Chapter 42

MARGARET, THE PRECENTOR. AND GOD BETWEEN.

Unless Andrew Luke, who went to Canadas be still above ground, I
am now the only survivor of the few to whom Lang Tammas told what
passed in the manse parlor after the door closed on him and
Margaret. With the years the others lost the details, but before I
forget them the man who has been struck by lightning will look at
his arm without remembering what shrivelled it. There even came a
time when the scene seemed more vivid to me than to the precentor,
though that was only after he began to break up.

"She was never the kind o' woman," Whamond said, "that a body need
be nane feared at. You can see she is o' the timid sort. I couldna
hae selected a woman easier to speak bold out to, though I had
ha'en my pick o' them."

He was a gaunt man, sour and hard, and he often paused in his
story with a puzzled look on his forbidding face.

"But, man, she was so michty windy o' him. If he had wanted to put
a knife into her, I believe that woman would just hae telled him
to take care no to cut his hands. Ay, and what innocent-like she
was! If she had heard enough, afore I saw her, to make her uneasy,
I could hae begun at once; but here she was, shaking my hand and
smiling to me, so that aye when I tried to speak I gaed through
ither. Nobody can despise me for it, I tell you, mair than I
despise mysel'.

"I thocht to mysel', 'Let her hae her smile out, Tammas Whamond;
it's her hinmost,' Syne wi' shame at my cowardliness, I tried to
yoke to my duty as chief elder o' the kirk, and I said to her, as
thrawn as I could speak, 'Dinna thank me; I've done nothing for
you.'

"'I ken it wasna for me you did it,' she said, 'but for him; but,
oh, Mr. Whamond, will that make me think the less o' you? He's my
all,' she says, wi' that smile back in her face, and a look mixed
up wi't that said as plain, 'and I need no more.' I thocht o'
saying that some builds their house upon the sand, but--dagont,
dominie, it's a solemn thing the pride mithers has in their
laddies. I mind aince my ain mither--what the devil are you
glowering at, Andrew Luke? Do you think I'm greeting?

"'You'll sit down, Mr. Whamond,' she says next."

'"No, I winna,' I said, angry-like. 'I didna come here to sit.'"

"I could see she thocht I was shy at being in the manse parlor;
ay, and I thocht she was pleased at me looking shy. Weel, she took
my hat out o' my hand, and she put it on the chair at the door,
whaur there's aye an auld chair in grand houses for the servant to
sit on at family exercise.

"'You're a man, Mr. Whamond,' says she, 'that the minister
delights to honor, and so you'll oblige me