In accordance with the doctor's orders, Nathan has not been to work these past few days; and though, beyond admitting a 'wakeness aboot the knees' and a proneness to 'shiverin',' he makes no specific complaint, I have noticed that daily he becomes more beholden to Betty, and that he very willingly goes off to bed a good two hours earlier than his usual retiring-time.
There are some who, by their very backwardness and reticence, attract attention and excite curiosity. I have met many such, both professionally and socially, and the breaking down of their reserve has always been interesting; but, than the case of Nathan Hebron, none has more substantially repaid the time and trouble which the process of thawing involved. To outsiders I presume Nathan is an enigma. Not so to us who live with him. I needn't attempt to explain the feeling of confidence which he inspires, or the peculiar power which he unconsciously exerts in our little household circle. Words cannot convey it—it must be experienced to be understood; and though Betty is always to the fore, always taking the initiative, I know she feels that somewhere in the background, almost without her immediate knowledge, but ever in her reckoning, is the force, the power, the quiet, unobtrusive, dependable Nathan. And yet, strange to say, could I probe to the quick of his feelings, I know I should find that, in his 'stablished estimation, Betty, and Betty alone, stands for everything that the term 'bulwark and tower of strength' conveys.
Of late I have been wondering how best I can advance Nathan's worldly interests and lighten his burden without taking him away altogether from the calling of his choice. Somehow I don't think he would be happy without a spade in his hand and denied access to leaf-mould. He is too old to fit into a new groove, and I must remember that were I, even with the best intentions, carefully to uproot an old tree from amongst the shadows and replant it in the sunshine it would surely die. Still, I should like to do something to make his gloaming life easier. I have often felt sorry for him, leaving his comfortable house on inclement mornings, working his day's darg, and returning when darkness had long settled down. Outdoor work under favourable weather conditions is agreeable enough; but when it is carried on under a cold, leaden sky, amidst frost and snow, and in biting winds, it is stripped of much of its pleasure and poetry. Thinking in this strain, the idea came to me that I might erect glass-houses in our garden here, and encourage Nathan to devote the whole of his time to the cultivation of tomatoes. I have already mentioned my scheme to the doctor, and he approves of it; but I have said nothing to Betty or Nathan. I must see to it one of these days.
I had a long, pleasant ramble this afternoon. The air was clear and invigorating; I was feeling braced up and buoyant; and as for Jip and Bang, I never saw them in a more sportive, energetic mood. We walked through Rashbrigs Moss, past Dabton Loch, and round by Longmire, where I called and spent an hour with Farmer Russell. Bang killed a rat in the steading just before we left, and he wagged his stumpy tail and tried to raise his tattered ear all the way home. The dogs preceded me into the house, and I stumbled after them through the darkened lobby and into the darker dining-room.
'Hallo, Betty,' I said as I entered; 'not lit up yet?'
Betty was over at the window in the act of pulling down the blind, which, strangely enough, she always does before she lights the gas.
'Oh, it's you, Maister Weelum,' she said. 'It's that dark I can scarcely see ye;' but she continued standing inactive, looking round at me with the window-blind cord hanging loose in her hand. The firelight was low, and the light which came through the window from the village lamp across the street made the darkness only more visible. I could make Betty out, silhouetted as she was against the window; but, though all around was in black shadow which my eyes could not penetrate, I had the feeling that some one else was present. As I peered around, a tall visionary figure moved to my right, and Betty came toward me from the window.
'This is Miss Stuart,' she said, 'the lady that's pentin' wee Isobel Jardine's picter. She's been workin' at it a' efternoon. I was tellin' her aboot your new yin, an' I asked her in to see it.—An', Miss Stuart, this is my boy—my wean I used to ca' him—Maister Weelum, or raither, as I should say, Maister Russell. Mrs Jardine an' me were tellin' ye aboot him. Imphm!' And as Betty breathlessly finished her introduction, and, without further ado, turned to break the fire into a glow, Miss Stuart and I gravely bowed.
I couldn't see our visitor's face, but her figure was strangely familiar to me, and my pulse quickened.
'Miss Stuart,' said Betty, 'will ye please sit here till I licht the gas?' and she wheeled the easy-chair, which usually stands opposite mine, within the radius of the glow from the fire.
'Oh, thank you very much, Mrs Hebron,' said a voice I knew well; 'but I'm afraid I must be going. I'll—I'll not sit down, thank you. Mr Russell will be'——
'Delighted to see you seated, Miss Stuart,' I interposed. 'I have very few lady visitors these days, and I do assure you you are welcome.'
'Eh! that's weel said, Maister Weelum,' Betty chimed in; 'and it's true too.—Ye canna but sit doon, if it's only to please him, no' to speak o' me;' and, as Miss Stuart graciously complied, she bustled out to the kitchen for a match.
In her absence I struck a light and lit the gas, and as Miss Stuart's eyes met mine we both smiled. Nathan on one occasion winked to me, and in doing so he established a paction between us. In the same way, but more emphatically, this smile awakened a feeling of camaraderie, a consciousness that the Fates were playing with us, and that we recognised the success of their manipulations.
'Betty has been talking to me a good deal about you lately, Miss Stuart,' I said as I drew in my chair. 'Somehow, from the first I associated you, the subject of her talk and the painter of Isobel's portrait, with my good Samaritan of Nithbank Wood; and I am not surprised to find that I was right.'
'Indeed, Mr Russell!' she said, and again she smiled. 'Well, I have been hearing about you also of late from both Mrs Hebron and Mrs Jardine; and, like you, I am'——But before she could finish her sentence Betty re-entered with a lighted taper, and in its warm yellow glow her face shone like a radiant moon.
'Ah, Maister Weelum,' she said, 'for aince ye've managed that "perverted" licht. Thae newfangled things are fashious, an' it's a cauld-lookin' licht; but there's economy in it, Miss Stuart—imphm! An', my me! excuse me, miss, but it does my he'rt guid to see ye sittin' in that chair.' And in a flash my mind went back to our crack, and I remembered her words, 'It's a gey comfortable-lookin' chair, that yin opposite ye, Maister Weelum; an', d'ye ken, I met a leddy the day that I wad like to see sittin' in it.'
'Betty,' I said, 'Miss Stuart and I are not altogether strangers; we have met once or twice in an informal way; but, now that we have been brought together to-night, under your auspices, don't you think—just to signalise the event—you might offer her a cup of tea?'
'Eh, Maister Weelum! you read me like a book. I was juist gaun to suggest that. The kettle's at the boil, an' it'll no' tak' me a meenit. Will—will I bring doon the tea-set frae the drawin'-room—your mother's, ye ken?'
'Yes, yes, Betty, if you please; and Miss Stuart will honour us in handseling it. It hasn't been used since I came here;' and before my guest could say 'Yea' or 'Nay,' Betty had disappeared.
I drew the chair nearer the fire, and, pipe in hand, was about to ask myvis-à-visif I might smoke, when I saw her gaze wander round the walls of my room and ultimately rest on my picture.
'Oh, Mr Russell,' she exclaimed, as she rose to her feet—'why, that is surely the picture I painted?'
'It is, Miss Stuart,' I quietly said. 'It's the picture you had just finished the first time I saw you in the flesh, and I assure you I am very proud to be the possessor of it.'
She stood looking up at it, beating a tattoo with her fingers on the table, and I saw the warm blood mounting her neck and cheek.
'I hope you don't mind my having it?' I asked.
'Oh no; but—well, you must have put yourself to some trouble to get it—more than it's worth, I'm afraid, for it was presented to a bazaar many miles away; and, you'll pardon me, but I cannot understand your putting so much value on it. It is really not a good bit of work, though the subject appealed to me so much.'
