The Household of McNeil

Front matter

THE HOUSEHOLD OF McNEIL. [See page 40. THE Household of McNeil BY AMELIA E. BARR, Author oj "Ian Vedder's Wijef "Between Two Loves" "In Spite of Himself," -£., &C. ILonflon : JAMES CLARKE & CO., 13 & 14, FLEET STREET. 1888. CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I.— The Family of McNeil -I II.— A Day of Earth's Unrest . . - . .18 III. — A Secret Letter and its Issues ... 41 IV.— Her Own Way 64 V. — Grizelda's Marriage . .... 83 VI.— The McNeil's Work 104 VII. — A New Sorrow ...... 122 VIII.— Broken Plans 138 IX.— Parting 158 X. — Grizelda's Husband . . . . .174 XL— Against Her Life 189 XII. — Grizelda is Lost 211 XIII. — Maxwell Marries Again 227 XIV. — Colin and Grizelda 245 XV.— The Gift of Gladness 265 XVI.— Retribution 283 XVII. —The Laird is Satisfied McNEIL.

Chapter I. The Family Of Mcneil

Thou huge-heaving sea, Thou art speaking to me. Ever strong, ever free, Is the breath of the sea ; Ever rising with power To the call of the hour Is the swell of thy tides as they flow. Blackie. Strong are the ties of kindred and long converse. Æschylus. Each man has some one object of pursuit, And lavishes his thoughts delightedly On the dear idol. Wordsworth. THERE had been a glorious sunset, red and radiant, floating and flaming above the pale grey sea, and the pale grey rocks, and the dark islands, low-lying amid the waste of waters. But as it faded away, the eerie sense of the Northern night with all its mysteries, came over the lonely land ; and touched the hearts of the two men who were slowly crossing the Soraba beach — a firm expanse of billowy sand, ribbed and water-lined, and which was at this point the " thus far " boundary of the stormy Sound of Jura.

They had been talking with much earnestness, but as the shadows grew darker they spoke in lower tones, and at longer intervals ; the pauses being fitly filled by the boom of the muffled billows, or the cries of the watchful sea-birds — shrill, unknown, secret cries ; lending a weirder meaning to the silence. They were both noticeable men, and both men of authority in their own sphere. One wore the sombre dress of a Presbyterian minister ; the other, a handsome suit of dark brown broadcloth, with a tartan plaid over his shoulders, and a bonnet, tipped with an eagle's feather, on his head. The latter was Archibald McNeil, laird of Edderloch and Otterdale ; and his companion was Dugald Brodick, minister in Edderloch, the terror of evil-doers, the friend and helper of all who did well. As they came nearer to the castle of McNeil, they had to pass through a fishing hamlet.

The men, in a staid, slow, noiseless manner, were moving towards the boats ; the women, standing in the lone doors, watching them with a long, serious gaze. " The sea is a hard taskmaster, laird. It canna rest itself, and it gives no rest to those who get their bread on it." "Just so, Doctor ; but the unrest, and the salt savour, creep into the blood of all who live near by it. And I'm thinking, too, there is in all men a natural yearning for the sea. Once a year at least folks want to get a sight of it ; ay, and them that never saw it have had very clear notions anent it. I'm thinking now of Shakespeare." " Well ? " "Well? Who knew it better? And yet, unless it was in his dreams, when did he ever see it ? " " Laird, I'll answer you in the words of a very wise man : — Think you, 'mid all this mighty sum Of things forever speaking, That nothing of itself will come, But we must still be seeking ? * Besides, man, God Almighty yet gives to some * Wordsworth. of us the power of vision, the faculty divine, that was doubtless lost, for the main part, in the abyss of the Fall.

In all ages men have seen the sea who never set mortal eyes on it. Where would that auld Arabian, Job, get a sight of such mountainous billows as come down Jura Sound ? Or David ? Or the herdsman of Tekoa ? Or Jeremiah ? Or Habakkuk ? Or any of those Hebrew prophets, and poets, and preachers ? They never saw the Atlantic come thundering down these narrow water-ways ; but they had a wonderful clear vision as to how it does it." " You have made out your case, Doctor, and here we are at the door-stone ; will you come in?" No ; we have talked enough for one night." He turned away with the words ; and McNeil stood a moment watching him descend the little acclivity on which the castle stood. It was not an imposing building, though dignified with the name of "castle"; but its rude strength, and square, massive masonry redeemed it from all suspicionof meanness.

