FEET OF WOOL.
The next day, Miss Horn, punctual as Fate, presented herself at
Lossie House, and was shown at once into the marquis’s study, as
it was called. When his lordship entered, she took the lead the
moment the door was shut.
“By this time, my lord, ye’ll doobtless hae made up yer min’ to
du what’s richt?” she said.
“That’s what I have always wanted to do,” returned the marquis.
“Hm!” remarked Miss Horn, as plainly as inarticulately.
“In this affair,” he supplemented; adding, “It’s not always so
easy to tell what _is_ right!”
“It’s no aye easy to luik for ’t wi’ baith yer een,” said Miss
Horn.
“This woman Catanach--we must get her to give credible testimony.
Whatever the fact may be, we must have strong evidence. And there
comes the difficulty, that she has already made an altogether
different statement.”
“It gangs for naething, my lord. It was never made afore a justice
o’ the peace.”
“I wish you would go to her, and see how she is inclined.”
“Me gang to Bawbie Catanach!” exclaimed Miss Horn. “I wad as sune
gang an’ kittle Sawtan’s nose wi’ the p’int o’ ’s tail. Na, na, my
lord! Gien onybody gang till her wi’ my wull, it s’ be a limb o’
the law. I s’ hae nae cognostin’ wi’ her.”
“You would have no objection, however, to my seeing her, I presume
--just to let her know that we have an inkling of the truth?” said
the marquis.
Now all this was the merest talk, for of course Miss Horn could
not long remain in ignorance of the declaration fury had, the night
previous, forced from Mrs Catanach; but he must, he thought, put
her off and keep her quiet, if possible, until he had come to an
understanding with Malcolm, after which he would no doubt have his
trouble with her.
“Ye can du as yer lordship likes,” answered Miss Horn; “but I wadna
hae ’t said o’ me ’at I had ony dealin’s wi’ her. Wha kens but she
micht say ye tried to bribe her? There’s naething she wad bogle
at gien she thoucht it worth her while. No ’at I’m feart at her.
Lat her lee! I’m no sae blate but----! Only dinna lippen till a
word she says, my lord.”
The marquis meditated.
“I wonder whether the real source of my perplexity occurs to you,
Miss Horn,” he said at length. “You know I have a daughter?”
“Weel eneuch that, my lord.”
“By my second marriage.”
“Nae merridge ava’, my lord.”
“True,--if I confess to the first.”
“A’ the same, whether or no, my lord.”
“Then you see,” the marquis went on, refusing offence, “what the
admission of your story would make of my daughter?”
“That’s plain eneuch, my lord.”
“Now, if I have read Malcolm right, he has too much regard for his
--mistress--to put her in such a false position.”
“That is, my lord, ye wad hae yer lawfu’ son beir the lawless name.”
“No, no; it need never come out what he is. I will provide for him
--as a gentleman, of course.”
“It canna be, my lord. Ye can du naething for him wi’ that face o’
his, but oot comes the trowth as to the father o’ ’im; an’ it wadna
be lang afore the tale was ekit oot wi’ the name o’ his mither--
Mistress Catanach wad see to that, gien ’twas only to spite me; an’
I wunna hae my Grizel ca’d what she is not, for ony lord’s dauchter
i’ the three kynriks.”
“What _does_ it matter, now she’s dead and gone?” said the marquis,
false to the dead in his love for the living.
“Deid an’ gane, my lord! What ca’ ye deid an’ gane? Maybe the great
anes o’ the yerth get sic a forlethie (_surfeit_) o’ gran’ur ’at
they’re for nae mair, an’ wad perish like the brute-beast. For onything
I ken, they may hae their wuss, but for mysel’, I wad warstle to
haud my sowl waukin’ (_awake_), i’ the verra article o’ deith, for
the bare chance o’ seein’ my bonny Grizel again.--It’s a mercy
I hae nae feelin’s!” she added, arresting her handkerchief on its
way to her eyes, and refusing to acknowledge the single tear that
ran down her cheek.
Plainly she was not like any of the women whose characters the
marquis had accepted as typical of woman-kind.
“Then you won’t leave the matter to her husband and son,” he said
reproachfully.
