Part 7 (1/2)
”You are the Master of Ballantrae?”
”You will do me the justice to observe,” says he, ”I have made no secret with the astute Mackellar.”
”And in the name of G.o.d,” cries I, ”what brings you here? Go back, while it is yet time.”
”I thank you,” said he. ”Your master has chosen this way, and not I; but since he has made the choice, he (and you also) must abide by the result. And now pick up these things of mine, which you have set down in a very boggy place, and attend to that which I have made your business.”
But I had no thought now of obedience; I came straight up to him. ”If nothing will move you to go back,” said I; ”though, sure, under all the circ.u.mstances, any Christian or even any gentleman would scruple to go forward ... ”
”These are gratifying expressions,” he threw in.
”If nothing will move you to go back,” I continued, ”there are still some decencies to be observed. Wait here with your baggage, and I will go forward and prepare your family. Your father is an old man; and ... ” I stumbled ... ”there are decencies to be observed.”
”Truly,” said he, ”this Mackellar improves upon acquaintance. But look you here, my man, and understand it once for all-you waste your breath upon me, and I go my own way with inevitable motion.”
”Ah!” says I. ”Is that so? We shall see then!”
And I turned and took to my heels for Durrisdeer. He clutched at me and cried out angrily, and then I believe I heard him laugh, and then I am certain he pursued me for a step or two, and (I suppose) desisted. One thing at least is sure, that I came but a few minutes later to the door of the great house, nearly strangled for the lack of breath, but quite alone. Straight up the stair I ran, and burst into the hall, and stopped before the family without the power of speech; but I must have carried my story in my looks, for they rose out of their places and stared on me like changelings.
”He has come,” I panted out at last.
”He?” said Mr. Henry.
”Himself,” said I.
”My son?” cried my lord. ”Imprudent, imprudent boy! Oh, could he not stay where he was safe!”
Never a word says Mrs. Henry; nor did I look at her, I scarce knew why.
”Well,” said Mr. Henry, with a very deep breath, ”and where is he?”
”I left him in the long shrubbery,” said I.
”Take me to him,” said he.
So we went out together, he and I, without another word from any one; and in the midst of the gravelled plot encountered the Master strolling up, whistling as he came, and beating the air with his cane. There was still light enough overhead to recognise, though not to read, a countenance.
”Ah! Jacob,” says the Master. ”So here is Esau back.”
”James,” says Mr. Henry, ”for G.o.d's sake, call me by my name. I will not pretend that I am glad to see you; but I would fain make you as welcome as I can in the house of our fathers.”
”Or in my house? or yours?” says the Master. ”Which were you about to say? But this is an old sore, and we need not rub it. If you would not share with me in Paris, I hope you will yet scarce deny your elder brother a corner of the fire at Durrisdeer?”
”That is very idle speech,” replied Mr. Henry. ”And you understand the power of your position excellently well.”
”Why, I believe I do,” said the other with a little laugh. And this, though they had never touched hands, was (as we may say) the end of the brothers' meeting; for at this the Master turned to me and bade me fetch his baggage.
I, on my side, turned to Mr. Henry for a confirmation; perhaps with some defiance.
”As long as the Master is here, Mr. Mackellar, you will very much oblige me by regarding his wishes as you would my own,” says Mr. Henry. ”We are constantly troubling you: will you be so good as send one of the servants?”-with an accent on the word.