"I don't know, sir," answered the unenlightened Hector; "but if a man
must pay his debt or go to jail, it signifies but little whether he goes
as a debtor or a rebel, I should think. But you say this command of the
king's gives a license of so many days--Now, egad, were I in the scrape,
I would beat a march and leave the king and the creditor to settle it
among themselves before they came to extremities."
"So wad I," said Edie; "I wad gie them leg-bail to a certainty."
"True," replied Monkbarns; "but those whom the law suspects of being
unwilling to abide her formal visit, she proceeds with by means of a
shorter and more unceremonious call, as dealing with persons on whom
patience and favour would be utterly thrown away."
"Ay," said Ochiltree, "that will be what they ca' the fugie-warrants--I
hae some skeel in them. There's Border-warrants too in the south country,
unco rash uncanny things;--I was taen up on ane at Saint James's Fair,
and keepit in the auld kirk at Kelso the haill day and night; and a cauld
goustie place it was, I'se assure ye.--But whatna wife's this, wi' her
creel on her back? It's puir Maggie hersell, I'm thinking."
It was so. The poor woman's sense of her loss, if not diminished, was
become at least mitigated by the inevitable necessity of attending to the
means of supporting her family; and her salutation to Oldbuck was made in
an odd mixture between the usual language of solicitation with which she
plied her customers, and the tone of lamentation for her recent calamity.
"How's a' wi' ye the day, Monkbarns? I havena had the grace yet to come
down to thank your honour for the credit ye did puir Steenie, wi' laying
his head in a rath grave, puir fallow. "--Here she whimpered and wiped
her eyes with the corner of her blue apron--"But the fishing comes on no
that ill, though the gudeman hasna had the heart to gang to sea himsell--
Atweel I would fain tell him it wad do him gude to put hand to wark--but
I'm maist fear'd to speak to him--and it's an unco thing to hear ane o'
us speak that gate o' a man--However, I hae some dainty caller haddies,
and they sall be but three shillings the dozen, for I hae nae pith to
drive a bargain ennow, and maun just tak what ony Christian body will
gie, wi' few words and nae flyting."
"What shall we do, Hector?" said Oldbuck, pausing: "I got into disgrace
with my womankind for making a bad bargain with her before. These
maritime animals, Hector, are unlucky to our family."
"Pooh, sir, what would you do?--give poor Maggie what she asks, or allow
me to send a dish of fish up to Monkbarns."
And he held out the money to her; but Maggie drew back her hand. "Na, na,
Captain; ye're ower young and ower free o' your siller--ye should never
tak a fish-wife's first bode; and troth I think maybe a flyte wi' the
auld housekeeper at Monkbarns, or Miss Grizel, would do me some gude--And
I want to see what that hellicate quean Jenny Ritherout's doing--folk
said she wasna weel--She'll be vexing hersell about Steenie, the silly
tawpie, as if he wad ever hae lookit ower his shouther at the like
o'her!--Weel, Monkbarns, they're braw caller haddies, and they'll bid me
unco little indeed at the house if ye want crappit-heads the day."
And so on she paced with her burden,--grief, gratitude for the sympathy
of her betters, and the habitual love of traffic and of gain, chasing
each other through her thoughts.
"And now that we are before the door of their hut," said Ochiltree, "I
wad fain ken, Monkbarns, what has gar'd ye plague yoursell wi' me a' this
length? I tell ye sincerely I hae nae pleasure in ganging in there. I
downa bide to think how the young hae fa'en on a' sides o' me, and left
me an useless auld stump wi' hardly a green leaf on't."
"This old woman," said Oldbuck, "sent you on a message to the Earl of
Glenallan, did she not?"
"Ay!" said the surprised mendicant; "how ken ye that sae weel?"
"Lord Glenallan told me himself," answered the Antiquary; "so there is no
delation--no breach of trust on your part; and as he wishes me to take
her evidence down on some important family matters, I chose to bring you
with me, because in her situation, hovering between dotage and
consciousness, it is possible that your voice and appearance may awaken
trains of recollection which I should otherwise have no means of
exciting. The human mind--what are you about, Hector?"
"I was only whistling for the dog, sir," replied the Captain "she always
roves too wide--I knew I should be troublesome to you."
"Not at all, not at all," said Oldbuck, resuming the subject of his
disquisition--"the human mind is to be treated like a skein of ravelled
silk, where you must cautiously secure one free end before you can make
any progress in disentangling it."
"I ken naething about that," said the gaberlunzie; "but an my auld
acquaintance be hersell, or anything like hersell, she may come to wind
us a pirn. It's fearsome baith to see and hear her when she wampishes
about her arms, and gets to her English, and speaks as if she were a
prent book, let a-be an auld fisher's wife. But, indeed, she had a grand
education, and was muckle taen out afore she married an unco bit beneath
hersell. She's aulder than me by half a score years--but I mind weel
eneugh they made as muckle wark about her making a half-merk marriage wi'
Simon Mucklebackit, this Saunders's father, as if she had been ane o' the
gentry. But she got into favour again, and then she lost it again, as I
hae heard her son say, when he was a muckle chield; and then they got
muckle siller, and left the Countess's land, and settled here. But things
never throve wi' them. Howsomever, she's a weel-educate woman, and an she
win to her English, as I hae heard her do at an orra time, she may come
to fickle us a'."
CHAPTER NINETEENTH
Life ebbs from such old age, unmarked and silent,
As the slow neap-tide leaves yon stranded galley.--
Late she rocked merrily at the least impulse
That wind or wave could give; but now her keel
Is settling on the sand, her mast has ta'en
An angle with the sky, from which it shifts not.