'Now, Miss Stuart, please do not belittle my purchase—your labour of love, I may call it. I know a little about art; in fact, though I don't paint now, it has always been, and still is, my hobby, and in my judgment you have no reason to be ashamed of this example of your handiwork. As to my motive in buying it—well, I am a native of this village, as Betty has perhaps already told you, and to me it and its environs will ever be my earthly paradise. I know every step of the countryside around. As a boy I hunted in its fields, explored its woods, and fished its streams. During the years I have been settled in Edinburgh, never a day has passed but my thoughts have strayed homeward, and the identical spot on which you sketched this picture is the one, above all others, around which my most hallowed memories are centred. Whenever I thought of my quiet village home my mind meandered down the Gillfoot road, and the view which inspired you to this effort has always been with me, for it is, as it were, photographed on my brain.'
'Oh, I quite understand you,' she said slowly—'quite. But how did you find out where it was for sale?'
'Well, I had very little difficulty in that,' I laughingly replied. 'Talking of sales, though—pardon my introducing the commercial element into our conversation, Miss Stuart—but I would like very much to have a companion picture to this one, something local of course. I'll leave the price to yourself. There's no hurry, you know; only I should be sorry to miss the opportunity of procuring another, treated with the same loving skill.'
'How much did you pay for this one?' she asked, with a twinkle in her eye.
'Well—I—I really cannot tell you exactly. You see, I didn't buy it myself. I happened to hear your clerical friend say something about the Laurieston bazaar; so I wrote to Ormskirk, my confidential clerk, giving him the few particulars I possessed, and he managed everything to my satisfaction. The price he paid for it will be noted down: he stated it in his letter, but as it was of minor importance I don't remember the exact figure.'
I had risen from my chair when she stood up to examine the picture; and, thinking she might be tired standing, I asked her to sit down. She made no response, however; and, lost in thought, looked long into the glowing fire.
'Ormskirk! Mr Ormskirk, your confidential clerk!' she repeated slowly. 'The name seems familiar to me. Oh yes, now I remember;' and she laughed cheerily, and gave me a blithe look. 'It is a coincidence, Mr Russell; but I was received once by a Mr Ormskirk of an Edinburgh legal firm. The name struck me as being unusual.'
'Well, Miss Stuart, so far as I know there is only one Ormskirk in our profession in Edinburgh, and he is with us—my firm, I mean—Monteith & Russell.'
'Monteith & Russell!' she repeated. 'And you are'——
'Well, I'm Mr Monteith's partner.'
She looked at me with surprise in her big dark eyes, and then slowly every vestige of colour left her face. 'You—you are Mr Russell! Oh, I am so glad to meet you! I have corresponded with you, and my father very often spoke of you. I am Désirée Stuart. My affairs are in your firm's hands. I am the daughter of General Stuart of Abereran. This is very bewildering!' and she smiled feebly through moist, lustrous eyes.
I was too astonished to speak. No suitable words could I utter in acknowledgment of this unexpected information. Never for a moment had I associated Miss Stuart the artist with Miss Stuart of Abereran. Somehow, I cannot say exactly what followed; but I have a dim recollection of hearing her apologising for sobbing, on the plea that I was the first person she had met since her father's death of whom, in his last illness, he had spoken with kindliness and affectionate regard. And I welcomed this with avidity as another link which bound me to her.
'Your father and I didn't meet often, Miss Stuart,' I said, after a pause, during which we had both been busy in thought; 'but we corresponded very frequently. I am glad to know he spoke of me with appreciation. Unfortunately I was confined to bed at the time of his death, otherwise I should have been with you; but my partner, Mr Murray Monteith, attended to everything, and has been giving your affairs every consideration.'
'Yes, Mr Monteith has been very attentive. I called at your office and asked to see you. It was on this occasion I met your Mr Ormskirk. Well, Mr Monteith received me, and reassured me on one or two points about which I was anxious. After all, I didn't tell him the real reason of my visit.'
'Indeed! And—and why didn't you?'
'Well, I somehow didn't like. I know it was very silly; but I just couldn't speak of it—at least to him.'
'Oh, I'm sorry to know that!' I said. 'Mr Monteith would have been only too pleased to help you with his advice. Is the matter you wished to bring before me still of consequence?'
'Yes. But it can wait. You know this is neither the time nor the place to talk business. Besides, I oughtn't to bother you about my affairs just now. You are still on the sick list, though I must say you look less the invalid to-day than you did the first time I saw you.'
'Thank you, Miss Stuart. I am glad to know I look better; certainly I feel much stronger, and I trust to be back to business soon. But do tell me now what you wanted to consult me about in Edinburgh.'
For a time she remained silent, and I watched with interest the run and play of her thoughts, as expressed in her mobile face.
'Don't you think,' she said at length, 'that all this is very queer—I mean our previous accidental meetings, the personal and business connection between us, and the fact of our sitting together in this room in this quiet little village? I feel we are known to each other, yet we are not acquainted. Oh, it does seem so strange and unusual!'
'Yes. The whole circumstances are rather remarkable, and I could tell you something—a little story in which you and I figure, which is even more mystifying; but we are wandering from the subject we had on hand. You haven't yet told me what I wish to know.'
'I cannot mention it to-night, Mr Russell,' she said. 'More than ever I feel I ought not to have broached it. Later I trust we shall have an opportunity of discussing everything. You don't mind my deferring it?'
'Just as you wish; but before we dismiss business, may I ask you a question?'
'Certainly.'
'Well, I had a letter from Mr Monteith the other day in which he referred to your affairs. By the same token, he is coming down to see your aunt, so we'll all meet and go into everything thoroughly. Well, what he mentioned in his letter with reference to you set me a-thinking, and I have been wondering since if you are aware of the fact that you hold four thousand Banku oil shares. Have you received any dividends lately?'
'I know,' she answered thoughtfully, 'that father, some time ago—when I came of age it was—transferred some shares to me, and from time to time he gave me what must have been dividends. I didn't trouble him for particulars; he always hated business chats, but more so after his last visit to India. I am sure he got a touch of sun, although the doctor would never admit it, and I purposely refrained from referring to business affairs, as it only annoyed and irritated him. Since he died I have received no money at all. As a matter of fact'—and she blushed painfully—'that's what I wanted to see you about. Aunt is awfully decent, and grudges me nothing; but surely I ought to have received something. It isn't very nice to be depending on her for every shilling, and—you understand, Mr Russell?—I'm perhaps too independent, and'——
'Oh, Miss Stuart, I am so sorry! This is a most unfortunate oversight. I must rectify it at once, and see that money is sent to you to-morrow. You have quite a large sum to your credit with us.'
'I am glad to know that;' and she smiled. 'But please don't put yourself to any immediate trouble on my account. I—I am all right for money at present. Unknown to my aunt, I sent two of my pictures to Glasgow last week. Yesterday I received—what do you think?—four guineas each for them;' and again the blood mounted to her cheek.
'Miss Stuart,' I said, in consternation, 'have you through our thoughtlessness been obliged to'——I didn't finish my sentence, for at that moment the door opened, and Betty entered with the tea-tray. Maybe it was a fortunate, certain I am it was a timely, interruption, as I was strongly tempted to act unprofessionally, and take a client to my arms.
