Merkland: or, Self Sacrifice. Oliphant Margaret

but moor and heather in my memory, but they grow as fine barley now as any in the country.”

      “Well, I suppose no one can say that Mrs. Catherine neglects her carnal interests,” said Mrs. Bairnsfather, with a professional sigh. Her husband was known among his shrewd parishioners to be greatly more observant of temporal than spiritual matters, and his wife, conscious of a failing in that respect, was wont to assume at times a technical solemnity.

      “I believe Mrs. Catherine is a very excellent woman in every respect,” said the good-humored and uncensorious Mrs. Coulter, “and cares as little about money, for money’s sake, as any one can possibly do; but she thinks it a duty to use well and improve what Providence has given her, as you do yourself, James, though, to be sure, we have more motive, with a young family rising round us.”

      “I was very much struck yesterday,” said Mr. Coulter, “with the contrast between the Tower fields, and the adjoining lands within the bounds of Strathoran. There is a place where the three estates meet – Mrs. Catherine’s, Mr. Sutherland’s and mine. You recollect the little burn, my dear, which that silly maid of yours fell into last Hallow-e’en? well, it is there. Mrs. Catherine’s stubble-fields stretch to the very burnside – mine are turnips – uncommonly fine Swedes; but, on the other side, spreading away as far as you can see, is the brown moor of Strathoran, miles of good land wastefully lost, besides breeding by the thousand these small cattle of game, to destroy our corn.”

      “Ay,” said Mrs. Bairnsfather, mysteriously, “I hear the Sutherlands are not in the best way.”

      “Poor things! they are young to be out in the world alone,” said Mrs. Coulter; “and Isabel was a wilful girl at all times. I gathered from what Lewis Ross said, that they were living very gaily; but perhaps you have heard more?”

      Mrs. Bairnsfather shook her head.

      “It is a melancholy thing to think of the downfall of an old family!”

      “Hout! Mrs. Bairnsfather,” said Mr. Coulter; “you are taking it too seriously. Strathoran can stand a good deal. It will take more than one lad’s extravagance to bring down the family, I trust; and young Sutherland used to have good sense and discretion. I spoke to him of draining Loelyin before he went away, and he really had very just ideas on the subject. No, no; let us hope there will be no ruin in the case.”

      Mrs. Bairnsfather shook her head again.

      “I have no objection to hope the best, Mr. Coulter; but it is no uncommon thing to be disappointed in hopes; and, if what I hear be true, there is more room for fear.”

      “What’s this,” said Mr. Ambler, approaching the little group, as he made a leisurely, chatting, circuit round the room – ”hoping and fearing, Mrs. Bairnsfather? Is it about these happy-looking young people of ours, and the future matches that may spring from their pairings – eh, Mrs. Coulter?”

      Mrs. Coulter smiled, and glanced over to where Walter Foreman lingered by her Jeanie’s side. They were a handsome couple, and Walter had a nice little improvable property, inherited from his mother. There was no saying what might come to pass.

      “No, Mr. Ambler,” said Mrs. Bairnsfather, “we were speaking of poor young Strathoran;” and, from the depths of her fat bosom there came a mysteriously pathetic sigh.

      “Strathoran! what’s happened to the lad?” exclaimed Mr. Ambler. “Lewis Ross left him well and merry – no accident I hope; but Lewis has not been a week at home yet: there is little time for any change in his fortunes.”

      “Ah, Mr. Ambler,” said Mrs. Bairnsfather, “it is not aye well to be merry. I have heard from those who know, that young Mr. Sutherland’s gay life is putting his lands in jeopardy; they say he’ll spend a whole year’s income sometimes in a single night, poor ill-advised lad! I happened to mention it to Mrs. Catherine, but she turned about upon me, as if I was to be any better of Strathoran’s downfall, which I am sure I never meant, nor anything like it.”

