Part 50 (1/2)
By this time the people on sh.o.r.e had caught sight of the cutter.
They saw her come stealing out of the thin dark like a thought half thought, and go gliding along the sh.o.r.e like a sea ghost over the dusky water, faint, uncertain, noiseless, glimmering. It could be no other than the Fisky! Both their lady and their friend Malcolm must be on board, they were certain, for how could the one of them come without the other? and doubtless the marchioness, whom they all remembered as a good humoured handsome young lady, never shy of speaking to anybody, had come to deliver them from the hateful red nosed ogre, her factor! Out at once they all set along the sh.o.r.e to greet her arrival, each running regardless of the rest, so that from the Seaton to the middle of the Boar's Tail there was a long, straggling broken string of hurrying fisher folk, men and women, old and young, followed by all the current children, tapering to one or two toddlers, who felt themselves neglected and wept their way along. The piper, too asthmatic to run, but not too asthmatic to walk and play his bagpipes, delighting the heart of Malcolm, who could not mistake the style, believed he brought up the rear, but was wrong; for the very last came Mrs Findlay and Lizzy, carrying between them their little deal kitchen table, for her ladys.h.i.+p to step out of the boat upon, and Lizzy's child fast asleep on the top of it.
The foremost ran and ran until they saw that the Psyche had chosen her couch, and was turning her head to the sh.o.r.e, when they stopped and stood ready with greased planks and ropes to draw her up.
In a few moments the whole population was gathered, darkening, in the June midnight, the yellow sands between the tide and dune. The Psyche was well manned now with a crew of six. On she came under full sail till within a few yards of the beach, when, in one and the same moment, every sheet was let go, and she swept softly up like a summer wave, and lay still on the sh.o.r.e.
The b.u.t.terfly was asleep. But ere she came to rest, the instant indeed that her canvas went fluttering away, thirty strong men had rushed into the water and laid hold of the now broken winged thing.
In a few minutes she was high and dry.
Malcolm leaped on the sand just as the Partaness came bustling up with her kitchen table between her two hands like a tray. She set it down, and across it shook hands with him violently; then caught it up and deposited it firm on its four legs beneath the cutter's waist.
”Noo, my leddy,” said Meg, looking up at the marchioness, ”set ye yer bit fut upo' my table, an' we'll think the mair o't efter whan we tak' oor denner aff o' 't.”
Florimel thanked her, stepped lightly upon it, and sprang to the sand, where she was received with words of welcome from many, and shouts which rendered them inaudible from the rest. The men, their bonnets in their hands, and the women courtesying, made a lane for her to pa.s.s through, while the young fellows would gladly have begged leave to carry her, could they have extemporised any suitable sort of palanquin or triumphal litter.
Followed by Malcolm, she led the way over the Boar's Tail--nor would accept any help in climbing it--straight for the tunnel:
Malcolm had never laid aside the key to the private doors his father had given him while he was yet a servant. They crossed by the embrasure of the bra.s.s swivel. That implement had now long been silent, but they had not gone many paces from the bottom of the dune when it went off with a roar. The shouts of the people drowned the startled cry with which Florimel, involuntarily mindful of old and for her better times, turned to Malcolm. She had not looked for such a reception, and was both flattered and touched by it.
For a brief s.p.a.ce the spirit of her girlhood came back. Possibly, had she then understood that hope rather than faith or love was at the heart of their enthusiasm, that her tenants looked upon her as their saviour from the factor, and sorely needed the exercise of her sovereignty, she might have better understood her position, and her duty towards them.
Malcolm unlocked the door of-the tunnel, and she entered, followed by Rose, who felt as if she were walking in a dream. As he stepped in after them, he was seized from behind, and clasped close in an embrace he knew at once.
”Daddy, daddy!” he said, and turning threw his arms round the piper.
”My poy! my poy! Her nain son Malcolm!” cried the old man in a whisper of intense satisfaction and suppression. ”You'll must pe forgifing her for coming pack to you. She cannot help lofing you, and you must forget tat you are a Cam'ell.”
Malcolm kissed his cheek, and said, also in a whisper:
”My ain daddy! I ha'e a heap to tell ye, but I maun see my leddy hame first.”
”Co, co, this moment co,” cried the old man, pus.h.i.+ng him away. ”To your tuties to my leddys.h.i.+p first, and then come to her old daddy.”
”I'll be wi' ye in half an hoor or less.”
”Coot poy! coot poy! Come to Mistress Partan's.”
”Ay, ay, daddy!” said Malcolm, and hurried through the tunnel.
As Florimel approached the ancient dwelling of her race, now her own to do with as she would, her pleasure grew. Whether it was the twilight, or the breach in dulling custom, everything looked strange, the grounds wider, the trees larger, the house grander and more anciently venerable. And all the way the burn sang in the hollow. The spirit of her father seemed to hover about the place, and while the thought that her father's voice would not greet her when she entered the hall, cast a solemn funereal state over her simple return, her heart yet swelled with satisfaction and far derived pride.
All this was hers to work her pleasure with, to confer as she pleased! No thought of her tenants, fishers or farmers, who did their strong part in supporting the ancient dignity of her house, had even an a.s.sociated share in the bliss of the moment. She had forgotten her reception already, or regarded it only as the natural homage to such a position and power as hers. As to owing anything in return, the idea had indeed been presented to her when with Clementina and Malcolm she talked over ”St Ronan's Well,” but it had never entered her mind.
The drawing room and the hall were lighted. Mrs Courthope was at the door as if she expected her, and Florimel was careful to take everything as a matter of course.
”When will your ladys.h.i.+p please to want me?” asked Malcolm.
”At the usual hour, Malcolm,” she answered.
He turned, and ran to the Seaton.
His first business was the accommodation of Travers and Davy, but he found them already housed at the Salmon, with Jamie Ladle teaching Travers to drink toddy. They had left the Psyche snug: she was high above high water mark, and there were no tramps about; they had furled her sails, locked the companion door, and left her.