Each wave receding shakes her less and less,
Till, bedded on the strand, she shall remain
Useless as motionless.
Old Play.
As the Antiquary lifted the latch of the hut, he was surprised to hear
the shrill tremulous voice of Elspeth chanting forth an old ballad in a
wild and doleful recitative.
"The herring loves the merry moonlight,
The mackerel loves the wind,
But the oyster loves the dredging sang,
For they come of a gentle kind."
A diligent collector of these legendary scraps of ancient poetry, his
foot refused to cross the threshold when his ear was thus arrested, and
his hand instinctively took pencil and memorandum-book. From time to time
the old woman spoke as if to the children--"Oh ay, hinnies, whisht!
whisht! and I'll begin a bonnier ane than that--
"Now haud your tongue, baith wife and carle,
And listen, great and sma',
And I will sing of Glenallan's Earl
That fought on the red Harlaw.
"The cronach's cried on Bennachie,
And doun the Don and a',
And hieland and lawland may mournfu' be
For the sair field of Harlaw.--
I dinna mind the neist verse weel--my memory's failed, and theres unco
thoughts come ower me--God keep us frae temptation!"
Here her voice sunk in indistinct muttering.
"It's a historical ballad," said Oldbuck, eagerly, "a genuine and
undoubted fragment of minstrelsy! Percy would admire its simplicity--
Ritson could not impugn its authenticity."
"Ay, but it's a sad thing," said Ochiltree, "to see human nature sae far
owertaen as to be skirling at auld sangs on the back of a loss like
hers."
"Hush! hush!" said the Antiquary--"she has gotten the thread of the story
again. "--And as he spoke, she sung--
"They saddled a hundred milk-white steeds,
They hae bridled a hundred black,
With a chafron of steel on each horse's head,
And a good knight upon his back. "--
"Chafron!" exclaimed the Antiquary,--"equivalent, perhaps, to
_cheveron;_--the word's worth a dollar,"--and down it went in his red
book.
"They hadna ridden a mile, a mile,
A mile, but barely ten,
When Donald came branking down the brae
Wi' twenty thousand men.
"Their tartans they were waving wide,
Their glaives were glancing clear,
Their pibrochs rung frae side to side,
Would deafen ye to hear.
"The great Earl in his stirrups stood
That Highland host to see:
Now here a knight that's stout and good
May prove a jeopardie:
"What wouldst thou do, my squire so gay,
That rides beside my reyne,
Were ye Glenallan's Earl the day,
And I were Roland Cheyne?
"To turn the rein were sin and shame,
To fight were wondrous peril,
What would ye do now, Roland Cheyne,
Were ye Glenallan's Earl?'
Ye maun ken, hinnies, that this Roland Cheyne, for as poor and auld as I
sit in the chimney-neuk, was my forbear, and an awfu' man he was that
dayin the fight, but specially after the Earl had fa'en, for he blamed
himsell for the counsel he gave, to fight before Mar came up wi' Mearns,
and Aberdeen, and Angus."
Her voice rose and became more animated as she recited the warlike
counsel of her ancestor--
"Were I Glenallan's Earl this tide,
And ye were Roland Cheyne,
The spur should be in my horse's side,
And the bridle upon his mane.
"If they hae twenty thousand blades,
And we twice ten times ten,
Yet they hae but their tartan plaids,
And we are mail-clad men.
"My horse shall ride through ranks sae rude,
As through the moorland fern,
Then neer let the gentle Norman blude
Grow cauld for Highland kerne.'"
"Do you hear that, nephew?" said Oldbuck;--"you observe your Gaelic
ancestors were not held in high repute formerly by the Lowland warriors."
"I hear," said Hector, "a silly old woman sing a silly old song. I am
surprised, sir, that you, who will not listen to Ossian's songs of Selma,
can be pleased with such trash. I vow, I have not seen or heard a worse
halfpenny ballad; I don't believe you could match it in any pedlar's pack
in the country. I should be ashamed to think that the honour of the
Highlands could be affected by such doggrel. "--And, tossing up his head,
he snuffed the air indignantly.
Apparently the old woman heard the sound of their voices; for, ceasing
her song, she called out, "Come in, sirs, come in--good-will never halted
at the door-stane."
They entered, and found to their surprise Elspeth alone, sitting "ghastly
on the hearth," like the personification of Old Age in the Hunter's song
of the Owl,* "wrinkled, tattered, vile, dim-eyed, discoloured, torpid."
* See Mrs. Grant on the Highland Superstitions, vol. ii. p. 260, for this
fine translation from the Gaelic.
"They're a' out," she said, as they entered; "but an ye will sit a blink,
somebody will be in. If ye hae business wi' my gude-daughter, or my son,
they'll be in belyve,--I never speak on business mysell. Bairns, gie them
seats--the bairns are a' gane out, I trow,"--looking around her;--"I was
crooning to keep them quiet a wee while since; but they hae cruppen out
some gate. Sit down, sirs, they'll be in belyve;" and she dismissed her
spindle from her hand to twirl upon the floor, and soon seemed
exclusively occupied in regulating its motion, as unconscious of the
presence of the strangers as she appeared indifferent to their rank or
business there.
"I wish," said Oldbuck, "she would resume that canticle, or legendary
fragment. I always suspected there was a skirmish of cavalry before the
main battle of the Harlaw."*
* Note H. Battle of Harlaw.
