I should say that from
her chamber window, and not three feet away, such is the straitness
of that close, it was possible to look into a barred loophole
lighting the stairway of the opposite house.
Here, upon some pretext, Miss Grant left me one day alone with Miss
Ramsay. I mind I thought that lady inattentive and like one
preoccupied. I was besides very uncomfortable, for the window,
contrary to custom, was left open and the day was cold. All at
once the voice of Miss Grant sounded in my ears as from a distance.
"Here, Shaws!" she cried, "keek out of the window and see what I
have broughten you."
I think it was the prettiest sight that ever I beheld. The well of
the close was all in clear shadow where a man could see distinctly,
the walls very black and dingy; and there from the barred loophole
I saw two faces smiling across at me--Miss Grant's and Catriona's.
"There!" says Miss Grant, "I wanted her to see you in your braws
like the lass of Limekilns. I wanted her to see what I could make
of you, when I buckled to the job in earnest!"
It came in my mind that she had been more than common particular
that day upon my dress; and I think that some of the same care had
been bestowed upon Catriona. For so merry and sensible a lady,
Miss Grant was certainly wonderful taken up with duds.
"Catriona!" was all I could get out.
As for her, she said nothing in the world, but only waved her hand
and smiled to me, and was suddenly carried away again from before
the loophole.
That vision was no sooner lost than I ran to the house door, where
I found I was locked in; thence back to Miss Ramsay, crying for the
key, but might as well have cried upon the castle rock. She had
passed her word, she said, and I must be a good lad. It was
impossible to burst the door, even if it had been mannerly; it was
impossible I should leap from the window, being seven storeys above
ground. All I could do was to crane over the close and watch for
their reappearance from the stair. It was little to see, being no
more than the tops of their two heads each on a ridiculous bobbin
of skirts, like to a pair of pincushions. Nor did Catriona so much
as look up for a farewell; being prevented (as I heard afterwards)
by Miss Grant, who told her folk were never seen to less advantage
than from above downward.
On the way home, as soon as I was set free, I upbraided Miss Grant
with her cruelty.
"I am sorry you was disappointed," says she demurely. "For my part
I was very pleased. You looked better than I dreaded; you looked--
if it will not make you vain--a mighty pretty young man when you
appeared in the window. You are to remember that she could not see
your feet," says she, with the manner of one reassuring me.
"O!" cried I, "leave my feet be--they are no bigger than my
neighbours'."
"They are even smaller than some," said she, "but I speak in
parables like a Hebrew prophet."
"I marvel little they were sometimes stoned!" says I. "But, you
miserable girl, how could you do it? Why should you care to
tantalise me with a moment?"
"Love is like folk," says she; "it needs some kind of vivers." {22}
"Oh, Barbara, let me see her properly!" I pleaded. "YOU can--you
see her when you please; let me have half an hour."
"Who is it that is managing this love affair! You! Or me?" she
asked, and as I continued to press her with my instances, fell back
upon a deadly expedient: that of imitating the tones of my voice
when I called on Catriona by name; with which, indeed, she held me
in subjection for some days to follow.
There was never the least word heard of the memorial, or none by
me. Prestongrange and his grace the Lord President may have heard
of it (for what I know) on the deafest sides of their heads; they
kept it to themselves, at least--the public was none the wiser; and
in course of time, on November 8th, and in the midst of a
prodigious storm of wind and rain, poor James of the Glens was duly
hanged at Lettermore by Ballachulish.