But here that shining vestment of sea-water has one
wonderful prevailing tint of blue; and between it and
the sky, lingers yonder the full snowy sails of a passing
ship; — here some red specks of fishing-boats straying
down towards the mouth of the Firth, beyond yon high
rock — home of sea-mews — the lighthouse Isle of May.
Far over, close upon the opposite shore, lies a mass of
something grey and shapeless, resting like a great shell
upon the water — that is the Bass ; and behind it there
is a shadow on the coast, which you can dimly see, but
cannot define — that is Tantallon, the stronghold of the
86 KATIE STEWART.
stout Douglases ; and westward rises trie abrupt cone of
North Berwick Law, with a great calm bay stretching in
from its feet, and a fair green country retreats beyond,
from the water-side to the horizon line.
Turn now to the other hand, cross the high-road, and
take this footpath through the fields. Gentle Kellie
Law yonder stands quietly under the sunshine, watching
his peaceful dominions. Yellow stubble-fields stretch,
bare and dry, over these slopes; for no late acre now
yields a handful of ears to be gleaned or garnered. But
in other fields the harvest-work goes on. Here is one
full of work-people — quieter than the wheat harvest, not
less cheery — out of the rich dark fragrant soil gathering
the ripe potato, then in a fresh youthful stage of its
history, full of health and vigour; and ploughs are
pacing through other fields ; and on this fresh breeze,
slightly chilled with coming winter, although brightened
still by a fervent autumnal sun, there comes to you at
every corner the odour of the fertile fruitful earth.
Follow this burn ; — it is the same important stream
which forms the boundary between Anstruther Easter
and Wester ; and when it has led you a circuit through
some half-dozen fields, you come upon a little cluster of
buildings gathered on its side. Already, before you reach
them, that rustling sound tells you of the mill ; and now
you have only to cross the wooden bridge (it is but two
planks, though the water foams under it), and you have
reached the miller's door.
That little humble cot -house, standing respectfully
apart, with the miller's idle cart immediately in front of
it, is the dwelling-place of Robert Moulter, the miller's
man ; but the miller's own habitation is more ambitious.
In the strip of garden before the door there are some
rose-bushes, some " apple -ringie," and long plumes of
KATIE STEWART. 87
gardener's garters ; and there is a pointed window in the
roof, bearing witness that this is a two-storeyed house of
superior accommodation ; the thatch itself is fresh and
new — very different from that mossy dilapidated one of
the cottar's house ; and above the porch flourishes a
superb "fouat." The door, as usual, is hospitably open,
and you see that within all are prepared for going abroad ;
for there is a penny-wedding in the town, which already
has roused all Anster.
Who is this, standing by the window, cloaked and
hooded, young, but a matron, and with that beautiful
happy light upon her face? Under her hood, young as
she is, appears the white edge of lace, w T hich proves her
to have assumed already, over the soft brown shining
hair which crosses her forehead, the close cap of the
wife ; but nothing remains of the old shy sad look to
tell you that this is Isabell Stewart. Nov is it. Mrs
Stewart there, in her crimson plaid and velvet hood, who
is at present delivering a lecture on household economics,
to which her daughter listens with a happy smile, would
be the first to set you right if you spoke that old name.
Not Isabell Stewart — Leddy Kilbrachmont ! — a landed
woman, head of a plentiful household, and the crown
and honour of the thrifty mother, whose training has
fitted her for such a lofty destiny, whose counsels help
her to fill it so well.
Janet, equipped like the rest, goes about the apart-
ment, busily setting everything " out of the road." The
room is very much like the family room in Kellie Mill :
domestic architecture of this homely class is not capable
of much variety; and hastily Janet thrusts the same
pretty wheel into a corner, and her mother locks the
glistening doors of the oak aumrie. "Without stands
Philip Landale, speaking of his crops to the miller ; and
88 KATIE STEWART.
a good-looking young sailor, fiance of the coquettish
Janet, lingers at the door, waiting for her.
But there is another person in the background, draping
the black lace which adorns her new cloak gracefully
over her arm, throwing back her shoulders with a slightly
ostentatious, disdainful movement, and holding up her
head like Lady Anne. Ah, Katie ! — simple among the
great people, but very anxious to look like a grand lady
among the small ! Very willing are you in your heart to
have the unsophisticated fun of this penny-wedding to
which you are bound, but with a dignified reluctance are
you preparing to go ; and though Isabell smiles, and
Janet pretends to laugh, Janet's betrothed is awed, and
thinks there is something very magnificent about Lady
Anne Erskine's friend. They make quite a procession as
they cross the burn, and wind along the pathway towards
the town ; — Janet and her companion hurrying on first ;
young Kilbrachmont following, very proud of the wife
who holds his arm, and looking with smiling admiration
on the little pretty sister at his other hand ; while the
miller and his wife bring up the rear.
