Long before Kittlestonheugh returned to Glasgow, the indissoluble knot was tied between his daughter and her cousin, Walkinshaw Milrookit. The Laird of Dirdumwhamle was secretly enjoying this happy consummation of a scheme which he considered as securing to his son the probable reversion of an affluent fortune, and a flourishing estate. Occasional flakes of fear floated, however, in the sunshine of his bosom, and fell cold for a moment on his heart. His wife was less satisfied. She knew the ardour with which her brother had pursued another object; she respected the consideration that was due to him as a parent in the disposal of his daughter; and she justly dreaded his indignation and reproaches. She was, therefore, anxious that Mr. Milrookit should return with her to the country before he came back from Camrachle. But her mother, the Leddy, was in high glee, and triumphant at having so cleverly, as she thought, accomplished a most meritorious stratagem, she would not for a moment listen to the idea of their going away before dinner.

‘Na; ye’ll just bide where ye are,’ said she. ‘It will be an unco-like thing no to partake o’ the marriage feast, though ye hae come without a wedding garment, after I hae been at the cost and outlay o’ a jigot o’ mutton, a fine young poney cock, and a Florentine pie; dainties that the like o’ hae na been in my house since Geordie, wi’ his quirks o’ law, wheedled me to connive wi’ him to deprive uncle Watty o’ his seven lawful senses, forbye the property. But I trow I hae now gotten the blin’ side o’ him at last: he’ll no daur to say a word to me about a huggery-muggery matrimonial, take my word for’t; for he kens the black craw I hae to pluck wi’ him anent the prank he played me in the deevelry o’ the concos mentos, whilk ought in course o’ justice to have entitled me to a full half of the income o’ the lands; and a blithe thing, Dirdumwhamle, that would hae been to you and your wife, could we hae wrought it into a come-to-pass; for sure am I, that, in my experience and throughgality, I would na hae tied my talent in a napkin, nor hid it in a stroopless tea-pot, in the corner o’ the press, but laid it out to usury wi’ Robin Carrick. Howsever, maybe, for a’ that, Meg, when I’m dead and gone, ye’ll find, in the bonny pocket-book ye sewed lang syne at the boarding-school for your father, a testimony o’ the advantage it was to hae had a mother. But, Sirs, a wedding-day is no a time for molloncholious moralizing; so I’ll mak a skip and a passover o’ a matter and things pertaining to sic Death, and the Leddy’s confabbles as legacies, and kittle up your notions wi’ a wee bit spree and sprose o’ jocosity, afore the old man comes; for so, in course o’ nature, it behoves us to ca’ the bride’s father, as he’s now, by the benison o’ Dr. De’ilfear, on the lawfu’ toll-road to become, in due season, an ancestor. Nae doubt, he would hae liked better had it been to one of his ain Walkinshaws o’ Kittlestonheugh; but, when folk canna get the gouden goun, they should be thankful when they get the sleeve.’

While the Leddy was thus holding forth to the Laird and his wife, the carriage with George stopped at the door. Dirdumwhamle, notwithstanding all his inward pleasure, changed colour. Mrs. Milrookit fled to another room, to which the happy pair had retired after the ceremony, that they might not be visible to any accidental visitors; and even the Leddy was for a time smitten with consternation. She, however, was the first who recovered her self-possession; and, before Mr. Walkinshaw was announced, she was seated in her accustomed elbow chair with a volume of Mathew Henry’s Commentary on her lap, and her spectacles on her nose, as if she had been piously reading. Dirdumwhamle sat opposite to her, and was apparently in a profound sleep, from which he was not roused until some time after the entrance of his brother-in-law.

‘So, Geordie,’ said the Leddy, taking off her spectacles, and shutting the book, as her son entered; ‘what’s come o’ Jamie?—hae ye no brought the Douglas-tragedy-like mountebank back wi’ you?’

‘Let him go to the devil,’ was the answer.

‘That’s an ill wis, Geordie.—And so ye hae been a gouk’s errant? But how are they a’ at Camrachle?’ replied the Leddy; ‘and, to be sober, what’s the callan gaun to do? And what did he say for himsel, the kick-at-the-benweed foal that he is? If his mother had laid on the taws better, he would nae hae been sae skeigh. But, sit down, Geordie, and tell me a’ about it.—First and foremost, howsever, gie that sleepy bodie, Dirdumwhamle, a shoogle out o’ his dreams. What’s set the man a snoring like the bars o’ Ayr, at this time o’ day, I won’er?’

But Dirdumwhamle did not require to be so shaken; for, at this juncture, he began to yawn and stretch his arms, till, suddenly seeing his brother-in-law, he started wide awake.

