Inchbracken: The Story of a Fama ClamosaCleland, Robert
General
Inchbracken: The Story of a Fama Clamosa
Cleland, Robert
Historical fiction; Scotland -- Fiction
The Laird returned into the room with Roderick, and it was well that
he did so. But for his sturdy arm the young man would have fallen;
and, as it was, he dropped breathless and trembling into the nearest
chair. Weakened by his illness, the agitation had nearly overcome him,
and, but for the salutary presence of the Laird, might have found some
hysterical mode of relief. As it was, the pain in his side had
returned with renewed violence, he gasped for breath, and, with the
Laird's assistance, had to throw himself on his bed.
He, who believed he had been striving after so lofty an ideal, who had
been leading, and as he fondly hoped with some success, the majority
of his flock towards the same high standard, to be thus cast down!
What must his walk and conversation really have been, notwithstanding
his approving conscience, that he should so lightly have been
suspected of such abominable hypocrisy and vulgar debauchery? He
groaned as he thought of it; his temples burned, and, despite the
presence of a stranger, the tears at last oozed abundantly through the
fingers which he had pressed against his eyes.
The Laird flourished his large silk handkerchief, bepatterned over in
yellow and crimson like a small carpet. He coughed, he blew his nose
like a trumpet, and then he crumpled up the handkerchief and mopped
his eyelids in a very suspicious way. 'Hoots! Mr. Roderick!' he said,
while he laid his enormous paw as tenderly on the young man's forehead
as Mary might have done. 'Never mind, man! A set of born idiots! But
you answered them well, lad, and nobody with any sense that knows you
will care a snap o' the thumb for all their havers. Keep up your
heart, man! There's nobody whose good opinion is worth the having will
think a bit the worse of you. Just leave them alone, and if their
whole case does na fall to pieces like a girdless tub, my name's no
James Sangster! A set o' senseless pridefu' bodies! that dinna ken
which end o' them's uppermost for pure conceit!'
Mary came in presently, and behind her was Captain Kenneth. He had
ridden over to enquire for his old friend Roderick (that was how he
worded it), and arrived just after the 'deputation' had been admitted
to the study. Mary received him, and led him for the present 'ben the
house,' where Eppie, and the baby, and herself were holding a little
conclave of their own. The conference in the adjoining room naturally
furnished a subject of conversation. Mary was indignant and bitter,
but not very precise; and Kenneth imagined that Roderick had become
unhinged in his theology, and was being set up as a mark to sling at
by all the orthodox in the parish, and expressed himself more freely
than reverently on polemical hair-splitting, even girding somewhat at
the Headship, the pet doctrine of the Free Church, but here Eppie's
patience broke down.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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