Littell's Living Age/Volume 131/Issue 1697/The Marquis of Lossie - Part V
THE MARQUIS OF LOSSIE.
BY GEORGE MACDONALD, AUTHOR OF "MALCOLM," ETC.
CHAPTER XVII.
A DIFFERENCE.
Notwithstanding his keenness of judgment and sobriety in action, Malcolm had yet a certain love for effect — a delight, that is, in the show of concentrated results — which, as I believe I have elsewhere remarked, belongs especially to the Celtic nature, and is one form in which the poetic element vaguely embodies itself. Hence arose the temptation to try on Blue Peter the effect of a literally theatrical surprise. He knew well the prejudices of the greater portion of the Scots people against every possible form of artistic, most of all dramatic, representation. He knew, therefore, also, that Peter would never be persuaded to go with him to the theatre: to invite him would be like asking him to call upon Beelzebub; but as this feeling was cherished in utter ignorance of its object, he judged he would be doing him no wrong if he made experiment how the thing itself would affect the heart and judgment of the unsophisticated fisherman.
Finding that "The Tempest" was still the play represented, he contrived, as they walked together, so to direct their course that they should be near Drury Lane toward the hour of commencement. He did not want to take him in much before the time: he would not give him scope for thought, doubt, suspicion, discovery.
When they came in front of the theatre, people were crowding in and carriages setting down their occupants. Blue Peter gave a glance at the building. "This'll be ane o' the Lon'on kirks, I'm thinkin'?" he said. "It's a muckle place; an' there maun be a heap o' guid fowk in Lon'on, for as ill's it's ca'd, to see sae mony, an' i' their cairritches, comin' to the kirk — on a Setterday nicht tu! It maun be some kin' o' a prayer-meetin', I'm thinkin'."
Malcolm said nothing, but led the way to the pit-entrance.
"That's no an ill w'y o' getherin' the baubees," said Peter, seeing how the incomers paid their money. "I hae h'ard o' the plate bein' robbit in a muckle toon afore noo."
When at length they were seated, and he had time to glance reverently around him, he was a little staggered at sight of the decorations, and the thought crossed his mind of the pictures and statues he had heard of in Catholic churches; but he remembered Westminster Abbey, its windows and monuments, and returned to his belief that he was, if in an Episcopal, yet in a Protestant church. But he could not help the thought that the galleries were a little too gaudily painted, while the high pews in them astonished him. Peter's nature, however, was one of those calm, slow ones, which, when occupied by an idea or a belief, are by no means ready to doubt its correctness, and are even ingenious in reducing all apparent contradictions to theoretic harmony with it; whence it came that to him all this was only part of the church furniture according to the taste and magnificence of London. He sat quite tranquil, therefore, until the curtain rose, revealing the ship's company in all the confusion of the wildest of sea-storms.
Malcolm watched him narrowly. But Peter was first so taken by surprise, and then so carried away with the interest of what he saw, that thinking had ceased in him utterly, and imagination lay passive as a mirror to the representation. Nor did the sudden change from the first to the second scene rouse him, for before his thinking machinery could be set in motion the delight of the new show had again caught him in its meshes. For to him, as it had been to Malcolm, it was the shore at Portlossie, while the cave that opened behind was the Baillie's Barn, where his friends the fishers might at that moment, if it were a fine night, be holding one of their prayer-meetings.
The mood lasted all through the talk of Prospero and Miranda, but when Ariel entered there came a snap, and the spell was broken. With a look in which doubt wrestled with horror, Blue Peter turned to Malcolm, and whispered with bated breath, "I'm jaloosin — it cannabe! — it's no a playhoose, this?" Malcolm merely nodded, but from the nod Peter understood that he had had no discovery to make as to the character of the place they were in. "Eh!" he groaned, overcome with dismay. Then rising suddenly, "Guidnicht to ye, my lord," he said with indignation, and rudely forced his way from the crowded house.
Malcolm followed in his wake, but said nothing till they were in the street. Then, forgetting utterly his resolves concerning English in the distress of having given his friend ground to complain of his conduct toward him, he laid his hand on Blue Peter's arm and stopped him in the middle of the narrow street "I but thoucht, Peter," he said, "to get ye to see wi' yer ain een an' hear wi' yer ain ears afore ye passed jeedgment; but ye're jist like the lave."
