A FRIEND IN NEED
Elspeth sprang forward to welcome her father. As she had confessed
once or twice to Herries, she had no great love for him, since he had
not treated her as he should have done. All the same he was her
father, and the sole relation she had in the world, so, when she
beheld him stagger into the caravan, looking more or less a wreck, all
the woman's heart of her went out to the old reprobate. On his side
also, Gowrie seemed glad to meet his deserted child, and patted her
hand, as he sank into the chair vacated by Kind.
Neither the Cheap-jack, nor the girl thought of telling the new-corner
that Herries was stretched at full length under his gouty feet, as
they feared lest the greed of money should lead Mr. Gowrie into
betraying the young man. Herries likewise, recognising the voice, and
hearing Kind's boisterous welcome, knew that the long-sought-for
witness was seated overhead, but he also declined to trust himself to
so slippery a gentleman. He therefore lay still and stiff, listening
to the conversation, anxious only to hear if his former tutor could
throw light on the subject of the murder.
"Weel, weel," muttered Gowrie, while his daughter and Kind stared at
him in silence, "it's a braw welcome ye've given the auld mon. Mae ain
flesh an' bluid's kinder nor the warld I'm theenking. Aye, aye, and
there'll be whusky aboot maybe."
Sweetlips, seeing that the old creature was more or less exhausted,
poured him out a glass of Glenlivet, and while Gowrie smacked his lips
over the unaccustomed luxury,--for that it was, since he appeared to
be as poor as the proverbial church mouse,--Elspeth stared at the
parent she was ordered to love, honour and obey. He did not seem to be
the sort of father to whom the text applied. His hand shook, as he
sipped the strong drink, and his white head quivered as though he had
the palsy. The fringe of silvery hair round his bald head gave him a
patriarchal appearance, and his beard was one Aaron might have envied,
so long and venerable had it grown. His clothes were still dirty and
disreputable, and his face was still inflamed with drink. On the whole
the Rev. Michael Gowrie looked like a man with whom the world had gone
badly, and Elspeth shuddered, when she reflected that this wreck had
the right to call her his daughter. However, she was sorry for him, so
old and weak did he look, and tended to him silently.
"Will you have some food?"
"Nae, nae, my lassie. It's the gude barley-bree that's needed. A bite
an hoor or twa later, wud dae me nae hairm, I'm theenking, but we'll
dae wi' the whusky at preesent. Aye, aye, this is a hoose o' refuge,
Elspeth. Ye mauna turn yer puir auld faither oot into the confleect o'
the elements. Ice, snaw, an' rain, all praisin' Providence, forebye,
it's but rain, ye ken."
"Where do you come from?" asked Kind impatiently, as he had no
patience with these maunderings.
"Ye may weel ask that. I've been walking up an' doon the arth like
Satan in Holy Writ, but wi' less success, I'm theenking. Nae siller in
ma pocket, and a price,--as ye may say,--on the heid o' me."
"You know that you are wanted then," said Elspeth with eagerness.
"Aye, but no for daeing wrang, dear. Losh me," he chuckled, being
revived by the drink, "there's fame for ye, me being asked for in a'
the papers o' the three kingdoms.
"How is it you never turned up before?" asked Kind.
"Weel!" said Gowrie, winking one eye and holding out his glass to be
replenished, "I wisnae very sure it wud be wise tae gang tae those in
authority. The reward wudnae gang into ma pockets. I lay low in Great
Babylon, the which ye ken is London, and got ma bite an sup fra the
few shullings I got----"
"From Mr. Herries' pockets," finished Elspeth. "Father, you acted
shamefully, robbing Angus."
"Angus is it," snapped the old man, ignoring the accusation, "and for
why dae ye, ma ain child, ca' him Angus?"
"That's my business," retorted the girl, flushing. Gowrie watched her
cunningly.
"Aye, aye, young life and young luve, ma dearie. Weel, and shall nae a
wumon depart fra her faither and be one wi' her husband an'----"
"I never said that!" cried the girl angrily.
"Hoots, lassie, I'm nae blind, foreby yon limmer at the inn tauld me
ye'd taken a gait o' yer own. An' me," cried Gowrie, raising his voice
in indignation, "coming tae the inn for a bite and a sup, wi' nae
siller tae pay, believing my ain child wud wark off the bill."
"She's had enough of that," said Kind roughly, "she was quite right to
leave. She is stopping with Armour the policeman, and goes with me
when we leave this place."
"And wi' Herries?"
"We don't know where he is," said Kind smartly, seeing that Elspeth
hesitated to tell the white fib.
"An' hoo, then, can ye luve him?" demanded Gowrie cunningly.
"I loved him when he slept at the inn," returned the girl, "he helped
with the bucket; the first person who was ever kind to me."
