Warlock o' Glenwarlock by George MacDonald (summer beach reads .TXT) 📖

could be nothing absurd in hoping the thing might be done now. If it was possible once, it was possible in the same circumstances always. It was impossible, however, for him or any human being to determine concerning any circumstances whether they were or were not the same. Wherever the thing was not done, did it not follow that the circumstances could not be the same? One thing he was able to seethat, in the altered relations of man's mind to the facts of Nature, a larger faith is necessary to believe in the constantly present and ordering will of the Father of men, than in the unusual phenomenon of a miracle. In the meantime it was a fact that they had all hitherto had their daily bread.

But now this strange behaviour of Grizzle set him thinking of something very different. And why did not the jeweller make some reply to his request concerning the things he had sent him? He said to himself for the hundredth time that he must have found it impossible to do anything with them, and have delayed writing from unwillingness to cause him disappointment, but he could not help a growing soreness that his friend should take no notice of the straits he had confessed himself in. The conclusion of the whole matter was, that it must be the design of Providence to make him part with the last clog that fettered him; he was to have no ease in life until he had yielded the castle! If it were so, then the longer he delayed the greater would be the loss. To sell everything in it first would but put off the evil day, preparing for them so much the more poverty when it should come; whereas if he were to part with the house at once, and take his father where he could find work, they would be able to have some of the old things about them still, to tincture strangeness with home. The more he thought the more it seemed his duty to put a stop to the hopeless struggle by consenting in full and without reserve to the social degradation and heart-sorrow to which it seemed the will of God to bring them. Then with new courage he might commence a new endeavour, no more on the slippery slope of descent, but with the firm ground of the Valley of Humiliation under their feet. Long they could not go on as now, and he was ready to do whatever was required of him, only he wished God would make it plain. The part of discipline he liked leasta part of which doubtless we do not yet at all understand the good or necessitywas uncertainty of duty, the uncertainty of what it was God's will he should do. But on the other hand, perhaps the cause of that uncertainty was the lack of perfect readiness; perhaps all that was wanted to make duty plain was absolute will to do it.

These and other such thoughts went flowing and ebbing for hours in his mind that night, until at last he bethought himself that his immediate duty was plain enoughnamely, to go to sleep. He yielded his consciousness therefore to him from whom it came, and did sleep.


CHAPTER L.

DISCOVERY AND CONFESSION.


In the morning he woke wondering whether God would that day let him know what he had to do. He was certain he would not have him leave his father; anything else in the way of trouble he could believe possible.

The season was now approaching the nominal commencement of summer, but the morning was very cold. He went to the window. Air and earth had the look of a black frostthe most ungenial, the most killing of weathers. Alas! that was his father's breathing: his bronchitis was worse! He made haste to fetch fuel and light the fire, then leaving him still asleep, went down stairs. He was earlier than usual, and Grizzie was later; only Aggie was in the kitchen. Her grandfather was worse also. Everything pointed to severer straitening and stronger necessity: this must be how God was letting him know what he had to do!

He sat down and suddenly, for a moment, felt as if he were sitting on the opposite bank of the Warlock river, looking up at the house where he was born and had spent his daysnow the property of another, and closed to him forever! Within those walls he could not order the removal of a straw! could not chop a stick to warm his father! "The will of God be done!" he said, and the vision was gone.

Aggie was busy getting his porridge readywhich Cosmo had by this time learned to eat without any accompanimentand he bethought himself that here was a chance of questioning her before Grizzie should appear.

"Come, Aggie," he said abruptly, "I want to ken what for Grizzie was in sic a terror aboot her pock last nicht. I'm thinkin' I hae a richt to ken."

"I wish ye wadna speir," returned Aggie, after but a moment's pause.

"Aggie," said Cosmo, "gien ye tell me it's nane o' my business, I winna speir again."

"Ye are guid, Cosmo, efter the w'y I behaved to ye last nicht," she answered, with a tremble in her voice.

"Dinna think o' 't nae mair, Aggie. To me it is as gien it had never been. My hert's the same to ye as aforean' justly. I believe I un'erstan' ye whiles 'maist as weel as ye du yersel'."

"I houp whiles ye un'erstan' me better," answered Aggie. "Sair do I m'urn 'at the shaidow o' that lee ever crossed my rain'."

"It was but a shaidow," said Cosmo.

"But what wad ye think o' yersel', gien it had been you 'at sae nearna, I winna nibble at the trowth ony mairgien it had been you, I wull say't,'at lee'd that leesic an' ae sas it was?"

"I wad say to mysel' 'at wi' God's help I was the less lik'ly ever to tell a lee again; for that noo I un'erstude better hoo a temptation micht come upon a body a' at ance, ohn gien 'im time to reflec'an' sae my responsibility was the greater."

