nearer glimpse of Chrissy he was rather dismayedto see that she had been crying. Bourhope hated to see girls crying,particularly girls like Chrissy, to whom it was not becoming. He had noparticular fancy for Cinderellas or other beggar-maids. He would havehated to find that his kinsfolk and friendly host and hostess, for whomhe had a considerable regard, were mean enough and base enough tomaltreat a poor little guest of their own invitation. Notwithstandingthese demurs, Tom Spottiswoode of Bourhope rode so fast up to Chrissy asto cause her to give a violent start when she turned.

  "Hallo! Do you go to market, Miss Chrissy? or what on earth takes youout in the town before the shutters are down?" pointing with hissheathed sword to a closed shop.

  Chrissy was taken aback, and there was something slightly hysterical inher laugh, but she answered frankly enough, "I go to Dr. Stark's, Mr.Spottiswoode. Dr. Stark attends my mother, and is at Blackfaulds everyday. I wait in his laboratory till he comes there before setting out; hegoes his rounds early, you know. He lets me know how mother wasyesterday, and as he is a kind man, he carries our letters,--Maggie andArabella and I are great writers, and postage comes to be expensive--agreat deal too expensive for us at Blackfaulds; but the doctor is a kindman, and he 'favours' our letters. And Mr. Spottiswoode," she said,warming with her subject and impelled to a bit of confidence, "do youknow, Dr. Stark thinks my mother will be about again in a few months.You are aware her knee-joint has been affected. We were even afraid shewould never put down her foot again. It would have been a dreadful trialfor all of us." Chrissy spoke simply, in a rather moved voice.

  Bourhope was slightly moved, too. He had never heard much about Mrs.Hunter, of Blackfaulds, except that she was a woman who had been longailing; and also occasional remarks about the consequences of her beinglost or spared to her family.

  Chrissy was grateful for his evident sympathy, and gratified by it; but,as if half ashamed of having elicited it, she at once began to prattleto him on other subjects. Bourhope had leapt from his horse, and wasdoing Chrissy the honour of walking at her side, his beast's bridle overhis arm, and his spurs ringing on the pavement. A sparkling prattle thatwas of Chrissy's about the fine morning, the town, and theyeomanry--few topics, but well handled and brilliantly illustrated.Bourhope had dared to confess to himself how sorry he was when hereached Mr. Spottiswoode's door.

  Next morning Bourhope detached himself from his comrades when heapproached the town, and looked narrowly for Chrissy. It would be butcivil to inquire for poor Mrs. Hunter. So bent was he on being thuscivil, that though Chrissy was far in advance, he knew her by the pinkgingham trimming of her morning bonnet, fluttering like rose-leaves inthe morning sun. He came up to her, and politely asked after her mother.Chrissy was a little confused, but she answered pleasantly enough. Shewas not nearly so talkative, however, as on the preceding morning,though Bourhope made witty comments on the letter she held in her hand,and pertinaciously insisted on her telling him whether she mentioned himin her return letters! He reminded her that they were cousins in a way.This was the first time Chrissy had known of any one hunting up arelationship with her; and though pleased in her humility--Chrissy wasno fool in that humility of hers--Bourhope, she knew, was destined forher cousin Corrie. He was out of Corrie's way just now, and was onlycourteous and cordial to her as living for a time under the same roof.She liked the ruddy, curly, independent, clever fellow of a farmerlaird, who, out of the riches of his kindness, could be courteous andcordial to a poor plain girl. Bourhope could never overtake Chrissycoming from Dr. Stark's again. He spied and peeped and threw out hints,and hurried or loitered on the way to no purpose. Chrissy took carethat people should not notice the fact of her being escorted home in theearly morning by Bourhope.

