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 >> CODE POWER: A TEEN PROGRAMMER’S GUIDE
Titles In This Series

GETTING TO KNOW Alice

GETTING TO KNOW Arduino
GETTING TO KNOW Hackety Hack
GETTING TO KNOW Lego Mindstorms
GETTING TO KNOW

the Raspberry Pi

GETTING TO KNOW
GETTING TO KNOW

GETTING TO KNOW Ruby

Python
GETTING TO KNOW Scratch

PAYMENT
ROSEN
Published in 2015 by The Rosen Publishing Group, Inc.
29 East 21st Street, New York, NY 10010

Copyright © 2015 by The Rosen Publishing Group, Inc.

First Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without
permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Payment, Simone, author.

Getting to know Python/Simone Payment.—First edition.
pages cm.—(Code power: a teen programmer’s guide)
Audience: Grades 5 to 8.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-1-4777-7717-6 (library bound)—ISBN 978-1-4777-7719-0
(pbk.)—ISBN 978-1-4777-7720-6 (6-pack)
1. Python (Computer program language)—Juvenile literature. 2. Computer
programming—Juvenile literature. I. Title.
QA76.73.P98P39 2015
005.13’3—dc23
2013046858

Manufactured in the United States of America

{CONTENTS
chapter 1
INTRODUCTION First Things First:
Computers and
Programming
4 8
chapter 2 chapter 3
Python: Why Use
The Basics Python?

18 25
chapter 4 chapter 5
A New Language How Does
Is Hatched Python Stack Up?

34 45
GLOSSARY 53

FOR MORE INFORMATION 55

FOR FURTHER READING 58

BIBLIOGRAPHY 60

INDEX 62

3
{INTROD
C omputer programs run cell phones, televisions,
cars, traffic signals, elevators, and kitchen appliances. And,
of course, they run computers. There are hundreds of thou-
sands of computer programs in use around the world and
many thousands of programmers writing them. Many of these
programmers use Python to write their programs. Python is
a simple programming language with many uses. Most pro-
grammers find it easy to learn and easy to use. This book
provides an overview of the many advantages of the Python
programming language.
Before deciding on a computer programming language to
learn, it might be logical to ask, “Why learn to write computer
programs?” One reason is that it can be a lot of fun. Programming
does take some practice. However, it is not just professional
computer programmers who write programs. Even beginners
can make a computer do something cool using just a few lines
of simple code. Once a programmer learns some general rules
and builds up some experience, programming becomes easier.
Then the fun can really begin. For example, even beginning

4
UCTION
INTRODUCTION

> > With a laptop and some programming skills,

anyone can design a website, create a game, or
build a phone app.

5
>> Getting to Know Python

programmers who are learning to program as a hobby can design

a game for their computer or smartphone, or write a program to
analyze baseball stats.
Learning to program is also practical: programmers can write
a program that makes a computer or other device do something
no one else has asked it to do. Programmers do not have to
be stuck only doing things with a computer that some other
programmer thought someone might want to do. This allows
a programmer to design something original and personalize a
program to suit his or her needs. A programmer could write a
computer program to create a database of DVDs or model cars,
for example. Or a programmer might design a website dedicated
to a favorite singer.
Another reason to learn computer programming is to under-
stand more about computers and how they “think.” Although
programming is based on rules, there is also a great deal of
creativity involved in thinking like a computer and solving prob-
lems. Computer programmers often take a complex goal and
break it down into smaller building blocks in order to reach that
objective. Breaking down the goal requires clear thinking and
good problem-solving skills.
Yet another reason learning to program is beneficial is that it
can help people get a job. Nearly every profession uses comput-
ers. Therefore, programmers are relied on to adapt programs to
a profession’s particular needs. Many companies are looking for
skilled, creative programmers who know how to write good code.
After deciding to learn to program, the next decision is
what programming language to learn. People choose to use
a particular programming language for many reasons. Some

6
 INTRODUCTION

reasons are personal. For example, some programmers might

want to learn a programming language quickly. Others might
want to be challenged by a more difficult language. Some
programmers choose a language based on what they want to
program. Some programming languages are designed for spe-
cific purposes, such as web programming. Others are more
flexible and have many uses.
Python is an excellent choice as a programmer’s first lan-
guage for many reasons. The main reasons are that Python is
easy to learn, is simple to use, and is a multipurpose language.
Python can be learned quickly, and there are plenty of books,
websites (including the official Python site at http://python.org,
which offers tutorials and modules, among other resources), and
other Python users that can help new programmers get started.

7
chapter First Things First:
1 Computers and
Programming

B efore learning about programming languages in gen-

eral, or Python specifically, it’s important to know a little about
computers and how they work.

The Basic Parts

Computers have both external and internal parts. External parts
are accessories such as a keyboard, mouse, and monitor (or
screen). Other external parts might include ports for power cords
or printer cords. Computers also have data ports for thumb drives
or other external storage devices.
Some of the external parts are known as “input” devices.
These allow a user to give information to a computer. An exam-
ple of an input device might be a mouse or keyboard. Other
devices are “output” devices. These accessories allow the com-
puter to provide information to the user. A screen or monitor is
an example of an output device.
Internal parts include a hard drive and a processor. The
hard drive is where data is stored. The computer has different
types of memory. Some “memories” are used by the computer

8
 First Things First: Computers and Programming

> > Cell phones, laptops, and other computers have

ports that allow users to plug in external devices
to extract or store data.

when it is running but disappear when the computer shuts

down. Other types of memories are stored in the hard drive.
These types of memories can be accessed again and again by
the processor.
The processor is the “brain” of the computer. It is usually
called a CPU, which stands for central processing unit. The CPU
stores and retrieves information from the memory in the hard
drive. It also does math. The CPU’s other job is to carry out the
instructions given by a computer program.

9
>> Getting to Know Python

> > It’s not just computers that use binary code:
Braille and Morse code also use a binary (on/off)
system to convey information.

Although the CPU is known as the brain of the computer,

it isn’t necessarily smart. It is just a machine that responds to
what is known as binary code. “Binary” means on or off, and all
computer code is made up of strings of just two numbers: 1 and
0. To the computer, 1 means “on,” and 0 means “off.” The CPU
is made up of electrical circuits that are either on or off. The 1s
and 0s of computer code tell the circuits what to do—whether
to turn on or off.

10
 First Things First: Computers and Programming

>> The BASICs

Computer users were on their own in the early days of computers.
There were no word processing programs, no graphics programs, no
spreadsheets, and no web browsers. (In fact, the Internet did not yet
exist.) There were not many computers in existence. Those who had
access to them were usually scientists or researchers at universities
or large companies. These users had to write their own programs in
order for the computer to do any task. Many users programmed in
a language called BASIC, which stands for Beginner’s All-purpose
Symbolic Instruction Code. Mathematicians at Dartmouth College
created BASIC in 1964. Home computer users began using it in the
1970s. A modified form of BASIC is still in use today.

> > This UNIVAC 11 computer from 1962 was the first
commercial computer made in the United States. In
the background are rolls of magnetic tape on which
data was stored.

11
>> Getting to Know Python

Communicating with the

“Brain”
Humans obviously don’t communicate easily in 1s and 0s.
That’s why computer programs are needed. They “translate” our
human language into a language the computer can understand
with its 1/0, on/off brain. Therefore, computers need computer
programs in order to function and follow human commands.
Computer programs are a set of instructions to the computer.
These instructions, also called commands or statements, are
written line by line. For example, a simple command to a com-
puter looks like this:

print (“Hello, World!”)

This line of code tells the computer to print the words “Hello,
World!” on the screen.
The commands are strung together into a group. As a group,
these instructions are called a program. A single program, or a group
of programs working together, is also known as software. The com-
puter carries out each individual command in the program. Then it
moves on to the next instruction in the program. For example, a pro-
gram to make a computer do some simple math would look like this:

print “10 + 8 is”, 10 + 8

print “5 * 5 is”, 5 * 5

The computer will print the words and numbers that are in
between the quotation marks, perform the calculation, and then

12
 First Things First: Computers and Programming

move on to the next line and do the same steps in that line.
When the program runs, the screen would look like this:

10 + 8 is 18
5 * 5 is 25

Computer programmers write instructions to a computer in

a language the computer can understand. These programs can
“teach” the computer to do tasks that might be difficult or time
consuming for humans. For example, a program can instruct a
computer to analyze a series of millions of numbers. For a human,
that task could take days. It would also take a lot of brainpower.
For a computer, once it has its instructions, the task is simple.
The instructions within a computer program have to be
exactly right or the computer won’t do what it is being asked
to do. Details are very important. This is why programs can’t be
written in everyday human language (such as English). Human
language isn’t clear and specific enough for computers. For
example, in many languages, some words have multiple mean-
ings. Computers aren’t able to figure out which definition of the
word is meant. In addition, arranging the same words in a differ-
ent order can mean something completely different. This could
also confuse the computer.

