The Lilac Sunbonnet: A Love Story
kirk and market, for the captain for the good of his soul went
occasionally to the little chapel of the Permission at Dumfries.
Still oftener he came with the books which the Lady Elizabeth
obtained from Edinburgh, the reading of which she shared with
Mistress Walter Skirving, whose kinship with the Lochinvars she
did not forget, though her father had been of the moorland branch
of that honourable house, and she herself had disgraced her
ancient name by marrying with a psalm-singing bonnet laird. But
the inexplicability of saying whom a woman may not take it into
her head to marry was no barrier to the friendship of the Lady
Elizabeth, who kept all her religion for her own consumption and
did not even trouble her son with it--which was a great pity, for
he indeed had much need, though small desire, thereof.
On the contrary, it was a mark of good blood sometimes to follow
one's own fancy. The Lady Elizabeth had done that herself against
the advice of the countess her mother, and that was the reason why
she dwelt amid hangings that came away in handfuls, and was
waiting-maid to Mistress Humbie her own housekeeper.
Agnew Greatorix had an eye for a pretty face, or rather for every
pretty face. Indeed, he had nothing else to do, except clean his
spurs and ride to the market town. So, since the author of
Waverley began to write his inimitable fictions, and his mother to
divide her time between works of devotion and the adventures of
Ivanhoe and Nigel, Agnew Greatorix had made many pilgrimages to
Craig Ronald. Here the advent of the captain was much talked over
by the maids, and even anticipated by Winsome herself as a
picturesque break in the monotony of the staid country life.
Certainly he brought the essence of strength and youth and
athletic energy into the quiet court-yard, when he rode in on his
showily paced horse and reined him round at the low steps of the
front door, with the free handling and cavalry swing which he had
inherited as much from the long line of Greatorixes who had ridden
out to harry the Warden's men along the marches, as from the
yeomanry riding-master.
Now, the captain was neither an obliging nor yet a particularly
amiable young man, and when he took so kindly to fetching and
carrying, it was not long before the broad world of farm towns and
herds' cot-houses upon which Greatorix Castle looked down
suspected a motive, and said so in its own way.
On one occasion, riding down the long loaning of Craig Ronald, the
captain came upon the slight, ascetic figure of Allan Welsh, the
Marrow minister, leaning upon the gate which closed the loaning
from the road. The minister observed him, but showed no signs of
moving. Agnew Greatorix checked his horse.
"Would you open the gate and allow me to pass on my way?" he said,
with chill politeness. The minister of the Marrow kirk looked
keenly at him from under his grey eyebrows.
"After I have had a few words with you, young sir," said Mr.
Welsh.
"I desire no words with you," returned the young man impatiently,
backing his horse.
"For whom are your visits at Craig Ronald intended?" said the
minister calmly. "Walter Skirving and his spouse do not receive
company of such dignity; and besides them there are only the maids
that I know of."
"Who made you my father confessor?" mocked Agnew Greatorix, with
an unpleasant sneer on his handsome face.
"The right of being minister in the things of the Spirit to all
that dwell in Craig Ronald House," said the minister of the Marrow
firmly.
"Truly a pleasant ministry, and one, no doubt, requiring frequent
ministrations; yet do I not remember to have met you at Craig
Ronald," he continued. "So faithful a minister surely must be
faithful in his spiritual attentions."
He urged his horse to the side of the gate and leaned over to open
the gate himself, but the minister had his hand firmly on the
latch.
"I have seen you ride to many maids' houses, Agnew Greatorix,
since the day your honoured father died, but never a one have I
seen the better of your visits. Woe and sorrow have attended upon
your way. You may ride off now at your ease, but beware the
vengeance of the God of Jacob; the mother's curse and the father's
malison ride not far behind!"
"Preach me no preachments," said the young man; "keep such for
your Marrow folk on Sundays; you but waste your words."
"Then I beseech you by the memory of a good father, whom, though
of another and an alien communion, I shall ever respect, to cast
your eyes elsewhere, and let the one ewe lamb of those whom God
hath stricken alone."
The gate was open now, and as he came through, Agnew Greatorix
made his horse curvet, pushing the frail form of the preacher
almost into the hedge.
"If you would like to come and visit us up at the castle," he said
mockingly, "I dare say we could yet receive you as my forefathers,
of whom you are so fond, used to welcome your kind. I saw the
thumbikins the other day; and I dare say we could fit you with
your size in boots."
"The Lord shall pull down the mighty from their seats, and exalt
them that are of low estate!" said the preacher solemnly.
"Very likely," said the young man as he rode away.
CHAPTER XV.
ON THE EDGE OF THE ORCHARD.
But Agnew Greatorix came as often as ever to Craig Ronald.
Generally he found Winsome busy with her household affairs,
sometimes with her sleeves buckled above her elbows, rolling the
tough dough for the crumpy farles of the oat-cake, and scattering
handfuls of dry meal over it with deft fingers to bring the mass
to its proper consistency for rolling out upon the bake-board.
Leaving his horse tethered to the great dismounting stone at the
angle of the kitchen (a granite boulder or "travelled stone," as
they said thereabouts), with an iron ring into it, he entered and
sat down to watch. Sometimes, as to-day, he would be only silent
and watchful; but he never failed to compass Winsome with the
compliment of humility and observance. It is possible that better
things were stirring in his heart than usually brought him to such
places. There is no doubt, indeed, that he appreciated the
frankness and plain speech which he received from the very
practical young mistress of Craig Ronald.
