I PART FROM MARJORY
"I've travelled far and seen many things, but, Gad, I never saw a
stranger than this. My niece is driven out of house and home by an
overbold lover, and you, Master Burnet, come here and bid me take over
the keeping of this firebrand, which, it seems, is so obnoxious to His
Majesty's lieges."
So spake the old laird of Smitwood, smiling. He was a man of full
eighty years of age, but still erect with a kind of soldierly bearing.
He was thin and tall, and primly dressed in the fashion of an elder day.
The frosty winter of age had come upon him, but in his ruddy cheek and
clean-cut face one could see the signs of a hale and vigorous decline.
He had greeted us most hospitably, and seemed hugely glad to see Marjory
again, whom he had not set eyes on for many a day. We had fallen to
supper with keen appetite, for the air of the moors stirs up the
sharpest hunger; and now that we had finished we sat around the
hall-fire enjoying our few remaining hours of company together. For
myself I relished the good fare and the warmth, for Heaven knew when
either would be mine again. The high oak-roofed chamber, hung with
portraits of Veitches many, was ruddy with fire-light. Especially the
picture in front of the chimney by Vandyke, of that Michael Veitch who
died at Philiphaugh, was extraordinarily clear and lifelike. Master
Veitch looked often toward it; then he took snuff with a great air of
deliberation, and spoke in his high, kindly old voice.
"My brother seems well to-night, Marjory. I have not seen him look so
cheerful for years." (He had acquired during his solitary life the
habit of talking to the picture as if it were some living thing.) "I
can never forgive the Fleming for making Michael hold his blade in so
awkward a fashion. Faith, he would have been little the swordsman he
was, if he had ever handled sword like that. I can well remember when I
was with him at Etzburg, how he engaged in a corner two Hollanders and a
Swiss guard, and beat them back till I came up with him and took one off
his hands."
"I have heard of that exploit," said I. "You must know that I have just
come from the Low Countries, where the names of both of you are still
often on men's lips."
The old man seemed well pleased.
"Ah," he said, "so you have come from abroad. In what place did you
bide, may I enquire?"
"In the town of Leyden," said I, "for my aim was no more than to acquire
learning at the college there. But I foregathered with many excellent
Scots gentlemen from whom I heard the talk of the camp and the state."
"Say you so? Then what do you here? Did you return on the single
errand of protecting my fair niece? But stay! I am an old man who
cares not much for the chatter of the country, but I have heard--or am I
wrong?--that you were not of the true party, but leaned to the Whigs?"
"Nay," I cried, "I beseech you not to believe it. God knows I am a
king's man out and out, and would see all whigamores in perdition before
I would join with them. But fate has brought me into a strange mixture
of misfortunes. I land at Leith, expecting nothing save a peaceful
homecoming, and lo! I find my cousin waiting with a warrant for my
arrest. I am accused of something I am wholly innocent of, but I cannot
prove it; nay, there is evidence against me, and my enemies in the
Council are all-powerful. Moreover, if I suffer myself to be taken,
Marjory is at the mercy of my foes. I take the only course; give the
dragoons the slip, and ride straight to Tweeddale, escort her to a house
where she will be safe and unknown; and when this is done take to the
hills myself with a light heart. They are too ill-set against me for my
setting any hope in going to Edinburgh and pleading my case. Was there
any other way?"
"None," said Master Veitch, "but it is a hard case for yourself. Not
the hiding among the moors; this is a noble trade for any young man of
spirit. But the consorting with the vile fanatics of these deserts must
go sore against your heart."
Now I, who had just come from the folk of the Cor Water, had no such
dread of the hillmen, but I forebore to say it. For Master Veitch had
been brought up in one school, those men in another. Both were blind to
the other's excellencies; both were leal-hearted men in their own ways.
It is a strange providence that has so ordered it that the best men in
the world must ever remain apart through misunderstanding.
"But to come to my errand," said I. "I have brought you your niece for
protection. You are a king's man, a soldier, and well known in the
countryside. It is more than unlikely that any troops will come nigh
you. Nor is it possible that the maid can be traced hither. I ask that
you suffer her to abide in the house, while I take myself off that there
be the less danger. And O, I beseech you, do not refuse me. She is
your own flesh and blood. You cannot deny her shelter."
The old man's face darkened. "You take me for a strange kinsman, Master
Burnet," he said, "if you think I would refuse my best aid to a
kinswoman in distress. Do you think that you are the sole protector of
my house?"
I bowed before his deserved rebuke.