And it had also the air of antiquity ; it looked old, just as an old man has the look of his fourscore years. The door stood open, and almost involun tarily, as he entered, his eyes sought the quaint stone letters above it. They always did so ; it was a habit which had become a kind of superstition with him ; though usually he attached no importance to the declaration which his forefather had put there : " A.D. 1449. I, man, have the end of all wisdom. I trust in God." Hitherto the words had never roused a dissent in his mind. They had seemed to him truthful as words could be. For the first time he felt the chill of some mental antagonism. It was undoubtedly well to trust in God, but was there not also some active and positive thing for him to do ? The stir and movement of his century had found him out in the green desert where his ancestors had lived and just let their days come to them.

He had always been a careful, and in many ways a very prudent and fortunate, man. He had the auriferous touch ; all his ventures had ended in gold ; and Dr. Brodick had been telling him that night that he was already rich enough, and that the carrying out of certain new plans which he had formed would be apt to bind him to the constant service of Mammon. He walked through the wide stone hall with a questioning look. Though it was midsummer there was a bright fire at the upper end, and a large chair, soft with deer skins, stood before it. Every night in this cavernous entry the fire was pleasant ; this night the chill mist driven up from the sea made it doubly so ; but McNeil did not accept the mute invitation of the com fortable chair. He went into a little room diverging from the hall, lighted the candles in a silver sconce, and took from his locked desk a book, which he began to read with profound interest.

It was a stoutly-bound book, secured by a brass lock, and was in manuscript. In fact, it was his private ledger. It kept the sum of his gains and the total of his bank account. Its contents seemed to give him much solid satis faction ; and when at length he relocked the volume, and replaced it in his desk, it was with all the careful respect which he considered due to the representative of so many thousand pounds. His mood was now placid, and inclined to retrospection. Thoughtfully fingering the key which locked up the record of his wealth, he THE FAMLLY OF McNEIL. 7 walked to the window, drew apart the heavy curtains, and looked keenly into the night. A pale, watery moon was reflected in the sea beneath it ; and between lights the fishing-boats moved restlessly to and fro. The mountains and moors had now no beauty of colour ; they looked desolate and dreary ; but the bare, barren land, and the grey, mournful sea, were fair in McNeil's sight.

It was the country of the McNeils. He had a fixed idea that it always had been their country, and when he told himself — as he did at that hour — that so many acres of old Scotland were actually his own, he was aggressively a Scotchman. " It is a bonnie bit of land," he muttered, " and I have done as my father, Laird Alex ander, told me to do. If we should meet in another world, I'll be able to give him a good account of Edderloch and Otterdale. Thirty years ago this very night he gave me the ring off his finger, and said, ' Archibald, I am going the way of all flesh. Be a good man, and grip tight.' I have done as he bid me. There is ;£8o,ooo in the Bank of Scotland, and every mortgage is lifted. I am sure he would be pleased with me this hour, and, indeed, I am very well pleased with myself.

There is none can say but what I have been a good holder ol Edderloch and Otterdale. Not one ! " His self-complacent reflections were cut short by the entrance of his eldest daughter, Helen ; and he dropped the curtains together, and turned his face towards her. In that moment something finer came into it, the firm, square lower part broke up into lines that almost suggested smiles, and the eyes glinted kindly at her. " Helen, my bird ! I almost missed you, Helen. If I had not had a few very grave thoughts for company, I should have been seeking you ere this. What is that paper in your hand ? " " It is a letter from Colin. I also have had one." "Whatever news has the lad to need two letters at one post ? " " Only good news, father." She laid her head against his shoulder with a little caressing motion no other living creature would have ventured upon with McNeil.

But to him his daughter Helen was a being apart from common humanity. Not even his youngest child, the beautiful Grizelda, had half the power over him ; for Grizelda touched only his fatherly instincts, while Helen appealed also to everything that was noblest and sweetest in his nature. In Helen's presence he was his best self; she generally managed to leave him on good terms with his conscience ; and nothing is more certain than that the average man and woman love those best who insensibly carry them into the finest atmosphere their souls can breathe. " And what is it about Colin, my dearie ?" " He has written a very fine paper in one of the great reviews, and everybody is praising what he says. I do not understand it, but then it must be true, because he proves it all by such clever calculations."

" And isa man can prove his words by figures, Helen, he is apt to be right. There's no flights and fancies about them. You can always tell what you are doing with figures. Helen, I don't trust much else." " You never do yourself justice, father. You have something in your soul far above such mechanical things as figures. At the 'exercise' last night I shall never forget how your face glowed when you read that wonderful description of the rainbow : ' It compasseth the heaven about with a glorious circle ; and the hands of the Most High have bended it.' Father, your tone and action made it so real to me that I was constrained to veil my eyes in adoration." "My dear, I trust I did feel the sublimity of that godlike act," and he looked tenderly down at the fair face, bright with that invisible light which comes only from within.

