The next morning, between nine and ten o'clock, there was a rapping at his door, and then a further rapping, and then he awoke—confused, uncertain as to his whereabouts, and with his head going like a threshing machine. Again there came the loud rapping.
'Come in, then,' he called aloud.
The door was opened, and there was the young widow, smiling and jocund as the morn, and very smartly attired; and alongside of her was a servant-lass bearing a small tray, on which were a tumbler, a pint bottle of champagne, and some angostura bitters.
'Bless me, woman,' he said, 'I was wondering where I was. And what's this now?—do ye want to make a drunkard o' me?'
'Not I,' said Kate Menzies blithely, 'I want to make a man o' ye. Ye'll just take a glass o' this, Ronald, my lad; and then ye'll get up and come down to breakfast; for we're going to have a splendid drive. The weather's as bright and clear as a new shilling; and I've been up since seven o'clock, and I'm free for the day now. Here ye are, lad; this'll put some life into ye.'
She shook a few drops of bitters into the tumbler, and then poured out a foaming measure of the amber-coloured wine, and offered it to him. He refused to take it.
'I canna look at it, lass. There was too much o' that going last night.'
'And the very reason you should take a glass now!' she said. 'Well, I'll leave it on the mantelpiece, and ye can take it when ye get up. Make haste, Ronald, lad; it's a pity to lose so fine a morning.'
When they had left, he dressed as rapidly as possible, and went down. Breakfast was awaiting him—though it did not tempt him much. And then, by and by, the smart dog-cart was at the door; and a hamper was put in; and Kate Menzies got up and took the reins. There was no sick-and-sorriness about her at all events. She was radiant and laughing and saucy; she wore a driving-coat fastened at the neck by a horse-shoe brooch of brilliants, and a white straw hat with a wide-sweeping jet-black ostrich feather. It was clear that the tavern was a paying concern.
'And why will ye aye sit behind, Mr. Strang?' old mother Paterson whined, as she made herself comfortable in front. 'I am sure Katie would rather have ye here than an auld wife like me. Ye could talk to her ever so much better.'
'That would be a way to go driving through Glasgow town,' he said, as he swung himself up on the back seat; 'a man in front and a woman behind! Never you fear; there can be plenty of talking done as it is.'
But as they drove away through the city—and even Glasgow looked quite bright and cheerful on this sunny morning, and there was a stirring of cool air that was grateful enough to his throbbing temples—it appeared that the buxom widow wanted to have most of the talking to herself. She was very merry; and laughed at his penitential scorn of himself; and was for spurring him on to further poetical efforts.
'East Lothian for ever!' she was saying, as they got away out by the north of the town. 'Didna I tell them? Ay, and ye've got to do something better yet, Ronald, my lad, than the "other glass before we go." You're no at that time o' life yet to talk as if everything had gone wrong; and the blue-eyed lass—what blue-eyed lass was it, I wonder, that passed ye by with but a stare? Let her, and welcome, the hussy; there's plenty others. But no, my lad, what I want ye to write is a song about Scotland, and the East Lothian part o't especially. Ye've no lived long enough in the Hielans to forget your ain country, have ye? and where's there a song about Scotland nowadays? "Caledonia's hills and dales"?—stuff!—I wonder Jaap would hae bothered his head about rubbish like that. No, no; we'll show them whether East Lothian canna do the trick!—and it's no the Harmony Club but the City Hall o' Glasgow that ye'll hear that song sung in—that's better like! Ye mind what Robbie says, Ronald, my lad?—
'E'en then a wish, I mind its power— A wish that to my latest hour Shall strongly heave my breast— That I for poor auld Scotland's sake, Some usefu' plan or book could make, Or sing a sang at least.'That's what ye've got to do yet, my man.'
And so they bowled along the wide whinstone road, out into this open landscape that seemed to lie behind a thin veil of pale-blue smoke. It was the country, no doubt; but a kind of sophisticated country; there were occasional grimy villages and railway-embankments and canals and what not; and the pathway that ran alongside the wide highway was of black ashes—not much like a Sutherlandshire road. However, as they got still farther away from the town matters improved. There were hedges and woods—getting a touch of the golden autumn on their foliage now; the landscape grew brighter; those hills far ahead of them rose into a fairly clear blue sky. And then the brisk motion and the fresher air seemed to drive away from him the dismal recollections of the previous night; he ceased to upbraid himself for having been induced to sing before all those people; he would atone for the recklessness of his potations by taking greater care in the future. So that when in due course of time they reached the inn at the foot of Campsie Glen, and had the horse and trap put up, and set out to explore the beauties of that not too savage solitude, he was in a sufficiently cheerful frame of mind, and Kate Menzies had no reason to complain of her companion.