We had tea brewed in my mother's old Worcester teapot and served in dainty cups of the same ware. The modern gas was extinguished, and the candles in the candelabra were lit. Nobody in Thornhill, or out of it, can bake soda-scones to compare with Betty's; no one can approach her in the lightness and pan-flavour of her toothsome pancakes, the 'gou' of her butter, and the aroma of her home-blended tea. As for her homely, kindly presence—well, only one other possessed its match, and she was sitting at Betty's right hand, admiring my mother's old china, praising Betty's scones, filling my heart with a gladness it had never known before. Ah, Betty Grier—my dear old Betty—I owe much to you! Before life was a reality to me, you cared for me and ministered to my wants. When I was cast adrift from moorings of my own making you took me in, nursed me, and tended me. For all this I thank you; but for bringing this little tea-party about I'll bless your name for ever and ever. Amen.
So far I have not been out of doors after nightfall. The village streets are not too well lit; the pavements are too uneven for my uncertain steps; but Miss Stuart couldn't go home unattended. Betty was very emphatic on this point, and of course I heartily concurred. Bang and Jip certainly came into the house with me after our walk; but they must have recognised in Miss Stuart a counter-attraction, and slipped away to their respective homes unobserved. Standing in the lobby with my coat and hat on, and thinking they might be keeping Nathan company in his back-room, I called to them several times, but all in vain; so Miss Stuart and I went out alone.
It was a clear, quiet, moonlight night, with that sharp touch of frost in the air which makes walking a pleasure. No winter night winds sighed in the bare, leafless limes as we passed down the street; no discordant sounds broke the stillness of the Gillfoot as we wended our way by its shadowy wood.
I had, of course, perforce to walk slowly, and in some unaccountable way my thoughts and speech seemed to keep in rhythm with my steps. This at first disturbed and annoyed me, as I was anxious to be vivacious and animated; but I soon found out that in certain circumstances conversation is not essential to good-fellowship.
When we reached the top of the Gillfoot Brae, and were almost opposite the little wicket to Nithbank Wood, we halted for a minute, and in silence looked down upon the scene, the natural features of which my companion had with such loving skill transferred to her canvas.
There are times when Nature asserts herself—thrusts herself, as it were, upon us, and emphatically proclaims her glory and power. It is good for us to come under her dominance then, for if we have within us a soul worthy of the name we cannot but feel our true position and standing in the great Creator's plan.
As I stood, with the woman I loved beside me, on that glamour-haunted spot, amidst scenes grand in their solemnity and hallowed by associations, myriads of twinkling worlds above us, at our feet peaceful howmes all bathed in moonlight, a fuller realisation of the true import of life was borne in upon me. And there, in a consciously chastened spirit, with Nature's sermon in my heart and her inspirations all around me, I turned to my companion, and falteringly told the story of my dream.
In silence and with wonderment in her eyes, she listened to all my heart bade me say, and when I had finished she slightly turned away from me, and her head was bowed. Then in a flash my mind reverted to her recent bereavement; and when I thought of her loneliness and isolation, the uncertainty of her prospects, and the shame and mental trials she would in all probability be called upon to bear, reproach came to me, and I felt selfish and mean in adding to her burden of mind.
'Miss Stuart,' I said, 'please pardon me if I have said anything amiss, or if what I have spoken is unwelcome or ill-timed, and a cause of unhappiness to you. If it is so, I am deeply sorry, but I cannot take back anything I have told you. God knows it is true, and my whole life will be devoted to prove to you that it is so. But for the present—well, doubtless you have plenty to think about, so please dismiss from your mind what I have said. If I may, I shall some day speak to you again. Meanwhile let me be your friend. Somehow, I think you need one.'
She looked gratefully at me with moistened eyes. 'Thank you very much. What you have told me is all so strange, so unexpected, and—and I feel it is all true. You are very kind. I do need a friend, and I can trust you.'
I am lying in my old truckle-bed. It is far into the morning, and sleep has not yet closed my eyes. Nathan has not been so well to-night, and his restlessness has kept Betty astir, but it hasn't disturbed me. And, somehow, I am not lonely. 'I do need a friend, and I can trust you;' these words, during the quiet hours, are often being whispered in my ear, and I would rather remain awake and hear them than slip into slumberland and lose them.
For the first time since I was a boy, Betty had to waken me this morning. As a rule I lie for half-an-hour before getting up, allowing my mind to simmer over the events of the previous day, and planning how best I may spend the coming forenoon and afternoon. I had no need to make out any programme for to-day, however, as I had that all arranged last night.
I dressed hurriedly, and after spending a few minutes with Nathan, who, poor man, is abed, I sent off a telegram to Murray Monteith, requesting him to wire on receipt one hundred pounds on Miss Stuart's account to the local bank. When I had breakfasted I wrote him a long letter, and asked him to send me particulars regarding her interests in the Banku Oil Company. Then I went up and arranged with Mr Crichton the banker as to her account.
Walking along to the bank, I met Joe on his way down to Betty's. Joe's jacket is always closely buttoned, and he wears his tweed cap tilted on his head at the same angle as he would his glengarry when on parade. His hair is cropped short, the forelock brushed firmly and obliquely across his left temple, and showing prominently under the stem of his civilian cap. His trousers are always carefully pressed; consequently they never show a bagginess at the knees. He is not so tall as Nathan, nor has he the 'boss' appearance; but I fancied that to-day he had more than usual of the same serious Hebron expression; and when he gave me the salute, as he always does in true soldierly style, it wasn't accompanied by the customary cheery smile. He passed me at the regulation step, and from the fact that he was carrying a brown-paper bag bearing the name of John Nelson, Fruiterer, I surmised that Betty was contemplating an apple-dumpling for dinner.
My business with Mr Crichton was soon disposed of; but it took me some considerable time to dispose of Mr Crichton. He has a jocose, affable way with him, a pawky knack of leaving one subject and starting another; and when he is in a reminiscent mood, as he was this morning, he can be very dreich and very entertaining at one and the same time. Long ago, of an evening, he used to play chess with my father. He took snuff in those days—he takes snuff still, and treats others unstintingly, as Betty will know when my handkerchief goes to the wash—and when my father had lured him into an awkward position on the board his little silver box was seldom out of his hand. My recollection of him at that period is very hazy, and it is so closely associated with this box that it may be if he hadn't snuffed I shouldn't have remembered him at all. I notice he applies the stimulant always to his right nostril, never to the left, and he has a dainty and a stealthy way of conveying the pinch which contrasts strongly with that of Deacon Webster, whose recklessness where snuff is concerned is such that more is distributed on his shirt-front and waistcoat than is sniffed into the nasal receptacle. On the other hand, so cleanly and dapper is Mr Crichton that, were it not for the aroma of Kendal brown which ever lingers about him, you wouldn't know he used snuff at all.
After a couthie crack, which, in spite of my preoccupation, I enjoyed, I said good-bye and walked out of the bank, only to fall a ready prey to the blandishments of Douglas the barber, who inveigled me into his back-yard to see a cavie of Wyandotte chickens of which, as prize-winners, he had great expectations. Then, in his draughty lobby, I had to listen to an account of his first and only interview with Thomas Carlyle at Holmhill, of his photographing the Chelsea seer and 'snoddin'' his hair; also to a résumé of a lecture on the Ruthwell Cross he had heard delivered by our fellow-villager, Dr Hewison, which pleased him, as he said, 'doon to the nines.' On reaching home I found, to my great disappointment, that Dr Grierson had called and had gone away. I wanted particularly to see the doctor, as I felt he should know that I had taken his advice and unburdened my mind to the lady of my dream.
When Betty came in to lay the table for my homely midday meal I noticed she was not quite herself, and that there was something unusual disquieting her mind. As I have said, I always allow her to unburden herself to me in her own way and at her own sweet will; but somehow I intuitively felt that in the present circumstances my rule should not apply.