"If your honour pleases," said Edie, "had ye not better proceed to the
business that brought us a' here? I'se engage to get ye the sang ony
time."
"I believe you are right, Edie--_Do manus_--I submit. But how shall we
manage? She sits there the very image of dotage. Speak to her, Edie--try
if you can make her recollect having sent you to Glenallan House."
Edie rose accordingly, and, crossing the floor, placed himself in the
same position which he had occupied during his former conversation with
her. "I'm fain to see ye looking sae weel, cummer; the mair, that the
black ox has tramped on ye since I was aneath your roof-tree."
"Ay," said Elspeth; but rather from a general idea of misfortune, than
any exact recollection of what had happened,--"there has been distress
amang us of late--I wonder how younger folk bide it--I bide it ill. I
canna hear the wind whistle, and the sea roar, but I think I see the
coble whombled keel up, and some o' them struggling in the waves!--Eh,
sirs; sic weary dreams as folk hae between sleeping and waking, before
they win to the lang sleep and the sound! I could amaist think whiles my
son, or else Steenie, my oe, was dead, and that I had seen the burial.
Isna that a queer dream for a daft auld carline? What for should ony o'
them dee before me?--it's out o' the course o' nature, ye ken."
"I think you'll make very little of this stupid old woman," said Hector,
--who still nourished, perhaps, some feelings of the dislike excited by
the disparaging mention of his countrymen in her lay--"I think you'll
make but little of her, sir; and it's wasting our time to sit here and
listen to her dotage."
"Hector," said the Antiquary, indignantly, "if you do not respect her
misfortunes, respect at least her old age and grey hairs: this is the
last stage of existence, so finely treated by the Latin poet--
--Omni
Membrorum damno major dementia, quae neo
Nomina, servorum, nec vultus agnoscit amici,
Cum queis preterita coenavit nocte, nec illos
Quos genuit, quos ecluxit."
"That's Latin!" said Elspeth, rousing herself as if she attended to the
lines, which the Antiquary recited with great pomp of diction--"that's
Latin!" and she cast a wild glance around her--"Has there a priest fund
me out at last?"
"You see, nephew, her comprehension is almost equal to your own of that
fine passage."
"I hope you think, sir, that I knew it to be Latin as well as she did?"
"Why, as to that--But stay, she is about to speak."
"I will have no priest--none," said the beldam, with impotent vehemence;
"as I have lived I will die--none shall say that I betrayed my mistress,
though it were to save my soul!"
"That bespoke a foul conscience," said the mendicant;--"I wuss she wad
mak a clean breast, an it were but for her sake;" and he again assailed
her.
"Weel, gudewife, I did your errand to the Yerl."
"To what Earl? I ken nae Earl;--I ken'd a Countess ance--I wish to Heaven
I had never ken'd her! for by that acquaintance, neighbour, their cam,"--
and she counted her withered fingers as she spoke "first Pride, then
Malice, then Revenge, then False Witness; and Murder tirl'd at the
door-pin, if he camna ben. And werena thae pleasant guests, think ye, to
take up their quarters in ae woman's heart? I trow there was routh o'
company."
"But, cummer," continued the beggar, "it wasna the Countess of Glenallan
I meant, but her son, him that was Lord Geraldin."
"I mind it now," she said; "I saw him no that langsyne, and we had a
heavy speech thegither. Eh, sirs! the comely young lord is turned as auld
and frail as I am: it's muckle that sorrow and heartbreak, and crossing
of true love, will do wi' young blood. But suldna his mither hae lookit
to that hersell?--we were but to do her bidding, ye ken. I am sure
there's naebody can blame me--he wasna my son, and she was my mistress.
Ye ken how the rhyme says--I hae maist forgotten how to sing, or else the
tune's left my auld head--
"He turn'd him right and round again,
Said, Scorn na at my mither;
Light loves I may get mony a ane,
But minnie neer anither.
Then he was but of the half blude, ye ken, and her's was the right
Glenallan after a'. Na, na, I maun never maen doing and suffering for the
Countess Joscelin--never will I maen for that."
Then drawing her flax from the distaff, with the dogged air of one who is
resolved to confess nothing, she resumed her interrupted occupation.
"I hae heard," said the mendicant, taking his cue from what Oldbuck had
told him of the family history--"I hae heard, cummer, that some ill
tongue suld hae come between the Earl, that's Lord Geraldin, and his
young bride."
"Ill tongue?" she said in hasty alarm; "and what had she to fear frae an
ill tongue?--she was gude and fair eneugh--at least a' body said sae. But
had she keepit her ain tongue aff ither folk, she might hae been living
like a leddy for a' that's come and gane yet."
"But I hae heard say, gudewife," continued Ochiltree, "there was a
clatter in the country, that her husband and her were ower sibb when they
married."
"Wha durst speak o' that?" said the old woman hastily; "wha durst say
they were married?--wha ken'd o' that?--Not the Countess--not I. If they
wedded in secret, they were severed in secret--They drank of the
fountains of their ain deceit."
"No, wretched beldam!" exclaimed Oldbuck, who could keep silence no
longer, "they drank the poison that you and your wicked mistress prepared
for them."
"Ha, ha!" she replied, "I aye thought it would come to this. It's but
sitting silent when they examine me--there's nae torture in our days; and
if there is, let them rend me!--It's ill o' the vassal's mouth that
betrays the bread it eats."
"Speak to her, Edie," said the Antiquary; "she knows your voice, and
answers to it most readily."
