Harry Muir : $b A story of Scottish life, vol. 3 (of 3)Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
General
Harry Muir : $b A story of Scottish life, vol. 3 (of 3)
Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
Scotland -- Fiction
“The land could be sold to-morrow for ten thousand pounds, or more
than that--I speak hastily,” said Cuthbert. “It is burdened to the
amount of five thousand, but after paying that, there remains abundance
to satisfy your claim, and I can answer for the strictest honour
in your debtor’s dealing. Poor Harry! This Martha--this sister of
his--clings to his every project. You could not see it without being
deeply moved, uncle. She has a strong, ambitious, passionate mind, and
his was a weak and yielding one; yet she clutches at every one of the
rapidly changing projects which he took up and then threw down as toys
of a day, and confers upon them a sort of everlastingness through the
might of will and resolution with which she adopts them. Uncle, you
must help Martha.”
Mr. Buchanan sat by him in silence, and listened, hastily fastening
and unfastening the one particular button which admitted his hand to
his warm breast-pocket, competent and comfortable. The good man was
naturally benevolent to a high degree--a propensity which Cuthbert,
who was his uncle’s favourite and chosen counsellor, encouraged by all
means in his power; but the rules of business was at Mr. Buchanan’s
finger ends, and their restraint came up upon him like a natural
impulse, so that he actually did not know, good simple man, that his
natural will was always towards the charity, and that this restraint
was something artificial which interposed between him and his natural
will.
“Perfectly unbusiness-like, Cuthbert,” said the merchant. “I wonder
greatly why you should speak of such a thing to _me_. A man accustomed
to regular business transactions has no tolerance for such affairs as
this--they are out of his way. Your landed gentry or rich people, who
don’t know anything about where their money comes from, or how it is
made--they are the people to carry such a story to.”
Very true in the abstract, good Mr. Buchanan--nevertheless, your nephew
Cuthbert knows, as well as if you had told him, that your purse begins
to burn your breast-pocket, and leaps and struggles there, desiring to
get the worst over, and be peacefully at rest again. Cuthbert knows it;
and Cuthbert takes advantage of his knowledge.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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