The Elect Lady
MacDonald, George, 1824-1905
English
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HOME AGAIN
and
THE ELECT LADY
_(A Duplex Edition)_
By George MacDonald
THE ELECT LADY
CHAPTER I.
LANDLORD'S DAUGHTER AND TENANT'S SON.
In a kitchen of moderate size, flagged with slate, humble in its
appointments, yet looking scarcely that of a farmhouse--for there were
utensils about it indicating necessities more artificial than usually
grow upon a farm--with the corner of a white deal table between them,
sat two young people evidently different in rank, and meeting upon no
level of friendship. The young woman held in her hand a paper, which
seemed the subject of their conversation. She was about four- or
five-and-twenty, well grown and not ungraceful, with dark hair, dark
hazel eyes, and rather large, handsome features, full of intelligence,
but a little hard, and not a little regnant--as such features must be,
except after prolonged influence of a heart potent in self-subjugation.
As to her social expression, it was a mingling of the gentlewoman of
education, and the farmer's daughter supreme over the household and its
share in the labor of production.
As to the young man, it would have required a deeper-seeing eye than
falls to the lot of most observers, not to take him for a weaker nature
than the young woman; and the deference he showed her as the superior,
would have enhanced the difficulty of a true judgment. He was tall and
thin, but plainly in fine health; had a good forehead, and a clear hazel
eye, not overlarge or prominent, but full of light; a firm mouth, with a
curious smile; a sun-burned complexion; and a habit when perplexed of
pinching his upper lip between his finger and thumb, which at the
present moment he was unconsciously indulging. He was the son of a small
farmer--in what part of Scotland is of little consequence--and his
companion for the moment was the daughter of the laird.
"I have glanced over the poem," said the lady, "and it seems to me quite
up to the average of what you see in print."
"Would that be reason for printing it, ma'am?" asked the man, with
amused smile.
"It would be for the editor to determine," she answered, not perceiving
the hinted objection.
"You will remember, ma'am, that I never suggested--indeed I never
thought of such a thing!"
"I do not forget. It was your mother who drew my attention to the
verses."
"I must speak to my mother!" he said, in a meditative way.
"You can not object to _my_ seeing your work! She does not show it to
everybody. It is most creditable to you, such an employment of your
leisure."
"The poem was never meant for any eyes but my own--except my brother's."
"What was the good of writing it, if no one was to see it?"
"The writing of it, ma'am."
"For the exercise, you mean?"
"No; I hardly mean that."
"I am afraid then I do not understand you."
"Do _you_ never write anything but what you publish?"
"Publish! _I_ never publish! What made you think of such a thing?"
"That you know so much about it, ma'am."
"I know people connected with the papers, and thought it might encourage
you to see something in print. The newspapers publish so many poems
now!"
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