"She's right! She's always right. If her words are in the way o'

reproach, it's my fault! James Ruleson's fault! I ought to hae stood out against the Maraschal. If we had made him a minister, he would hae been obligated to set an example to a kirkful o' men and women, and folks will sin against their ain house, when they will do their duty to a kirkful."

CHAPTER IX

A HAPPY BIT OF WRITING

The dead sailor, Has peace that none may gain who live; And rest about him, that no love can give, And over him, while life and death shall be, The light and sound, and darkness of the sea!

The winter following Neil's marriage was a pleasant one to the village of Culraine. The weather was favorable, the line fishing more than usually prosperous, and the school remarkably successful. Ruleson took the greatest delight in its progress, and nothing gave him greater pleasure than a walk in its vicinity, when he could see the children coming and going, with their books and b.a.l.l.s in their hands. They all knew him, but however large the group in the playground, he could pick little Jamie out of it in a moment. And oh, how good it was to see the old man defying his failure with Neil, and building still grander hopes on this lad of ten years old! Truly, from the good heart Hope springs eternal. It forgets that it is mortal, because it takes hold on immortality.

Christine heard constantly from Cluny, but it was nearly a year since she had seen him, for the crew of a pa.s.senger steamer trading to foreign ports, do not obtain leave easily, especially in their first year. And Cluny had never been in Glasgow port long enough to make a journey to Culraine and back possible. Christine did not fret herself because of his absence. She was not as one of the foolish ones, who regard a lover and love-making as the great essential of life. She had proved in her own case, that Duty was far above, and beyond Love. She had known cases where Honor had been put before Love. She had seen Angus Ballister put mere social caste before Love. It was a fact known to all the world, that gold laughed at Love, and bought and sold Love, as if he were merchandise in the market place.

She loved Cluny, but her love was subject to her duty, which at present was evidently in her own home. Her father was strong and full of the joy of living, but his work was on the winter seas, and he needed the comfort of a well-ordered house and properly-cooked food after his hard day's fishing. Her mother was sick and failing, and it appeared to Christine's anxious heart that she was losing, instead of gaining, ground. Margot denied this position, but Christine noticed that one little household duty after another was allowed to drift quietly into her hands. Then also there was Jamie, whom she tenderly loved, and who was wholly dependent on her care and help. His food--his clothes--his lessons! What could Jamie do without her?

One morning in February, she had a letter from Cluny, which set at naught all these claims. He had two hundred pounds in the Bank of Scotland, and he wanted to get married. He was studying navigation, and he would be third officer in another year. He was fairly wasting his life without Christine. He was growing old with the disappointment he was getting constantly. He was next door to dying, with one put-off after another. If he came up on the fifteenth, would she walk over to the Domine's with him? He felt as if the Domine might bury him, if he didna marry him. He declared he had been sick with the love and pain of wanting her, ever since he could remember himself, "and yet, Christine," he wrote, "you are mine. Mine from your birth hour. Mine whether you love me, or don't love me. Mine if you marry someone else.

Mine even if you die, for then I would soon follow, and find you out, wherever you were."

What was a girl of cool, reasonable nature, to do with a lover of this impetuous, vehement temper?

She told her mother that Cluny was coming, and she noticed that the news instantly changed the atmosphere of the room. Margot had been sewing and chatting cheerfully in her chair by the fireside. She dropped her work, and became thoughtful and silent. Christine knew why, and she said to herself, "Mither is fearing I am going to marry Cluny, and leave her alane! As if I would! The man never lived, who could make me do the like o' that." She waited ten minutes to give Margot time to recover herself, but as she did not do so, she asked, "Mither, are you doubting Christine?"

"No, dearie! I couldna do that."

"What then?"

"I'm doubting mysel'. Doubting my power to look to your feyther's comfort, and the like o' that, and maybe fearing a strange woman in the house."

"Why a strange woman?"

"There's things I canna do now--things I havna the strength for, and----"

"You think that Christine would leave you?"

"Weel, there is the peradventure."

"Mither, put your arm round me. To the end of your life, Christine will put hers round you. Naebody can part us twa. Naebody!"

