Over the hills

Chapter I

The firm of Jerningham, Yan der Hulst & Gunn was the only house of any importance in Ubster : Mr. Jerningham was the only rich man in the town, his wife the only lady who ‘ kept her carriage,’ but his niece was, even in Ubster, only one of many spinsters. When Miss Jane Anne Jerningham, therefore, married Campbell of Glarn there was matter for a nine days’ wonder. In a country town the size of Ubster, the marriage of a plain woman who had passed her first youth was (I speak of the early fifties) little short of miraculous.

Nobody could tell how she had met him or where, and her relations declared that they had known nothing about it beforehand. To say that they had noticed nothing would perhaps have been nearer the truth, for Jane Anne’s affairs had never provoked much interest at any time, she being

4 hidden from the strife of tongues ’ by the best of all coverings, her own insignificance. She had lived in her uncle’s house ever since she was a child, and it was only the association, the aroma of his great wealth that her name carried with it, which distinguished her in any way. It seemed to the younger people of her acquaintance subversive to the established order of things that Jane Anne should marry : there was no knowing what might happen after that ! Miss Jerningham herself was as much surprised as any one. For the first time in her life she had a sensation of solemn self-importance when she communicated the news to her aunt.

4 Nonsense, Jane Anne ! Impossible,’ was the lady’s first exclamation, followed by 4 Campbell ! that fat man with the cough that we met at Aunt Sophie’s ! And where ’s Glarn ? ’

4 It is a remote place, I believe,’ said Jane Anne, 4 and he tells me that he has very little money. ’

4 1 should think so,’ said Mrs. Jerningham. 4 He is a minister or something, isn’t he ? ’ she added.

4 Not exactly,’ said her niece, confused a little at being expected to define Mr. Campbell’s position. 4 He owns Glarn, aunt, but he’s the minister too.’

4 Why is he so poor, then ? Between them both he ought to have something,’ said Mrs. Jerningham, whose only point of acuteness was financial.

4 It is a very small property, and a very small living, I believe, ’ faltered her niece. 4 Aunt Sophie tells me he only gets eighty pounds a year, and that the church is no bigger than this room.’

4 Big enough if that ’s all he gets for preaching in it ! Oh, by -the- bye, he was an admirer of Aunt Sophie’s once, I remember. She refused him.’ Jane Anne winced a little. 4 Go and tell your uncle— I ’ll have nothing to do with it,’ said Mrs. Jerningham. 4 He’s in the library now — you ’d better get it over. ’

Jane Anne thought the same. She did not wait till her courage was lowered by thinking over it, but turned away, and went slowly down the great shallow staircase into the hall.

The house, viewed from the outside, was an unpretentious old mansion, standing close to the harbour, with a row of flat windows along the front, and a wide flight of stone steps leading up to the door, from a paved square that opened off the quay. It had been built a century before by the senior Van der Hulst, a Dutchman, and indoors the rooms were large, furnished with a solid luxury that showed the timber trade of those days to have been prosperous. The library windows looked out upon the harbour, and above the green blinds that screened the lower panes a tangle of masts and spars rose against the sky.

As Jane Anne paused for a moment on the threshold before she went into the room, her hand went up to her heart with a gesture suggestive of sickening fright. To tell her aunt had been comparatively an easy matter ; to tell her uncle was another thing altogether.

Mr. Jerningham was napping in his easy-chair, and did not at first hear her come i*n. The light fell full upon his portly figure slackened with sleep. A dark man, with a full-lipped face, and small thick hands. Eumours said that his mother had been of foreign extraction ; and when, as in the present instance, he wore a white waistcoat, the report struck one as being correct. Strangers who had not been much brought in contact with him, and had noticed only the genial easy maimer of the man, would have been surprised to learn that he was an object of fear to any one. ... So genial — had brought up his niece from the time she was a child — his great wealth of course made him respected — but to be afraid of him !

