ON the seashore not far from the mansion-house of Monkbarns stood the
little fisherman's cottage of Saunders Mucklebackit. Saunders it was who
had rigged the mast, by which Sir Arthur and his daughter were pulled to
the top of the cliffs on the night of the storm. His wife came every day
to the door of Monkbarns to sell fish to Miss Griselda, the Antiquary's
sister, when the pair of them would stand by the hour "skirling and
flyting beneath his window like so many seamaws," as Oldbuck himself
said.
Besides Steenie Mucklebackit, the eldest son, the same who had assisted
Edie Ochiltree to bestow a well-deserved chastisement upon
Dousterswivel, and a number of merry half-naked urchins, the family
included the grandmother, Elspeth Mucklebackit--a woman old, but not
infirm, whose understanding appeared at most times to be asleep, but the
stony terror of whose countenance often frightened the bairns more than
their mother's shrill tongue and ready palm.
Elspeth seldom spoke. Indeed, she had done little for many years except
twirl the distaff in her corner by the fire. Few cared to have much to
do with her. She was thought to be "far from canny," and certainly she
knew more about the great family of Glenallan than it was safe to speak
aloud.
It chanced on the very night when Edie and Steenie had given a skinful
of sore bones to the German impostor Dousterswivel, that the Countess of
Glenallan, mother of the Earl, was brought to be buried at midnight
among the ruins of St. Ruth.
Such had been the custom of the family from ancient times--indeed, ever
since the Great Earl fell fighting at the Red Harlaw against Donald of
the Isles. More recently there had been another reason for such a
strange fashion of burial. For the family were Catholics, and there had
long been laws in Scotland against the holding of popish ceremonials
even on an occasion so solemn.
The news of the death of her ancient mistress, coming at last to the
ears of old Elspeth, took such hold upon her, that she could not rest
till she had sent off Edie Ochiltree to the Earl of Glenallan, at
Glenallan House, with a ring for a token and the message that Elspeth of
the Craigburnfoot must see him before she died. She had, Edie was to
say, a secret on her soul, without revealing which she could not hope to
die in peace.
Accordingly Edie set off for the castle of Glenallan, taking the ring
with him, but with very little hope of finding his way into the Earl's
presence; for Lord Glenallan had been long completely withdrawn from the
world. His mother was Countess in her own right, and so long as she
lived, her son had been wholly dependent upon her. In addition to which
some great sorrow or some great crime, the countryside was not sure
which, pressed sore upon his mind, and being a strict Catholic he passed
his time in penance and prayer.
However, by the help of an old soldier, one Francie Macraw, who had been
his rear-rank man at Fontenoy, Edie Ochiltree was able after many delays
to win a way to the Earl's presence--though the priests who were about
his person evidently tried to keep everything connected with the outer
world from his knowledge. The Earl, a tall, haggard, gloomy man, whose
age seemed twice what it really was, stood holding the token ring in his
hand. At first he took Edie for a father of his own church, and demanded
if any further penance were necessary to atone for his sin. But as soon
as Edie declared his message, at the very first mention of the name of
Elspeth of the Craigburnfoot, the Earl's cheek became even more
deathlike than it had been at Edie's entrance.
"Ah," he said, "that name is indeed written on the darkest page of a
terrible history. But what can the woman want with me? Is she dead or
living?"
"She is living in the body," said Edie, "and at times her mind lives
too--but she is an awfu' woman."
"She always was so," said the Earl, answering almost unconsciously. "She
was different from other women--likest, perhaps, to her who is no
more--"
Edie knew that he meant his own mother, so lately dead.
"She wishes to see me," continued the Earl; "she shall be gratified,
though the meeting will be a pleasure to neither of us."
Lord Glenallan gave Edie a handful of guineas, which, contrary to his
usage, Edie had not the courage to refuse. The Earl's tone was too
absolute.
Then, as an intimation that the interview was at an end, Lord Glenallan
called his servant.
"See this old man safe," he said; "let no one ask him any questions. And
you, my friend, be gone, and forget the road that leads to my house!"
"That would indeed be difficult," said the undaunted Edie, "since your
lordship has given me such good cause to remember it."
Lord Glenallan stared, as if hardly comprehending the old man's boldness
in daring to bandy words with him. Then, without answering, he made him
another signal to depart by a simple movement of his hand, which Edie,
awed far beyond his wont, instantly obeyed.