"Eh, Romeo and Juliet, o' Wully Shakespeare," chuckled Gowrie, "the
bard wisnae sae far wrang in his gab o' luve at first sight. Wull yon
lad marry ye, Elspeth, dae ye theenk?"
"What makes you think that we are engaged?" she asked evasively.
"My lassie," said the old man chuckling, "I ken the waiys o' wumon,
none better. In the Patmos in the weelderness, where I wis hiding, I
read the papers, and saw aboot yon escape. Thinks I, Elspeth hes mair
to do wi' this nor meets the eye. Didnae I see the blink of yer een
when Herries wis chatting in the tap-room. He couldnae ha' escaped by
himsel. Nae, nae, where there's a mon, there a wumon, sae I joost pit
twa and twa togither. Aye, he's yer mon, lassie."
Elspeth glanced at Kind, and he at her. The old man had guessed all
that had taken place by shrewd observation, and they dreaded lest this
preternatural cunning (for so it seemed) should lead him to guess that
Herries was quaking under his feet. But his next observation reassured
them in some measure.
"I'm ganging tae save the lad," said Gowrie, finishing his glass.
"What?" cried his daughter, and Herries suppressed a gasp with
difficulty. The remark was like a gleam of light in a clouded heaven.
"Aye," pursued Gowrie, leisurely, "ye taunt me, yer ain faither, wi'
taking a few bit shullings fra the laddie's pocket. It wis the best
thing that happened tae him, that same, for by daeing what I did, I
can save the lad. And who's he, my ain pupil, to grudge his auld tutor
a bit of siller?"
Kind glanced nervously at the floor. He knew that Herries was
overhearing every word the old reprobate uttered, and dreaded lest he
should reveal himself prematurely. But Herries held his peace until he
learned more of Mr. Gowrie's intentions. He did not trust him an inch
until he could see how the old man proposed to benefit by saving him.
Elspeth, knowing her father of old, had similar thoughts in her brain,
and spoke her mind pretty freely. What the reprobate had guessed she
confessed, thinking, that if he knew Herries was her lover, he would
be more inclined to save him. Sweetlips remained silent, as he was
anxious to let Gowrie talk, so as to learn exactly what he had up his
sleeve.
"Father," said the girl, laying her hands on Gowrie's shoulders, "can
you really save Angus?"
"Yes," said the reverend gentleman, in his best English, "if he will
be guided by me."
"And what do you expect to get out of this?"
"Ma ain child," said the patriarch, relapsing into Scotch, "dae ye nae
theenk but what a mon micht dae good wi'out conseedering himsel'?"
"You wouldn't," rejoined Elspeth curtly.
Gowrie wiped a tear from his inflamed eye with a ragged handkerchief,
and raised his face to heaven.
"Ma ain child," said he in a pathetic tone, "Aye, it's a Lear I am, nae
less."
"Look here, father," said Elspeth, placing her hands on her hips and
speaking almost as sourly as Mrs. Narby, whose favourite attitude this
was. "It's no use your talking like this. You took me from that
excellent school, where my godfather was educating me, and turned me
into Mrs. Narby's drudge, just that you might have a place to go to,
in the 'Marsh Inn,' without paying. I was a child when you last saw
me, and did what I was told. But love, the love of a good man, has
changed me into a woman. I have become engaged to Angus, and I helped
him to escape. He's far away from here, and in a place where you won't
find him. I have seen him several times since he got away from the
inn, and we are engaged to be married."
"It warrums ma hairt tae hear ye say so, lassie," mumbled Gowrie, in a
thankful voice. "Aye, aye, ye'll be able tae gie yer auld faither a
warrum seat by the hearth."
"We haven't got a hearth," said Elspeth bluntly.
"Aye, but ye'll hae a braw ane, I doot not," said Gowrie cunningly,
and watched the effect of his remark out of the corner of his wicked
old eye.
It was Kind who replied, as he was beginning to have an inkling of why
Mr. Gowrie had put in so opportune an appearance.
"I don't know if you guessed that Elspeth had a hand in Mr. Herries'
escape," said he, looking steadily at his visitor, "but you came down
here to see if you could force her to become engaged to Mr. Herries."
"There's nae force required," chuckled Gowrie.
"You didn't know that. God has brought these two unlucky people
together, I verily believe, so that they may be happy in the long
run. You guessed,--at least I can't think how you could know in any
way,--you guessed that Elspeth saved Mr. Herries from immediate
arrest, and probably, as you say, you saw, when Herries came to the
inn that Elspeth liked him--"
"Luved him--luved him. Dinna use weak worrds."
"Well then, loved him. You thought to come here and see if Elspeth
would marry him, and----"
"I went to the inn," cried Gowrie, speaking English, and in a most
indignant manner. "Mrs. Narby promised to give me house-room always,
so long as Elspeth worked for her. And I found that Elspeth had
insulted that most excellent lady, and I was turned out of my
Patmos,--my refuge in the wilderness. Mrs. Narby sent me here, to your
house on wheels, saying she was here."