There was a moment's silence, and then Helen said softly, " Colin is coming straight home. He will be here by the afternoon packet to morrow. And he is bringing a stranger with him. Shall I have the best guest-room made ready for him ? " " Who for ? " " He is an English gentleman from London — a very good man, Colin says." " Humph ! Would you put an Englishman in the room where a Stuart has slept? I'll not hear tell of it. I am not the man to lift a quarrel my fathers dropped ; but I'll not have any English body in the Stuart's room. It's not likely, Helen. What is the man's name ? " " Mr. George Selwyn." " Selwyn ! There's no Scotch Selwyns that ever I heard tell of. He will be Saxon altogether, no doubt. Put him in the east room. I wonder whatever makes our Colin take up with strange men !

" " From what Colin says he is good, and he is a gentleman. The McNeil is not used to ask his guest, ' Whose son art thou ? ' " " Wait a wee, Helen. When the McNeil has two bonnie daughters it is only right for him to ask questions he would not ask ifhehadnot such a charge — and that minds me of Grizelda. Where is she ? I have not seen her or heard her or heard tell of her since the noon hour." " She was practising all morning. " I know that right well. I have surely bought a pianoforte to my own trouble and confusion ; for I could not make my counts up for it." " But then in the evening, father ! What sweet songs 'Zelda sings, and how you do enjoy them ! " " I'm not denying it. Where was she since the noon hour ? " " She went riding, and she met Lord Max well, and they took the Bruff road, and got out of the way.

She came home a bit tired ; but she is well rested now, and supper will be ready very soon, and you ought to be with us in the parlour, father ; it is lonely without you." " Helen, there is no use in trying to stay the words that be to come. Listen to them. You are to keep better ward over your sister. I like not Maxwell. He is but a stranger and an interloper here. Let him bide in Galloway, where he comes from." " Father, have you heard anything wrong of Lord Maxwell?" No. " Have you seen anything wrong ? " " No." " Why, then, do you think wrong of him ? " " Helen, there are things we know that we cannot comprehend, just as there are things appointed for us that are not explained to us. The first hour that I saw Maxwell I judged him rightly, and for that reason he dislikes me. I also do not like him.

Now, dearie, I will go with you, and we will have a bit of supper and a song." They went silently through the chill, stone passages, and came suddenly into a parlour filled with light and comfort. A bright fire was on the hearth, and before it, in a low sew ing-chair, sat Grizelda McNeil. Her fine face was veiled in a maze of tender thought ; her eyes misty with the languorous melancholy of hidden love. It was some moments before she could summon her soul from its intensely per sonal reverie to the simple relative duties and courtesies the hour demanded ; but her man ner was naturally so reticent and dignified that neither her father or sister noticed the effort. She had an exquisite face, a tall and very slender form, and an easy, stately carriage that had in it something maidenly, exclusive, impossible to be described.

Usually at this hour she unbent her whole nature to her father and sister. She made it pass to a little flurry of song and gay conversation. She told in it all the news she had gathered in the fishing village or up among the shepherds on the mountains. She exhibited the sketches she had made : the bits of wood and moor and sea, the solitary fisherman, the groups of round-eyed, round-faced children. She had a great genius for such sketching, and McNeil was rather proud of her ability. Being a woman, he thought she had a right to pass the hours in what he considered, after all, a very useless kind of fashion, for pretty, pur poseless work was at that day the special voca tion of wealthy women. But this night Grizelda seemed unable to mix her personality with that of others. She was singularly silent, and when asked to sing did so with an indifference which made McNeil say fretfully, " You are giving good music poor justice, Grizelda.

You must have been in ill company, for it has taken the song out of your heart. Helen, read me the letter Colin sent you ; maybe there will be a bit of kindness and pleasantness in it." Colin's letter, however, was no more satisfac tory than Grizelda's music had been. It was full of the Rev. George Selwyn ; and McNeil found himself anticipating annoyance and disappoint ment from the visit. In the first place he had a new business plan to carry out, and he had been waiting nearly a year for the termina tion of Colin's law studies. He needed his co operation, and he was impatient of any visitor who would probably prolong the days of un profitable inactivity. In the second place he was intensely jealous THE FAMLLY OF McNEIL. 15 of Helen, and every young man, in his eyes, was a probable suitor.

