THE END OF AN OLD FEUD
Since the looting of his house by Laurence's dragoons, Adam Ferris had
lived mostly at Abbey Burnfoot, the property of his brother-in-law
Julian Wemyss. Julian was not there. He had gone to London upon unknown
business. At least if Adam Ferris knew of his kinsman's mission, he
would have been the very last man to speak of it.
Nor indeed, did any try to wind the secret out of him. Adam had always
been a silent man, distantly smiling and peaceable, but even then there
was something about the man which caused his neighbours to be careful
how they meddled with him.
But now he brooded darkly, wandering much on the moor and along the
shore. Only the old Earl dared to front him, and as there had been
enmity between the houses for four hundred years, the first meeting was
not without some piquancy.
It happened the first morning after Louis had taken Patsy to Castle
Raincy. The old gentleman stood upon the point of etiquette, and though
he was stiff with rheumatism, he drilled his shoulders and strode down
the glen, crossing by the stile from which he had so often cursed the
lands of Cairn Ferris and every soul who dwelt therein. But now that he
had called up his men and shut the gates of Castle Raincy upon the
heiress of his enemy's house, he passed into Ferris territory as if he
carried the white banner of envoy extraordinary.
There was something fresh and almost childish in the delight with which
he noted every twist and turn of the long Glen burn, the trouts whisking
in the brown pools or floating with their noses just showing under the
shade of rugged willow roots which wind and water had undercut. He had
observed these things all his life--from above, but his feet had never
been set upon Ferris ground. His eyes had never looked (as it were) upon
Zion, and now the goodly things were goodlier, the bunches of Eshcol
grapes heavier and more purple, the pine trees nobler and higher, the
peeps of corn-land more enthralling to the spirit, than ever they had
appeared seen from above as if marked on a chart.
Presently he came in sight of the house of Cairn Ferris with its doors
and windows wrecked and broken, at the mending of which the joiners of
the estate and others from Stranryan were at that moment busy. He passed
a heap of broken furniture still huddled together and smoking in a
corner, at which he stood still and cursed as he if had been Adam Ferris
himself.
He did not love the man nor his family. But Ferris was a gentleman and a
neighbour. Only let him get to London. He would make the ears of these
Hanover rats lie back when he told them an honest man's opinion of them
on some day of great debate. Oh, it was not the first time he had
spoken. Hear him they must and hear him they should.
Earl Raincy reached the new house of Abbey Burnfoot in safety. As he
came out of the birches of the glen among which the path played hide and
seek, he saw the climbing roses and red tropeolum mounting almost to the
roof, the full dusky green of the hops twining to the chimney tops and
setting a-swing questing tendrils from every balcony. The old man had
never before seen such a building, but in an illustrated book of travels
he had come across something like it. So his heart expanded when he
thought of his own austere baronial keep and the crow-stepped bluestone
gables of his ancestors' many additions. The newest of those was four
hundred years old, and was only beginning to lose its look of having
been finished yesterday.
He shrugged his shoulders at Julian's foreign-appearing palace of
pleasure.
"Very well, I dare say," he muttered; "but what will it be after a few
hundred winters?"
He did not pause to think what in such circumstances he would be
himself. Raincy ground would still uphold Castle Raincy. Raincys would
still dwell there, but this little dainty playhouse on the sands of the
Abbey Burn would long ago have been swept away by centuries of Solway
storms. The thought re-established him in his own esteem, and even the
Ferris rule of the coveted Twin Valleys seemed evanescent and fleeting
as a cloud on a mountain side beside the invincible eternity of the
Raincy dominion.
He knocked at the door and waited. The man who came was Julian's
Austrian valet Joseph, courteous, grave, and exquisitely "styled," as
was fitting for the house of an ex-ambassador.
"Would his excellency enter? Joseph regretted much that the Earl should
not find Mr. Julian. But he had been summoned to London. Yes, certainly,
Mr. Adam was somewhere on the beach. He had gone out after breakfast and
was still absent. If my Lord would wait, Mr. Adam should be at once
informed."
But my Lord greatly preferred to see Mr. Ferris at once, and would walk
along the sands till he met with him.
"As his Excellency wills," said Joseph, bowing low, and Earl Raincy went
his way, tall, whitehaired and slender, to meet Patsy's father. Within
tide-mark they met, at the exact point where the Raincy properties join
the valley possessions of the Ferrises. Therefore in the most fitting
spot--a true no-man's land, in that the foreshore was the property of
the Government, though on the "heuchs" above the butt of the separating
march dyke, built with masonry and bound and spiked with iron, testified
that the Jews of the hills had no dealings with the Samaritans of the
valleys. The lesson, seen close at hand, was a little marred by the fact
that Louis and Stair with the assistance of a forehammer had converted
certain of the spikes into a very practicable ladder which either of
them, when pressed for time, could take at racing pace.