"I thought Cluny was coming--and--that----"

"I would leave you. Leave you now! Leave you, and leave feyther without anyone to cook his meals, and leave wee Jamie, who looks to me as if I was his Mither. Na, na! You mustna judge Christine in that way. What for would I leave you? Because a lad loves me out of a'

sense and reason. Even if I was his wife, love and duty would count your claim first. G.o.d said a man should leave feyther and mither, and cleave to his wife; but He didna tell a woman to leave her feyther and mither, and cleave to her husband."

"He would mean it, Christine."

"Then He would hae said it. He leaves nae room to question."

"There might be what is called 'inferences.'"

"Na, na, Mither! It is thus and so, and do, and do not, wi' G.o.d.

There's nae inferences in any o' His commands. When folks break them, they ken well they are breaking them. But what will we be talking o'

this matter for? You yoursel' are beyond the obligation."

"I ne'er had it, I may say, for my feyther was drowned ere I was born, and my mither died ere I was five years old. It's different wi' you, dearie."

"It is, but Christine kens all o' her duty, and it will be her pleasure to fulfill it." And she clasped her mother's hands in hers, and kissed her. And Margot's old pawky smile flitted o'er her face, and she said, "We must ask the Domine anent this question"--then a little sarcastically--"or Neil will gie us the Common Law o' Scotland concerning it."

So the trouble ended with a smile and the shout of Jamie as he flung open the house door, in a storm of hurry and pleasure. "Auntie!

Grandmither!" he cried. "We are going to have a tug-of-war between the English and the Scotch, on the playground, at half-past twelve. I'm on the Scotch side. Gie me my dinner, Auntie, and I'll be awa' to help floor Geordie Kent, and the rest of his upsetting crowd. Geordie's mither is English, and he's always boasting about the circ.u.mstance."

"Are you going to tak' the brag out o' him, Jamie?"

"I am going to help do so, with all my might, but there's some Border lads among the English set, and they are a hefty lot, and hard to beat."

"That's right, Jamie! Fife lads shout when the boat wins the harbor, not till then. All the same, laddie, bring me word o' your victory."

When dinner was over Christine dressed herself for her visitor, and the light of love and expectation gave to her face an unusual beauty.

She wore her fisher costume, for she thought Cluny would like it best, but it was fresh and bright and quite coquettish, with its pretty fluted cap, its gold earrings, its sky-blue bodice and skirt of blue and yellow stripes, and the little kerchief of vivid scarlet round her shoulders. Its final bit of vanity was a small white muslin ap.r.o.n, with little pockets finished off with bows of scarlet ribbon. If she had dressed herself for a fashionable masquerade ball she would have been its most picturesque belle and beauty.

It was seven o'clock when Cluny arrived. Ruleson had gone to a meeting of the School Trustees, a business, in his opinion, of the very greatest importance; and Margot's womanly, motherly sense told her that Cluny would rather have her absence than her company. So she had pleaded weariness, and gone to her room soon after tea was over, and Cluny had "the fair opportunity," he so often declared he never obtained; for Margot had said to Jamie, "You'll come and sit wi' me, laddie, and gie me the full story o' your b.l.o.o.d.y defeat, and we'll mak' a consultation anent the best way o' mending it."

"This is glorious!" cried Cluny, as he stood alone with Christine in the firelit room. "I have you all to mysel'! Oh, you woman of all the world, what have you to say to me this night?"

"What do you want me to say, Cluny?"

"Tell me that you'll go before the Domine with me, in the morning."

"Now, Cluny, if you are going to begin that trouble again, I will not stay with you."

"Trouble, trouble? What trouble? Is it a trouble to be my wife?"

"I have told you before, I could not marry you till the right time came."

"It is the right time now! It has to be! I'll wait no longer!"

"You will wait forever, if you talk that way to me."

"I'll take my ain life, Christine, rayther than hae it crumbled awa'

between your cruel fingers and lips! aye writing, and saying, 'at the proper time'! G.o.d help me! When is the proper time?"

"When my mither is better, and able to care for hersel', and look after feyther and the house."

"Is she any better than she was?"

"Na, I'm feared she is worse."