  A chance conversation between Mrs. Spottiswoode and Corrie wasoverheard one day by Bourhope, when they imagined him deep in"Blackwood;" for it was the days of the "Noctes." Mr. Hunter, ofRedcraigs, Corrie's father, had not been well one day, and a messagehad been sent to that effect to her. But Corrie was philosophic, andnot unduly alarmed. "Papa makes such a work about himself," she saidcandidly to Mrs. Spottiswoode. "Very likely he has only taken lobsterat supper, or his Jamaica rum has not agreed with him, and he isbilious this morning. I think I will send out a box of colocynth, anda bit of nice tender veal, to put him in good humour again. You know,Agnes, if I were to drive out, I would not get back in time for theevening walk in the meadows. Besides, I was to see Miss Aikin aboutthe change in the running on of my frills. It would overturn all myplans to go, and my head gets so hot, and I look so blowsy, when myplans are disarranged," Corrie concluded, almost piteously.

  "Yes, but Corrie," hesitated Mrs. Spottiswoode, "you know Dr. Stark isnot easy about papa just now. I think I had better go out myself. It isunlucky that Spottiswoode is to have several other yeomen who dobusiness at the Bank, at dinner to-day with Bourhope; but I dare sayMary will manage that, as Chrissy will mix the pudding for her. So Iwill go myself to Redcraigs; all things considered, it wou
ld be a pityfor you not to be in your best looks----"

  Bourhope at this point fell into a fit of coughing, and lost the rest ofthe dialogue; but perhaps his occasional snort of disapprobation wascalled forth as much by this interlude as by the audacious judgments ofthe Shepherd and Tickler.

  The day unluckily turned out very rainy, and the drill was gone throughin a dense white mist, which caused every horse to loom large as anelephant, and every rider to look a Gog or Magog. The young ladies, sofond of a change of costume at this time in Priorton, could do noshopping; the walk in the meadows at sunset with the lounging yeomen hadto be given up. The green meadows were not inviting, the grass wasdripping, the flowers closed and heavy, the river red and drumly. Allwas disappointing; for the meadows were beautiful at this season withtheir summer snow of daisies--not dead-white snow either, for it wasbroken by patches of yellow buttercups, crow's-foot, lady's-finger, andvetch, and by the crimson clover flowers and the rusty red of sorrel,and the black pert heads of the nib-wort plaintain, whose black upon thewhite of ox-eye daisies has the rich tone of ermine.

  Instead of walks, there were gatherings round shining tables; andbottles and glasses clinked cheerily in many a parlour. But Mr.Spottiswoode was sober by inclination. The impressiveness of office,which had quite the contrary effect on many provosts of his era, onlyadded to his characteristic caution. The yeomen, too, knew well wherehilarity ended and excess began. So there was little fear of excess inMr. Spottiswoode's house. Mrs. Spottiswoode, a genius in her own line,had a cheerful fire in her drawing-room, and sat by the hearth with herchildren tumbling round her, while Corrie, fairer than ever in theblinking fire-light, and Chrissy, brown and merry, sat on either side ofher. She invited the farmer laird to enter that charmed ring, which, ofcourse, he could not help contrasting with the loneliness andcomfortlessness of Bourhope. But though Bourhope sat next Corrie, acertain coldness crept over the well-arranged party. He caught himselfglancing curiously at the book Chrissy Hunter had been almost burningher face in reading by the fire-light before he came in. Mrs.Spottiswoode did not much care for reading aloud, but she took the hintin good part, and called on Chrissy to tell what her book was about, andso divert Bourhope without wholly monopolizing his attention.

  Chrissy was rather shy at first. She never told stories freely awayfrom home; but she was now pressed to do it. After a little, however,she put her own sympathetic humour and pathos into the wondrousnarrative, till she literally held her listeners spell-bound. And nowonder. Those were the days of Scott's early novels, when they weregreatly run after, and the price of a night's reading was high.Chrissy's cousin "Rob" was a bookseller's apprentice, and his master,for the purpose of enabling Robbie to share his enthusiasm, would lendthe apprentice an uncut copy. Robbie brought it out to Blackfaulds,and then all would sit up, sick mother among the rest, to hear themread aloud, till far into the small hours.

  Who can tell what that cordial of pure, healthful intellectual diversionmay have been, even to the burdened father and sick mother atBlackfaulds! To Chrissy--the very speaking of it made her clasp herhands over her knee, and her grey eyes to shine out like stars--asBourhope thought to himself.