‘I am really sorry to say, mother,’ resumed Kittlestonheugh, ‘that my jaunt to Camrachle has been of no avail. The minister’s wife, who, by the way, is certainly not in her right mind, has already written to her relation, Glengael, to beg his interest to procure a cadetship to India for James; and, until she receives an answer, I will let the fellow tak his own way.’

‘Vera right, Geordie, vera right; ye could na act a more prudential and Solomon-like part,’ replied his mother. ‘But, since he will to Cupar, let him gang, and a’ sorrow till him; and just compose your mind to approve o’ Beenie’s marriage wi’ Walky, who is a lad of a methodical nature, and no a hurly-burly ramstam, like yon flea-luggit thing, Jamie.’

Dirdumwhamle would fain have said amen, but it stuck in his throat. Nor had he any inducement to make any effort further by the decisive manner in which his brother-in-law declared, that he would almost as soon carry his daughter’s head to the churchyard as see that match.

‘Weel, weel; but I dare say, Geordie, ye need na mair waste your bir about it,’ exclaimed the Leddy; ‘for, frae something I hae heard the lad himsel say, this very day, it’s no a marriage that ever noo is likely to happen in this warld;’ and she winked significantly to the bridegroom’s father.—‘But, Geordie,’ she continued, ‘there is a because that I would like to understand. How is’t that ye’re sae doure against Walky Milrookit? I’m sure he’s a very personable lad—come o’ a gude family—sib to us a’; and, failing you and yours, heir o’ entail to the Kittlestonheugh. Howsever, no to fash you wi’ the like o’ that, as I see ye’re kindling, I would, just by way o’ diversion, be blithe to learn how it would gang wi’ you, if Beenie, after a’ this straemash, was to loup the window under cloud o’ night wi’ some gaberlunzie o’ a crookit and blin’ soldier-officer, or, wha kens, maybe a drunken drammatical divor frae the play-house, wi’ ill-colour’t darnt silk stockings; his coat out at the elbows, and his hat on ajee? How would you like that, Geordie?—Sic misfortunes are no uncos noo-a-days.’

Her son, notwithstanding the chagrin he suffered, was obliged to smile, saying, ‘I have really a better opinion, both of Beenie’s taste and her sense, than to suppose any such adventure possible.’

‘So hae I,’ replied the Leddy. ‘But ye ken, if her character were to get sic a claut by a fox paw, ye would be obligated to tak her hame, and mak a genteel settlement befitting your only dochter.’

‘I think,’ said George, ‘in such a case as you suppose, a genteel settlement would be a little more than could in reason be expected.’

‘So think I, Geordie—I am sure I would ne’er counsel you into ony conformity; but, though we hae nae dread nor fear o’ soldier-officers or drammaticals, it’s o’ the nature o’ a possibility that she will draw up wi’ some young lad o’ very creditable connexions and conduct; but wha, for some thraw o’ your ain, ye would na let her marry.—What would ye do then, Geordie? Ye would hae to settle, or ye would be a most horridable parent.’

‘My father, for so doing, disinherited Charles,’ said George gravely, and the words froze the very spirit of Dirdumwhamle.

‘That’s vera true, Geordie,’ resumed the Leddy; ‘a bitter business it was to us a’, and was the because o’ your worthy father’s sore latter end. But ye ken the property’s entail’t; and, when it pleases the Maker to take you to Himsel, by consequence Beenie will get the estate.’

‘That’s not so certain,’ replied George, jocularly looking at Dirdumwhamle;—‘my wife has of late been more infirm than usual, and were I to marry again, and had male heirs—’

‘Hoot, wi’ your male heirs, and your snuffies; I hate the very name o’ sic things—they hae been the pests o’ my life.—It would hae been a better world without them,’ exclaimed the Leddy, and then she added—‘But we need na cast out about sic unborn babes o’ Chevy Chase. Beenie’s a decent lassie, and will, nae doubt, make a prudent conjugality; so a’ I hae for the present is to say that I expek ye’ll tak your dinner wi’ us. Indeed, considering what has happened, it would na be pleasant to you to be seen on the plane-stanes the day,—for I’m really sorry to see, Geordie, that ye’re no just in your right jocularity. Howsever, as we’re to hae a bit ploy, I request and hope ye’ll bide wi’ us, and help to carve the bubbly-jock, whilk is a beast, as I hae heard your father often say, that requir’t the skill o’ a doctor, the strength o’ a butcher, and the practical hand o’ a Glasgow Magistrate to diject.’

Nothing more particular passed before dinner, the hour of which was drawing near; but a wedding-feast is, at any time, worthy of a chapter.