St. Ronan's Well. Вальтер Скотт

am sure I am muckle obliged to your kindness, Dr. Kickalpin,” said the widow, folding up her pouch; “this was puir John Blower's spleuchan,19 as they ca' it – I e'en wear it for his sake. He was a kind man, and left me comfortable in warld's gudes; but comforts hae their cumbers, – to be a lone woman is a sair weird, Dr. Kittlepin.”

      Dr. Quackleben drew his chair a little nearer that of the widow, and entered into a closer communication with her, in a tone doubtless of more delicate consolation than was fit for the ears of the company at large.

      One of the chief delights of a watering-place is, that every one's affairs seem to be put under the special surveillance of the whole company, so that, in all probability, the various flirtations, liaisons, and so forth, which naturally take place in the society, are not only the subject of amusement to the parties engaged, but also to the lookers on; that is to say, generally speaking, to the whole community, of which for the time the said parties are members. Lady Penelope, the presiding goddess of the region, watchful over all her circle, was not long of observing that the Doctor seemed to be suddenly engaged in close communication with the widow, and that he had even ventured to take hold of her fair plump hand, with a manner which partook at once of the gallant suitor, and of the medical adviser.

      “For the love of Heaven,” said her ladyship, “who can that comely dame be, on whom our excellent and learned Doctor looks with such uncommon regard?”

      “Fat, fair, and forty,” said Mr. Winterblossom; “that is all I know of her – a mercantile person.”

      “A carrack, Sir President,” said the chaplain, “richly laden with colonial produce, by name the Lovely Peggy Bryce – no master – the late John Blower of North Leith having pushed off his boat for the Stygian Creek, and left the vessel without a hand on board.”

      “The Doctor,” said Lady Penelope, turning her glass towards them, “seems willing to play the part of pilot.”

      “I dare say he will be willing to change her name and register,” said Mr. Chatterly.

      “He can be no less in common requital,” said Winterblossom. “She has changed his name six times in the five minutes that I stood within hearing of them.”

      “What do you think of the matter, my dear Lady Binks?” said Lady Penelope.

      “Madam?” said Lady Binks, starting from a reverie, and answering as one who either had not heard, or did not understand the question.

      “I mean, what think you of what is going on yonder?”

      Lady Binks turned her glass in the direction of Lady Penelope's glance, fixed the widow and the Doctor with one bold fashionable stare, and then dropping her hand slowly, said with indifference, “I really see nothing there worth thinking about.”

      “I dare say it is a fine thing to be married,” said Lady Penelope; “one's thoughts, I suppose, are so much engrossed with one's own perfect happiness, that they have neither time nor inclination to laugh like other folks. Miss Rachel Bonnyrigg would have laughed till her eyes ran over, had she seen what Lady Binks cares so little about – I dare say it must be an all-sufficient happiness to be married.”

      “He would be a happy man that could convince your ladyship of that in good earnest,” said Mr. Winterblossom.

      “Oh, who knows – the whim may strike me,” replied the lady; “but no – no – no; – and that is three times.”

      “Say it sixteen times more,” said the gallant president, “and let nineteen nay-says be a grant.”

      “If I should say a thousand Noes, there exists not the alchymy in living man that could extract one Yes out of the whole mass,” said her ladyship. “Blessed be the memory of Queen Bess! – She set us all an example to keep power when we have it – What noise is that?”

      “Only the usual after-dinner quarrel,” said the divine. “I hear the Captain's voice, else most silent, commanding them to keep peace, in the devil's name and that of the ladies.”

      “Upon my word, dearest Lady Binks, this is too bad of that lord and master of yours, and of Mowbray, who might have more sense, and of the rest of that claret-drinking set, to be quarrelling and alarming our nerves every evening with presenting their pistols perpetually at each other, like sportsmen confined to the house upon a rainy 12th of August. I am tired of the Peace-maker – he but skins the business over in one case to have it break out elsewhere. – What think you, love, if we were to give out in orders, that the next quarrel which may arise, shall be bona fide fought to an end? – We will all go out and see it, and wear the colours on each side; and if there should a funeral come of it, we will attend it in a body. – Weeds are so becoming! – Are they not, my dear Lady Binks? Look at Widow Blower in her deep black – don't you envy her, my love?”

      Lady Binks seemed about to make a sharp and hasty answer, but checked herself, perhaps under the recollection that she could not prudently come to an open breach with Lady Penelope. – At the same moment the door opened, and a lady dressed in a riding-habit, and wearing a black veil over her hat, appeared at the entry of the apartment.

      “Angels and ministers of grace!” exclaimed Lady Penelope, with her very best tragic start – “my dearest Clara, why so late? and why thus? Will you step to my dressing-room – Jones will get you one of my gowns – we are just of a size, you know – do, pray – let me be vain of something of my own for once, by seeing you wear it.”

      This was spoken in the tone of the fondest female friendship, and at the same time the fair hostess bestowed on Miss Mowbray one of those tender caresses, which ladies – God bless them! – sometimes bestow on each other with unnecessary prodigality, to the great discontent and envy of the male spectators.

      “You are fluttered, my dearest Clara – you are feverish – I am sure you are,” continued the sweetly anxious Lady Penelope; “let me persuade you to lie down.”

      “Indeed you are mistaken, Lady Penelope,” said Miss Mowbray, who seemed to receive much as a matter of course her ladyship's profusion of affectionate politeness: – “I am heated, and my pony trotted hard, that is the whole mystery. – Let me have a cup of tea, Mrs. Jones, and the matter is ended.”

      “Fresh tea, Jones, directly,” said Lady Penelope, and led her passive friend to her own corner, as she was pleased to call the recess, in which she held her little court – ladies and gentlemen curtsying and bowing as she passed; to which civilities the new guest made no more return, than the most ordinary politeness rendered unavoidable.

      Lady Binks did not rise to receive her, but sat upright in her chair, and bent her head very stiffly; a courtesy which Miss Mowbray returned in the same stately manner, without farther greeting on either side.

      “Now, wha can that be, Doctor?” said the Widow Blower – “mind ye have promised to tell me all about the grand folk – wha can that be that Leddy Penelope hauds such a racket wi'? – and what for does she come wi' a habit and a beaver-hat, when we are a' (a glance at her own gown) in our silks and satins?”

      “To tell you who she is, my dear Mrs. Blower, is very easy,” said the officious Doctor. “She is Miss Clara Mowbray, sister to the Lord of the Manor – the gentleman who wears the green coat, with an arrow on the cape. To tell why she wears that habit, or does any thing else, would be rather beyond doctor's skill. Truth is, I have always thought she was a little – a very little – touched – call it nerves – hypochondria – or what you will.”

      “Lord help us, puir thing!” said the compassionate widow. – “And troth it looks like it. But it's a shame to let her go loose, Doctor – she might hurt hersell, or somebody. See, she has ta'en the knife! – O, it's only to cut a shave of the diet-loaf. She winna let the powder-monkey of a boy help her. There's judgment in that though, Doctor, for she can cut thick or thin as she likes. – Dear me! she has not taken mair than a crumb, than ane would pit between the wires of a canary-bird's cage, after all. – I wish she would lift up that lang veil, or put off that riding-skirt, Doctor. She should really be showed the regulations,

19

A fur pouch for keeping tobacco.