Catriona

Page 84

We took horse early, and passed first by the house of Shaws, where

it stood smokeless in a great field of white frost, for it was yet

early in the day. Here Prestongrange alighted down, gave me his

horse, an proceeded alone to visit my uncle. My heart, I remember,

swelled up bitter within me at the sight of that bare house and the

thought of the old miser sitting chittering within in the cold

kitchen!

"There is my home," said I; "and my family."

"Poor David Balfour!" said Miss Grant.

What passed during the visit I have never heard; but it would

doubtless not be very agreeable to Ebenezer, for when the Advocate

came forth again his face was dark.

"I think you will soon be the laird indeed, Mr. Davie," says he,

turning half about with the one foot in the stirrup.

"I will never pretend sorrow," said I; and, to say the truth,

during his absence Miss Grant and I had been embellishing the place

in fancy with plantations, parterres, and a terrace--much as I have

since carried out in fact.

Thence we pushed to the Queensferry, where Rankeillor gave us a

good welcome, being indeed out of the body to receive so great a

visitor. Here the Advocate was so unaffectedly good as to go quite

fully over my affairs, sitting perhaps two hours with the Writer in

his study, and expressing (I was told) a great esteem for myself

and concern for my fortunes. To while this time, Miss Grant and I

and young Rankeillor took boat and passed the Hope to Limekilns.

Rankeillor made himself very ridiculous (and, I thought, offensive)

with his admiration for the young lady, and to my wonder (only it

is so common a weakness of her sex) she seemed, if anything, to be

a little gratified. One use it had: for when we were come to the

other side, she laid her commands on him to mind the boat, while

she and I passed a little further to the alehouse. This was her

own thought, for she had been taken with my account of Alison

Hastie, and desired to see the lass herself. We found her once

more alone--indeed, I believe her father wrought all day in the

fields--and she curtsied dutifully to the gentry-folk and the

beautiful young lady in the riding-coat.

"Is this all the welcome I am to get?" said I, holding out my hand.

"And have you no more memory of old friends?"

"Keep me! wha's this of it?" she cried, and then, "God's truth,

it's the tautit {19} laddie!"

"The very same," says

"Mony's the time I've thocht upon you and your freen, and blythe am

I to see in your braws," {20} she cried. "Though I kent ye were

come to your ain folk by the grand present that ye sent me and that

I thank ye for with a' my heart."

"There," said Miss Grant to me, "run out by with ye, like a guid

bairn. I didnae come here to stand and haud a candle; it's her and

me that are to crack."

I suppose she stayed ten minutes in the house, but when she came

forth I observed two things--that her eyes were reddened, and a

silver brooch was gone out of her bosom. This very much affected

me.

"I never saw you so well adorned," said I.

"O Davie man, dinna be a pompous gowk!" said she, and was more than

usually sharp to me the remainder of the day.

About candlelight we came home from this excursion.

For a good while I heard nothing further of Catriona--my Miss Grant

remaining quite impenetrable, and stopping my mouth with

pleasantries. At last, one day that she returned from walking and

found me alone in the parlour over my French, I thought there was

something unusual in her looks; the colour heightened, the eyes

sparkling high, and a bit of a smile continually bitten in as she

regarded me. She seemed indeed like the very spirit of mischief,

and, walking briskly in the room, had soon involved me in a kind of

quarrel over nothing and (at the least) with nothing intended on my

side. I was like Christian in the slough--the more I tried to

clamber out upon the side, the deeper I became involved; until at

last I heard her declare, with a great deal of passion, that she

would take that answer from the hands of none, and I must down upon

my knees for pardon.

Robert Louis Stevenson
Classic Literature Library

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