Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland Volume XVII Part 9

Leaving the lovers in discussion on these very agreeable points, and others connected therewith, we will follow Mr Adair on the errand on which he went, after Mr Mowbray had left him. This was to communicate to his wife the unexpected and important proposal which had just been made to him, and to which he had just acceded.

"Weel, guidwife, here's a queer business," said Mr Adair, on joining his thrifty helpmate, who was busy at the moment in scouring a set of milk dishes. "What do ye think? Mr Mowbray has just noo asked my consent to his marrying Rosy. Now, isna that a queer affair! My feth, but they maun hae managed matters unco cannily and cunningly; for deil a bit o' me ever could see the least inklin o' anything past ordinar between them."

"You see onything o' that kind!" replied Mrs Adair, with an expression of the greatest contempt for her husband's penetration in _affaires de coeur_. "You see't, Robin! No--I dare say no. Although they were sitting under your very nose, wi' their arms aboot ithers' necks, I dinna believe ye wad see that there was onything in't. But, though ye didna see't, Robin, I saw't--and plainly enough, too--although I said naething about it. I saw, mony a day sin', that Mr Mowbray had a notion o' Rosy; and, if truth be tell't, I saw as weel that she had a notion o' him, and hae lang expected that it wad come to this."

"Weel, weel, guidwife, ye hae a glegger ee for thae things than I hae,"

replied Mr Adair. "But here's the end o' the matter noo."

"And hae ye gien your consent, Robin?"

"'Deed hae I; for I think he's an honest, decent lad; and, no to say he's rich maybe, fair aneuch aff, I think, as to worldly matters."

"As to that, I daresay, there's naething far amiss," replied Mrs Adair, "nor as regards his character either, maybe; but I'm no sure. I dinna ken, Robert, considerin a' things, if ye haena been a wee owre rash in giein your consent to this business. It's a serious affair. And, after a', we ken but little about the lad; although, I canna but say he seems to be a decent, honourable chiel, and I houp'll mak Rosy happy." Here the good woman raised the corner of her ap.r.o.n to her eyes, and gave way, for a second or two, to those maternal feelings which the occasion was so well calculated to excite.

"Tuts, woman; what's the use o' that?" said Mr Adair, with a sort of good-natured impatience. "The thing's a' richt aneuch, and sae'll be seen in the end, nae doot."

"G.o.d grant it!" replied his wife, with solemn earnestness; and here the conversation dropped for the time.

We now revert to the proceedings of Mr Mowbray at this eventful crisis of his life; but in these we find only one circ.u.mstance occurring between the day on which he solicited, and that on which he obtained, the hand of Rosy Adair. This circ.u.mstance, however, was one of rather curious import. It was a letter which Mr Mowbray addressed to a friend, and ran thus:--

"DEAR NARESBY,--The appearance of this well-known hand--well known to you, my friend--will, I daresay, startle you not a little. My letter will seem to you as a communication from the dead; for it is now upwards of two long years since you either heard from me or of me. On this subject I have much to say to you, and on some others besides, but defer it until I shall have the pleasure of seeing you at Wansted--a pleasure which I hope to have in about three weeks hence--when we shall talk over old affairs, and, mayhap, some new ones. Would you believe me, Naresby, if I was to say, that the sea had ceased to ebb and flow, that the hills had become valleys, and the valleys had risen into hills; that the moon had become constant, and that the sun had forgotten to sink in the west when his daily course was run?

Would you believe any or all of these things, if I were to a.s.sert them to be true? No, you wouldn't. Yet will you as readily believe them, I daresay, as that I am to be--how can I come out with the word!--to be--to be married, Naresby! Married! Yes, married. I am to be married--I repeat it slowly and solemnly--and to one of the sweetest and fairest creatures that ever the sun of heaven shone upon. 'Oh! of course,' say you. But it's true, Naresby; and, ere another month has pa.s.sed away, you will yourself confess it; for ere that period has come and gone, you will have seen her with your own eyes.

"So much then for resolution, for the weakness of human nature. I thought--nay, I swore, Naresby, as you know--that I would, that I could never love again. I thought that the treachery, the heartlessness of one, one smiling deceiver, had seared my heart, and rendered it callous to all the charms and blandishments of her s.e.x. But I have been again deceived.

"I have not, however, this time, chosen the object of my affections from the cla.s.s to which--I cannot p.r.o.nounce her name--that fatal name--belonged; but from one which, however inferior in point of advent.i.tious acquirement, far surpa.s.ses it--of this experience has convinced me--in all the better qualities of the heart.

"The woman to whom I am to be married--my Rosina Adair!--is the daughter of a humble yeoman, and has thus neither birth nor fortune to boast of. But what in a wife are birth or fortune to me? Nothing, verily nothing, when their place is supplied--as in the case of my betrothed--by a heart that knows no guile; by a temper cheerful and complying; and by personal charms that would add l.u.s.tre to a crown. Birth, Naresby, I do not value; and fortune I do not want.

"Well, then, Naresby, my period of seclusion is now about over, and I return again to the world. Who would have said this two years ago? If any had, I would have told them they spoke untruly--that I had abjured the world, and all its joys, for ever; and that, henceforth, William Mowbray would not be as other men. But so it is. I state the fact, and leave others to account for and moralize on it."

Such, then, was the letter which Mr Mowbray wrote to his friend, Naresby, during the interval to which we formerly alluded. Several other letters he also wrote and despatched about the same time; but the purpose of these, and to whom written, we must leave the sequel of our story to explain.

Having no further details of any interest wherewith to fill up the intervening period between the occurrence of the circ.u.mstances just related and the marriage of Rosina Adair and William Mowbray, we at once carry forward our narrative to the third day after the celebration of that event.

