Part 91 (2/2)
”She'll not pe knowing tat. Old Allister, your creat--her own crandfather, was ta pest horseman ta worrlt efer saw, and he 'll nefer pe hafing ta trews to his own lecks nor ta saddle to his horse's pack. He 'll chust make his men pe strap on an old plaid, and he 'll pe kive a chump, and away they wa.s.s, horse and man, one peast, aal two of tem poth together.”
Thus chatting they went to the stable, and from the stable to the house, where they met no one, and went straight up to Malcolm's room--the old man making as little of the long ascent as Malcolm himself.
CHAPTER LXVI: THE CRY FROM THE CHAMBER
Brooding, if a man of his temperament may ever be said to brood, over the sad history of his young wife and the prospects of his daughter, the marquis rode over fields and through gates--he never had been one to jump a fence in cold blood--till the darkness began to fall; and the bearings of his perplexed position came plainly before him.
First of all, Malcolm acknowledged, and the date of his mother's death known, what would Florimel be in the eyes of the world? Supposing the world deceived by the statement that his mother died when he was born, where yet was the future he had marked out for her? He had no money to leave her, and she must be helplessly dependent on her brother.
Malcolm, on the other hand, might make a good match, or, with the advantages he could secure him, in the army, still better in the navy, well enough push his way in the world.
Miss Horn could produce no testimony; and Mrs Catanach had a.s.serted him the son of Mrs Stewart. He had seen enough, however, to make him dread certain possible results if Malcolm were acknowledged as the laird of Kirkbyres. No; there was but one hopeful measure, one which he had even already approached in a tentative way-- an appeal, namely, to Malcolm himself--in which, acknowledging his probable rights, but representing in the strongest manner the difficulty of proving them, he would set forth, in their full dismay, the consequences to Florimel of their public recognition, and offer, upon the pledge of his word to a certain line of conduct, to start him in any path he chose to follow.
Having thought the thing out pretty thoroughly, as he fancied, and resolved at the same time to feel his way towards negotiations with Mrs Catanach, he turned and rode home.
After a tolerable dinner, he was sitting over a bottle of the port which he prized beyond anything else his succession had brought him, when the door of the dining room opened suddenly, and the butler appeared, pale with terror.
”My lord! my lord!” he stammered, as he closed the door behind him.
”Well? What the devil's the matter now? Whose cow's dead?”
”Your lords.h.i.+p didn't hear it then?” faltered the butler.
”You've been drinking, Bings,” said the marquis, lifting his seventh gla.s.s of port.
”I didn't say I heard it, my lord.”
”Heard what--in the name of Beelzebub?”
”The ghost, my lord.”
”The what?” shouted the marquis.
”That's what they call it, my lord. It 's all along of having that wizard's chamber in the house, my lord.”
”You're a set of fools,” said the marquis, ”the whole kit of you!”
”That's what I say, my lord. I don't know what to do with them, stericking and screaming. Mrs Courthope is trying her best with them; but it's my belief she's about as bad herself.”
The marquis finished his gla.s.s of wine, poured out and drank another, then walked to the door. When the butler opened it, a strange sight met his eyes. All the servants in the house, men and women, Duncan and Malcolm alone excepted, had crowded after the butler, every one afraid of being left behind; and there gleamed the crowd of ghastly faces in the light of the great hall fire. Demon stood in front, his mane bristling, and his eyes flaming. Such was the silence that the marquis heard the low howl of the waking wind, and the snow like the patting of soft hands against the windows. He stood for a moment, more than half enjoying their terror, when from somewhere in the building a far off shriek, shrill and piercing, rang in every ear. Some of the men drew in their breath with a gasping sob, but most of the women screamed outright, and that set the marquis cursing.
Duncan and Malcolm had but just entered the bedroom of the latter, when the shriek rent the air close beside, and for a moment deafened them. So agonized, so shrill, so full of dismal terror was it, that Malcolm stood aghast, and Duncan started to his feet with responsive outcry. But Malcolm at once recovered himself.
”Bide here till I come back,” he whispered, and hurried noiselessly out.
In a few minutes he returned--during which all had been still.
”Noo, daddy,” he said, ”I'm gaein' to drive in the door o' the neist room. There 's some deevilry at wark there. Stan' ye i' the door, an' ghaist or deevil 'at wad win by ye, grip it, an' haud on like Demon the dog.”
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