"We shall mak naething mair out o' her," said Ochiltree. "When she has
clinkit hersell down that way, and faulded her arms, she winna speak a
word, they say, for weeks thegither. And besides, to my thinking, her
face is sair changed since we cam in. However, I'se try her ance mair to
satisfy your honour.--So ye canna keep in mind, cummer, that your auld
mistress, the Countess Joscelin, has been removed?"
"Removed!" she exclaimed; for that name never failed to produce its usual
effect upon her; "then we maun a' follow--a' maun ride when she is in the
saddle. Tell them to let Lord Geraldin ken we're on before them. Bring my
hood and scarf--ye wadna hae me gang in the carriage wi' my leddy, and my
hair in this fashion?"
She raised her shrivelled arms, and seemed busied like a woman who puts
on her cloak to go abroad, then dropped them slowly and stiffly; and the
same idea of a journey still floating apparently through her head, she
proceeded, in a hurried and interrupted manner,--"Call Miss Neville--What
do you mean by Lady Geraldin? I said Eveline Neville, not Lady Geraldin--
there's no Lady Geraldin; tell her that, and bid her change her wet gown,
and no' look sae pale. Bairn! what should she do wi' a bairn?--maidens
hae nane, I trow.--Teresa--Teresa--my lady calls us!--Bring a candle;--
the grand staircase is as mirk as a Yule midnight--We are coming, my
lady!"--With these words she sunk back on the settle, and from thence
sidelong to the floor. *
* Note I. Elspeth's death.
Edie ran to support her, but hardly got her in his arms, before he said,
"It's a' ower--she has passed away even with that last word."
"Impossible," said Oldbuck, hastily advancing, as did his nephew. But
nothing was more certain. She had expired with the last hurried word that
left her lips; and all that remained before them were the mortal relics
of the creature who had so long struggled with an internal sense of
concealed guilt, joined to all the distresses of age and poverty.
"God grant that she be gane to a better place!" said Edie, as he looked
on the lifeless body; "but oh! there was something lying hard and heavy
at her heart. I have seen mony a ane dee, baith in the field o' battle,
and a fair-strae death at hame; but I wad rather see them a' ower again,
as sic a fearfu' flitting as hers!"
"We must call in the neighbours," said Oldbuck, when he had somewhat
recovered his horror and astonishment, "and give warning of this
additional calamity. I wish she could have been brought to a confession.
And, though of far less consequence, I could have wished to transcribe
that metrical fragment. But Heaven's will must be done!"
They left the hut accordingly, and gave the alarm in the hamlet, whose
matrons instantly assembled to compose the limbs and arrange the body of
her who might be considered as the mother of their settlement. Oldbuck
promised his assistance for the funeral.
"Your honour," said Alison Breck, who was next in age to the deceased,
"suld send doun something to us for keeping up our hearts at the
lykewake, for a' Saunders's gin, puir man, was drucken out at the burial
o' Steenie, and we'll no get mony to sit dry-lipped aside the corpse.
Elspeth was unco clever in her young days, as I can mind right weel, but
there was aye a word o' her no being that chancy. Ane suldna speak ill o'
the dead--mair by token, o' ane's cummer and neighbour--but there was
queer things said about a leddy and a bairn or she left the
Craigburnfoot. And sae, in gude troth, it will be a puir lykewake, unless
your honour sends us something to keep us cracking."
"You shall have some whisky," answered Oldbuck, "the rather that you have
preserved the proper word for that ancient custom of watching the dead.--
You observe, Hector, this is genuine Teutonic, from the Gothic
_Leichnam,_ a corpse. It is quite erroneously called _Late-wake,_ though
Brand favours that modern corruption and derivation."
"I believe," said Hector to himself, "my uncle would give away Monkbarns
to any one who would come to ask it in genuine Teutonic! Not a drop of
whisky would the old creatures have got, had their president asked it for
the use of the _Late-wake._"
While Oldbuck was giving some farther directions, and promising
assistance, a servant of Sir Arthur's came riding very hard along the
sands, and stopped his horse when he saw the Antiquary. "There had
something," he said, "very particular happened at the Castle"--(he could
not, or would not, explain what)--"and Miss Wardour had sent him off
express to Monkbarns, to beg that Mr. Oldbuck would come to them without
a moment's delay."
"I am afraid," said the Antiquary, "his course also is drawing to a
close. What can I do?"
"Do, sir?" exclaimed Hector, with his characteristic impatience,--"get on
the horse, and turn his head homeward--you will be at Knockwinnock Castle
in ten minutes."
"He is quite a free goer," said the servant, dismounting to adjust the
girths and stirrups,--"he only pulls a little if he feels a dead weight
on him."
"I should soon be a dead weight _off_ him, my friend," said the
Antiquary.--"What the devil, nephew, are you weary of me? or do you
suppose me weary of my life, that I should get on the back of such a
Bucephalus as that? No, no, my friend, if I am to be at Knockwinnock
to-day, it must be by walking quietly forward on my own feet, which I
will do with as little delay as possible. Captain M'Intyre may ride that
animal himself, if he pleases."
"I have little hope I could be of any use, uncle, but I cannot think of
their distress without wishing to show sympathy at least--so I will ride
on before, and announce to them that you are coming.--I'll trouble you
for your spurs, my friend."
"You will scarce need them, sir," said the man, taking them off at the
same time, and buckling them upon Captain Mlntyre's heels, "he's very
frank to the road."
Oldbuck stood astonished at this last act of temerity, "are you mad,
Hector?" he cried, "or have you forgotten what is said by Quintus
Curtius, with whom, as a soldier, you must needs be familiar,--_Nobilis
equus umbra quidem virgae regitur; ignavus ne calcari quidem excitari
potest;_ which plainly shows that spurs are useless in every case, and, I
may add, dangerous in most."