"An' what for sudna I be jist like the lave? " returned Peter fiercely.
"'Cause it's no fair to set doon a' thing for wrang 'at ye hae been i' the w'y o' hearin' abus't by them 'at kens as little aboot them as yersel'. I cam here mysel', ohn kent whaur I was gaein', the ither nicht, for the first time i' my life; but I wasna fleyt like you, 'cause I kent frae the buik a' 'at was comin'. I hae h'ard in a kirk in ae ten meenutes jist a sicht o' what maun hae been saer displeasin' to the he'rt o' the Maister o' 's a'; but that nicht I saw nae ill an' h'ard nae ill, but was well peyed back upo' them 'at did it an' said it afore the business was ower; an' that's mair nor ye'll see i' the streets o' Portlossie ilka day. The playhoose is whaur ye gang to see what comes o' things 'at ye canna follow oot in ordinar' life."
Whether Malcolm after a year's theatre-going would have said precisely the same is hardly doubtful. He spoke of the ideal theatre to which Shakespeare is true, and in regard to that he spoke rightly.
"Ye decoy't me intill the hoose o' ineequity!" was Peter's indignant reply; "an' it's no what ye ever gae me cause to expec' o' ye, sae 'at I micht hae ta'en tent o' ye."
"I thoucht nae ill o' 't" returned Malcolm.
"Weel, I div,? retorted Peter.
"Then perhaps you are wrong," said Malcolm, "for charity thinketh no evil. You wouldn't stay to see the thing out."
"There ye are at yer English again; an' misgugg'lin' Scriptur' wi' 't; an' a' this upo' Setterday nicht — maist the Sawbath day! Weel, I hae aye h'ard 'at Lon'on was an awfu' place, but I little thoucht the verra air o' 't wad sae sune turn an honest laadlike Ma'colm MacPhail intill a scoffer. But maybe it's the markis o' 'im, an' no the muckle toon 'at 's made the differ. Ony gait, I'm thinkin' it'll be aboot time for me to be gauin' hame."
Malcolm was vexed with himself, and both disappointed and troubled at the change which had come over his friend and threatened to destroy the lifelong relation between them: his feelings therefore held him silent.
Peter concluded that the marquis was displeased, and it clenched his resolve to "What w'y am I to win hame, my lord?" he said, when they had walked some distance without one word spoken.
"By the Aberdeen smack," returned Malcolm: " she sails on Tuesday. I will see you on board. You must take young Davy with you, for I wouldn't have him here after you are gone. There will be nothing for him to do."
"Ye're unco ready to pairt wt' 's, noo 'at ye hae nae mair use for 's," said Peter.
"No sae ready as ye seem to pairt wi' yer charity," said Malcolm, now angry too.
"Ye see, Annie 'ill be thinkin' lang," said Peter, softening a little.
No more angry words passed between them, but neither did any thoroughly cordial ones, and they parted at the stairs in mutual, though, with such men, it could not be more than superficial, estrangement.
CHAPTER XVIII.
LORD LIFTORE.
The chief cause of Malcolm's anxiety had been, and perhaps still was, Lord Liftore. In his ignorance of Mr. Lenorme there might lie equal cause with him, but he knew such evil of the other that his whole nature revolted against the thought of his marrying his sister. At Lossie he had made himself agreeable to her, and now, if not actually living in the same house, he was there at all hours of the day.
It took nothing from his anxiety to see that his lordship was greatly improved. Not only had the lanky youth passed into a well-formed man, but in countenance, whether as regarded expression, complexion, or feature, he was not merely a handsomer, but looked in every way a healthier and better, man. Whether it was from some reviving sense of duty, or that, in his attachment to Florimel, he had begun to cherish a desire of being worthy of her, I cannot tell, but he looked altogether more of a man than the time that had elapsed would have given ground to expect, even had he then seemed on the mend, and indeed promised to become a really fine-looking fellow. His features were far more regular if less informed than those of the painter, and his carriage prouder if less graceful and energetic. His admiration of, and consequent attachment to, Florimel had been growing ever since his visit to Lossie House the preceding summer, and if he had said nothing quite definite, it was only because his aunt represented the impolicy of declaring himself just yet: she was too young. She judged thus, attributing her evident indifference to an incapacity as yet for falling in love. Hence, beyond paying her all sorts of attentions and what compliments he was capable of constructing, Lord Liftore had not gone far toward making himself understood — at least, not until just before Malcolm's arrival, when his behavior had certainly grown warmer and more confidential.