Yet Jane Anne stood for two minutes looking at her uncle in silence, before she ventured on the timid little cough that roused him from his nap.

4 Uncle,’ she said, 4 are you awake ? ’ Jerningham started, rubbed his hand over his face, crossed one leg over the other and yawned. 4 Well, what cl’ ye want ? ’ he asked, the question engulfed in another yawn. Then noticing her flustered manner he opened his eyes and stared at his niece.

4 Jane Anne has that fatal old-maidish look, ’ her aunt was wont to say in apology for her appearance. She was a short woman, with mouse- coloured hair and pale eyes, her lips parted slightly over her rather prominent teeth, and as she spoke she smiled a little deprecating smile. She was going out with her aunt, and wore her hat and mantle, and she carried a little reticule, with the hasp of which her nervous fingers kept fidgeting as she spoke. She seated herself beside her uncle. 4 I have come to tell you something of importance,’ she said waveringly.

Jerningham thrust out a finger, pointing at her, 4 And I have to tell you something of importance — You look so foolish in that hat. It ’s more like a thing for Dinah than for you. ’

Jane Anne gasped a little. 4 Well, well, what is it ? ’ he asked, stretching out his hand for the newspaper that lay beside him, and running his eye over its columns.

‘I must tell you,’ she went on, ‘that I have taken a step of which I hope you may approve.’

4 What ’s that ? ’ he said, without looking up. 4 Hot thinking of getting married, are you ? Late in the day ! Some fellow been making up to you for my money ? ’

4 1— I — I am sure that is not his reason,’ said Miss Jerningham hastily, and her face grew red.

4 Eh ! Oh ho ! So that ’s it ! — he ’s hard up, I suppose. ’ Her uncle burst out laughing. 4 He ’s young too, no doubt. Who is it ? Forbes ? Ho, he wants something different ! Come, tell me — you ’re very proud of such a conquest, I ’ll be bound. ’

4 I do not think that you know him, uncle. He has written to you, I understand. ’

4 Oh, no doubt. ’ He glanced at the pile of letters on the writing-table. 4 I haven’t opened my letters yet. What is he ? Nothing, I suppose — another penniless adventurer.’

4 He is Mr. Campbell of Glarn.’

4 The deuce he is ! And who is 44 Mr. Campbell of Glarn,” and where did you pick him up ? ’

4 He is a minister. ’

4 1 daresay ! A minister ! They ’re all alike — they ’d lick my boots for a five-pound note. Where did you meet him, I say ? That ’s what comes of women like you hunting off to prayer-meetings and nonsense of that sort. A minister ! ’

4 Mr. Campbell is a landed proprietor too, uncle,’ said Jane Anne, her voice rising, her face flushing, 4 and I made his acquaintance at Aunt Sophie’s.’

4 What ! Aunt Sophie’s old beau ! Ah ! I know where we are now — a fellow with an old house, and as much land as would lie on that mat, and a hundred a year ! A landed proprietor ! a minister ! Neither one nor other — neither fish, flesh, nor good red herring. 5 He laughed again, genially, at Jane Anne’s discomfiture. 4 A widower too,’ he went on ; 4 Aunt Sophie wouldn’t look at him. He ’s been married two or three times, I declare ! A son ! Oh, I remember.’

4 Mr. Campbell has only been married once before, uncle.’

4 Well, and two makes twice— quite enough. D’ you remember Allan’s story, Jane Anne, of the widower who 44 aye liket the leevin’ wife an’ the last bairn best ?” He ’s that kind, is he ? ’

4 Uncle, I,’ — began the poor woman, then, for she had some experience of her uncle’s character, she struggled to speak with calmness.

4 Mr. Campbell is not in very good health ’

4 And he is in want of money. He wants your attractions’ — this with a glance that made his niece wince— 4 and my money. Very good — I ’ll find his note and send him about his business when I tell him you ’ve only forty pounds a year of your own.’ He lifted his letters from the table, and waved his hand to dismiss her.

