John Erskine had received Edith's letter that morning in his prison. His
spirits were at a very low ebb when it was put into his hand. Four days'
confinement had taken the courage out of him more effectually than any
other discipline could have done; and though the prospect of his
examination had brought in a counterbalancing excitement, he was by no
means so sure that everything would come right as he had been at first.
Having once gone wrong, why should it come right? If the public and the
sheriff (or whatever the man was) could entertain such an idea for four
days, why not for four years or a lifetime? When Edith's letter was put
into his hand he was but beginning to awake, to brace himself up for an
encounter with the hostile world. He had begun to say to himself that he
must get his wits about him, and not permit himself to be sacrificed
without an effort. And then, in a moment, up his heart went like a
shuttlecock. _She_ had no doubt about him, thank heaven! Her "dear Mr
Erskine," repeated when it was not exactly necessary, and which she had
drawn her pen through, but so lightly that the cancelling of the words
only made them emphatic, seemed to John to say everything that words
could say. It said more, in fact, than Edith would ever have said had he
not been in trouble and in prison; and then that outbreak about feminine
impotence at the end! This was to John the sweetest pleasantry, the most
delightful jest. He did not think of her indignation or bitterness as
real. The idea that Lady Lindores and she would have been his bail if
they could, amused him so that he almost shed tears over it; as well as
the complaint that they could do nothing. Do nothing! who could do so
much? If all went well, John said to himself, with a leap of his
heart--if all went well! It was under the elation of this stimulant that
he got ready to proceed to Dunearn; and though to drive there in the
dingy fly with a guardian of the law beside him was not cheerful, his
heart swelled high with the thought that other hearts were beating with
anxiety for him. He thought more of that than of his defence; for to
tell the truth, he had not the least idea how to manage his defence. Mr
Monypenny had visited him again, and made him feel that truth was the
last thing that was likely to serve him, and that by far his wisest
plan would be to tell a lie and own himself guilty, and invent a new set
of circumstances altogether. But he did not feel his imagination equal
to this. He would have to hold by his original story, keep to the facts,
and nothing more. But surely some happy fortune would befriend him. He
was more excited, but perhaps less hopeful, when Miss Barbara met him at
the door of the Town House. Her words did not give him the encouragement
she intended. Her luncheon and her house and her confidence were for the
moment intolerable to John, as are so often the well-meant consolations
of his elders to a young man driven half frantic by warmer hopes and
fears. He came to himself altogether when he stepped within the place in
which he felt that his fate was to be decided. Though it was contrary to
custom, several of his friends, gentlemen of the county, had been
admitted by favour of the sheriff to be present at the examination,
foremost among them old Sir James, who towered over the rest with his
fine white head and erect soldierly bearing. Lord Lindores was admitted
under protest when the proceedings were beginning; and after him, white
with dust, and haggard with excitement, Rintoul, who kept behind backs,
standing--so that his extremely agitated countenance, his lips, with a
slight nervous quiver, as though he were about to speak, and eyes drawn
together with a hundred anxious lines about them, were clearly apparent.
John remarked this face over all the others with the utmost surprise.
Rintoul had never been very cordial with him. What could be the reason
for this extraordinary manifestation of interest now? John, from his too
prominent place as the accused, had this agitated face confronting him,
opposed to him as it seemed, half defying him, half appealing to him.
Only the officials concerned--the sheriff, who was a little slow and
formal, making unnecessary delays in the proceedings, and the other
functionaries--could see as John could the face and marked position of
Rintoul; and none of these personages took any notice. John only felt
his eyes drawn to it instinctively. If all this passionate sympathy was
for him, how could he ever repay Rintoul for friendship so unexpected?
No doubt this was _her_ doing too.