They had brought a luncheon basket with them; and as he had refused the proffered aid of a stable-lad, he had to carry this himself, and Kate Menzies was a liberal provider. Accordingly, as they began to make their way up the steep and slippery ascent—for rain had recently fallen, and the narrow path was sloppy enough—he had to leave the two women to look after themselves; and a fine haphazard scramble and hauling and pushing—with screams of fright and bursts of laughter—ensued. This was hardly the proper mood in which to seek out Nature in her sylvan retreats; but the truth is that the glen itself did not wear a very romantic aspect. No doubt there were massive boulders in the bed of the stream; and they had to clamber past precipitous rocks; and overhead was a wilderness of foliage. But everything was dull-hued somehow, and damp-looking, and dismal; the green-mossed boulders, the stems of the trees, the dark red earth were all of a sombre hue; while here and there the eye caught sight of a bit of newspaper, or of an empty soda-water bottle, or perchance of the non-idyllic figure of a Glasgow youth seated astride a fallen bough, a pot-hat on his head and a Manilla cheroot in his mouth. But still, it was more of the country than the Broomielaw; and when Kate and her companion had to pause in their panting struggle up the slippery path, and after she had recovered her breath sufficiently to demand a halt, she would turn to pick ferns from the dripping rocks, or to ask Ronald if there were any more picturesque place than this in Sutherlandshire. Now Ronald was not in the least afflicted by the common curse of travellers—the desire for comparison; he was well content to say that it was a 'pretty bit glen'; for one thing his attention was chiefly devoted to keeping his footing, for the heavy basket was a sore encumbrance.
However, after some further climbing, they reached certain drier altitudes; and there the hamper was deposited, while they looked out for such trunks or big stones as would make convenient seats. The old woman was speechless from exhaustion; Kate was laughing at her own breathlessness, or miscalling the place for having dirtied her boots and her skirts; while Ronald was bringing things together for their comfort, so that they could have their luncheon in peace. This was not quite the same kind of a luncheon party as that he had attended on the shores of the far northern loch—with Miss Carry complacently regarding the silver-clear salmon lying on the smooth, dry greensward; and the American talking in his friendly fashion of the splendid future that lay before a capable and energetic young fellow in the great country beyond the seas; while all around them the sweet air was blowing, and the clear light shining, and the white clouds sailing high over the Clebrig slopes. Things were changed with him since then—he did not himself know how much they had changed. But in all circumstances he was abundantly good-natured and grateful for any kindness shown him; and as Kate Menzies had projected this trip mainly on his account, he did his best to promote good-fellowship, and was serviceable and handy, and took her raillery in excellent part.
'Katie dear,' whimpered old mother Paterson, as Ronald took out the things from the hamper, 'ye jist spoil every one that comes near ye. Such extravagance—such waste—many's the time I wish ye would get married, and have a man to look after ye——'
'Stop your havering—who would marry an auld woman like me?' said Mrs. Menzies with a laugh. 'Ay, and what's the extravagance, noo, that has driven ye oot o' your mind?'
'Champagne again!' the old woman said, shaking her head. 'Champagne again! Dear me, it's like a Duke's house——'
'What, ye daft auld craytur? Would ye have me take my cousin Ronald for his first trip to Campsie Glen, and bring out a gill o' whisky in a soda-water bottle?'
'Indeed, Katie, lass, ye needna have brought one thing or the other for me,' he said. 'It's a drop o' water, and nothing else, that will serve my turn.'
'We'll see about that,' she said confidently.
Her provisioning was certainly of a sumptuous nature—far more sumptuous, indeed, than the luncheons the rich Americans used to have carried down for them to the lochside, and a perfect banquet as compared with the frugal bit of cold beef and bread that Lord Ailine and his friends allowed themselves on the hill. Then, as regards the champagne, she would take no refusal—he had to submit. She was in the gayest of moods; she laughed and joked; nay, at one point, she raised her glass aloft, and waved it round her head, and sang—
'O send Lewie Gordon hame, And the lad I daurna name; Though his back be at the wa', Here's to him that's far awa'!''What, what, lass?' Ronald cried grimly. 'Are ye thinking ye're in a Highland glen? Do ye think it was frae places like this that the lads were called out to follow Prince Charlie?'
'I carena—I carena!' she said; for what had trivial details of history to do with a jovial picnic in Campsie Glen? 'Come, Ronald, lad, tune up! Hang the Harmony Club!—give us a song in the open air!'
'Here goes, then—
'It was about the Martinmas time, And a gay time it was then, O, That our guidwife had puddins to mak', And she boiled them in the fan, O'—and then rang out the chorus, even the old mother Paterson joining in with a feeble treble—
'O the barrin' o' our door, weel, weel, weel, And the barrin' o' our door, weel!''Your health and song, Ronald!' she cried, when he had finished—or rather when they all had finished. 'Man, if there was just a laddie here wi' a fiddle or a penny whistle I'd get up and dance a Highland Schottische wi' ye—auld as I am!'
After luncheon, they set out for further explorations (having deposited the basket in a secret place) and always Kate Menzies's laugh was the loudest, her jokes the merriest.
'Auld, say ye?' mother Paterson complained. 'A lassie—a very lassie! Ye can skip about like a twa-year-auld colt.'