A Little About Operating

Systems
An operating system (or “OS”) is a type of computer software.
Microsoft Windows, Linux, and OS X (Macintosh) are three major

13
>> Getting to Know Python

> > Just as there are several different operating

systems for computers, there are different operating
systems for smartphones, called mobile operating
systems (or “mobile OS”). This Apple iPhone runs on
iOS.

14
 First Things First: Computers and Programming

operating systems. Smartphones also have an operating system,

such as Android or iOS. An operating system is the only type
of computer software that can “talk” directly to the two types
of computer hardware: the processor and the hard drive. Other
computer programs must “ask” the OS to do things that involve
the processor or hard drive. This is so that programs don’t have
to be written in different ways for each type of computer or
smartphone.
Some current programming languages, such as Python, Java,
or Visual Basic, have an interface between the program and the
hardware to run the program. The interface is called a virtual
machine or interpreter. These are like translators that are go-
betweens for the program and the operating system. An advantage
of using an interpreter is that it is more secure. Another advan-
tage is that it makes programs more flexible because they can
run on a wide variety of machines. There are many interpret-
ers available for Python. Some examples are Jython (used with
Java), CPython (used with C), and IronPython (used with C#).
An interpreter or virtual machine also needs a shell that
allows a user to interact with it. The virtual machine gets com-
mands from the keyboard and follows the instructions. Then it
shows the results on screen. A fancier version of this is called an
integrated development environment (IDE). An IDE is a graphi-
cal user interface (GUI) that has windows and menus on-screen
just like a browser or software like Microsoft Word.

Why So Many Languages?

Humans communicate with each other in many different lan-
guages, such as English, Spanish, Chinese, Hindi, or Arabic.

15
>> Getting to Know Python

Humans can also communicate with computers in many dif-

ferent languages. Different programming languages have
developed for various reasons. Some were created to serve a
specific purpose. For example, the JavaScript programming
language came about to do Web programming. SQL was devel-
oped to program databases.
Other languages came about because a programmer was
unhappy with how an existing program worked. Python is such a
language. Its creator, Guido Van Rossum, was dissatisfied with
the language he was using to do his job. He decided he could
do better. Van Rossum developed Python in his spare time, over
many years. He got lots of input from early users of the program.
Python continues to change and grow with feedback from thou-
sands of present-day users.

When Programming Goes

Wrong: Bugs
Errors in a computer program are called bugs. There are three
types of bugs: syntax, runtime, and semantic. Syntax bugs
break the “rules” of the program. If there are syntax errors
in a program, the program will not run at all. Runtime errors
are less serious errors. A program with a runtime error might
begin running but stop when the program comes across the
problem. A semantic error will also allow the program to run.
However, the program won’t do what the programmer intended
it to do.
Looking for and fixing bugs is called debugging. Debugging is
an important part of programming. To debug, programmers must

16
 First Things First: Computers and Programming

>> The First Bug Was

Actually a Moth
On September 9, 1947, a moth was found to be the reason why Harvard
University’s Mark II computer had stopped working. Engineers had
used the term “bug” previously to describe problems with machinery.
The computer operators at Harvard were amused to find an actual bug
in their computer. They taped the moth into a logbook that they kept
to track problems with the Mark II computer. Underneath the bug
they wrote, “First actual case of bug being found.”

look at clues to figure out what went wrong. The programmer

comes up with an idea about the possible problem and tries to fix
the error. If the programmer’s guess was right, the program can
be fixed and will run. If the initial guess was wrong, the program-
mer must come up with new possibilities for what went wrong
and then make another attempt to fix the problem. This process
continues until the problem is solved.
Debugging takes some practice. There are tips and tech-
niques for debugging, but the process mostly just takes
experience and practice—and sometimes a lucky guess.
However, some programmers consider debugging part of the
fun of programming.

17
chapter
Python: The
2 Basics

W ith a little background about computers and program-

ming, it’s time to find out more about the Python programming
language.
.

So What Is Python?
Python is a general-purpose, high-level, interpreted language.
What all those terms mean might not be obvious to someone
who does not yet know how to program. However, broken down
into parts these terms become easier to understand.
“General purpose” simply means that Python can be used
for almost any type of programming task. Unlike languages that
were created to do only one or two specific jobs, Python can be
used for a wide range of programming work. It can be used for
web programming, game programming, and many other types of
tasks.
“High-level” languages are those programming languages
that don’t talk directly to the computer. C, C++, Perl, and
Java are other examples of high-level programming languages.
Python, like other high-level languages, is too complicated for

18
 Python: The Basics

> > Python is a useful language for game programming.

Entire games can be created in Python, or Python can
add features such as 3-D to existing game programs
written in other languages.

the computer to understand. Computers can only understand

low-level languages. Low-level languages are also called machine
languages or assembly languages. For a high-level language to
work on a computer, the computer must process the language
first. Only after processing the language can the computer run
the program. The drawback to this is that high-level languages
take a little longer to run. This is because the computer must go
through two steps—processing and running the program.
However, there are many advantages of high-level program-
ming languages. One is that programs written in high-level
languages are much easier for programmers to write. They are

19
>> Getting to Know Python

also shorter. Both of these things contribute to making it faster

for a programmer to write code in these languages. Because
they are shorter and simpler, usually there are fewer errors in
programs written in a high-level language. When there are mis-
takes in a program, it is usually easier to find them because the
code is short.
Yet another advantage of high-level languages is that they
are portable. This means they can run on any type of computer.
Low-level languages, on the other hand, are specific to a type of
computer. To run a program written in a low-level language on
another type of computer, a programmer would need to rewrite
or modify the program for the different machine.
Finally, Python is called an interpreted language because for
a program written in Python to “talk” in a low-level language, an
interpreter is needed. The interpreter reads the high-level lan-
guage (Python) and carries out its instructions.

>> Python Programmer

Profile: Tom Ryan
Tom Ryan is a senior technical director at Epsilon, a marketing services
company in Wakefield, Massachusetts. Ryan has been programming
for more than twenty-five years and first learned to program when he
was seventeen. His father worked for computer maker IBM and was
able to get the family an early IBM personal computer. Ryan first
used the BASIC programming language “because it was pretty easy
to learn.” Also, the computer game he wanted to play was written in
BASIC. Knowing BASIC allowed Ryan “to actually rewrite the code in

20
 Python: The Basics

the game” in his favor. When Ryan played, he “always won and when
[his] brother played the same game, he always lost.” Because Ryan’s
brother lost every time, it allowed him “to get more time on the PC.”
Continuing his interest in computers, Ryan got a B.A. in computer
science from the State University of New York at Potsdam and then an
MBA from Babson College. Over his career in computer programming,
Ryan has learned many programming languages, including BASIC,
PASCAL, C, COBOL, RGP, FORTRAN, IBM 360 Assembler, Intel x86
Assembler, Oracle PL/SQL, SQL Server Cursors, SAS, VB, C#, Perl,
Python, Java, JavaScript, and VBscript. He currently codes in Perl,
Python, VB, Java, and JavaScript.
Ryan first learned Python on the job. “The developer who had
originally written the code for many of [the company’s] clients left
the company about one year after I started.” So Ryan became the
programmer in charge of Python-based coding at Epsilon. To learn
Python, Ryan used “Internet searches, online books and websites,
physical books, and existing code within the company.” His method
for learning the language was partly based on learning from books
and other resources, and partly based on “experimentation and test-
ing.” With his “computer science/programming background,” Ryan
was “able to pick it up pretty quickly.” After he learned the basics of
Python, he developed some new applications in the language for other
uses at Epsilon.
Ryan currently uses Python for processing client files. Python is
used for formatting and cleaning up data files from clients and com-
piling client reports. Python also interacts with their operating system
(Windows) to generate reports for the programmers on system func-
tions. They also use Python to do file cleanup and maintenance on the
servers. Ryan and his coworkers use other programming languages as
well; most often they use Perl.
One of Python’s advantages is its “ability to pack a lot of function-
ality into the code,” Ryan reports. Its flexibility is also an advantage.
(continued on page 22)

21
>> Getting to Know Python

(continued from page 21)

Ryan says programmers “can do multiple functions with simple
expressions.” Some of Python’s requirements can be disadvantages,
however. For example, the use of indents to indicate blocks of code
makes Python easy to read. But “if the indentations don’t line up, the
code doesn’t work and can sometimes be a bear to debug.” Also, a
colon (“:”) is used after certain statements (if, for, while). Ryan says
he still gets “caught on missing the ‘:’ every once in a while.”
Ryan has some great advice for beginning programmers. He says
to “learn as much as you can and utilize the resources that exist
beyond what you have in front of you. There are numerous exam-
ples online of how to write something or perform a function. Utilize
user support groups and blogs.” He advises that programmers should
“keep in mind that there is usually more than one way to solve a prob-
lem when coding.” In fact, someone once told Ryan, “There’s only
been one line of code ever written. Everyone else has just taken it and
modified it to do what they needed it to do.” Another bit of advice is
that programmers should “always remember to account for the unex-
pected as that’s usually what causes the code to fail.” Perhaps most
important, Ryan reminds programmers to “enjoy what you do and do
what you enjoy.”

