99 CHAPTER III. CLAY IDOLS. IT! "it; "the body; " that perishable | of Meg Carmichael. I was not ignorant of form which had clothed the eternal soul, the indecent infatuation of your brother for and was now to be carried away and hidden that low-born and low-bred woman; and the under the earth," to suffer corruption," and last thing I should have expected from you, join the unseen throng of those whose place on coming into the estates, was the admisin this world" shall know them no more." sion of such base claims on the part of perThe loud sound of her tempestuous wail- sons who have no more real right to Torrieing seemed to float out and follow Sir Doug- burn than your father's head-keeper, and las, as he at length left the house, and re- are about as fit to set up there as lairds of crossed the dreadful bridge which had been the place." the scene of that tragedy. The dead horse, whose neck had been broken in the leap, was still lying there; the waters gurgling round the new obstacle, and waving the glossy mane to and fro, like a row of reeds. The dreary rain was still drifting with the wind against the soaked stems of the firtrees; and the scarlet berries and yellowing leaves of the mountain ash, or rowan-tree, tossed and swung above the torrent, far over head; dropping now and then a bead of red like a blood-gout into the whirling waters that swept them away. Even so were swept away all the hopes, plans, and resolutions made only the night previous in behalf of his brother, by Sir Douglas Ross of Glenrossie. And as the sobbing storm died down on wood and mountain, and one pale crimson and melancholy streak gleamed light from a sunset that promised a better day, even so did the gleaming hope of being of use to little Kenneth (so like the Kenneth his earliest boyish recollections brought back to him!) break through the miserable gloom in his kindly mind. On arriving at the castle he described the scenes he had witnessed, and the death that had so unexpectedly taken place, to Lady Ross. She heard it, as she had heard of the death of her husband, with frigid composure. Her daughter also seemed unmoved; except by a certain amount of surprise, and the curiosity of one who listens to the account of a strange event. But when Sir Douglas, endeavouring to repress the evidence how much he himself was moved, wound up his narration by endeavouring to enlist what pity there might be in Lady Ross's heart for the orphan and his wretched parent, then indeed a slight change was visible in Lady Ross's countenance. The indifference that had reigned there was replaced by a look of supercilious scorn; and, when Sir Douglas imprudently faltered "Being yourself a mother, I thought perhaps - "she flashed that look of scorn full upon him, with the speech, "I beg to remind you, Sir Douglas, that I am not the mother of children legitimized on a death-bed. Nor am I a miller's daughter; which, I understand, was the social position In spite of the opinion thus enunciated by the widow of his misguided father, Sir Douglas took up the trust his brother left him in all the simplicity of good faith. Little Kenneth was acknowledged and installed as "Kenneth Carmichael Ross of Torrieburn," and a tutor appointed to teach and care for him as the young laird. Fain would Sir Douglas have removed him from his mother, and from all the early associations of the place; but the same ungovernable spirit, which had struck him with so much amazement at the time of poor Kenneth's death, was displayed in all her dealings with others. Her grief was despair: it was followed by a nervous fever: the fever by a disturbed state of nerves bordering on insanity. And then she recovered, like a creature that has moaned for its whelps and gradually forgotten them. No sooner had she lifted from the pressure of that woe, than a wilfulness exceeding all poor Kenneth had ever shown, took its place. She considered herself, under that declaration of marriage, as the natural occupier and possessor of Torrieburn House till her son should be grown up. She established her mother there, as indeed might have been expected; her father, the old miller of Torrieburn, coming frequently over - sometimes to complain of the inconvenience of his wife's residence apart from him, sometimes to quarrel both with her and her daughter, sometimes to carouse with companions for whom she could scarcely refuse to provide whiskey in a limited or unlimited quantity. With the first tutor, appointed to the care of her son, she entered into relations so unseemly, after the subsiding of her grief, that, the fact coming to the ears of Sir Douglas, he wrote her a letter of remonstrance; and substituted a somewhat stern but very sensible pedagogue in his stead, with whom she incessantly quarrelled, and from whose authority she