A Knight of the Nets | Page 9

Marget. "Folks should not be on the road when
the bodiless walk. They might be in their way, and so get ill to
themselves."

"Then good night, and good befall you;" but in spite of the benediction,
Janet felt nettled at her friend's sudden lack of interest.
"It was a spat of envy no doubt," she thought; "but Lord's sake! envy is
the most insinuating vice of the lot of them. It cannot behave itself for
an hour at a time. But I'm not caring! it is better to be envied than
pitied."
These reflections kept away the thought and fear of the "bodiless," and
she passed the kirkyard without being mindful of their proximity; the
coming wedding, and the inevitable changes it would bring, filling her
heart with all kinds of maternal anxieties, which in solitude would not
be put aside for all the promised pride and éclat of the event. As she
approached the cottage, she met Jamie and Christina coming down the
cliff-side together, and she cried, "Is that you, Jamie?"
"As far as I know, it's myself, Mother," answered Jamie.
"Then turn back, and I'll get you a mouthful of bread and cheese. You'll
be wanting it, no doubt; for love is but cold porridge to a man that has
to pull on the nets all night."
"You have spoken the day after the fair, Mother," answered Jamie.
"Christina has looked well to me, and I am bound for the boats."
"Well, well, your way be it."
Then Christina turned back with her mother, and they went silently
back to the cottage, their hearts being busy with the new hopes and
happiness that had come into their hitherto uneventful lives. But
reticence between this mother and daughter was not long possible; they
were too much one to have reserves; and neither being sleepy, they
soon began to talk over again what they had discussed a hundred times
before--the wedding dress, and the wedding feast, and the napery and
plenishing Christina was to have for her own home. They sat on the
hearth, before the bit of fire which was always necessary in that
exposed and windy situation; but the door stood open, and the moon
filled the little room with its placid and confidential light. So it is no

wonder, as they sat talking and vaguely wondering at Andrew's absence,
Christina should tell her mother what Sophy had said about Archie
Braelands.
Janet listened with a dour face. For a moment she was glad; then she
lifted the poker, and struck a block of coal into a score of pieces, and
with the blow scattered the unkind, selfish thoughts which had sprung
up in her heart.
"It is what I expected," she answered. "Just what I expected, Christina.
A lassie dressed up in muslin, and ribbons, and artificial roses, isn't the
kind of a wife a fisherman wants--and sooner or later, like goes to like.
I am not blaming Sophy. She has tried hard to be faithful to Andrew,
but what then? Nothing happens for nothing; and it will be a good thing
for Andrew if Sophy leaves him; a good thing for Sophy too, I'm
thinking; and better is better, whatever comes or goes."
"But Andrew will fret himself sorely."
"He will; no doubt of that. But Andrew has a good heart, and a good
heart breaks bad fortune. Say nothing at all to him. He is wise enough
to guide himself; though God knows! even the wisest of men will have
a fool in his sleeve sometimes."
"Would there be any good in a word of warning? Just to prepare him
for the sorrow that is on the road."
"There would be no sense in the like of it. If Andrew is to get the fling
and the buffet, he will take it better from Sophy than from any other
body. Let be, Christina. And maybe things will take a turn for the dear
lad yet. Hope for it anyhow. Hope is as cheap as despair."
"Folks will be talking anon."
"They are talking already. Do you think that I did not hear all this clash
and clavers before? Lucky Sims, and Marget Roy, and every fish-wife
in Pittendurie, know both the beginning and the end of it. They have
seen this, and they have heard that, and they think the very worst that

can be; you may be sure of that."
"I'm thinking no wrong of Sophy."
"Nor I. The first calamity is to be born a woman; it sets the door open
for every other sorrow--and the more so, if the poor lassie is bonnie and
alone in the world. Sophy is not to blame; it is Andrew that is in the
fault."
"How can you say such a thing as that, Mother?"
"I'll tell