Python Tools
To run Python code, two things are needed: an editor and an
interpreter. An editor saves the code the programmer is currently
writing. There are a large number of editors that can be used by
Python programmers. Just a few of the many editors are code-
Editor, DreamPie, DrPython, and LeoEditor.
As discussed in the section about operating systems, an
interpreter allows users to interact directly with the computer

22
 Python: The Basics

> > Members of Monty Python’s Flying Circus (pictured

left to right) included John Cleese, Terry Gilliam,
Terry Jones, Graham Chapman, Michael Palin, and Eric
Idle. The British TV show ran from 1969 to 1974.

to test their code. An interpreter takes the commands the user

inputs into the keyboard and then follows the instructions given
in the program. The results of the program show up on-screen.
IDLE is an example of a Python IDE. (The name “IDLE” is also
a Python in-joke because Eric Idle was one of the members of
Monty Python’s Flying Circus, for which Python is named.) Other
examples of Python IDEs are Wing 101, Komodo, Spyder, and
MonkeyStudio.

23
>> Getting to Know Python

Modules are another type of tool. They are a way of organiz-

ing code. Some have specific functions. For example, PyGame
is a module programmers can use to write games. It is free and
runs on any operating system. A standard library is a collection
of modules available to programmers. One of Python’s strongest
points is that it has a large standard library. This means that
users do not have to start from scratch each time they begin a
new project. There may be modules available in the standard
library that can be reused for many purposes.

