Part 42 (1/2)

”The child! Ah! yes, I see, and a bonny little creature she is,” said Mr Rainy, offering his hand to Marjorie. ”And whose child may she be?”

”She is the child of my master and mistress. I have been in service all this time, and I need help from no one.”

”In service! Yes, and among decent folk, I'll be bound! Well! well!

And doubtless you will be able to account for every day and hour that has gone by since you--were lost sight of. That is well.”

”It might be well if there were any one who had a right to call me to account,” said Allison, coldly.

Mr Rainy had turned with them, and they were walking down the street together.

”A right? The less said about rights the better. But this I will say, you have a right to look upon me as a friend, as your father did before you. And I have a right to expect it from you. Your father trusted me, and it will be for your good to trust me likewise.”

”Yes, he trusted you. And if I needed help that you could give, I might come to you for it. But I have only to ask that you forget that you have seen me. Not that it matters much now; I have got over my first fear. I must bid you good-day. We are on our way to see Doctor Fleming. But first we are going down to the sands.”

And then Allison made him a courtesy which minded Marjorie of Mrs Esselmont. Then they went down another street together, and left him standing there.

Mr Rainy had been for many years the friend and legal adviser of the laird of Blackhills, and more than once, in his visits to the great house on the laird's business, he had given counsel to Allison's father with regard to his affairs. He had been with him when he was drawing near his end, and had done, what, at that late day, could be done, to set his affairs in order, and to secure, that which he possessed, for the benefit of those he left behind. He had known all the circ.u.mstances of Allison's unfortunate marriage. He had not spared Brownrig when the matter was discussed between them, but in no measured terms had declared his conduct to have been cowardly, selfish, base.

But when Allison disappeared so suddenly, he had done his utmost to find her. That a woman might begin by hating a man, and yet come to love him when he was her husband, he believed to be possible. At the least Allison might come to tolerate her husband if she did not love him. She might come, in time, to take the good of her fine house and of the fine things, of which there was like to be no stint in it, and live her life like the rest, when her first anger at his treacherous dealing was over.

For her own sake, for the sake of her good name, and the respect he owed to the memory of her father, Mr Rainy left no means untried, that might avail to discover her. He never imagined it possible that she would remain within a short day's journey of the place where all her life had been spent.

Of late he had come to believe that she was dead. And he said to himself, that if she could have been laid to her rest beside her father and her mother, no one need have grieved for her death. For her marriage could hardly have been a happy one. All her life long she had forgotten herself, and lived only for her father and mother, because she loved them, and because they needed her. For the same reason she would have laid herself down in the dust, to make a way for her young scamp of a brother to pa.s.s over to get his own will. But for the man who had married her she had professed no love, and even in his fine house it might have gone ill with them both.

”But it is different now,” he said to himself, as he went down the street. ”Brownrig is a dying man, or I am much mistaken, and he has known little of any one belonging to him for many a year and day. And his heart is softening--yes, I think his heart must be softening. He might be brought to make amends for the ill turn he did her when he married her. As for her, she will hear reason. Yes, she must be brought to hear reason. She seemed to ken Dr Fleming. I will see him.

A word from a man like him might have weight with her. I will see him at once.”

Mr Rainy lost no time. He needed to say his say quickly, for the doctor had much before him in his day's work. The patience with which he listened, soon changed to eager interest. ”It is about Brownrig--the man whose horse fell with him in the street--that I want to ask. He was brought to the infirmary lately. You must have seen him.”

Then in the fewest possible words that he could use, Mr Rainy told the story of Allison Bain.

”I met her in the street, and the sight of me hurt her sorely, though she did not mean that I should see it. I came to you because she named your name, and I thought you might help in the matter.”

Dr Fleming listened in silence. He had never forgotten Allison Bain.

He had never been told her story before; but through some words spoken by Mr Hadden, and later by Mr Hume, he knew that she _had_ a story, and that it was a sad one. It was not necessary for him to say all this to Mr Rainy, who ended by saying:

”What I want you to tell me is, whether the man is likely to live or to die.” And then he added, with an oath, ”If I thought he might live, I would not lift my finger to bring a woman like her, into the power of a man like him. Certainly I would not do so against her will. But if he is to die--that is another thing.”

Doctor Fleming was not the kind of man to be taken altogether into his confidence as to the motive he had in desiring to bring these two together, and he said no more.

”I will see the man to-day,” said the doctor, gravely.

As one door opened to let Mr Rainy out, another opened to admit Allison and Marjorie. It was Marjorie who spoke first.

”My father said I was to come and see you, doctor. I am little Marjorie Hume. You'll mind on me, I think.”

Doctor Fleming laughed, and lifting the little creature in his arms, kissed her, ”cheek and chin.”

”My little darling! And are you quite well and strong?”