The two younger misses were very willing to discuss a point of my habiliment, because that was in the line of their chief thoughts. I cannot say that they appeared any other way conscious of my presence; and though always more than civil, with a kind of heartless cordiality, could not hide how much I wearied them. As for the aunt, she was a wonderful still woman; and I think she gave me much the same attention as she gave the rest of the family, which was little enough. The eldest6 daughter and the Advocate himself were thus my principal friends, and our familiarity was much increased by a pleasure that we took in common. Before the court met we spent a day or two at the house of Grange, living very nobly with an open table, and here it was that we three began to ride out together in the fields, a practice afterwards maintained in Edinburgh, so far as the Advocate’s continual affairs permitted. When we were put in a good frame by the briskness7 of the exercise, the difficulties of the way, or the accidents of bad weather, my shyness wore entirely8 off; we forgot that we were strangers, and speech not being required, it flowed the more naturally on. Then it was that they had my story from me, bit by bit, from the time that I left Essendean, with my voyage and battle in the Covenant9, wanderings in the heather, etc.; and from the interest they found in my adventures sprung the circumstance of a jaunt10 we made a little later on, on a day when the courts were not sitting, and of which I will tell a trifle more at length.
We took horse early, and passed first by the house of Shaws, where it stood smokeless in a great field of white frost, for it was yet early in the day. Here Prestongrange alighted down, gave me his horse, an proceeded alone to visit my uncle. My heart, I remember, swelled11 up bitter within me at the sight of that bare house and the thought of the old miser12 sitting chittering within in the cold kitchen!
“There is my home,” said I; “and my family.”
“Poor David Balfour!” said Miss Grant.
What passed during the visit I have never heard; but it would doubtless not be very agreeable to Ebenezer, for when the Advocate came forth13 again his face was dark.
“I think you will soon be the laird indeed, Mr. Davie,” says he, turning half about with the one foot in the stirrup.
“I will never pretend sorrow,” said I; and, to say the truth, during his absence Miss Grant and I had been embellishing14 the place in fancy with plantations15, parterres, and a terrace—much as I have since carried out in fact.
Thence we pushed to the Queensferry, where Rankeillor gave us a good welcome, being indeed out of the body to receive so great a visitor. Here the Advocate was so unaffectedly good as to go quite fully17 over my affairs, sitting perhaps two hours with the Writer in his study, and expressing (I was told) a great esteem18 for myself and concern for my fortunes. To while this time, Miss Grant and I and young Rankeillor took boat and passed the Hope to Limekilns. Rankeillor made himself very ridiculous (and, I thought, offensive) with his admiration19 for the young lady, and to my wonder (only it is so common a weakness of her sex) she seemed, if anything, to be a little gratified. One use it had: for when we were come to the other side, she laid her commands on him to mind the boat, while she and I passed a little further to the alehouse. This was her own thought, for she had been taken with my account of Alison Hastie, and desired to see the lass herself. We found her once more alone—indeed, I believe her father wrought all day in the fields—and she curtsied dutifully to the gentry-folk and the beautiful young lady in the riding-coat.
“Is this all the welcome I am to get?” said I, holding out my hand. “And have you no more memory of old friends?”
“Keep me! wha’s this of it?” she cried, and then, “God’s truth, it’s the tautit [19] laddie!”
“The very same,” says I.
“Mony’s the time I’ve thocht upon you and your freen, and blythe am I to see in your braws,” [20] she cried. “Though I kent ye were come to your ain folk by the grand present that ye sent me and that I thank ye for with a’ my heart.”
“There,” said Miss Grant to me, “run out by with ye, like a guid bairn. I didnae come here to stand and haud a candle; it’s her and me that are to crack.”
I suppose she stayed ten minutes in the house, but when she came forth I observed two things—that her eyes were reddened, and a silver brooch was gone out of her bosom20. This very much affected16 me.
“I never saw you so well adorned,” said I.
“O Davie man, dinna be a pompous21 gowk!” said she, and was more than usually sharp to me the remainder of the day.
About candlelight we came home from this excursion.
For a good while I heard nothing further of Catriona—my Miss Grant remaining quite impenetrable, and stopping my mouth with pleasantries. At last, one day that she returned from walking and found me alone in the parlour over my French, I thought there was something unusual in her looks; the colour heightened, the eyes sparkling high, and a bit of a smile continually bitten in as she regarded me. She seemed indeed like the very spirit of mischief22, and, walking briskly in the room, had soon involved me in a kind of quarrel over nothing and (at the least) with nothing intended on my side. I was like Christian23 in the slough—the more I tried to clamber out upon the side, the deeper I became involved; until at last I heard her declare, with a great deal of passion, that she would take that answer from the hands of none, and I must down upon my knees for pardon.