Just as the witnesses were about to be called who had been summoned--and
of whom, though John was not aware of it, Rintoul, who had (as was
supposed) helped to find the body, was one--an extraordinary
interruption occurred. Mr Monypenny, who to John's surprise had not
approached him or shown himself in his vicinity, suddenly rose, and
addressing the sheriff, claimed an immediate stoppage of the
proceedings, so far as Mr Erskine was concerned. He was a very
clear-headed and sensible man; but he was a country "man of business"--a
Scotch solicitor--and he had his own formal way of making a statement.
It was so formal, and had so many phrases in it only half comprehensible
to unaccustomed ears, that it was some time before the little group of
friends were fully aware what the interruption meant.
Mr Monypenny announced, however, to the perfect understanding of the
authorities present, that the person who had really encountered the
unfortunate Mr Torrance last, and been concerned in the scuffle which no
doubt unfortunately was the cause of the accident, had come to his house
on the previous night and given himself up. The man's statement was
perfectly clear and satisfactory, and would be supported by all the
circumstantial evidence. He had kept back nothing, but displayed the
most honourable anxiety to clear the gentleman who had been so unjustly
accused and put to so much personal inconvenience.
"Is the man in court?" the sheriff asked.
"The man is here," said Mr Monypenny. The good man was conscious of the
great effect he was producing. He looked round upon the group of
gentlemen with thorough enjoyment of the situation; but he, too, was
startled by the extraordinary aspect of Lord Rintoul. The young man was
livid; great drops of perspiration stood on his forehead; the lines
about his eyes were drawn tight, and the eyes themselves, two unquiet
watchers, full of horror and astonishment, looked out wildly, watching
everything that was done. His lips had dropped apart; he stood like a
man who did not know what the next word might bring upon him.
"This is the man," Mr Monypenny said. Rintoul made a sudden step
forward, striking his foot violently against the bench in front of him.
The sheriff looked up angrily at the noise. There is something in a
great mental struggle of any kind which moves the atmosphere around it.
The sheriff looked up and saw three men standing at unequal distances
before him: Mr Monypenny in front of his chair with somebody tranquil
and insignificant beside him, and in the distance a face full of
extraordinary emotion. "Will you have the goodness to step forward?" the
sheriff said: and then stopping himself peevishly, "This is all out of
order. Produce the man."
Rolls had risen quietly by Mr Monypenny's side. He was not like a
brawler, much less an assassin. He was somewhat pale, but in his
professional black coat and white tie, who could have looked more
respectable? He had "cleaned himself," as he said, with great care that
morning. Haggard and unshaven as he had been on the previous night after
his wanderings, he would scarcely have made so great a sensation as he
did now, trim as a new pin, carefully shaved, carefully brushed. There
was a half shout, half cry, from the little band of spectators, now
thoroughly demoralised and incapable of keeping order. "Rolls, old
Rolls!" John Erskine cried with consternation. Could this be the
explanation of it? As for Rolls himself, the outcry acted upon him in
the most remarkable way. He grew red and lost his temper. "It's just me,
gentlemen," he said; "and can an accident not happen to a man in a
humble condition of life as well as to one of you?" He was silenced at
once, and the stir of amazement repressed; but nothing could prevent the
rustle and whisper among the gentlemen, which would have become
tumultuous had their presence there been more than tolerated. They all
knew Rolls, and to connect him with such an event was impossible. The
tragedy seemed over, and at the utmost a tragi-comedy, a solemn farce,
had taken its place.
Rolls's statement, however, was serious enough. It was to the effect
that he had met his master coming down from Tinto in the condition of
which so much had been made, when he himself was going up to make a
request to Mr Torrance about a lease--that he met Torrance close to the
Scaur "coming thundering down the brae" in a state of excitement and
temper such as it was well enough known Tinto was subject to. Rolls
acknowledged that in such circumstances he ought not to have stopped him
and introduced his suit--but this was merely an error of judgment.
Tinto, he said, received his request very ill, and called his
nephew--for whom he was going to plead--a ne'er-do-weel--which was not
the case, let him say it that would. And here again Rolls was wrong, he
allowed--it was another error of judgment--but he was not going to have
his own flesh and blood abused. He stood up for it to Tinto's face that
Willie Rolls was as respectable a lad as ever ploughed land. It was well
known what Tinto was, a man that had no thought but a word and a blow.