But from the beach below the barrier seemed of the last truculence and
efficacy.
The old Earl took off his three-cornered hat with the gold button on a
white rosette at the side. Adam did the same with his more modern
broad-brimmed, low-crowned white beaver.
"I have the honour to announce to you," said Earl Raincy, bowing
formally, "that your daughter is at my house under the care of my
daughter-in-law. My grandson Louis, with, I believe, the help of several
of your tenants, conveyed her safely back, and I congratulate myself
that Louis had the good sense to bring her to Castle Raincy. You will
pardon him, I feel sure. He went first to your house of Cairn Ferris,
but finding it dismantled, he made up his mind that she could not safely
return to Miss Aline's at Ladykirk. So I came off to see you at once,
and to say to you how highly I feel myself honoured that one of your
name should sojourn under my roof. Time is a great healer, and by gad,
sir, if you will permit me to say so, I shall stand by you in this
affair, and between us we shall crack the rascals' skulls!"
He held out his hand, which Adam, who had listened sympathetically to
the old man's speech, instantly took. Then after one solid grip, they
dropped each other's palms with a slight feeling of awkwardness.
"I thank you, my Lord," said Adam Ferris, "I appreciate your coming to
me. I knew some time ago by a messenger from Stair Garland that my
daughter was safe. I was starting to run down the villains, but my
brother-in-law begged that he might be allowed to settle the family
quarrel. He was anxious that nothing should appear about my daughter
which might hurt her future. Here, of course, in our own country, the
poorest and most ignorant would not make any mistake in judgment. But
Julian said it would certainly be otherwise in London, especially with
those who know the doings of our Royal Dukes. He begged that in the
first instance I should leave the affair to him and if he did not settle
matters to my satisfaction, I could then take what action I chose. So,
because he knew more of these courtly circles than I shall ever know or
desire to know, I bade him go."
"Put that way," said my Lord, "you were quite right. The man was, I
understand, a guest in the house of Mr. Wemyss. He sent from there to
borrow my horses, damn his impudence. He shall answer to me for that
some day. Oh, I forgot--yes, your daughter. But I have been in London
and at Court. I have been honoured by the King's commands, but I can
only say that this new age--these young men--are rotten to the core.
Therefore I agree that for Miss Ferris's sake, the less said the better.
When, think you, will your brother be back? I should wish to pay my
respects to him as soon as might be!"
"That," said Adam, "I cannot say. I wait any summons from London, but as
yet I have heard nothing from Mr. Wemyss."
The earl was silent a while, now tapping imaginary dust from his
breeches and again patting his flowered waistcoat to settle the long
flaps in their places. He looked away across the shore, pale amber and
white at the sandy edge and deep blue beyond. Then frowning with the
effort, he spoke.
"Sir," he said, "our young people are wiser than we. My boy brought your
girl to Castle Raincy as to a city of refuge, and why should not you and
I, sir, copy them? Will you do me the honour to walk to Castle Raincy
with me and take dinner? 'Zounds, sir, we ought to have thought of this
long before. They put us to shame, these helter-skelter youngsters of
ours."
"I accept your invitation, my Lord," said Adam gravely.
"Come now, Ferris," cried the Earl, with characteristic impulsiveness,
"we are neighbours and gentlemen--I pray you let there be no 'Lordships'
between us. Call me 'Raincy,' and be done with it!"
"I fear," said Adam, smiling, "that with the best will in the world it
would be difficult for me to get my stubborn Galloway tongue round the
word. But I am glad to hear you call me by my name, though I fear me, my
Lord, that you must e'en let a thrawn Scots hermit gang his ain gait. If
I were to call you 'Raincy' I should feel like a boy who threw a stone
at election time. Why, sir, my father would rise from his grave and
floor me with the lid of his coffin!"
"By gad, sir," said the Earl, "I believe you are right. That comes of
English public schools and all the rest of it. Add to which that small
daughter of yours is a witch and will make a man say anything--even a
man of my age. But since we are both Galloway men, we may surely call
each other by the names of our holdings. If you are 'Cairn Ferris' to
everybody--well, I am 'Castle Raincy.'"
"To that I see no objection," said Adam, smiling, "though you wear your
rue with a difference!"
"Eh, what's that?" cried the Earl, who did not read Shakespeare--"oh,
something out of a book--I thought such things were your
brother-in-law's perquisite. But I understand--you mean the handle to my
name. That is very well for outside use, but never mind handles to-day.
Let us be young again to-day. Come and see Patsy!"
"Patsy!" that young person's father muttered to himself, "so it has come
to Patsy! Evidently she does not take after me. I have no doubt that the
vixen will be calling him 'Raincy' by the week's end."