Part 27 (1/2)
”That's impossible!”
Anxious as she was, miserable as she was, a faint smile flitted over Anne's face.
”Sir Patrick would tell you, Mr. Brinkworth, that nothing is impossible where women are concerned.” She dropped her momentary lightness of tone, and went on as earnestly as ever. ”You can't put yourself in Blanche's place--I can. Once more, I beg you to go. I don't like your coming here, in this way! I don't like it at all!”
She held out her hand to take leave. At the same moment there was a loud knock at the door of the room.
Anne sank into the chair at her side, and uttered a faint cry of alarm.
Arnold, perfectly impenetrable to all sense of his position, asked what there was to frighten her--and answered the knock in the two customary words:
”Come in!”
CHAPTER THE TENTH.
MR. BISHOPRIGGS.
THE knock at the door was repeated--a louder knock than before.
”Are you deaf?” shouted Arnold.
The door opened, little by little, an inch at a time. Mr. Bishopriggs appeared mysteriously, with the cloth for dinner over his arm, and with his second in command behind him, bearing ”the furnis.h.i.+ng of the table”
(as it was called at Craig Fernie) on a tray.
”What the deuce were you waiting for?” asked Arnold. ”I told you to come in.”
”And _I_ tauld _you,_” answered Mr. Bishopriggs, ”that I wadna come in without knocking first. Eh, man!” he went on, dismissing his second in command, and laying the cloth with his own venerable hands, ”d'ye think I've lived in this hottle in blinded eegnorance of hoo young married couples pa.s.s the time when they're left to themselves? Twa knocks at the door--and an unco trouble in opening it, after that--is joost the least ye can do for them! Whar' do ye think, noo, I'll set the places for you and your leddy there?”
Anne walked away to the window, in undisguised disgust. Arnold found Mr.
Bishopriggs to be quite irresistible. He answered, humoring the joke,
”One at the top and one at the bottom of the table, I suppose?”
”One at tap and one at bottom?” repeated Mr. Bishopriggs, in high disdain. ”De'il a bit of it! Baith yer chairs as close together as chairs can be. Hech! hech!--haven't I caught 'em, after goodness knows hoo many preleeminary knocks at the door, dining on their husbands'
knees, and steemulating a man's appet.i.te by feeding him at the fork's end like a child? Eh!” sighed the sage of Craig Fernie, ”it's a short life wi' that nuptial business, and a merry one! A mouth for yer billin'
and cooin'; and a' the rest o' yer days for wondering ye were ever such a fule, and wis.h.i.+ng it was a' to be done ower again.--Ye'll be for a bottle o' sherry wine, nae doot? and a drap toddy afterwards, to do yer digestin' on?”
Arnold nodded--and then, in obedience to a signal from Anne, joined her at the window. Mr. Bishopriggs looked after them attentively--observed that they were talking in whispers--and approved of that proceeding, as representing another of the established customs of young married couples at inns, in the presence of third persons appointed to wait on them.
”Ay! ay!” he said, looking over his shoulder at Arnold, ”gae to your deerie! gae to your deerie! and leave a' the solid business o' life to Me. Ye've Screepture warrant for it. A man maun leave fether and mother (I'm yer fether), and cleave to his wife. My certie! 'cleave' is a strong word--there's nae sort o' doot aboot it, when it comes to 'cleaving!'” He wagged his head thoughtfully, and walked to the side-table in a corner, to cut the bread.
As he took up the knife, his one wary eye detected a morsel of crumpled paper, lying lost between the table and the wall. It was the letter from Geoffrey, which Anne had flung from her, in the first indignation of reading it--and which neither she nor Arnold had thought of since.
”What's that I see yonder?” muttered Mr. Bishopriggs, under his breath.
”Mair litter in the room, after I've doosted and tidied it wi' my ain hands!”
He picked up the crumpled paper, and partly opened it. ”Eh! what's here?
Writing on it in ink? and writing on it in pencil? Who may this belong to?” He looked round cautiously toward Arnold and Anne. They were both still talking in whispers, and both standing with their backs to him, looking out of the window. ”Here it is, clean forgotten and dune with!”
thought Mr. Bishopriggs. ”Noo what would a fule do, if he fund this?