Olive

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by Dinah Maria Craik, (AKA Dinah Maria Mulock)

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Title: Olive A Novel
Author: Dinah Maria Craik, (AKA Dinah Maria Mulock)
Illustrator: G. Bowers
Release Date: July 23, 2007 [EBook #22121]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLIVE ***

Produced by David Widger

OLIVE
A NOVEL
BY DINAH MARIA CRAIK, AKA: Dinah Maria Mulock
"BY THE AUTHOR OF 'JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN'"
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY G. BOWERS
1875
FIRST PUBLISHED IN 1850.
[Illustration: Frontispiece]
[Illustration: Titlepage]

OLIVE.
CHAPTER I.
"Puir wee lassie, ye hae a waesome welcome to a waesome warld!"
Such was the first greeting ever received by my heroine, Olive Rothesay. However, she would be then entitled neither a heroine nor even "Olive Rothesay," being a small nameless concretion of humanity, in colour and consistency strongly resembling the "red earth," whence was taken the father of all nations. No foreshadowing of the coming life brightened her purple, pinched-up, withered face, which, as in all new-born children, bore such a ridiculous likeness to extreme old age. No tone of the all-expressive human voice thrilled through the unconscious wail that was her first utterance, and in her wide-open meaningless eyes had never dawned the beautiful human soul. There she lay, as you and I, reader, with all our compeers, lay once-a helpless lump of breathing flesh, faintly stirred by animal life, and scarce at all by that inner life which we call spirit. And, if we thus look back, half in compassion, half in humiliation, at our infantile likeness-may it not be that in the world to come some who in this world bore an outward image poor, mean, and degraded, will cast a glance of equal pity on their well-remembered olden selves, now transfigured into beautiful immortality?
I seem to be wandering from my Olive Rothesay; but time will show the contrary. Poor little spirit! newly come to earth, who knows whether that "waesome welcome" may not be a prophecy? The old nurse seemed almost to dread this, even while she uttered it, for with superstition from which not an "auld wife" in Scotland is altogether free, she changed the dolorous croon into a "Gude guide us!" and, pressing the babe to her aged breast, bestowed a hearty blessing upon her nursling of the second generation--the child of him who was at once her master and her foster-son.
"An' wae's me that he's sae far awa', and canna do't himsel. My bonnie bairn! Ye're come into the warld without a father's blessing."
Perhaps the good soul's clasp was the tenderer, and her warm heart throbbed the warmer to the new-born child, for a passing remembrance of her own two fatherless babes, who now slept--as close together, as when, "twin-laddies," they had nestled in one mother's bosom--slept beneath the wide Atlantic which marks the sea-boy's grave.
Nevertheless, the memory was now grown so dim with years, that it vanished the moment the infant waked, and began to cry. Rocking to and fro, the nurse tuned her cracked voice to a long-forgotten lullaby--something about a "boatie." It was stopped by a hand on her shoulder, followed by the approximation of a face which, in its bland gravity, bore "M.D." on every line.
"Well, my good---- excuse me, but I forget your name."
"Elspeth, or mair commonly, Elspie Murray. And no an ill name, doctor. The Murrays o' Perth were"----
"No doubt--no doubt, Mrs. Elsappy."
"Elspie, sir. How daur ye ca' me out o' my name, wi' your unceevil English tongue!"
"Well, then, Elspie, or what the deuce you like," said the doctor, vexed out of his proprieties. But his rosy face became rosier when he met the horrified and sternly reproachful stare of Elspie's keen blue eyes as she turned round--a whole volume of sermons expressed in her "Eh, sir?" Then she added, quietly,
"I'll thank ye no to speak ill words in the ears o' this puir innocent new-born wean. It's no canny."
"Humph!--I suppose I must beg pardon again. I shall never get out what I wanted to say--which is, that you must be quiet, my good dame, and you must keep Mrs. Rothesay quiet. She is a delicate young creature, you know, and must have every possible comfort that she needs."
The doctor glanced round the room as though there was scarce enough comfort for his notions of worldly necessity. Yet though not luxurious, the antechamber and the room half-revealed beyond it seemed to furnish all that could be needed by an individual of moderate fortune and desires. And an eye more romantic and poetic than that of the worthy medico might have found ample atonement for the want of rich furniture within, in the magnificent view without. The windows looked down on