Part 34 (1/2)

”Oh no--oh no!” exclaimed Sir Murray, impatiently. ”But this place, Maudlaine--I should like it kept as it is: the timber, you know; and you would not drain the lake?”

”Oh no! of course not. But, I say, you know, I--a--a--a suppose it will be all right?”

”Right--all right?” said Sir Murray, whose face wore a cadaverous hue.

”What do you mean by all right?”

”Well, you know, I mean about Isa. I haven't said anything pointed to her yet, though we two have made it all right. She won't refuse me, eh?”

”Refuse? No: absurd!”

”Well, I don't know so much about that. I get thinking sometimes that she ain't so very far gone with me. Snubs me, you know,--turns huffy, and that sort of thing.”

”My dear Maudlaine,” said Sir Murray, with a sneering laugh, which there was no need of the other interpreting, ”you are too timid--too diffident for a man of your years.”

”Well, I don't know,” said his lords.h.i.+p, ”I don't think I am; but she's a style of woman I'm not used to. Don't seem dazzled, and all that sort of thing, you know. Some women would be ready to jump out of their skins to be a viscountess, and by-and-by an earl's wife; but she don't-- not a bit--not that sort of woman; and if I never said a word about it, I don't believe that she would, even if I went on visiting here for years.”

”Most likely not,” said Sir Murray, dryly; ”but you see that it is as I say--you are too timid--too diffident.”

”I say, though, you know,” said his lords.h.i.+p, ”was her mother that style of woman--quiet and fond of weed-hunting--botany, you know?”

”You will oblige me greatly by not referring to the late Lady Gernon,”

said Sir Murray, stiffly.

”Oh, beg pardon, you know. No offence meant.”

”It is granted,” said Sir Murray; and then, in a different tone: ”There goes the dressing-bell.”

The gentlemen strolled up in silence to the entrance, where the major-domo--Mr Alexander McCray--who seemed to rule supreme at Merland, now stood waiting the arrival of his master.

”I'm thinking, Sir Mooray,” he said deferentially, ”that ye'd like a pony-carriage sent to meet my young lady.”

”What--has she not returned?” said Sir Murray, anxiously.

”Nay, Sir Mooray, not yet awhile, and I should hae sent wi'oot saying a word, but that I thocht my laird here would tell us which road she gaed.”

”Towards the waste--the snipe ground, you know,” said his lords.h.i.+p, on being appealed to.

”Send at once, McCray. No: go yourself,” said Sir Murray.

”I'll go with him,” said his lords.h.i.+p, who now seemed about wakening to the fact that he had grossly neglected his intended; and five minutes after the old Scot was driving briskly towards the village.

”Ye dinna ought to have left her, my laird,” said McCray, st.u.r.dily.

”She's ower young to be left all alone.”

”What? Were you speaking to me?” said his lords.h.i.+p, haughtily.

”Ay, that I was,” said McCray. ”Ye mauna mind me, my laird, for I'm a'most like her foster-fairther, and nursed her on my knee mony's the time.”

His lords.h.i.+p did not condescend to answer, and the lanes were traversed at a good rattling pace; but though McCray pulled up from time to time to make inquiries, the only news he learned was that Miss Gernon had been seen to go towards the marsh, but not to return; while one cottager volunteered the information that young Squire Norton, the sailor, went that way too in the morning time, and that neither of them had been seen to come back.

This news had no effect upon Lord George Maudlaine, but a close observer would have seen that the wrinkles upon Alexander McCray's brow grew a little more deeply marked.