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the silken string with which she was fastening the bodice, and, tapping her on the neck, which expressed, by its sudden writhe, and sudden change to a scarlet hue, as much pettish confusion as she had desired to provoke, she added, more mildly, “ Is it not strange5 Brenda, that, used as we have been by the stranger Mordaunt Mertoun, whose assurance has brought him uninvited to a house where his presence is so unacceptable, you should still look or think of him with favour? Surely, that you do so should be a proof to you, that there are such things as spells in the country, and that you yourself labour under them. It is not for nought that Mordaunt wears a chain of elfin gold — look to it, Brenda, and be wise in time.”
“I have nothing to do with Mordaunt Mertoun,” answered Brenda hastily, “nor do I know or care what he or any other young man wears about his neck. I could see all the gold chains of all the bailies of Edinburgh, that Lady Glowrowrum speaks so much of, without falling in fancy with one of the wearers.” And, having thus complied with the female rule of pleading not guilty in general to such an indictment, she immediately resumed, in a different tone, “But, to say the truth, Minna, I think you, and all of you, have judged far too hastily about this young friend of ours, who has been so long our most intimate companion. Mind, Mordaunt Mertoun is no more to me than he is to you — who best know how little difference he made betwixt us, and that, chain or no chain, he lived with us like a brother with two sisters; and yet you can turn him off at once, because a wandering seaman, of whom we know nothing, and a peddling jagger, whom we do know to be a thief, a cheat, and a liar, speak words and carry tales in his disfavour! I do not believe he ever said he could have his choice of either of us, and only waited to see which was to have Burgh-Westra and Bredness Voe — I do not believe he ever spoke such a word, or harboured such a thought, as that of making a choice between us.”
“Perhaps,” said Minna coldly, “ you may have had reason I to know that his choice was already determined.”
“I will not endure this!” said Brenda, giving way to her natural vivacity, and springing from between her sister’s I hands; then turning round and facing her, while her glowing cheek was rivalled in the deepness of its crimson, by as much of her neck and bosom as the upper part of the half-laced bodice permitted to be visible, — ” Even from you, Minna,” she said, “ I will not endure this! You know that all my life I have spoken the truth, and that I love the truth; and I tell you, that Mordaunt Mertoun never in his life made distinction betwixt you and me, until”
Here some feeling of consciousness stopped her short, and her sister replied, with a smile, “Until when, Brenda? Methinks, your love of truth seems choked with the sentence you were bringing out.”
“Until you ceased to do him the justice he deserves,” said Brenda firmly, “ since I must speak out. I have little doubt that he will not long throw away his friendship on you, who hold it so lightly.”
“Be it so,” said Minna; “ you are secure from my rivalry, either in his friendship or love. But bethink you better, Brenda — this is no scandal of Cleveland’s — Cleveland is incapable of slander — no falsehood of Bryce Snailsfoot — not one of our friends or acquaintance but says it has been the common talk of the island, that the daughters of Magnus Troil were patiently awaiting the choice of the nameless and birthless stranger, Mordaunt Mertoun. Is it fitting that this should be said of us, the descendants of a Norwegian Jarl, and the daughters of the first Udaller in Zetland? or, would it be modest or maidenly to submit to it unresented, were we the meanest lasses that ever lifted a milk-pail?”
“The tongues of fools are no reproach,” replied Brenda warmly; “ I will never quit my own thoughts of an innocent friend for the gossip of the island, which can put the worst meaning on the most innocent actions.”
“Hear but what our friends say,” repeated Minna; “hear but the Lady Glowrowrum; hear but Maddie and Clara Groatsettar.”
“If I were to hear Lady Glowrowrum,” said Brenda steadily, “ I should listen to the worst tongue in Zetland; and as for Maddie and Clara Groatsettar, they were both blithe enough to get Mordaunt to sit betwixt them at dinner the day before yesterday, as you might have observed yourself, but that your ear was better engaged.”
“Your eyes, at least, have been but indifferently engaged, Brenda,” retorted the elder sister, “ since they were fixed on a young man, whom all the world but yourself believes to have talked of us with the most insolent presumption; and even it he be innocently charged, Lady Glowrowrum says it is unmaidenly and bold of you even to look in the direction where he sits, knowing it must confirm such reports.”
“I will look which way I please,” said Brenda, growing still wrarmer; “ Lady Glowrowrum shall neither rule my thoughts, nor my words, nor my eyes. I hold Mordaunt Mertoun to be innocent, — I will look at him as such, — I will speak of him as such; and if I did not speak to him also, and behave to him as usual, it is in obedience to my father, and not for what Lady Glowrowrum, and all her nieces, had she twenty instead of two, could think, wink, nod, or tattle, about the matter that concerns them not.”
“Alas! Brenda,” answered Minna, with calmness, “this vivacity is more than is required for the defence of the character of a mere friend! — Beware — He who ruined Norna’s peace for ever was a stranger, admitted to her affections against the will of her family.”
“He was a stranger,” replied Brenda, with emphasis, “ not only in birth, but in manners. She had not been bred up with him from her youth, — she had not known the gentleness, the frankness, of his disposition, by an intimacy of many years. He was indeed a stranger, in character, temper, birth, manners, and morals, — some wandering adventurer, perhaps, whom chance or tempest had thrown upon the islands, and who knew how to mask a false heart with a frank brow. My good sister, take home your own warning. There are other strangers at Burgh-Westra besides this poor Mordaunt Mertoun.”
Minna seemed for a moment overwhelmed with the rapidity with which her sister retorted her suspicion and her caution. But her natural loftiness of disposition enabled her to reply with assumed composure.
“Were I to treat you, Brenda, with the want of confidence you show towards me, I might reply that Cleveland is no more to me than Mordaunt was; or than young Swartaster, or Lawrence Ericson, or any other favourite guest of my father’s, now is. But I scorn to deceive you, or to disguise my thoughts. — I love Clement Cleveland.”
“Do not say so, my dearest sister,” said Brenda, abandoning at once the air of acrimony with which the conversation had been latterly conducted, and throwing her arms round her sister’s neck, with looks, and with a tone, of the most earnest affection, — ” do not say so, I implore you! I
will renounce Mordaunt Mertoun. — I will swear never to speak to him again; but do not repeat that you love this Cleveland!”
“And why should I not repeat,” said Minna, disengaging herself gently from her sister’s grasp, “ a sentiment in which I glory? The boldness, the strength and energy, of his character, to which command is natural, and fear unknown, — these very properties, which alarm you for my happiness, are the qualities which insure it. Remember, Brenda, that when your foot loved the calm smooth seabeach of the summer sea, mine ever delighted in the summit of the precipice, when the waves are in fury.”
“And it is even that which I dread,” said Brenda; “it is even that adventurous disposition which now is urging you to the brink of a precipice more dangerous than ever was washed by a springtide. This man, — do not frown, I will say no slander of him, — but is he not, even in your own partial judgment, stern and overbearing? accustomed, as you say, to command; but, for that very reason, commanding where he has no right to do so, and leading whom it would most become him to follow? rushing on danger, rather for its own sake, than for any other object? And can you think of being yoked with a spirit so unsettled and stormy, whose life has hitherto been led in scenes of death and peril, and who, even while sitting by your side, cannot disguise his impatience again to engage in them? A lover, methinks, should love his mistress better than his own life; but yours, my dear Minna, loves her less than the pleasure of inflicting death on others.”
“And it is even for that I love him,” said Minna.