  How suggestively Chrissy discoursed of Glendearg, and the widow ElspethGlendinning, her two lads, and Martin and Tib Tacket, and the gentlelady and Mary Avenel. With what breadth, yet precision, she reproducedpursy Abbot Boniface, devoted Prior Eustace, wild Christie of theClinthill, buxom Mysie Hopper, exquisite Sir Percy Shafton, and eventried her hand to some purpose on the ethereal White Lady. PerhapsChrissy enjoyed the reading as much as the great enchanter did thewriting. Like great actors, she had an instinctive consciousness of theeffect she produced. Bourhope shouted with laughter when theincorrigible Sir Percy, in the disguise of the dairywoman, described hisrouting charge as "the milky mothers of the herd." Corrie actuallyglanced in affright at the steaming windows and the door ajar, andpinched Chrissy's arm when she repeated for the last time the words ofthe spell:--

  "Thrice to the holly brake-- Thrice to the well;-- Wake thee, O wake, White Maid of Avenel."

  The assembly paid Chrissy the highest compliment an assembly can pay aspeaker. They forgot their schemes, their anxieties, themselves even, tofasten their eyes and hearts on the brown girl--the book dropping fromher hand, but the story written so graphically on her memory. Corriewas the first to recover herself. "Oh dear!" she cried, "I have forgot Iwas to take down my hair for Miss Lothian to point it at eight o'clock,"and hurried out of the room.

  Mrs. Spottiswoode roused herself next, and spoke a few words ofacknowledgment to Chrissy. "Upon my word, Chrissy, your recital has beenquite as good as the play. We are much obliged to you. I am afraid yourthroat must be sore; but stay, I have some of the theatre oranges here.No, bairns, you are not to have any; it is far too late for you to beup. Dear me; I believe you have been listening to Chrissy's story likethe rest of us!" But Mrs. Spottiswoode was not under any apprehensionabout the success of Chrissy's reading. Mrs. Spottiswoode proved this byimmediately leaving Chrissy _tete-a-tete_ with Bourhope while she wentto put the children to bed, and see if Mr. Spottiswoode, who was doing aquiet turn of business in his office, would have a game of cards beforesupper. She had really never heard of a girl being married simply forher tongue's sake! She perhaps knew the line in the song too--

  "Very few marry for talking,"

  and had found its truth in her own experience, for she was a shrewd,observant woman.

  Bourhope, it should be understood, was longest subjected to theinfluence of Chrissy's story-telling power. Indeed, when he did somewhatrecover from it, his fancy created fine visions of what it would be tohave such a storyteller at Bourhope during the long, dark nights ofwinter and the endless days of summer. Bourhope was no ignoramus. He hadsome acquaintance with "Winter's Tales" and summer pastorals, but hisreading was bald and tame to this inspiration. He thought to himself itwould really be as good as a company of players purely for his ownbehoof, without any of the disadvantages. He stammered a little inexpressing the debt he owed to Chrissy, and she could only eagerly replyby saying, "Not to me, not to me the praise, Mr. Spottiswoode, but tothe great unknown. Oh! I would like to know him."

  Bourhope was stimulated to do at once what he was sure to do ultimately:he presented his hospitable entertainers with a box at the play. Nodoubt it was a great delight to Chrissy; for it was in the days whenactors were respectable artists and play-going was still universal.Chrissy in her freshness enjoyed the provincials as well as if they hadbeen first-rate--took the good and left the bad, and sat quiteentranced.

  Bourhope, although he was decidedly intellectual for his calling,watched Chrissy rather than the stage. He read the feeling of the momentreflected in her sagacious yet sensitive face. Once he turned round andtried the same experiment with Corrie. He might as well have expected toborrow a living soul from well-moulded stucco or marble. He now realizedin a more lively manner than ever, that geese may look fair and whiteand soft and shapely as swans till they expose their waddling. He triedin church the process he had learned at the play, and, it must beconfessed, not without effect--Chrissy's expression giving a fairnotion of the good Priorton minister's earnestness and eloquence.