      “Bless me!” said Mr. Ambler, “I am concerned to hear that – I am grieved, do you know, to hear that. Is it possible? Why, I always thought Archie Sutherland was a wise lad – a discreet lad of his years.”

      Mrs. Bairnsfather shook her head.

      “Archibald Sutherland ruined!” continued Mr. Ambler, “no, it’s surely not possible – it must have been an ill-wisher that said that. Why, Strathoran is as big as Falcon’s Craig and Smoothlie put together – ay, and even ye might slip in a good slice off Merkland. Ruined! it’s not possible. When I came home from India I heard of old Strathoran saying – I do not recollect the amount, I always had a bad memory for figures – but a great sum every year. It must be a false alarm, Mrs. Bairnsfather.”

      “Very well, gentlemen,” said Mrs. Bairnsfather, “it’s no concern of mine; but a little time will show that I am correct.”

      “Bless me!” repeated Mr. Ambler, “then the lad must go to India, that is clear – he may do great things in India. You see when I was there myself, there was the best opening for a lad of talent that could possibly be; but I had a yearning for home. I was always uncommonly fond of home, and so I am only a country Laird, when I might have been a Nabob. But if he were once in India I would have no fear for him – he would soon get up again.”

      “India, Mr. Ambler!” exclaimed Mr. Coulter, “no doubt there are fortunes to be made in India; but I fancy it’s a shame to us to send our sons away to seek gold, when it is lying in our very fields for the digging – agriculture – ”

      “What’s that you’re saying, Mr. Coulter?” exclaimed the Laird of Smoothlie. “Gold! where is’t man? we’ll all take a hand at that work, if it were but for poor auld Scotland’s sake, who has ever been said to have but a scanty providing of the precious metal.”

      “There are harvests lying in the cold breast of the great Strathoran moor,” said the agriculturist, energetically, “of more import to man, Mr. Ambler, than if its sands were gold. If what we hear of Archibald Sutherland is true, he may never be able to do it now; but a sensible man, with sufficient capital, might double the rent-roll of Strathoran.”

      Mr. Ambler looked slightly contemptuous.

      “Well, well, Mr. Coulter, I’ll not gainsay you; but to tell the truth, I’ve no notion of making young lads of family and breeding amateur ploughmen – I beg your pardon, Mr. Coulter, I mean no affront to you – you look upon it as a science, I know, and doubtless so it is; but – you see if Archie Sutherland could fall in with such an opening, as was waiting ready for me when I went to India, he might be home again, a wealthy man, before your harvests were grown.”

      “James,” interposed Mrs. Coulter, “you are not looking at our young people – how happy they all seem, poor things. I do not think you have seen my Ada, Mr. Ambler, since she returned from Edinburgh.”

      Mr. Ambler adjusted his spectacles, with a smile. “No, I dare say not. Is that her with Lewis Ross? No, that’s Mrs. Catherine’s little friend. Ay, ay, I see her – like what her mother used to be, in my remembrance. Mrs. Coulter, you must have great pleasure in your fine family.”

      Mrs. Coulter smiled, well pleased.

      “Do you know, Mr. Ambler,” said Mrs. Bairnsfather, “who that Miss Aytoun is?”

      “Who she is? No, indeed, except a very bonnie little girlie. She is that, without dispute; but Mr. Foreman will know. Mr. Foreman, can you tell Mrs. Bairnsfather who that young lady is, at Lewis Ross’s hand?”

      “Miss Aytoun, ma’am, a relative of Mrs. Catherine’s,” said the lawyer.

      “We know that,” said Mr. Ambler. “Is that all her history? Aytoun – Aytoun – I have surely some associations with that name myself.”

      “Very likely,” said Mr. Foreman, dryly. “She comes from the south country; her mother lives in Edinburgh, I believe, and is of a good family. I do not know anything further of the young lady, Mrs. Bairnsfather; that is, nothing at all interesting.”

      “Which means,” said Mrs. Coulter aside to her