" Weel, I wouldna be a boaster," said Mrs Stewart ;
" it would ill set us, wi' sae muckle reason as we have to
be thankfu'. But just look at that bairn. It's my fear
she'll be getting a man o' anither rank than ours, the
little cuttie ! I wouldna say but she looks down on
Kilbrachmont his ain very sel."
" She's no blate to do onything o' the kind," said the
miller.
"And how's the like o' you to ken"?" retorted his
wife. "It's my ain blame, nae doubt, for speaking to
ye. Ye're a' very weel wi' your happer and your meal,
John Stewart ; but what should you ken about young
womenfolk 1 "
KATIE STEWART. 89
" AVeel, weel, sac bo it, Isabell," said John. " It's a
mercy ye think ye understand yoursels, for to simple
folk ye're faddomless, like the auld enemy. I pretend to
nae discernment arnang ye."
" There winna he ane like her in the haill Town
House," said Mrs Stewart to herself ; " no Isabell even,
let alane Janet ; and the hit pridefu' look — the little
cuttie ! — as if she was ony better than her neighbours."
The Town House of West Anster is a low-roofed,
small-windowed room, looking out to the churchyard on
one side, and to a very quiet street on the other ; for
West Anster is a suburban and rural place, in comparison
with its more active brother on the other side of the
burn, by whom it is correspondingly despised. Climbing
up a narrow staircase, the party entered the room, in
which at present there was very little space for loco-
motion, as two long tables, flanked by a double row of
forms, and spread for a dinner, at which it was evident
the article guest would be a most plentiful one, occupied
almost the whole of the apartment. The company had
just begun to assemble; and Katie, now daintily con-
descending to accept her brother-in-law's arm, returned
with him to the foot of the stair, there to await the
return of the marriage procession from the manse, at
which just now the ceremony was being performed.
The street is overshadowed by great trees, which,
leaning over the churchyard wall on one side, and sur-
rounding the manse, which is only a few yards farther
down, on the other, darken the little street, and let in
the sunshine picturesquely, in bars and streaks, through
the thinning yellow foliage. There is a sound of ap-
proaching music ; a brisk fiddle, performing " Fy let us a'
to the bridal," in its most animated style ; and gradually
the procession becomes visible, ascending from the dark
90 KATIE STEWART.
gates of the manse. The "bridegroom is an Anster fisher-
man. They have all the breath of salt water about them,
these blue-jacketed sturdy fellows who form his retinue,
with their white wedding-favours. And creditable to
the mother town are those manly sons of hers, trained to
danger from the cradle. The bride is the daughter of a
Kilbrachniont cottar — was a servant in Kilbrachmont's
house ; and it is the kindly connection between the em-
ployer and the employed which brings the whole family
of Landales and Stewarts to the penny-wedding. She is
pretty and young, this bride ; and the sun glances in her
hair, as she droops her uncovered head, and fixes her shy
eyes on the ground. A long train of attendant maidens
follow her; and nothing but the natural tresses, snood ed
with silken ribbons, adorn the young heads over which
these bright lines of sunshine glisten as the procession
passes on.
With her little cloak hanging back upon her shoulders,
and her small head elevated, looking down, or rather
looking up (for this humble bride is undeniably taller
than little Katie Stewart), and smiling a smile which
she intends to be patronising, but which by no means
succeeds in being so, Katie stands back to let the bride
pass; and the bride does pass, drooping her blushing
face lower and lower, as her master wishes her joy, and
shakes her bashful reluctant hand. But the bridesmaid,
a simple fisherman's daughter, struck with admiration of
the little magnificent Katie, abruptly halts before her,
and whispers to the young fisherman who escorts her,
that Kilbrachmont and the little belle must enter first.
Katie is pleased : the girl's admiration strikes her more
than the gaping glances of ever so many rustic wooers ;
and with such a little bow as Lady Anne might have
given, and a rapid flush mounting to her forehead, in
KATIE STEWART. 91
spite of all her pretended self-possession, she stepped into
the procession, and entered the room after the bride.
