It was a Lover and his Lass
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"It is because she thinks him a stranger, and a little out of his element," said Jean, ever ready with an apology.
"A stranger! He is just a beautiful dancer. Very likely he would be clumsy in a reel; but nobody dances reels nowadays. And as for those round dances (which I cannot say I approve of), he is just perfect. I don't wonder Lilias likes to dance with him. But I hope she will not just put things into his head," Margaret said.
"Oh, no," said Jean – "I don't think she will do that."
It was not till two hours later, in the lovely early daylight, that the Miss Murrays left the Tower. Though there was not much room in the brougham, they sat close to take Mrs. Seton and her daughter into it, Katie, much subdued, sitting on Miss Margaret's velvet lap, upon the point lace which was almost the most valuable thing she possessed. The elder ladies talked a little, moralizing upon the perversity of human nature, which sent them home like this in their finery on the bonnie bright morning, when working folk were going out to their day's darg.
"If they would have the sense to begin early, as you do at your little tea-parties," Miss Margaret said, graciously.
"But oh! we must make allowances for a ball. Yes, yes, there are so few of them in the county we may make allowance once in a way for a ball – and a grand ball, too, we must all admit; and the young people all enjoyed themselves just uncommonly," cried Mrs. Seton.
When they were in the ferry-boat, Lilias desired to be allowed to get out of the carriage, and, with their fleecy white wraps about their heads, the girls went to the bow of the boat and stood in the fresh light looking out upon the silent river, which lay in that ecstasy of self-enjoyment, brooding upon all its shadows, and reflecting every gradation of light, which Nature is possessed by in hours when man is, so to speak, non-existent. The birds sang as if they had never known before what delight there was in singing, and were all trying some new carols in an enthusiasm of pleasure, breaking off and beginning again as if they had never sung them before this day. And the shadows were all made of light, as well as the illuminations, and everything was glorified in the water which reproduced the bank and the foliage and every sleeping cottage. There was a little awe in it, it was so bright, so limpid and serene. Lewis, who was crossing with them, leaned over the side of the boat, and did not even speak when they approached him: and when Katie began her usual chatter, though even that was subdued, Lilias stopped her with a movement of her hand.
"They are all at their prayers," said Lilias. She spoke, not quite knowing what she meant; for it is doubtful whether this is enough to express that supreme accord and delight of Nature in her awakening, before she has begun to be troubled by her unruly inmate, man.
But Katie was not to be restrained for long. She acquiesced for the moment, her little soul being influenced for about that space of time. Then she got her arm round that of Lilias, and drew her aside.
"It is very bonnie," said Katie, "but I must speak to you. You never came home from a ball in the morning before, or you would not be so struck with it. It's always like this except when it is raining. Lilias, oh! I want to tell you; I will never forget what you did to-night, nor Philip either. He is just silly about it. He says that's what a good girl will do for a friend. I was just at the very end of what I could bear – I would have been hysterical or something. Fancy, bursting out crying in a ball-room! I believe I would have done it; I could not have put up with it a moment longer. That was why we went out upon the grass; it was very damp," said Katie, looking at her slippers. "I don't know what mamma will say when she sees my shoes."
"I wonder," cried Lilias, half disgusted, "that you can think about your shoes."
"I am not thinking about them – I am thinking what mamma will think. But, Lilias, that's not what I was going to speak of. We will never, never forget it, neither him nor me." (This is perfectly good grammar in Scotch, which was Katie's language, though she was not aware of it.) "And, Lilias, do you think you would, just out of kindness, keep it up for a while, like that?"
"Keep it up? – like what!" Lilias was bewildered, and looked in Katie's face for an explanation.
"Oh, surely you know what I mean. It would be no harm; I am the only person it could hurt, and it is I that am asking you to do it. Oh! Lilias, it is only to make Mrs. Stormont believe that it is you that Philip is after, and not me."
"Katie, are you crazy? Me that Philip is – after! Oh! how can you say such vulgar things?"
"Why should it be vulgar?" said Katie, growing pale at this reproach; "it is true. Philip has been after me as long as I can remember. What would you have me say – in love? Oh! but to say that just gives you a red face – it makes your heart jump. It sounds like poetry."
"And so it should, Katie; if it does not sound like poetry, it cannot be true."