All the time she had been under his aunt's care he had had abundant opportunity for recommending himself, and he had made use of the privilege. For one thing, credibly assured that he looked well in the saddle, he had constantly encouraged Florimel's love of riding and desire to become a thorough horsewoman, and they had ridden a good deal together in the neighborhood of Edinburgh. This practice they continued as much as possible after they came to London early in the spring, but the weather of late had not been favorable and Florimel had been very little out with him.
For a long time Lady Bellair had had her mind set on a match between the daughter of her old friend the Marquis of Lossie and her nephew, and it was with this in view that, when invited to Lossie House, she had begged leave to bring Lord Meikleham with her. The young man was from the first sufficiently taken with the beautiful girl to satisfy his aunt, and would even then have shown greater fervor in his attention had he not met Lizzy Findlay at the wedding of Joseph Mair's sister, and found her more than pleasing, I will not say that from the first he purposed wrong to her — he was too inexperienced in the ways of evil for that — but even when he saw plainly enough to what their mutual attraction was tending, he gave himself no trouble to resist it, and through the whole unhappy affair had not had one smallest struggle with himself for the girl's sake. To himself he was all in all as yet, and such was his opinion of his own precious being that, had he thought about it, he would have considered the honor of his attentions far more than sufficient to make up to any girl in such a position for whatever mishap his acquaintance might bring upon her. What was the grief and mortification of parents to put in the balance against his condescension? What the shame and humiliation of the girt herself compared to the honor of having been shone upon for a period, however brief, by his enamored countenance? Must not even the sorrow attendant upon her loss be rendered more than endurable, be radiantly consoled, by the memory that she had held such a demigod in her arms? When he left her at last with many promises, not one of which he ever had the intention of fulfilling, he did purpose sending her a present. But at that time he was poor — dependent, indeed, for his pocket-money upon his aunt — and up to this hour he had never since his departure from Lossie House taken the least notice of her either by gift or letter. He had taken care also that it should not be in her power to write to him; and now he did not even know that he was a father. Once or twice the possibility of such being the case occurred to him, and he thought with himself that if he were, and it should come to be talked of, it might, in respect of his present hopes, be awkward and disagreeable; for, although such a predicament was nowise unusual, in this instance the circumstances were. More than one of his bachelor friends had a small family even, but then it was in the regular way of an open and understood secret: the fox had his nest in some pleasant nook, adroitly masked, where lay his vixen and her brood: one day he would abandon them forever, and with such gathered store of experience set up for a respectable family man. A few tears, a neat legal arrangement, and all would be as it had never been, only that the blood of the Montmorencies or Cliffords would meander unclaimed in this or that obscure channel, beautifying the race and rousing England to noble deeds. But in his case it would be unpleasant — a little — that every one of his future tenantry should know the relation in which he stood to a woman of the fisher-people. He did not fear any resentment: not that he would have cared a straw for it on such trifling grounds, but people in their low condition never thought anything of such slips on the part of their women, especially where a great man was concerned. What he did fear was that the immediate relations of the woman — that was how he spoke of Lizzy to himself — might presume upon the honor he had done them. Lizzy, however, was a good girl, and had promised to keep the matter secret until she heard from him, whatever might be the consequences; and surely there was fascination enough in the holding of a secret with such as he to enable her to keep her promise. She must be perfectly aware, however appearances might be against him, that he was not one to fail in appreciation of her conduct, however easy and natural all that he required of her might be. He would requite her royally when he was lord of Lossie. Meantime, although it was even now in his power to make her rich amends, he would prudently leave things as they were, and not run the risk that must lie in opening communications.
And so the young earl held his head high, looked as innocent as may be desirable for a gentleman, had many a fair clean hand laid in his, and many a maiden waist yielded to his arm, while "the woman" flitted about half an alien amongst her own, with his child wound in her old shawl of Lossie tartan — wandering not seldom in the gloaming when her little one slept, along the top of the dune, with the wind blowing keen upon her from the regions of eternal ice, sometimes the snow settling softly on her hair, sometimes the hailstones nestling in its meshes; the skies growing blacker about her, and the sea stormier, while hope retreated so far into the heavenly regions that hope and Heaven both were lost to her view. Thus, alas! the things in which he was superior to her, most of all that he was a gentleman, while she was but a peasant girl — the things whose witchery drew her to his will — he made the means of casting her down from the place of her excellency into the mire of shame and loss. The only love worthy of the name ever and always uplifts.