24
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
 “I met her on the sands,” said Anne, suppressing her agitation with an
effort; “and was very much struck by her look.”
“I dinna wonder at that—she never was just like ither folk; and since her
sister died—puir Kirstin!”
“Have they a story then?” said Anne; she was trembling with interest and
impatience—she could scarcely contain herself to ask the question.
“Ay, nae doubt, ye’ll be fond of stories, Miss Ross? the most of you
young ladies are.”
“I do feel very much interested in that singular melancholy woman,”
said Anne, tremulously.
Miss Crankie examined her face with an odd magpie-like curiosity. Anne
smiled in spite of herself. The strange little head nodded, and Miss Crankie
began:
“Ye see, Kirstin and me were at the schule thegither. Ye think Kirstin’s
younger-like than me? Ay, so she is. I was dux of the class and reading in
the Bible, when Kirstin began wi’ the question book; but we were at the
schule thegither for a’ that—there’s maybe six or seven years between us.
There were three of a family of them; their father had been a doctor—a
wild, reckless, dissipated man, like what ower mony were, and the family
was puir. I used to take them pieces when they were wee bairns—ye mind,
Tammie?”
“Ay,” said the doleful Tammie, “ye see Johann has a pleasure in minding
thae times, Miss Ross. It’s different wi’a puir frail widow woman like me;
the last year I was at the schule I was never dune wi’ the toothache.”
“Kirstin was the auldest,” said Miss Crankie, turning her back
impatiently upon her sister, “and Patrick was next to her, and there was as
bonnie a bit lassie as ever you saw, Miss Ross, that was the youngest of the
three—she wasna like the young lady that was here yesterday—she was
darker and mair womanlike; but eh! she was bonnie.
“They had nae mother—Kirstin was like the mother of them. We used to
laugh at her, when she was a wean of maybe twelve hersel, guiding the
other twa like as if they had been her ain bairns; she was aye quiet and
thoughtful. I was an uncommon grand hand at the bools mysel, and could
throw the ba’ as far as Robbie King the heckler—ye mind, Tammie?”
 “Ye threw’t on my head yince and broke the skin,” said the disconsolate
invalid. “Eh, Miss Ross, the sore headaches I was trysted wi’ when I was a
bairn!”
“I am saying there were three of them,” interrupted Miss Crankie. “They
had some bit annuity that keepit them scrimply, and by guid fortune the
father died when Kirstin was about seventeen; so how she guided the siller I
canna tell, or if there was a blessing on’t like the widow’s cruise that never
toomed; but she keepit hersel and her little sister decent, and sent Patrick to
the college wi’ the rest. They had a cottage, and a guid big garden—she
used to be aye working in the garden hersel. I believe they lived on greens
and taties a’ the week, and never had fleshmeat in the house but on the
Sabbath-day, when Patrick was at hame. Mind, I’m only saying I think that,
for they were aye decently put on, and made a puir mouth to nobody.
“Patrick was serving his time to be a doctor. He was dune wi’ his studies,
and was biding at hame for a rest, when a young gentleman that was heir of
an auld property, on the ither side of Aberford, came into his fortune. Ye’ll
maybe have heard of him, Miss Ross—the poor, misguided, unhappy young
lad—they ca’ed him Mr. Rutherford, of Redheugh.”
Anne could hardly restrain an involuntary start; she answered, as calmly
as she could:
“I have heard the name.”
“Ay, nae doubt—mony mair folk have heard his name than had ony
occasion; it was his ain fault to be sure, but he was just a’ the mair to be
pitied for that.”
“I was aye chief wi’ Kirstin. I liked her—maybe she didna dislike me.
I’ve weeded her flowers to her mony a time. I was throughither whiles in
my young days, Miss Ross—no very, but gey. I yince loupit from the top of
our garden wa’ wi’ her wee sister in my arms—I had near gotten a lilt with
it, for I twisted my ancle—and that would have been a misfortune.”
“Ye trampit on my fit—it’s never been right since,” said Mrs. Yammer;
“ye never were out o’ mischief.”
Miss Crankie gave a sidelong look up to Anne, with her odd, merry, little
black eyes, and laughed; she took the accusation as a compliment.
“Weel, but that’s no my story. Ye see, Miss Ross, they were never like
ither folk—there was aye something about them—I canna describe it. Mrs.
Clippie, the Captain’s wife, was genteeler than them—to tell the truth we
were genteeler oursels; but for a’ that, there was just something—I never
could ken what it was. They keepit no company, but a’ the lads were daft
about Marion.”
“What Marion?” exclaimed Anne, eagerly.
“Oh, just Marion Lillie, Kirstin’s sister.”
“Marion Lillie!” a wild thrill of hope, and fear, and wonder shot through
Anne’s frame. What could that strange conjunction of names portend?
“So ye see, the young gentleman, Mr. Rutherford, of Redheugh, came to
the countryside—and Kirstin’s house is near his gate, and so he behoved to
see the bonnie face at the window. It wasna like he could miss it.
“Before lang he had gotten very chief wi’ the haill family—they didna
tak it as ony honor—they were just as if they thought themsels the young
Laird’s equals; but they were awfu’ fond o’ him. I have seen Patrick’s face
flush like fire if onybody minted a slighting word of young Redheugh—no
that it was often done, for there was never a man better likit—and Kirstin
herself treated him like anither brother, and for Marion—weel, she was but
a lassie; but the Laird and her were just like the light of ilk ither’s e’en.
“Ye may think, Miss Ross, there was plenty said about it in the
countryside. Rich folk said it wasna right, and puir folk said it wasna right;
but Kirstin guarded her young sister so, that naebody daured mint a word of
ill—it was only spite and ill-nature.
“Maybe, Miss Ross, your maid will carry ben the tray? or I can cry upon
Sarah.”
Miss Crankie lifted up her voice and called at its loudest pitch for her
handmaiden. Sarah entered, and cleared away the tea equipage with Jacky’s
tardy assistance. Jacky was by no means pleased to find her attendance no
longer necessary; she had managed to hear a good deal of the story, and
thirsted anxiously for its conclusion.
“Bring me my basket, Sarah,” said Miss Crankie. “Miss Ross, ye’ll
excuse me if I take my work. I have no will to be idle—it’s an even down
punishment to me.”
Mrs. Yammer crossed her hands languidly upon her lap and sighed.
Sarah returned, bearing a capacious work-basket, from which Miss Crankie
took a white cotton stocking, in which were various promising holes. “If ye
want onything of this kind done, I’ll be very glad, Miss Ross—I’m a special
guid hand.”
Anne thanked her.
“But your’e wearying for the end of my story, I see,” said Miss Crankie,
“just let me get my needle threaded.”
The needle was threaded—the stocking was drawn upon Miss Crankie’s
arm—the black turban nodded in good-humored indication of having settled
itself comfortably—and the story was resumed.
“About that time, when young Redheugh was at his very chiefest with
the Lillies, and folk said he was going to be married upon Marion, a
gentleman came to stay here awhile for the benefit of the sea-side. His wife
was a bit delicate young thing—they said he wasna ower guid to her. They
lived on the other side of the town, and their name was Aytoun. Mr.
Rutherford and him had gotten acquaint in Edinburgh, and for awhile they
were great cronies. Patrick Lillie could not bide this stranger gentleman—
what for I dinna ken—but folk said Redheugh and him had some bit tifft of
an outcast about him; onyway it made no difference in their friendship.
“But one July morning, Miss Ross, we were a’ startled maist out of our
senses: there was an awfu’ story got up of a dead man being found by the
waterside, just on the skirts of yon muckle wood that runs down close by
the sea, and who should this be but the stranger gentleman, Mr. Aytoun.
Somebody had shot him like a coward frae behind, and when they looked
among the bushes, lo! there was a gun lying, and whose name do you think
was on’t? just Mr. Rutherford’s, of Redheugh.
“The haill country was in a fever—the like of that ye ken was a disgrace
to us a’—and it was in everybody’s mouth. The first body I thought of was
Marion Lillie; the day before she had gone into Edinburgh—folk said it was
to get her wedding dress. Eh, puir lassie! was that no a awfu’ story for a
bride to hear?
“They gaed to apprehend Mr. Rutherford the same night, but he had fled,
and was away before they got to Redheugh, no man kent whither. I met
Christian that day; though I ca’ her Kirstin speaking to you, I say aye Miss
Lillie to herself. In the one day that the murder was done she had gotten yon
look. It feared me when I saw it. Her e’en were travelling far away, as if she
could see to ony distance, but had nae vision for things at hand. ‘Eh, Miss
Lillie!’ I said to her, ‘isna this an awfu’ thing; wha could have thought it of
young Redheugh!’
“ ‘I will never believe it!’ she said, in a wild away: ‘he is not guilty. I
will never believe it!’
“ ‘And Miss Marion,’ said I, ‘bless me, it will break the puir lassie’s
heart.’
“ ‘I will not let her come home,’ said Kirstin, ‘I will send her to the west
country to my father’s friends. She must not come home.’
“She would never say before that there was onything between her sister
and young Redheugh—now she never tried to deny it, her heart was ower
full.
“Weel, Miss Ross, the miserable young man had gotten away in a
foreign ship, and they hadna been at sea aboon a week when she foundered,
and a’ hands were lost; and there was an end of his crime and his
punishment—they were baith buried in the sea.
“But no the misery of them—the puir lassie was taen away somegate
about Glasgow, but the news came to her ears there. What could ye think,
Miss Ross? It wasna like a common death—there was nae hope in it, either
for this world or the next. It crushed her, as the hail crushes flowers. Within
a fortnight after that, bonnie Marion Lillie was in her grave.
“Patrick was taen ill of a fever—they say the angry words he had spoken
about Mr. Aytoun to young Redheugh lay heavy on his mind. Kirstin had to
nurse him night and day—she couldna even leave him to see Marion buried.
She died, and was laid in her grave among strangers. When Patrick was able