"It is very well for you to say that; in the first place, you have no one – after you; at least, not as yet. And then you are a grander person than I am. It might suit you to talk of love, every day, but it would not suit me – oh, no! But that does not alter the thing; or, if you like to change the word, I am sure I am not heeding: if you will only, only – Oh! Lilias, for the sake of friendship, and because we all knew each other when we were little things – if you would only let Mrs. Stormont think that he was in love with you!"
A flush of somewhat angry pride came over the face of Lilias. She drew her arm away from Katie's clinging grasp, which scarcely would consent to be detached.
"I don't know what you mean. I think you must want to insult me," she cried.
"What good would it do me to insult you?" cried Katie, reproachfully. "Instead of that I am just on my knees to you. Oh! don't you see what I mean? We want to gain a little time. If she does not consent, nobody will consent, nor even mamma, and never, never papa. They will not go against his mother. And Philip is very dour: he would quarrel with her, if it came to a struggle. That is what I am frightened for. If she thinks it is you, she will never stop him from coming. She will be so pleased, she will do whatever he likes, and we will be able to meet almost every day, and no suspicion. Oh! Lilias, what harm would it do you?" cried Katie, clasping her hands.
Lilias was taken entirely by surprise. Her action in the midst of the dance had been quite unpremeditated. She had been struck by sudden pity to see Philip so dark and gloomy, and little Katie, in her excitement, so near to self-betrayal. She looked with dismay now at the little pleading face, so childish, yet occupied with thoughts so different from those of a child. To think the elder ladies, Katie's mother, her own sisters, should be so near and so little aware what was passing.
"How could I pretend anything like that?" she said. "I would be ashamed. I could not do it. And what would it come to in the end?"
"It would all come right in the end, if we only could have a little time," said Katie. "Oh, Lilias, here we are at the shore. Just say yes, or I will break my heart."
"Why should you break your heart?" Lilias said, looking with dismay and trouble upon the little countenance just ready to dim itself with weeping, the big tears just gathering, the corners of the mouth drooping.
But next moment the boat grated on the shore. Lewis came forward to give them his hand. The brougham, with a little plunge and roll, came to land, and Mrs. Seton's voice was heard with its habitual liveliness and continuance.
"No, no, we'll not give you that trouble. We will just run home, Katie and I; it is no distance. No, no, I could not let you put yourself about for me, and Lilias in her satin shoes. Katie's are kid, and will take no harm. We are quite used to it; it is what we always do. Good night, or, I should say, good morning; and many thanks for bringing us so far. Katie, gather up your frock, we will be home in a minute," Mrs. Seton said. "No, no, Mr. Murray, there is no need for you either. In a minute we will be at our own gate."
Lilias stood in the clear morning light, looking after them as they hurried away, neglecting the call of her sisters and the attitude of Lewis, who stood waiting, holding open the door of the brougham. The still morning, the village street, without a creature moving, the sleep-bound look of the cottages, and the two figures disappearing like muffled ghosts into the lane which led to the manse, was like a story to the girl – a story into which she had stumbled somehow in the middle of it, but in which she was about to play a part against her will. She shivered a little with the excitement and bewilderment, and also because this fresh, clear, silvery air, so still, yet tingling with the merry twitter of the birds, was a little chill too.
"Lilias, Lilias, do not stand there. And the poor horse just dropping with sleep, and Sanders too."
"And you will catch your death of cold," added Miss Jean.
But it was Lewis holding out his hand to help her into the carriage who roused Lilias. He looked at her with an admiring sympathy, so full of understanding and appreciation of her difficulty, as she thought, that it brought her back to herself. Had he heard what Katie had been saying? Did he know the strange proposal that had been made to her? She looked at him with a question and appeal in her eyes, and she thought he answered her with a re-assuring look of approval and consolation. All this was imagination, but it gave her a little comfort in her bewilderment. He put her into the carriage with a touch of her hand, which seemed to mean more than the mere little unnecessary help. It did mean a great deal more, but not what Lilias supposed; and then the slumberous old horse and old Sanders, scarcely able to keep his eyes open upon the box, got the old vehicle into motion again, and Lewis, too, disappeared like a shadow, the only one upon the silent road. Margaret and Jean looked like two ghosts, pale in the light of morning.