As she moved silently out and in I watched her closely, and when she had finished and drawn out my chair from the table I put my hand on her shoulder. 'Betty,' I said, 'there is a sadness in your eyes to-day I have never noticed before. Is there anything worrying you?'
She looked up at me for a moment; then, putting her arms round my neck, she began to cry, quietly but emotionally. 'Oh, it's Nathan, puir falla, an' I'm sairly putten aboot,' she said between her sobs. 'It strikes me he's no' in a very guid wey; an', oh Weelum! if—if ocht tak's Nathan I dinna want to live.'
It was the first time for years she had, unasked, called me 'Weelum' without the prefix, and the old familiar way she pronounced it touched a chord in my heart.
I let her have her cry out, and then I did my best to allay her fears. She sat down on my chair, and I drew in another and sat down beside her. 'Nathan's not very well, Betty,' I said; 'but he's always been a healthy enough man, not given to complaining and lying about, and you know you're so accustomed to see him strong and robust that you are apt to exaggerate anything which prostrates him and keeps him in bed. The doctor's not concerned about him to-day, is he?'
'I—I dinna ken for certain. He didna say so to me, but I imagined he looked that wey,' she said. 'Mebbe I read his face wrang. I'm trustin' I did, but—but I see for mysel' that Nathan's far frae weel.'
'Yes, Betty, we all know that; but I'm sure there's nothing serious. He's got a bad cold, a very bad chill, the doctor tells me; but with a good rest in bed and careful nursing he'll soon be up and about again.'
'I'm dootin' it's mair than a chill, Maister Weelum,' and she shook her head; 'an' it strikes me that Nathan kens it's something mair serious. He's tryin' no' to let on to me; but the mair he tries the clearer I see it. Ay, him an' me have come to that time o' life when we depend a guid deal on yin anither, an' lately I've noticed that he's been anxious to do mair for me than he's able. We lippen on yin anither in a quiet kind o' a wey, ye ken—never askin' or demandin', but aye expectin', an' aye gettin'. Ay, Maister Weelum, aye gettin' an' aye gi'in', an' it's through this wee peep-hole that Nathan an' me, an' ithers happily married like us, get a wee bit glisk o' a heaven on earth.'
I pondered over these words for a moment. 'Betty,' I said, 'that's a beautiful way of putting it.'
'Ay, it may be beautiful—it may be, I say, Maister Weelum. I'm no' a judge o' that; but it's true—an' I feel it's true; an' the best wish I can wish ye is that some day my experience in this will be yours.' And she wiped her cheek with her apron, and smoothed imaginary creases out of the tablecover with the back of her hand.
'And—and, Betty, you must love Nathan very much?'
'Yes,' she said promptly, 'I love Nathan; but no' so much as I have reason to, an' no' mair than he deserves.'
'And was Nathan the only sweetheart you ever had, Betty?' I suddenly asked.
She rose from her chair and turned her face to the window. 'Dear me, Maister Weelum, that's a queer question to ask! What put that into your heid?'
'Oh, I don't know, Betty. I've often wondered.'
'Ye've often wondered that, have ye? Imphm!' And she sat down again. 'Weel, as the wean I nursed an' the man I'm prood o', ye'll no' be denied an answer. No, Nathan's no' the only sweethe'rt I ever had. I loved anither man before I loved Nathan. I was aboot nineteen year auld at the time, an' if onybody had telt me then that Robert Frizzel wad never be mine I wad ha'e gane demented. Nineteen's a careless, haveral kind o' an age; but the he'rt can be awfu' glad an' joyous then, an' I must confess I had spurts o' happiness which carried me aff my feet in a wey I couldna understand later. The sun was aye shinin'; the birds were aye whusslin'. I gaed to my bed singin', an' I wakened singin'. Oh, I mind it a' weel. The mistress—your mother—somewey was against it; but I thocht I kenned best, an' mony a sweet bit stolen oor I had up at that same gate at the heid o' the gairden there. He was a nice-lookin' man, was Robert, a bonny singer, an' a great toss amang the lassies, an' to be singled oot frae amang them a' was in my estimation something to be prood o'. Weel, I heard something aboot him no' to his credit—something mean an' dishonourable. Nathan was comin' aboot the gairden even then; an', though he had never said ocht to me, I could see, an'—an' I jaloused, an' it struck me that he wadna ha'e dune the same. Weel, the first chance I got I asked Robert aboot it, an' he juist laughed an' made licht o't. I telt him I never wanted to speak to him again, an'—an' I gaed to my bed that nicht an' grat the sairest greet I ever had in my life. Ay, I juist put him oot o' my he'rt an' steekit the door. An' then Nathan somewey opened it again, an'——Michty me, Maister Weelum, your broth's stane-cauld!' And, without another word, she lifted the soup-tureen and went ben to the kitchen.
I never for a moment suspected Betty of having had a calf-love affair, and her characteristic recital of the episode was as unexpected as it was interesting. I asked the question which led up to it almost without premeditation, and not so much out of curiosity as from a desire to wean her pessimistic mind away from Nathan's indisposition. Poor body, she was always prone to meet her troubles halfway, and I feel so sure that her fears regarding Nathan are groundless that I do not reproach myself for interrupting her brooding thoughts.
After dinner I went through to Nathan's bedroom and had a short chat with him. He was assiduously readingThe Christian Heraldwhen I looked past the curtain of his bed, but on recognising me he at once stopped and took off his spectacles. 'Oh, it's you, Maister Weelum,' he said, as he laid aside his paper. 'I—I thocht it micht be Betty.'
At the back of the bed, and only partly hidden, was a copy ofThe Gardening World. I looked first at one paper, then at the other, and remembering his predilection for secular literature, I smiled. Nathan smiled also. I made no remark; neither did Nathan; but somehow I am surer now than ever that Betty is wrong in thinking that he considers his condition serious.
With Nathan in normal health and at his own fireside it is a difficult matter to keep the crack going; but with Nathan indisposed and abed it is well-nigh impossible. True, he answers any questions I put to him, but he never introduces a subject of conversation, and at his bedside, talking to him, I have always the strange feeling that he wants to put his head underneath the bedclothes.
When I had exhausted my news, and was wondering what next to say, Joe came in, and he had still the serious expression in his eyes I had noticed on meeting him on my way to the bank.
Joe is of great assistance to Betty at present, and his knowledge of housework, combined with his readiness to help, places him on a pedestal and makes him indispensable. I took the opportunity of thanking him for what he had done, and commended him strongly for his kindly services; and when I was going out, as an inducement to further exertions, I quietly slipped something into his hand that brought him to the salute with a most pronounced jerk.
Nathan was eyeing the stiff-as-starch Joe in surprise, as I gave him a good-afternoon nod. 'What's wrang wi' ye, Benjy?' I heard him say. 'Maister Weelum's no' an offisher; he's a gentleman.'
'That's exactly why I saluted him, Nathan,' said Joe very patly; and I was laughing quietly to myself as I re-entered my room.
Betty was what she calls 'bankin'' my fire; and, on looking round and catching the smile on my face, she wiped her fingers on her dust-cloth and smiled too.
'Nathan's a wee bit cheerier noo than he was in the foreday,' she said; and, after a pause, as a second thought, she added, 'at least he's as cheery as a Hebron could be in the circumstances.'
'Oh yes, Betty,' I said, 'he seems to be in a happy enough mood; but I think I have heard you say the Hebrons are not what one would call a hilarious family.'
'No, 'aith no, except Joe, an' him only sometimes—when he shouldna be. Imphm! Ye never met ony o' Nathan's sisters, Maister Weelum, did ye?'