Jane Anne stood up. 4 1 hope you won’t do that, sir,’— she drew a long breath,— 4 for I mean to marry him. ’

Jerningham rose to his feet. He seldom raised his voice, trusting always rather to the matter than the manner of his speech. 6 Come, come,’ he said, just in his usual quick genial way, £ this won’t do— this is utter nonsense — marry ! you marry ! a withered old maid like you — no man alive would ever want to marry you except for what he thought he ’d get with you. I ’ll make it plain enough to him that he won’t get any of my money to patch up his old house with, and if he takes you after that, I ’m surprised.’ He laughed again in a jovial sort of way.

Jane Anne waited until the last chuckle had died in his throat, then she drew herself up. ‘ I’ve

lived in your house, sir, for thirty years ’

c Hearer forty,’ put in her uncle jocularly.

‘ For most of my life,’ she went on, ‘ and you have given me food and clothes, and I thank you for that, but I ’ve never had a kind word from you or an hour of care, and I am going now to some one who will not insult me at any rate.’

She attempted to speak with dignity, but the art is not learnt in a moment, and this was the first time that she had ever tried it : as she spoke the little bag she was holding slipped from her hands, and its contents, a small Bible and some religious leaflets, were scattered on the floor.

Jerningham pushed the Bible towards her with the point of his toe — standing with his hands in his pockets. ‘ Take up that trash, ’ he said, ‘ and go away, and make a fool of yourself if you like — I ’ll not prevent you. You ’ll have a husband anyhow, if that ’s all you ’re wanting — only don’t come whimpering to me for money when you find you can’t make ends meet.’

Jane Anne, with a crimson face, stooped to lift the Bible, and left the room without another word.

Chapter II

There was a very quiet wedding in the end of March — the bleakest season in that bleak northern town. Mrs. Jerningham had persuaded her husband to allow it to be in his house, also to give the bride a scanty trousseau, ‘ for, ’ as she said, ‘ we won’t have to support her any longer, and she ’s less likely to be asking for things later on if she gets some clothes now.’

There was but one person in the household who regretted Jane Anne’s departure — her young cousin Dinah, Jerningham’s only child. She was then a girl about sixteen, and of late had gone to school in the neighbourhood. The life in those parts at that time was much more intense and concentrated than it is in a provincial town at the present day; and the daughters of more distinguished, if not wealthier, men than Mr. Jerningham were not sent to schools in the south. So, though Dinah would be an heiress, and though her parents were both anxious that she should shine in society in the future, they never thought of any other means of education. She spent the week

OVER TIIE HILLS at Miss Macneil’s Establishment, coming back to Ubster every Saturday, and returning to school on Monday morning.

Dinah had always been a great pet of her cousin’s. Jane Anne it was who had had patience with all her faults as a child. She had naturally been terribly spoilt, especially after the death of her little brother — the darling of Mrs. Jerningham’s heart, who had died from choking on the stone of a plum given him by the fond mother. After his death, but for her cousin’s influence, Dinah’s temper would have remained quite unchecked. In some strange way, not certainly by force of character, Jane Anne had gained control over the child.

When the little thing’s heart was bursting with black temper (she would set her teeth and sulk for hours) : when Mrs. Jerningham’s endearments and lavish promises of sweets had failed to move her : when the sharper efforts of an irritated nurse had only made her sulk the more ; then Jane Anne would come quietly into the nursery saying, 4 Dinah, dear, do you remember what I told you on Sunday about Jesus — about being good ? ’ or some such simple words, and after a minute Dinah would break into a sob, cling with her arms about her cousin’s neck, and the temper would disappear. As she grew up, Jane Anne’s timid religious ministrations became less frequent. She was afraid to speak now to the tall, solemn-eyed girl that Dinah had become, nor indeed did Dinah any longer seem to require those gentle reproofs. She was wonderfully calm and self-contained for her age. Knowing her power, she treated both her parents and other people with a high hand. It was Jane Anne now who had begun to lean on Dinah ; so, at first, she was afraid to meet the girl after the announcement of her marriage had become public. Dinah came home as usual on Saturday morning. Jane Anne, who was waiting in the drawing-room, heard her come upstairs asking, 4 Where is Jane Anne, mother ? ’ Then the door opened, and Dinah came in. She ran up to her cousin and flung her arms round her neck.