The causelessness of all this fuff stirred my own bile. “I have said nothing you can properly object to,” said I, “and as for my knees, that is an attitude I keep for God.”
“And as a goddess I am to be served!” she cried, shaking her brown locks at me and with a bright colour. “Every man that comes within waft24 of my petticoats shall use me so!”
“I will go so far as ask your pardon for the fashion’s sake, although I vow25 I know not why,” I replied. “But for these play-acting postures26, you can go to others.”
“O Davie!” she said. “Not if I was to beg you?”
I bethought me I was fighting with a woman, which is the same as to say a child, and that upon a point entirely formal.
“I think it a bairnly thing,” I said, “not worthy27 in you to ask, or me to render. Yet I will not refuse you, neither,” said I; “and the stain, if there be any, rests with yourself.” And at that I kneeled fairly down.
“There!” she cried. “There is the proper station, there is where I have been manoeuvring to bring you.” And then, suddenly, “Kep,” [21] said she, flung me a folded billet, and ran from the apartment laughing.
The billet had neither place nor date. “Dear Mr. David,” it began, “I get your news continually by my cousin, Miss Grant, and it is a pleisand hearing. I am very well, in a good place, among good folk, but necessitated28 to be quite private, though I am hoping that at long last we may meet again. All your friendships have been told me by my loving cousin, who loves us both. She bids me to send you this writing, and oversees29 the same. I will be asking you to do all her commands, and rest your affectionate friend, Catriona Macgregor-Drummond. P.S.—Will you not see my cousin, Allardyce?”
I think it not the least brave of my campaigns (as the soldiers say) that I should have done as I was here bidden and gone forthright30 to the house by Dean. But the old lady was now entirely changed and supple31 as a glove. By what means Miss Grant had brought this round I could never guess; I am sure, at least, she dared not to appear openly in the affair, for her papa was compromised in it pretty deep. It was he, indeed, who had persuaded Catriona to leave, or rather, not to return, to her cousin’s, placing her instead with a family of Gregorys—decent people, quite at the Advocate’s disposition32, and in whom she might have the more confidence because they were of his own clan33 and family. These kept her private till all was ripe, heated and helped her to attempt her father’s rescue, and after she was discharged from prison received her again into the same secrecy34. Thus Prestongrange obtained and used his instrument; nor did there leak out the smallest word of his acquaintance with the daughter of James More. There was some whispering, of course, upon the escape of that discredited35 person; but the Government replied by a show of rigour, one of the cell porters was flogged, the lieutenant36 of the guard (my poor friend, Duncansby) was broken of his rank, and as for Catriona, all men were well enough pleased that her fault should be passed by in silence.
I could never induce Miss Grant to carry back an answer. “No,” she would say, when I persisted, “I am going to keep the big feet out of the platter.” This was the more hard to bear, as I was aware she saw my little friend many times in the week, and carried her my news whenever (as she said) I “had behaved myself.” At last she treated me to what she called an indulgence, and I thought rather more of a banter37. She was certainly a strong, almost a violent, friend to all she liked, chief among whom was a certain frail38 old gentlewoman, very blind and very witty39, who dwelt on the top of a tall land on a strait close, with a nest of linnets in a cage, and thronged40 all day with visitors. Miss Grant was very fond to carry me there and put me to entertain her friend with the narrative41 of my misfortunes: and Miss Tibbie Ramsay (that was her name) was particular kind, and told me a great deal that was worth knowledge of old folks and past affairs in Scotland. I should say that from her chamber42 window, and not three feet away, such is the straitness of that close, it was possible to look into a barred loophole lighting43 the stairway of the opposite house.
Here, upon some pretext44, Miss Grant left me one day alone with Miss Ramsay. I mind I thought that lady inattentive and like one preoccupied45. I was besides very uncomfortable, for the window, contrary to custom, was left open and the day was cold. All at once the voice of Miss Grant sounded in my ears as from a distance.
“Here, Shaws!” she cried, “keek out of the window and see what I have broughten you.”
