The Lilac Sunbonnet: A Love Story
There was a moment's silence. Gilbert Peden knew well that what
his opponent said was good Marrow doctrine, for Allan Welsh had
confessed to him his willingness to accept deposition twenty years
ago.
Then, as with one voice, the two men pronounced against each other
the solemn sentence of deposition and deprivation:
"In the name of God, and by virtue of the law of the Marrow Kirk,
I solemnly depose you from the office of the ministry."
John Bairdieson burst in the door, leaving the lock hanging awry
with the despairing force of his charge.
"Be merciful, oh, be merciful!" he cried; "let not the Philistines
rejoice, nor the daughter of the uncircumcised triumph. Let be!
let be! Say that ye dinna mean it! Oh, say ye dinna mean it! Tak'
it back--tak' it a' back!"
There was the silence of death between the two men, who stood
lowering at each other.
John Bairdieson turned and ran down the stairs. He met Ralph and
Professor Thriepneuk coming up.
"Gang awa'! gang awa'!" he cried. "There's nae leecense for ye
noo. There's nae mair ony Marrow Kirk! There's nae mair heaven and
earth! The Kirk o' the Marrow, precious and witnessing, is nae
mair!"
And the tears burst from the old sailor as he ran down the street,
not knowing whither he went.
Half-way down the street a seller of sea-coal, great and grimy,
barred his way. He challenged the runner to fight. The spirit of
the Lord came upon John Bairdieson, and, rejoicing that a foe
withstood him, he dealt a buffet so sore and mighty that the
seller of coal, whose voice could rise like the grunting of a sea
beast to the highest windows of the New Exchange Buildings,
dropped as an ox drops when it is felled. And John Bairdieson ran
on, crying out: "There's nae kirk o' God in puir Scotland ony
mair!"
CHAPTER XLII.
PURGING AND RESTORATION.
It was the Lord's day in Edinburgh town. The silence in the early
morning was something which could be felt--not a footstep, not a
rolling wheel. Window-blinds were mostly down--on the windows
provided with them. Even in Bell's Wynd there was not the noise of
the week. Only a tinker family squabbled over the remains of the
deep drinking of the night before. But then, what could Bell's
Wynd expect--to harbour such?
It was yet early dawn when John Bairdieson, kirk officer to the
little company of the faithful to assemble there later in the day,
went up the steps and opened the great door with his key. He went
all round the church with his hat on. It was a Popish idea to take
off the head covering within stone walls, yet John Bairdieson was
that morning possessed with the fullest reverence for the house of
God and the highest sense of his responsibility as the keeper of
it.
He was wont to sing:
"Rather in
My God's house would I keep a door
Than dwell in tents of sin."
That was the retort which he flung across at Taminas Laidlay, the
beadle of the Established Kirk opposite, with all that scorn in
the application which was due from one in John Bairdieson's
position to one in that of Tammas Laidlay.
But this morning John had no spirit for the encounter. He hurried
in and sat down by himself in the minister's vestry. Here he sat
for a long season in deep and solemn thought.
"I'll do it!" he said at last.
It was near the time when the minister usually came to enter into
his vestry, there to prepare himself by meditation and prayer for
the services of the sanctuary. John Bairdieson posted himself on
the top step of the stairs which led from the street, to wait for
him. At last, after a good many passers-by, all single and all in
black, walking very fast, had hurried by, John's neck craning
after every one, the minister appeared, walking solemnly down the
street with his head in the air. His neckcloth was crumpled and
soiled--a fact which was not lost on John.
The minister came up the steps and made as though he would pass
John by without speaking to him; but that guardian of the
sanctuary held out his arms as though he were wearing sheep.
"Na, na, minister, ye come na into this Kirk this day as minister
till ye be lawfully restored. There are nae ministers o' the kirk
o' the Marrow the noo; we're a body without a heid. I thocht that
the Kirk was at an end, but the Lord has revealed to me that the
Marrow Kirk canna end while the world lasts. In the nicht season
he telled me what to do."
The minister stood transfixed. If his faithful serving-man of so
many years had turned against him, surely the world was at an end.
But it was not so.
John Bairdieson went on, standing with his hat in his hand, and
the hairs of his head erect with the excitement of unflinching
justice.
"I see it clear. Ye are no minister o' this kirk. Mr. Welsh is no
minister o' the Dullarg. I, John Bairdieson, am the only officer
of the seenod left; therefore I stand atween the people and you
this day, till ye hae gane intil the seenod hall, that we ca' on
ordinary days the vestry, and there, takkin' till ye the elders
that remain, ye be solemnly ordainit ower again and set apairt for
the office o' the meenistry."
"But I am your minister, and need nothing of the sort!" said
Gilbert Peden. "I command you to let me pass!"
"Command me nae commands! John Bairdieson kens better nor that. Ye
are naither minister nor ruler; ye are but an elder, like mysel'--
equal among your equals; an' ye maun sit amang us this day and
help to vote for a teachin' elder, first among his equals, to be
set solemnly apairt."
The minister, logical to the verge of hardness, could not gainsay
the admirable and even-handed justice of John Bairdieson's
position. More than that, he knew that every man in the
congregation of the Marrow Kirk of Bell's Wynd would inevitably
take the same view.
Without another word he went into the session-house, where in due
time he sat down and opened the Bible.
