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Alec Forbes of Howglen, a novel by George MacDonald |
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Chapter 81 |
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_ CHAPTER LXXXI Annie began to perceive that it was time for her to go, partly from the fact that she was no longer wanted so much, and partly from finding in herself certain conditions of feeling which she did not know what to do with. "Annie's coming back to you in a day or two, Mr Bruce," said Mrs Forbes, having called to pay some of her interest, and wishing to prepare the way for her return. "She has been with me a long time, but you know she was ill, and I could not part with her besides." "Weel, mem," answered Bruce, "we'll be verra happy to tak' her hame again, as sune's ye hae had a' the use ye want o' her." He had never assumed this tone before, either to Mrs Forbes or with regard to Annie. But she took no notice of it. Both Mr and Mrs Bruce received the girl so kindly that she did not know what to make of it. Mr Bruce especially was all sugar and butter�-rancid butter of course. When she went up to her old rat-haunted room, her astonishment was doubled. For the holes in floor and roof had been mended; the sky-light was as clean as glass a hundred years old could be; a square of carpet lay in the middle of the floor; and cheque-curtains adorned the bed. She concluded that these luxuries had been procured for Mr Cupples, but could not understand how they came to be left for her. Nor did the consideration shown her decrease after the first novelty of her return had worn off; and altogether the main sources of her former discomfort had ceased to flow. The baby had become a sweet-tempered little girl; Johnnie was at school all day; and Robert was a comparatively well-behaved, though still sulky youth. He gave himself great airs to his former companions, but to Annie he was condescending. He was a good student, and had the use of _the room_ for a study. Robert Bruce the elder had disclosed his projects to his heir, and he had naturally declined all effort for their realization. But he began at length to observe that Annie had grown very pretty; and then he thought it would be a nice thing to fall in love with her, since, from his parents' wishes to that end, she must have some money. Annie, however, did not suspect anything, till, one day, she overheard the elder say to the younger, "Ye dinna push, man. Gang benn to the chop and get a cnottie o' reid candy-sugar, and gie her that the neist time ye see her her lane. The likes o' her kens what that means. And gin she tak's 't frae ye, ye may hae the run o' the drawer. It's worth while, ye ken. Them 'at winna saw winna reap." From that moment she was on her guard. Nor did she give the youth a chance of putting his father's advice into operation. Meantime Alec got better and better, went out with Mr Cupples in the gig, ate like an ogre, drank like a hippopotamus, and was rapidly recovering his former strength. As he grew better, his former grief did draw nearer, but such was the freshness of his new life, that he seemed to have died and risen again like Lazarus, leaving his sorrow behind him in the grave, to be communed with only in those dim seasons when ghosts walk. One evening over their supper, he was opposing Mr Cupples's departure for the twentieth time. At length the latter said: "Alec, I'll bide wi' ye till the neist session upon ae condition." "What is that, Mr Cupples?" said Mrs Forbes. "I shall be delighted to know it." "Ye see, mem, this young rascal here made a fule o' 'msel' last session and didna pass; and�-" "Let bygones be bygones, if you please, Mr Cupples, said Mrs Forbes pleasantly. "'Deed no, mem. What's the use o' byganes but to learn frae them hoo to meet the bycomes? Ye'll please to hear me oot; and gin Alec doesna like to hear me, he maun jist sit _and_ hear me." "Fire away, Mr Cupples," said Alec. "I will.�-For them that didna pass i' the en' o' the last session, there's an examination i' the beginnin' o' the neist�-gin they like to stan' 't. Gin they dinna, they maun gang throu the same classes ower again, and stan' the examination at the end�-that is, gin they want a degree; and that's a terrible loss o' time for the start. Noo, gin Alec'll set to wark like a man, I'll help him a' that I can; and by the gatherin' again, he'll be up wi' the lave o' the fleet. Faith! I'll sit like Deith i' the spectre-bark, and blaw intil his sails a' that I can blaw. Maybe ye dinna ken that verse i' _The Rhyme o' the Ancient Mariner_? It was left oot o' the later editions:
