Part 81 (1/2)
”An' it's no to be wonnert at gien fowk wull hae 't 'at ye maun ken something aboot it, mem.”
”I know nothing whatever,” she returned emphatically. ”Believe me or not, as you please,” she added, with heightened colour. ”If I did know anything,” she went on, with apparent truthfulness, ”I don't know that I should feel bound to tell it. As it is, however, I can only say I know nothing of either of them. That I do say most solemnly.”
Malcolm turned,--satisfied at least that he could learn no more.
”You are not going to leave me so!” the lady said, and her face grew ”sad as sad could be.”
”There's naething mair atween 's, mem,” answered Malcolm, without turning even his face.
”You will be sorry for treating me so some day.”
”Weel than, mem, I will be; but that day's no the day (today).”
”Think what you could do for your poor witless brother, if--”
”Mem,” interrupted Malcolm, turning right round and drawing himself up in anger, ”priv' 'at I 'm your son, an' that meenute I speir at you wha was my father.”
Mrs Stewart changed colour--neither with the blush of innocence nor with the pallor of guilt, but with the gray of mingled rage and hatred. She took a step forward with the quick movement of a snake about to strike, but stopped midway, and stood looking at him with glittering eyes, teeth clenched, and lips half open.
Malcolm returned her gaze for a moment or two.
”Ye never was the mither, whaever was the father o' me!” he said, and walked out of the room.
He had scarcely reached the door, when he heard a heavy fall, and looking round saw the lady lying motionless on the floor. Thoroughly on his guard, however, and fearful both of her hatred and her blandishments, he only made the more haste down stairs, where he found a maid, and sent her to attend to her mistress. In a minute he was mounted and trotting fast home, considerably happier than before, inasmuch as he was now almost beyond doubt convinced that Mrs Stewart was not his mother.
CHAPTER LIX: AN HONEST PLOT
Ever since the visit of condolence with which the narrative of these events opened, there had been a coolness between Mrs Mellis and Miss Horn. Mr Mellis's shop was directly opposite Miss Horn's house, and his wife's parlour was over the shop, looking into the street; hence the two neighbours could not but see each other pretty often; beyond a stiff nod, however, no sign of smouldering friends.h.i.+p had as yet broken out. Miss Horn was consequently a good deal surprised when, having gone into the shop to buy some trifle, Mr Mellis informed her, in all but a whisper, that his wife was very anxious to see her alone for a moment, and begged her to have the goodness to step up to the parlour. His customer gave a small snort, betraying her first impulse to resentment, but her n.o.bler nature, which was never far from the surface, constrained her compliance.
Mrs Mellis rose hurriedly when the plumb line figure of her neighbour appeared, ushered in by her husband, and received her with a somewhat embarra.s.sed empress.e.m.e.nt, arising from the consciousness of goodwill disturbed by the fear of imputed meddlesomeness. She knew the inward justice of Miss Horn, however, and relied upon that, even while she encouraged herself by waking up the ever present conviction of her own superiority in the pet.i.te morale of social intercourse. Her general tendency indeed was to look down upon Miss Horn: is it not usually the less that looks down on the greater?
I had almost said it must be, for that the less only can look down but that would not hold absolutely in the kingdoms of this world, while in the kingdom of heaven it is all looking up.
”Sit ye doon, Miss Horn,” she said; ”it 's a lang time sin we had a news thegither.”
Miss Horn seated herself with a begrudged acquiescence.
Had Mrs Mellis been more of a tactician, she would have dug a few approaches ere she opened fire upon the fortress of her companion's fair hearing: but instead of that, she at once discharged the imprudent question--”Was ye at hame last nicht, mem, atween the hoors o' aucht an' nine?”--a shot which instantly awoke in reply the whole battery of Miss Horn's indignation.
”Wha am I, to be speirt sic a queston! Wha but yersel' wad hae daurt it, Mistress Mellis?”
”Huly (softly), huly, Miss Horn!” expostulated her questioner. ”I hae nae wuss to pry intill ony secrets o' yours, or--”
”Secrets!” shouted Miss Horn!
But her consciousness of good intent, and all but a.s.surance of final victory, upheld Mrs Mellis.
”--or Jean's aither,” she went on, apparently regardless; ”but I wad fain be sure ye kent a' aboot yer ain hoose 'at a body micht chance to see frae the croon o' the caus'ay (middle of the street).”
”The parlour blind 's gane up crookit sin' ever that thoomb fingert cratur, Watty Witherspail, made a new roller till 't. Gien 't be that ye mean, Mistress Mellis,--”