“I tellt ye, my lord, I wad du naething but what I saw to be richt.
Lat this affair oot o’ my han’s I daurna. That laad ye micht work
to onything ’at made agane himsel’. He’s jist like his puir mither
there.”
“If Miss Campbell _was_ his mother,” said the marquis.
“Miss Cam’ell!” cried Miss Horn. “I’ll thank yer lordship to ca’
her by her ain, ’an that’s Lady Lossie.”
What of the something-ruinous heart of the marquis was habitable,
was occupied by his daughter, and had no accommodation at present
either for his dead wife or his living son. Once more he sat thinking
in silence for a while.
“I’ll make Malcolm a post captain in the navy, and give you a
thousand pounds,” he said at length, hardly knowing that he spoke.
Miss Horn rose to her full height, and stood like an angel of
rebuke before him. Not a word did she speak, only looked at him
for a moment, and turned to leave the room. The marquis saw his
danger, and striding to the door, stood with his back against it.
“Think ye to scare _me_, my lord?” she asked, with a scornful laugh.
“Gang an’ scare the stane lion-beast at yer ha’ door. Haud oot o’
the gait, an’ lat me gang.”
“Not until I know what you are going to do,” said the marquis, very
seriously.
“I hae naething mair to transac’ wi’ yer lordship. You an’ me’s
strangers, my lord.”
“Tut! tut! I was but trying you.”
“An’ gien I had taen the disgrace ye offert me, ye wad hae drawn
back?”
“No, certainly.”
“Ye wasna tryin’ me than: ye was duin’ yer best to corrup’ me.”
“I’m no splitter of hairs.”
“My lord, it’s nane but the corrup’ible wad seek to corrup’.”
The marquis gnawed a nail or two in silence. Miss Horn dragged an
easy chair within a couple of yards of him.
“We’ll see wha tires o’ this ghem first, my lord!” she said, as
she sank into its hospitable embrace.
The marquis turned to lock the door, but there was no key in it.
Neither was there any chair within reach, and he was not fond of
standing. Clearly his enemy had the advantage.
“Hae ye h’ard o’ puir Sandy Graham--hoo they’re misguidin’ him,
my lord?” she asked with composure.
The marquis was first astounded, and then tickled by her assurance.
“No,” he answered.
“They hae turnt him oot o’ hoose an’ ha’--schuil, at least, an’
hame,” she rejoined. “I may say, they hae turnt him oot o’ Scotlan’;
for what presbytery wad hae him efter he had been fun’ guilty o’ no
thinkin’ like ither fowk? Ye maun stan’ his guid freen’, my lord.”
“He shall be Malcolm’s tutor,” answered the marquis, not to be
outdone in coolness, “and go with him to Edinburgh--or Oxford,
if he prefers it.”
“Never yerl o’ Colonsay had a better!” said Miss Horn.
“Softly, softly, ma’am!” returned the marquis. “I did not say he
should go in that style.”
“He s’ gang as my lord o’ Colonsay, or he s’ no gang at _your_ expense,
my lord,” said his antagonist.
“Really, ma’am, one would think you were my grandmother, to hear
you order my affairs for me.”
“I wuss I war, my lord: I sud gar ye hear rizzon upo’ baith sides
o’ yer heid, I s’ warran’!”
The marquis laughed.
“Well, I can’t stand here all day!” he said, impatiently swinging
one leg.
“I’m weel awaur o’ that, my lord,” answered Miss Horn, rearranging
her scanty skirt.
“How long are you going to keep me, then?”
“I wadna hae ye bide a meenute langer nor’s agreeable to yersel’.
But _I_’m in nae hurry sae lang ’s ye’re afore me. Ye’re nae ill
to luik at--though ye maun hae been bonnier the day ye wan the
hert o’ my Grizzel.”
The marquis uttered an oath, and left the door. Miss Horn sprang
to it; but there was the marquis again.
“Miss Horn,” he said, “I beg you will give me another day to think
of this.”
“Whaur’s the use? A’ the thinkin’ i’ the warl’ canna alter a single
fac’. Ye maun du richt by my laddie o’ yer ain sel’, or I maun gar
ye.”
