Read Ebook: True to a Type Vol. 2 (of 2) by Cleland Robert

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Ebook has 628 lines and 44642 words, and 13 pages

"Well, Peter?" she asked, with impatient eagerness, so soon as they were closeted together, in complete forgetfulness of the scene which she had been enacting the minute before--forgetting her incipient faintness, and likewise the rough restoratives which had been applied. "Have ye done it?"

"Done what, mother?"

"You know very well what I mean. Have ye promised to marry that girl down-stairs?"

"I have not."

She heaved a great sigh of relief; but she went on with her catechism. "How's that? I never saw ye more taken up with anybody. Ye stuck to her like a burr the livelong day; and many were the envious glances I saw some others casting after you two, as ye went dandering over the hills like a pair of lovers. I was sure ye were nabbet--just grippet and done for like a wired rabbit; and, says I to myself, there's wan of the simple wans that love simplicity, and she's just inveigled him into makin' her an offer."

"She doesn't want to inveigle me. She is provided already. She did not give me the chance to make a fool of myself, like your young friend in the Proverbs, whom you are so fond of talking about. She availed herself of my escort to bring her to a man she liked better than me; that was all."

"The besom! She took her use out of ye, and let ye slide? Do ye mean to tell me that, Peter Wilkie? And are ye going to stand it? Have ye nothing more to say than just stand like a gowk and own til it? Have ye no spurrit left?"

"Whisht, mother! and don't haver."

"Whisht yourself! Do ye think I'm going to sit still and see a monkey like that scancing at my son? She'd have the assurance, would she, to take her use out of my boy, and throw him away when she was done, like a socket gooseberry! My certie, but she'll rue it yet!"

"She did nothing, mother. The girl is engaged, though we did not know it. You would not have me cut in and break up an engagement?"

"Ye might, if ye liked. Your poseetion would justifee you, and the girl would be the gainer."

"But I wouldn't, mother, if she was fond of some one else."

"And who's the young man?"

"You don't know him. He is a Mr Blount, who was staying here last week, but he went away."

"I never saw him, and ye know I have been a great deal with the girl's mother. I'm thinking the attachment has not gone far, or I would have seen him hanging about Mrs Naylor."

"I do not think Mrs Naylor likes him, and that was why he came to the island to meet her quietly."

"Illeecitly? It'll be an illeecit amoor!"

"Whisht, mother! and don't speak French. You are taking away the girl's character without knowing it."

"She deserves it, and more. To trifle with a Deputy Minister, and have a sweetheart without telling her mother! I never heard the like. Ye're well quit o' her, Peter."

"I never had her. She would not look at me."

"Set her up! But it will be my duty to say a quiet word to Mrs Naylor, and enlighten her about her daughter's ongoings. It'll be good for the hizzy, and a warning to her not to make use of gentlemen of poseetion to serve her underhand ends."

"You won't, mother. It is no concern of yours. We know nothing about the Naylors' affairs. Let them settle their own hash."

"I cannot but let a mother know about her daughter's ongoings. And oh, but she's fond of her! It will stab her to the heart. But it may be blessed to herself, for she's inclined to be rather high sometimes. It's time she was learning a little humeelity."

"If you do, you'll disgrace me. People will say it was because she would not look at me that I went and betrayed the girl's meeting her lover, out of pure spite. Her uncle was there, besides, so it is no concern of ours. And again, I do not want her."

"Of course not. But to think she would go walking away with you before everybody, and laughing at you in her sleeve, to keep tryst with another man! My blood just biles to think of it. I'd like to nip her ears for her. But see if I don't give her a bit of my mind ere all's done."

"Now, don't be clenchin' your fists at me, you unnatural boy. Just your father over again. And a dour, cantankerous, wrongheaded gowk he always was. He'd go out in the world and let them just trample on him, and then he'd come home to his poor sufferin' wife, and play the roaring lion. But he'd play another tune now, I warrant, if he could get me back again. He'd be glad enough to have me, now he has to do without me. And so with you, Peter, when you see me laid out stiff in my coffin, ye'll be wishin' ye had used me better. Ah, my bonny man, ye'll be wishin', when it's too late, ye had behaved different to your fond old mother!" which was pathetic, and caused the speaker to wipe her eyes. The effect on her son was different.