  But at length Chrissy, aware of the liberty Bourhope took in thusmaking her his study, got restless and troubled in her sound head andwarm heart. She was no fool in her simplicity. She knew that Bourhopedid not in any sense belong to Mrs. Spottiswoode and Corrie, and shehad shrewdly suspected of late that their anticipated arrangementswould not be carried out. She could not help occasionally turning overin her mind the circumstance that Cecilia was very plain, but thatdepressed Mortimer Delville nevertheless bestowed his heart on her,though the gift, like her fortune, was disastrous to Cecilia for manya long day. Chrissy thought that if Bourhope were independent andoriginal enough to like her--to love her--he was his own master; therewas nothing between him and his inclination save her inclination andher father and mother's will. And there was li
ttle doubt about fatherand mother's will with respect to a man so worthy, so unexceptionable,and so well endowed as Bourhope.

  Nor was there anything like duty to the Spottiswoodes to stand betweenBourhope and Chrissy. But still Chrissy's nice sense of honour wasdisturbed, for had she not a guess that a very different result had beenexpected? Nay, she had even a half-comical notion that she herself hadbeen expressly selected as a companion to Corrie Hunter during thegaieties of the yeomanry weeks, because she would also prove a sort ofharmless foil.

  A dream of love was a grand shock to Chrissy's quiet life, making wildyet plaintive music, like all nature's true harmonies, within her, andfilling her mind with tremulous light which glorified every object, andwas fain even to dazzle herself. It was not unnatural that Bourhopeshould excite such a dream. But Chrissy was not completely dazzled. Itwas only a dream as yet, and she would be the mistress of her dream; itshould not be the mistress of her. So she resolved, showing herself areasonable, thoughtful, conscientious woman, as well as a loving, fairlyproportioned, and lovely human spirit.

  Chrissy retained all her sober senses. She recollected what was due bothto the hero and to the others concerned. She was neither a weak victim,nor a headstrong, arrogant, malicious conqueror. Like all genuine women,she struggled against yielding herself without her due--without acertainty that there was no irreversible mistake in the matter. She wasnot a girl to get love-sick at the first bout, nor one to run even at aworthy lover's beckoning, though she would sacrifice much, and do itproudly, joyously, for true affection, when once it had confesseditself. So she shrank from Bourhope, slipped away from, and managed toavoid him. He was puzzled and vexed, and almost exasperated by doubts asto whether she cared for or wished to accept his notice and regards.Little brown Chrissy taught the bold Yeoman a lesson in her own quietway. She slowly forced upon him the conviction that any gifts orattainments of his--the prosperous, cultivated farmer laird--were asdross compared with the genius and acquirements of Chrissy Hunter, whommany short-sighted men called insignificant and plain amid the povertyand cares of Blackfaulds. Bourhope was not radically mercenary: he hadno certainty that his superiority in worldly estate would secure thestrange good upon which he set his heart, and he was at once stimulatedand incensed by her indifference to his advances. So he had nocommunication with Chrissy, apart from a demure interchange of words ingeneral conversation, for three days before the grand review and theball, except in a single incident of the pipe-claying of his belts.

  The gentlemen of the old yeomanry who had not servants to do it forthem, did their own pipe-claying, and might generally be seen doing itvery indifferently to the accompaniment of private whistling or socialbawling to each other over adjacent walls in the back courts and greensof Priorton. Bourhope was one day doing his rather gloomily in the backcourt, and succeeding very ill, when Chrissy, who saw him from a window,could endure it no longer. Chrissy was not what most intellectual womenare described as being--an abstracted, scared being, with two lefthands. The exigency of her situation as eldest daughter at Blackfauldshad rendered her as handy as other girls, and only unlike them in beinga great deal more fertile in resource. How could such a woman stand andsee Bourhope destroying his accoutrements, and in danger of smearinghimself from head to foot with pipe-clay? Chrissy came tripping out, andaddressed him with some sharpness--"That is not right, Mr. Spottiswoode;you will never whiten your belt in that way, you will only soil the restof your clothes. I watched the old sergeant doing it next-door for MajorChristison. Look here:" and she took the article out of his hands, andproceeded smartly to clean it. Poor Bourhope bowed to her empire,though he would much rather their positions had been reversed: he wouldrather a thousand times have brushed Chrissy's shoes than that sheshould clean his belt. She was gone again the moment she had directedhim. A portion of his belt was now as white as snow; but nothing wouldhave induced her to stay.