Who is this so busy and popular among the youthful
company already assembled 1 You can see him from the
door, though he is at the further end of the room, over-
topping all his neighbours like a youthful Saul. And
handsomely the sailor's jacket sits on his active, well-
formed figure ; and he stoops slightly, as though he had
some fear of this low dingy roof. He has a fine face too,
browned with warm suns and gales; for William Morison
has sailed in the Mediterranean, and is to be mate, this
next voyage, of the gay Levant schooner, which now lies
loading in Leith harbour. Willie Morison ! Only the
brother of Janet's betrothed, little Katie; so you are
prepared to be good to him, and to patronise your future
brother-in-law.
His attention was fully occupied just now. But sud-
denly his popularity fails in that corner, and gibes take
the place of approbation. What ails him 1 ? What has
happened to him 1 But he does not answer ; he only
changes his place, creeping gradually nearer, nearer, look-
ing — alas, for human presumption ! — at you, little Katie
Stewart — magnificent, dignified you !
It is a somewhat rude, plentiful dinner ; and there is
a perfect crowd of guests. William Wood, the Elie
joiner, in the dark corner yonder, counts the heads with
an inward chuckle, and congratulates himself that, when
all these have paid their half-crowns, he shall carry a
heavy pocketful home with him, in payment of the homely
furniture he has made ; and the young couple have the
price of their plenishing cleared at once. But the scene
is rather a confused noisy scene, till the dinner is over.
Now clear away these long encumbering tables, and
tune your doleful fiddles quickly, ye musical men, that
92 KATIE STEWART.
the dancers may not wait. Katie tries to think of the
stately minuets which she saw and danced in Edinburgh ;
but it will not do : it is impossible to resist the magic of
those inspiriting reels ; and now Willie Morison is bend-
ing his high head down to her, and asking her to dance.
Surely — yes — she will dance with hini — kindly and
condescendingly, as with a connection. No fear palpitates
at little Katie's heart — not a single throb of that tremor
with which she saw Sir Alexander approach the window-
seat in Lady Oolville's drawing-room ; and shy and quiet
looks Willie Morison, as she draws on that graceful lace
glove of hers, and gives him her hand.
Strangely his great fingers close over it, and Katie,
looking up with a little wonder, catches just his retreat-
ing, shrinking eye. It makes her curious, and she begins
to watch— begins to notice how he looks at her stealthily,
and does not meet her eye with frankness as other people
do. Katie draws herself up, and again becomes haughty,
but again it will not do. Kindly looks meet her on all
sides, friendly admiration, approbation, praise; and the
mother watching her proudly yonder, and those lingering
shy looks at her side. She plays with her glove in the
intervals of the dance — draws it up on her white arm,
and pulls it down ; but it is impossible to fold the wings
of her heart and keep it still, and it begins to flutter
with vague terror, let her do what she will to calm its
beating down.
KATIE STEWART.
CHAPTEE XIII.
The burn sings under the moon, and you cannot see it j
but yonder where it bends round the dark corner of this
field, it glimmers like a silver bow. Something of witch-
craft and magic is in the place and time. Above, the
sky overflooded with the moonbeams ; behind, the Firth
quivering and trembling under them in an ecstasy of
silent light ; below, the grass which presses upon the
narrow footpath so dark and colourless, with here and
there a visible gem of dew shining among its blades like
a falling star. Along that high-road, which stretches its
broad white line westward, lads and lasses are trooping
home, and their voices strike clearly into the charmed air,
but do not blend with it, as does that lingering music
which dies away in the distance far on the other side of
the town, and the soft voice of this burn near at hand.
The homeward procession to the Milton is different from
the outward bound. Yonder, steadily at their sober
everyday pace, go the miller and his wife. You can see
her crimson plaid faintly, through the silvered air which
pales its colour â– but you cannot mistake the broad out-
line of John Stewart, or the little active figure of the
mistress of the Milton. Young Kilbrachmont and Isabell
have gone home by another road, and Janet and her
betrothed are " convoying " some of their friends on the
way to Pittenweem, and will not turn back till they pass
that little eerie house at the Kirk Latch, where people
say the Red Slippers delight to promenade ; so never
look doubtingly over your shoulder, anxious Willie
Morison, in fear lest the noisy couple yonder overtake
you, and spoil this silent progress home. Now and then
94 KATIE STEWART.
Mrs Stewart, rapidly marching on before, turns her head
to see that you are in sight ; but nothing else — for grad-
ually these voices on the road soften and pass away —
comes on your ear or eye, unpleasantly to remind you
that there is a host of beings in the world, besides your-
self and this shy reluctant companion whose hand rests
on your arm.