By and by they made their devious and difficult way down the glen again; and they had tea at the inn; and then they set out to drive back to Glasgow—and there was much singing the while. That is, up to a certain point; for this easy homeward drive, as it turned out, was destined to be suddenly and sharply stopped short, and that in a way that might have produced serious consequences. They were bowling merrily along, taking very little heed of anything on either side of them, when, as it chanced, a small boy who had gone into a field to recover a kite that had dropped there, came up unobserved behind the hedge, and threw the kite over, preparatory to his struggling through himself. The sudden appearance of this white thing startled the cob; it swerved to the other side of the road, hesitated, and was like to rear, and then getting an incautious cut from Kate's whip, away it tore along the highway, getting completely the mastery of her. Ronald got up behind.
'Give me the reins, lass,' he called to her.
'I'll manage him—the stupid beast!' she said; with her teeth shut firm.
But all her pulling seemed to make no impression on the animal—nay, the trap was now swaying and jolting about in a most ominous manner.
'If ye meet anything, we're done for, Kate—run the wheel into the hedge.'
It was excellent advice, if it could have been properly followed; but unluckily, just at the very moment when, with all her might and main, she twisted the head of the cob to the side of the road, there happened to be a deep ditch there. Over the whole thing went—Ronald and Mrs. Menzies being pitched clean into the hedge; mother Paterson, not hanging on so well, being actually deposited on the other side, but in a gradual fashion. Oddly enough, the cob, with one or two pawings of his forefeet, got on to the road again, and the trap righted itself; while a farm-lad who had been coming along ran to the beast's head and held him. As it turned out, there was no harm done at all.
But that, at first, was apparently not Kate Menzies's impression.
'Ronald, Ronald,' she cried, and she clung to him frantically, 'I'm dying—I'm dying—kiss me!'
He had got a grip of her, and was getting her on to her feet again.
'There's nothing the matter wi' ye, woman,' he said, with unnecessary roughness.
'Ronald, Ronald—I'm hurt—I'm dying—kiss me!' she cried, and she would have fallen away from him, but that he gathered her up, and set her upright on the road.
'There's nothing the matter wi' ye—what? tumbling into a hawthorn hedge?—pull yourself together, woman! It's old mother Paterson that may have been hurt.'
He left her unceremoniously to get over to the other side of the hedge, and as he went off she darted a look of anger—of violent rage, even—towards him, which happily he did not see. Moreover, she had to calm herself; the farm lad was looking on. And when at length mother Paterson—who was merely terrified, and was quite uninjured—was hoisted over or through the hedge, and they all prepared to resume their seats in the trap, Kate Menzies was apparently quite collected and mistress of herself, though her face was somewhat pale, and her manner was distinctly reserved and cold. She gave the lad a couple of shillings; got up and took the reins; waited until the others were seated, and then drove away without a word. Mother Paterson was loud in her thankfulness over such a providential escape; she had only had her wrists scratched slightly.
Ronald was sensible of her silence, though he could not well guess the cause of it. Perhaps the fright had sobered down her high spirits; at all events, she was now more circumspect with her driving; and, as her attention was so much devoted to the cob, it was not for him to interfere. As they drew near Glasgow, however, she relaxed the cold severity of her manner, and made a few observations; and when they came in sight of St. Rollox, she even condescended to ask him whether he would not go on with them to the tavern and have some supper with them as usual.
'I ought to go back to my work,' said he, 'and that's the truth. But it would be a glum ending for such an unusual holiday as this.'
'Your prospects are not so very certain,' said Kate, who could talk excellent English when she chose, and kept her broad Scotch for familiar or affectionate intercourse. 'An hour or two one way or the other is not likely to make much difference.'
'I am beginning to think that myself,' he said, rather gloomily.
And then, with a touch of remorse for the depressing speech she had made, she tried to cheer him a little; and, in fact, insisted on his going on with them. She even quoted a couplet from his own song to him—
'An hour or twa 'twill do nae harm, The dints a' fortune to forget';and she said that, after the long drive, he ought to have a famous appetite for supper, and that there would be a good story to tell about their being shot into a hawthorn hedge, supposing that the skipper and Laidlaw and Jaap came in in the evening.
Nevertheless, all during the evening there was a certain restraint in her manner. Altogether gone was her profuse friendship and her pride in East Lothian, although she remained as hospitable as ever. Sometimes she regarded him sharply, as if trying to make out something. On his part, he thought she was probably a little tired after the fatigues of the day; perhaps, also, he preferred her quieter manner.
Then again, when the 'drei Gesellen' came in, there was a little less hilarity than usual; and, contrary to her wont, she did not press them to stay when they proposed to adjourn to the club. Ronald, who had been vaguely resolving not to go near that haunt for some time to come, found that that was the alternative to his returning to his solitary lodging and his books at a comparatively early hour of the evening. Doubtless he should have conquered his repugnance to this later course; but the temptation—after a long day of pleasure-making—to finish up the last hour or so in the society of these good fellows was great. He went to the Harmony Club, and was made more welcome than ever; and somehow, in the excitement of the moment, he was induced to sing another song, and there were more people than ever claiming his acquaintance, and challenging him to have 'another one.'