4 O Janie, I wish Mr. Campbell was dead,’ was her tactful speech. It relieved Jane Anne’s feelings as nothing else would have done. She took Dinah’s hand, sat down beside her, and had the first moment of sympathy which she had yet experienced from any one.

4 1 have heard all about it,’ said Dinah ; 4 Annie Fraser lives at Glarn, you know. She lives quite near to Mr. Campbell : she knows the boy.’ She looked a little doubtfully at Jane Anne as she spoke.

4 1 wish that I could take you with me, Dinah,’ said the older woman, 4 1 mind nothing except leaving you— you will grow up and forget all about me when I am gone. ’

‘Ho, I do not think I shall,’ Dinah answered gravely.

The wedding day was bitterly cold ; between the effect of tears shed overnight, and a red nose, Jane Anne looked, even for her, singularly plain, when she entered the big dining-room where the few guests were assembled.

Jerningham himself had gone away on business the week before. 4 There will be no fuss,’ said his wife, 4 so we needn’t have in any one extra. The servants can cook the lunch quite well.’ Besides Dinah, there was one bridesmaid, a friend about Jane Anne’s own age, who had a complete assortment of false teeth, and wore an unfortunate shade of green. The bridegroom arrived a minute late, accompanied by a very silent friend — none of his relatives were present.

His imposing presence astonished the guests not a little. He waved his hand condescendingly to Mrs. Jerningham when she began to speak to him, not listening to a word that she said. 4 A trifle late, a trifle late, ’ he murmured, speaking with a curious Highland accent, 4 the coach was delayed, but it ’s of no consequence, we were warmly wrapt up, pray don’t distress yourself at all.’ When the ceremony had been performed, and Jane Anne was getting ready to leave, he stood with a glass of wine in his hand, taller than most of the men in the room, glancing about him, and addressing, in his low hoarse voice, a few bland remarks to Mrs. Jerningham. ‘ We will hope to see you at Glarn some day, madam,’ he said in farewell ; ‘ I ’m sure Mrs. Campbell will be delighted to welcome you. ’ He handed his bride into the carriage with a great air, wrapping himself up in countless shawls and cloaks, again waved a condescending hand, and they drove away.

‘ The creature ! ’ exclaimed Mrs. Jerningham, ‘ one would have thought he was made of money.’

‘ It ’s an out-of-the-way place, she ’s as good as dead, but she ’s married anyhow, and that ’s more than I ever expected,’ she added to the bridesmaid, who was taking her leave. The few guests departed quickly.

For perhaps two days there was some conversation in the town about the wedding, and then every one excepting Dinah had forgotten all about Jane Anne. I doubt if there was any one a week afterwards who remembered her existence, or wondered what the new home was like to which she had gone. Fate had long ago written against her name the sentence of unimportance —

‘ None shall ask thee what thou doest.

Or care a rush for what thou knowest.

Or listen when thou replies t,

Or remember where thou liest,

Or how thy supper is sodden.’

As the carriage drove out of the rattling streets of Ubster, and took the white road that unrolled itself like a ribbon on the moor beyond the town, Dinah stood at the window and wept. How could she guess that the chain of her fortunes also was carried by Jane Anne into that unknown future 4 over the hills and far away. ’

Chapter III

You could ‘ hear the grass grow 9 about the old house of Glarn. A bleak little place it was, lonely and bare : a little bleak house with ‘ harled 5 walls and small windows. It stood solitary on the moor, without fence or garden : and sometimes the cattle straying down from the hills would stand so close to the little windows that their breath dimmed the panes as they huddled shoulder to shoulder gazing in at the fire. In summer too, when the casements stood open, the sheep cropping the turf about the house would lift their noses to snuff at the window ledges, shying off in alarm at any movement from within : and in the dawn of the morning, before the household was astir, the feet of the beasts might be heard on the very threshold.