'No, Betty. I didn't know he had any sisters.'
'Oh, weel, in a wey neither he has, for yin o' them lives in Auchensell an' the ither twae away in the back o' beyond, somewhere in Glencairn. They come to Thornhill only aince a year, at the Martinmas fair, an' of coorse Nathan stays at hame frae his wark, an' we've them doon here for their denner. Peasoup's a weakness o' the Hebrons, an' they're awfu' keen on pork ribs, so I mak' my bill o' fare to suit them. An' then, the time I'm cleanin' up, they a' sit roon the fire, an' Nathan smokes an' spits, an' his sisters sit strecht up in their chairs, lookin' frae the fire to the window, an' whisperin' to each ither. Ye see, Nathan brocht them up. They look on him in a wey as their faither, an' they defer to him even yet, an' aye wait on him speakin' first, so ye can understaun their tongues dinna gang juist like hand-bells; no, 'aith no, they do not. Nathan's fair, but they are dark an' swarthy, an' they a' wear black dolmans, 'lastic-sided boots, an' white stockin's, an' they aye come wi' umbrellas in their haun even though the weather's as dry as tinder. Thomasina frae Auchensell is the auldest, an' she's the only yin that has a family; an' when Nathan does say ocht it's aye her he speaks to, an' the ither twae juist sit an' mutter to yin anither, lookin' quite pleased an' satisfied. I'm used wi' them noo; but the first time I had them here I was at my wits' end. No' a word could I get oot o' them, an' Nathan—weel, I didna ken him very weel then either—hecould hardly be seen for pipe-reek, an' it was only because I couldna do the deaf an' dumb alphabet that I didna try it on them. An' mair than that, Maister Weelum, here's anither very queer thing. Do you know that their men—their marrit men, I mean—have never been inside this door. I've never met them, no' even seen them; an' Nathan—weel, I dare say he wad be at their waddin's, but I question if he wad stop an' speak to them if he met them on the king's highway. Oh, I tell ye, they're queer! Ye micht marry a Hebron, but ye never get into the family.'
'And what about Joe?' I asked. 'Does he join these annual reunions?'
'Catch Joe sittin' in the hoose on a Thornhill fair-day. No, no, Joe's ower keen on the pea-guns, an' the Aunt Sally booth, an' siclike to ha'e ony time to help Nathan to entertain his sisters. He's a queer, queer mixture is Joe; but his he'rt's in the richt place for a' that. Ha'e ye seen him the day?'
'Yes; I met him on the street, looking rather melancholy, I thought. You—you haven't put him under the pledge again, Betty?'
'Ye thocht he looked melancholy, did ye? Weel, he's under nae pledge to me. It's no' that that's putten him aboot. Puir Joe! puir Joe!'
'What is it, then, Betty?'
She hesitated for a minute, and I at once apologised, thinking I was unconsciously prying into family affairs.
'Oh, it's no' that I'm hankerin' for, Maister Weelum. The fact is, it's in a wey concerned wi' a friend o' yours, an' I don't know very weel hoo to begin; but ye mind me tellin' ye aboot Joe gettin' the awfu' fricht meetin' a lady he thocht was deid an' buried? You an' me made licht o't; but Joe wadna be convinced, an' last nicht he saw the lady again, an'—noo, Maister Weelum, this is the queer bit o' the story—the lady was Miss Stuart.'
'How did he know that, Betty?'
'Weel, he was in the kitchen last nicht when I brocht her through frae Mrs Jardine's to see your picter, an' he was so putten aboot that he gaed strecht away hame to the Cuddy Lane withoot sayin' a word to onybody. This mornin' he spoke to me aboot it, an' asked her name, an' when I said it was Miss Stuart he nearly fainted. "Same name," he said, "and the same locket," an' that's a' I could get oot o' him; an' he was so dazed an' bamboozled that he couldna mind my messages, an' I had to write them doon on a bit paper. Noo, Maister Weelum, what mak' ye o' that?'
'Same name and the same locket!' I repeated slowly. 'Whatever could he mean by that?'
'I dinna ken. I asked him, but his lips shut wi' a snap like a handbag. If I hadna asked he wad ha'e telt me; the Hebron cam' oot there again, Maister Weelum.'
'Oh, Betty, it must be a foolish fancy. The chance of Joe having met Miss Stuart before has, of course, to be considered; but the lady he knew died twenty-four years ago. Miss Stuart must have been a baby then.'
'Mebbe it was her mother, Maister Weelum.'
In a flash the possibility occurred to me. I looked quickly and keenly at Betty, but her eye challenged my gaze clearly and without flinching.
'Ye're thinkin' I'm speakin' in riddles, an' keepin' something back; if ye do, ye're wrang, Maister Weelum. It was the locket that made me think o' her mother; it wad be a very likely keepsake for her to ha'e.'
'Betty, my dear, I don't doubt you. I am sure you are telling me all you know; you have no motive for keeping anything back. I—I am very much interested in Miss Stuart, more so than in any woman I know. There is some uncertainty connected with her affairs which, unless it is cleared up, will be to her disadvantage. I may be thinking too quickly, and the wish may be father to the thought; but it strikes me that a chat with Joe would clear the air. He is in Nathan's bedroom. Do you think he would come in and have a talk with me alone?'
'Oh, I'm sure he'll do that wi' pleesure. But, Maister Weelum, if it's ocht ye want to ken, ye maunna ask him questions. I ken Joe; he's a Hebron, an'—weel, ye understaun?'
I quite understood; and when, later, Joe came into my room I was busy examining a pair of old holster pistols which had belonged to my grandfather. 'Oh, it's you, Joe! I said. 'You're the very man I want. I know you understand more about these things than I do, and I should be obliged to you if you would kindly help me to clean them up a bit.'
'Certainly, sir,' he said with alacrity. 'I'll soon polish them up. But it's a dirty job; don't you bother with them. I'll see to them in the back-kitchen.'
In conversation with Betty or Nathan, Joe employs the Doric as they do; but, thanks to his service in the south and abroad, he is equally familiar with English as it is read, and in speaking to me he doesn't even betray the semblance of the Scots accent.
I hadn't bargained for his taking the pistols off to the back-kitchen, however. This wouldn't suit my plan. Joint operations were necessary for a crack such as I wanted. Accordingly I suggested we should cover the better-lit end of the table with a newspaper, and exercise care; and so it came to pass that in a few minutes Joe and I were up to the wrists in emery and oil, and our tongues going like Betty's hand-bells.
At length, by finesse and a good deal of circumlocution, I got the conversation worked round from accidental shooting to accidental meetings, related one or two coincidences which made him pause in his work, and then casually mentioned that Betty had told me of his meeting Miss Stuart, and the shock he had received.
'Yes, Mr Russell,' he said, 'I don't know what to say about that. I couldn't get to sleep last night for thinking of it.'
'Well, Joe, it seems plain enough to me. The lady you knew died twenty-four years ago. Miss Stuart is not more than twenty-five, so it couldn't possibly be she whom you knew.'
'That is so, sir; I admit that,' and he stopped polishing; 'and it's a far cry from Thornhill to Toledo; but the Miss Stuart I saw last night was wearing a locket which I am sure belonged to a Mrs Stuart who died in Toledo twenty-four years ago. If I'm wrong, then, sir, my name is not Joseph Hebron.'
