Sleepy, weary, and uncomfortable, the household of Merkland reluctantly
bestirred itself next morning. Mrs. Ross rose ill-humored from very
weariness. Duncan, and May, and Barbara, were all more than ordinarily
stupid; and Mr. Ambler, of Smoothlie, with all his neatness and
finicality, was still in the house. The imperturbable Mr. Ambler was
first in the breakfast-parlor, joking Anne on her pale cheeks, and Lewis
on his last night's conquests--fully prepared to do justice to the
edibles of the breakfast-table, and not, in any degree, inclined to
forgive the sleepiness which had mangled these delicate Oran trout, and
sent up the eggs hard-boiled; for Mr. Ambler, by right of his
comfort-loving old bachelorship, was excused everywhere for discussing
matters of the table more minutely than ordinary strangers were
privileged to do, and had besides, as Lewis Ross's guardian, a familiar
standing at Merkland.
"Bless me, Madam," said Mr. Ambler, "your cook must have been up all the
hours of the night. Sleepy huzzies! Why, I myself was not in bed till
two o'clock, and here I am, as fresh as ever I was. And just look at
this trout--as beautiful a beast as was ever caught in water--broken
clean in two! It's quite shocking!"
"Are there never any such incidents in Smoothlie, Mr. Ambler?" asked
Mrs. Ross, somewhat sharply.
"Accidents, Madam! Do you call _that_ an accident--the massacreing of a
delicate animal like a trout? No, I send Forsyth to the kitchen every
morning to superintend; and Forsyth, by long practice, has arrived at
perfiteness, as the old proverb says.--Better try a bit of one though,
Lewis, mangled though they be, than hurt your stomach with these eggs;
they're indigestible, man--like lead. Send me your plate; here is not a
bad bit."
"There is a kipper beside you, more carefully cooked, Mr. Ambler," said
Anne, smiling.
"Thank you, Anne, my dear; but I never take kippered trout when I can
get fresh, fit for the eating. Lewis, man, what makes you yawn so much?
It's very ill-bred."
Lewis laughed. Mrs. Ross looked displeased. "Poor boy, he is fatigued.
No wonder, after all his exertions yesterday."
"Fatigued! Nonsense. What should fatigue him?" said Mr. Ambler. "Take my
word for it, Mrs. Ross, it's just an idle habit, and not genuine
weariness. A young man, like Lewis, fatigued with enjoying himself!--on
his one-and-twentieth birthday, too! Who ever heard the like? When I
was in India (which is neither the day nor yesterday) I have seen me up
till far on in the night, and yet astir and travelling a couple of hours
before sunrise.--What would you say to that, Lewis? No; so far as I can
see, our young generation are more likely to be spoiled by indolence
than overwork."
"Indolence! that's quite too bad, Mr. Ambler," said Lewis.--"Bear me
witness, Anne, how I have been running about since I arrived at
Merkland. I don't think I have had a couple of hours to myself since I
came home."
"Lewis," said Mr. Ambler, "what was yon I heard last night of Archie
Sutherland? That little round body, Mrs. Bairnsfather, was enlightening
us all as to Strathoran's affairs. She says the lad is ruined."
Lewis shrugged his shoulders.
"I can't say, Mr. Ambler. I am not so deeply read in economics as the
good lady. Archie's an extravagant fellow: but--oh! if I say any more, I
shall have Anne upon me. Never mind, he's a fine fellow, Archie."
"Anne?" said Mr. Ambler, inquisitively. "Ay, what is Anne's special
interest in Archie Sutherland? Well, I will ask no questions."
"My special interest in Archie Sutherland, is a figment of my brother's
lively imagination, Mr. Ambler," said Anne, quietly, "produced by what
inspiration I do not know; but repeated, I suppose, because it annoys
me."
"Well, you can pay him back in his own coin," said the old gentleman.
"Oh, you need not look innocent, Lewis. Do you think nobody noticed you
last night hanging about that pretty little girl of Mrs. Catherine's?
Bless me! Anne, my dear, what is the matter?"
Anne had turned very pale, and felt a deadly sickness at her heart, as
she saw the color rising over Lewis's cheek, and the conscious smile of
pleasure and embarrassment hovering about his lip. But Mrs. Ross spoke
before she could render any reason for her change of countenance.
