Whats Mines Mine, vol 3 | Page 4

comes of it
must be good, whether pleasant or not."
The mother was silent. She believed in God, but not so thoroughly as to
abjure the exercise of a subsidiary providence of her own. The more
people trust in God, the less will they trust their own judgments, or
interfere with the ordering of events. The man or woman who opposes
the heart's desire of another, except in aid of righteousness, is a servant
of Satan. Nor will it avail anything to call that righteousness which is of
Self or of Mammon.
"There is no action in fretting," Ian would say, "and not much in the
pondering of consequences. True action is the doing of duty, come of it
heartache, defeat, or success."
"You are a fatalist, Ian!" said his mother one day.
"Mother, I am; the will of God is my fate!" answered Ian. "He shall do
with me what he pleases; and I will help him!"
She took him in her arms and kissed him. She hoped God would not he
strict with him, for might not the very grandeur of his character be
rooted in rebellion? Might not some figs grow on some thistles?
At length came the paternal summons for the Palmers to go to London.
For a month the families had been meeting all but every day. The chief
had begun to look deep into the eyes of the girl, as if searching there for
some secret joy; and the girl, though she drooped her long lashes, did
not turn her head away. And now separation, like death, gave her

courage, and when they parted, Mercy not only sustained Alister's look,
but gave him such a look in return that he felt no need, no impulse to
say anything. Their souls were satisfied, for they knew they belonged
to each other.

CHAPTER II
A TERRIBLE DISCOVERY.

So entirely were the chief and his family out of the world, that they had
not yet a notion of the worldly relations of Mr. Peregrine Palmer. But
the mother thought it high time to make inquiry as to his position and
connections. She had an old friend in London, the wife of a certain
vice-chancellor, with whom she held an occasional correspondence,
and to her she wrote, asking if she knew anything of the family.
Mrs. Macruadh was nowise free from the worldliness that has regard to
the world's regard. She would not have been satisfied that a daughter in
law of hers should come of people distinguished for goodness and
greatness of soul, if they were, for instance, tradespeople. She would
doubtless have preferred the daughter of an honest man, whatever his
position, to the daughter of a scoundrel, even if he chanced to be a duke;
but she would not have been content with the most distinguished
goodness by itself. Walking after Jesus, she would have drawn to the
side of Joanna rather than Martha or Mary; and I fear she would have
condescended--just a little--to Mary Magdalen: repentance, however
perfect, is far from enough to satisfy the worldy squeamishness of not a
few high-principled people who do not know what repentance means.
Mrs. Macruadh was anxious to know that the girl was respectable, and
so far worthy of her son. The idea of such an inquiry would have filled
Mercy's parents with scornful merriment, as a thing ludicrous indeed.
People in THEIR position, who could do this and that, whose name
stood so high for this and that, who knew themselves well bred, who
had one relation an admiral, another a general, and a
marriage-connection with some of the oldest families in the
country--that one little better than a yeoman, a man who held the

plough with his own big hands, should enquire into THEIR social
standing! Was not Mr. Peregrine Palmer prepared to buy him up the
moment he required to sell! Was he not rich enough to purchase an
earl's daughter for his son, and an earl himself for his beautiful
Christina! The thing would have seemed too preposterous.
The answer of the vice-chancellor's lady burst, nevertheless, like a
bombshell in the cottage. It was to this effect:--The Palmers were
known, if not just in the best, yet in very good society; the sons bore
sign of a defective pedigree, but the one daughter out was, thanks to her
mother, fit to go anywhere. For her own part, wrote the London
correspondent, she could not help smelling the grains: in Scotland a
distiller, Mr. Peregrine Palmer had taken to brewing in England--was
one of the firm Pulp and Palmer, owning half the public-houses in
London, therefore high in the regard of the English nobility, if not
actually within their circle.--Thus far the satirical lady of the
vice-chancellor.
Horror fell upon the soul of