Of the people belonging to the upper town of Portlossie — which raised itself high above the sea-town in other respects besides the topical — there were none who did not make poor Lizzy feel they were aware of her disgrace, and but one man who made her feel it by being kinder than before. That man, strange to say, was the factor. With all his faults, he had some chivalry, and he showed it to the fisher-girl. Nor did he alter his manner to her because of the rudeness with which her mother had taken Malcolm's part.
It was a sore proof to Mr. Crathie that his discharged servant was in favor with the marchioness when the order came from Mr. Soutar to send up Kelpie. She had written to himself when she wanted her own horse: now she sent for this brute through her lawyer: it was plain that Malcolm had been speaking against him, and he was the more embittered therefore against his friends.
Since his departure he had been twice on the point of poisoning the mare. It was with difficulty he found two men to take her to Aberdeen. There they had an arduous job to get her on board and secure her. But it had been done, and all the Monday night Malcolm was waiting her arrival at the wharf — alone, for after what had passed between them he would not ask Peter to go with him, and besides he was no use with horses. At length, in the gray of a gurly dawn, the smack came alongside. They had had a rough passage, and the mare was considerably subdued by sickness, so that there was less difficulty in getting her ashore, and she paced for a little while in tolerable quietness. But with every step on dry land the evil spirit in her awoke, and soon Malcolm had to dismount and lead her. The morning was little advanced, and few vehicles were about, otherwise he could hardly have got her home uninjured, notwithstanding the sugar with which he had filled a pocket. Before he reached the mews he was very near wishing he had never seen her. But when he led her into the stable he was a little encouraged, as well as surprised, to find that she had not forgotten Florimel's horse. They had always been a little friendly, and now they greeted with an affectionate neigh; after which, with the help of all she could devour, the demoness was quieter.
CHAPTER XIX.
KELPIE IN LONDON.
Before noon Lord Liftore came round to the mews: his riding-horses were there. Malcolm was not at the moment in the stable.
"What animal is that?" he asked of his own groom, catching sight of Kelpie in her loose box.
"One just come up from Scotland for Lady Lossie, my lord," answered the man.
"She looks a clipper. Lead her out, and let me see her."
"She's not sound in the temper, my lord, the groom that brought her says. He told me on no account to go near her till she got used to the sight of me."
"Oh, you are afraid, are you?" said his lordship, whose breeding had not taught him courtesy to his inferiors.
At the word the man walked into her box. As he did so he looked well out for her hoofs, but his circumspection was in vain: in a moment she had wheeled, - jammed him against the wall, and taken his shoulder in her teeth. He gave a yell of pain. His lordship caught up a stable-broom and attacked the mare with it over the door, but it flew from his hand to the other end of the stable, and the partition began to go after it. But she still kept her hold of the man Happily, however, Malcolm was not far off, and hearing the noise rushed in. He was just in time to save the groom's life. Clearing the stall partition and seizing the mare by the nose with a mighty grasp, he inserted a forefinger behind her tusk — for she was one of the few mares tusked like a horse — and soon compelled her to open her mouth. The groom staggered and would have fallen, so cruelly had she mauled him, but Malcolm's voice roused him: "For God's sake gang oot, as lang's there's twa limbs o' ye stickin' thegither."
The poor fellow just managed to open the door, and fell senseless on the stones. Lord Liftore called for help, and they carried him into the saddle-room, while one ran for the nearest surgeon.
Meantime, Malcolm was putting a muzzle on Kelpie, which he believed she understood as a punishment; and while he was thus occupied his lordship came from the saddle-room and approached the box.
"Who are you?" he said. "I think I have seen you before."
"I was servant to the late Marquis of Lossie, my lord, and now I am groom to her ladyship."
"What a fury you've brought up with you! She'll never do for London."
"I told the man not to go near her, my lord."
"What's the use of her if no one can go near her?"
"I can, my lord."
"By Jove! she's a splendid creature to look at, but I don't know what you can do with her here, my man. She's fit to go double with Satan himself."