I think it was the prettiest sight that ever I beheld46. The well of the close was all in clear shadow where a man could see distinctly, the walls very black and dingy47; and there from the barred loophole I saw two faces smiling across at me—Miss Grant’s and Catriona’s.
“There!” says Miss Grant, “I wanted her to see you in your braws like the lass of Limekilns. I wanted her to see what I could make of you, when I buckled48 to the job in earnest!”
It came in my mind that she had been more than common particular that day upon my dress; and I think that some of the same care had been bestowed49 upon Catriona. For so merry and sensible a lady, Miss Grant was certainly wonderful taken up with duds.
“Catriona!” was all I could get out.
As for her, she said nothing in the world, but only waved her hand and smiled to me, and was suddenly carried away again from before the loophole.
That vision was no sooner lost than I ran to the house door, where I found I was locked in; thence back to Miss Ramsay, crying for the key, but might as well have cried upon the castle rock. She had passed her word, she said, and I must be a good lad. It was impossible to burst the door, even if it had been mannerly; it was impossible I should leap from the window, being seven storeys above ground. All I could do was to crane over the close and watch for their reappearance from the stair. It was little to see, being no more than the tops of their two heads each on a ridiculous bobbin of skirts, like to a pair of pincushions. Nor did Catriona so much as look up for a farewell; being prevented (as I heard afterwards) by Miss Grant, who told her folk were never seen to less advantage than from above downward.
“I am sorry you was disappointed,” says she demurely51. “For my part I was very pleased. You looked better than I dreaded52; you looked—if it will not make you vain—a mighty53 pretty young man when you appeared in the window. You are to remember that she could not see your feet,” says she, with the manner of one reassuring54 me.
“O!” cried I, “leave my feet be—they are no bigger than my neighbours’.”
“I marvel56 little they were sometimes stoned!” says I. “But, you miserable57 girl, how could you do it? Why should you care to tantalise me with a moment?”
“Love is like folk,” says she; “it needs some kind of vivers.” [22]
“Oh, Barbara, let me see her properly!” I pleaded. “You can—you see her when you please; let me have half an hour.”
“Who is it that is managing this love affair! You! Or me?” she asked, and as I continued to press her with my instances, fell back upon a deadly expedient58: that of imitating the tones of my voice when I called on Catriona by name; with which, indeed, she held me in subjection for some days to follow.
There was never the least word heard of the memorial, or none by me. Prestongrange and his grace the Lord President may have heard of it (for what I know) on the deafest sides of their heads; they kept it to themselves, at least—the public was none the wiser; and in course of time, on November 8th, and in the midst of a prodigious59 storm of wind and rain, poor James of the Glens was duly hanged at Lettermore by Ballachulish.
So there was the final upshot of my politics! Innocent men have perished before James, and are like to keep on perishing (in spite of all our wisdom) till the end of time. And till the end of time young folk (who are not yet used with the duplicity of life and men) will struggle as I did, and make heroical resolves, and take long risks; and the course of events will push them upon the one side and go on like a marching army. James was hanged; and here was I dwelling60 in the house of Prestongrange, and grateful to him for his fatherly attention. He was hanged; and behold61! when I met Mr. Simon in the causeway, I was fain to pull off my beaver62 to him like a good little boy before his dominie. He had been hanged by fraud and violence, and the world wagged along, and there was not a pennyweight of difference; and the villains63 of that horrid64 plot were decent, kind, respectable fathers of families, who went to kirk and took the sacrament!
But I had had my view of that detestable business they call politics—I had seen it from behind, when it is all bones and blackness; and I was cured for life of any temptations to take part in it again. A plain, quiet, private path was that which I was ambitious to walk in, when I might keep my head out of the way of dangers and my conscience out of the road of temptation. For, upon a retrospect65, it appeared I had not done so grandly, after all; but with the greatest possible amount of big speech and preparation, had accomplished66 nothing.
The 25th of the same month a ship was advertised to sail from Leith; and I was suddenly recommended to make up my mails for Leyden. To Prestongrange I could, of course, say nothing; for I had already been a long while sorning on his house and table. But with his daughter I was more open, bewailing my fate that I should be sent out of the country, and assuring her, unless she should bring me to farewell with Catriona, I would refuse at the last hour.
“Have I not given you my advice?” she asked.
“I know you have,” said I, “and I know how much I am beholden to you already, and that I am bidden to obey your orders. But you must confess you are something too merry a lass at times to lippen [23] to entirely.”