"Miss Aytoun, indeed! Upon my word, Mr. Ambler, your ward is indebted to
you--after all the pains that have been bestowed upon him, and all the
advantages he has had, to think he could be attracted by yon little
animated doll. Nonsense! Lewis will look higher, I confidently hope."
"Upon my word, you dispose of me very summarily," said Lewis, half
laughing, half angry. "Mr. Ambler, will you put my mother in remembrance
of those cabalistic forms of yesterday, which made me master of my own
person and possessions. I suppose I may be very thankful, though, that
you did not make me over to Miss Falconer--eh, Mr. Ambler?"
"Miss Falconer would not take you, Lewis," said Mr. Ambler, coolly. "I
will trouble you for the toast, Anne, and--yes, I will take the
marmalade, too--do not alarm yourself, Lewis, you are in no danger from
Miss Falconer."
Lewis looked piqued. It was more agreeable to feel himself a prize, than
to be told so very coolly that he was in no danger from Miss Falconer,
and the pleasant flattery of those blue eyes of Alice Aytoun's, which
had looked up to him so gladly last night, returned upon him in
consolatory fascination. His mother's interference, too, excited a
spirit of opposition and perversity, which stimulated the remembrance;
and when Mr. Ambler had happily ridden away, Lewis beguiled Anne into
going out with him, and, before long, their walk terminated at the door
of the Tower, whither Alice Aytoun had seen them approaching, from her
high window, and glided softly into the drawing-room, with her gay heart
fluttering, that she might at once meet and welcome Miss Ross.
"Anne," said Mrs. Catherine, "Alison Aytoun has a petition to make to
you. She wants you to protect her when she goes to Falcon's Craig. I,
myself, as you know, am not given to visiting; besides that, at this
time, I am taken up with graver matters. I would like you to take the
bairn there to-morrow."
"Oh, if you please, Miss Ross," pleaded Alice.
"For the Tower is dreary enough for a young thing," continued Mrs.
Catherine, "At all seasons. Lewis, they are always quickening the speed
of travel: how soon could a letter be answered from Paris?"
"Oh, in a week or two," said Lewis, carelessly. "A fortnight, I dare
say. But no one ever accused me of punctuality, Mrs. Catherine, so I
cannot say exactly."
"The more shame to you," said Mrs. Catherine. "A silly youth bragging of
a short-coming! Truly, Anne, I count it an affliction that folk must
bear with the lads through their fool-estate, before ye can find an
inkling of sense in any man. Alison, has Miss Ross consented to take
charge of you? and will you go, Anne?"
"I shall be very glad," said Anne, as Alice hung round her. "But is not
Marjory related to Miss Aytoun?"
"It's past counting, that kindred," said Mrs. Catherine; "we could
reckon it in my generation, that is with Alison's grand-mother and the
last family of Falconers passing the father of Ralph and Marjory, who
was an only son, and died young--a poor peasweep he was, that might
never have been born at all, for all the good he did!--and it was only a
third or fourth cousinship then. I want the bairn to go to Falcon's
Craig, more for a diversion to her, than any other thing: and doubtless
we must have festivities of our own, also. I will borrow your French
serving-man from you, Lewis, to teach us a right manner of rejoicing."
"You shall have him, with all my heart," said Lewis, with some offended
dignity; "only, I fear John would not take his orders from Mrs. Morison.
He is too sensitive."
"Set him up!" exclaimed Mrs. Catherine. "Sensitive, truly! Then you must
e'en keep him and humor him yourself, Lewis. I am plaguit enough in my
own household. There is Euphan Morison waylaying me with herbs. I caught
her my ownself, this very morning, wileing the bairn Alison into
poisoning herself with a drink made from dockens: the odor of them has
not left me yet."
"It was only camomile," whispered Alice.
"Never you heed what it was," said Mrs. Catherine. "Unwholesome trash
that she calls good for the stomach, as if a bairn like Alison had any
call to know whither she had a stomach or no! I have no patience with
them. Jacky, you evil spirit, what are ye wanting now?"
"If you please," said Jacky, "It's Mr. Foreman--"
Mrs. Catherine started.
"Where is he?"
"And a strange man with him, dressed like a gentleman," continued Jacky.
"They're in the library, Mrs. Catherine."
