Part 9 (1/2)
”That perfect presence of His face Which we, for want of words, call heaven.”
James Blackie's Revenge.
JAMES BLACKIE'S REVENGE.
CHAPTER I.
Few people who have travelled will deny that of all cities Glasgow is apparently the least romantic. Steeped in wet, white mist, or wrapped in yellow fog vapor, all gray stone and gray sky, dirty streets, and sloppy people, it presents none of the features of a show town. Yet it has great merits; it is enterprising, persevering, intensely national, and practically religious; and people who do not mind being damp have every chance to make a good living there. Even the sombre appearance of the dark gray granite of which it is built is not unsuitable to the sterling character of its people; for though this stone may be dull and ugly, there is a natural n.o.bility about it, and it never can be mean.
I have said that, as a city, Glasgow is practically religious, and certainly this was the case something less than half a century ago.
The number of its churches was not more remarkable than the piety and learning of its clergy; and the ”skailing” of their congregations on a Sabbath afternoon was one of the most impressive sights, of its kind, in the world.
My true little story opens with the skailing of the Ramshorn Kirk, a very favorite place of wors.h.i.+p with the well-to-do burghers of the east end of the city, and it was a peculiarly douce, decent, solemn-looking crowd that slowly and reverently pa.s.sed out of its gates into the absolutely silent streets. For no vehicles of any kind disturbed the Sabbath stillness, and not until the people had gone some distance from the house of G.o.d did they begin to think their own thoughts, and with a certain grave reserve put them into words.
Among the groups who proceeded still farther east, towards the pleasant houses facing the ”Green,” one alone was remarkable enough to have elicited special notice from an observing stranger. It consisted of an old man and a young girl, evidently his daughter. Both were strikingly handsome, and the girl was much better dressed than the majority of women who took the same road. Long before they reached the Green they were joined by a younger man, whom the elder at once addressed in a reproving voice.
”Ye didna pay as much attention to the sermon as it behooved ye to do, James Blackie; and what for did ye speak to Robert Laird a'most within 'the Gates'?”
”I only asked if he had heard of the 'Bonnie Bess;' she is overdue five days, and eight good men in her, not to speak of the cargo.”
”It's no cannie to be aye asking questions. Sit still and the news will come to ye: forbye, I'm no sure if yon was a lawfu' question; the Sabbath sun hasna set yet.”
James Blackie mechanically turned to the west, and then slowly let his glance fall on the lovely face at his side.
”Christine,” he asked softly, ”how is all with you?”
”All is well, James.”
Not another word was spoken until they reached David Cameron's home.
He was carefully reconsidering the sermon--going over every point on his finger ends, lest he should drop any link of the argument; and James and Christine were listening to his criticisms and remarks. They all stopped before a shop over the windows of which was painted, ”David Cameron, Dealer in Fine Teas;” and David, taking a large key from his pocket, opened the door, and said,
”Come in and eat wi' us, James; ye ken ye're welcome.”
”Our friends.h.i.+p, Mr. Cameron, is a kind of Montgomery division--all on one side, nothing on the other; but I am 'so by myself' that I thank you heartily.”
So David, followed by Christine and James, pa.s.sed slowly through the darkened store, with its faint smells of Eastern spices and fragrant teas, into the little parlor beyond. The early winter night had now fallen, and the room, having only an outlet into a small court, would have been dark also but for the red glow of the ”covered” fire. David took the poker and struck the great block of coal, and instantly the cheerful blaze threw an air of cosey and almost picturesque comfort over the homelike room.
The two men sat down beside the fire, spreading their hands to its warmth, and apparently finding their own thoughts excellent company, for neither of them spoke or moved until Christine reappeared. She had divested herself of the handsome black satin and velvet which formed her kirk suit; but in her long, plain dress of gray winsey, with a snowy lawn kerchief and cuffs, she looked still more fair and lovable.
James watched her as she spread the cloth and produced from various cupboards cold meats and pastries, bread and cakes, and many kinds of delicate preserves and sweetmeats. Her large, shapely hands among the gold-and-white china fascinated him, while her calm, noiseless, unhurried movements induced a feeling of pa.s.sive repose that it required an effort to dispel, when she said in a low, even voice,
”Father, the food is waiting for the blessing.”
It was a silent but by no means an unhappy meal. David was a good man, and he ate his food graciously and gratefully, dropping now and then a word of praise or thanks; and James felt it delightful enough to watch Christine. For James, though he had not yet admitted the fact to his own heart, loved Christine Cameron as men love only once, with that deep, pure affection that has perchance a nearer kindred than this life has hinted of.
He thought her also exquisitely beautiful, though this opinion would not have been indorsed by a majority of men. For Christine had one of those pale, statuesque faces apt to be solemn in repose; its beauty was tender and twilight, its expression serious and steadfast, and her clear, spiritual eyes held in them no light of earthly pa.s.sion. She had grown up in that little back parlor amid the din and tumult of the city, under the gray, rainy skies, and surrounded by care and sin, as a white lily grows out of the dark, damp soil, drawing from the elements around only sweetness and purity.