Robert went in again to Edinburgh a few days later, with results very similar. Mrs Ogilvy once more waited for him half through the night: but she sat with her window closed, and with a book in her hand, reading or making believe to read, and with no longer any passion of tears or panic in her heart, but a vague misery, a thrill of expectation she knew not of what, of bad or good, of danger or safety. He came in always, sometimes a little earlier, sometimes a little later, with a kind of regularity which she had to accept, which, indeed, she accepted, without remonstrance or complaint. The atmosphere about him was always the same, tobacco and whisky, to both which things the little fragrant feminine house was getting accustomed, to which she consented with a pang indescribable, but which had no consequences to make any complaint of, as she acknowledged with thankfulness. When he did This secrecy could not, of course, have been maintained had Mrs Ogilvy taken counsel with any one, or opened her mind on the subject. It could not have been maintained, for instance, had Mr Logan, the minister, been in his right mind. I do not know that she would have naturally consulted on such a subject her legitimate spiritual guide. But the intimacy between the families was such that it could not have been hid. Even had the boys been at home instead of going to Edinburgh every day, some large-limbed rapid lad would no doubt have darted into the house with a message from Susie at an inopportune moment, and found Robert. Susie herself was the only person now whom Mrs Ogilvy half dreaded, half hoped for. The secret could not have been kept from her—that would have been impossible; and from day to day her coming was looked for, not If she did not see Susie, however, she saw the woman who was about to change Susie’s life and circumstances still more than her own were changed,—the lady from England who carried an indefinable atmosphere of suspicion about with her, as Robbie carried that whiff of tobacco. Mrs Ainslie took upon her an air of unwarrantable intimacy which the mistress of the Hewan resented. “I thought you would have come to see me,” the visitor said, in a tone of flattering reproach. “I go to see nobody,” said Mrs Ogilvy, “except old friends, or where I am much needed. It’s a habit of mine that is well known.” “But you must excuse me,” said the other, “for not knowing all the habits of the people here” (as if Mrs Ogilvy of the Hewan had been but one of “If you are meaning the minister——” “Oh, why should we play at hide-and-seek, when I am dying for your sympathy, and you know very well whom I mean? Who could I mean but—— And oh, dear Mrs Ogilvy, do wish me joy, and say you think I have done well——” “Upon your marriage with the minister?” “Oh,” cried the lady, holding up her hands, “don’t crush me with your minister! I think it’s pretty. I have no objections to it: but still you do call him Mr Logan when you speak to him. Poor man! he has been so lonely ever since his poor wife died. And I—I have been very lonely too. Can any one ever take the same place as a wife or a husband? We are two lonely people——” “Not him,” said Mrs Ogilvy; “I can say nothing for you. Very good company he has had, better than most of the wives I see. His own daughter just the best and the kindest—and that has kept his house in such order—as it will take any strange woman no little trouble to do.” “Oh, don’t think I shall attempt that,” said the visitor. “I have promised to be his wife, but not to be his drudge. Poor Susan has been his drudge. Not “I have nothing to say to it one way or another,” said Mrs Ogilvy. “I wish you may never rue it, neither him nor you, and that is just all that will come to my lips. If she is a lively companion or not, I cannot say, but my poor Susie has been a mother to these bairns; and what he will do with the little ones turned out of the house, and Susie turned out of his house——” “You are so prejudiced! The little girls will be far better at school—and Susie is going to marry, which she should have done ten years ago. Her father has no right to keep a girl from making a happy marriage and securing the man of her heart.” “And where is she to get,” said Mrs Ogilvy, with a slight choke in her throat, “what you call the man of her heart?” “Oh, my dear lady, you that have known Susie all through, how can you ask? He proposed to her when she was twenty, and I believe he has asked her every year since——” “So he has told you that old story; but he had not the courage, knowing a little more than you do, to speak to me of the man of her heart. Oh no, “Mr Logan,” said the lady, “has a timidity about that which I don’t understand. I tell him he is frightened for his daughter. It is as if he felt he had jilted her.” “Indeed, and it is very like that,” Mrs Ogilvy said. “He thought you, perhaps, dear Mrs Ogilvy, as such a very old friend, would tell her,—and then, when he found that you were disinclined to do it, he—well, I fear he has shirked it again. Nothing so cowardly as a man in certain circumstances. I believe at the last I will have to do it myself.” “Nobody could be better qualified——” “Do you really think so? I’m so glad you are learning to do me justice. It’s all for her good—you know it is. To marry and have children of her own is better than acting mother to another person’s children. Oh yes, they are her own brothers and sisters now; but they will grow up, and if Susie does not marry, what prospect has she? Those who really love her should take all these things into account.” Mrs Ainslie spoke these sensible words with many little gestures and airs, which exasperated the older woman perhaps all the more that there was nothing “It’s rare,” she said, “that we’re so thankful as we ought to be—to them that deal with us for our good.” “Do you hear that step in the passage?” cried Mrs Ainslie. “Ah, I know who