Mrs. Catherine rose hurriedly.
"Bairns, you will tarry till I come back. I am not like to be long."
Mr. Foreman, the acute, and sagacious writer of Portoran, was seated in
the library when Mrs. Catherine entered, and a man of equivocal
appearance, bearded like the pard, who had been swaggering round the
room, examining, with an eye of assumed connoisseurship, the dark family
portraits on the wall, turned round at the sound of her step to make an
elaborate bow. Mrs. Catherine looked at him impatiently.
"Well, Mr. Foreman, have you brought me any tidings?"
"I have brought you no direct tidings, Mrs. Catherine, but this,"--Mr.
Foreman looked dubiously at the stranger--"this _gentleman_, whom I met
accidentally in Portoran, is charged with a mission, the particulars of
which I thought you would like to know, being deeply interested in Mr.
Sutherland."
"Maiden aunt," murmured the stranger. "Ah! I see."
"You seem to have clear eyes, Sir," said Mrs. Catherine, sternly. "Mr.
Sutherland will be a friend of yours, doubtless?"
"Ah! a fine young fellow--most promising lad!" was the answer. "Might be
a credit to any family. I have the honor of a slight acquaintance.
Nothing could be more edifying than his walk and conversation, I assure
you, Madam."
"I will thank you to assure me of what I ask, and trouble your head
about no more," said Mrs. Catherine. "Are the like of you acquaint--I am
meaning, is Archibald Sutherland a friend of yours?"
"Very intimate. My friend Lord Gillravidge and he are. Astonishing young
man, Madam, my friend Lord Gillravidge--missed church once last year,
and was quite overcome with contrition--so much comforted by Mr.
Sutherland's Christian friendship and fraternity--quite delighted to be
a spectator of it, I assure you."
"I was asking you about Archibald Sutherland, Sir," said Mrs. Catherine,
standing stiffly erect, as the stranger threw himself into a chair
unbidden, "and in what manner the like of you were connected with him. I
am waiting for your answer."
"A long story, Madame," said the stranger, coolly, "of friendly interest
and mutual good offices. I have seen Mr. Sutherland often with my friend
Lord G., and was anxious to do him a service--my time being always at my
friend's disposal."
"Mr. Foreman," exclaimed Mrs. Catherine, "know you the meaning of all
this? You are a lawyer, man; see if you cannot shape questions so as
they shall be answered."
"Your friend Lord Gillravidge is intimately acquainted with Mr.
Sutherland?" interrogated Mr. Foreman.
"Precisely--delightful; dwelling together in unity, like--"
"And Mr. Sutherland is in embarrassed circumstances?" continued Mr.
Foreman, impelled by an impatient gesture from Mrs. Catherine.
The stranger turned round with a contraction of his forehead and gave a
significant nod.
"A most benevolent young man--kind-hearted people are always being
tricked by impostors, and made security for friends--merely
temporary--does him infinite credit, I assure you, Madam."
"Assure me no lies!" exclaimed Mrs. Catherine. "What have you to do--a
paltry trickster as you are--with the lad Archie Sutherland: answer me
that?"
"Madam!" exclaimed the stranger, rising indignantly, and assuming an
attitude.
"The lady is aware of Mr. Sutherland's embarrassments," interposed Mr.
Foreman, "and is putting no inquiries touching the cause. Your friend,
Lord Gillravidge, Mr. ----"
"Fitzherbert, Sir," said the stranger.
"Mr. Fitzherbert has served Mr. Sutherland in a pecuniary way?"
Mr. Fitzherbert bowed.
"And you are charged with a mission of a peculiar kind to Strathoran.
Might I beg you to explain its nature to Mrs. Catherine Douglas, a lady
who is deeply interested in your friend's friend, Mr. Sutherland."
The stranger looked perplexed, gracefully confused, and hung back, as if
in embarrassment and diffidence.
"The fact is, Madam, I am placed in quite a peculiar position--a mission
strictly confidential, intrusted to me--friendly inquiries--which I have
no authority to divulge. I beg I may not be questioned further."
"Mr. Fitzherbert, fortunately, was less delicate with me, Mrs.
Catherine," said Mr. Foreman. "Mr. Sutherland, Madam, is in treaty for
the sale of Strathoran--for some portion of the estate, at least, and
this gentleman is commissioned to report upon it, as he tells me, before
the bargain is completed."
