KELPIE’S AIRING.
When Miss Horn left him--with a farewell kindlier than her
greeting--rendered yet more restless by her talk, he went back to the
stable, saddled Kelpie, and took her out for an airing.
As he passed the factor’s house, Mrs Crathie saw him from the window.
Her colour rose. She arose herself also, and looked after him from the
door--a proud and peevish woman, jealous of her husband’s dignity,
still more jealous of her own.
“The verra image o’ the auld markis!” she said to herself; for in the
recesses of her bosom she spoke the Scotch she scorned to utter aloud;
“and sits jist like himsel’, wi’ a wee stoop i’ the saiddle, and ilka
noo an’ than a swing o’ his haill boady back, as gien some thoucht had
set him straught.--Gien the fractious brute wad but brak a bane or twa
o’ him!” she went on in growing anger. “The impidence o’ the fallow! He
has his leave: what for disna he tak it an’ gang? But oot o’ this, gang
he sall. To ca’ a man like mine a heepocreet ’cause he wadna procleem
till a haill market ilka secret fau’t o’ the horse he had to sell!
Haith, he cam upo’ the wrang side o’ the sheet to play the lord and
maister here! and that I can tell him!”
The mare was fresh, and the roads through the policy hard both by
nature and by frost, so that he could not let her go, and had enough
to do with her. He turned, therefore, towards the sea-gate, and soon
reached the shore. There, westward of the Seaton, where the fisher-folk
lived, the sand lay smooth, flat, and wet along the edge of the
receding tide: he gave Kelpie the rein, and she sprang into a wild
gallop, every now and then flinging her heels as high as her rider’s
head. But finding, as they approached the stony part from which rose
the great rock called the Bored Craig, that he could not pull her up
in time, he turned her head towards the long dune of sand which, a
little beyond the tide, ran parallel with the shore. It was dry and
loose, and the ascent steep. Kelpie’s hoofs sank at every step, and
when she reached the top, with wide-spread struggling haunches, and
“nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim,” he had her in hand. She
stood panting, yet pawing and dancing, and making the sand fly in all
directions.
Suddenly a woman with a child in her arms rose, as it seemed to
Malcolm, under Kelpie’s very head. She wheeled and reared, and, in
wrath or in terror, strained every nerve to unseat her rider, while,
whether from faith or despair, the woman stood still as a statue,
staring at the struggle.
“Haud awa’ a bit, Lizzy,” cried Malcolm. “She’s a mad brute, an’ I
mayna be able to haud her. Ye ha’e the bairnie, ye see!”
She was a young woman, with a sad white face. To what Malcolm said she
paid no heed, but stood with her child in her arms and gazed at Kelpie
as she went on plunging and kicking about on the top of the dune.
“I reckon ye wadna care though the she-deevil knockit oot yer harns;
but ye ha’e the bairn, woman! Ha’e mercy on the bairn, an’ rin to the
boddom.”
“I want to speak to ye, Ma’colm MacPhail,” she said, in a tone whose
very stillness revealed a depth of trouble.
“I doobt I canna hearken to ye richt the noo,” said Malcolm. “But bide
a wee.” He swung himself from Kelpie’s back, and, hanging hard on the
bit with one hand, searched with the other in the pocket of his coat,
saying, as he did so--
“Sugar, Kelpie! sugar!”
The animal gave an eager snort, settled on her feet, and began
snuffing about him. He made haste, for, if her eagerness should turn
to impatience, she would do her endeavour to bite him. After crunching
three or four lumps, she stood pretty quiet, and Malcolm must make the
best of what time she would give him.
“Noo, Lizzy!” he said hurriedly. “Speyk while ye can.”
“Ma’colm,” said the girl, and looked him full in the face for a moment,
for agony had overcome shame; then her gaze sought the far horizon,
which to seafaring people is as the hills whence cometh their aid to
the people who dwell among mountains; “--Ma’colm, he’s gaein’ to merry
Leddy Florimel.”
Malcolm started. Could the girl have learned more concerning his sister
than had yet reached himself? A fine watching over her was his, truly!
But who was this _he_?
Lizzy had never uttered the name of the father of her child, and all
her people knew was that he could not be a fisherman, for then he would
have married her before the child was born. But Malcolm had had a
suspicion from the first, and now her words all but confirmed it.--And
was that fellow going to marry his sister? He turned white with
dismay--then red with anger, and stood speechless.
But he was quickly brought to himself by a sharp pinch under the
shoulder blade from Kelpie’s long teeth: he had forgotten her, and she
had taken the advantage.
“Wha tellt ye that, Lizzy?” he said.
“I’m no at leeberty to say, Ma’colm, but I’m sure it’s true, an’ my
hert’s like to brak.”
“Puir lassie!” said Malcolm, whose own trouble had never at any time
rendered him insensible to that of others. “But is ’t onybody ’at
_kens_ what he says?” he pursued.
“Weel, I dinna jist richtly ken gien she _kens_, but I think she maun
ha’e gude rizzon, or she wadna say as she says. Oh me! me! my bairnie
’ill be scornin’ me sair whan he comes to ken. Ma’colm, ye’re the only
ane ’at disna luik doon upo’ me, an whan ye cam ower the tap o’ the
Boar’s Tail, it was like an angel in a fire-flaucht, an’ something
inside me said--_Tell ’im; tell ’im;_ an’ sae I bude to tell ye.”
Malcolm was even too simple to feel flattered by the girl’s confidence,
though to be trusted is a greater _compliment_ than to be loved.
“Hearken, Lizzy!” he said. “I canna e’en think, wi’ this brute ready
ilka meenute to ate me up. I maun tak her hame. Efter that, gien ye
wad like to tell me onything, I s’ be at yer service. Bide aboot
here--or, luik ye: here’s the key o’ yon door; come throu’ that intill
the park--throu’ aneth the toll ro’d, ye ken. There ye’ll get into the
lythe (_lee_) wi’ the bairnie; an’ I’ll be wi’ ye in a quarter o’ an
hoor. It’ll tak me but twa meenutes to gang hame. Stoat ’ill put up the
mere, and I’ll be back--I can du ’t in ten meenutes.”
“Eh! dinna hurry for me, Ma’colm: I’m no worth it,” said Lizzy.
But Malcolm was already at full speed along the top of the dune.
“Lord preserve ’s!” cried Lizzy, when she saw him clear the brass
swivel. “Sic a laad as that is! Eh, he maun ha’e a richt lass to lo’e
him some day! It’s a’ ane to him, boat or beast. He wadna turn frae the
deil himsel’. An syne he’s jist as saft ’s a deuk’s neck whan he speyks
till a wuman or a bairn--ay, or an auld man aither!”
And full of trouble as it was about another, Lizzy’s heart yet ached at
the thought that she should be so unworthy of one like him.