"Well, that is one thing well over – but as for sleeping in one's bed at this hour, with all the birds singing, it is just impossible," Miss Margaret said.
CHAPTER XXVIII
Next morning Katie appeared at the old castle before Lilias had woke out of her first deep sleep. They had gone to bed after all, notwithstanding that Margaret pronounced it impossible, and even the two sisters were an hour late for breakfast. But it was now noon, and Lilias' windows had not yet been opened. Katie, who was, in comparison, well used to dissipation, contemplated her friend's privileges with admiration.
"Mamma will always make me come down to breakfast," she said, plaintively. "She just never minds. She says balls are all very well if they are never supposed to interfere with next day; and the consequence is I just feel as if I were boiled," said Katie.
"You are looking just as usual," said Miss Margaret.
Katie pouted a little at this re-assuring statement, but afterwards recovered, and begged leave to be allowed to carry up the cup of tea which was being prepared for the darling of the house.
"You may come with me," said Miss Jean; "but I must go myself, for I am afraid she may have got a cold after all the exposure last night."
Katie went upstairs after Miss Jean, with various reflections upon the happiness of Lilias.
"I was exposed just the same. Oh! much more," cried Katie to herself, "but nobody thinks I can ever take cold."
What differences there were between one girl and another; Mrs. Stormont would give her little finger if Philip would marry Lilias, and would not hear of Katie, though she was Philip's choice. These things were inscrutable. And the luxury of Lilias' room, the tray set down by her bed-side, the soft caution of the awakening, and Miss Jean's low tones, "I have brought you your breakfast, Lilias." Katie thought of her own case, called at seven as usual, in the room she shared with two little sisters, plagued by half a dozen appeals. "Oh, will you tie my hair, Katie! Oh, will you fasten my frock!" when her eyes were scarcely open. This it is to be an only child, an heiress, a lady of high degree. And, when Lilias opened her eyes and saw Katie beside her, her look of alarm was unquestionable. She jumped up from among her pillows.
"Is anything wrong?" she said.
"I just came," said Katie, "to talk over the ball. I thought you would want to talk it all over. When it is your first ball, it is not like any other. But we got home quite safe, and opened the door and were in bed without waking anyone. And I was up to breakfast as usual," Katie said.
"Lilias is not used to such late hours," said Miss Jean. "She never was up so late in all her life, and neither Margaret nor I have seen the early morning light like that for years – except in cases of sickness and watching, which is very different. It was a great deal finer than the ball, though at your age perhaps it is not to be expected that you should think so."
Katie opened her eyes wide, and gave Miss Jean a puzzled look. To be sure there were many agitations in her little soul that did not disturb a middle-aged existence. She was anxious to get rid of the elderly sister to pour out her heart to the young one who could understand her.
"Don't you think it was a very nice ball?" said Katie. "I never sat down once, and it was not too crowded, either. Oh! I like when you have no more room than just enough to get along. I don't mind a crowd. It makes you feel it's a real ball, and not just a little dance. Mr. Murray dances beautifully. Didn't you think so, Lilias? I saw you, though you refused so many people; and you danced three times with him, including – " Here Katie paused, with a blush and a sudden recollection of the presence of Miss Jean.
"Did I?" cried Lilias, with a look of great surprise. "I did not think of it. I suppose that is what you call wrong, too, to dance with some one that is nice to dance with, instead of just taking anyone that comes?"
Lilias was somewhat proud of having carried her point. Her evening had been triumphant, in spite of her daring exercise of her right of choice.
"My dear," said Miss Jean, mildly, "everything depends upon the meaning you have. The like of Mr. Murray will never harm you; he is not thinking of any nonsense. And he is a stranger; he has nobody belonging to him."
Katie gave a little cough of dissent. It was all that she permitted herself. And Miss Jean did not leave the room till Lilias had taken, which she was nothing loth to do, the dainty little breakfast that her sister had brought her. This represented the very climax of luxury to both the girls, and Jean looked on benignant with a pleasure in every morsel her little sister consumed, which the most exquisite repast could not have given her.