But Hector, who cared little for the opinion of either Quintus Curtius or
of the Antiquary, upon such a topic, only answered with a heedless "Never
fear--never fear, sir."
With that he gave his able horse the head,
And, bending forward, struck his armed heels
Against the panting sides of his poor jade,
Up to the rowel-head; and starting so,
He seemed in running to devour the way,
Staying no longer question.
"There they go, well matched," said Oldbuck, looking after them as they
started--"a mad horse and a wild boy, the two most unruly creatures in
Christendom! and all to get half an hour sooner to a place where nobody
wants him; for I doubt Sir Arthur's griefs are beyond the cure of our
light horseman. It must be the villany of Dousterswivel, for whom Sir
Arthur has done so much; for I cannot help observing, that, with some
natures, Tacitus's maxim holdeth good: _Beneficia eo usque laeta sunt dum
videntur exsolvi posse; ubi multum antevenere, pro gratia odium
redditur,_--from which a wise man might take a caution, not to oblige any
man beyond the degree in which he may expect to be requited, lest he
should make his debtor a bankrupt in gratitude."
Murmuring to himself such scraps of cynical philosophy, our Antiquary
paced the sands towards Knockwinnock; but it is necessary we should
outstrip him, for the purpose of explaining the reasons of his being so
anxiously summoned thither.
CHAPTER TWENTIETH.
So, while the Goose, of whom the fable told,
Incumbent, brooded o'er her eggs of gold,
With hand outstretched, impatient to destroy,
Stole on her secret nest the cruel Boy,
Whose gripe rapacious changed her splendid dream,
--For wings vain fluttering, and for dying scream.
The Loves of the Sea-weeds.
From the time that Sir Arthur Wardour had become possessor of the
treasure found in Misticot's grave, he had been in a state of mind more
resembling ecstasy than sober sense. Indeed, at one time his daughter had
become seriously apprehensive for his intellect; for, as he had no doubt
that he had the secret of possessing himself of wealth to an unbounded
extent, his language and carriage were those of a man who had acquired
the philosopher's stone. He talked of buying contiguous estates, that
would have led him from one side of the island to the other, as if he
were determined to brook no neighbour save the sea. He corresponded with
an architect of eminence, upon a plan of renovating the castle of his
forefathers on a style of extended magnificence that might have rivalled
that of Windsor, and laying out the grounds on a suitable scale. Troops
of liveried menials were already, in fancy, marshalled in his halls, and
--for what may not unbounded wealth authorize its possessor to aspire
to?--the coronet of a marquis, perhaps of a duke, was glittering before
his imagination. His daughter--to what matches might she not look
forward? Even an alliance with the blood-royal was not beyond the sphere
of his hopes. His son was already a general--and he himself whatever
ambition could dream of in its wildest visions.
In this mood, if any one endeavoured to bring Sir Arthur down to the
regions of common life, his replies were in the vein of Ancient Pistol--
A fico for the world, and worldlings base
I speak of Africa and golden joys!
The reader may conceive the amazement of Miss Wardour, when, instead of
undergoing an investigation concerning the addresses of Lovel, as she had
expected from the long conference of her father with Mr. Oldbuck, upon
the morning of the fated day when the treasure was discovered, the
conversation of Sir Arthur announced an imagination heated with the hopes
of possessing the most unbounded wealth. But she was seriously alarmed
when Dousterswivel was sent for to the Castle, and was closeted with her
father--his mishap condoled with--his part taken, and his loss
compensated. All the suspicions which she had long entertained respecting
this man became strengthened, by observing his pains to keep up the
golden dreams of her father, and to secure for himself, under various
pretexts, as much as possible out of the windfall which had so strangely
fallen to Sir Arthur's share.
Other evil symptoms began to appear, following close on each other.
Letters arrived every post, which Sir Arthur, as soon as he had looked at
the directions, flung into the fire without taking the trouble to open
them. Miss Wardour could not help suspecting that these epistles, the
contents of which seemed to be known to her father by a sort of
intuition, came from pressing creditors. In the meanwhile, the temporary
aid which he had received from the treasure dwindled fast away. By far
the greater part had been swallowed up by the necessity of paying the
bill of six hundred pounds, which had threatened Sir Arthur with instant
distress. Of the rest, some part was given to the adept, some wasted upon
extravagances which seemed to the poor knight fully authorized by his
full-blown hopes,--and some went to stop for a time the mouths of such
claimants as, being weary of fair promises, had become of opinion with
Harpagon, that it was necessary to touch something substantial. At length
circumstances announced but too plainly, that it was all expended within
two or three days after its discovery; and there appeared no prospect of
a supply. Sir Arthur, naturally impatient, now taxed Dousterswivel anew
with breach of those promises through which he had hoped to convert all
his lead into gold. But that worthy gentleman's turn was now served; and
as he had grace enough to wish to avoid witnessing the fall of the house
which he had undermined, he was at the trouble of bestowing a few learned
terms of art upon Sir Arthur, that at least he might not be tormented
before his time. He took leave of him, with assurances that he would
return to Knockwinnock the next morning, with such information as would
not fail to relieve Sir Arthur from all his distresses.
"For, since I have consulted in such matters, I ave never," said Mr.
Herman Dousterswivel, "approached so near de _arcanum,_ what you call de
great mystery,--de Panchresta--de Polychresta--I do know as much of it as
Pelaso de Taranta, or Basilius--and either I will bring you in two and
tree days de No. III. of Mr. Mishdigoat, or you shall call me one knave
myself, and never look me in de face again no more at all."