to leave his bed, the two went west to see the grave—that was all that
remained of their bonnie sister Marion.
“Since that time they have lived sorrowful and solitary, keeping
company with naebody; the sore stroke has crushed them baith. Patrick
never sought his doctor’s licence, nor tried to get a single patient. He has
been ever since a broken-down, weak, invalid man.”
“He had a frail constitution like my ain,” said Mrs. Yammer, “and
Johann maun aye have some great misfortune to account for it, when it’s
naething but weakness. Eh, Miss Ross, if ye only kent the trouble it is to a
puir frail creature like me to make any exertion.”
Miss Crankie twisted her strange little figure impatiently:
 “When auld Schole died, Christian and Patrick flitted into the house, and
let their ain; they couldna bide it after that. It’s a bit bonnie wee place,
maybe twa miles on the ither side of Aberford; and Redheugh is maybe a
quarter o’ a mile nearer. They say the King gets the lands when ony man
does a crime like that; it’s what they ca’ confiscate. Redheugh has been
confiscate before now. The auld Rutherfords were Covenanters langsyne,
and lost their inheritance some time in the eight-and-twenty years—but that
was in a guid cause. Ony way, this Mr. Rutherford was the last of his name:
if there had been ony heir, I kenna whether he could have gotten Redheugh
or no, but it’s a mercy the race is clean gane, and there is none living to bear
the reproach.”
Anne’s heart beat loudly against her breast; she remained to represent the
fallen house of Rutherford—she was the heir—the reproach: and the
suffering must be her’s as well as Norman’s.
“And was there no doubt?” she asked, “was no one else suspected?”
“Bless me, no; wha in our quiet countryside would lift a hand against a
man’s life? If he hadna done it, he wadna have fled away; and if Kirstin had
ony certainty that he hadna done it, do you think she could have bidden
still? Na, I ken Kirstin Lillie better. Patrick was aye a weakly lad, ower
gentle for the like of that, but Kirstin could never have sitten down in
idleset if there had been ony hope. Mony a heart was wae for him at the
time, but the story has blawn by now; few folk think of it. I wadna have
tell’t ye, Miss Ross, if ye hadna noticed Kirstin first yoursel—but ye’ll no
mention it again.”
“I certainly will not do anything that could hurt Miss Lillie’s feelings,”
said Anne.
“Ye see, she’s half housekeeper of Schole the now; she pays nae rent, or
if there’s ony, it’s just for the name, and the house is sae dismal-looking that
naebody seeks to see’t. You would think they couldna thole a living face
dear them; they gang to the Kirk regular, and whiles ye will see them
wandering on the sands; but for visiting onybody, or having onybody
visiting them, ye might as weel think of the spirits in heaven having
commune with us that are on the earth.”
“And that minds me,” said Mrs. Yammer, breaking in with a long loud
sigh, which the impatient Miss Crankie knew by dire experience was the
prelude to a doleful story, “of the awfu’ fright I got after my man John
Yammer was laid in his grave, that brought on my palpitation. Ye see, Miss
Ross, I was sitting my lane, yae eerie night about Martinmas, in my wee
parlor that looks out on the green; and Johann, she was away at Aberford,
laying in some saut meat for the winter—wasna it saut meat, Johann?”
“Never you mind, Tammie, my woman,” said Johann, persuasively.
“We’re dune wi’ saut meat for this year.”
“Ay, but it was just to let Miss Ross see the danger of ower muckle
thought, and how it brought on my palpitation. Eh woman, Johann, if ye
only kent how my puir heart beats whiles, louping in my breast like a living
creature!”
And the whole story was inflicted upon Anne—of how Mrs. Yammer, on
the aforesaid dreary Martinmas night, fancied she saw the shadow of the
umquhile John, gloomily lowering on her parlor wall; of how her heart
“played thud and cracked, like as it wad burst,” as the shadowy head
nodded solemnly, darkening the whole apartment; of how at last Johann
returned, and with profane laughter, discovered the ghost to be the shadow
of a branch of the old elm without, some bare twigs upon the extremity of
which were fashioned into the likeness of an exceeding retrousee nose, “the
very marrow” of that prominent feature in the face of the late lamented
John; of which discovery his mournful relic was but half convinced, and her
heart had palpitated since, “sometimes less, and sometimes mair, but I’ve
never been quit o’t for a week at a time.”
The infliction terminated at last, Miss Crankie carried her sister off when
the gloaming began to darken, having sufficient discernment to perceive
that Anne’s patience had been enough tried for a beginning.
Anne’s thoughts were in a maze. She sat down by the window in the soft
gloom of the spring night, and looked towards the house, where beat
another true and faithful heart which had wept and yearned over Norman—
Marion—Marion—was she living or dead? could this Christian Lillie be
aware of Norman’s existence, and of his innocence? There could not be two
betrothed Marions. In the latter part of the story, the countryside must have
been deceived. Who so likely to accompany the exile as the sister of this
brave woman, who had done the housemother’s self-denying duty in her
earliest youth? Anne’s pulse beat quick, she became greatly agitated; was
there then a tie of near connexion between herself and this stranger, whose
path she had again crossed? Was Norman’s wife Christian’s sister? had they
an equal stake in the return of the exile?
She could not sit still—cold dew was bursting upon her forehead; she
walked from window to window in feverish excitement. Could she dare to
ask?—could she venture to make herself known? Alas, she was still no whit
advanced in her search for proof of Norman’s innocence! If Christian Lillie
had possessed any clue, she must, it was certain, have used it before now;
and until some advance had been made, these two strangers in their singular
kindred would not dare to whisper to one another that Norman lived.
Anne threw herself upon her chair again. And Lilie—who was Lilie?
Why was this stranger child brought—of all localities in the world—to the
neighbourhood of Merkland? Could it be? could it be? her heart grew sick
with feverish hope and anxiety; her mind continued to hover about, and
dwell upon this mystery; but she almost forcibly restrained herself from
articulate thought upon it—she could not venture yet to entertain the hope.
And Norman! Esther Fleming’s story had brought him out clear before
her, in the gay light of his generous boyhood.—Graver and more deeply
affecting was this. Who might venture to compute the untold agonies of that
terrible time of parting—the nervous compulsory strength of the girl-heart
that went with him—the stern patience of the maturer one, who above by
the sick-bed at home! Grief that must have remained with all its burning
sense of wrong, and heavy endurance of an undeserved curse, since ever
little Alice Aytoun opened her blue eyes to the light—a lifetime of pain, and
fear, and sorrow—too dreadful to look back upon!
And Anne’s heart sank when she looked forward—living here, in the
immediate spot where the deed was done, with all facility for collecting
favorable evidence, and with better knowledge, and a more immediate
certainty of Norman’s innocence than even Anne herself could have—why
had the brother and sister done nothing to remove this stain? She could only
account for it by supposing them paralysed with fear—terrified to risk the
present security of those so dear to them, for any uncertainty even of
complete acquittal—and afraid of making any exertion, lest the eyes of
curiosity should be turned upon them.
The Forth lay vast in silvery silence, breathing long sighs along its
sands. Opposite swelling soft and full, in the spiritual dimness of the spring
night, rose the fair lands of Fife. Still and solemn in its saintly evening rest,
lay the beautiful earth everywhere. Only awake and watching, under dusky
roofs, and in dim chambers, were the hoping, toiling, wrestling souls of
men, nobler and of mightier destiny, than even the beautiful earth.
The next morning, when she entered the sunny little parlor, Anne found
Jacky rearranging, according to her own ideas of elegance, the breakfast
equipage, which Miss Crankie’s energetic little servant had already placed
upon the table. Anne smiled, and felt almost uncomfortable, as she observed
the solitary cup and saucer on the table—the single plate—the minute
teapot.—After all, this living alone, had something very strange in it.
Jacky seemed to think so too: she filled out Anne’s cup of tea, and
lingered about the back of her chair.
“If ye please, Miss Anne—”
“Well, Jacky?”
“If ye please,” said Jacky, hesitating, “do ye ken wha little Miss Lilie
is?”
Anne started and turned round in alarm—was this strange, dark maid of
her’s really an elfin, after all?
“No, Jacky,” she said. “Why do you ask?”
“Because—it’s no forwardness, Miss Anne,” murmured Jacky, hanging
down her head.
“I know that, Jacky—because what?”
“Because, Miss Anne,” said Jacky, emboldened, “I saw a lady down on
the sands. She was standing close by the bushes at yon dark house, and her
e’en were travelling ower the water, and her face was white—I will aye
mind it—and—”
“And what?”
“It was her that brought little Lilie to the Mill. I saw her once by
Oranside at night; and she was on our side of the water; and she was
looking across at Merkland.”
“Was Lilie with her then, Jacky?”
“No, Miss Anne; but I saw her after, leading Lilie by the hand, and then
she was on the Merkland side, where Esther Fleming lives; and she was
walking about, canny and soft, as if she wanted to see in.”
“And are you sure it is the same lady, Jacky?” said Anne.
 “I ken, Miss Anne,” said Jacky, eagerly; “because there’s no twa faces
like yon in a’ the world; and, Miss Anne, do ye mind Lilie’s e’en?”
“Yes, Jacky.”
Anne did recollect them—and how dark and full their liquid depths
were!
“Because Lilie’s e’en are the very same—only they’re no sae woeful—
and I kent the lady would be some friend, but Mrs. Melder said it couldna
be her mother.”
Anne’s heart swelled full. Could this little child be as near of kindred to
herself as to Christian Lillie? Her mind was overflowing with this. She
forgot that Jacky lingered.
“And, if ye please, Miss Anne—”
Anne again turned round to listen.