I was positively tingling with excitement, and strangely conscious I was on the eve of a great discovery. A thousand thoughts flashed through my mind; I felt quite overcome and bewildered. Here, 'far from the madding crowd,' in this sleepy little village with its easy-going, unpretentious ways, I had met the woman God made for me; and there, polishing the barrel of my grandsire's old pistol, stood one of the least important of its villagers, who of a surety held the key to all the mysteries that had baffled our unveiling. It seemed unreal, incredible, impossible, yet it was absolutely true, for clutched to my heart I held the sacred memory of our moonlight talk, I felt the touch of her hand, and her parting words were ever ringing in my ears; and Joe's earnestness and assurance were as a presage to me that the mists would soon be rolled away. Betty's words came to me, 'If it's ocht ye want to ken, ye maunna ask him questions;' but I felt I must put her advice aside. Questions must be asked, and answers must be given willingly, not dragged out; and if I was to obtain these answers Joe must be to some extent taken into my confidence.
'Joe,' I said, 'you speak with a positiveness which carries conviction with it, and encourages me to great expectations. Now I'll be honest and candid with you, and you must be frank with me and answer fully and truly one or two questions I wish to put to you. You admit that the remarkable likeness you see in Miss Stuart to a Mrs Stuart you knew long ago has disturbed your mind, and you are quite convinced that the locket Miss Stuart wears belonged to that lady. There is a probable connection here which, if it can be established, will mean much to Miss Stuart. Her affairs are in my hands, and naturally I am very much interested in this. Now, Joe, you don't know me. Betty does. Will you take her word as surety for my honourableness, and tell me frankly all I may ask?'
Joe looked very intently at me while I was speaking. Then he laid down the pistol and emery-cloth with a suddenness and determination which plainly told me that his yea would be yea, and his nay, nay. 'Mr Russell,' he said earnestly, 'I have always sworn by Nathan's Betty; she swears by you in everything. If any information I can give will be of service to Miss Stuart you're welcome to it, and I'll answer truthfully whatever you ask.'
'Thank you, Joe. I know you will. Well, first of all, who was Mrs Stuart?'
'She was the wife of Major Stuart of my old regiment, the 25th.'
'Do you remember his full name?'
'Yes, sir. It was Major Sommerville Stuart of Abereran, Perthshire.'
'Where did they live together as husband and wife?'
'Well, sir, it was like this. You see—eh—well, perhaps I had better tell you what I know in my own way—some pointed questions are not easily answered.'
I nodded. 'All right, Joe; just as you wish,' I replied.
'Well, we were stationed at Gibraltar when the Major was married. I was his orderly at the time, and he took me with him to a town called Toledo, where the marriage took place. I saw the lady—a French lady she was—only once before she was Mrs Stuart; she and the Major were on horseback, and a fine-looking pair they were; and I saw her twice after they came back to Toledo from their honeymoon. She was then wearing the locket I saw last night. It was one of the marriage presents he gave her, and I remember seeing it on his dressing-room table in the hotel, and thinking he was lucky to be able to buy such a nice gift. I was courting at that time—not Sally; another girl who died—and I—well, I would have given a whole year's pay to be able to buy my girl one like it. That's how I remember it so well. The Major stayed in Toledo for about a week after his honeymoon trip, and then he went to headquarters, taking me with him of course; but Mrs Stuart remained at Toledo. She never came down to Gib. that I know of, but the Major went back once or twice. Then about a year after their marriage she died. The Major got the sad news at mess, and left that night, and I followed next day with his luggage. We returned the day after the funeral, and—and that's all I know, I think.' Then he picked up his emery-cloth and resumed his polishing, as if the story he had told was of ordinary import.
'Joe,' I said after a pause, 'what you have told me is most valuable information, and I thank you very much indeed. Were you present at the marriage ceremony?'
'Yes, sir, as a spectator, of course. I had nothing particular to do, and was in a strange town, and I was anxious to see what a foreign marriage was like.'
'Naturally! Then the marriage was in a church in Toledo?'
'Yes, sir; but I don't remember the name of the church.'
'Ah, Joe, that's a pity, now. Could you describe it to me? I know Toledo, and might be able to refresh your memory.'
'Well, sir, it was a very old-looking place, built of brick, and one part was newer-looking than the other. There's a big bridge at the entrance to the town——'
'Yes, Joe, the Bridge of Alcantara.'
'That's the name, sir. Well, I think I could go from the bridge right up to the church even yet. If I had a piece of paper and a pencil I could show you.'
I readily supplied him with pencil and paper, and after a little cogitation and a good deal of muttering, 'Forward, right turn, left wheel, steady now, forward,' he handed me the diagram of what he judged was the route. As it wasn't drawn to a scale, and no streets were noted, it was quite unintelligible to me; but it proved Joe had it in his mind's eye, and so far this was quite satisfactory. 'Thank you, Joe,' I said. 'May I keep this?'
He nodded, and I put it in my pocket. 'Now, just two questions more. Was Mrs Stuart buried in Toledo?'
'No, sir. She lies in a cemetery a few miles out of Toledo.'
'You don't remember the name of the place?'
'Well, sir, I do—sometimes. It reminded me, when I heard it first, of the old home-name of Dalgonnar, but it wasn't that—very near it, though.'
'Dalgonnar—Dal——Ah, Joe, was it not Algodor?'
'That's the name, sir—Algodor. I see you've been there. Well, sir, Mrs Stuart's buried at Algodor.'
Unknown to Joe, I had taken shorthand notes of the gist of his information, and when he was again busy with his emery I went over them carefully. 'By the way, Joe,' I asked, 'did you ever hear anything about the birth of a child?'
'Yes, sir. Mrs Stuart died in childbed, but the child lived. I don't remember hearing whether it was a boy or a girl. Mr Trent, our chaplain, could tell you about that. He went up with the Major and baptised it.'
'And where and how can Mr Trent be found now?'
'Well, sir—strange—last time I came up from Brighton I had an hour to wait at Carlisle, and I met him in the street when I was taking a stroll between trains. He's not changed much, and I knew him at once and saluted. He stopped me, and asked me my name and regiment, said he was in a hurry, but that he lived at Stanwix, and if at any time I was in the locality to be sure and call on him.'
'Joe,' I said, 'you're a brick, a most invaluable friend to me just now, and I cannot tell you how much all this means to Miss Stuart and to me. There is much yet of which we shall require proof; but it is a fact, Joe, that Major Sommerville Stuart of Abereran, your Major, was her father. It may be necessary, in fact it will be imperative, that we should send some one out to Toledo. I know it is asking a good deal, but would you accompany any one we may depute to go? Your presence is very essential, and your good service will be amply remunerated.'
'Well, Mr Russell, I'm not of much use here, and I'll not be wanted elsewhere till July. If I can be any good to you, I—I don't mind going. In a way, I'll be in the Major's service again.'
I never drink whisky during the day; but somehow I felt that a compact such as Joe and I had made was sufficient excuse for breaking any rule. We drank success to our undertaking, and when Joe had left me I sat down, and, after thinking things over, I came to the conclusion that Providence, in a most wonderful way, was making the crooked path straight; and that, with the exception of Nathan, Joe had the most extraordinary by-nature of any man I ever knew.
I stayed Betty's hand when she came in to light up for the night. I knew she was just dying to know how I had got on with Joe; and, as his story would be meaningless without the prologue, I told her everything. The flickering firelight fell on her dear old face, and the glint in her eye quickened as I unfolded my love-story. And when I had finished she came over, and, bending down, kissed me.
'The Lord's your shepherd. He's leadin' ye by the still waters,' she whispered. 'An', oh, Maister Weelum, Joseph Hebron's a prood, prood man this nicht.'