"Well then, I am here. What do you want?"
"Dae ye ken I'm yer faither?" demanded Gowrie wrathfully.
"Only too well," she replied bitterly, "had you not been my father, I
should never have slaved for Mrs. Narby. But I agree with Sweetlips,
you came here with some scheme in your head. What is it?"
"I know," said Sweetlips, interposing contemptuously. "He intended to
get you to find Herries, and ask him to marry you out of gratitude."
"I should never have done that," cried the girl flushing.
"There is no need to, as things have turned out," retorted Kind
bluntly, "but your father here wants you to marry Mr. Herries."
"Aye, aye," mumbled Gowrie, "I'm gey auld, and ma child,--weeckedly as
she talks to her puir auld faither, must nae be left wi'oot a
protector, when I'm in ma lang hame, the which is the grave."
"You have no idea of going to your long home for years," said Kind,
coolly. "You lay low and did not come forward to save Mr. Herries
until you saw that it would be to your advantage."
"As how?" asked Gowrie politely, but his face grew red.
"You saw in the newspapers that Herries inherited his uncle's money."
"On condeetions, mind ye," chuckled Gowrie.
"So that is why you have come?" asked Elspeth, angrily.
Gowrie rose to his full height, which was tall enough nearly to touch
the roof of the caravan, and thrust one hand into the breast of his
ragged frock-coat in quite a Napoleonic attitude.
"That," he said in his grand mellow voice, and now quite restored to
his native impudence by the whisky, "that is my reason. Whether I
guessed that you had assisted Herries to escape or not, matters
little. I may have guessed from your betraying eyes at the inn that
you had fallen in love with him at once, or I may not. Let that pass.
But I am a good father, and it went to my heart to think that one of
my blood should slave at a poor inn, when she should be occupying a
lady's position, seeing that she,--I allude to you, Elspeth,--is a
lady born and bred. I therefore said, when I saw that Herries was
likely to become a millionaire, I said to myself that it would be as
well to be his father-in-law. And I charge you, Elspeth, as you are my
daughter, to marry this man, and keep your father in comfort in his
old age. 'Honour thy father and thy mother' says the Book of books,
and do not----"
This episode of the devil quoting scripture to gain his own ends was
cut short by a choking laugh, which came from under Mr. Gowrie's feet.
The old man jumped up, as though a bomb was about to explode, and
Elspeth began to explain.
"It's the dog," she said in a hurried tone. "It's the----"
"No, no," cried Herries' voice from below, and Gowrie, whose nerves
were weak with drink, jumped again. "Let me out. I'll trust him."
"Whaur the deil have ye pit the mon?" inquired Gowrie, affrightedly.
Kind shrugged his shoulders, and lifted the flooring, after he had
swept Gowrie to one side. He did not think it was wise of Herries to
reveal himself to so untrustworthy a personage; but the mischief had
been done, and shortly Herries, red in the face from suppressed
laughter, sat up in the gap, wiping the tears from his eyes.
"I couldn't help it," he gasped looking from Elspeth to Kind, and from
Kind to his old tutor, "to hear that fraud talk about the Bible was
too much for me."
"Ma ain laddie," cried Gowrie, not at all taken aback, and recovering
the colour of his shiny skin, which had vanished in his recent alarm,
"here's one who will help you."
"I know that one is here who won't betray me," said Herries rising and
taking a seat, "guard the door, Kind. Elspeth, don't look so alarmed;
it's to your father's advantage to hold his tongue. I should not have
revealed myself, else."
"Eh," said Gowrie lifting his eyes to heaven, "ma ain pupil taks me
for a Judas."
"You're quite right," said Herries dryly, "you'd sell me within the
hour, if you thought you'd make money. But I am of more value to you
alive than dead, or the rope would be round my neck."
"If my father did that--" gasped Elspeth, clenching her fists.
"Pooh, pooh," interrupted Kind, seeing from the brightness of Herries'
eye, and the resolution of his look, that he was quite master of the
situation, "let the Guv'nor speak."
"The Governor?" queried Herries, smiling.
"Yes. I see you've made up your mind to act, so there's no chance of
my guiding you any further. And I'm glad of it, Guv'nor," added the
Cheap-jack, heartily, "you have plenty of resolution, and only need to
exercise it. Now then, we're tiled in all right, so fire ahead and
find out what this old----"
"I'm the Rev. Michael Gowrie, saving your presence," said that
gentleman in an aggrieved tone.
"You are whatever pays you best," retorted Kind. "Here, have some more
whisky, and answer the Guv'nor's questions straight, or I'll wring
that blessed old neck of yours."
"Elspeth!"