For a few years he wished to retain her by his own side and at his own hearth ; and when the question of her marriage had to be faced, he had quite deter mined to give her to his nephew and elected heir, Colin McNeil. He had adopted the young man at his brother's death ; and though the estate was not entailed, it was a tacitly under stood thing that Colin would be the future McNeil. And a decided part of this scheme in the laird's eyes was the marriage of the heir to his own eldest daughter. There seemed such an element of justness and fitness in this arrangement ; it was so clear to his own mind that he never anticipated opposition or dissent in the matter. So he could not think with patience or pleasure of any element coming into McNeil Castle which might be a disturbing one to plans so well considered and satisfactory.

But with the morning light he faced the cir cumstances more hopefully. " There are mostly two good sides to one bad one," he thought. " It will be an ill man that is not better than Maxwell. Grizelda thinks she is in love with McNELL. him, because he has the ground to himself in a manner ; and if this stranger can only make her waver there will be time gained ; and with time on his side a man may hope for all things. And it is not likely Helen will take a thought anent him. Her heart is with her own people ; and if she knows anything well she knows that Colin McNeil and Helen McNeil are sorted out for each other. She never has gone contrary to my wish ; it's no likely she will begin wrong doing with an English stranger." So, confiding in his own wishes and opinions, he went in high spirits to meet his nephew and his guest.

He had not seen Colin for three years, and the young man was an object very near to his heart ; his nephew, his designed son in-law, and the inheritor of lands and honours stretching backwards into the mists of Ossianic traditions, and forwards into the hopes and ambitions of an era whose possibilities were almost too large to dream about. As the packet approached the small pier he was sensible of some anxiety regarding the young man's personal appearance. The McNeils were a handsome race ; he hoped that Colin would be physically worthy of his ancestors. THE FAMLLY OF McNEIL. 17 And he drew a long sigh ofgratification as the young man, with outstretched hands, leaped from the boat to meet him. For the future McNeil was certainly a proper Highland gentle man ; tall and swarthy, with the glowing eyes and rather melancholy air of the true Celt.

His companion, the Rev. George Selwyn, was singularly unlike him. The McNeil had judged rightly ; he was a pure Saxon, and he showed it, in his fresh complexion, his fearless, wide open, grey eyes, and his bright, brown hair. But, as it was only physically that NcNeil looked at him, he was not at all conscious that there was something in George Selwyn which struck a deeper and wider sympathy than the sympathy of race — a heart beating for all humanity. " There is no danger with the like of him," was McNeil's mental comment as he glanced with satisfaction at the young clergyman's short, spare figure and well-defined, educated face. " I need not fear for Helen. Colin is six inches taller, and every way a far prettier man."

Chapter II

A DAY OF EARTH'S UNREST. His doctrines from the streets he brings, From ploughman's lowly cot, From proud palatial halls of kings, From dens where sinners rot In darkness and disease. He hath The wise man's art to borrow From other's life ; he treads the path Of each man's joy and sorrow. Blackie. Sing of the nature of women, and then the song shall surely be full of variety, old crotchets, and most sweet closes. McNEIL had anticipated no interference of any kind from a man of such insignifi cant presence as George Selwyn ; but in three weeks his influence had become remarkably dominant. When he first arrived, the laird, out of respect for his office, had delegated to him the conduct of the family worship. His own " exercises " had often been slipped away from, excuses had been frequent, absentees usual ; but the whole household came to listen to Selwyn with an eagerness which was very irritating to McNeil.

And both the laird and his servants heard some startling truths. For the Gospel of Christ, interpreted as the gospel of humanity, bringing forth free schools, free hospitals, food for the hungry, clothes for the naked, homes for the homeless, help of all kinds, as part of every church organisation, was in that day strange doctrine. It was struggling for a hold in the great cities ; country parishes had never heard of it. McNeil listened with indignation. He thought it very ungentlemanly of Selwyn to preach at him in his own house, and he by no means approved of the responsibilities which the young preacher assigned to men of wealth and authority. A religion of intellectual faith, which had certain well-recognised claims on his pocket, he was willing to support, and, if need were, to defend ; but one which made him on every hand his brother's keeper — that was a different thing : he considered it a dangerously democratic theology.

McNEIL. 20 " And I'll have no Socialism in my religion any more than I'll have it in my politics, Colin," he said one morning angrily. " If this friend of yours belongs to what they call the Church of England, I am more set up than ever with the Kirk of Scotland, God bless her ! " " The same ideas are spreading in the Kirk of Scotland, uncle. When I was in Edinburgh I went with Selwyn to some ragged school, just founded by our own great Dr. Guthrie. Selwyn was talking to me of what might be done among these poor kinsmen of ours." " No doubt ; but I'll no need Mr. Selwyn to help me order my affairs. He may have a big parish in London, but the McNeils are not in his congregation. You can tell him, Colin, that I am a king and bishop within my own bounds." He reached down his bonnet as he spoke, and, without waiting for Colin's answer, walked rapidly to the beach.