  Bourhope was new to the humiliations as well as the triumphs oflove--that extreme ordeal through which even tolerably wise and sincerespirits must pass before they can unite in a strictness of uniondeserving the name. He was not exactly grateful for the good suggestion;indeed, he had a little fight against Chrissy in his own breast justthen. He told himself it was all a whim, he did not really care for thegirl--one of a large family in embarrassed circumstances. No, it wouldbe absurd to fall in love with a little coffee-coloured girl whose oneshoulder was a fraction of an inch further out than the other. He wasnot compelled to marry either Corrie or Chrissy--not he! Poeh! he wasnot yet half through with his bachelor days. He would look about alittle longer, enjoy himself a little more. At the word enjoymentBourhope stopped short, as if he had caught himself tripping. If ChrissyHunter was ugly, she was an ugly fairy. She was his fate, indeed; hewould never see her like again, and he would be a lost and wrecked manwithout her.

  IV.--THE BALL, AND WHAT CAME OF IT.

  The review and the ball were still in store. Bourhope would not bebeaten with that double shot in reserve. It would go hard with thebrown, curly, independent laird if he were beaten, for already he wasshaken more in his pride and confidence than he ever thought to be.

  The review, for which all the drilling had been undertaken, went offwithout serious effect on the contesting parties. The only thing was,that Bourhope was so disturbed and so distracted in his mind that hecould not attend to orders, and lost his character as a yeoman, and allchance of being future fugleman to his corps. And this, although theMajor had said, when the drills began, that there was not a finer man ormore promising dragoon than Bourhope in the regiment.

  Chrissy's bright, tranquil satisfaction in contemplating, from the boxof Mrs. Spottiswoode's phaeton, the stand of county ladies, with theirgorgeousness and grace, was decidedly impaired. The review, with itstramping and halting, its squares and files, its shouting leaders,galloping aides-de-camp, flashing swords and waving plumes, wascertainly very fine. All the rest of Priorton said so and proved so, forthey stood or sat for a whole day witnessing it, under a scorching sun,on foot, and in every description of vehicle from a corn-cart to acoroneted carriage. Yes, the review was very fine to the mass; but itwas only a confused, hollow, agitating play to Chrissy as to Bourhope.Still she lost sight of the grand general rank and file, byconcentrating her regard on one little scarlet dot. It was to her a playwith its heart a-wanting, and yet the whirl and movement were welcomefor a moment as substitutes for that heart.

  The ball remained, and Bourhope was resolute it should settle thequestion for him. It was the commendable fashion at Priorton that noyoung lady should refuse to dance with an acquaintance without theexcuse of a previous engagement, under the penalty of having to sit therest of the night. Bourhope would get Chrissy to himself that night(balls were of some use, after all, he thought), and have an opportunityof hearing a terribly decisive word, and of getting a reason for thatword too, should it prove unfavourable. In short, he would storm thefortress, and beat down its faltering guard then or never.

  Others besides Bourhope had determined on making the ball a theatre ofexplanations. Mrs. Spottiswoode was not pleased with the aspect ofthings as between Bourhope and Corrie. Their affair made no advance, andthe ball was the conclusion of the yeomanry weeks. The yeomen werealready to all intents and purposes disbanded, and about to return, likeCincinnatus, to their reaping-hooks. Corrie was evidently not contented.She was listless and a little peevish, unless when in the company ofother yeomen than Bourhope--a rare thing with Corrie, who was really avery harmless girl. But she looked elegant in her ball dress, and hadalways a train of admirers on such occasions. And then, of course, manymen needed the spur of jealousy to induce them to take the bold leap ofmatrimony. Chrissy, too, had her own fears and doubts about this ball.Bourhope hitherto had only pursued her, if he had pursued her, in rathera secret manner. She would now see how he would treat her on a publicoccasion. His conduct would then be marked and conspicuous, and evenMrs. Spottiswoode's and Corrie's eyes would be opened to it. Then,again, he would have an opp
ortunity of contrasting her personally withall the girls about Priorton. Chrissy gazed wistfully into the glass asshe fastened her yellow scrimp old white frock, and sighed. But she didnot look so much amiss as she supposed: she was young, slight, and fullof subtle character. And with her scarlet coral beads twisted among herdark little turret curls and bows, there was piquancy and attraction inChrissy. But her first purely disinterested and unbounded pleasure inthe gaiety was grievously chequered, and it was to be feared the accountshe would carry home of her first ball to expectant Blackfaulds would bedisappointing.