That very day Alec resumed. Mr Cupples would not let him work a moment after he began to show symptoms of fatigue. But the limit was moved further and further every day, till at length he could work four hours. His tutor would not hear of any further extension, and declared he would pass triumphantly. The rest of the summer-day they spent in wandering about, or lying in the grass, for it was a hot and dry summer, so that the grass was a very bed of health. Then came all the pleasures of the harvest. And when the evenings grew cool, there were the books that Mr Cupples foraged for in Glamerton, seeming to find them by the scent. And Mr Cupples tried to lead Alec into philosophical ways of regarding things; for he had just enough of religion to get some good of philosophy�-which itself is the religion of skeletons. "Ye see," he would say, "it's pairt o' the machine. What a body has to do is to learn what pinion or steam-box, or piston, or muckle water-wheel he represents, and stick to that, defyin' the deevil, whase wark is to put the machine out o' gear. And sae he maun grin' awa', and whan Deith comes, he'll say, as Andrew Wylie did�-'Weel run, little wheelie!' and tak' him awa' wi' him some gait or ither, whaur, maybe, he may mak' choice o' his ain machine for the neist trial." "That's some cauld doctrine, Mr Cupples," Alec would say. "Weel," he would return with a smile, "gang to yer frien' Thamas Crann, and he'll gie ye something a hantle better. That's ane o' the maist extrornar men I ever made acquantance wi'. He'll gie ye divine philosophy�-a dooms sicht better nor mine. But, eh! he's saft for a' that." Annie would have got more good from these readings than either of them. Mr Cupples was puzzled to account for her absence, but came to see into the mother's defensive strategy, who had not yet learned to leave such things to themselves; though she might have known by this time that the bubbles of scheming mothers, positive or negative, however well-blown, are in danger of collapsing into a drop of burning poison. He missed Annie very much, and went often to see her, taking her what books he could. With one or other of these she would wander along the banks of the clear brown Glamour, now watching it as it subdued its rocks or lay asleep in its shadowy pools, now reading a page or two, or now seating herself on the grass, and letting the dove of peace fold its wings upon her bosom. Even her new love did not more than occasionally ruffle the flow of her inward river. She had long cherished a deeper love, which kept it very calm. Her stillness was always wandering into prayer; but never did she offer a petition that associated Alec's fate with her own; though sometimes she would find herself holding up her heart like an empty cup which knew that it was empty. She missed Tibbie Dyster dreadfully. One day, thinking she heard Mr Cupples come upstairs, she ran down with a smile on her face, which fell off it like a withered leaf when she saw no one there but Robert the student. He, taking the smile for himself, rose and approached her with an ugly response on his heavy countenance. She turned and flew up again to her room; whither to her horror he followed her, demanding a kiss. An ordinary Scotch maiden of Annie's rank would have answered such a request from a man she did not like with a box on the ear, tolerably delivered; but Annie was too proud even to struggle, and submitted like a marble statue, except that she could not help wiping her lips after the salute. The youth walked away more discomfited than if she had made angry protestations, and a successful resistance. Annie sat down and cried. Her former condition in the house was enviable to this.�-That same evening, without saying a word to any one, for there was a curious admixture of outward lawlessness with the perfect inward obedience of the girl, she set out for Clippenstrae, on the opposite bank of the Wan Water. It was a gorgeous evening. The sun was going down in purple and crimson, divided by such bars of gold as never grew in the mines of Ophir. A faint rosy mist hung its veil over the hills about the sunset; and a torrent of red light streamed down the westward road by which she went. The air was soft, and the light sobered with a sense of the coming twilight. It was such an evening as we have, done into English, in the ninth Evening Voluntary of Wordsworth. And Annie felt it such. Thank God, is does not need a poetic education to feel such things. It needs a poetic education to _say_ such things so, that another, not seeing, yet shall see; but that such a child as Annie should not be able to feel them, would be the one argument to destroy our belief in the genuineness of the poet's vision. For if so, can the vision have come from Nature's self? Has it not rather been evoked by the magic rod of the poet's will from his own chambers of imagery? _ |
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