The salt coolness of the air ; the fresh seaweeds, glistening with olive fronds and black sea-grapes ; the sandsnipes piping to each other across the sands ; the peregrines screaming at and scolding him as they rose from their rock — all these things comsorted him in their way. They were familiar ; there was no element of change about them ; they seemed to assure him that, in his world at least, as things had been, so they would continue to be. But the morning was destined to be one of annoyance to him. On his return homewards he met Dr. Brodick. The minister had seen him coming, and he stood waiting his approach on the wet sands. He had lifted his hat to catch the cool breeze, and his tall, sombre figure imparted to the majesty of nature the nobler majesty of humanity. The wide expanse of beach looked grander for the man standing on it.

" Well met, Doctor. Are you going to the castle ? " " Even so. I am for an hour's talk with that fine young English minister you have staying with you." " Brodick, let me tell you that you have been too much with him lately. His sermons on the beach the two last Sabbath nights havena given satisfaction. There is a kind of Papistical sensation in preaching outside of the kirk." " But, Laird, the kirk would not hold the con gregation ; and, as for preaching out of doors, McNELL. 22 the Great Preacher aye did it. You will surely not be accusing Him of sensation and Papacy." " Things were fit for Him that are not to be thought of with the like of George Selwyn. The kirk is the place for men to preach. Why, Doctor, he is an Episcopal and an Arminian of the worst kind. I'm more than astonished at you listening to him at all."

" Tuts, Laird ! Arminianism isna a contagious disease. I'll no more take Arminianism from George Selwyn than I'll take Toryism and Jacobitism from Laird Archibald McNeil. My theology and my politics, both of them, are far beyond inoculation." " Have you gotten up an argument with him, Brodick ? I'd like fine to hear you two at it." " No, no ; Selwyn is not inclined to argue. He makes downright assertions, and every one of them hits my conscience like a sledge hammer. He said that to me, last night, as we walked these sands together, that has not let me sleep a blink." " He is a very disagreeable young man. What could he say to you ? You have aye done your duty." " I thought so once, McNeil. I taught the bairns their Catechism. I looked well after the spiritual life of both old and young. I have had a word in season for all.

But this I ought to have done, and not left the other undone." " You are talking foolishness, Brodick, and that is a thing not usual with you." " Not oftener than with other folk. But, Laird, I feel that there must be a change. I have gotten my orders, and I am going to obey them. You may be very certain of that." " I never thought that I should live to see Dr. Brodick taking orders from a disciple of Arminius — and an Englishman, forbye." " I'll take my orders, McNeil, from any mes senger my Master chooses to send them by. And I'll do His messenger justice : he laid down no law to me. He only spoke of the duty laid on his conscience ; but my conscience said ' Amen ' to his. That is all about it. There has been great questioning and seeking lately among the men at Oxford ; and though I don't agree with them in all things, I can see that they have gotten a kind of revelation."

" Humph ! It is aye the young men that want to turn the world upside-down. Nothing as it is suits them." " Laird, it is like a new Epiphany. The hungry are fed, the naked clothed, the prisoners comforted, the poor wee bairns gathered into homes and schools. It is the Gospel, with bread and meat and shelter and schooling in its hands. And while he was telling me about these things my ain heart burned. I bethought me of all that could be done right here in Edderloch." The laird had listened thus far in speechless indignation. He now stood still, and said, " I'll have you to understand, Dr. Brodick, that I am laird of Edderloch and Otterdale, and that I will have no new-fangled ways or doctrines taught in either of my clachans." " If you are laird, I am dominie. You know me well enough, McNeil, to be sure if this thing is a matter of conscience with me no laird can stop me.

I would snap my fingers in the face of any one who said to me, ' Stop,' when my conscience said to me 'Go on;'" and the doctor accompanied the threat with that sharp, resonant fillip of the fingers which is a Scotchman's natural expression of intense excitement of any kind. " Brodick, you are in a temper. You will be sorry for it ere long. You have given way more than I have. You ken how you feel about it." " I do feel ashamed, Laird. You'll no lay the blame to my office, but to Dugald Brodick him self. There is a deal of Dugald Brodick in me yet ; and whiles, he is too much for Dominie Brodick to manage." They were at the door by this time, and the laird said, " Come in, Doctor." "No, I'll go home now and give myself a talking to ; forbye, I see Mr. Selwyn is in the garden with Helen, and I'll perhaps spoil a better talk."