encouraged her When Sir Douglas first beheld the boy for whom, unseen, he had been caring, and whose future he was so anxiously about to arrange, soldier though he was, he burst into tears. boy to appeal. Sir Douglas was always re- | her half-brother's wishes, and a disposition ceiving letters from the boy or his mother to see to all those minor arrangements of a complaining of severity, complaining of in-household which a man cannot see to himjustice; till, at length, wearied out by peti- self, and which that astute and reserved tions and objurgations, a fresh substitution little personage performed as well as any was made, and a tutor sent of good educa- hired housekeeper, if not better. tion, with excellent recommendations, and private instructions to "show as much indulgence as was consistent with good discipline." This time Meg Carmichael made further changes impossible by marrying the tutor: and the ill-assorted household continued on the most comfortless footing,-the wayward, handsome woman alternately quarrelling with her husband, and giving herself airs as "Mrs Ross of Torrieburn,”or bestowing on him some of the wild adoration which had formerly been the portion of poor Kenneth: and the tutor-husband vainly trying to make head, in the house that was scarcely to be called his own, against the drunken old miller and his boon companions, the bustling and shrewish old woman his wife, and the disposition to shirk all control and all guidance in the lovely little boy whose position, as the future "laird," was acknowledged, in different forms of folly and flattery, by all around him in the narrow circle of home. A hint from Sir Douglas that it would soon be time to send him to a good school was received with such a storm of indignation and despair, such ill-spelt, ill-worded letters of passionate remonstrance, that Sir Douglas put off all further alteration in young Kenneth's destiny till he could get home from his command, and personally superintend the necessary changes. That the boy was well taught by his tutor-father was evidenced by the letters he wrote; and which, though they half-nettled, half-amused Sir Douglas by their tone of presumption, addressing him entirely "dégal en égal," were such as no boy of inferior education or inferior intelligence could possibly have penned. At length the day came when Sir Doug las Ross of Glenrossie returned as a resident to the home of his fathers! His stepmother had been dead some time; but her daughter had, by his own express wish, continued to reside in the castle; nor had he the heart, when he found that lonely young spinster there, to enter on the topic of her removal. It would be time enough, Sir Douglas thought, when he was married, if ever he married. Her mother had been odious, but that was not the daughter's fault; and there was nothing offensive in her, personally. On the contrary, she appeared especially anxious to preserve the home she had acquired, by the most absolute acquiescence in Kenneth stood before him! Kenneth in the days before they were parted — Kenneth when they used to climb the hills with their arms round each other's necks --Kenneth before the cold cloud of difference mistily rose between them. And, though Sir Douglas kept to his resolution, and sent the lad both to school and college, — undeterred by the loud wailing of Mrs. Maggie Ross, who ran along the edge of the high road weeping and waving her handkerchief at the mail-coach the first day he departed, and who constantly made his recurring holidays terms of the most corrupting influence of folly and over-indulgence, yet the depths of love he felt for that orphan lad were such as rarely exist even in a father's heart for a favourite child. It was a passion with Sir Douglas. What Kenneth did, what Kenneth said, what Kenneth thought, was the principal occupation of his own more mature mind. Inwardly he vowed never to marry to bring the boy up as his heir: to make his home not at Torrieburn but Glenrossie, and suffer that living image of his dead brother to "come. after him," when he, too, should be dead and gone. As time rolled on, however, much anxiety was mingled with Sir Douglas's love. The wayward son of that wayward race seemed turning out yet more wayward and rebellious than all that had preceded him. Drunkenness, a love of low company, of being what is vulgarly termed "cock of the walk," the most profuse extravagance as to money matters, and a sort of careless defiance of all authority, more especially the constituted authority of his stately uncle, whom at this time he and all around him took to calling by the title I have already commented upon, "Old Sir Douglas," all these defects, and more, showed themselves in Kenneth's son. And all these defects did Sir Douglas believe he could, by care and