What a pity there isn't a snow block and let him go out for a minute. Ah then, wouldn't I make it all right and secure with her!" Graham looked his watch again, so concerned was he that the journey was nearly ended. Turning to the lady he said: "I am sorry Lochdale will be here in a few minutes, where we must bid adieu. But I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you soon again in Glasgow." "Thank you." "I shall look out for you every time I am taking a walk. You are down the town pretty often, I suppose?" "Oh, yes. Generally on Saturdays I go into town to see the newest things in the shop windows." "That is fine. We can hardly fail to meet each other some day." While he spoke he looked intently at her face, as if trying to imprint it indelibly on his memory. He had never got a full view of it-only something like three-fourths of the lady's face being visible to him. Her hat, too, was worn well down on her brow. How would he be able to recognize the lady-say if meeting her full in the face, and she wearing a different style of hat? He saw the difficulty and immediately said "Would you kindly not pass by when you meet me, but stop and speak? I know that ladies are much quicker than gentlemen at recognizing their friends. May I ask you to do me that favour? "Since you have asked me, I suppose I may try." "Thank you very much. Now take a good look at me (turning fairly round, and smiling, quite regardless of Marchmont) so that like a detective you can say to yourself: 'I shall know that man again!"" The lady blushed and answered, “I'm afraid your photograph taken just now wouldn't be a good one to detect you by; the chances are you wouldn't be so animated and smiling." Then I must compose my features (makes an effort); now do I look grave and business like? (bursts into laughter). Its no usemy normal expression won't be forced." The whistle sounded, the train was now within half-a-mile of Lochdale. "Lochdale!" exclaimed Graham, with a nervous shiver, and on glancing at the lady, he noticed that her bright face had become suddenly clouded, as if she, too, was grieved to part. This marked evidence of reciprocal feeling touched him tenderly. As the train slowed, he stooped down and pulled out from below the seat, what he supposed to be his own portmanteau. It was like his-the only apparent difference being a leather strap round this one, and it happened to intersect a written address. His quick eye caught thus much of the address Beg pardon," he said, hastily returning the portmanteau to its place, and securing his own, which he now remembered placing below the seat occupied by his friend Marchmont. "Now we must say good-bye. I hope we shall meet soon again.” Perhaps we may," she said, hopefully, holding out her hand. Graham gave it a cordial pressure, which he felt was returned, and as their eyes met he trembled. His father and his brother Robert were at the station waiting for him, and Marchmont's two sisters were waiting for their brother. They all stood on the platform for a short time talking to each other. In five minutes the train moved off into the darkness, carrying with it at least one bright spirit. As our hero gazed at the last carriage disappearing round the corner, he mentally ejaculated : "God bless you, my dear girl! May your journey be safe, and your welcome a hearty one." Before the train left Lochdale, and while the other passengers in the carriage, just vacated by Graham and Marchmont, were gathered about the platform door looking out, the young lady, now known as Miss W, Montrose, rose and unpinned the sprig of holly. Gazing at it fondly, she smiled in wonder when she saw that the shining leaves were thornless: a bit from a high branch of the tree. Touching the holly softly with her lips, she then placed it in her bosom henceforth to be cherished as a precious souvenir ! CHAPTER IV. "One whom the strong sons of the world despise. For lucky rhymes to him were scrip and share, And mellow metres more than cent for cent." Tennyson. According to promise, Allan Marchmont invited Jonathan Weathercock to his lodgings to have a tumbler of toddy and a chat with one or two congenial friends. Weathercock was delighted, and Friday evening, the 8th of January, was the date fixed upon for the little party. Marchmont had been fortunate in falling in with an old school fellow of Weathercock's, from whom he obtained the full history of Jonathan's career, and also the loan of one of his photographs. On the night previous to the party, Marchmont went up to Graham's lodgings to tell him all about Weathercock, and to show him the portrait. There he found Joshua Leadbetter, their common friend, who was also to be present at the convivial meeting. After fully discussing Weathercock's history, and comparing it with his photograph, Marchmont said: "from his soft pensive expression perhaps you think there is no fun in old Jonathan, and that he cannot laugh—laugh! just wait till you hear him. If he does not make the roof reverberate, he will be in very low spirits indeed. After a night with him you can judge for yourselves if it was wise to send such a mercurial and poetical spirit to undergo the drudgery of a lawyer's office. On Fri lay evening Graham and Leadbetter were both at Marchmont's at half-past seven. Graham brought his violin with him, as Marchmont wished the poet-clerk ushered in with music. At