"She'll do for me to ride after my lady well enough. If only I had room to exercise her a bit!"
"Take her into the park early in the morning and gallop her round. Only mind she don't break your neck. What can have made Lady Lossie send for such a devil as that?"
Malcolm held his peace.
"I'll try her myself some morning," said his lordship; who thought himself a better horseman than he was.
"I wouldn't advise you, my lord."
"Who the devil asked your advice?"
"Ten to one she'll kill you, my lord."
"That's my lookout," said Liftore, and went into the house.
As soon as he had done with Kelpie, Malcolm dressed himself in his new livery and went to tell his mistress of her arrival. She sent him orders to bring the mare round in half an hour. He went back to her, took off her muzzle, fed her, and while she ate her corn put on the spurs he had prepared expressly for her use — a spike without a rowel, rather blunt, but sharp indeed when sharply used — like those of the Gauchos of the Pampas. Then he saddled her and rode her round. Having had her fit of temper, she was, to all appearance, going to be fairly good for the rest of the day, and looked splendid. She was a large mare, nearly thoroughbred, with more bone than usual for her breeding, which she carried triumphantly — an animal most men would have been pleased to possess and proud to ride. Florimel came to the door to see her, accompanied by Liftore, and was so delighted with the very sight of her that she sent at once to the stables for her own horse, that she might ride out attended by Malcolm. His lordship also ordered his horse.
They went straight to Rotten Row for a little gallop, and Kelpie was behaving very well for her.
"What did you have two such savages, horse and groom both, up from Scotland for, Florimel?" asked his lordship, as they cantered gently along the Row, Kelpie coming sideways after them, as if she would, fain alter the pairing of her legs.
Florimel turned and cast an admiring glance on the two. "Do you know I am rather proud of them," she asked. "He's a clumsy fellow, the groom; and for the mare, she's downright wicked," said Liftore.
"At least neither is a hypocrite," returned Florimel, with Malcolm's account of his quarrel with the factor in her mind. "The mare is just as wicked as she looks, and the man as good. Believe me, my lord, that man you call a savage never told a lie in his life!" As she spoke she looked him hard in the face, with her father in her eyes.
Liftore could not return the look with equal steadiness. It seemed for the moment to be inquiring too curiously. "I know what you mean," he said. "You don't believe my professions." As he spoke he edged his horse close up to hers. "But," he went on, "if I know that I speak the truth when I swear that I love every breath of wind that has but touched your dress as it passed, that I would die gladly for one loving touch of your hand, why should you, not let me ease my heart by saying so? Florimel, my life has been a different thing from the moment I saw you first. It has grown precious to me since I saw that it might be —— Confound the fellow! what's he about now with his horse-devil?"
For at that moment his lordship's horse, a high-bred but timid animal, sprang away from the side of Florimel's, and there stood Kelpie on her hind legs, pawing the air between him and his lady, and Florimel, whose old confidence in Malcolm was now more than revived, was laughing merrily at the discomfiture of his attempt at lovemaking. Her behavior and his own frustration put him in such a rage that, wheeling quickly round, he struck Kelpie, just as she dropped on all fours, a great cut with his whip across the haunches. She plunged and kicked violently, came within an inch of breaking his horse's leg, and flew across the rail into the park. Nothing could have suited Malcolm better. He did not punish her as he would have done had she been to blame, for he was always just to lower as well as higher animals, but he took her a great round at racing speed, while his mistress and her companion looked on, and every one in the Row stopped and stared. Finally, he hopped her over the rail again, and brought her up dripping and foaming to his mistress. Florimel's eyes were flashing, and Liftore looked still angry.
"Dinna du that again, my lord," said Malcolm. "Ye're no my maister; an' gien ye war, ye wad hae no richt to brak my neck."
"No fear of that. That's not how your neck will be broken, my man," said his lordship with an attempted laugh; for, though he was all the angrier that he was ashamed of what he had done, he dared not further wrong the servant before his mistress.
A policeman came up and laid his hand on Kelpie's bridle.
"Take care what you're about," said Malcolm: "the, mare's not safe. There's my mistress, the Marchioness of Lossie."
The man saw an ugly look in Kelpie's eye, withdrew his hand and turned to Florimel.
"My groom is not to blame," said she, "Lord Liftore struck his mare, and she became ungovernable."