resolution, weed out of that hot young head and heart, as the gardener weeded the broad walks in the longforsaken gardens of Glenrossie. Twice had he paid the debts of the young collegian, and received, in answer to his imploring lec tures, the most satisfactory promises for | acquaintance he had made with the most the future. A third time he called upon eager interest for Sir Douglas's sake, was his uncle to clear him, and this time Sir becoming a noted character among the EngDouglas thought fit, greatly to the young lish visitors, with anything but credit to man's discontent, to consider his college ca- himself and family; that the young man reer as closed, and send him to travel. Fain who had been engaged to accompany him would he have made the lad his own com- desired to resign his trust into Sir Dougpanion, but there was so much chance of las's hands, feeling it to be positively disill-will and hot blood in the attempts at con- honest to continue receiving a high salary, trol over his actions that he dreaded to un- as travelling tutor, for the supposed perdertake it, lest it should make a "break" formance of duties which the disposition of between them. Kenneth Ross rendered it impossible to fulfil. Finally, that he thought Sir Douglas could not do better than come himself to Italy, where Lorimer Boyd would be overjoyed to see him, and where new arrangements might, he hoped, be made; ending with the ominous words, "for, if something is not done, and that speedily, I should fear that this young lad, to whom you have shown such generous kindness, will turn out utterly worthless." With the most liberal allowance it was possible to grant, and the most intelligent companion he could find, little over Kenneth's own age, and full of good and amiable qualities, Sir Douglas despatched his nephew on what in old-fashioned days was called "the grand tour;" and, with a pang at his affectionate heart, stood on the steps at the castle entrance, and saw that handsome careless head smile a final farewell from the chaise window, and waited till the sound of wheels died away in the distance, and lifted his cap, with a half-murmured prayer, before he turned back into the great hall. There, everything looked as it did in his own boyhood and adolescence; as when he ran away from home; when he was sent to school; when he returned in eager gladness to be pressed in Kenneth's arms; when he tried to persuade his father to give Kenneth some profession; when he looked out into the stormy night, and saw that brother ride away for the last time; and all these scenes chased each other through his musing mind—all terminating in the one leading thought, What would be the future of Kenneth's son ? The accounts sent from time to time were far from reassuring. Young Kenneth acknowledged no power of control in the student-companion allotted for his tour, but treated him as a sort of confidential courier, bound to take all trouble off his hands, provide for his amusements, and carefully minister to his comforts, but nothing more. The one vice, too, from which Kenneth had hitherto been guarded, that of immorality, - which his mother, remembering her own destiny, watched over with a jealous care she bestowed on nothing else, seemed rapidly to be taking rank among the young laird's already established errors; and at length Sir Douglas received one morning, by the early post at Glenrossie, a very long, very tender, very comfortless letter from the friend of Eton days, Lorimer Boyd, then at the English Legation at Naples, informing him that young Kenneth, whose The next day saw Sir Douglas Ross on his way to London, to procure his passport and proceed to his destination. He reached it without event; and, in the satisfaction evinced by Lorimer Boyd, and the pleasant converse of that old friend, half forgot the pain of observing that his unexpected coming had produced in young Kenneth no other evidence of emotion than a sort of discontented surprise. "Well, well," thought the uncle, indulgently, "he probably knows he has been complained of, and I must make allowance for that." In the evening, fidgeting a little over the long colloquy after their late dinner, at which Lorimer Boyd was the sole guest, Kenneth said, "I am now going out; going to a party,- a very decent family party,' added he, with a half saucy, half angry smile. Will you come too, Uncle Douglas? I know Mr. Lorimer Boyd is dying to get there, instead of talking any more to you, for there is to be amateur music, and some of his particular friends are to sing." 66 Something of gloom and displeasure overshadowed Lorimer Boyd's countenance, and apparently, in spite of assumed carelessness, the young man felt it, for he added hastily, "I believe he's as fond of music as you are, Uncle, and that is saying a good deal." My