Part 71 (2/2)
Blanche gave him a look. Slowness of perception was not on the list of the failings of Bishopriggs. He took up a tumbler, winked with his one available eye, and led the way to the rivulet. There was nothing remarkable in the spectacle of a young lady who wanted a gla.s.s of spring-water, or of a waiter who was getting it for her. n.o.body was surprised; and (with the band playing) n.o.body could by any chance overhear what might be said at the spring-side.
”Do you remember me at the inn on the night of the storm?” asked Blanche.
Mr. Bishopriggs had his reasons (carefully inclosed in his pocketbook) for not being too ready to commit himself with Blanche at starting.
”I'm no' saying I canna remember ye, miss. Whar's the man would mak' sic an answer as that to a bonny young leddy like you?”
By way of a.s.sisting his memory Blanche took out her purse. Bishopriggs became absorbed in the scenery. He looked at the running water with the eye of a man who thoroughly distrusted it, viewed as a beverage.
”There ye go,” he said, addressing himself to the rivulet, ”bubblin' to yer ain annihilation in the loch yonder! It's little I know that's gude aboot ye, in yer unconvairted state. Ye're a type o' human life, they say. I tak' up my testimony against _that._ Ye're a type o' naething at all till ye're heated wi' fire, and sweetened wi' sugar, and strengthened wi' whusky; and then ye're a type o' toddy--and human life (I grant it) has got something to say to ye in that capacity!”
”I have heard more about you, since I was at the inn,” proceeded Blanche, ”than you may suppose.” (She opened her purse: Mr. Bishopriggs became the picture of attention.) ”You were very, very kind to a lady who was staying at Craig Fernie,” she went on, earnestly. ”I know that you have lost your place at the inn, because you gave all your attention to that lady. She is my dearest friend, Mr. Bishopriggs. I want to thank you. I do thank you. Please accept what I have got here?”
All the girl's heart was in her eyes and in her voice as she emptied her purse into the gouty (and greedy) old hand of Bishopriggs.
A young lady with a well-filled purse (no matter how rich the young lady may be) is a combination not often witnessed in any country on the civilized earth. Either the money is always spent, or the money has been forgotten on the toilet-table at home. Blanche's purse contained a sovereign and some six or seven s.h.i.+llings in silver. As pocket-money for an heiress it was contemptible. But as a gratuity to Bishopriggs it was magnificent. The old rascal put the money into his pocket with one hand, and dashed away the tears of sensibility, which he had _not_ shed, with the other.
”Cast yer bread on the waters,” cried Mr. Bishopriggs, with his one eye raised devotionally to the sky, ”and ye sall find it again after monny days! Heeh! hech! didna I say when I first set eyes on that puir leddy, 'I feel like a fether to ye?' It's seemply mairvelous to see hoo a man's ain gude deeds find him oot in this lower warld o' ours. If ever I heard the voice o' naitural affection speaking in my ain breast,” pursued Mr.
Bishopriggs, with his eye fixed in uneasy expectation on Blanche, ”it joost spak' trumpet-tongued when that winsome creature first lookit at me. Will it be she now that told ye of the wee bit sairvice I rendered to her in the time when I was in bondage at the hottle?”
”Yes--she told me herself.”
”Might I mak' sae bauld as to ask whar' she may be at the present time?”
”I don't know, Mr. Bishopriggs. I am more miserable about it than I can say. She has gone away--and I don't know where.”
”Ow! ow! that's bad. And the bit husband-creature danglin' at her petticoat's tail one day, and awa' wi' the sunrise next mornin'--have they baith taken leg-bail together?”
”I know nothing of him; I never saw him. You saw him. Tell me--what was he like?”
”Eh! he was joost a puir weak creature. Didn't know a gla.s.s o' good sherry-wine when he'd got it. Free wi' the siller--that's a' ye can say for him--free wi' the siller!”
Finding it impossible to extract from Mr. Bishopriggs any clearer description of the man who had been with Anne at the inn than this, Blanche approached the main object of the interview. Too anxious to waste time in circ.u.mlocution, she turned the conversation at once to the delicate and doubtful subject of the lost letter.
”There is something else that I want to say to you,” she resumed. ”My friend had a loss while she was staying at the inn.”
The clouds of doubt rolled off the mind of Mr. Bishopriggs. The lady's friend knew of the lost letter. And, better still, the lady's friend looked as if she wanted it!
”Ay! ay!” he said, with all due appearance of carelessness. ”Like eneugh. From the mistress downward, they're a' kittle cattle at the inn since I've left 'em. What may it ha' been that she lost?”
”She lost a letter.”
The look of uneasy expectation reappeared in the eye of Mr. Bishopriggs.
It was a question--and a serious question, from his point of view--whether any suspicion of theft was attached to the disappearance of the letter.
”When ye say 'lost,'” he asked, ”d'ye mean stolen?”
Blanche was quite quick enough to see the necessity of quieting his mind on this point.
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