"Not fair--against all principles of honor," exclaimed Mr. Fitzherbert.
"A mis-statement, Madam, I assure you; merely some shooting-grounds. Mr.
Sutherland is no sportsman himself, and my friend, Lord Gillravidge, is
a keen one. Amicable exchange--nothing more."
Mrs. Catherine stood firmly erect; gazing into the blank air. The shock
was great to her; for some moments she neither moved nor spoke.
"I appeal to yourself, Madam," resumed the stranger. "_I_ investigate
farms and fields. I, fresh from the most refined circles: do I look like
a person to report upon clods and cattle?"
The voice startled Mrs. Catherine from her fixed gravity.
"I will come to you by-and-by, Mr. Foreman," she said. "Gather the story
as clear as may be--at present, I cannot be troubled with strangers."
A slight, emphatic motion of her hand conveyed her desire that the
friend and emissary of Lord Gillravidge should be dismissed as speedily
as possible, and turning, she left the room.
"Spoilt it all," exclaimed Fitzherbert, as the door closed, "never have
any commerce with lawyers--bad set--Scotch especially--keen--ill-natured.
What harm would it have done you, old gentleman, if I had pleased the
old lady about her nephew, and got her, perhaps, to come down with
something handsome? I always like to serve friends myself--wanted to
put in a good word for Sutherland--but it's all spoiled now."
"You expect to see more of Strathoran, I suppose," said Mr. Foreman;
"good sport on the moor, they tell me, Mr. Fitzherbert, and you say Lord
Gillravidge is a keen sportsman."
"Keen in most things," said the stranger, with an emphatic nod.
"Sharp--not to be taken in--simple Scotch lad no match for
Gillravidge--serves him right, for thinking he was. But I say, old
gentleman, don't be ill-natured and tell the aunt--let him have a fresh
start."
"It is to be a sale, then?" said the lawyer, "is your friend really to
buy Strathoran?"
The stranger laughed contemptuously.
"Has Sutherland got anything else, that you ask that? all the purchase
money's gone already--nothing coming your way, old gentleman--all the
more cruelty in you preventing me from speaking a good word for him to
his aunt."
"Was the bargain concluded when you left?" said Mr. Foreman.
"Very near it," was the reply. "Why, he's been plunging on deeper in
Gillravidge's debt every night. _I_ say it was uncommonly merciful to
think of taking the land--an obscure Scotch place, with nothing but the
preserves worth looking at; but Gillravidge knows what he's about."
Half an hour afterwards, Mrs. Catherine re-entered the library. The
obnoxious visitor was gone, and Mr. Foreman sat alone, his brow clouded
with thoughtfulness. He, too, had known Archibald Sutherland's youth,
and in his father had had a friend, and the kindly bond of that little
community drew its members of all ranks too closely together, to suffer
the overthrow of one without regret and sympathy.
"Is it true--think you it is true?" said Mrs. Catherine.
"I can think nothing else," said Mr. Foreman, gravely; "there is but one
hope--that strange person who left the Tower just now tells me that the
bargain was not completed. Mr. Ferguson's letter, telling Strathoran of
the advance you were willing to make, Mrs. Catherine, may have reached
him in time to prevent this calamity."
"I cannot hope it--I cannot hope it," said Mrs. Catherine, vehemently.
"It is a race trysted to evil. Do you not mind, George Foreman, how the
last Strathoran was held down all his days, with the burdens that father
and grandsire had left upon him? Do you not mind of him joining with his
father to break the entail, that some of the debts might be paid
thereby? and now, when he has labored all his life to leave the good
land clear to his one son, must it be lost to the name and blood? George
Foreman, set your face against the breaking of entails! I say it is an
unrighteous thing to give one of a race the power of disinheriting the
rest; to put into the hands of a youth like Archie Sutherland, fatally
left to his own devices, the option of overthrowing an old and good
house--I say it is unrighteous, and a shame!"