The man gave a look at Liftore, seemed to take his likeness, touched his hat, and withdrew.
"You'd better ride the jade home," said Liftore.
Malcolm only looked at his mistress. She moved on and he followed.
He was not so innocent in the affair as he had seemed. The expression of Liftore's face as he drew nearer to Florimel was to him so hateful that he interfered in a very literal fashion: Kelpie had been doing no more than he made her until the earl struck her.
"Let us ride to Richmond to-morrow," said Florimel, "and have a good gallop in the park. Did you ever see a finer sight than that animal on the grass?"
"The fellow's too heavy for her," said Liftore: "I should very much like to try her myself."
Florimel pulled up and turned to Malcolm, "MacPhail," she said, "have that mare of yours ready whenever Lord Liftore chooses to ride her."
"I beg your pardon, my lady," returned Malcolm, "but would your ladyship make a condition with my lord that he shall not mount her anywhere on the stones."
"By Jove!" said Liftore scornfully, "you fancy yourself the only man that can ride."
"It's nothing to me, my lord, if you break your neck, but I am bound to tell you I do not think your lordship will sit my mare. Stoat can't, and I can only because I know her as well as my own palm."
The young earl made no answer, and they rode on, Malcolm nearer than his lordship liked.
"I can't think, Florimel," he said, "why you should want that fellow about you again. He is not only very awkward, but insolent as well."
"I should call it straightforward," returned Florimel.
"My dear Lady Lossie! See how close he is riding to us now."
"He is anxious, I dare say, as to your lordship's behavior. He is like some dogs that are a little too careful of their mistresses — touchy as to how they are addressed: not a bad fault in dog, or groom either. He saved my life once, and he was a great favorite with my father: I won't hear anything against him."
"But for your own sake — just consider: what will people say if you show any preference for a man like that?" said Liftore, who had already become jealous of the man who in his heart he feared could ride better than himself.
"My lord!" exclaimed Florimel, with a mingling of surprise and indignation in her voice, and, suddenly quickening her pace, dropped him behind.
Malcolm was after her so instantly that it brought him abreast of Liftore. "Keep your own place," said his lordship with stern rebuke.
"I keep my place to my mistress," returned Malcolm.
Liftore looked at him as if he would strike him. But he thought better of it apparently, and rode after Florimel.
CHAPTER XX.
BLUE PETER.
By the time he had put up Kelpie, Malcolm found that his only chance of seeing Blue Peter before he left London lay in going direct to the wharf. On his road he reflected on what had just passed, and was not altogether pleased with himself. He had nearly lost his temper with Liftore; and if he should act in any way unbefitting the position he had assumed, from the duties of which he was in no degree exonerated by the fact that he had assumed it for a purpose, it would not only be a failure in himself, but an impediment perhaps insurmountable in the path of his service. To attract attention was almost to ensure frustration. When he reached the wharf, he found they had nearly got her freight on board the smack. Blue Peter stood on the forecastle. He went to him and explained how it was that he had been unable to join him sooner.
"I didna ken ye," said Blue Peter, "in sic play-actor kin' o' claes."
"Nobody in London would look at me twice now." But you remember how we were stared at when first we came," said Malcolm.
"Ow, ay!" returned Peter with almost a groan. "There's a sair cheenge past upo' you, but I'm gauin' hame to the auld w'y o' things. The herrin' 'ill be aye to the fore, I'm thinkin'; an' gien we getna a harbor we'll get a h'aven."
Judging it better to take no notice of this pretty strong expression of distrust and disappointment, Malcolm led him aside, and putting a few sovereigns in his hand, said, "Here, Peter, that will take you home."
"It's ower muckle — a heap ower muckle. I'll tak naething frae ye but what'll pay my w'y."
"But what is such a trifle between friends?"
"There was a time, Ma'colm, whan what was mine was yours, an' what was yours was mine, but that time's gane."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Peter; but still I owe you as much as that for bare wages."
"There was no word o' wauges whan ye said, 'Peter, come to Lon'on wi' me.' Davie there — he maun hae his wauges.""Weel," said Malcolm, thinking it better to give way, "I'm no abune bein' obleeged to ye, Peter. I maun bide my time, I see, for ye winna lippen till me. Eh, man! your faith 's sune at the wa'."