Of late it has truly been a time of startling events with me. One surprise has followed hard on the heels of another, and possibilities new to my horizon are looming before me, bidding fair to alter—and may I trust perfect?—my whole line of life. And yet I am not unduly excited or exercised in mind. I wonder is this because my drama is being acted on staging of God's own making, and amidst scenery painted by His own hand? I know how strongly we are all influenced by environment. A thunderstorm over the busy city, raging around crowded haunts and lighting up with its pointed fire all of man's handiwork, is to me appalling and menacing; in the country, among the echoing hills and sombre woods, it is grand and inspiring. When I think of it, it is not unlikely that a closer acquaintance with Nature and an insight into the marvellous laws which govern her have brought to me a keener sense of the true proportion of things. The pulsing sap in a February sprig of hawthorn is wonderful and mysterious, more wonderful far than Joe's acquaintance with Toledo or my meeting Désirée Stuart in Nithbank Wood.
Accompanied by Bang and Jip, I walked out to the station yesterday to meet Murray Monteith, and when I saw him step from the train to the platform I felt what Betty calls a 'ruggin'' at my heart, for very emphatically he appeared as a link binding me to a life which I know I must soon re-enter, and which I have lately ignored and well-nigh forgotten.
Monteith is one of the aristocrats of our profession, a gentleman by breeding and nature from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot. Quiet, reserved, well knit and well groomed, he fills the eye and takes the heart wherever he goes, and as I shook hands with him I felt a secret pride in the knowledge that he is my partner.
I welcomed him warmly to the strath of his forefathers, and assured him that if his knife and fork happened to be reversed at dinner, or if any one offered a left-hand shake, he must just count it an accident, as we had long ago ceased to remember the disreputable part his namesake played in pre-Bannockburn days.
We had a twelve o'clock dinner: broth—not the kind everybody or anybody makes, but Betty's broth—boiled beef, with potatoes in their skins, followed by a jam-roll, of which Monteith had two liberal helpings. I told him that long ago it was usual to finish up a dinner with another plateful of broth, and he assured me that had he not partaken of the jam-roll he would gladly have revived the custom. I didn't forget to tell Betty of the appreciation, and I know it pleased her, for when we drew in our chairs for a smoke I heard her voice from the back-kitchen raised, as timmer as of old, in the lilting strains of 'The Farmer's Boy.'
Then through tobacco-reek we talked business—at least Monteith did, and I listened. He had much to tell me, and he talks well. After disposing of some private matters, we broached the all-important object of our visit to Mrs Stuart, and it was only when we came to the unpleasant part of Miss Stuart's affairs that I told him of my wonderful discovery and the astonishing part that Joe had played in it.
Dressed in his Sunday best, Joe was awaiting his call in the kitchen, and on being brought in he was closely questioned by Monteith. Not only did Joe confirm all he had told me before, but he added to our knowledge by giving us the exact date of the baptism of the Major's baby. It synchronised with the date of a black day in Joe's life, when a girl died of whom he was very fond. When I was thinking sentimentally of his tragedy, and making allowances for much remissness that Betty deplores, Monteith, with arched eyebrow, was staring at him through a monocle, thanking Providence for having so opportunely sent him our way, and counting him a means to a successful end.
Long after Joe had left the room, Murray Monteith sat lost in thought. Monteith cannot leave a fire alone when he is thinking anything out. His room in our premises in Charlotte Square adjoins mine, and if I hear through the wall a vigorous poking and smashing going on I know he is tackling a ticklish problem. Yesterday, in five minutes, he 'bashed' Betty's fire out of recognition; and when for the tenth time he had lifted and dropped the poker he turned to me suddenly and said, 'By Jove, Russell, this will be a bitter pill for our friends Smart & Scobie!' I told him I didn't care a rap for that; what gratified me beyond measure was the fact that a sweet, sensitive girl had been spared humiliation, and that, instead of being a nameless lassie, she was Miss Stuart of Abereran.
I spoke very feelingly, and Monteith wasn't slow to notice it. He focussed me slowly through his monocle. 'I share that sentiment with you, Russell,' he said. 'I am not unmindful of her, though I give voice to my feeling of exultation in scoring a point. I trust Miss Stuart has no inkling of what has been standing in our way to prevent a settlement in her affairs. You—you haven't met her yet?'
'Oh yes; we are a small community here, and I have spoken to her once or twice.'
'Then you've been visiting at Nithbank House?'
'Not since I went under my mother's care twenty years ago, when the Ewarts lived there.'
'Oh!' and again he fixed me through his monocle. But he saw I was disinclined to go into details, and his good breeding made further questioning impossible. 'Well,' he said, after a pause, 'Mrs Stuart will be delighted to know all this. Her stepson, Maurice Stuart, has been at the root of all this trouble. I understand he wanted to marry Miss Stuart; but she would have nothing to do with him, and in retaliation he has done his level best to turn the mystery of his uncle's marriage to his own account. He it was who instructed Smart and Scobie. He's an awful waster, I believe, and his stepmother long ago cut him adrift.'
This was news to me, but I feigned indifference, and as adroitly as I possibly could turned the subject of our conversation to Joe and the part he had yet to play. 'I think, Monteith,' I said, 'we ought to take him with us to-day to Nithbank House. Mrs Stuart will be interested in him, and wishful, no doubt, to see and talk with him.'
'Oh, certainly,' said Monteith, as he snipped the end off another cigar; 'and, if he's still about, you had better call him at once. The carriage is at the door, I see.'
Mrs Stuart had very kindly sent her brougham for us; and so it came to pass that when we left the door Joe was sitting on the dicky beside the coachman, arms folded and eyes front—conscious, however, I felt sure, that Nathan's Betty was approvingly watching him from behind the dining-room curtains.
We were received very graciously by Mrs Stuart in the library. I introduced Monteith to her, and she at once apologised for having put him to the trouble and inconvenience of travelling so far. Then she inquired in a very kindly way after my health, and told me that when first her niece had informed her of my residence in the village she felt annoyed that the firm had not advised her; but that, after all, it was perhaps wisely kept from her, as she would only have worried me about business and made herself a nuisance.
I laughingly said something in reply about doctors being autocrats, and thanked her for her inquiries and consideration, and, to my great relief, the subject was gradually and agreeably changed to something else.
The Hon. Mrs Stuart is tall and angular, and she dresses in stern black, as becometh a sorrowing widow. She has, for a woman, a very square, assertive chin and a somewhat determined mouth; but the effect of the hard, firm chiselling of the lower part of the face is discounted by the kindly expression of her mellow, blue-gray eyes. Her hair is streaked with gray, and she has arrived at that time of life when, for preference, she sits and talks to visitors with her back to the light.
As Monteith had surmised, the important business she had referred to in her letter had to do with Miss Stuart's affairs, and as this was causing her great anxiety we went into the matter at once.
She explained to us, as she had done privately to me before, that she really didn't know, or, rather, that she had never had opportunities of knowing, her late brother-in-law, General Stuart. 'He was queer,' she said, 'very queer; lived in a bleak part of Cornwall most of his time, preferring it to Abereran in Perthshire; for years kept his marriage a secret, and made no mention of a daughter; and then, when we were looking forward with reasonable certainty to some day seeing Maurice laird of Abereran, a handsome girl of eighteen, an undoubted Stuart, was brought home from a Continental school, and, as his daughter, Désirée Stuart, installed mistress of his house. Personally, I had not a doubt of Miss Stuart's status or right of birth; but Maurice—well'——and she shrugged her shoulders and looked thoughtfully away down the avenue.
I asked my partner to tell her what we had learned from Joe, and he did so in that easy, off-hand, taken-for-granted style which we men of law sometimes affect, and which is intended to impress our clients with our astuteness and perspicacity. At first Mrs Stuart looked indifferent; but as the story was unfolded, and Joe's part established, she sat forward in her chair in utter amazement. 'Remarkable! remarkable!' she exclaimed. 'I never heard of such a wonderful coincidence.'
