Warlock o' Glenwarlock: A Homely Romance

"But what am I to do now, Cosmo?" she said. "What account of myself can I give my people?"

"You can tell them you met an old lover, and finding him now a rich man, like a prudent woman, consented at once to marry him."

"I must not tell a story."

"Pray who asks you to tell a story?"

"You do, telling me to say I have a rich lover."

"I do not. I am rich."

"Not in money?"

"Yes, in money."

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

"I forgot. How could I think of riches with you filling up all the thinking-place!"

"But what am I to do to-night?"

"To-night?—oh!—I hadn't thought of that!—We'll ask Aggie."

So Aggie was once more called, and consulted. She thought for a minute, then said,—

"Cosmo, as sune's ye're hame, ye'll sen' yer manstrauchtawa'upo'the horse to lat my lady's fowk ken. She better write them a bit letter, an' tell them she's fa'en in wi' an auld acquaintance, a lass ca'd Agnes Gracie, a dacent yoong wuman, an' haein' lost her ro'd an' bein' unco tired, she's gaein' hame wi' her to sleep; an' the laird o' Glenwarlock was sae kin' 's to sen' his man upo' his horse to cairry the letter. That w'y there'll be nae lees tellt, an' no ower muckle o' the trowth."

Cosmo began to criticise, but Joan insisted it should be as Aggie said.

When they arrived at the castle, Grizzie was not a little scandalized to see her young master with a country lass on his horse, and making so much of her. But when she came to understand who she was, and that she had dressed up to get the easier to Castle Warlock she was filled with approbation even to delight.

"Eh, but ye're a lass to mak a man prood! I cudna hae dune better mysef' gien I had been a gran' lady wi' a' the wits o' a puir wife! Sit ye doon, my lady, an' be richt walcome! Eh, but ye're bonny, as ever was ony! an' eh, but ye're steady as never was leddy! May the Lord bless ye, an' the laird kiss ye!"

This outbreak of benediction rather confused Cosmo, but Joan laughed merrily, being happy as a child. Aggie turned her face to Grizzie in dread of more; but the true improviser seldom, I fancy, utters more than six lines. They had supper, and then a cart came rumbling to the door, half full of straw, into which Joan got with Aggie. A few things the latter had borrowed of Grizzie to help make the former comfortable, were handed in and they set out for Muir o' Warlock. In the morning Lady Joan declared she had never slept better than in old Grannie's box-bed.

They were married almost immediately, and nobody's leave asked. Cosmo wrote to acquaint Lord Mergwain with the event, and had in return, from his lordship's secretary, an acknowledgment of the receipt of his letter.

Of what they had to tell each other, of the way they lived, of how blessed they were even when not altogether happy—of these matters I say nothing, leaving them to the imagination of him who has any, while for him who has none I grudge the labour, thinking too he would very likely rather hear how much Cosmo got for his diamonds, and whether, if Lord Mergwain should not marry, Cairncarque will come to Lady Joan. But such things even he is capable of employing his fancy upon, and it would be a pity to prevent him from doing what he can.

I will close my book with a little poem that Cosmo wrote—not that night, but soon after. The poet may, in the height of joy, give out an extempore flash or two, but he writes no poem then. The joy must have begun to be garnered, before the soul can sing about it. How we shall sing when we absolutely believe that OUR LIFE IS HID WITH CHRIST IN GOD!

Here is my spiritual colophon

All things are shadows of thee, Lord;
The sun himself is but a shade;
My soul is but the shadow of thy word,
A candle sun-bedayed!

Diamonds are shadows of the sun;
They drink his rays and show a spark:
My soul some gleams of thy great shine hath won,
And round me slays the dark.

All knowledge is but broken shades—
In gulfs of dark a wandering horde:
Together rush the parted glory-grades—
And lo, thy garment, Lord!

My soul, the shadow, still is light,
Because the shadow falls from thee;
I turn, dull candle, to the centre bright,
And home flit shadowy.

Shine, shine; make me thy shadow still—
The brighter still the more thy shade;
My motion be thy lovely moveless will I
My darkness, light delayed!

(THE END.)