“You would find a lawsuit heavy, Miss Horn.”
“An’ ye wad fin’ the scandal o’ ’t ill to bide, my lord. It wad
come sair upo’ Miss ---- I kenna what name she has a richt till, my
lord.”
The marquis uttered a frightful imprecation, left the door, and
sitting down, hid his face in his hands.
Miss Horn rose, but instead of securing her retreat, approached
him gently, and stood by his side.
“My lord,” she said, “I canna thole to see a man in tribble. Women’s
born till ’t, an’ they tak it, an’ are thankfu’; but a man never
gies in till ’t, an’ sae it comes harder upo’ him nor upo’ them.
Hear me, my lord: gien there be a man upo’ this earth wha wad shield
a wuman, that man’s Ma’colm Colonsay.”
“If only she weren’t his sister!” murmured the marquis.
“An’ jist bethink ye, my lord: wad it be onything less nor an
imposition to lat a man merry her ohn tellt him what she was?”
“You insolent old woman!” cried the marquis, losing his temper,
discretion, and manners, all together. “Go and do your worst, and
be damned to you!”
So saying, he left the room, and Miss Horn found her way out of the
house in a temper quite as fierce as his,--in character, however,
entirely different, inasmuch as it was righteous.
At that very moment Malcolm was in search of his master; and seeing
the back of him disappear in the library, to which he had gone in
a half-blind rage, he followed him.
“My lord!” he said.
“What do you want?” returned his master in a rage. For some time
he had been hauling on the curb rein, which had fretted his temper
the more; and when he let go, the devil ran away with him.
“I thoucht yer lordship wad like to see an auld stair I cam upo’
the ither day, ’at gang’s frae the wizard’s chaumer----”
“Go to hell with your damned tomfoolery!” said the marquis. “If ever
you mention that cursed hole again, I’ll kick you out of the house.”
Malcolm’s eyes flashed, and a fierce answer rose to his lips, but
he had seen that his master was in trouble, and sympathy supplanted
rage. He turned and left the room in silence.
Lord Lossie paced up and down the library for a whole hour--a
long time for him to be in one mood. The mood changed colour pretty
frequently during the hour, however, and by degrees his wrath
assuaged. But at the end of it he knew no more what he was going to
do than when he left Miss Horn in the study. Then came the gnawing
of his usual ennui and restlessness: he must find something to do.
The thing he always thought of first was a ride; but the only
animal of horse-kind about the place which he liked was the bay
mare, and her he had lamed. He would go and see what the rascal
had come bothering about--alone though, for he could not endure
the sight of the fisher-fellow--damn him!
In a few moments he stood in the wizard’s chamber, and glanced round
it with a feeling of discomfort rather than sorrow--of annoyance
at the trouble of which it had been for him both fountain and
store-house, rather than regret for the agony and contempt which
his selfishness had brought upon the woman he loved; then spying
the door in the furthest corner, he made for it, and in a moment
more, his curiosity, now thoroughly roused, was slowly gyrating
down the steps of the old screw-stair.
But Malcolm had gone to his own room, and hearing some one in the next,
half suspected who it was, and went in. Seeing the closet-door open, he
hurried to the stair, and shouted,--
“My lord! my lord! or whaever ye are! tak care hoo ye gang, or ye’ll
get a terrible fa’.”
Down a single yard the stair was quite dark, and he dared not follow
fast for fear of himself falling and occasioning the accident he
feared. As he descended, he kept repeating his warnings, but either his
master did not hear or heeded too little, for presently Malcolm heard a
rush, a dull fall, and a groan. Hurrying as fast as he dared with the
risk of falling upon him, he found the marquis lying amongst the stones
in the ground entrance, apparently unable to move, and white with pain.
Presently, however, he got up, swore a good deal, and limped swearing
into the house.
The doctor, who was sent for instantly, pronounced the knee cap
injured, and applied leeches. Inflammation set in, and another
doctor and surgeon were sent for from Aberdeen. They came; applied
poultices, and again leeches, and enjoined the strictest repose.
The pain was severe; but to one of the marquis’s temperament, the
enforced quiet was worse.