"Thank ye, Cosmo," said Aggie humbly, and was silent.

"But," resumed Cosmo, "ye haena tellt me yet 'at it's nane o' my business what Grizzie had in her pock last nicht."

"Na, I cudna tell ye that,'cause it wadna be true. It is yer business."

"What was i' the pock than?"

"Weel, Cosmo, ye put me in a great diffeeculty; for though I never said to Grizzie I wadna tell, I made nae objectionthough at the time I didna like itwhan she tellt me what she was gaein' to du; an' sae I canna help fearin' it may be fause to her to tell ye. Besides, I hae latten 't gang sae lang ohn said a word,'at the guid auld body cud never jaloose I wad turn upon her noo an' tell!"

"You are dreadfully mysterious, Aggie," said Cosmo, "and in truth you make me more than a little uncomfortable. What can it be that has been going on so long, and had better not be told me! Have I a right to know or have I not?"

"Ye hae a richt to ken, I do believe, else I wadna tell ye," answered Aggie. "I was terrified, frae the first, to think what ye wad say til 't! But ye see, what was there left? You, an' the laird, an' my father was a' laid up thegither, heaps o' things wantit, the meal dune, an' life depen'in' upo' fowk haein' what they cud ait an' drink!"

As she spoke, shadowy horror was deepening to monster presence; the incredible was gradually assuming shape and fact; the hair of Cosmo's head seemed rising up. He asked no more questions, but sat waiting the worst.

"Dinna be ower hard upo' Grizzie an'me, Cosmo," Aggie went on. "It wasna for oorsel's we wad hae dune sic a thing; an' maybe there was nane but them we did it for 'at we wad hae been able to du't for. But I hae no richt to say WE. Blame, gien there be ony, I hae my share o'; but praise, gien there be ony, she has't a'; for, that the warst michtna come to the warst, at the last she tuik the meal-pock," said Aggie, and burst into tears as she said it, "an' gaed oot wi' 't."

"Good God!" cried Cosmo, and for some moments was dumb. "Lassie!" he said at length, in a voice that was not like his own, "didna ye ken i' yer ain sowl we wad raither hae dee'd?"

"There'tis! That's jist what for Grizzie wadna hae ye tellt! But dinna think she gaed to ony place whaur she was kent," sobbed Agnes, "or appeart to ony to be ither than a puir auld body 'at gaed aboot for hersel'. Dinna think aither 'at ever she tellt a lee, or said a word to gar fowk pity her. She had aye afore her the possibility o' bein' ca'd til accoont some day. But I'm thinkin' gien ye had applyt to her an' no to me, ye wad hae h'ard anither mak o' a defence frae mine! Ae thing ye may be sure o'there's no a body a hair the wiser."

"What difference does that make?" cried Cosmo. "The fact remains."

"Hoot, Cosmo!" said Agnes, with a revival of old authority, "ye're takin' the thing in a fashion no worthy o' a philosopherno to say a Christian. Ye tak it as gien there was shame intil 't! An' gien there wasna shame, I daur ye to priv there can be ony disgrace! Gien ye come to that wi' 't, hoo was the Lord o' a' himself supportit whan he gaed aboot cleanin' oot the warl'? Wasna it the women 'at gaed wi' 'im 'at providit a' thing?"

"True; but that was very different! They knew him, all of them, and loved himknew that he was doing what no money could pay for; that he was working himself to death for them and for their peoplethat he was earning the whole world. Or at least they had a far off notion that he was doing as never man did, for they knew he spake as never man spake. Besides there was no begging there. He never asked them for anything."Here Aggie shook her head in unbelief, but Cosmo went on."And those women, some of them anyhow, were rich, and proud to do what they did for the best and grandest of men. But what have we done for the world that we should dare look to it to help us?"

"For that maitter, Cosmo, are na we a' brithers an' sisters? A' body's brithers an' sisters wi' a' body. It's but a kin' o' a some mean pride 'at wadna be obleeged to yer ain fowk, efter ye hae dune yer best. Cosmo! ilka han'fu' o' meal gi'en i' this or ony hoose by them 'at wadna in like need accep' the same, is an affront frae brither to brither. Them 'at wadna tak, I say, has no richt to gie."

"But nobody knew the truth of where their handful of meal was going. They thought they were giving it to a poor old woman, when they were in fact giving it to men with a great house over their heads. It's a disgrace, an' hard to beir, Aggie!"

"'Deed the thing's hard upon 's a'! but whaur the disgrace is, I will not condescen' to see. Men in a muckle hoose! Twa o' them auld,