He had not to wait long, when there joined him Gavin MacFadzean,
the cobbler, from the foot of Leith Walk, and Alexander Taylour,
carriage-builder, elders in the kirk of the Marrow; these,
forewarned by John Bairdieson, took their places in silence. To
them entered Allan Welsh. Then, last of all, John Bairdieson came
in and took his own place. The five elders of the Marrow kirk were
met for the first time on an equal platform. John Bairdieson
opened with prayer. Then he stated the case. The two ex-ministers
sat calm and silent, as though listening to a chapter in the Acts
of the Apostles. It was a strange scene of equality, only possible
and actual in Scotland.
"But mind ye," said John Bairdieson, "this was dune hastily, and
not of set purpose--for ministers are but men--even ministers of
the Marrow kirk. Therefore shall we, as elders of the kirk, in
full standing, set apairt two of our number as teaching elders,
for the fulfilling of ordinances and the edification of them that
believe. Have you anything to say? If not, then let us proceed to
set apairt and ordain Gilbert Peden and Allan Welsh."
But before any progress could be made, Allan Welsh rose. John
Bairdieson had been afraid of this.
"The less that's said, the better," he said hastily, "an' it's
gottin' near kirk-time. We maun get it a' by or then."
"This only I have to say," said Allan Welsh, "I recognize the
justice of my deposition. I have been a sinful and erring man, and
I am not worthy to teach in the pulpit any more. Also, my life is
done. I shall soon lay it down and depart to the Father whose word
I, hopeless and castaway, have yet tried faithfully to preach."
Then uprose Gilbert Peden. His voice was husky with emotion.
"Hasty and ill-advised, and of such a character as to bring
dishonour on the only true Kirk in Scotland, has such an action
been. I confess myself a hasty man, a man of wrath, and that wrath
unto sin. I have sinned the sin of anger and presumption against a
brother. Long ere now I would have taken it back, but it is the
law of God that deeds once done cannot be undone; though we seek
repentance carefully with tears, we cannot put the past away."
Thus, with the consecration and the humility of confession Gilbert
Peden purged himself from the sin of hasty anger.
"Like Uzzah at the threshing-floor of Nachon," he went on, "I have
sinned the sin of the Israelite who set his hand to the ox-cart to
stay the ark of God. It is of the Lord's mercy that I am not
consumed, like the men of Beth-shemesh."
So Gilbert Peden was restored, but Allan Welsh would not accept
any restoration.
"I am not a man accepted of God," he said. And even Gilbert Peden
said no word.
"Noo," said John Bairdieson, "afore this meetin' scales [is
dismissed], there is juist yae word that I hae to say. There's
nane o' us haes wives, but an' except Alexander Taylour, carriage-
maker. Noo, the proceedings this mornin' are never to be jince
named in the congregation. If, then, there be ony soond of this in
the time to come, mind you Alexander Taylour, that it's you
that'll hae to bear the weight o't!"
This was felt to be fair, even by Alexander Taylour, carriage-
maker.
The meeting now broke up, and John Bairdieson went to reprove
Margate Truepenny for knocking with her crutch on the door of the
house of God on the Sabbath morning.
"D'ye think," he said, "that the fowk knockit wi' their staves on
the door o' the temple in Jerusalem?"
"Aiblins," retorted Margate, "they had feller [quicker]
doorkeepers in thae days nor you, John Bairdieson."
The morning service was past. Gilbert Peden had preached from the
text, 'Greater is he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a
city."
"Oor minister is yin that looks deep intil the workings o' his ain
heart," said Margate, as she hirpled homeward.
But when the church was empty and all gone home, in the little
vestry two men sat together, and the door was shut. Between them
they held a miniature, the picture of a girl with a flush of rose
on her cheek and a laughing light in her eyes. There was silence,
but for a quick catch in the stronger man's breathing, which
sounded like a sob. Gilbert Peden, who had only lost and never
won, and Allan Welsh, who had both won and lost, were forever at
one. There was silence between them, as they looked with eyes of
deathless love at the picture which spoke to them of long ago.
Walter Skirving's message, which Winsome had brought to the manse
of Dullarg, had united the hearts estranged for twenty years.
Winsome had builded better than she knew.
CHAPTER XLIII.
THREADS DRAWN TOGETHER.
Winsome took her grandmother out one afternoon into the rich
mellow August light, when the lower corn-fields were glimmering
with misty green shot underneath with faintest blonde, and the
sandy knowes were fast yellowing. The blithe old lady was getting
back some of her strength, and it seemed possible that once again
she might be able to go round the house without even the
assistance of an arm.
"And what is this I hear," said Mistress Skirving, "that the daft
young laird frae the Castle has rin' aff wi' that cottar's lassie,
Jess Kissock, an' marriet her at Gretna Green. It's juist no
possible."
"But, grandma, it is quite true, for Jock Gordon brought the news.
He saw them postin' back from Gretna wi' four horses!"
"An' what says his mither, the Lady Elizabeth?"
"They say that she's delighted," said Winsome.
"That's a lee, at ony rate!" said the mistress of Craig Ronald,
without a moment's hesitation. She knew the Lady Elizabeth,
"They say," said Winsome, "that Jess can make them do all that she
wants at the Castle."
"Gin she gars them pit doon new carpets, she'll do wonders," said
her grandmother, acidly. She came of a good family, and did not
like mesalliances, though she had been said to have made one
herself.