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Updated: June 11, 2025
"The first thing that we must see to is that there shall be no scandal about for my father's sake. That would ruin all; do ye no see that?" Kirstie was a little pleased, there had been some show of warmth of sentiment in what Archie had said last. But the dull irritation still persisted in her bosom; with the aboriginal instinct, having suffered herself, she wished to make Archie suffer.
"Godsake, what's the maitter wi' ye, mem?" cried the housekeeper, starting from the rug. "I do not ken," answered her mistress, shaking her head. "But he is not speeritually minded, my dear." "Here, sit down with ye! Godsake, what ails the wife?" cried Kirstie, and helped and forced her into my lord's own chair by the cheek of the hearth. "Keep me, what's this?" she gasped. "Kirstie, what's this?
Poor Archie stood dumbfounded. She had moved some steps away from him before he recovered the gift of articulate speech. "Kirstie!" he cried. "O, Kirstie woman!" There was in his voice a ring of appeal, a clang of mere astonishment that showed the schoolmaster was vanquished. She turned round on him. "What do ye Kirstie me for?" she retorted. "What have ye to do wi' me?
And then, with a most unusual gentleness of tone, "Puir bitch," said he, "puir bitch!" Then suddenly: "Where's Erchie?" Kirstie had decoyed him to her room and given him "a jeely-piece." "Ye have some kind of gumption, too," observed the judge, and considered his housekeeper grimly. "When all's said," he added, "I micht have done waur I micht have been marriet upon a skirling Jezebel like you!"
The emptiness and solitude of the great moors seemed to be concentred there, and Kirstie pointed out by that finger of sunshine for the only inhabitant. His first sight of her was thus excruciatingly sad, like a glimpse of a world from which all light, comfort, and society were on the point of vanishing.
I'm frich'ened." They were her last words. It was the lowering nightfall when my lord returned. He had the sunset in his back, all clouds and glory; and before him, by the wayside, spied Kirstie Elliott waiting. She was dissolved in tears, and addressed him in the high, false note of barbarous mourning, such as still lingers modified among Scots heather.
As for his father, no one can deny his ability, and I don't fancy any one would care to deny that he has the deil's own temper " "If you'll excuse me, Mr. Innes, I think the lass is crying on me," said Kirstie, and flounced from the room. "The damned, cross-grained, old broom-stick!" ejaculated Innes.
But there was no man in the corner. Her eyes searched into its dusk, and met only the shadow of the sloping attic. He had gone without a sound. There had been no sound in the room but the thud of Mrs. Johnstone's body, and this thud seemed to Kirstie to be taken up and echoed by the blow of her own forehead upon the boards as she fell across the feet of her mistress. Woman Suffrage?
But Archie, with his masculine sense of responsibility, must reason; he must dwell on some future good, when the present good was all in all to Kirstie; he must talk and talk lamely, as necessity drove him of what was to be. Again and again he had touched on marriage; again and again been driven back into indistinctness by a memory of Lord Hermiston.
"I think he'll have been trying to say what you have been thinking." "No, I never heard it," he said. "Repeat it to me, can you?" "It's nothing wanting the tune," said Kirstie. "Then sing it me," said he. "On the Lord's Day? That would never do, Mr. Weir!"
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