For under the new laced mantle, of which she was so
proud this morning, Katie Stewart's heart is stirring like
a bird. She is a step in advance of him, eager to
quicken this slow pace; but he lingers — constantly
lingers, and some spell is on her, that she cannot bid
him hasten. Willie Morison ! — only the mate of that
pretty Levant schooner which lies in Leith harbour ;
and the little proud Katie tries to be angry at the pre-
sumption which ventures to approach her — her, to whom
Sir Alexander did respectful homage — whom the Honour-
able Andrew signalled out for admiration ; but Katie's
pride, only as it melts and struggles, makes the magic
greater. He does not speak a great deal ; but when he
does, she stumbles strangely in her answers ; and then
Katie feels the blood flush to her face, and again her
foot advances quickly on the narrow path, and her hand
makes a feint to glide out of that restraining arm. No,
think it not, little Katie — once you almost wooed your
heart to receive into it, among all the bright dreams
which have their natural habitation there, the courtly
youthful knight, whose reverent devoirs charmed you
into the land of old romance ; but, stubborn and honest,
the little wayward heart refused. Now let your thoughts,
alarmed and anxious, press round their citadel and keep
this invader out. Alas ! the besieged fortress trembles
already, lest its defenders should fail and falter; and
angry and petulant grow the resisting thoughts, and they
KATIE STEWART. 95
swear to rash vows in the silence. Rash vows — vows
in which there lies a hot impatient premonition, that
they must he "broken very soon.
Under those reeds, low beneath those little overhang-
ing banks, tufted with waving rushes, you scarcely could
guess this burn was there, but for the tinkling of its
unseen steps ; but they walk beside it like listeners
entranced by fairy music. The silence does not oppress
nor embarrass them now, for that ringing voice fills it up,
and is like a third person — a magical elfin third person,
whose presence disturbs not their solitude.
" Katie ! " cries the house - mother, looking back to
mark how far behind those lingerers are ; and Katie
again impatiently quickens her pace, and draws her com-
panion on. The burn grows louder now, rushing past
the idle wheel of the mill, and Mrs Stewart lias crossed
the little bridge, and they hear, through the still air, the
hasty sound with which she turns the great key in the
door. Immediately there are visible evidences that the
mistress of the house is within it again, for a sudden
glow brightens the dark window, and throws a cheerful
flickering light from the open door ; but the moon gleams
in the dark burn, pursuing the foaming water down that
descent it hurries over; and the wet stones, which
impede its course, glimmer dubiously in the light which
throws its splendour over all. Linger, little Katie —
slower and slower grow the steps of your companion ;
linger to make the night beautiful — to feel in your heart
as you never felt before, how beautiful it is.
Only Willie Morison ! And yet a little curiosity
prompts you to look out and watch him from your win-
dow in the roof as you lay your cloak aside. He is
lingering still by the burn — leaving it with reluctant,
slow steps — looking back and back, as if he could not
96 KATIE STEWART.
make up his mind to go away; and hastily, with a blush
which the darkness gently covers, you withdraw from the
window, little Katie, knowing that it is quite impossible
he could have seen you, yet trembling lest he has.
The miller has the great Bible on the table, and bitter
is the reproof which meets the late-returning Janet, as
her mother stands at the open door and calls to her across
the burn. It is somewhat late, and Janet yawns as
she seats herself in the background, out of the vigilant
mother's eye, which, seeing everything, gives no sign of
weariness; and Katie meditatively leans her head upon
her hand, and places her little Bible in the shadow of
her arm, as the family devotion begins. But again and
again, before it has ended, Katie feels the guilty blood
flush over her forehead ; for the sacred words have faded
from before her downcast eyes, and she has seen only the
retreating figure going slowly away in the moonlight— a
blush of indignant shame and self-anger, too, as well as
guilt ; for this is no Sir Alexander — no hero — but only
Willie Morison.
" Send that monkey hame, Isabell," said John Stewart.
He had just returned thanks and taken up his bonnet, as
he rose from their homely breakfast-table next morning.
" Send that monkey hame, I say ; I'll no hae my house
filled wi' lads again for ony gilpie's pleasure. Let Katie's
joes gang up to Kellie if they maun make fules o' theni-
sels. Janet's ser'd, Gude be thankit ; let's hae nae mair
o't now."