Mr. Foreman made no answer--well enough pleased as he might have been
that in this particular case, the lands of Strathoran had been
entailed, he yet had no idea of committing himself on the abstract
principle, and Mrs. Catherine continued:
"What is he to do? what can the unhappy prodigal do, but draw the prize
of the waster--want. I cannot stand between him and his righteous
reward--I will do no such injustice. Where did you meet with the
ne'er-do-weel that brought you the tidings, Mr. Foreman? a fit messenger
no doubt, with his hairy face, and his lying tongue." Mrs. Catherine
groaned. "You are well gone to your rest, Isabel Balfour, before you saw
your firstborn herding with cattle like yon!"
"I think," said Mr. Foreman, "that you are anticipating evil which is by
this time averted, Mrs. Catherine. At the very crisis of Strathoran's
broken fortunes, your seasonable assistance would come in; and, on such
a temperament as his, I should fancy the sight of the precipice so near
would operate powerfully. I know how it has acted on myself, who ought
to have more prudence than Mr. Sutherland, if years are anything. I came
here to advise you to withdraw your money, when there was such imminent
danger of loss--and here I am, building my own hopes and yours on the
fact of its being promised."
Mrs. Catherine was pacing heavily through the room.
"What care I for the siller," she exclaimed, sternly. "What is the
siller to me, in comparison with the welfare of Isabel Balfour's son?
Doubtless, if all the rest is gone, there is no need for throwing away
that with our eyes open; but what share in my thoughts, think you, has
the miserable dirt of siller, when the fate of the lad that might have
been of my own blood, is quivering in the balance? George Foreman, you
are discreet and judicious, but the yellow mammon is overmuch in your
mind. What is it to me that leave none after me--that am the last of my
name?"
"I think we may depend on the last statement of that strange
messenger--that Fitzherbert," said Mr. Foreman, endeavoring gently to
lower the excitement of his client, "that he came down to examine, and
would have his report to make, before the transaction was finished. Your
letter must reach Strathoran, Mrs. Catherine, before this fellow can
return. Depend upon it, the immediate danger is averted. Mr. Sutherland
has good sense and judgment: he must by this time have perceived the
danger, and receded from it."
Mrs. Catherine seated herself in gloomy silence.
"And if he has," she said, after a long pause, "if he has saved himself
for this moment, what then? He has sown the wind, and think you he can
shun its harvest? What has he to trust to? principle, honor, good fame,
the fear of God, the right regard to the judgment of his fellows which
becomes every man--has he not thrown them all away? What is there then,
to look to in his future, if it be not a drifting before every wind, a
running in every stray path, a following of all things that have the
false glitter upon them, whatsoever ill may be below? I am done with
hope for the lad: there is nothing to guide him, nothing to restrain
him. I must e'en take fear to my heart, and look this grief in the
face."
"He is quite young," said Mr. Foreman; "there is abundant time and room
for hope, Mrs. Catherine. I feel assured we have erred on the side of
fear. A shrewd lad, like Strathoran, surely could not be fascinated to
his destruction, in society which can tolerate that man, Fitzherbert.
Depend upon it, we have overrated the dangers; and that, by this time,
Mr. Sutherland has taken warning, and withdrawn. A pretty counsellor I
am, after all!--I should have sent Walter--coming here to advise you to
withdraw your money, and now felicitating myself that it is given."
Mrs. Catherine became more cheerful at last, before the kind-hearted
Portoran writer took his departure, and admitted the chances in favor of
his hopes. Archibald _had_ been shrewd and sensible, and could not
surely be so ruinously involved as to put his whole estate in peril;
nevertheless, dreary visions, such as he had read in books of modern
travel, of haggard gamesters risking their all upon a cast--staking
wealth, and hope, and honor, in the desperate game, and marking its loss
with the ghastly memento of blood, the hopeless death of the
suicide--rose darkly before the lawyer's eyes, as he rode home--home, to
pleasant competence and unobtrusive refinement, and to a family of sound
principle and cultivated intellect, in whose healthful upbringing and
clear atmosphere fictitious excitement had no share.
And Mrs. Catherine went up stairs, gravely, to her cheerful inner
drawing-room, and looking on the youthful faces there--the peaceful
household looks, suggesting anything rather than misery and
crime--forgot her terrors for Isabel Balfour's son, warm as her interest
in him was.
Haggard, desolate, hopeless, with no roof which he could justly call his
own to shelter him, and with a dreary blank before him, where the
teeming dreams of a bright future were wont to be, Archibald Sutherland
stood that night, in the strange alien country, a ruined man.