“She was looking away ower the water, and leaning on the hedge—
maybe she lives yonder—and Miss Anne—”
“What is it, Jacky?”
Jacky drew near and spoke very low:
“Do you mind the sang, Miss Anne, that Miss Alice sang on the New-
year’s night, when Mr. Archibald came home to the Tower?”
Anne started.
“The lady was saying it to hersel very low—the way Lilie sings her
strange music.”
“What did she say, Jacky?”
“If ye please, Miss Anne, it was a short verse—it was about seeing the
stars rise upon the Oran. I can say’t a’.” And Jacky hung back, and blushed
and hesitated.
The connexion became clearer by every word. “The student lad” who
wrote this ballad—could it be Patrick Lillie?
“Was it last night you heard this, Jacky?”
“No, Miss Anne, it was this morning very early. I wanted to see the sea,”
said Jacky, bashfully, “and I saw the sun rise. But I think the lady wasna
heeding for the sea. She wasna there at a’. She was in her ain spirit.”
“And you are sure you are not mistaken, Jacky?” said Anne.
 “Miss Anne!” exclaimed Jacky, “ye would ken yourself, if you saw her.
Its just Lilie’s e’en—only they are far, far deeper and sadder, and aye
searching and travelling, as if something was lost that they bid to find, and
were seeking for night and day.”
“That they bid to find!” The words roused Anne. “Did you mention this
to any one?” she asked.
Jacky looked injured—an imputation on her honor she could not bear.
“I never tell things, Miss Anne. I’m no a talepyet.”
“Well, Jacky, remember that I trust you. I have heard that this lady has
had great sorrow; and she has some good reason, no doubt, for not keeping
Lilie beside her. Mind, you must never mention this to any one—not to
Bessie—not even to your mother, when we return. No one knows it, but you
and me. I am sure I can trust you, Jacky.”
Jacky gave a faithful promise, and went away with secret and proud
dignity. She also had entered upon the search—she had begun to co-operate
with Anne.
 CHAPTER XXIII.
ANNE had fairly started upon her voyage of discovery. The beginning of
it cost her many thoughts. She had half advanced to various peasant wives,
whom she saw at cottage doors, screaming to unruly children, or out upon
the universal “green,” superintending their little bleaching—and had as
often shrunk back, in painful timidity, which she blamed herself greatly for,
but could not manage to overcome. It was quite different among the well-
known cottages of Strathoran, though even with them, Anne would have felt
visits of condescension or patronage unspeakably awkward and painful.
Now this constitutional shyness must be overcome. Walking along the high
road, a considerable way beyond the village of Aberford, she suddenly
came upon a desolate mansion-house. The broken gate hung by the merest
tag of hinge; the stone pillars were defaced and broken. What had formerly
been ornamental grounds before the house, were a jungle of long grass, and
uncouth brushwood. Bushes grown into unseemly straggling trees, beneath
the shadow of which, thistles and nettles luxuriated, and plumes of unshorn
grass waved rank and long, as if in the very triumph of neglect. The house-
door hung as insecurely as the gate—the steps were mossy and cracked—
the windows entirely shattered, and in some cases the very frames of them
broken. Behind, the gardens lay in a like state of desolation. Here and there
a cultivated flower, which had been hardy enough to cling to its native soil,
marked among wild blossoms, and grass, and weeds, a place where care and
culture had once been. Upon a mossed and uneven wall some fruit-trees
clung, rich with blossoms: it had been an orchard once. In the midst of
another waste and desolate division stood the broken pedestal of a sun-dial;
a sloping wilderness ascended from it to the low windows of what seemed
once to have been a drawing-room. A spell of neglect was over it all, less
terrific than that still horror which a poet of our own time has thrown over
his haunted house, but yet in the gay wealth and hopefulness of spring,
striking chill and drearily upon the observer’s eye. Anne examined it with
curious interest; she could suspect what house it was.
A little further on she came upon a cottage of better size and appearance
than most, with a well-filled little garden before its door, and knots of old
trees about it. It was the house of a “grieve,” or farm overseer, a rising man
in his humble circle, whose wife aimed at being genteel. She stood in the
door, basking in the sun, with her youngest baby in her arms; the good
woman had a multitude of babies; the latest dethroned one was tumbling
about at her feet. Anne bent over the little gate to ask the name of the
forlorn and desolate house she had just past.
“Oh, that’s Redheugh,” said Mrs. Brock, the grieve’s wife.
Anne lingered, and held out her hand to the hardy little urchin
scrambling in the garden. Mrs. Brock looked as if she would quite like to
enter into conversation:
“Be quiet, Geordie; ye’ll dirty the lady’s gloves.”
“No, no,” said Anne, taking the small brown hand into her own. “I am
very fond of children, and this is a fine, sturdy little fellow.”
“Ye’ll be a stranger, I’m thinking?” said Mrs. Brock. “There’s few folk
in our parish that dinna ken Redheugh.”
“Yes,” said Anne. “I am quite a stranger; what is the reason it lies so
deserted and desolate?”
“Ye’ll be come to the sea-side?” pursued Mrs. Brock; “it’s no often we
have folk out frae Edinburgh sae early in the year. Is’t no unco cauld for
bathing?”
“I should think it was,” said Anne smiling, “but I have never, bathed
yet.”
“It’ll be just for the sea air?” continued Mrs. Brock. “Are ye bideing far
frae here, Mem, if yin may ask?”
“I am living a good way on the other side of Aberford,” said Anne.
“Oh, and ye have had a lang walk, and it’s a warm day. Get out of the
road, Geordie; will ye no come in and sit down? ye’ll be the better for the
rest?”
Mrs. Brock, as we have before said, had an ambition to be genteel. Now
Anne Ross with her very plain dress, and quite simple manners, was
eminently ladylike, and might be a desirable acquaintance. Anne accepted
the invitation, and setting the strong little urchin, whom his mother knocked
about with so little delicacy, on his feet, she led him in with her.
Mrs. Brock’s parlor was a temple sacred to company, and holidays. Its
burnished grate, and narrow mantlepiece, elaborately ornamented with
foreign shells; brilliant peacock feathers waved gracefully over the gilded
frame of the little square mirror; the carpet was resplendent in all the colors
of the rainbow. There were sturdy mahogany chairs, and a capacious
haircloth sofa—the two ends of a dining-table stood in the middle of the
room, elaborated into the brightest polish—the center piece was placed
against the wall, and decorated with a case of stuffed birds. Mrs. Brock
paused at the door, and contemplated it all with infinite complacency. It was
something to have so grand a place to exhibit to a stranger.
“Take a seat on the sofa, Mem; ye’ll be wearied wi’ your lang walk.
Geordie, ye little sinner, wad ye put your dirty shoon on the guid carpet?
Get away wi’ ye.”
Mrs. Brock bundled the little fellow unceremoniously out, and seated
herself opposite her guest.
“You have a fine view,” said Anne.
“Is’t no beautiful? They tell me there’s no a grander sight in the world
than just the Firth and Fife. Yonder’s the Lomonds, ye ken, and yon muckle
hill, even over the water, that’s Largo Law. My mother was a Fife woman—
I have lived at Colinsbrugh mysel; and we can see baith Inchkeith and the
May in a clear day, no to speak o’ the Bass. We’re uncommonly well situate
here; it’s a fine house altogether.”
“It seems so, indeed,” said Anne.
“Ye see the only ill thing about it is, that it’s no our ain.—George was
uncommon keen to have had the house the bairns were a’ born in. He’s an
awfu’ man for his bairns.”
“Very natural,” said Anne.
“Oh, ay, nae doubt it’s natural, but it’s no ilka body that has the thought;
he wad have gien twa hunder pounds for the house; twa clear hunder—it’s
no worth that siller, ye ken, but it’s just because we’ve been in’t sae lang.
But Miss Lillie wadna hear o’t; it’s no every day she could get an offer like
that, and they canna be sae weel off as to throw away twa hunder pounds,
ane would think.”
“Is this Miss Lillie’s house?” said Anne.
“Ay—ye’ll ken Miss Lillie it’s like?”
“No,” said Anne, “I do not know her, but I have heard her name.”
“There’s bits of conveniences a’ through it,” said Mrs. Brock, “that had
been putten up when they were bideing here themsels; and the garden
behint. Miss Lillie beggit George to keep the flowers right, and he takes
uncommon pains with them. He’s a guid-hearted man, our George; ye’ll no
often meet wi’ the like of him.”
“And that house of Redheugh,” said Anne; “why is it so neglected and
desolate?”
“Eh, bless me!” said Mrs. Brock, “have ye no heard the story?”
“What story?” said Anne.
“Eh, woman!” exclaimed the grieve’s wife, forgetting her good manners
in astonishment. “Ye maun have been awfu’ short time hereabout, if ye
havena heard the story of the Laird o’ Redheugh.”
“I only arrived yesterday,” said Anne.
“Weel, it’s no ill to tell. The young gentleman that aught it killed a man
and was drowned himsel when he was trying to escape: it’s just as like the
Book o’ Jonah as anything out o’ the Bible could be. There was a great
storm, and the ship he was in sank; he couldna carry the guilt of the pluid
over the sea. They say murder wouldna hide if ye could put a’ the tokens o’t
beneath North Berwick Law. It made an awfu’ noise in the countryside at
the time, but it’s no muckle thought o’ now, only a’body kens what gars the
house lie desolate. Folk say ye may see the gentleman that was killed, and
Redheugh himsel in his dreeping claes, like as if he was new come up from
the bottom of the sea, fighting and striving in the auld avenue—aye at
midnight o’ the night it was done—but ye’ll no believe the like o’ that?”
“No,” said Anne vacantly; she did not know what she answered.
“Weel, I never saw onything myself—but they say the spirit’s ill to
pacify, that’s met wi’ a violent death—and I wad just be as weel pleased no
to put myself in the way. I have aye an eerie feeling when I pass the gate at
night. After a’ ye ken, there’s naething certain about it in Scripture—maybe
the dead can come back, maybe they canna—ane disna ken. I think it’s aye