"Faith! - what faith?" returned Peter, almost fiercely. "We're tauld to put no faith in man; an' gien I bena come to that yet freely, I'm nearer till't nor ever I was afore."
"Weel, Peter, a' 'at I can say is, I ken my ain hert, an' ye dinna ken't."
"Daur ye tell me! " cried Peter. "Disna the Scriptur' itsel' say the hert o' man is deceitfu' an' despratly wickit; who can know it?"
"Peter," said Malcolm — and he spoke very gently, for he understood that love and not hate was at the root of his friend's anger and injustice — "gien ye winna lippen to me, there's naething for't but I maun lippen to you. Gang hame to yer wife an' gi'e her my compliments, an' tell her a' 'at's past atween you an' me, as near, word for word, as ye can tell the same; an' say till her I pray her to judge atween you an' me, an' to mak the best o' me to ye 'at she can, for I wad ill thole to loss yer freenship, Peter."
The same moment came the command for all but passengers to go ashore. The men grasped each other's hand, looked each other in the eyes with something of mutual reproach, and parted — Blue Peter down the river to Scaurnose and Annie, Malcolm to the yacht lying still in the Upper Pool.
He saw it taken properly in charge, and arranged for having it towed up the river and anchored in the Chelsea Reach.
When Blue Peter found himself once more safe out at sea, with twelve hundred yards of canvas spread above him in one mighty wing betwixt boom and gaff, and the wind blowing half a gale, the weather inside him began to change a little. He began to see that he had not been behaving altogether as a friend ought. It was not that he saw reason for being better satisfied with Malcolm or his conduct, but reason for being worse satisfied with himself; and the consequence was that he grew still angrier with Malcolm, and the wrong he had done him seemed more and more an unpardonable one.
When he was at length seated on the top of the coach running betwixt Aberdeen and Fochabers, which would set him down as near Scaurnose as coach could go, he began to be doubtful how Annie, formally retained on Malcolm's side by the message he had to give her, would judge in the question between them; for what did she know of theatres and such places? And the doubt strengthened as he neared home. The consequence was that he felt in no haste to execute Malcolm's commission; and hence the delights of greeting over, Annie was the first to open her bag of troubles: Mr. Crathie had given them notice to quit at midsummer.
"Jist what I micht hae expeckit!" cried Blue Peter, starting up. "Woe be to the man 'at puts his trust in princes! I luikit till him to save the fisher-fowk, an' no to the Lord, an' the tooer o' Siloam 's fa'en upo' my heid: what does he, the first thing, but turn his ain auld freens oot o' the sma' beild they had, that his father nor his gran'father, 'at was naither o' them God-fearin' men, wad never hae put their han' till! Eh, woman! but my hert's sair 'ithin me. To think o' Ma'colm MacPhail turnin' his back upo' them 'at's been freens wi' 'im sin' ever he was a wee loonie, rinnin' aboot in coaties!"
"Hoot, man! what's gotten intill yer heid?" returned his wife. "It's no Ma'colm: it's the illy-wully factor. Bide ye till he comes till 's ain, an' Maister Crathie 'ill hae to lauch o' the wrang side o' 's mou'."
But thereupon Peter began his tale of how he had fared in London, and in the excitement of keenly anticipated evil, and with his recollection of events wrapped in the mist of a displeasure which had deepened during his journey, he so clothed the facts of Malcolm's conduct in the garments of his own feelings that the mind of Annie Mair also became speedily possessed with the fancy that their friend's good-fortune had upset his moral equilibrium, and that he had not only behaved to her husband with pride and arrogance, breaking all the ancient bonds of friendship between them, but had tried to seduce him from the ways of righteousness by inveigling him into a play-house, where marvels of wickedness were going on at the very time. She wept a few bitter tears of disappointment, dried them hastily, lifted her head high, and proceeded to set her affairs in order as if death were at the door.
For indeed it was to them as a death to leave Scaurnose. True, Annie came from inland, and was not of the fisher race, but this part of the coast she had known from childhood, and in this cottage all her married years had been spent, while banishment of the sort involved banishment from every place they knew, for all the neighborhood was equally under the power of the factor. And, poor as their accommodation here was, they had plenty of open air and land-room; whereas if they should be compelled to go to any of the larger ports, it would be to circumstances greatly inferior and a neighborhood in all probability very undesirable for their children.