“I will tell you, then,” said she. “Be you on board by nine o’clock forenoon; the ship does not sail before one; keep your boat alongside; and if you are not pleased with my farewells when I shall send them, you can come ashore67 again and seek Katrine for yourself.”
Since I could make no more of her, I was fain to be content with this.
The day came round at last when she and I were to separate. We had been extremely intimate and familiar; I was much in her debt; and what way we were to part was a thing that put me from my sleep, like the vails I was to give to the domestic servants. I knew she considered me too backward, and rather desired to rise in her opinion on that head. Besides which, after so much affection shown and (I believe) felt upon both sides, it would have looked cold-like to be anyways stiff. Accordingly, I got my courage up and my words ready, and the last chance we were like to be alone, asked pretty boldly to be allowed to salute68 her in farewell.
“You forget yourself strangely, Mr. Balfour,” said she. “I cannot call to mind that I have given you any right to presume on our acquaintancy.”
I stood before her like a stopped clock, and knew not what to think, far less to say, when of a sudden she cast her arms about my neck and kissed me with the best will in the world.
“You inimitable bairn!” she cried. “Did you think that I would let us part like strangers? Because I can never keep my gravity at you five minutes on end, you must not dream I do not love you very well: I am all love and laughter, every time I cast an eye on you! And now I will give you an advice to conclude your education, which you will have need of before it’s very long. Never ask womenfolk. They’re bound to answer ‘No’; God never made the lass that could resist the temptation. It’s supposed by divines to be the curse of Eve: because she did not say it when the devil offered her the apple, her daughters can say nothing else.”
“Since I am so soon to lose my bonny professor,” I began.
“I would put the one question,” I went on. “May I ask a lass to marry to me?”
“You think you could not marry her without!” she asked. “Or else get her to offer?”
“You see you cannot be serious,” said I.
“I shall be very serious in one thing, David,” said she: “I shall always be your friend.”
As I got to my horse the next morning, the four ladies were all at that same window whence we had once looked down on Catriona, and all cried farewell and waved their pocket napkins as I rode away. One out of the four I knew was truly sorry; and at the thought of that, and how I had come to the door three months ago for the first time, sorrow and gratitude70 made a confusion in my mind.
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1
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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advancement
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| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
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ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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7
briskness
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| n.敏捷，活泼 | |
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8
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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9
covenant
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| n.盟约，契约；v.订盟约 | |
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jaunt
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| v.短程旅游；n.游览 | |
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swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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miser
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| n.守财奴，吝啬鬼 (adj.miserly) | |
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13
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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embellishing
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| v.美化( embellish的现在分词 )；装饰；修饰；润色 | |
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plantations
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| n.种植园，大农场( plantation的名词复数 ) | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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pompous
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的；夸大的；豪华的 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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waft
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| v.飘浮，飘荡；n.一股；一阵微风；飘荡 | |
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vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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postures
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| 姿势( posture的名词复数 )； 看法； 态度； 立场 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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necessitated
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| 使…成为必要，需要( necessitate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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oversees
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| v.监督，监视( oversee的第三人称单数 ) | |
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forthright
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| adj.直率的，直截了当的 [同]frank | |
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supple
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| adj.柔软的，易弯的，逢迎的，顺从的，灵活的；vt.使柔软，使柔顺，使顺从；vi.变柔软，变柔顺 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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clan
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| n.氏族，部落，宗族，家族，宗派 | |
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secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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discredited
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| 不足信的，不名誉的 | |
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lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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banter
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| n.嘲弄，戏谑；v.取笑，逗弄，开玩笑 | |
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frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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46
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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47
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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48
buckled
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| a. 有带扣的 | |
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49
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50
upbraided
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| v.责备，申斥，谴责( upbraid的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
demurely
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| adv.装成端庄地，认真地 | |
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52
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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53
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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54
reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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55
parables
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| n.（圣经中的）寓言故事( parable的名词复数 ) | |
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56
marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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57
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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58
expedient
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| adj.有用的，有利的；n.紧急的办法，权宜之计 | |
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59
prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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60
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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61
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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62
beaver
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| n.海狸，河狸 | |
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63
villains
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| n.恶棍( villain的名词复数 )；罪犯；（小说、戏剧等中的）反面人物；淘气鬼 | |
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64
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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65
retrospect
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| n.回顾，追溯；v.回顾，回想，追溯 | |
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66
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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67
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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68
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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69
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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70
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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