best to keep out of the gait.”
“It is, no doubt, the most prudent way,” said Anne, smiling.
“Ye wad, maybe, like to see the garden, Miss—”
Mrs. Brock was mightily anxious to know who her visitor was.
“Ross,” said Anne.
“Weel, Miss Ross, I am sure ye’ll be pleased wi’ the garden—will ye
come this way?”
 Anne followed. The garden was in trim order—well kept and gracefully
arranged. Spring flowers, with their delicate hopeful fragrance and pale
hues, were scattered through the borders. The blossom on the lilac bushes
was already budded, and the hawthorn had here and there unfolded its first
flowers.
“But the simmer-house, Miss Ross,” said Mrs. Brock.
The summer-house was not one of the ordinary tea-garden abominations.
It was a knoll of soft turf, the summit of which had been formed into a seat,
with a narrow space of level greensward for its footstool. Over it was a light
and graceful canopy, with flowering plants more delicate and rare, than are
generally seen in cottage gardens, clustering thickly over it, while the
foliage of some old trees, growing at the foot of the hillock, made a rich
background. From its elevated seat, you could see the slopes of Fife lying
fair below the sun, and the gallant Forth between.—Anne stood and gazed
round her in silence. She could see the dark trees, and high roof of
Redheugh at her other hand; how often might Norman, in his happy years
long ago, have stood upon this spot? Yet here it shone in its fresh life and
beauty, when all that remained of him, was dishonor and desolation!
But there was in this a solemn, silent hope which struck Anne to the
heart. Christian Lillie had entreated, as her tenant said, that these flowers
should be carefully tended. Christian Lillie would not part with the house.
Was she not looking forward, then, to some future vindication—to some
home-coming of chastened joyfulness—to some final light, shedding the
radiance of peace upon her evening time?
Anne had to sit down in Mrs. Brock’s parlor again, and suffer herself to
be refreshed with a glass of gooseberry wine, not quite so delectable as Mrs.
Primrose’s immortal preparation, before she was permitted to depart. Mrs.
Brock had another decanter upon her table, filled with a diabolical
compound, strongly medicinal in taste and odor, which she called ginger
wine, and which Anne prudently eschewed—and a plate of rich “short-
bread,” at which little Geordie, tumbling on the mat at the door, cast
longing loving looks. Mrs. Brock hoped Miss Ross would come to see her
again.
“It’s just a nice walk. Ye maun come and tak’ a cup o’ tea when George
is in himsel. He’s an uncommon weel-learned man, our George—he could
tell ye a’ the stories o’ the countryside.”
 Anne had to make a half promise that she would return to avail herself of
the stores of George Brock’s information, before his admiring wife released
her.
She had overcome her repugnance a little—it was a tolerable beginning
so far as that went—but how dark, how hopeless seemed the prospect!
There was no doubt in that confident expression—no benevolent hope that
Norman might be guiltless! She had been told so long before, and had come
to Aberford, in the face of that. Yet the repetition of it by so many
indifferent strangers discouraged her sadly—her great expectation
collapsed. Only a steady conviction in her brother’s innocence, a solemn
hope of vindication to him, living or dead, upheld her in her further way.
In the evening she wandered out upon the sands. It was a still night,
wrapped in the gray folds of a mistier gloaming, than she had before seen
sinking over the brilliant Firth. Anne hovered about the enclosure of Schole.
The dreary house had a magnetic attraction for her. She stood by the low
gate, close to the water, and looked in. The high foliage of the hedge hid her
—gate itself was the only loophole in the thick fence, which surrounded the
house on all sides. There was light in the low projecting window, which
dimly revealed a gloomy room, furnished with book shelves. At a sort of
study table, placed in the recess of the window, there sat a man bending
over a book. His face was illuminated by the candle beside him. A pale,
delicate face it was, telling of a mind nervously susceptible, a spirit
answering to every touch, with emotion so intense and fine, as to make the
poetic temperament, not a source of strength and mighty impulse, as in
hardier natures, but a well-spring of exquisite feebleness—a fountain of
pensive blight and beauty. The snowy whiteness of his high, thin temples,
the long silky fair hair upon his stooping head, heightened the impression of
delicate grace and feebleness. He looked young, but had, in reality, seen
nearly forty years of trouble and sorrow. His brow was almost covered by
the long, thin white fingers that supported it. He was absorbed in his book.
A strange resemblance to Christian Lillie was in the student’s pale and
contemplative face. There could be no doubt that he was her invalid brother
—and yet how strangely unlike they were!
Anne turned to pursue her walk along the dim sands. A faint ray of
moonlight was stealing through the mist, silvering the water, and the long
glistening line of its wet shores here and there. In the light, she caught a
glimpse of a slow advancing figure. Fit place and time it was, for such a
meeting—for the tall dark outline and slow step, could belong to but one
person. Anne trembled, and felt her own step falter. They had never yet
heard each other’s voices, yet were connected by so close a tie—were
wandering upon this solitary place, brooding over one great sorrow—
perhaps tremulously embracing one solemn hope.
When they met, she faltered some commonplace observation about the
night. To her astonishment, Christian Lillie replied at once. It might be that
she saw Anne’s agitation—it might be that she also longed to know
Norman’s sister. That she knew her to be so, Anne could not doubt: her
melancholy contemplation of Merkland—her evident start and surprise,
when they formerly met upon the sands, made that certain.
“Yes,” said Christian Lillie, in a voice of singular sadness, “it is a
beautiful night.”
The words were of the slightest—the tone and manner, the drawing in of
that long breath, spoke powerfully. This, then, was her one pleasure—this
gentle air of night was the balm of her wearied spirit.
“The mist is clearing away,” said Anne, tremulously. “Yonder lights on
the Fife shore are clear now—do you see them?”
“Ay, I see them,” was the answer. “Cheerful and pleasant they look here.
Who knows what weariness and misery—what vain hopes and sick hearts
they may be lighting.”
“Let us not think so,” said Anne, gently. “While we do not know that our
hopes are vain we still have pleasure in them.”
“I have seen you more than once before,” said Christian Lillie. “You are
not, or your face is untrue, one to think of vain pleasure at an after-cost of
pain. Hopes!—I knew what they were once—I know now what it is to feel
the death of them: what think you of the vain toils that folk undergo for a
hope? the struggle and the vigils, and the sickness of its deferring? I see
light burning yonder through all the watches of the night—what can it be
but the fever of some hope that keeps them always shining? I saw yours in
your window last night, when everybody near was at rest but myself. What
is it that keeps you wakeful but some hope?”
“You know me then—you know what my hope is?” said Anne, eagerly.
“No,” said Christian. “Tell it not to me. I have that in me that blights
hope—and the next thing after a blighted hope, is a broken heart. It is
wonderful—God shield you, from the knowledge—how long a mortal body
will hold by life after there is a broken heart within it! I think sometimes
that it is only us who know how strong life is—not the hopeful and joyous,
but us, who are condemned to bear the burden—us, who drag these days out
as a slave drags a chain.”
“Do not say so,” said Anne. Her companion spoke with the utmost
calmness—there was a blank composure about her, which told more
powerfully even than her words, the death of hope.—”There can be no life,
however sorrowful, that has not an aim—an expectation.”
“An aim?—ay, an aim! If you knew what you said you would know
what a solemn and sacred thing it is that has stood in my path, these
seventeen years, the ending of my travail—an expectation! What think you
of looking forward all that time, as your one aim and expectation—almost,
God help us, as your hope—for a thing which you knew would rend your
very heart, and make your life a desert when it came—what think ye of
that? There are more agonies in this world than men dream of in their
philosophy.”
“Are we not friends?” said Anne. “Have we not an equal share in a great
sorrow that is past—I trust and hope in a great joy that is to come? Will you
not take my sympathy?—my assistance?”
Christian Lillie shrank, as Anne thought, from her offered hand.
“An equal share—an equal share. God keep you from that—but it
becomes you well: turn round to the light, and let me see your face.”
She laid her hand on Anne’s shoulder, and, turning her round, gazed
upon her earnestly.
“Like—and yet unlike,” she murmured. “You are the only child of your
mother? she left none but you?”
“Except—”
“Hush, what would you say?” said Christian, hurriedly.—”And you
would offer me sympathy and help? Alas! that I cannot take it at your,
hands. You have opened a fountain in this withered heart, that I thought no
hand in this world could touch but one. It is a good deed—you will get a
blessing for it—now, fare you well.”
“Shall I not see you again?” said Anne.
Christian hesitated.
 “I do not know—why should you? you can get nothing but blight and
disappointment from me, and yet—for once—you may come to me at night
—not to-morrow night, but the next. I will wait for you at the little gate; and
now go home and take rest—is it not enough that one should be constantly
watching? Fare you well.”
Before Anne could answer, the tall, dark, gliding figure was away—
moving along with noiseless footstep over the sands to the gate of Schole.
She proceeded on herself, in wonder and agitation—how shallow was her
concern for Norman in comparison with this; how slight her prospect of
success when this earnest woman, whose words had such a tone of power in
them, even in the deepness of her grief, declared that in her all hope was
dead. It was a blow to all her expectations—nevertheless it did not strike