He rode at Rolls furiously. "I took hold of the beast's bridle to push
her back,--what I could do. She would have had her hoofs on me in a
moment." Then he saw with horror the rear, the bound back, the false
step; and then horse and man went thundering over the Scaur. Rolls
declared that he lost no time in calling for help--in trying all he
could to save the victim. Lord Rintoul would bear him witness, for his
lordship met him in the wood, routing like a wild beast. Nothing could
be more consistent, more simple, than the whole story--it bore the stamp
of truth on every line--or such at least was the conclusion of the
sheriff, and the procurator, and the crier, and the town officer, and
every official about the Town House of Dunearn.
The formidable examination which had excited so much interest terminated
by the return of John's fly to Dunnotter, with the butler in it, very
grave and impressive in the solemn circumstances. Rolls himself did not
choose to consider his position lightly. He acknowledged with great
respect the salutations of the gentlemen, who could not be prevented
from crowding to the door of the fly after him. Sir James, who was the
first, thrust something secretly into Rolls's hand. "They'll not treat
you so well as they treated your master. You must fee them--fee them,
Rolls," said the old general. "It'll be better than I deserve, Sir
James," Rolls said. "Hoot! nothing will happen to you, man!" said Sir
James. "He was well inspired to make a clean breast of it," Mr Monypenny
said. "The truth before all--it's the best policy." "You're very kind to
say sae, sir," said Rolls, solemnly. As he spoke he met the eye of Lord
Rintoul, who stood behind fixing his regard upon the face of John's
substitute. It was a trouble to Rolls to understand what the young lord
could mean, "glowering" as he did, but saying nothing. Was he better
aware of the facts of the case than any one suspected? might he come in
with his story and shatter that of Rolls? This gave the old servant a
little anxiety as he sat back solemnly in his corner, and was driven
away.
It would be impossible to enumerate all the visitors who thronged into
Miss Barbara Erskine's house that day. She had three more leaves put
into her dining-table, and Janet added dish to dish with the wildest
prodigality. Sir James Montgomery was one of those who "convoyed" John
to his old relative's house. He walked upon one side of the hero, and
Lord Lindores upon the other. "I will not conceal my fault from you,
Miss Barbara," he said. "I thought when I heard his story first it was
just the greatest nonsense. But it worked upon me--it worked upon me;
and then Lady Montgomery, she would not hear a word."
"Women understand the truth when they hear it; it's none so often," Miss
Barbara said, flushed with triumph and happiness. Rintoul had come in
with the rest--or rather after the rest. He and John were the two who
were somewhat out of all this tumult and rejoicing. They had not spoken
to each other, keeping apart with an instinctive repugnance, silent in
the midst of the rejoicing. But the rest of the company made up the
deficiency. Such a luncheon! a duke's son from England, an earl, all the
best men in the county: and Janet's dishes praised and consumed to the
last morsel, and the best wine brought up from the cellar, and the house
not big enough to contain the guests. Miss Barbara sat at the head of
the table, with a little flush of triumph on her cheek. "It's like a
marriage feast," she said to Sir James when they rose from the table.
"And I cannot see what should hinder it to be the forerunner--but the
breakfast shall be at my house, Miss Barbara, since her parents have no
house of their own here."
"Oh, who are you calling _her_?" said Miss Barbara, shaking her head;
and as she spoke she turned towards a group in a corner--two young
figures close together. Sir James's countenance grew long, but Miss
Barbara's bloomed out in genial triumph. "It's not the first time," she
said, "that we have had a lady o' title in Dalrulzian--and it will not
be the last." The magic of rank had triumphed even over prejudice. There
could be no denying that Lady Edith Erskine would be a bonnie name--and
a bonnie creature too.