The adept departed with this assurance, in the firm resolution of making
good the latter part of the proposition, and never again appearing before
his injured patron. Sir Arthur remained in a doubtful and anxious state
of mind. The positive assurances of the philosopher, with the hard words
Panchresta, Basilius, and so forth, produced some effect on his mind. But
he had been too often deluded by such jargon, to be absolutely relieved
of his doubt, and he retired for the evening into his library, in the
fearful state of one who, hanging over a precipice, and without the means
of retreat, perceives the stone on which he rests gradually parting from
the rest of the crag, and about to give way with him.
The visions of hope decayed, and there increased in proportion that
feverish agony of anticipation with which a man, educated in a sense of
consequence, and possessed of opulence,--the supporter of an ancient
name, and the father of two promising children,--foresaw the hour
approaching which should deprive him of all the splendour which time had
made familiarly necessary to him, and send him forth into the world to
struggle with poverty, with rapacity, and with scorn. Under these dire
forebodings, his temper, exhausted by the sickness of delayed hope,
became peevish and fretful, and his words and actions sometimes expressed
a reckless desperation, which alarmed Miss Wardour extremely. We have
seen, on a former occasion, that Sir Arthur was a man of passions lively
and quick, in proportion to the weakness of his character in other
respects; he was unused to contradiction, and if he had been hitherto, in
general, good-humoured and cheerful, it was probably because the course
of his life had afforded no such frequent provocation as to render his
irritability habitual.
On the third morning after Dousterswivel's departure, the servant, as
usual, laid on the breakfast table the newspaper and letters of the day.
Miss Wardour took up the former to avoid the continued ill-humour of her
father, who had wrought himself into a violent passion, because the toast
was over-browned.
"I perceive how it is," was his concluding speech on this interesting
subject,--"my servants, who have had their share of my fortune, begin to
think there is little to be made of me in future. But while I _am_ the
scoundrel's master I will be so, and permit no neglect--no, nor endure a
hair's-breadth diminution of the respect I am entitled to exact from
them."
"I am ready to leave your honour's service this instant," said the
domestic upon whom the fault had been charged, "as soon as you order
payment of my wages."
Sir Arthur, as if stung by a serpent, thrust his hand into his pocket,
and instantly drew out the money which it contained, but which was short
of the man's claim. "What money have you got, Miss Wardour?" he said, in
a tone of affected calmness, but which concealed violent agitation.
Miss Wardour gave him her purse; he attempted to count the bank notes
which it contained, but could not reckon them. After twice miscounting
the sum, he threw the whole to his daughter, and saying, in a stern
voice, "Pay the rascal, and let him leave the house instantly!" he strode
out of the room.
The mistress and servant stood alike astonished at the agitation and
vehemence of his manner.
"I am sure, ma'am, if I had thought I was particularly wrang, I wadna hae
made ony answer when Sir Arthur challenged me. I hae been lang in his
service, and he has been a kind master, and you a kind mistress, and I
wad like ill ye should think I wad start for a hasty word. I am sure it
was very wrang o' me to speak about wages to his honour, when maybe he
has something to vex him. I had nae thoughts o' leaving the family in
this way."
"Go down stair, Robert," said his mistress--"something has happened to
fret my father--go down stairs, and let Alick answer the bell."
When the man left the room, Sir Arthur re-entered, as if he had been
watching his departure. "What's the meaning of this?" he said hastily, as
he observed the notes lying still on the table--"Is he not gone? Am I
neither to be obeyed as a master or a father?"
"He is gone to give up his charge to the housekeeper, sir,--I thought
there was not such instant haste."
"There _is_ haste, Miss Wardour," answered her father, interrupting her;
--"What I do henceforth in the house of my forefathers, must be done
speedily, or never."
He then sate down, and took up with a trembling hand the basin of tea
prepared for him, protracting the swallowing of it, as if to delay the
necessity of opening the post-letters which lay on the table, and which
he eyed from time to time, as if they had been a nest of adders ready to
start into life and spring upon him.
"You will be happy to hear," said Miss Wardour, willing to withdraw her
father's mind from the gloomy reflections in which he appeared to be
plunged, "you will be happy to hear, sir, that Lieutenant Taffril's
gun-brig has got safe into Leith Roads--I observe there had been
apprehensions for his safety--I am glad we did not hear them till they
were contradicted."
"And what is Taffril and his gun-brig to me?"
"Sir!" said Miss Wardour in astonishment; for Sir Arthur, in his ordinary
state of mind, took a fidgety sort of interest in all the gossip of the
day and country.
"I say," he repeated in a higher and still more impatient key, "what do I
care who is saved or lost? It's nothing to me, I suppose?"
"I did not know you were busy, Sir Arthur; and thought, as Mr. Taffril is
a brave man, and from our own country, you would be happy to hear"--
"Oh, I am happy--as happy as possible--and, to make you happy too, you
shall have some of my good news in return." And he caught up a letter.
"It does not signify which I open first--they are all to the same tune."
He broke the seal hastily, ran the letter over, and then threw it to his
daughter. "Ay--I could not have lighted more happily!--this places the
copestone."
Miss Wardour, in silent terror, took up the letter. "Read it--read it
aloud!" said her father; "it cannot be read too often; it will serve to
break you in for other good news of the same kind."
She began to read with a faltering voice, "Dear Sir."