her in that light. Her anticipation of the promised interview, her wonder at
what had passed in this, obliterated the discouraging impression. She was
too deeply interested in what she had seen and heard, to think of the stamp
of hopelessness which these despairing words set on her own exertions.
That night she transferred her lights early from her little sitting-room to the
bed-chamber behind. That was a small matter, if it gave any satisfaction to
the melancholy woman, the light from whose high chamber window she
could see reflected on the gleaming water, after Miss Crankie’s little
household had been long hours at rest.
The next day was a feverish day to Anne, and so was the succeeding one.
She took long walks to fill up the tardy time, and made acquaintance with
various little sunbrowned rustics, and cottage mothers; but gained from
them not the veriest scrap of information about Norman, beyond what she
already knew—that he had killed a man, and had been drowned in his flight
from justice—that now the property, as they thought, was in the king’s
hands, “and him having sae muckle,” as one honest woman suggested, “he
didna ken weel what to do wi’t. Walth gars wit wavor—It’s a shame to fash
him, honest man, wi’ mair land that he can make ony use o’—it would have
been wiser like to have parted it among the puir folk.”
On the afternoon of the day on which she was to see Christian Lillie
again, Anne lost herself in the unknown lanes of Aberford. After long
wandering she came to the banks of a little inland water, whose quiet,
wooded pathway was a great relief to her, after the dust and heat of the
roads. She stayed for a few minutes to rest herself; upon one hand lay a
wood stretching darkly down as she fancied to the sea. She was standing on
its outskirts where the foliage thinned, yet still was abundant enough to
shade and darken the narrow water; a little further on, the opposite bank
swelled gently upward in fields, cultivated to the streamlet’s edge—but the
side on which she herself stood, was richly wooded along all its course, and
matted with a thick undergrowth of climbing plants and shrubs and
windsown seedlings. The path wound at some little distance from the
waterside through pleasant groups of trees. Anne paused, hesitating and
undecided, not knowing which way to turn. A loud and cheerful whistle
sounded behind her, and looking back, she saw a ruddy country lad, of
some sixteen or seventeen years, trudging blythely along the pathway; she
stopped him to ask the way.
“Ye just gang straight forenent ye,” said the lad, “even on, taking the
brig at Balwithry, and hauding round by the linn in Mavisshaw. Ye canna
weel gang wrang, unless ye take the road that rins along the howe of the
brae to the Milton, and it’s fickle to ken which o’ them is the right yin, if
ye’re no acquaint.”
“I am quite a stranger,” said Anne.
“I’m gaun to the Milton mysel,” said the youth. “I’ll let ye see the way
that far, and then set ye on to the road.”
Anne thanked him, and walked on briskly with her blythe conductor,
who stayed his whistling, and dropped a step or two behind, in honor of the
lady. He was very loquacious and communicative.
“I’m gaun hame to see my mother. My father was a hind on the Milton
farm, and my mother is aye loot keep the house, now that she’s a widow-
woman. I’ve been biding wi’ my uncle at Dunbar. He’s a shoemaker, and he
wanted to bind me to his trade.”
“And will you like that?” said Anne.
“Eh no—I wadna stand it; I aye made up my mind to be a ploughman
like my father before me; sae my uncle spoke for me to the grieve at
Fantasie and I’m hired to gang hame at the term. So I cam the noo to see
my mother.”
“Have you had a long walk?” said Anne.
“It’s twal mile—it was eleven o’clock when I started—I didna ken what
hour it is noo. It should be three by the sun.” Anne consulted her watch; it
was just three; the respect of her guide visibly increased—gold watches
were notable things in Aberford.
 “I thought yince of starting at night. Eh! if I had been passing in the
dark, wadna I hae been frighted to see a leddy thonder.”
“Why yonder?” said Anne, “is there anything particular about that
place?”
“Eh!” exclaimed the lad, “do ye no ken? there was a man killed at the fit
of thon tree.”
Anne started. “Who was he?” she asked.
“I dinna mind his name—it’s lang, lang ago—but he was a gentleman,
and my father was yin ’o the witnesses. Maybe ye’ll have seen a muckle
house, ower there, a’ disjasket and broken down. George Brock, the grieve
lives near the gate o’t—it’s no far off.”
“Yes, I have seen it,” said Anne.
“Weel, the gentleman that killed him lived there—at least a’body said it
was him that did it—I have heard my father speak about him mony a time.”
“And what was your father a witness of?” said Anne.
“Oh, he met Redheugh coming out of the wood—only my father aye
thought that he bid to be innocent, for he was singing, and smiling, and as
blythe as could be.”
“And your father thought him innocent?” said Anne eagerly.
“Ay—at least he thought it was awfu’ funny, if he had killed the man,
that he should be looking sae blythe. A’ the folk say there was nae doubt
about it, and sae does my mother, but my father was aye in a swither; he
thought it couldna be. Here’s the Milton, and ower yonder, ye see, like a
white line—yon’s the road—it’s just the stour that makes it white; and if ye
turn to the right, and haud even on, ye’ll come to the toun.”
Anne thanked him, and offered some small acknowledgment, with which
the lad, though he took it reluctantly, and with many scruples, went away,
whistling more blythely than ever. How little did the youthful rustic
imagine the comfort and hope and exhilaration which these thoughtless
words of his had revived in his chance companion’s heart!
There had been one in this little world, who, in the midst of excitement,
and in the face of evidence, and the universal opinion of his fellows, held
Norman innocent. Anne thanked God, and took courage—there was yet
hope.
 She waited nervously for the evening; when the darkness of the full
night came stealing on, she glided along the sands to the gate of Schole.
The projecting window was dark; there seemed to be no light in the
whole house. She looked over the gate anxiously for Christian—no one was
visible—dark ever-green shrubs looking dead and stern among the gay
spring verdure, stood out in ghostly dimness along the garden; the house
looked even more gloomy and dismal than heretofore, and the night was
advancing.
Anne tried the gate; it opened freely. She went lightly along the mossed
and neglected path to the principal door. It was evidently unused, and in
grim security barred the entrance; she passed the projecting window again,
and with some difficulty found a door at the side of the house, at which she
knocked lightly.
There was evidently some slight stir within; she thought she could hear a
sound as of some one listening. She knocked again—there was no response
—she repeated her summons more loudly; there was nothing clandestine in
her visit to Christian.
She fancied she could hear steps ascending a stair, and echoing with a
dull and hollow sound through the house. Presently a window above was
opened, and the face of an old woman, buried in the immense borders of a
white night-cap, looked out:
“Eh! guid preserve us. Wha are ye, disturbing honest folk at this hour o’
the night; and what do ye want?”
“Is Miss Lillie not within?” said Anne in disappointment.
“Miss Lillie! muckle you’re heeding about Miss Lillie; its naething but
an excuse for theftdom and spoliation; but I warn ye, ye’ll get naething
here. Do ye ken there’s an alarm-bell in Schole?”
“I am alone,” said Anne, “and have merely come to see Miss Lillie, I
assure you. You see I could do you no injury.”
“And how div I ken,” said the cautious portress a little more gently, “that
ye havena a band at the ither side of the hedge?”
“You can see over the hedge,” said Anne, smiling in spite of her
impatience, “that I am quite alone. Pray ask Miss Lillie to admit me; she
will tell you that I came by her own appointment.
 “A bonnie like hour for leddies to be visiting at,” said the old woman;
“and how div ye ken that Miss Lillie will come at my ca’?”
“Pray do not keep me waiting,” said Anne, “it is getting late. Tell Miss
Lillie that I am here.”
“And if I were gaun to tell Miss Lillie ye were here, wha would take care
o’ the house, I wad like to ken? Ye’re no gaun to pit your gowk’s errands on
me. If I had the loudest vice in a’ Scotland, it wadna reach Miss Lillie, an I
cried till I was hoarse.”
“You don’t mean to say,” exclaimed Anne, “that she is not at home!—
that Miss Lillie has left Schole?”
“Ay, deed div I—nothing less. Mr. Patrick and her gaed away last night’
to see their friends in the west country. Is that a’? If ye had a hoast like me,
and were as muckle fashed wi’ your breath, ye wadna have keeped your
head out of the window sae long as I have done.”
“Did she leave no word?” said Anne, “no message—or did she say when
she would return?”
“Neither the tane nor the tither: she never said a word to me, but that
they were gaun to the west country to see their friends. What for should
they no? They are as free to do their ain pleasure as ither folk.”
Anne turned away, greatly disappointed and bewildered.
“Be sure you sneck the gate,” screamed the careful guardian of Schole,
“and draw the stane close till’t that ye pushed away wi’ your fit.”
Anne obeyed, and proceeded homeward very much downcast and
disappointed. She had expected so much from this interview, and had
looked forward to it so anxiously. Why should they avoid her? For what
reason should the nearest relatives of Norman’s wife, flee from Norman’s
sister? She herself had hailed, with feelings so warmly and sadly
affectionate, the idea of their existence and sympathy—perhaps of their co-
operation and help. Now Christian’s words returned to her mind in sad
perplexity. She could find no clue to them. The house of Schole looked
more dreary and dismal than ever. She felt a void as she looked back to it,
and knew that the watcher, whose light had fallen upon the still waters of
the Firth through all the lingering night, was there no longer. She left her
watch at the window early, and, with a feeling of blank disappointment and
loneliness, laid herself down to her disturbed and dreaming rest—very sad,
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