dear boy, I'll go wherever you are both going; we can all go together; if Lorimer will undertake to introduce me, I shall be charmed to plunge at once into the dissipations of Naples. Lorimer started out of some sort of rev erie in which he had been absorbed; and, | to punt him over in her father's absence; with half a sigh and half a laugh, he said, accepts the offer, but is greatly troubled in "I fear you won't find much to charm you his mind by the fact that the reeds keep in the set that are at present in Naples; bowing wherever the boat passes, though but this is a pleasant enough house, and there is not a breath of wind; and that, as certainly the music is divine." the young girl herself bends to the water, her face is reflected there, not as she actually appears, but with a wreath of lilies round her head. He comprehends immediately (as people do, in dreams and in German ballads), that she is something supernatural, and spends the remainder of his shortened and grieving days in perpetually paddling in and out among the reeds; calling for her, looking for her, pining for her, because, as the poet writes it, he has been bewitched "by that little red mouth so full of songs! Lorimer Boyd made his introduction with a degree of shyness, which no experience of the world had conquered in him; but stately Sir Douglas was greeted with great eagerness as a new-comer amongst the little society; nor were there wanting looks of surprised admiration and whispers of inquiry, as the handsome soldier made his way through the busy crowd to a place near the piano. For it was true that Sir Douglas was very fond of music; and the one faint recollection he retained of his mother was the shape of her lovely mouth and the soft darkness of her eyes, singing some snatch of an old ballad of unhappy love: "He turned him round and right about Nothing is so capricious as memory. Why one incident is remembered and all others forgotten-why a person with whom we have lived in intimacy for years is recalled always by one, or, at the most, by two or three different aspects, on occasions neither more nor less important than a thousand others, are mysteries of the working of the brain, where these memories are packed away, which the profoundest of our philosophers have been, and are, unable to solve. But certain it is that among other caprices of memory Sir Douglas, who had lost his mother in his childhood, remembered her chiefly by her songs; and above all by that versified farewell which could have conveyed no idea to a child's mind beyond the vague sadness of intonation. Whenever he thought of his mother, he heard that stanza float upon the air. He was thinking of her now, in the midst of that assembly of strangers, with no other mainspring to those thoughts than the sudden touch given by his nephew's remark that he was fond of music. His thoughts wandered, too, to a beautiful German fable as to the effect of certain singing one of their wild stories of water-spirits; in which the hero, impatient at the old ferryman not being in attendance to punt him across a river, swears a good deal; is stopped by a young girl who says she is the ferryman's daughter, and offers His Sir Douglas was roused from his fanciful musing by a real song; and, by some strange coincidence, a German song. A young lady had sat down to the piano. nephew was standing by her, waiting to turn the leaf when the verse should be completed. She shook her head gently, and said, in a low voice, "I know them all by heart." Then came the rich melody of one of those soft contralto voices the very sound of which gives the sensation of a caress to the listener; a little trembling too,- not the trembling of shyness, but that peculiar tremolo natural to some voices, and which rather adds to, than takes away from their power. -- A German song; a German "Goodnight;" something ineffably coaxing, soothing, and peaceful in its harmonious notes. Involuntarily Sir Douglas sighed; he felt a strange contrast between the anxiety that had prompted his hurried journey, - the storms of his past life, - and his present feverish fatigue and worry, - with that delicious lullaby! The girl who was singing glanced towards him, with soft hazel eyes that seemed made to match her voice. Then she asked something in an undertone of young Kenneth, and the reply was distinctly heard, "It is my Uncle Douglas." The young lady's reply was also audible in the silence that followed her song. She said, in a tone of great surprise," That, Sir Douglas? that Sir Douglas Ross?" "Yes," said Kenneth testily; "why not?" "Oh! I don't know," said the girl, laughing shyly; "only it is not at all my idea of him. I never should have guessed that to be him, from your way of talking. I expected—" "Expected what?" As she spoke the last words, she