Alec Forbes of Howglen Part 95

"Gaein' and giein' awa' yer siller to beggars as gin 't war stew (dust), jist to be a gran' lady! Ye're nane sae gran', _I_ can tell ye.

An' syne comin' to puir fowk like me to tak' ye in for a week or twa!

Weel I wat!"

Auntie had been listening to evil tongues?-so much easier to listen to than just tongues. With difficulty Annie kept back her tears. She made no defence; tried to eat the porridge which her aunt set before her; and departed. Before three hours were over, she had the charge of the dairy and cooking at Willowcraig for the next six months of coming winter and spring. Protected from suspicion, her spirits rose all the cheerier for their temporary depression, and she went singing about the house like a _lintie_.

"As she did not appear at breakfast, and was absent from the dinner-table as well, Mrs Forbes set out with Alec to inquire after her, and not knowing where else to go first, betook herself to Robert Bruce. He showed more surprise than pleasure at seeing Alec, smiling with his own acridness as he said,

"I doobt ye haena brocht hame that barrel o' ile ye promised me, Mr Alec? It wad hae cleared aff a guid sheave o' yer mither's debts."

Alec answered cheerily, although his face flushed,

"All in good time, I hope, Mr Bruce. I'm obliged to you for your forbearance, though."

He was too solemn-glad to be angry.

"It canna laist for ever, ye ken," rejoined Bruce, happy to be able to bite, although his poison-bag was gone.

Alec made no reply.

"Have you seen Annie Anderson to-day, Mr Bruce?" asked his mother.

"'Deed no, mem. She doesna aften trouble huz wi' her company. We're no gran' eneuch for her."

"Hasn't she been here to-day?" repeated Mrs Forbes, with discomposure in her look and tone.

"Hae ye tint her, mem?" rejoined Bruce. "That _is_ a peety. She'll be awa' wi' that vaigabone, Willie Macwha. He was i' the toon last nicht.

I saw him gang by wi' Baubie Peterson."

They made him no reply, understanding well enough that though the one premise might be true, the conclusion must be as false as it was illogical and spiteful. They did not go to George Macwha's, but set out for Clippenstrae. When they reached the cottage, they found Meg's nose in full vigour.

"Na. She's no here. What for sud she be here? She has no claim upo' me, although it pleases you to turn her oot-?efter bringin' her up to notions that hae jist ruined her wi' pride."

"Indeed I didn't turn her out, Miss Anderson."

"Weel, ye sud never hae taen her in."

There was something in her manner which made them certain she knew where Annie was; but as she avoided every attempt to draw her into the admission, they departed foiled, although relieved. She knew well enough that Annie's refuge could not long remain concealed, but she found it pleasant to annoy Mrs Forbes.

And not many days pa.s.sed before Mrs Forbes did learn where Annie was.

But she was so taken up with her son, that weeks even pa.s.sed before that part of her nature which needed a daughter's love began to a.s.sert itself again, and turn longingly towards her all but adopted child.

Alec went away once more to the great town. He had certain remnants of study to gather up at the university, and a certain experience to go through in the preparation of drugs, without which he could not obtain his surgeon's diploma. The good harvest would by and by put a little money in his mother's hands, and the sooner he was ready to practise the better.

The very day after he went, Mrs Forbes drove to Willowcraig to see Annie. She found her short-coated and short-wrappered, like any other girl at a farmhouse. Annie was rather embarra.s.sed at the sight of her friend. Mrs Forbes could easily see, however, that there was no breach in her affection towards her. Yet it must be confessed that having regard to the final return of her son, she was quite as well pleased to know that she was bound to remain where she was for some time to come.

She found the winter very dreary without her, though.

CHARTER XCII.

Finding herself in good quarters, Annie re-engaged herself at the end of the half-year. She had spent the winter in house work, combined with the feeding of pigs and poultry, and partial ministrations to the wants of the cows, of which she had milked the few continuing to give milk upon turnips and straw, and made the best of their scanty supply for the use of the household. There was no hardship in her present life.

She had plenty of wholesome food to eat, and she lay warm at night. The old farmer, who was rather overbearing with his men, was kind to her because he liked her; and the guidwife was a sonsy (well conditioned) dame, who, when she scolded, never meant anything by it.

She cherished her love for Alec, but was quite peaceful as to the future. How she might have felt had she heard that he was going to be married, I cannot take upon me to say.

When her work was done, she would go out for a lonely walk, without asking leave or giving offence, indulging in the same lawlessness as before, and seeming incapable of being restrained by other bonds than those of duty.

And now the month of April was nearly over, and the primroses were _glintin'_ on the braes.

One evening she went out bare-headed to look how a certain den, wont to be haunted by wild-flowers and singing-birds, was getting on towards its complement of summer pleasures. As she was climbing over a fence, a horseman came round the corner of the road. She saw at a glance that it was Alec, and got down again.

Change had pa.s.sed upon both since they parted. He was a full-grown man with a settled look. She was a lovely woman, even more delicate and graceful than her childhood had promised.

As she got down from the fence, he got down from his horse. Without a word on either side, their hands joined, and still they stood silent for a minute, Annie with her eyes on the ground, Alec gazing in her face, which was pale with more than its usual paleness.

"I saw Curly yesterday," said Alec at length, with what seemed to Annie a meaning look.

Her face flushed as red as fire.?-Could Curly have betrayed her?

She managed to stammer out,

"Oh! Did you?

And then silence fell again.

"Eh! Alec," she said at length, taking up the conversation, in her turn, "we thought we would never see ye again."

"I thought so too," answered Alec, "when the great berg came down on us through the snow-storm, and flung the barque upon the floe with her side crushed in.?-How I used to dream about the old school-days, Annie, and finding you in my hut!-?And I did find you in the snow, Annie."

But a figure came round the other corner?-for the road made a double sweep at this point?-and cried?-

"Annie, come hame direcly. Ye're want.i.t."

"I'm coming to see you again soon, Annie," said Alec. "But I must go away for a mouth or two first."

Annie replied with a smile and an outstretched hand?-nothing more. She could wait well enough.

How lovely the flowers in the d.y.k.e-sides looked as she followed Mrs Gordon home! But the thought that perhaps Curly had told him something was like the serpent under them. Yet somehow she had got so beautiful before she reached the house, that her aunt, who had come to see her, called out,

"Losh! la.s.sie! What hae ye been aboot? Ye hae a colour by ordinar'."

"That's easy acc.o.o.ntet for," said her mistress roguishly. "She was stan'in' killoguin wi' a bonnie young lad an' a horse. I winna hae sic doin's aboot my hoose, I can tell ye, la.s.s."

Margaret Anderson flew into a pa.s.sion, and abused her with many words, which Annie, so far from resenting, scarcely even heard. At length she ceased, and departed almost without an adieu. But what did it matter?-?What did any earthly thing matter, if only Curly had not told him?