It was past midnight, and the moon was down, but the street-lamps were not yet extinguished, and they walked along without anything to interrupt their conversation--chiefly about Sir Gibbie and Sir George.But perhaps if Donal had known the cause of Gibbie's escape from the city, and that the dread thing had taken place in this woman's house, he would not have walked quite so close to her.
Poor Mistress Croale, however, had been nowise to blame for that, and the shock it gave her had even done something to check the rate of her downhill progress.It let her see, with a lightning flash from the pit, how wide the rent now yawned between her and her former respectability.She continued, as we know, to drink whisky, and was not unfrequently overcome by it; but in her following life as peddler, she measured her madness more; and, much in the open air and walking a great deal, with a basket sometimes heavy, her indulgence did her less physical harm; her temper recovered a little, she regained a portion of her self-command; and at the close of those years of wandering, she was less of a ruin, both mentally and spiritually, than at their commencement.
When she received her hundred pounds for the finding of Sir Gibbie, she rented a little shop in the gallery of the market, where she sold such things as she had carried about the country, adding to her stock, upon the likelihood of demand, without respect to unity either conventional or real, in the character of the wares she associated.The interest and respectability of this new start in life, made a little fresh opposition to the inroads of her besetting sin; so that now she did not consume as much whisky in three days as she did in one when she had her houff on the shore.Some people seem to have been drinking all their lives, of necessity getting more and more into the power of the enemy, but without succumbing at a rapid rate, having even their times of uplifting and betterment.
Mistress Croale's complexion was a little clearer; her eyes were less fierce; her expression was more composed; some of the women who like her had shops in the market, had grown a little friendly with her; and, which was of more valuable significance, she had come to be not a little regarded by the poor women of the lower parts behind the market, who were in the way of dealing with her.For the moment a customer of this class, and she had but few of any other, appeared at her shop, or covered stall, rather, she seemed in spirit to go outside the counter and buy with her, giving her the best counsel she had, now advising the cheaper, now the dearer of two articles;while now and then one could tell of having been sent by her to another shop, where, in the particular case, she could do better.Alove of affairs, no doubt, bore a part in this peculiarity, but there is all the difference between the two ways of embodying activity--to one's own advantage only, and--to the advantage of one's neighbour as well.For my part, if I knew a woman behaved to her neighbours as Mistress Croale did to hers, were she the worst of drunkards in between, I could not help both respecting and loving her.Alas that such virtue is so portentously scarce! There are so many that are sober for one that is honest! Deep are the depths of social degradation to which the clean, purifying light yet reaches, and lofty are the heights of social honour where yet the light is nothing but darkness.Any thoughtful person who knew Mistress Croale's history, would have feared much for her, and hoped a little: her so-called fate was still undecided.In the mean time she made a living, did not get into debt, spent an inordinate portion of her profits in drink, but had regained and was keeping up a kind and measure of respectability.
Before they reached the Widdiehill, Donal, with the open heart of the poet, was full of friendliness to her, and rejoiced in the mischance that had led him to make her acquaintance.
"Ye ken, of coorse," he happened to say, "'at Gibbie's wi' Maister Sclater?""Weel eneuch," she answered."I hae seen him tee; but he's a gran'
gentleman grown, an' I wadna like to be affrontit layin' claim till's acquaintance,--walcome as he ance was to my hoose!"She had more reason for the doubt and hesitation she thus expressed than Donal knew.But his answer was none the less the true one as regarded his friend.
"Ye little ken Gibbie," he said "gien ye think that gait o' 'im!
Gang ye to the minister's door and speir for 'im! He'll be doon the stair like a shot.--But 'deed maybe he's come back, an' 's i' my chaumer the noo! Ye'll come up the stair an' see?""Na, I wunna dee that," said Mistress Croale, who did not wish to face Mistress Murkison, well known to her in the days of her comparative prosperity.
She pointed out the door to him, but herself stood on the other side of the way till she saw it opened by her old friend in her night-cap, and heard her make jubilee over his return.
Gibbie had come home and gone out again to look for him, she said.
"Weel," remarked Donal, "there wad be sma' guid in my gaein' to luik for him.It wad be but the sheep gaein' to luik for the shepherd.""Ye're richt there," said his landlady."A tint bairn sud aye sit doon an' sit still.""Weel, ye gang till yer bed, mem," returned Donal."Lat me see hoo yer door works, an' I'll lat him in whan he comes."Gibbie came within an hour, and all was well.They made their communication, of which Donal's was far the more interesting, had their laugh over the affair, and went to bed.