Part 18 (2/2)
”And what do I look like today?” she asked.
”Ow! the day, ye luik like some cratur o' the storm; or the storm itsel' takin' a leevin' shape, an' the bonniest it could; or maybe, like Ahriel, gaein' afore the win', wi' the blast in 's feathers, rufflin' them 'a gaits at ance.”
”Who's Ahriel?”
”Ow, the fleein' cratur i' the Tempest! But in your bonny southern speech, I daursay ye wad ca' him--or her, I dinna ken whilk the cratur was--ye wad ca' 't Ayriel?”
”I don't know anything about him or her or it,” said Lady Florimel.
”Ye'll hae a' aboot him up i' the libbrary there though,” said Malcolm. ”The Tempest's the only ane o' Shakspere's plays 'at I hae read, but it's a gran' ane, as Maister Graham has empooered me to see.”
”Oh, dear!” exclaimed Florimel, ”I've lost my book!”
”I'll gang back an' luik for 't this meenute, my leddy,” said Malcolm.
”I ken ilka fit o' the road we've come, an' it's no possible but I fa' in wi' 't.--Ye'll sune be hame noo, an' it'll hardly be on again afore ye win in,” he added, looking up at the clouds.
”But how am I to get it? I want it very much.”
”I'll jest fess 't up to the Hoose, an' say 'at I fan' 't whaur I will fin' 't. But I wiss ye wad len' me yer pocket nepkin to row 't in, for I'm feared for blaudin' 't afore I get it back to ye.”
Florimel gave him her handkerchief, and Malcolm took his leave, saying.--”I'll be up i' the coorse o' a half hoor at farthest.”
The humble devotion and absolute service of the youth, resembling that of a n.o.ble dog, however unlikely to move admiration in Lady Florimel's heart, could not fail to give her a quiet and welcome pleasure. He was an inferior who could be depended upon, and his wors.h.i.+p was acceptable. Not a fear of his attentions becoming troublesome ever crossed her mind. The wider and more impa.s.sable the distinctions of rank, the more possible they make it for artificial minds to enter into simply human relations; the easier for the oneness of the race to a.s.sert itself, in the offering and acceptance of a devoted service. There is more of the genuine human in the relations.h.i.+p between some men and their servants, than between those men and their own sons.
With eyes intent, and keen as those of a gazehound, Malcolm retraced every step, up to the grated door. But no volume was to be seen.
Turning from the door of the tunnel, for which he had no Sesame, he climbed to the foot of the wall that crossed it above, and with a bound, a clutch at the top, a pull and a scramble, was in the high road in a moment. From the road to the links was an easy drop, where, starting from the grated door, he retraced their path from the dune. Lady Florimel had dropped the book when she rose, and Malcolm found it lying on the sand, little the worse. He wrapped it in its owner's handkerchief, and set out for the gate at the mouth of the river.
As he came up to it, the keeper, an ill conditioned snarling fellow, who, in the phrase of the Seaton folk, ”rade on the riggin (ridge) o' 's authority,” rushed out of the lodge, and just as Malcolm was entering, shoved the gate in his face.
”Ye comena in wi'oot the leave o' me,” he cried, with a vengeful expression.
”What's that for?” said Malcolm, who had already interposed his great boot, so that the spring bolt could not reach its catch.
”There s' nae lan' loupin' rascals come in here,” said Bykes, setting his shoulder to the gate.
That instant he went staggering back to the wall of the lodge, with the gate after him.
”Stick to the wa' there,” said Malcolm, as he strode in.
The keeper pursued him with frantic abuse, but he never turned his head. Arrived at the House, he committed the volume to the cook, with a brief account of where he had picked it up, begging her to inquire whether it belonged to the House. The cook sent a maid with it to Lady Florimel, and Malcolm waited until she returned--with thanks and a half crown. He took the money, and returned by the upper gate through the town.
CHAPTER XVII: THE ACCUSATION
The next morning, soon after their early breakfast, the gate keeper stood in the door of Duncan MacPhail's cottage, with a verbal summons for Malcolm to appear before his lords.h.i.+p.
”An' I'm no to lowse sicht o' ye till ye hae put in yer appearance,”
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