When he left the house it was Agnew Greatorix's invariable custom
to skirt the edge of the orchard before mounting. Just in the dusk
of the great oak-tree, where its branches mingle with those of the
gean [wild cherry], he was met by the slim, lithe figure of Jess
Kissock, in whose piquant elvishness some strain of Romany blood
showed itself.
Jess had been waiting for him ever since he had taken his hat in
his hand to leave the house. As he came in sight of the watcher,
Agnew Greatorix stopped, and Jess came closer to him, motioning
him imperiously to bring his horse close in to the shadow of the
orchard wall. Agnew did so, putting out his arm as if he would
kiss her; but, with a quick fierce movement, Jess thrust his hand
away.
"I have told you before not to play these tricks with me--keep
them for them that ye come to Craig Ronald to see. It's the
mistress ye want. What need a gentleman like you meddle with the
maid?"
"Impossible as it may seem, the like has been done," said Agnew,
smiling down at the black eyes and blowing elf locks.
"Not with this maid," replied Jess succinctly, and in deed slhe
looked exceedingly able to take care of herself, as became Meg
Kissock's sister.
"I'll go no further with Winsome," said Greatorix gloomily,
breaking the silence. "You said that if I consulted her about the
well-being of the poor rats over at the huts, and took her advice
about the new cottages for the foresters, she would listen to me.
Well, she did listen, but as soon as I hinted at any other
subject, I might as well have been talking to the old daisy in the
sitting-room with the white band round her head."
"Did anybody ever see the like of you menfolk?" cried Jess,
throwing up her hands hopelessly; "d'ye think that a bonny lass is
just like a black ripe cherry on a bough, ready to drap into your
mooth when it pleases your high mightinesses to hold it open?"
"Has Winsome charteris any sweetheart?" asked the captain.
"What for wad she be doing with a sweetheart? She has muckle else
to think on. There's a young man that's baith braw an' bonny, a
great scholar frae Enbra' toon that comes gye an' aften frae the
manse o' Dullarg, whaur he's bidin' a' the simmer for the
learnin'. He comes whiles, an' Winsome kind o' gies him a bit
convoy up the hill."
"Jess Kissock," said the young man passionately, "tell me no lies,
or--"
"Nane o' yer ill tongue for me, young man; keep it for yer mither.
I'm little feared o' ye or ony like ye. Ye'll maybe get a bit dab
frae the neb o' a jockteleg [point of a sheath-knife] that will
yeuk [tickle] ye for a day or twa gin ye dinna learn an' that
speedily, as Maister Welsh wad say, to keep yer Han's aff my
faither's dochter." Jess's good Scots was infinitely better and
more vigorous than the English of the lady's maid.
"I beg your pardon, Jess. I am a passionate, hasty man. I am sure
I meant no harm. Tell me more of this hulking landlouper
[intruder], and I'll give you a kiss."
"Keep yer kisses for them that likes them. The young man's no
landlouper ony mair nor yersel'--no as mickle indeed, but a very
proper young man, wi' a face as bonny as an angel--"
"But, Jess, do you mean to say that you are going to help him with
Winsome?" asked the young man.
"Feint a bit!" answered the young woman frankly. "She'll no get
him gin I can help it. I saw him first and bid him guid-day afore
ever she set her een on him. It's ilka yin for hersel' when it
comes to a braw young man," and Jess tossed her gipsy head, and
pouted a pair of handsome scarlet lips.
Greatorix laughed. "The land lies that way, does it?" he said.
"Then that's why you would not give me a kiss to-day, Jess," he
went on; "the black coat has routed the red baith but an' ben--but
we'll see. You cannot both have him, Jess, and if you are so very
fond of the parson, ye'll maybe help me to keep Winsome Charteris
to myself."
"Wad ye mairry her gin ye had the chance, Agnew Greatorix?"
"Certainly; what else?" replied the young man promptly.
"Then ye shall hae her," replied Jess, as if Winsome were within
her deed of gift,
"And you'll try for the student, Jess?" asked the young man. "I
suppose he would not need to ask twice for a kiss?"
"Na, for I would kiss him withoot askin'--that is, gin he hadna
the sense to kiss ME," said Jess frankly.
"Well," said Greatorix, somewhat reluctantly, "I'm sure I wish you
joy of your parson. I see now what the canting old hound from the
Dullarg Manse meant when he tackled me at the loaning foot. He
wanted Winsome for the young whelp."
"I dinna think that," replied Jess; "he disna want him to come
aboot here ony mair nor you."
"How do you know that, Jess?"
"Ou, I juist ken."
"Can you find out what Winsome thinks herself?"
"I can that, though she hasna a word to say to me--that am far
mair deservin' o' confidence than that muckle peony faced hempie,
Meg, that an ill Providence gied me for a sis ter. Her keep a
secret?--the wind wad waft it oot o' her." Thus affectionately
Jess.
"But how can you find out, then?" persisted the young man, yet
unsatisfied.
"Ou fine that," said Jess. "Meg talks in her sleep."
Before Agnew Greatorix leaped on to his horse, which all this time
had stood quiet on his bridle-arm, only occasion ally jerking his
head as if to ask his master to come away, he took the kiss he had
been denied, and rode away laugh ing, but with one cheek much
redder than the other, the mark of Jess's vengeance.
"Ye hae ower muckle conceit an' ower little sense ever to be a