"I agree with Sweetlips, father," said the girl with resolution. "If
you don't act straightly, I'll accuse you myself of having murdered
Sir Simon, even though you are my own father."
"I," gasped Gowrie turning pale, all but his nose, which everlastingly
gleamed a bright crimson, "I murder----?"
"It looks like it," put in Herries, who had been watching the old
trickster, "you've run your head into the noose, Mr. Gowrie."
"I'm--I'm--innocent, damn ye."
"Very good. Then explain what took place on that night."
"I'll no dae that, until I see ye marrit tae my dochter, she-deil as
she has been tae her auld faither."
"But how can I marry her in my present position?"
"Eh, ye can leave yon tae me, Angus. I'll ca ye Angus, seence ye're
tae be bane o' ma bane and flesh o' ma flesh, as it micht be. When I
can ca' my dochter Mistress Herries, and have the promise of the pair
o' ye tae gie me enough tae leeve like gentry, I'll save the life o'
ye,--aye, that I wull."
"And tell us who killed Sir Simon."
"Nae," said Gowrie with real regret, "I canna dae that, for I dinna
ken wha committed the weecked deed."
"That's a lie," cried Kind.
"It's the truth, sir," said Gowrie in his best English. "For all I
know Herries here may have killed the man."
"You said that you could save me."
"I did, and I can," said Gowrie, rather disconcerted, "but only if you
marry Elspeth."
"I don't require your command to marry her," said Herries, taking the
girl in his arms. "I love your daughter with all my heart and soul, as
a good true woman. I'll marry whenever I am free."
"Ye'll mairry before that," said Gowrie sharply.
"Can't you trust me?" asked Herries angrily.
"I trust nae one."
"He judges all by himself," said Kind. "Well then, tell us how the
marriage can take place. You know that Mr. Herries is being searched
for, and if he gets the banns put up, or procures a special license,
he will be arrested."
"I know that," snapped Gowrie with a leer, "and I want him to be
arrested.
"What!" cried Elspeth, placing herself before her father with a look
of dismay, "would you betray him?"
"No, no," said Herries, beginning to see the drift of the old man's
plot, "Mr. Gowrie wants to earn the five hundred pounds reward from my
cousin."
"Aye, I do that, and save you from being hanged also."
"I don't understand," said Elspeth in bewilderment.
"I do," said Kind, quickly, for he also saw what was meant. "I'll take
Mr. Herries to some less dangerous neighbourhood, where he will not be
arrested so immediately,--say to some midland town, where the news of
the murder will scarcely have penetrated. Mr. Herries' name will not
be so known there, and then I'll get a special license, and you can
marry him, Elspeth."
"That's it--that's it," cried Gowrie exultingly. "Meanwhile I go to
Miss Tedder and say that the marriage will take place on a certain day
in a certain town. She'll tell the police, and you, Angus, will be
arrested. I'll thus get the reward, which we'll employ to hunt down
the true assassin, and place you in command of the fifty thousand a
year," he smacked his lips.
"But Angus may be hanged," cried Elspeth terrified, and clinging to
her lover.
"Lassie," said Gowrie solemnly, "not a hair of the head of him will be
hurt. I can exonerate him entirely."
"But how. I don't see----"
"Neither do I," said Herries, looking hard at Gowrie. "All the same,
I'll trust my future father-in-law, as I am quite sure that he has
more use for fifty thousand a year than for five hundred all told."
The reprobate rubbed his dirty hands together and chuckled.
"I'll hae some mair o' the Glenlivet," said he gaily. "Aye, ye neednae
stint pouring oot the gude drink. This is a joyful occasion. I've
gotten mae dochter a gude doonsettin', and wull save a desarving
laddie fra the rope o' doom, deil tak' them as wove the same."
"Will you trust him?" asked Kind aside to Herries, while Gowrie sipped
his whisky joyously.
"Yes," answered Herries, in the same tone. "He's a clever old sinner,
and has some scheme in his head whereby to save me. The money I'll
inherit will make it worth his while. Gowrie," he said, raising his
voice, "if you pull me through I'll settle one thousand a year on you.
Honour bright."
"I'll dae it--I'll dae it," the old gentleman smacked his leg. "Losh
me, there's a power of drink in a thoosand a year. Lave it tae me,
laddie, and I'll be a faither tae ye. Bless ye, mae bairns, hoo happy
ye mak me auld hairt."
"Oh, take him away," cried Herries, disgusted with the man.
"No, no," said Kind imperatively, "when he goes it will be with
Elspeth. If he's alone he may get drinking and let out that you are
here."
"Nae when a thoosand a year's tae be got," said Gowrie joyously, and
in his glee began to sing a Scotch ballad in a cracked voice--
"'The day may daw, the cock may craw,
But aye we'll taste the barley bree.'
"Aye, Robbie Burns, Robbie Burns, weel did ye ken the joys o' life."