it is. It is dear James—it is Mr Logan, I mean. I felt sure he would not be long behind me. Mayn’t I let him in?” She rose in a flutter, and rushing to the door threw it open, with an air of eager welcome and arch discovery; but recoiled a step before the unknown personage, large, silent, with his big beard and watchful aspect, who stood listening and uncertain Mrs Ogilvy’s pride did not tolerate any denial of her son, who stood there, making signs to her which she declined to notice. “This is my son,” she said, “the master of the house. He has just come back after a long time away.” “Oh—Mr Ogilvy!” the lady faltered. She was anxious to please everybody, but she was evidently frightened, though it was difficult to tell why. “How pleased you must be to have your son come back at last!” He paused disconcerted on the threshold. “I did not mean to—disturb you, mother—I did not know there was anybody here.” “Don’t upbraid me, please, with coming at such untimely hours,” she cried. Mrs Ainslie was in a flutter of consciousness, rubbing her gloved hands, laughing a little hysterically, but more than ever anxious to please, and instinctively putting on her little panoply of airs and graces. “I had business. I had indeed. It was not a mere call meaning nothing. Your mother will tell you, Mr Ogilvy——” She let her veil drop over her face, with a tremulous movement, and almost cringed while she flattered him, with little flutterings and glances of incomprehensible meaning. The woman was trying to cast her spells over “However,” said the lady, hurriedly, “unless you wish for the minister on my heels, perhaps I had better go now. No? you will not be persuaded, indeed? You are more hard-hearted than I expected. So then there is nothing for it but that I must do it myself. There, Mr Ogilvy! You see we have secrets after all—mysteries! Two women can’t meet together, can they, without having something tremendous, some conspiracy or other, for each other’s ears?” “I did not say so,” said Robert, not unresponsive, though taken by surprise. “Oh no, you did not say so; but you were thinking so all the same. They always do, don’t they? Gentlemen have such fixed ideas about women.” She had overcome her little tremor, but was more coquettish than ever. While she held his mother’s hand in hers, she held up a forefinger of the other archly at Robert. “Oh, I’ve had a great deal of experience. I know what to expect from men.” She led him out after her to the door talking thus, and down towards the gate; while Mrs Ogilvy stood gazing, wondering. It was one of her tenets, too, that no man can resist such arts; but the anger of a woman who sees them thus exerted in her very presence was still softened by the sensation that this woman, so experienced, still thought Robbie worth her while. He came back again in a few minutes, having accompanied the visitor to the gate, with a smile faintly visible in his beard. “Who is that woman?” he said. “She is not one of your neighbours here?” “What made you go with her, Robbie?” “Oh, she seemed to expect it, and it was only civil. Where has she come from? and how did you pick such a person up?” “She is a person that will soon be—a neighbour, as you say, and a person of importance here. She is going to be married upon the minister, Robbie.” “The minister!” he gave a low whistle—“that will “He had one; but she’s been dead these ten years, and this lady is new come to the parish, and he has what you call fallen in love with her. There are no fules like old fules, Robbie. I like little to hear of falling in love at that age.” “Old Logan!” said Robert again. There were thoughts in his eyes which seemed to come to sudden life, but which his mother did not dare investigate too closely. She dreaded to awaken them further; she feared to drive them away. What memories did the name of Logan bring? or were there any of sufficient force to keep him musing, as he seemed to do, for a few minutes after. But at the end of that time he burst into a sudden laugh. “Old Logan!” he said; “poor old fellow! I remember him very well. The model of a Scotch minister, steady-going, but pawky too, and some fun in him. Where has he picked up a woman like that? and what will he do with her when he has got her? I have seen the like of her before.” “But, Robbie, she is just a very personable, well-put-on woman, and well-looking, and no ill-mannered. She is not one I like,—but I am maybe prejudiced, “Oh, very likely there is no harm in her; but what has she to do in a place like this? and with old Logan!” He laughed again, and then, growing suddenly grave, asked, “What changes is she going to make?” “There are always changes,” said Mrs Ogilvy, evasively, “when a man marries that has a family, and everything settled on another foundation. They are perhaps more in a woman’s eyes than in a man’s; I will tell you about that another time. But you that wanted to be private, Robbie—there will be no more of that, I’m thinking, now.” “Well, it cannot be helped,” he said, crossly; “what could I do? Could I refuse to answer her? Private!—how can you be private in a place like this, where every fellow knew you in your cradle? Two or three have spoken to me already on the road——” “I never thought we could keep it to ourselves—and why should we?” his mother said. He answered with a sort of snort only, which expressed nothing, and then fell a-musing, stretched out in the big chair, his legs half away across the room, his beard filling up all the rest of the space. His mother looked at him with mingled sensations of pride and humiliation—a half-admiration and a half-shame. He was a big buirdly man, as Janet said; and he had his new clothes, which were at least clean and fresh: but But when his voice came finally out of his beard and out of the silence, it was with a startling question: “What do you mean to do with me, mother, now I am here?” |