Part 84 (1/2)
”What ither cud I du?” said Miss Horn apologetically. ”But I doobt I strack ower sair. Maybe ye wadna objec', sir, to gang and speir efter the laddie, an' gie him some guid advice?”
”I'll do that,” returned Mr Bigg.--”Are we to have the pleasure of your company in our conventicle tomorrow?” he added, after a little pause. ”Dr Blare is going to preach.”
”Will ye hae me, Mr Bigg?”
”Most willingly, ma'am; and we 'll be still better pleased if you 'll sit down with us to the Lord's table afterwards.”
”I gang to the perris kirk, ye ken,” said Miss Horn, supposing the good man unaware of the fact.
”Oh! I know that, ma'am. But don't you think, as we shall, I trust, sit down together to his heavenly supper it would be a good preparation to sit down together, once at least, to his earthly supper first?”
”I didna ken 'at ye wad hae ony but yer ain fowk! I hae aften thoucht mysel', it was jist the ae thing ony Christian sud be ready to du wi' ony ither. Is 't a new thing wi' ye to haud open hoose this gait, sir,--gien I may tak the leeberty to speir?”
”We don't exactly keep open house. We wouldn't like to have any one with us who would count it poor fare. But still less would we like to exclude one of the Lord's friends. If that is a new thing, it ought to be an old one.--You believe in Jesus Christ--don't you, ma'am?”
”I dinna ken whether I believe in him as ye wad ca' believin' or no--there's sic a heap o' things broucht to the fore nooadays 'at I canna richtly say I un'erstan'. But as he dee'd for me, I wad dee for him. Raither nor say I didna ken him, I wad hing aside him. Peter an' a', I canna say less.”
Mr Bigg's eyes began to smart, and he turned away his head.
”Gien that 'll du wi' ye,” Miss Horn went on, ”an' ye mean nae desertion o' the kirk o' my father an' his fathers afore him, I wad willin'ly partak wi' ye.”
”You'll be welcome, Miss Horn--as welcome, as any of my own flock.”
”Weel, noo, that I ca' Christian,” said Miss Horn, rising. ”An'
'deed I cud wuss,” she added, ”'at in oor ain kirk we had mair opportunity, for ance i' the twalmonth 's no verra aften to tak up the thouchts 'at belang to the holy ordnance.”
The next day, after a powerful sermon from a man who, although in high esteem, was not for moral worth or heavenly insight to be compared with him whose place he took, they proceeded to the celebration of the Lord's supper, after the fas.h.i.+on of that portion of the church universal.
The communicants sat in several long pews facing the communion table, which was at the foot of the pulpit. After the reading of St Paul's account of the inst.i.tution of the Lord's Supper, accompanied by prayers and addresses, the deacons carried the bread to the people, handing a slice to the first in each pew; each person in turn broke off a portion, and handed what remained to the next: thus they divided it among themselves.
It so happened that, in moving up to the communion seats, Miss Forsyth and Miss Horn were the last to enter one of them, and Miss Horn, very needlessly insisting on her custom of having her more capable ear towards her friend, occupied the place next the pa.s.sage.
The service had hardly commenced, when she caught sight of the face of the mad laird peeping in at the door, which was in the side of the building, near where she sat. Their eyes met. With a half repentant, half apologetic look, he crept in, and, apparently to get as near his protectress as he could, sat down in the entrance of an empty pew, just opposite the one in which she was seated, on the other side of the narrow pa.s.sage. His presence attracted little notice, for it was quite usual for individuals of the congregation who were not members of the church to linger on the outskirts of the company as spectators.
By the time the piece of bread reached Miss Horn from the other end, it was but a fragment. She broke it in two, and, reserving one part for herself in place of handing the remnant to the deacon who stood ready to take it, stretched her arm across the pa.s.sage, and gave it to Mr Stewart, who had been watching the proceedings intently. He received it from her hand, bent his head over it devoutly, and ate it, unconscious of the scandalized looks of the deacon, who knew nothing of the miserable object thus accepting rather than claiming a share in the common hope of men.
When the cup followed, the deacon was on the alert, ready to take it at once from the hands of Miss Horn. But as it left her lips she rose, grasping it in both hands, and with the dignity of a messenger of the Most High, before which the deacon drew back, bore it to the laird, and having made him drink the little that was left, yielded it to the conservator of holy privileges, with the words:
”Hoots, man! the puir body never had a taste o' the balm o' Gilead in a' 's persecut.i.t life afore!”
The liberality of Mr Bigg had not been lost upon her: freely she had received--freely she gave. What was good must, because it was good, be divided with her neighbour. It was a lawless act.
As soon as the benediction was spoken, the laird slipped away, but as he left the seat, Miss Horn heard him murmur--”Eh, the bonny man! the bonny man!” He could hardly have meant the deacon. He might have meant Mr Bigg, who had concluded the observance with a simple and loving exhortation.
CHAPTER LXI: MISS HORN AND THE PIPER
When Miss Horn bethought herself that night, in prospect of returning home the next day, that she had been twice in the company of the laird and had not even thought of asking him about Phemy, she reproached herself not a little; and it was with shame that she set out, immediately on her arrival, to tell Malcolm that she had seen him. No one at the House being able to inform her where he was at the moment, she went on to Duncan's cottage. There she found the piper, who could not tell her where his boy was, but gave her a hearty welcome, and offered her a cup of tea, which, as it was now late in the afternoon, Miss Horn gladly accepted. As he bustled about to prepare it, refusing all a.s.sistance from his guest, he began to open his mind to her on a subject much in his thoughts --namely, Malcolm's inexplicable aversion to Mrs Stewart.
”Ta nem of Stewart will pe a nople worrt, mem,” he said.