again | own more silent and business-like populalooked up at the newly-arrived stranger. tion. The valet was extremely reluctant Sir Douglas's eyes were fixed upon her. It to admit Sir Douglas. "Sua Eccellenza,” as he termed Kenneth, had gone to a was but too evident he had overheard what she had said. Both felt embarrassed as masked ball after the musical soirée at Lady their glances met. Sir Douglas coloured Charlotte's, had only returned at daylight, to the temples; and the young lady blushed. and was not yet awake. But on receiving the explanations that the parties were related, and that he beheld before him that millionaire Milord of Scotland, of whose unexpected arrival even he had been told as of an important if not satisfactory event, he became as obsequious as he had been recalcitrant, begging his Excellency to walk into the other Excellency's apartment, when he would speedily wake the sleeping Excellency, and inform him of the illustrious Excellency's visit. CHAPTER IV. UNCLE AND NEPHEW. As THE pleasant evening was followed by a painful morning. Sir Douglas ascertained from Lorimer Boyd that, with the one exception of Lady Charlotte Skifton's (where that evening had been passed), Kenneth Sir Douglas got rid of the bowing valet, Ross had scarcely footing in one respectable house in Naples. His nights were spent forbidding him to disturb his master. at the theatre, the gaming table, and in he passed through Kenneth's bedroom, he wild orgies with the idlest of an idle Nea- paused and stood a few moments, with politan aristocracy; and his days in recover- folded arms, leaning against the silk hanging from the debauch of the night. Sums ings and embroidered mosquito curtains of perfectly fabulous, considering his position the luxurious bed, contemplating the sleepIt was nearly noon, but the dim shadand the amount of his very moderate for- er. tune, were owing in all directions; and owy light from the Venetian blinds, broken thrice, but for the painstaking interference by narrow streaks of sunshine that seemed - the re- to quiver and ripple on the floor, as if reand discretion of Lorimer Boyd, sult of quarrels on the most trivial, or the flected from the dazzling bay below, could most scandalous grounds, would have been not disturb his slumbers. The wonderful a meeting with adversaries not very nice likeness of Kenneth to his father, in that in their code of honour, and infinitely bet- soft dreamy light, melted away the displeater accustomed to the use of pistols. To sure in Sir Douglas's heart. What to do all remonstrance about his gambling or with him, how to set matters right for him, other debts he had constantly affirmed that and, how to reform him, was his sole thought. it would be "all right"; that "Old Sir" He is yet but young," sighed the uncle, as Douglas" would pay them; and, with a spirit of exaggeration partly wilful, and partly arising from ignorance of all things in his uncle's affairs, except the extreme readiness to assist him which had been always displayed, he represented himself as nephew to a millionaire; and was looked upon in the indolent and profligate circles he frequented as related to a sort of Scotch prince, whose coffers overflowed with gold, for which he had no better use than the pampering of his brother's son, the idol of his bachelor life, and his eventual heir. Half melancholy and half provoked, Sir Douglas left his hotel for the lodging taken by his graceless favourite in one of the palazzos on the Chiaja. In the anteroom he found an Italian valet smoking one of his master's cigars as he leaned carelessly from the window overlooking the Giardin' Reale, with no other occupation, apparently, than that of watching the swarming crowd, whose ceaseless shouting and chattering form so strange a contrast to our he passed into the sitting-room, where the open windows admitted at once the brilliant glow of a southern sun, and as much fresh air as Naples can boast in these quarters on the Chiaja. Little enough; since all along that coast-built street lingers a compound odour of stale fruit, church incense, tar and fishing-nets, reeking beasts of burden, and the cheese and garlic of poverty-stricken and dirty lazzaroni. In the principal sitting-room everything was in the same style of confused luxury as in the bedroom. Parisian fauteuils and sofas in handsome chintz covers, hired in to assist the indolence of the occupant, formed a strange contrast, and looked, as it were, doubly negligent, by the side of the faded splendour of the tight and upright satin chairs and banquettes which formed the original furniture of the Palazzo; which furniture was indeed but sparsely supplied; the real owner making an arrangement very common in Italy - namely, letting the under and upper apartments, and inhabiting the |