eight o'clock, when Weathercock was expected, Graham began to play "Welcome, royal Charlie," his companions joining bravely in the chorus. All three were singing with great spirit— "O! ye've been lang o' coming, Welcome, royal Charlie," when the door bell rang. The door being on the common stair the poet could not but hear the music. Graham laid down the fiddle. A clear bell-like voice was heard enquiring for Mr. Marchmont. It was Weathercock's. On entering the room he immediately burst out: "Good evening, gentlemen, I heard the sweet sound of music, and I said to myself 'Surely there is joy to-night in this land.' But I did not expect to come to the very fountain-head of the music. Pray who has been charming the evening air in so sprightly a manner?" "This is the musician-Mr. Graham-an old friend of mine-and Mr. Leadbetter, another chosen friend." Weathercock shook the hands of his new friends very cordially, saying: "Gentlemen, I feel proud to be introduced to you." The poet's face was radiant at finding so merry a company, truly a feast to a solitary man like him. The bell was rung and the servant girl appeared-a young thing in her earliest teens. Bring the brass kettle and hot water, if you please, Polly." "Thank you," said Marchmont kindly, as the little girl placed the requisites for toddy on the table. "Put on coals now, Polly, like a good lass, and we won't trouble you again for a while." "How pleasantly you address Polly," said Weathercock. "It does one good to hear you syllable her name." "Ah, Mr. Weathercock, you should hear how Polly-syllables his name," cried Graham with glee. "What, a pun! Gentlemen," said the host gaily, "let us drink to the prosperity of that jest, the first-born of this merry night. Mr. Weathercock, help yourself to this prime North Port, and may you be able to say His port I love.'" After drinking and laughing at one joke or another, Mr. Leadbetter was called on for a song. Whereupon the minstrel boy, as they termed him, with a roguish twinkle in his eye, took a sounding pipe from his waistcoat pocket. "Nothing like blowing your own trumpet," he remarked, meanwhile adjusting the pipe. "I don't pretend to be a scientific singer, Mr. Weathercock, and like sometimes to astonish the audience with a flourish of this trumpet before starting a song. It throws dust in the eyes of those charlatans who affect to tell you to a semitone the dual notes of the cuckoo. I have no patience with these cold scientific warblers. But this pipe strikes them dumb. They dare not criticise after the careful and elaborate way I pretend to pitch the keynote. All the rest, I assure you, are native wood notes wild. I shall try 'Bonnie Bessie Lee." Having a fine tenor voice and a strong affectionate nature, Leadbetter rendered this song in a manner which delighted Weathercock. "Thank you, Mr. Leadbetter," said he warmly. "If I were you, I would take my goods to the best market." "Well, I'm a mercantile man, and always try to do that. But perhaps you are hinting that I should become a professional singer." "Oh, dear no, Mr. Leadbetter; not that exactly. No doubt you would be handsomely paid as a vocalist; but what I mean is, that with your other gifts and graces, physical and mental, you could, with your splendid voice, mesmerise any lady you please. Do you comprehend! I see by your smiling that you do. Yes, Mr. Leadbetter, just you sing once with all your heart to the girl you wish to capture-and-well, you may whistle o'er the lave o't." "Indeed, Mr. Weathercock, you flatter me highly." "Try some of this homemade cake, Mr. Weathercock," said the host, "I can recommend it. My sister made it." "She did. Then it must be very fine." critical air and expresses his enjoyment. Eats a bit with a "Perhaps you will kindly make a couplet on the cake to send to my sister. It will please her very much, I'm sure." "Ah, Mr. Marchmont, I am not a good improvisatore, but I shall make an effort." After several laughable attempts, uttered aloud for the merriment of the company, the following was the couplet chosen. "Sweet cake, so rich and soft, so fine and free, The girl who made it, is the wife for me." "Capital! my sister will be charmed with it." "She would be more delighted to hear our friend singing Bonnie Bessie Lee. I tell you, Mr. Leadbetter, you have but to sing and you invest yourself in a golden halo. No lady could resist its fascination, any more than the poor moth can keep out of the flame. My dear sir, I would not have you selling yourself for money, but you should go where money is, and get it thrown into the bargain.” I've no objection to that, Mr. Weathercock. Will you help me? Will you introduce me to one or two of the good looking heiresses that come about Sharp & Coy's." "Apply to him," (pointing to Marchmont); he is the man who comes into contact with the fair clients, and if he dosen't secure a rich wife for himself-he's a Dutchman." "I'm no ladies' man, Mr. Weathercock. You know well that I have nothing to do with the fair clients except on business." "Don't tell me. Where there's a will there's a way! And the proverb means more to a lawyer than to anybody else. Now, there is Miss Dallas-and her sister-each worth half a dozen thousands or so. Why, gentlemen, two of you could have a wife out of that family." "Are they nice girls?" asked Leadbetter; "are they as charming as Bonnie Bessie Lee?" |