Part 7 (1/2)
”A widow?”
”No, not a widow, but she is not living with her husband.”
”Then she'll ne'er win into my house, dominie.”
”She has good and sufficient reasons. I uphold her. Do you think I would sanction aught wrong, laird?”
No more was said at that time, but a month afterwards Mrs. Hope had walked into the Keep and taken everything in her clever little hands.
Drunken, thieving, idle servants had been replaced by men and women thoroughly capable and efficient. The laird's tastes were studied, his wants antic.i.p.ated, his home became bright, restful, and quiet. The woman was young and wonderfully pretty, and Crawford soon began to watch her with a genuine interest.
”She'll be ane o' the Hopes o' Beaton,” he thought; ”she is vera like them.”
At any rate he improved under her sway, for being thoroughly comfortable himself, he was inclined to have consideration for others.
One afternoon, as he came from the works, it began to snow. He turned aside to the manse to borrow a plaid of Tallisker. He very seldom went to the manse, but in the keen, driving snow the cheerful fire gleaming through the window looked very inviting. He thought he would go in and take a cup of tea with Tallisker.
”Come awa in, laird,” cried old Janet, ”come awa in. You are a sight good for sair e'en. The dominie will be back anon, and I'll gie ye a drap o' hot tay till he comes.”
So the laird went in, and the first thing he saw was Colin's picture of ”The Clan's Farewell.” It moved him to his very heart. He divined at once whose work it was, and he felt that it was wonderful. It must be acknowledged, too, that he was greatly pleased with Colin's conception of himself.
”I'm no a bad-looking Crawford,” he thought complacently; ”the lad has had a vera clear notion o' what he was doing.”
Personal flattery is very subtle and agreeable. Colin rose in his father's opinion that hour.
Then he turned to Prince Charlie. How strange is that vein of romantic loyalty marbling the granite of Scotch character! The common-place man of coal and iron became in the presence of his ideal prince a feudal chieftain again. His heart swelled to that pictured face as the great sea swells to the bending moon. He understood in that moment how his fathers felt it easy to pin on the white c.o.c.kade and give up everything for an impossible loyalty.
The dominie found him in this mood. He turned back to every-day life with a sigh.
”Weel, dominie, you are a man o' taste. When did you begin buying pictures?”
”I hae no money for pictures, laird. The artist gave me them.”
”You mean Colin Crawford gave you them.”
”That is what I mean.”
”Weel, I'm free to say Colin kens how to choose grand subjects. I didna think there was so much in a picture. I wouldna dare to keep that poor dear prince in my house. I shouldna be worth a bawbee at the works. It was a wonderfu' wise step, that forbidding o' pictures in the kirks. I can vera weel see how they would lead to a sinfu'
idolatry.”
”Yes, John Knox kent well the temper o' the metal he had to work.
There's nae greater hero-wors.h.i.+ppers than Scots folk. They are aye making idols for themsel's. Whiles it's Wallace, then it's Bruce or Prince Charlie; nay, there are decent, pious folk that gie Knox himsel' a honoring he wouldna thank them for. But, laird, there is a mair degraded idolatry still--that o' gold. We are just as ready as ever the Jews were to fall down before a calf, an' it only be a golden one.”
”Let that subject alane, dominie. It will tak a jury o' rich men to judge rich men. A poor man isna competent. The rich hae straits the poor canna fathom.”
And then he saw in light as clear as crystal a slip of paper hid away in a secret drawer.
Just at this moment a little lad bairn entered the room; a child with bright, daring eyes, and a comically haughty, confident manner. He attracted Crawford's attention at once.