Read Ebook: Allison Bain; Or By a Way She Knew Not by Robertson Margaret M Margaret Murray Edwards G H George Henry Illustrator

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Ebook has 2690 lines and 137782 words, and 54 pages

"`Willie,' she said, `have you made what I have done vain? Why are you here?'

"`What have you done, Allie? And why shouldna I be here? Stone is well again, even if it had been me that struck the blow--which it was not-- though I might have had some risk of no' being just able to prove it. Allie, what have you done?'

"But she only laid her white face on his breast without a word.

"`Allie,' gasped her brother, as he caught sight of Brownrig, `you havena given yourself to yon man--yon deevil, I should better say? They told me over yonder that it was to be, but I said you scorned him, and would stand fast.'

"`Oh! Willie! Willie!' she cried, `I scorned him, but for your sake I couldna stand fast.'

"Then Brownrig took up the word. `Young man, if you ken what is good for your ain safety, you'll disappear again, and keep out o' harm's way. But that may be as pleases you. Only mind, you'll have nothing to say to my wife.'

"`Your wife! You black-hearted liar and villain!' and many a worse word besides did the angry lad give him, and when Brownrig lifted his whip and made as if he meant to strike him, Willie turned from his sister and flew at him like a madman, and--though I maybe shouldna say it--Brownrig got his deserts for once, and he will carry the marks the lad left on him that day, to his grave. He was sore hurt. They put him into the gig in which he had brought Allison down to the manse, and carried him home, and the brother and sister walked together to their father's house.

"Their mother was nearer her end than had been supposed, for she died that night, and before she was laid in her grave there came an officer with a warrant to arrest poor Willie on a charge of having done bodily harm to one of Blackwell's keepers months before. Two of his cousins stood surety for him till after his mother's burial. No evidence could be got against him in the matter and he was allowed to go free. And then like a daft man, Brownrig had him taken up again on a charge of assault with intent to kill. It was a mad thing for him to do, if he ever hoped to win the good-will of Allison, but it was said to me by one who knew him well, that he was afraid of the lad, and that he had good reason to fear, also, that as long as Allison was under the influence of her brother, she would never come home to him as his wife. But he might have waited to try other plans first.

"Poor John Bain, Allison's father, you ken, had had much to bear what with one trouble and another, for many a day, and the last one fell heavier than them all. On the day when his son was condemned to an imprisonment for eighteen months, he had a stroke and he never looked up again, though he lingered a while, and Allison refused to leave him. Brownrig is a man who cares little what may be his neighbours' opinion with regard to him, but he could hardly venture to insist on his wife's coming home while her father needed her, for there was no one else to care for the poor old man.

"He came to the house while Mr Bain lived, but one told me who saw him there often, that since the day of their marriage Allison has neither given him good word nor bad, nor touched his hand, nor lifted her eyes to his face. Doubtless the man must have his misgivings about her and about what is to happen now. It is a sad story thus far, with no possible good ending as far as can be seen."

"Ay! a most sad story. Poor Allie! There seems little hope for her, whatever may happen. As to her brother, I should like to see him, and I assuredly shall if it be possible. I should like to take him home with me when I go, and give him another chance."

"Ah! that is a good word of yours, my son. It would be well done indeed to help the poor lad who is not bad at heart. I never will believe that. But I fear he will do no good here, even if he can keep the land, which is doubtful now, for things have gone ill with them this while, and Brownrig, even for Allie's sake, would never forgive her brother."

"And it is as likely that her brother would never forgive him. Allison may in time forgive her husband, and may end in loving him after all. Time and change work wonders."

But the minister could not agree with his son.

"Another woman might forgive and love him, but never Allison Bain. She can never honour him, unless he should greatly change, and then I doubt it might be too late for love."

They were drawing near the house by this time, where many neighbours had already gathered to do honour to the dead. They stood about in groups of two or three, speaking to one another gravely about their old friend, and the troubles which had fallen so heavily on him and on his of late. And doubtless, also, of other matters, that had to do with themselves and their own affairs, and the times in which they lived; but it was all said and done with a decent and even solemn gravity suitable to the occasion, and it ceased as the minister drew near.

Another gleam of sunshine broke out between the clouds as the pony stopped of his own accord. The minister took off his hat and said solemnly:

"As a cloud is consumed and slowly vanishes away, so he that goeth down to the grave shall come up no more.

"He shall return no more to his house, neither shall his place know him any more."

At the first sound of his voice every "blue bonnet" was lifted and every head was bowed, and then, pausing for no greetings, the minister and his son passed into the house.

But the younger man saw there no "kenned face," so he did not linger within, but came out again to stand with the rest.

The house was a long, low-roofed cottage, with a wide door and narrow windows. The door opened on the side which faced the barns and outbuildings, and the first glimpse of the place was dreary and sad. For the rain had left little pools here and there on the ground, and had made black mud of the rest of it, not pleasant to look upon. After a glance to ascertain whether there were any of his old friends among the waiting people, Mr Hadden turned toward the garden, which lay on the other side of the house.