"But for certain. Marjory may abide here as long as she will," he added
cheerfully. "We will do our best to entertain her, though I am too old
to remember well the likings of girls. And if anyone comes seeking her
on errand of no good, by God, he will learn that William Veitch has not
lost the use of his arm.
"May I ask," said I, "that my servant be allowed to stay? He knows the
hills as scarce any other living man, he is faithful, and clever as you
would hardly believe were I to tell you. With him in the house I should
have no fear for its safety."
"So be it," said the old man; "I will not deny that my servants are not
so numerous nor so active that another would not be something of an
improvement. Has he any skill in cooking?" This he asked in a
shamefaced tone, for old as he was he had not lost his relish for good
fare.
"I will ask him," said I, and I called Nicol from the servants'
quarters.
"Your master gives me a good account of you," said the cracked voice of
the laird of Smitwood, "and I would fain hope it true. I wished to
interrogate you about--ah, your powers--ah, of cooking pleasing dishes,"
and he waved his hand deprecatingly.
"Oh, your honour, I am ready for a' thing," said Nicol. "Sheep's heid,
singit to a thocht, cockyleeky and a' kind o' soup, mutton in half a
dozen different ways, no to speak o' sic trifles as confections. I can
cook ye the flesh o' the red deer and the troots frae the burn, forbye
haggis and brose, partan pies and rizzard haddies, crappit-heids and
scate-rumpies, nowt's feet, kebbucks, scadlips, and skink. Then I can
wark wi' custocks and carlings, rifarts, and syboes, farles, fadges, and
bannocks, drammock, brochan, and powsowdie."
"That will do, you may go," said the old man, rubbing his hands with
glee. "By my word, a genuine Scots gastronome, skilled in the ancient
dishes of the land. I anticipate a pleasing time while he bides here."
It was long ere the worthy gentleman could get over his delight in the
project of my servant's presence. Even after he had gone he sat and
chuckled to himself, for he was known among his friends to have a fine
taste for dainties. Meantime, the light was dying out of doors, and
more logs were laid on the fire, till it crackled and leaped like a live
thing. I have ever loved the light of a wood-fire, for there is no more
heartsome thing on earth than its cheerful crackle when one comes in
from shooting on the hills in the darkening of a winter's day. Now I
revelled in the comfort of it, since on the morrow I would have no other
cheer than a flaming sunset.
So we sat around the hearth and talked of many things till the evening
was late. The old man fell to the memories of former folk, and told us
tales of our forbears as would have made them turn in their graves could
they have heard them. Of my house he had scarce a good word to speak,
averring that they were all 'scape-the-gallows every one, but gallant
fellows in their way. "There was never a Burnet," he cried, "who would
scruple to stick a man who doubted his word, or who would not ride a
hundred miles to aid a friend. There were no lads like the Burnets in
all the countryside for dicing and feasting and riding breakneck on the
devil's errand. But, Gad, if they were stubborn as bulls when they were
down themselves, they were as tender as women to folk in trouble."
"There's one of their name like to be in trouble for many days to come,"
said I.
"Meaning yourself? Well, it will do you no ill. There's naught better
for a young man than to find out how little the world cares whether he
be dead or alive. And, above all, you that pretend to be a scholar, it
will ding some of the fine-spun fancies out of your head. But for the
Lord's sake, laddie, dinna get a bullet in your skull or you'll have me
with all my years taking the field to pay back them that did it." He
spoke this so kindly that I was moved to forget the first half of his
words through the excellency of the second. In truth I much needed the
rough lessons of hardship and penury, for at that time I was much puffed
up in a self-conceit and a certain pride of letters as foolish as it was
baseless.
"I must be off in the morning before the dawning, for I have to be on
the hills ere the soldiers get abroad. I must beg of you not to disturb
yourself, Master Veitch, for my sake, but just to bid them make ready
for me some provisions; and I will slip off ere the household be awake.
It is better to say farewell now than to have many sad leave-takings at
the moment of departure. I have no fear of my journey, for my legs are
as good as any man's and I can make my hands keep my head. Also, my
mind is easy since I know that Marjory is safe here."
"Then I will even bid you good-bye, John," said he, "for I am an old man
and keep early hours. If you will follow me I will take you to your
chamber. Alison will take you to the old room, Marjory, where you have
not been since you were a little lass scarce up to my knee." And with
obvious intent he walked out.
"God keep you, John," my dear lass whispered on my shoulder. "I will
never cease to think of you. Ana oh, be not long in coming back."
And this was the last I saw of my lady for many days.