  There were only two chaises in repair in Priorton, to convey the wholetownspeople in rotation to the ball. It was thus unavoidable that someshould be very early, as well as some very late. Mr. Spottiswoode, asProvost, was of course among the first after the Colonel and his lady,old country people, who stood arm-in-arm, bluff and bland, under theevergreens over the door, and shook hands with everybody, great andsmall--a family of pretty girls meanwhile laughing behind them.

  Mrs. Spottiswoode wore a splendid bunch of white feathers tipped withstraw-colour in her blue gauze turban. Even Chrissy's dazed eyes noticedthat, as well as the white ribbon in Provost Spottiswoode's bottle-greencoat, which pointed him out an honorary steward. But how handsome browncurly Bourhope looked in his red coat!

  A strange thought came over Chrissy. She did not wish Corrie, in herwhite crape and French ribbons, and so tall and straight and fair, tobe blighted in her beauty--no, not for a moment. But Chrissy was cruelenough to cherish a passing wish that, by some instantaneoustransformation, Bourhope might be pitted with smallpox, or scarred withgunpowder, or have premature age brought upon him as with the wave of awand--the soul within being left unchanged, however.

  Mrs. Spottiswoode, unlike Chrissy, was quite alive to the practical. Sheremarked everything with keen eyes, and determined now to be at thebottom of the business. She should either go in and win triumphantly, ortake a sudden tack and sail away with flying colours, as if she hadnever entertained the most distant intention of coming to closequarters, and thus give the impression that she never had any intentionof promoting a match between Bourhope and Corrie.

  Mrs. Spottiswoode thought Bourhope looked as if he were going to dosomething desperate. His first blunder had been to hand, or rather lift,Chrissy into the chaise instead of Corrie, at starting from their owndoor. He repeated the unaccountable blunder at the County Rooms, whichcompelled him to take Chrissy into the ball-room; and while Chrissy wasstill gazing in bewilderment and admiration at the evergreens andchalked floors, and talking, laughing couples, Mrs. Spottiswoode couldscarcely believe her ears when she distinctly heard Bourhope askChrissy's hand for the first dance, saying that he would have engaged itbefore if he had got the opportunity.

  Now Mrs. Spottiswoode had no doubt that Bourhope would solicit hersister Corrie for this dance, and therefore she had peremptorilyforbidden Corrie to engage herself in any other quarter, even whenCorrie had demurred at the certainty of the arrangement. It was very oddof Bourhope, unless he thought Chrissy would have no chance of any otherpartner, and wanted to spare a plain little girl's mortification at thevery commencement of the evening. "That must be it," Mrs. Spottiswoodesaid to herself, and was consoled by Corrie's hand being immediatelyrequested for the Colonel's nephew.

  The Colonel's wife opened the ball with the most popular and oldestprivate for partner, and, of course, Chrissy and Bourhope stood belowCorrie and the Colonel's nephew. But Bourhope and Chrissy did not mindCorrie's precedence, and were talking to each other quite intimately.Bourhope was forgetting the figure and bending across to Chrissy, thoughhe was saying nothing particular, and speaking out quite loud. But helooked engrossed and excited. If it had been any other girl but Chrissy,Mrs. Spottiswoode would have called it a flirtation, and more than aflirtation. Chrissy looked well in her shabby dress, almost prettyindeed, in the new atmosphere. Mrs. Spottiswoode was aggrieved,disgusted in the first instance, but she would not just yet believe suchan incredible contradiction to her well-laid scheme. Match-makinginvolves so many parties, there are such wheels within wheels ofcalculation and resource. She glanced at Corrie, who was dancing verycomplacently with the Colonel's nephew, and exchanging passing wordswith yeomen who tried to get speech with her. In her white crape, andteeth as white, and her dimples, she was safe, heart-whole andprosperous--a beauty who might pick and choose a suitable husband,even though Bourhope, infatuated, threw himself away.

