At length the rockets, Roman candles, and squibs were all burnt out, the would-be "eternal blazon" was over, and the preacher sunk back exhausted in his seat.The people sang; a prayer, fit pendent to such a sermon, followed, and the congregation was dismissed--it could not be with much additional strength to meet the sorrows, temptations, sophisms, commonplaces, disappointments, dulnesses, stupidities, and general devilries of the week, although not a few paid the preacher welcome compliments on his "gran' discoorse."The young men were out among the first, and going round to another door, in the church-yard, by which they judged Ginevra and her father must issue, there stood waiting.The night was utterly changed.The wind had gone about, and the vapours were high in heaven, broken all into cloud-masses of sombre grandeur.Now from behind, now upon their sides, they were made glorious by the full moon, while through their rents appeared the sky and the ever marvellous stars.Gibbie's eyes went climbing up the spire that shot skyward over their heads.Around its point the clouds and the moon seemed to gather, grouping themselves in grand carelessness;and he thought of the Son of Man coming in the clouds of heaven; to us mere heaps of watery vapour, ever ready to fall, drowning the earth in rain, or burying it in snow, to angel-feet they might be solid masses whereon to tread attendant upon him, who, although with his word he ruled winds and seas, loved to be waited on by the multitude of his own! He was yet gazing, forgetful of the human tide about him, watching the glory dominant over storm, when his companion pinched his arm: he looked, and was aware that Fergus, muffled to the eyes, was standing beside them.He seemed not to see them, and they were nowise inclined to attract his attention, but gazed motionless on the church door, an unsealed fountain of souls.
What a curious thing it is to watch an issuing crowd of faces for one loved one--all so unattractive, provoking, blamable, as they come rolling round corners, dividing, and flowing away--not one of them the right one! But at last out she did come--Ginevra, like a daisy among mown grass! It was really she!--but with her father.
She saw Donal, glanced from him to Gibbie, cast down her sweet eyes, and made no sign.Fergus had already advanced and addressed the laird.
"Ah, Mr.Duff!" said Mr.Galbraith; "excuse me, but would you oblige me by giving your arm to my daughter? I see a friend waiting to speak to me.I shall overtake you in a moment."Fergus murmured his pleasure, and Ginevra and he moved away together.The youths for a moment watched the father.He dawdled--evidently wanted to speak to no one.They then followed the two, walking some yards behind them.Every other moment Fergus would bend his head towards Ginevra; once or twice they saw the little bonnet turn upwards in response or question.Poor Donal was burning with lawless and foolish indignation: why should the minister muffle himself up like an old woman in the crowd, and take off the great handkerchief when talking with the lady? When the youths reached the street where the cottage stood, they turned the corner after them, and walked quickly up to them where they stood at the gate waiting for it to be opened.
"Sic a gran' nicht!" said Donal, after the usual greetings."Sir Gibbie an' me 's haein' a dauner wi' the mune.Ye wad think she had licht eneuch to haud the cloods aff o' her, wad ye no, mem? But na!
they'll be upon her, an' I'm feart there's ae unco black ane yon'er--dinna ye see 't--wi' a straik o' white, aboot the thrapple o' 't?--There--dinna ye see 't?" he went on pointing to the clouds about the moon, "--that ane, I'm doobtin', 'ill hae the better o'
her or lang--tak her intill 'ts airms, an' bray a' the licht oot o'
her.Guid nicht, mem.--Guid nicht, Fergus.You ministers sudna mak yersels sae like cloods.Ye sud be cled in white an' gowd, an' a'
colours o' stanes, like the new Jerooslem ye tell sic tales aboot, an' syne naebody wad mistak the news ye bring."Therewith Donal walked on, doubtless for the moment a little relieved.But before they had walked far, he broke down altogether.
"Gibbie," he said, "yon rascal's gauin' to merry the leddy-lass! an'
it drives me mad to think it.Gien I cud but ance see an' speyk till her--ance--jist ance! Lord! what 'll come o' a' the gowans upo' the Mains, an' the heather upo' Glashgar!"He burst out crying, but instantly dashed away his tears with indignation at his weakness.
"I maun dree my weird," (undergo my doom), he said, and said no more.
Gibbie's face had grown white in the moon-gleams, and his lips trembled.He put his arm through Donal's and clung to him, and in silence they went home.When they reached Donal's room, Donal entering shut the door behind him and shut out Gibbie.He stood for a moment like one dazed, then suddenly coming to himself, turned away, left the house, and ran straight to Daur-street.
When the minister's door was opened to him, he went to that of the dining-room, knowing Mr.and Mrs.Sclater would then be at supper.
Happily for his intent, the minister was at the moment having his tumbler of toddy after the labours of the day, an indulgence which, so long as Gibbie was in the house, he had, ever since that first dinner-party, taken in private, out of regard, as he pretended to himself, for the boy's painful associations with it, but in reality, to his credit be it told if it may, from a little shame of the thing itself; and his wife therefore, when she saw Gibbie, rose, and, meeting him, took him with her to her own little sitting-room, where they had a long talk, of which the result appeared the next night in a note from Mrs.Sclater to Gibbie, asking him and Donal to spend the evening of Tuesday with her.