"He _dears_ me too, you see, this impudent drudge of a writer's office,
who, a twelvemonth since, was not fit company for my second table--I
suppose I shall be dear Knight' with him by and by."
"Dear Sir," resumed Miss Wardour; but, interrupting herself, "I see the
contents are unpleasant, sir--it will only vex you my reading them
aloud."
"If you will allow me to know my own pleasure, Miss Wardour, I entreat
you to go on--I presume, if it were unnecessary, I should not ask you to
take the trouble."
"Having been of late taken into copartnery," continued Miss Wardour,
reading the letter, "by Mr. Gilbert Greenhorn, son of your late
correspondent and man of business, Girnigo Greenhorn, Esq., writer to the
signet, whose business I conducted as parliament-house clerk for many
years, which business will in future be carried on under the firm of
Greenhorn and Grinderson (which I memorandum for the sake of accuracy in
addressing your future letters), and having had of late favours of yours,
directed to my aforesaid partner, Gilbert Greenhorn, in consequence of
his absence at the Lamberton races, have the honour to reply to your said
favours."
"You see my friend is methodical, and commences by explaining the causes
which have procured me so modest and elegant a correspondent. Go on--I
can bear it."
And he laughed that bitter laugh which is perhaps the most fearful
expression of mental misery. Trembling to proceed, and yet afraid to
disobey, Miss Wardour continued to read--"I am for myself and partner,
sorry we cannot oblige you by looking out for the sums you mention, or
applying for a suspension in the case of Goldiebirds' bond, which would
be more inconsistent, as we have been employed to act as the said
Goldiebirds' procurators and attorneys, in which capacity we have taken
out a charge of horning against you, as you must be aware by the schedule
left by the messenger, for the sum of four thousand seven hundred and
fifty-six pounds five shillings and sixpence one-fourth of a penny
sterling, which, with annual-rent and expenses effeiring, we presume will
be settled during the currency of the charge, to prevent further trouble.
Same time, I am under the necessity to observe our own account, amounting
to seven hundred and sixty-nine pounds ten shillings and sixpence, is
also due, and settlement would be agreeable; but as we hold your rights,
title-deeds, and documents in hypothec, shall have no objection to give
reasonable time--say till the next money term. I am, for myself and
partner, concerned to add, that Messrs. Goldiebirds' instructions to us
are to proceed _peremptorie_ and _sine mora,_ of which I have the
pleasure to advise you, to prevent future mistakes, reserving to
ourselves otherwise to age' as accords. I am, for self and partner, dear
sir, your obliged humble servant, Gabriel Grinderson, for Greenhorn and
Grinderson."
"Ungrateful villain!" said Miss Wardour.
"Why, no--it's in the usual rule, I suppose; the blow could not have been
perfect if dealt by another hand--it's all just as it should be,"
answered the poor Baronet, his affected composure sorely belied by his
quivering lip and rolling eye--"But here's a postscript I did not notice
--come, finish the epistle."
"I have to add (not for self but partner) that Mr. Greenhorn will
accommodate you by taking your service of plate, or the bay horses, if
sound in wind and limb, at a fair appreciation, in part payment of your
accompt."
"G--d confound him!" said Sir Arthur, losing all command of himself at
this condescending proposal: "his grandfather shod my father's horses,
and this descendant of a scoundrelly blacksmith proposes to swindle me
out of mine! But I will write him a proper answer."
And he sate down and began to write with great vehemence, then stopped
and read aloud:--"Mr. Gilbert Greenhorn,--in answer to two letters of a
late date, I received a letter from a person calling himself Grinderson,
and designing himself as your partner. When I address any one, I do not
usually expect to be answered by deputy--I think I have been useful to
your father, and friendly and civil to yourself, and therefore am now
surprised--And yet," said he, stopping short, "why should I be surprised
at that or anything else? or why should I take up my time in writing to
such a scoundrel?--I shan't be always kept in prison, I suppose; and to
break that puppy's bones when I get out, shall be my first employment."
"In prison, sir?" said Miss Wardour, faintly.
"Ay, in prison to be sure. Do you make any question about that? Why, Mr.
what's his name's fine letter for self and partner seems to be thrown
away on you, or else you have got four thousand so many hundred pounds,
with the due proportion of shillings, pence, and half-pence, to pay that
aforesaid demand, as he calls it."
"I, sir? O if I had the means!--But where's my brother?--why does he not
come, and so long in Scotland? He might do something to assist us."
"Who, Reginald?--I suppose he's gone with Mr. Gilbert Greenhorn, or some
such respectable person, to the Lamberton races--I have expected him this
week past; but I cannot wonder that my children should neglect me as well
as every other person. But I should beg your pardon, my love, who never
either neglected or offended me in your life."
And kissing her cheek as she threw her arms round his neck, he
experienced that consolation which a parent feels, even in the most
distressed state, in the assurance that he possesses the affection of a
child.
Miss Wardour took the advantage of this revulsion of feeling, to
endeavour to soothe her father's mind to composure. She reminded him that
he had many friends.
"I had many once," said Sir Arthur; "but of some I have exhausted their
kindness with my frantic projects; others are unable to assist me--others
are unwilling. It is all over with me. I only hope Reginald will take
example by my folly."
"Should I not send to Monkbarns, sir?" said his daughter.
"To what purpose? He cannot lend me such a sum, and would not if he
could, for he knows I am otherwise drowned in debt; and he would only
give me scraps of misanthropy and quaint ends of Latin."
"But he is shrewd and sensible, and was bred to business, and, I am sure,
always loved this family."