On a chilly evening in the beginning of April Jane Anne had arrived at her new home.

Glarn was distant from Ubster as the crow flies about seventy miles, but the coach road rounded the angle of the coast, and the journey took two or three days to perform. She had felt as they drove along, sometimes for ten or twelve hours at a time, without passing more than one or two shepherds’ huts, as if she were going into an awful remoteness from which there could be no return. How, tired and tashed after her long journey, she stood in one of the tiny dark bedrooms looking about her in a bewildered kind of way. Town born and town bred as she was, this huge silence, broken only by the bleating of the sheep, choked her with a sense of oppression.

How dark the house was ! how small and lonely, with its narrow flagged passages and bare rooms that had an acrid musty smell. Accustomed as she had always been to luxurious living it struck her with dismay.

Often in fancy she had pictured every detail of her new home, and though her imagination perhaps was somewhat trite, she had looked into the future with confused hope.

But this was all so different from what she had imagined. Where was the charming country parish ? — those savage hills ? Where were the parishioners whose homes she had hoped ‘ to brighten ’ ? She saw none but the sheep. And was she to have no neighbours ? For the last six miles as they drove to Glarn she had seen only two or three little grey huts : but as they drew near the house she discerned a group of trees on a knoll opposite, and looked out eagerly for some sign of habitation, then she saw that it was a little —a very little— old, low, dilapidated church.

Her husband as they drove past pointed to the few sunken gravestones that were barely visible amongst the rank grass. ‘ That, ’ he said, ‘ is our burying-place. Many generations of our family lie there, and there I hope you and I may one day repose. ’

£ I — I hope so,’ said Jane Anne lamely, for she saw that he considered it a privilege. With this cheerful sentence in her ears, the carriage drew up at the door of the melancholy house. There was immediately a sound of scuffling within, and with strange howlings and sharp barks, three or four terriers came scrambling out, jumping about the master’s knees. Jane Anne was a little afraid of dogs, and kept saying, ‘ Down, down, dear, ’ to them, pushing them gently away, but they only yapped the more, and scratched at her velvet pelisse. Ho servants appeared, and there was no other sign of life about the house.

‘ Go in, go in,’ said her husband ; ‘ they cannot have expected us so soon.’ Jane Anne stepped into the hall, and presently there came rolling up the narrow passage from the kitchen regions a fat old woman. She wore a tartan shawl pinned across her shoulders, and her face was red and grim.

She courtesied to her master, saying something in Gaelic which Jane Anne could not understand, and received her own timid greeting with a dry murmur of, ‘ I hope yer pretty well, ma’am. ’ She then conducted her new mistress upstairs, and left her without any offer of assistance.

Jane Anne glanced about her with dismay, noticing the wooden bedstead, the small bleared mirror, the meagre dimensions of the room, and wondering vaguely where she was going to put all her new clothes.

This was a transplantation such as she had never imagined. Where was the dignified if simple country house that Mr. Campbell had alluded to as ‘ the home of my ancestors ’ ? Where were the servants ? Was that purple-faced old woman the cook, the housekeeper ? Could she ring her bell, and get a light, she wondered, for she could hardly see well enough to take her things out of her boxes. She opened the lid of one of the trunks, and began with slow fidgety movements to take out some of her dresses, and lay them in the drawers, but her head was throbbing so violently that it made her giddy. In despair she sank down on her knees by the open window leaning her head upon her hands.

Out of doors the pensive April twilight lingered on, though a pale fragment of golden moon had risen in the clear sky. The air was chill, and still, and tender with the first premonitions of spring.