"Now I will leave you to talk about your dances," she said; "but, Lilias, Margaret will like you to be up soon, and ready for your reading. We like you to have a good sleep in the morning, but not to be idle all day." She gave them a tender smile as she went away. "Now you will just chatter nonsense – like two birds in a bush," she said. She could remember faintly, from her old girlish experiences, the talk about this quadrille and that country dance, for waltzes had scarcely penetrated into the country in Miss Jean's day, and about the new figures, and the new steps, and how So-and-so was a stupid partner, and So-and-so an amusing one. She thought she knew exactly the sweet nonsense they would rush into, like two birds, she said, in the headlong twitter of domestic intercourse crowding their notes and experiences together, as the birds had done that morning, till the listeners felt as if they were eavesdropping. It would be like that, not much reason in it, one scarcely stopping to listen to the other, each full of her own reminiscences, a sort of delightful gibberish – but so sweet!
Instead of this, Katie ran to the doors, when Miss Jean departed, to see that they were all closed, and then rushed back and took her seat upon the bed, where Lilias was sitting up among her pillows, her fair locks streaming about her shoulders.
"Oh, I have so much to say to you, Lilias," Katie cried, and threw herself upon her friend and kissed her. "I should have hated to think of last night if it hadn't been for you. Oh! Lilias, you are just going to be our salvation."
"How can that be?" said Lilias. "I did not mean anything. Oh! Katie, never think about that any more. It was just a silly impulse – I did not mean it."
"But when I ask you," said Katie – "and when you know it will be so important for Phil and me – and when you see the power you have, and that only you can do it – oh! Lilias, you will not turn your back upon me – you will stand our friend?"
"I should not turn my back on anyone," said Lilias; "but what am I to do, and how can I stand your friend? Just let me alone, Katie, please. I am too ignorant – I don't know about these sort of things. Philip and you should not be like that when everybody objects. I am sure I would not vex Margaret and Jean, not for any man."
"That is all you know," said Katie, shaking her head. "That just means that you do not know the man. When your time comes, you will just carry on like the rest. And nobody said a word about Philip and me till it was too late. We were let to be together as much as we liked; he was for ever at the manse, and nobody said a word. If mamma was against it, she might have told me; but just to step in at the last and say, 'We'll not allow it,' and never a word of warning before, that is cruel," Katie said, with an angry flash from her eyes. "And now they think they can just part us as if we were two sticks!"
Lilias could not deny that there was reason in what was thus said.
"But you should have told your mother, Katie, before – "
"Told my mother! – do you think you can tell your mother all the nonsense that is said to you? Most part of it is just nonsense. I would think shame. When they speak of love and things like that, either you laugh, or – or – you put faith in it," Katie said. "It would not be fair to tell when you just laugh, and, when you believe, you think shame."
Katie's little countenance, flushing and glowing, her little head shaken from time to time as she delivered these words of wisdom, her eyes full of many experiences, gave weight to what she said.
"But, Katie, you are younger than I am," said Lilias, "and where did you find out all that? It is Latin to me."
"It is being in the world," said Katie, with great gravity. "You see, I am the eldest, and I was brought out very early, perhaps too early, but mamma did not think so. She always said, 'Her sisters will just be on her heels before we know where we are,' and that was how it was. But I am not so young – I am seventeen," said Katie, drawing herself up with the air of a woman of thirty. Her own private opinion was that a woman of thirty was approaching decrepitude, and no longer likely to interest herself in matters of the heart.
"I shall not be eighteen till August, and your birthday is – "
"Oh, what does it matter about a month or so?" said Katie. "I am far, far older than you are: and if I were only six, that does not make it any easier; for here is Philip and me that they are wanting to separate, and we will never, never give each other up. And, Lilias," she added, dropping into tender confidence after this little outburst, "there is nobody that we put our faith in but you."
Lilias turned her head away from her friend. She was touched by the appeal, and she felt, as every girl would feel, a thrill of pleasure in being believed in, and in the idea of being able to help. Who does not like to be a guardian angel, the only deliverer possible. But along with this there came a shiver of alarm. How could she undertake such an office, and what would Margaret say?
"I told you in the ferry boat," said Katie, "but you were sleepy."
"Me! sleepy! when it was all so beautiful!"