There was a hawthorn hedge on two sides of it, and a beech-tree, and many berry-bushes, and tall rose-trees covered with "drooket" roses, and the ground beneath was strewn with their scattered petals. The garden had a dreary look also, but he was not left to it long. For though he had recognised no one about the door, many a one had recognised him, and in a little time one man slowly followed another to the garden-gate, where he leaned, and hands "with a strong grip in them" were held out and grasped, and not one but said how glad they were to see him home again for his father's sake. And by and by as they waited, one after another had something to say and a question to ask.

There was time enough. The minister had to rest awhile and refresh himself, and the burial-bread had to be passed round, and that which usually accompanied it as well. Besides, there was no haste, for they had given the day to do honour to the occasion; and if they got safely home before it was very late, it was all that they expected or desired.

The questions were asked with lowered voices and in softened tones, but they were asked eagerly and anxiously, and with a purpose. For one had a Jock, and another had a Tam, and a third had a Jock and a Tam and a Sandy as well, who were all pushing up fast, and who had their own bread to win. And it was "whiles no' just that easy to get work the laddies were fit for, or which was fit for them."

"And you've done weel out there yourself, sir."

"And was it land ye were on?"

"Oh, man! it's the land I would like."

"And is the cold as bad as folk have whiles said: and the heat in summer?"

"And would there be a chance for the laddies out there? Would they be made welcome if they were to pack their kists and go?"

In the meantime the minister was standing beside the dead master of the house, with his hand resting on the bowed head of poor Allison Bain. She had lifted her face once, when the first sound of his kind voice had reached her ear--a face weary and worn, and utterly woebegone. But kind as voice and words were, they had no power to reach her in the darkness and solitariness of that hour. Her face was laid down again upon the coffin-lid, and she took no heed of all that was going on around her.

Now and then a friend or neighbour came and stood a while looking at the closed coffin and the motionless figure of the desolate girl, but not a word was spoken in the room, till the minister rose and said:

"The time is come."

Then there was a movement in the house, and those who were without came toward the door. Two or three kinsmen of the dead man drew near and stood ready "to lift the body." At the head, where the son of the house should have been, Allison still sat mute and motionless, with her face hidden on her arms, which rested upon the coffin. There was a minute's silence, so deep that the ticking of the clock seemed to smite with pain upon the ear. The minister prayed, and then he touched the bowed head and said gently:

"Allison Bain, the time has come."

The girl rose and, still leaning on the coffin-lid, turned herself to the waiting people. There was a dazed look in her eyes, and her face was so white and drawn--so little like the face of "bonny Allie Bain"-- that a sudden stir of wonder, and pain, and sympathy went through the throng. Her lips quivered a little as she met their sorrowful looks, and the minister hoped that the tears, which had been so long kept back, might come now to ease her heavy heart, and he laid his hand on hers to lead her away. Then a voice said:

"This is my place," and Brownrig's hand was laid upon the coffin where Allison's head had lain.

At the sound of his voice a change passed over the girl's face. It grew hard and stern; but she did not, by the slightest movement of eye or lip, acknowledge the men's presence or his intent.

"Now," said she, with a glance at those who were waiting. And with her face bowed down, but with a firm step, she "carried her father's head" out of the house which was "to know him no more." In breathless silence the friends and neighbours fell into their places, and she stood white and tearless gazing after them till the last of the long train had disappeared around the hill. Then she went slowly back toward the house. At the door she stopped and turned as if she were going away again. But she did not. When her aunt--her mother's sister--put her hand on her shoulder, saying softly, "Allie, my woman," she paused and put her arms round the old woman's neck and burst into bitter weeping. But only for a little while. Her aunt would fain have spoken to her words which she knew must be said soon; but when she tried to do so, Allie held up her hand in entreaty.

"Wait, auntie. Wait a wee while--for oh! I am so spent and weary."

"Yes, my dearie; yes, I ken weel, and you shall rest--but not there!-- surely not there!"

For Allie had opened the door of the room where her father died and where his coffin had stood, where her mother had also suffered and died. She would not turn back. "She was tired and must rest a while and there was nowhere else." And already, before she had ceased speaking, her head was on the pillow, and she had turned her face to the wall.

"The minister is not up yet?" she asked without a pause. "Was he over-wearied? I had something to say to him, but I might say it to you, if you will hear me?"

"My father will be up soon, and he will see you almost immediately if you will come into the manse and wait a little while."

"Yes, I could wait. But he is an old man and it might spare him trouble--afterwards--not to know that I passed this way. Are ye Mr Alex who once took our Willie out of the hole in the moss?"

"Yes; I mind poor Willie well. Poor laddie."

"I am going to see him soon. My father was speaking about him yesterday. I shall certainly go."

"And you'll be kind to him, I'm sure," said Allison, wistfully. "He is not bad, though that has been said. He is only foolish and not wicked, as they tried to make him out. And ye'll surely go?"

"That I will. Even if you hadn't asked me, I would have gone. And, afterwards, if he has a mind to cross the sea, he shall have a fair chance to begin a new life over there. I will be his friend. He shall be like a young brother to me."

Allison uttered a glad cry and covered her face with her hands.

"I mauna greet. But oh! you have lightened my heavy heart."

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