" It's my desire, John Stewart, you would just mind
your ain business, and leave the house to me," answered
his wife. " If there's ae sight in the world I like waur
than anither, it's a man pitting his hand into a house-
wifeskep. I ne'er meddle wi' your meal. Robbie and
you may be tooming it a' down the burn, for ought I
KATIE STEWART. 97
ken ; but leave the lassies to me, John, my man. I hae a
hand that can grip them yet, and that's what ye ne'er
were gifted wi'."
The miller shrugged his shoulders, threw on his bon-
net, but without any further remonstrance went away.
" And how lang are you to stay, Katie 1" resumed Mrs
Stewart.
" I'll gang up to Kilbrachmont, if ye're wearying on me,
mother," answered the little belle.
" Haud your peace, ye cuttie. Is that a way to answer
your mother, and me slaving for your guid, night and
day? But hear ye, Katie Stewart, I'll no hae Willie
Morison coming courting here ; ae scone's enow o' a
baking. Janet there is to be cried wi' Alick — what he
could see in her, I canna tell — next Sabbath but twa ;
and though the Morisons are very decent folk, we're sib
enough wi' ae wedding. So ye'll mind what I say, if
Willie Morison comes here at e'en."
" I dinna ken what you mean, mother," said Katie,
indignantly.
" I'll warrant Katie thinks him no guid enough," said
Janet, with a sneer.
"Will ye mind your wark, ye taupie? What's your
business wi' Katie's thoughts'? And let me never mair
see ye sit there wi' a red face, Katie Stewart, and tell
a lee under my very e'en. I'll no thole't. Janet, redd
up that table. Merran, you're wanted out in the East
Park ; if Eobbie and you canna be done wi' that pickle
tatties the day, ye'll ne'er make saut to your kail ; and now
I'm gaun into Anster mysel — see ye pit some birr in your
fingers the time I'm away."
"Never you heed my mother, Katie," said Janet,
benevolently, as Mrs Stewart's crimson plaid began to
disappear over the field. " She says aye a hantle mair
98 KATIE STEWART.
than she means ; and Willie may come the night, for
a' that,"
" Willie may come ! And do you think I care if he
never crossed Anster Brig again?" exclaimed Katie, with
burning indignation.
" Weel, I wouldna say. He's a bonnie lad," said Janet,
as she lifted the shining plates into the lower shelf of the
oak aumrie. " And if you dinna care, Katie, what gars
ye have such a red face ? "
" It's the fire," murmured Katie, with sudden humili-
ation; for her cheeks indeed were burning — alas! as
the brave Sir Alexander's name could never make them
burn.
" Weel, he's to sail in three weeks, and he'll be a fule
if he troubles his head about a disdainfu' thing that
wouldna stand up for him, puir chield. The first night
ever Alick came after me, I wouldna have held my
tongue and heard onybody speak ill o' him; and yester-
day's no the first day — no by mony a Sabbath in the
kirk, and mony a night at hame — that Willie Morison has
gien weary looks at you."
" He can keep his looks to himsel," said Katie, angrily,
as the wheel "birled" under her impatient hand. "It
was only to please ye a' that I let him come hame wi' me
last night ; and he's no a bonnie lad, and I dinna care for
him, Janet."
" Janet, with the firelight reddening that round, stout,
ruddy arm, with which she lifts from the crook the sus-
pended kettle, pauses in the act to look into Katie's face.
The eyelashes tremble on the flushed cheek — the head is
drooping — poor little Katie could almost cry with vexation
and shame.
Merran is away to the field — the sisters are alone; but
Janet only ventures to laugh a little as she goes with
KATIE STEWART. 99
some bustle about her work, and records Katie's blush
and Katie's anger for the encouragement of Willie Mori-
son. Janet, who is experienced in such matters, thinks
these are good signs.
And the forenoon glides away, while Katie sits ab-
sorbed and silent, turning the pretty wheel, and musing
on all these affronts which have been put upon her. Not
the first by many days on which Willie Morison has
dared to think of her ! And she remembers Sir Alexander,
and that moonlight night on which she watched him look-
ing up at Lady Anne Erskine's window; but very faintly,
very indifferently, comes before her the dim outline of the
youthful knight; whereas most clearly visible in his
blue jacket, and with the fair hair blown back from his
ruddy, manly face, appears this intruder, this Willie