The Elect Lady

George MacDonald

• Publisher: Owen Press
• Year: 2015
• Print ISBN: 9781443704045
• eBook ISBN: 9781473374690
• Subtopic: Classics

Many of the earliest books, particularly those dating back to the 1900s and before, are now extremely scarce and increasingly expensive. We are republishing these classic works in affordable, high quality, modern editions, using the original text and artwork.

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!”

“I wish it hadn’t been just that one my mother gave you!”

“Why?”

“For one thing, it is not finished—as you will see when you read it more carefully.”

“I did see a line I thought hardly rhythmical, but—”

“Excuse me, ma’am; the want of rhythm there was intentional.”

“I am sorry for that. Intention is the worst possible excuse for wrong! The accent should always be made to fall in the right place.”

“Beyond a doubt—but might not the right place alter with the sense?”

“Never. The rule is strict”

“Is there no danger of making the verse monotonous?”

“Not that I know.”

“I have an idea, ma’am, that our great poets owe much of their music to the liberties they take with the rhythm. They treat the rule as its masters, and break it when they see fit.”

“You must be wrong there! But in any case you must not presume to take the liberties of a great poet.”

“It is a poor reward for being a great poet to be allowed to take liberties. I should say that, doing their work to the best of their power, they were rewarded with the discovery of higher laws of verse. Every one must walk by the light given him. By the rules which others have laid down he may learn to walk; but once his heart is awake to truth, and his ear to measure, melody and harmony, he must walk by the light, and the music God gives him.”

“That is dangerous doctrine, Andrew!” said the lady, with a superior smile. “But,” she continued, “I will mark what faults I see, and point them out to you.”

“Thank you, ma’am, but please do not send the verses anywhere.”

“I will not, except I find them worthy. You need not be afraid. For my father’s sake I will have an eye to your reputation.”

“I am obliged to you, ma’am,” returned Andrew, but with his curious smile, hard to describe. It had in it a wonderful mixing of sweetness and humor, and a something that seemed to sit miles above his amusement. A heavenly smile it was, knowing too much to be angry. It had in it neither offense nor scorn. In respect of his poetry he was shy like a girl, but he showed no rejection of the pa...

Table of contents

• THE ELECT LADY
• George MacDonald
• CHAPTER I. LANDLORD’S DAUGHTER AND TENANT’S SON
• CHAPTER II. AN ACCIDENT
• CHAPTER III. HELP
• CHAPTER IV. THE LAIRD
• CHAPTER V. AFTER SUPPER
• CHAPTER VI. ABOUT THE LAIRD
• CHAPTER VII. THE COUSINS
• CHAPTER VIII. GEORGE AND THE LAIRD
• CHAPTER IX. IN THE GARDEN
• CHAPTER X. ANDREW INGRAM
• CHAPTER XI. GEORGE AND ANDREW
• CHAPTER XII. THE CRAWFORDS
• CHAPTER XIII. DAWTIE
• CHAPTER XIV. SANDY AND GEORGE
• CHAPTER XV. MOTHER AND DAUGHTER
• CHAPTER XVI. ANDREW AND DAWTIE
• CHAPTER XVII. DAWTIE AND THE CUP
• CHAPTER XVIII. DAWTIE AND THE LAIRD
• CHAPTER XIX. ANDREW AND ALEXA
• CHAPTER XX. GEORGE AND ANDREW
• CHAPTER XXI. WHAT IS IT WORTH?
• CHAPTER XXII. THE GAMBLER AND THE COLLECTOR
• CHAPTER XXIII. ON THE MOOR
• CHAPTER XXIV. THE WOOER
• CHAPTER XXV. THE HEART OF THE HEART
• CHAPTER XXVI. GEORGE CRAWFORD AND DAWTIE
• CHAPTER XXVII. THE WATCH
• CHAPTER XXVIII. THE WILL
• CHAPTER XXIX. THE SANGREAL
• CHAPTER XXX. GEORGE AND THE GOLDEN GOBLET
• CHAPTER XXXI. THE PROSECUTION
• CHAPTER XXXII. A TALK AT POTLURG
• CHAPTER XXXIII . A GREAT OFFERING
• CHAPTER XXXIV. ANOTHER OFFERING
• CHAPTER XXXV. AFTER THE VERDICT
• CHAPTER XXXVI. AGAIN THE GOBLET
• CHAPTER XXXVII. THE HOUR BEFORE DAWN