“Yes, certainly,” and then he added some advice about taking a brougham, and thus lightened her heart; so that she presently said humbly,
“Have I been self-willed and overbearing, Alick?”
He laughed. “Not at all; you have persevered just where you ought. I dare say this is all more essential than shows on the surface. And,” he added, with a shaken voice, “if you were not myself, Rachel, you know how I should thank you for caring for my poor Bessie’s child.” He was gone almost as he spoke the words, but Rachel still felt the kiss and the hot tears that had fallen on her face.
Mr. Clare readily consented to spare his housekeeper, but the housekeeper was untoward, she was “busied in her housewife skep,” and would not stir. Alick was gone to Timber End, and Rachel was just talking of getting the schoolmaster’s wife as an escort, when Mr. Clare said—
“Pray are you above accepting my services?”
“You! Oh, uncle; thank you, but—”
“What were your orders? Anybody with you, was it not? I flatter myself that I have some body, at least.”
“If Alick will not think I ought not!”
“The boy will not presume to object to what I do with you.”
“I do wish it very much,” said candid Rachel.
“Of course you do, my dear. Alick is not cured of a young man’s notion that babies are a sort of puppies. He is quite right not to let you run about London by yourself, but he will be quite satisfied if you find eyes and I find discretion.”
“But is it not very troublesome to you?”
“It is a capital lark!” said Mr. Clare, with a zest that only the slang word could imply, removing all Rachel’s scruples, and in effect Mr. Clare did enjoy the spice of adventure in a most amusing way. He knew perfectly well how to manage, laid out the plan of operations, gave orders to the driver, went into all the shops, and was an effective assistant in the choice of material and even of embroidery. His touch and ear seemed to do more for him than many men’s eyes do for them; he heard odd scraps of conversation and retailed them with so much character; he had such pleasant colloquies with all in whose way he fell, and so thoroughly enjoyed the flow and babble of the full stream of life, that Rachel marvelled that the seclusion of his parsonage was bearable to him. He took her to lunch with an old friend, a lady who had devoted herself to the care of poor girls to be trained as servants, and Rachel had the first real sight of one of the many great and good works set on foot by personal and direct labour.
“If I had been sensible, I might have come to something like this!” she said.
“Do you wish to undo these last three months?”
“No; I am not fit to be anything but an ordinary married woman, with an Alick to take care of me; but I am glad some people can be what I meant to be.”
“And you need not regret not being useful now,” said Mr. Clare. “Where should any of us be without you?”
It had not occurred to Rachel, but she was certainly of far more positive use in the world at the present moment than ever she had been in her most assuming maiden days.
Little Alexander was arrayed in all that could enhance his baby dignity, and Rachel was more than ever resolved to assert his superiority over “great frightful fine children,” resenting vehemently an innocent observation from Alick, that the small features and white skin promised sandiness of hair. Perhaps Alick delighted in saying such things for the sake of proving the “very womanhood” of his Clever Woman. Rachel hung back, afraid of the presentation, and would have sent her maid into the room with the child if Colonel Keith had not taken her in himself. Even yet she was not dexterous in handling the baby, her hands were both occupied, and her attention absorbed, and she could not speak, she felt it so mournful to show this frail motherless creature to a father more like its grandfather, and already almost on the verge of the grave. She came up to Lord Keith, and held the child to him in silence. He said, “Thank you,” and kissed not only the little one, but her own brow, and she kept the tears back with difficulty.
Colonel Keith gave her a chair and footstool, and she sat with the baby on her lap, while very few words were spoken. It was the Colonel who asked her to take off the hood that hid the head and brow, and who chiefly hazarded opinions as to likeness and colour of eyes. Lord Keith looked earnestly and sadly, but hardly made any observation, except that it looked healthier than he had been led to expect. He was sure it owed much to Mrs. Keith’s great care and kindness.
Rachel feared he would not be able to part with his little son, and began to mention the arrangements she had contemplated in case he wished to keep the child at Timber End. On this, Lord Keith asked with some anxiety, if its presence were inconvenient to Mr. Clare; and being assured of the contrary, said, “Then while you are so kind as to watch over him, I much prefer that things should remain in their present state, than to bring him to a house like this. You do not object?”
“Oh, no; I am so glad. I was only dreading the losing him. I thought Mrs. Menteith wished for him when he is old enough to travel.”
“Colin!” said Lord Keith, looking up sharply, “will nothing make the Menteiths understand that I would rather put out the child to nurse in a Highland hut than in that Babel
