Part 60 (1/2)
”Thank you, my lady. Indeed I don't know how I could let you go without me! Not that there is anything to fear, or that I could make it the least safer; but somehow it seems my business to take care of you.”
”Like Kelpie?” said Clementina, with a merrier smile than he had ever seen on her face before.
”Yes, my lady,” answered Malcolm; ”--if to do for you all and the best you will permit me to do, be to take care of you like Kelpie, then so it is.”
Clementina gave a little sigh.
”Mind you don't scruple, my lady, to give what orders you please.
It will be your fis.h.i.+ng boat for tonight.”
Clementina bowed her head in acknowledgment.
”And now, my lady,” Malcolm went on, ”just look about you for a moment. See this great vault of heaven, full of golden light raining on trees and flowers--every atom of air s.h.i.+ning. Take the whole into your heart, that you may feel the difference at night, my lady --when the stars, and neither sun nor moon, will be in the sky, and all the flowers they s.h.i.+ne on will be their own flitting, blinking, swinging, shutting and opening reflections in the swaying floor of the ocean,--when the heat will be gone, and the air clean and clear as the thoughts of a saint.”
Clementina did as he said, and gazed above and around her on the glory of the summer day overhanging the sweet garden, and on the flowers that had just before been making her heart ache with their unattainable secret. But she thought with herself that if Malcolm and she but shared it with a common heart as well as neighboured eyes, gorgeous day and ethereal night, or snow clad wild and sky of stormy blackness, were alike welcome to her spirit.
As they talked they wandered up the garden, and had drawn near the spot where, in the side of the glen, was hollowed the cave of the hermit. They now turned towards the pretty arbour of moss that covered its entrance, each thinking the other led, but Malcolm not without reluctance. For how horribly and unaccountably had he not been shaken, the only time he ever entered it, at the sight of the hermit! The thing was a foolish wooden figure, no doubt, but the thought that it still sat over its book in the darkest corner of the cave, ready to rise and advance with outstretched hand to welcome its visitor, had, ever since then, sufficed to make him shudder. He was on the point of warning Clementina lest she too should be worse than startled, when he was arrested by the voice of John Jack, the old gardener, who came stooping after them, looking a s.e.xton of flowers.
”Ma'colm, Ma'colm!” he cried, and crept up wheezing. ”--I beg yer leddys.h.i.+p's pardon, my leddy, but I wadna ha'e Ma'colm lat ye gang in there ohn tellt ye what there is inside.”
”Thank you, John. I was just going to tell my lady,” said Malcolm.
”Because, ye see,” pursued John, ”I was ae day here i' the gairden --an' I was jist graftin' a bonny wull rose buss wi' a Hector o'
France--an' it grew to be the bonniest rose buss in a' the haul gairden--whan the markis, no the auld markis, but my leddy's father, cam' up the walk there, an' a bonny young leddy wi' his lords.h.i.+p, as it micht be yersel's twa--an' I beg yer pardon, my leddy, but I'm an auld man noo, an' whiles forgets the differs 'atween fowk--an' this yoong leddy 'at they ca'd Miss Cam'ell-- ye kenned her yersel' efterhin', I daursay, Ma'colm--he was unco ta'en with her, the markis, as ilka body cud see ohn luikit that near, sae 'at some saich 'at hoo he hed no richt to gang on wi'
her that gait, garrin' her believe, gien he wasna gaein' to merry her. That's naither here nor there, hooever, seein' it a' cam' to jist naething ava'. Sae up they gaed to the cave yon'er, as I was tellin' ye; an' hoo it was, was a won'er, for I 's warran' she had been aboot the place near a towmon (twelvemonth), but never had she been intil that cave, and kenned no more nor the bairn unborn what there was in 't. An' sae whan the airemite, as the auld minister ca'd him, though what for he ca'd a muckle block like yon an airy mite, I'm sure I never cud fathom--whan he gat up, as I was sayin', an' cam' foret wi' his han' oot, she gae a scraich 'at jist garred my lugs dirl, an' doon she drappit, an' there, whan I ran up, was she lyin' i' the markis his airms, as white 's a cauk eemege, an'
it was lang or he brought her till hersel', for he wadna lat me rin for the hoosekeeper, but sent me fleein' to the f'untain for watter, an' gied me a gowd guinea to haud my tongue aboot it a'.
Sae noo, my leddy, ye're forewarnt, an' no ill can come to ye, for there's naething to be fleyt at whan ye ken what's gauin' to meet ye.”
Malcolm had turned his head aside, and now moved on without remark.
Struck by his silence, Clementina looked up, and saw his face very pale, and the tears standing in his eyes.
”You must tell me the sad story, Malcolm,” she murmured. ”I could scarcely understand a word the old man said.”
He continued silent, and seemed struggling with some emotion. But when they were within a few paces of the arbour, he stopped short, and said--”I would rather not go in there today. You would oblige me, my lady, if you would not go.”
She looked up at him again, with wonder but more concern in her lovely face, put her hand on his arm, gently turned him away, and walked back with him to the fountain. Not a word more did she say about the matter.
CHAPTER LXVI: SEA
The evening came; and the company at Lossie House was still seated at table, Clementina heartily weary of the vapid talk that had been going on all through the dinner, when she was informed that a fisherman of the name of Mair was at the door, accompanied by his wife, saying they had an appointment with her. She had already acquainted her hostess, when first they sat down, with her arrangements for going a-fis.h.i.+ng that night, and much foolish talk and would be wit had followed; now, when she rose and excused herself, they all wished her a pleasant evening, in a tone indicating the conviction that she little knew what she was about, and would soon be longing heartily enough to be back with them in the drawing room, whose lighted windows she would see from the boat. But Clementina hoped otherwise, hurriedly changed her dress, hastened to join Malcolm's messengers, and almost in a moment had made the two childlike people at home with her, by the simplicity and truth of her manner, and the directness of her utterance. They had not talked with her five minutes before they said in their hearts that here was the wife for the marquis if he could get her.
”She's jist like ane o' oorsel's,” whispered Annie to her husband on the first opportunity, ”only a hantle better an bonnier.”
They took the nearest way to the harbour--through the town, and Lady Clementina and Blue Peter kept up a constant talk as they went.
All in the streets and at the windows stared to see the grand lady from the House walking between a Scaurnose fisherman and his wife, and chatting away with them as if they were all fishers together.
”What's the wordle comin' till!” cried Mrs Mellis, the draper's wife, as she saw them pa.s.s.