Down below the little church on the opposite hillside there was a running burn ; the sound of it, incessant, thin, and scarcely audible, smote upon her ears, accustomed to the cheerful noises of a town, with an unendurable dreariness, so that she hid her face in her hands and shivered. It was like a sudden relief to pain, when she heard all at once a burst of laughter, pretty, girlish laughter, and then the sound of footsteps and a man’s voice calling out,

‘ Is that you, Annie ? ’

‘ Yes — I ’m going home. Has she come ? ’

‘ Yes— I haven’t seen her yet. I was out when they arrived. ’

‘ Is she dreadful ? ’ asked the girl. Jane Anne did not catch the reply. She rose instantly, anxious not to listen ; at that moment the door opened, without any previous knock, and a tall unkempt servant-girl appeared upon the threshold. ‘ Supper’s in,’ she said, and disappeared.

Jane Anne glanced out at the window, and saw a girl walking swiftly away across the grass in front of the house. She waved her hand to some one standing at the door, and as she went, Jane Anne caught another echo of faint laughter.

Slowly and timidly she then made her way downstairs, pausing in the passage before she took courage to enter the dining-room, where at a table, insufficiently lighted by a pair of candles, her husband stood talking to a tall young man. This must be Lewis, her stepson. She did not dare even to look at him as she came in.

The table was spread with a meagre repast. At one end a piece of mutton ham and a plate of oatcakes : a decanter, and a jug of hot water ; at the other, a battered tea-tray, on which stood a huge dim metal teapot and some cracked teacups.

4 I thought you might like some tea, my dear,’ said Mr. Campbell ; 4 and allow me to present you to your stepson Lewis. Lewis, this is your stepmother.’

4 1 am very glad to see you,’ faltered Jane Anne, raising her eyes to his face.

Of all the scenes that lay before her in married life, there was none on which her imagination had dwelt so often and so fondly as this of her first meeting with her stepson.

How often she had pictured him ! A tall 4 youth ’ — so she always dubbed him in her own mind — somewhat rustic in dress and manner, but with an ingenuous countenance and a shy smile. She had dwelt upon the motherly kindness with which she would smooth the locks off his open forehead, and press it with a mother’s kiss. . . . She raised her eyes now, and saw a young man about eighteen, thin, light, and very strongly made. His hair was dark, curling slightly at the edges, and the top locks of it were bleached by the sun to a lighter colour than the rest. His fair skin was so freckled that it looked as if it were painted with tan. He carried himself with a singular grace and assurance, and looked at her with a pair of blue unflinching eyes that made Jane Anne drop hers desperately. She had extended her hand to him, but immediately she became aware that as he stood before her he held both his hands behind his back.

‘ Did you not observe that your stepmother was going to shake hands with you, Lewis ? ’ said his father.

‘ Yes, sir/ he replied promptly, 4 1 did.’

‘ Then what do you mean ? 5 began Mr. Campbell, but Jane Anne glanced at him imploringly.

‘ Oh ! please, it does not matter — I mean — it is of no consequence at all,’ she said with a nervous laugh, and taking her seat hurriedly at the head of the table began to pour milk into the teapot.

Dead silence ensued for the next few minutes, then Jane Anne made an effort to collect herself.

‘ I thought that I heard a girl’s voice outside, a few minutes ago,’ she said timidly, addressing herself to the young man. ‘ I did not know that we had any near neighbours.’

‘ A girl ? ’ said her husband inquiringly.

£ Annie Fraser, sir,’ said Lewis, without looking up.

‘ Ah, Annie Fraser. Yes, my dear, we have neighbours in a bodily sense,’ said Mr. Campbell,

‘ although, unfortunately, I at least can claim no mental affinity with Father Fraser— he is a priest. His niece, whose voice you must have heard just now, is an engaging young person, and of course she is not to blame for her uncle’s position. ’

‘ Do they live near here ? ’ Jane Anne asked, glad to think of any female society.