  Mrs. Spottiswoode gave a sigh of relief. Failure now would only becomparative.

  The dance being over, Bourhope sat down beside Chrissy. No, she turnedher head the other way, and he rose up and strolled through the room.But he was soon back in his old place.

  He wanted to dance with Chrissy again. She hesitated, grew nervous, andcast her eyes on Mrs. Spottiswoode. He went straight to their hostess,and said, "Mrs. Spottiswoode, you have no objection that I dance thisdance again with Miss Chrissy Hunter?"

  "None in the world, Bourhope," said Mrs. Spottiswoode, with a spasmodicsmile, "why should I?"

  "Why, indeed?" he returned, "or every dance? May I tell her so?"

  "That is as she and you may agree. You are aware that would appearsomething serious," she said, trying to laugh.

  "I will take the consequences," he significantly assured her, and wentback and told Chrissy so, and then he drove her to her inmost citadel,and beat her there.

  Other eyes than Mrs. Spottiswoode's were attracted to the pair.Half-a-dozen matrons' heads went wagging significantly; girlswhispered and tittered; gentlemen opened their eyes, shaped theirmouths as if about to whistle, strolled up and took their observationsof the pre-occupied, unconscious couple quite coolly, and thenspeculated and gossiped.

  Mrs. Spottiswoode read these comments as well as what had gone before,and was ready with her magnanimity. It was this which constituted her atruly able tactician. She shifted her tack before the shout of maliciousexultation and ridicule could have been raised at her discomfiture. By adexterous sleight of hand, she shuffled her cards and altered her suit.In a moment Mrs. Spottiswoode was winking and nodding with the matronsinterested in the news of the night. She arrested a good-humouredyeoman, and crossed the room on his arm, to express and receivecongratulations. "You have found out the secret? Foolish fellow,Bourhope; he cannot conceal his feelings, though their display ispremature. I must scold him for exposing himself and her. Poor dear! sheis not accustomed to this sort of thing. But I am so delighted--so nice,isn't it? Such an excellent marriage for my cousin Chrissy--a good girl,a very clever girl--such a fortunate beginning for the Blackfauldsfamily. I often say the first marriage makes or mars a family of girls.It is so lucky that I invited Chrissy for the yeomanry weeks thissummer. It is a great deal better than if it had been Corrie, becauseCorrie can wait," with a careless wave of her hand in the direction inwhich Corrie moved, deliberately followed by her train. "Corrie has toomany admirers to make up her mind speedily, yet she takes it all veryquietly. But this is so appropriate--Mr. Spottiswoode's cousin and mycousin--nobody could have planned it better."

  She turned round, and heard a blunt booby of a farmer speaking out hismind. She at once took him up--"You would not have thought it? Youcannot comprehend what has come over Bourhope, or what he sees in thatthin, yellow mite, Miss Hunter of Blackfaulds, even though she were asgood as a saint, and as wise as the Queen of Sheba? Oh! come, Balquin,you do not allow sufficient latitude to goodness and cleverness. I tellyou, Bourhope has neither eyes nor ears for anybody but that mite; hecounts his colourless daisy far before the gayest painted face. He knowsthat we are remarking on them now, and he is holding his head as high asif he had sought and won a queen. He is right; she will prove asensible, cheerful wife to him. Bourhope will have the cleverest, bestwife in the county, for all your swaggering. And that is something, whena man comes to be old and has an old wife like me. Not old, Balquin?away with you. I wish the Provost heard you. Do you think to flatter mebecause I am in spirits about my cousin's match? No, it
is not lost thata friend gets, Balquin."

  The public of Priorton did not know whether most to admire Mrs.Spottiswoode's diplomacy, or this rare instance of poetic justice.