"I wish you would let the old man alone," he said. "It would sound better. Nobody knows anything about him here, and need not, if you will but hold your tongue. Some day you will forget yourself; there will be a washing of our family linen held in public, and nobody will think the more of either you or me. As for the young lady, unless you will promise to say nothing either to her or her mother, we pack up everything tonight, and back we go to Canada to-morrow morning."

"POOR SUSAN!"

The subject of the foregoing discussion stole quickly and quietly up to her room, unconscious of the angry passions she had unwittingly aroused, intending to remain there till the people returned from church, when she would meet her mother surrounded by strangers, and so avoid the bad quarter of an hour which her conscience told her she ought to expect. She had scarcely removed her hat, however, when the door opened and her mother appeared, wearing a smile in which curious impatience mingled with complacent certainty. The worthy lady had very little doubt as to what she was going to be told, and was already congratulating herself on her good management and good luck combined.

"Good morning, mamma. How anxious you must have been! Did you think I was lost? But, to be sure, uncle Joseph's being in the same predicament would keep your mind at ease."

Margaret had run forward to embrace her mother effusively, and was speaking with unusual vivacity. There was so much to tell and so much to leave untold, without hesitancy, which might betray that aught was being kept back. She did not know how she was to manage, and like other timid things when they find there is no escape, she rushed at the danger as if she could encounter and overbear it. Anything seemed preferable to expectancy, cowering and waiting to be fallen upon and devoured.

Her mother submitted to be kissed. It was the morning routine-observance between her and her girls, but she had not patience for prolonged embraces on the present occasion.

"Tell me," she said, as soon as she could free herself from the importunate endearments; "has he proposed?"

"I almost think he has, to judge from his manner; and he looks so happy."

"You think? You do not know? Come, that is too ridiculous! What did he say?"

"I do not know what he said."

"You do not imagine he would propose in open meeting, do you? I only infer from her affectionateness to me when we were alone together last night.... We slept in a fisherman's hut.... But she did not exactly tell me anything.... And then he was so awfully attentive to her this morning; ... and they seemed to understand each other so perfectly, although both were rather quiet, and not particularly good company for the rest of us."

"Margaret Naylor! Am I to believe my ears? Do you mean to say you have let that Hillyard girl cut you out?... You grown-up baby! When I was your age, no girl should have done that to me--whether I wanted the man or not. It's a disgrace to your womanhood, and your upbringing--that means me--and your looks, and your spirit--if you had any; but you have none, or you would not have allowed it. The way that man stuck to you yesterday, and trotted away with you on that blessed island!... And you to let another woman cut in and take him away from you!... And people call you a clever girl! Hm!"

"But what was I to do, mother? I could not go in for him myself. I could not make him propose to me."

"Why not, pray? Is he not good enough for you? What do you expect? Is it a President of the United States you hope to captivate?"

"I do not understand. He could not have been persuaded to do anything so dreadful. And you, I am sure, whatever the surprise of this may have stupefied you into saying, you would not have me want to be my own aunt?"

"What do you mean? Whom are you talking about?"

"Uncle Joseph, to be sure. Whom else?"

"Joseph? You must be dreaming."

"I really think, however, he has proposed to Rose Hillyard, and been accepted."

"Impossible! Joseph marry! I never heard anything so preposterous."

"Nevertheless, you will see now. I am sure he is in love I do not think he spoke twice to me all the time we were upon the island--only to Rose, and once or twice, when it was necessary, to Wa--W--to Mr Wilkie, I ought to say."

Margaret started and grew pale as she spoke, but her mother was too intent upon the idea of Joseph's entanglement to observe the stumble.

"Have you not noticed, mamma, how much he and Rose have been together?"

"Now you speak of it, he has certainly taken most unusual notice of her--for him, that is. But think of the disparity in age!"

"She saved him from drowning, remember."

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