"When you are up all night," said the young philosopher, "you never heed whether it is beautiful or not. But, any way, you did not understand. You were terrified, and then you thought it would bring you into trouble, and then – "
"I never thought it would bring me into trouble," cried Lilias, indignant. "I was not thinking of myself, and I was no more sleepy – ! But to do something that is not true, to pretend – to cheat, for it would be cheating – "
"It would be nothing of the kind," said Katie, indignantly. "Do you think I'm asking you to go to Mrs. Stormont and tell her that Philip is in love with you? Oh! Lilias, don't be angry. It's just this. Let him come here sometimes – Miss Margaret would not mind; and then if you will come out with me for a walk in the afternoons? Oh! Lilias, it is not so much to do for a friend. It is quite natural that, when he sees you much, he should like you best. If he had never come to our house when he did, if he had never met me, if there had been no Katie at all," said the girl, with pathos; "of course it would have been you that Philip would have thought of. There would never have been another fancy in his mind; he would have loved you, and all would have gone well. Oh! what a pity," she cried, "what a pity that ever, ever there was a Katie at all!"
"You are the silliest little thing in the world," cried Lilias, starting up in her white night-dress, with her hair floating about her. "All would have gone well? Oh! you think I would have taken Mr. Philip Stormont? You think Margaret would have let me? Was there nothing to do but for him to take a fancy to me? Oh! that is just too much, Katie; that is more than I can put up with," she cried, with a spring on the floor. "Will you go away, please, and let me get up?"
Katie was prudent, though she was offended, and she was determined to gain her point.
"I will go into the library and wait there," she said. "But oh! Lilias, why will you be so angry with me?"
"I am not angry, if you would not speak such nonsense," Lilias cried.
"I will not speak nonsense, I will say nothing to displease you; but oh! Lilias, what will happen to me if you turn your back upon me?" said the girl.
She went away so humbly, with such deprecating looks, that Lilias not only felt her anger evaporate, but took herself severely to task for her sharpness with poor little Katie.
"After all, she is a whole year younger than me, whatever she says," Lilias said, sagely, to herself, "and a year makes a great difference at our age." Then her heart softened to Katie; if anything she could do would smooth over her poor little friend's troubles, what a hard-hearted girl she would be to deny it – "Me that does nothing for anybody, and everybody so good to me!" Lilias said in her heart. It began to seem to her a kind of duty to take upon her the task Katie proposed. If it did them good, it would do nobody harm. If Margaret got a fright and thought that she – she, Lilias Murray of Murkley – was going to fix her choice upon Philip Stormont, it would serve Margaret right for entertaining such an unworthy idea. "Me!" Lilias cried, with a smile of profound disdain. But for Katie it was all very well. For Katie it was entirely unobjectionable. Philip was just the right person for her, and she for him. Lilias made as short work of any romantic pretensions which the Stormonts might put forth as her sister could have done. What were they, to set up for being superior to the minister's daughter? The Setons were well born, for anything Lilias knew to the contrary, and the others were but small lairds, not great persons. Perhaps Mrs. Stormont's favourite claim upon her as one who might have been her mother had irritated the temper of the daughter of Lady Lilias Murray. She had a scorn of the pretensions of the smaller family. Katie was "just as good," she declared to herself. All this process of thought was going on while Lilias went through the various processes of her toilet. When she went into the book-room, which was sacred to her studies, and found Katie there, she gave her little friend a condescending kiss, though she did not say much. And Katie, who was very quick-witted, understood. She did not tease her benefactress with questions. She was ready to accept her protection without forcing it into words.
And no doubt, in the days that followed, Margaret and Jean were much perplexed, it might even be said distressed. Philip Stormont began to pay them visits with a wearisome pertinacity. When he came he had not much to say; he informed them about the weather, that it was a fine day or a bad day, that the glass was falling, that the dew had been heavy last night, with many other very interesting scraps of information. But, when he had exhausted this subject, he fell to sucking the top of his cane. He was very attentive when anyone else spoke, especially Miss Margaret, and he looked at Lilias, perhaps as Katie had instructed him to look, with a gaze which indeed was more like anxiety than anything else, but which might do duty as admiration and interest with those who did not know the difference. To the outside spectator, who knew nothing about the conspiracy entered into by these young people, it would indeed have appeared very evident that Philip had been converted to his mother's opinion by the apparition of Lilias at the ball. And indeed the beauty of Lilias, like her position, was so much superior to that of Katie that nobody could have been surprised at the young man's change of opinion.