"I got your letter," John said. "I suppose an angel must have brought
it. There is no telling how wretched I was before, or how happy after."
"No angel, but my mother's footman. I am afraid you thought it very
bold, Mr Erskine. I was afraid after, that I had said too much."
"I think so too,--unless you mean it to kill me like a sweet poison;
which it will do, unless there is more----"
"Mr Erskine, you have not quite come to yourself,--all this excitement
has gone to your head."
"I want more," said John--"more!" And Edith's eyes sank before his. It
was not like the affectionate proposals of Millefleurs, whose voice was
audible now even through those low syllables so different in their tone.
And Lady Lindores at that moment took her daughter by the arm. "Edith,"
she said, in a tone of fright, "Edith!" Oh foolish, foolish mother! had
she never thought of this till now?
The window of the dining-room looked out into the garden. Nevertheless,
it was possible to find a covert where two could talk and not be seen.
And while the gentlemen rose from the table, and Lady Lindores came to
her daughter's rescue, a very different group, two very agitated pale
young people, stood together there, without a single demonstration of
tenderness or even friendship, looking at each other with eager eyes. Or
rather the girl looked at the man, whose courage had failed him, who
stood before her like a culprit, not venturing to raise his eyes to her
face. "What is the meaning of it?" she cried. "Oh, what is the meaning
of it?" She stamped her foot upon the ground in her excitement and the
intolerable trouble of her thoughts. "You told me--one thing; and now
another has happened. What does it mean?"
"Nora," he said, clasping his hands, "don't be so hard upon me!"
"What does it mean?" she cried, her soft face growing stern, her
nostrils dilating. "Either what you said is false, or this is false; and
anyhow, you, you are false, Lord Rintoul! Oh, cannot you tell me what
it means? Is it that you are not brave enough to stand up by
yourself--to say, It was I----"
"For God's sake, Nora! I was ready, quite ready to do it, though it
would have been ruin to me. I had made up my mind. But what could I do
when this man stood up before me and said----He told the whole story
almost exactly as--as it happened. I was stupefied; but what could I do?
I declare to you, Nora, when old Monypenny got up and said 'The man is
here,' I jumped up, I stood forward. And then I was confounded, I could
not say a word." Here he approached a little nearer and put out his hand
to take hers. "Why should I, Nora--now tell me why should I? when this
other man says it was he. He ought to know," Rintoul added, with a groan
of faint tentative humour in his voice. He did not know how far he might
venture to go.
Once more Nora stamped her foot on the ground. "Oh, I cannot away with
you!" she cried. It was one of Miss Barbara's old-fashioned phrases. She
was at the end of her own. She would have liked, she thought, to strike
him as he stood before her deprecating, yet every moment recovering
himself.
"If another man chooses to take it upon him, why should I contradict
him?" Rintoul said, with good sense unanswerable. "I was stunned with
astonishment; but when you reflect, how could I contradict him? If he
did it for John Erskine's sake, it would have spoiled the arrangement."
"John Erskine would never make any arrangement. If he had been to blame
he would have borne it. He would not have shirked or drawn back!"
"You think better of John Erskine than of me, Nora. I do not know what
it is, but I have no right to interfere. I'll give the old fellow
something when it's all over. It is not for me he is doing it, whatever
is his reason. I should spoil it all if I said a word. Will you forgive
me now?" said Rintoul, with a mixture of calm reason and anxiety. He had
quite recovered himself. And Nora, still in a flutter of slowly
dissipating excitement, could find no argument against that sturdy good
sense of his. For he was strong in sense, however worldly it might be.
"I cannot understand it at all. Do you know who the man was?" she said.
And then he laughed--actually laughed--though he was on the borders of
desperation an hour ago. The echo of it seemed to run round the garden
among the listening trees and horrified Nora. But at his next word she
threw up her hands in consternation, with a cry of bewilderment,
confusion, almost amusement too, though she would have thought that
impossible,--"Old Rolls!"