"Yes, I believe he did. It is a fine pass we are come to, when the
affection of an Oldbuck is of consequence to a Wardour! But when matters
come to extremity, as I suppose they presently will--it may be as well to
send for him. And now go take your walk, my dear--my mind is more
composed than when I had this cursed disclosure to make. You know the
worst, and may daily or hourly expect it. Go take your walk--I would
willingly be alone for a little while."
When Miss Wardour left the apartment, her first occupation was to avail
herself of the half permission granted by her father, by despatching to
Monkbarns the messenger, who, as we have already seen, met the Antiquary
and his nephew on the sea-beach.
Little recking, and indeed scarce knowing, where she was wandering,
chance directed her into the walk beneath the Briery Bank, as it was
called. A brook, which in former days had supplied the castle-moat with
water, here descended through a narrow dell, up which Miss Wardour's
taste had directed a natural path, which was rendered neat and easy of
ascent, without the air of being formally made and preserved. It suited
well the character of the little glen, which was overhung with thickets
and underwood, chiefly of larch and hazel, intermixed with the usual
varieties of the thorn and brier. In this walk had passed that scene of
explanation between Miss Wardour and Lovel which was overheard by old
Edie Ochiltree. With a heart softened by the distress which approached
her family, Miss Wardour now recalled every word and argument which Lovel
had urged in support of his suit, and could not help confessing to
herself, it was no small subject of pride to have inspired a young man of
his talents with a passion so strong and disinterested. That he should
have left the pursuit of a profession in which he was said to be rapidly
rising, to bury himself in a disagreeable place like Fairport, and brood
over an unrequited passion, might be ridiculed by others as romantic, but
was naturally forgiven as an excess of affection by the person who was
the object of his attachment. Had he possessed an independence, however
moderate, or ascertained a clear and undisputed claim to the rank in
society he was well qualified to adorn, she might now have had it in her
power to offer her father, during his misfortunes, an asylum in an
establishment of her own. These thoughts, so favourable to the absent
lover, crowded in, one after the other, with such a minute recapitulation
of his words, looks, and actions, as plainly intimated that his former
repulse had been dictated rather by duty than inclination. Isabella was
musing alternately upon this subject, and upon that of her father's
misfortunes, when, as the path winded round a little hillock covered with
brushwood, the old Blue-Gown suddenly met her.
With an air as if he had something important and mysterious to
communicate, he doffed his bonnet, and assumed the cautious step and
voice of one who would not willingly be overheard. "I hae been wishing
muckle to meet wi' your leddyship--for ye ken I darena come to the house
for Dousterswivel."
"I heard indeed," said Miss Wardour, dropping an alms into the bonnet--"I
heard that you had done a very foolish, if not a very bad thing, Edie--
and I was sorry to hear it."
"Hout, my bonny leddy--fulish? A' the world's fules--and how should auld
Edie Ochiltree be aye wise?--And for the evil--let them wha deal wi'
Dousterswivel tell whether he gat a grain mair than his deserts."
"That may be true, Edie, and yet," said Miss Wardour, "you may have been
very wrong."
"Weel, weel, we'se no dispute that e'ennow--it's about yoursell I'm gaun
to speak. Div ye ken what's hanging ower the house of Knockwinnock?"
"Great distress, I fear, Edie," answered Miss Wardour; "but I am
surprised it is already so public."
"Public!--Sweepclean, the messenger, will be there the day wi' a' his
tackle. I ken it frae ane o' his concurrents, as they ca' them, that's
warned to meet him; and they'll be about their wark belyve; whare they
clip, there needs nae kame--they shear close eneugh."
"Are you sure this bad hour, Edie, is so very near?--come, I know, it
will."
"It's e'en as I tell you, leddy. But dinna be cast down--there's a heaven
ower your head here, as weel as in that fearful night atween the
Ballyburghness and the Halket-head. D'ye think He, wha rebuked the
waters, canna protect you against the wrath of men, though they be armed
with human authority?"
"It is indeed all we have to trust to."
"Ye dinna ken--ye dinna ken: when the night's darkest, the dawn's
nearest. If I had a gude horse, or could ride him when I had him, I
reckon there wad be help yet. I trusted to hae gotten a cast wi' the
Royal Charlotte, but she's coupit yonder, it's like, at Kittlebrig. There
was a young gentleman on the box, and he behuved to drive; and Tam Sang,
that suld hae mair sense, he behuved to let him, and the daft callant
couldna tak the turn at the corner o' the brig; and od! he took the
curbstane, and he's whomled her as I wad whomle a toom bicker--it was a
luck I hadna gotten on the tap o' her. Sae I came down atween hope and
despair, to see if ye wad send me on."
"And, Edie--where would ye go?" said the young lady.
"To Tannonburgh, my leddy" (which was the first stage from Fairport, but
a good deal nearer to Knockwinnock), "and that without delay--it's a' on
your ain business."
"Our business, Edie? Alas! I give you all credit for your good meaning;
but"--
"There's nae _buts_ about it, my leddy, for gang I maun," said the
persevering Blue-Gown.
"But what is it that you would do at Tannonburgh?--or how can your going
there benefit my father's affairs?"
"Indeed, my sweet leddy," said the gaberlunzie, "ye maun just trust that
bit secret to auld Edie's grey pow, and ask nae questions about it.
Certainly if I wad hae wared my life for you yon night, I can hae nae
reason to play an ill pliskie t'ye in the day o' your distress."
"Well, Edie, follow me then," said Miss Wardour, "and I will try to get
you sent to Tannonburgh."