On that day--

"Rosy, my love," said Mr Mowbray, smiling, "I have a proposal to make to you."

"Indeed!--what is it, William?"

"Why, I'll tell you what it is," said the latter; "I wish to go on a visit to a particular friend, and I wish you to go with me."

"Oh, surely," replied Mrs Mowbray. "Is it far?"

"Why, a pretty long way; a two days' journey. Will you still venture on it?"

"Surely--surely, William. Anywhere with you!"

"Thank you, my love," said Mr Mowbray, embracing his young wife.

"Now, I have another proposal to make, Rosy," continued the former; "I wish your father and mother to accompany us."

"What! my father and mother too!" exclaimed Mrs Mowbray, in great surprise.

"Dear me, wouldn't that be odd, William. What would your friend say to such a cavalcade of visiters?"

"Delighted to see them, I a.s.sure you, my love. It's my friend's own express wish; and, however odd it may seem, it is a point which must be conceded me."

"Well, well, William, any way you please. I am content. But have you thought of the expense? That will be rather serious."

"Oh, not in the least, my love," replied Mr Mowbray, laughing. "Not in the least serious, I a.s.sure you. I will manage that part of the matter."

"Well, well; but my father's consent, William. There's the difficulty. To get him to leave his farm for so long a time; I doubt you will scarcely prevail upon him to do that. He would not live a week from home, I verily believe, although it were to make a lord of him."

"I'll try, Rosy; I'll try this minute," said Mr Mowbray, hurrying out of the apartment, and proceeding in quest of Mr Adair, whom he soon found.

"Leave hame for a week!" exclaimed the latter, on Mr Mowbray's making known to him his wishes on this subject. "Impossible! my dear sir; impossible!

Wholly out o' the question. I hae a stack o' oats to thrash oot; a bit o' a fauld d.y.k.e to build; twa acres o' the holme to ploo; the new barn to theek; the lea-field to saw wi' wheat; the turnips to bring in; the taties to bing; forbye a hunner ither things that can on nae account stan owre.

Impossible, my dear sir--impossible. Juist wholly oot the question. But ye may get the guidwife wi' ye an' ye like, Mr Mowbray," said Mr Adair, laughing jocosely; "and may keep her too, if ye like."

"Yes--yes. All very well, Mr Adair; but I must have you too, in spite of the manifold pieces of work you have on hand. I have a particular reason for pressing this point, and really will not be denied."

For a full half-hour did this sort of sparring continue between Mr Mowbray and his father-in-law; both being resolute--the one to carry his point, the other to keep his ground; but, what could hardly be expected, the former finally prevailed. His urgency carried the day; and Mr Adair was ultimately, although we need scarcely say it, reluctantly, prevailed on to promise that he would be one of the intended party. Having obtained this promise, Mr Mowbray farther secured its performance by naming the following day as that on which they should set out.

On the following day, accordingly--Mrs Adair's consent having, in the meantime, been obtained, and with much less difficulty than her husband's--two chaises--unwonted sight--appeared at the door of West Mains House; they had been ordered by Mr Mowbray from the neighbouring country town; and, in a little after, out came the party by which they were to be occupied.

"I wad far rather hae ridden the black mare than go into ane o' thae things," said Mr Adair, looking contemptuously at the couple of chaises that stood at the door. "I never was fond o' ridin in cotches a' my life.

Nasty, rattlin, jinglin things. Ane micht as weel be shut up in a corn kist as in ane o' them."

Having expressed this opinion of the conveyance he was about to enter, Mr Adair, notwithstanding of that opinion, proceeded, with the a.s.sistance of Mr Mowbray, to help his wife into one of them. This done, he followed himself. Mrs and Mr Mowbray stepped into the other chaise. The doors were shut by the coachman with a bang; and, in the next minute, both the vehicles were in rapid motion.

On the forenoon of the second day after their departure--nothing, in the interval, having occurred worth relating--the party arrived at a certain n.o.ble mansion not far from the borders of England. The two chaises having drawn up before the door of this splendid residence, three or four servants in rich livery hastened to release the travellers by throwing open the doors of their carriages, and unfolding the steps, which they did with very marked deference and respect, and with smiles on their faces, (particularly in the case of one not in livery, who seemed the princ.i.p.al of them,) of very puzzling meaning.

On the party having got out of their chaises--"Is this your freen's house, Mr Mowbray?" said Mr Adair, standing fast, and looking up with great astonishment and admiration at the splendid building before him.

"It is, sir," replied Mr Mowbray.

"My feth! an' he maun be nae sma' drink then--that's clear. He has a rare sittin-down here. It's a house for a lord."

"The house is very respectable, certainly," said Mr Mowbray; "and, I think, you'll find the inside every way worthy of the out."

"I dinna doot it--I dinna doot it," replied Mr Adair. "But whar's your freen, himsel?"

"Oh! we'll see him presently. In the meantime let us walk in." And, taking his wife's arm within his, Mr Mowbray led the way into the house, conducted by the princ.i.p.al domestic, and followed by Mr and Mrs Adair; the latter no less overwhelmed than her husband by the grandeur with which she was surrounded.

Having entered the house, the party were led up a magnificent staircase, and ushered into a room of n.o.ble dimensions, and gorgeously furnished. All but Mr Mowbray himself, and the servant who attended, were awe-stricken with the splendours around them. Even Mrs Mowbray was oppressed with this feeling; so much so as not to be able to speak a word; and on her father and mother it had a similar effect. Not one opened a mouth, but continued gazing around them in silent amazement and admiration.