After we had discussed it in all its bearings, and settled on a definite plan of action, Joe was brought in. As my presence and advice were no longer necessary, I asked that I might be permitted to see Miss Stuart with reference to her Banku shares, and to this Mrs Stuart readily agreed. When we were passing through the hall to the drawing-room she asked if it was my intention to acquaint her niece with the news we had learned. I replied that as Miss Stuart had not been made aware of the nature of the difficulty which had so long confronted us, it wouldn't be advisable to tell her all we knew; but, with her permission, I would take the opportunity of informing her that certain knowledge we had acquired lately was likely to hasten a settlement. She agreed with me in this, and it was with a beating heart I entered the drawing-room.
Miss Stuart was sitting before an easel in the large oriel, and as her aunt briefly announced me and withdrew in her eagerness to talk to the wonderful Joe, she rose and greeted me warmly. 'Oh, Mr Russell,' she said, 'Iamglad to see you. Somehow I can't paint to-day; the inspiration is wanting;' and she put her brushes in the jar and laid aside her palette.
It was a large room lit by two windows, one facing the south, the other to the west over-looking the wooded banks of the winding Nith. The flush of the sunset was tingeing the sky and flooding the room with a subdued light which mellowed and softened the deep black of the Indian furniture against the pale-gray walls and the deeper-gray carpet. A large fire, crowned with a halo of short blue flame, glowed in the grate, and a 'megilpy' odour, mingling with the faint, indescribable perfume which ladies carry with them, lingered around, and reminded me of a reception afternoon in a Queen Street studio of long ago.
I was conscious of these details in my surroundings, although my eyes had never wandered for a moment from the sweet face of my dream-lady, and followed her greedily as she walked forward to the firelight.
I explained to her that my partner, Mr Monteith, was engaged with Mrs Stuart on business, and that I had taken the opportunity of having a word with her on a similar subject.
She smiled, wearily I thought, and seated herself. 'I don't like business talks, Mr Russell,' she said. 'Neither did father. It must be a family trait. Still, I dare say they are incumbent on us sometimes. I trust it is pleasant business you wish to talk over.'
'Oh yes, it is pleasant enough,' I said, and her face brightened. 'Sitting here,' I continued, after a pause, 'and seeing you in such a perfect setting, I am strongly tempted to talk to you on a subject nearer my heart; but—well, I have already promised you to put my feelings into the background for the time being, and, hard though it may be, I will be true to my word. You remember I talked to you about your interest in the Banku Oil Company? Well, the last dividend was paid to us, one hundred pounds of which has been lodged in the local bank, and I have here a cheque-book which you can use from time to time as you may require.'
'You are very thoughtful for me, Mr Russell,' she said softly, 'and I thank you very, very much. One hundred pounds is surely a lot of money. I could do with less, you know, if'——
'Not at all, Miss Stuart. The money is yours; use it as you like, and just let me know when you need more. You—you don't mind asking me?'
'No,' she said promptly, and as she trustfully looked me in the eyes her mouth retained the form of that little word long after it had passed her lips. She was sitting in profile against the firelit background, leaning slightly forward in her chair, her elbow on her knee and her chin resting lightly on the tips of her fingers. Her pose was so easy and graceful, and her dear face, in its beauty of feature and earnestness of expression, so bewitching, that I could not conceal my longing and admiration. I would have given the world to be allowed to kneel down beside her, and there, in the mystic glamour of the firelight, worship silently and reverently at her shrine. My steady gaze disconcerted her, and I cursed my temerity when I saw a blush spreading over her half-averted face.
'Socrates has many disciples still, Mr Russell,' she said, without any sign of displeasure in her tone; and her eyes again sought mine.
'Yes. How so, Miss Stuart?'
'He sought the truth in doing good; so do you. Since father's death, and until—well, very lately, I haven't known what it is to have a joyous mind. I seem to have been walking among shadows, and a dread has always been knocking at my heart. You, by your kindly attention and your sympathy, have lightened my burden and brought a ray of hope to me; and, do you know, Mrs Jardine's little children every evening of their sweet young lives ask God to bless you for being kind to their dear daddy.'
Our line of business conversation had got a twist somehow, and I didn't very well know what to say in reply, or how best, without breaking away at a tangent, I could get back to the subject I had in my mind. 'I am sorry to hear you have had your troubles, Miss Stuart,' I said after reflection; 'but I am glad to know that even to a small degree I have made your burdens lighter. I have promised to be your friend; you'll not find me wanting, I assure you. Doubtless your affairs have worried you, but daylight is showing through now, and in a few weeks I trust everything will be settled to your satisfaction. Do you know, we have with us to-day some one who knew your father, and who was present at his marriage ceremony.'
'Some one who knew my father, and who was present at his marriage ceremony!' she repeated slowly, as if she couldn't at once realise what it meant.
'Yes!' and, as I noted the colour gradually leaving her cheek, it came to me in a flash that I had erred in mentioning the fact in conjunction with a satisfactory settlement of her affairs. Even to an obtuse mind the inference was obvious, and I felt I had blundered grievously. Her agitation was unmistakable, and to relieve the situation I was about to make a remark, when she interrupted me.
'One moment, please;' and she turned her face away from me. 'This man, you say, was present when my father and mother were married, and you mention it as if it had a special significance. Does this affect me—I mean, would it make any difference to my name or prospects—my name particularly?'
'Oh yes, it would, Miss Stuart,' I said feelingly.
'Can you rely on what this man says?'
'Most emphatically, and we shall at once take steps to prove it.'
'When did you hear about this?'
'Quite lately.'
'Was it before you spoke to me, and—and promised to be my friend?'
'I didn't know about it then. It was only the day before yesterday it came to my knowledge.'
There was silence between us for a time, and the ormolu clock on the marble mantelpiece ticked loudly.
Then she rose to her feet and looked toward me, smiling through tear-dimmed eyes. 'You have made me very happy, Mr Russell. I don't want to know anything further. I leave myself confidently in your hands. You'll find cigarettes on the table behind you; you may smoke here;' and she crossed the room and sat down at the piano. She struck a few chords, deep as her own feelings; then she rose and came toward me. 'Mr Russell, do you know I have never known the joy of a mother's caress or the blessing of a mother's good-night kiss. Such memories of childhood are not mine, and my past is empty—empty. My father, for reasons of which I know nothing, never mentioned my mother's name to me. I was brought up among strangers, kindly enough, but still strangers. I never came in contact with other children. In a way, I was isolated from everything heartfelt and human; it is only since I got to know your neighbours that I have had a glimpse of what is surely the truest, sweetest, and happiest side of life. I like your nurse, your Betty. She once put her hand on my arm, and it had such a motherly touch that I wanted to kiss her. Perhaps you are thinking that this has no connection with anything that has passed between us. Well, you may be right in thinking so; but it is on my mind and in my heart, and I just wanted to tell you now, as I feel my future is hanging by a thread—a very slender thread—and I may not have another opportunity of saying it.'
I understood her mood, and made no reply; but I took her hand, raised it to my lips, and kissed it.
We were standing together in the oriel, watching the sunset splendour through the leafless trees, when Mrs Stuart and Murray Monteith joined us. Once or twice I caught my partner admiringly following Miss Stuart's movements, and he looked several times at me with a mark of interrogation in his eye. I had a feeling that he 'jaloused,' as Betty would put it, and it set me a-thinking; only for a moment, however, and I soon dismissed him and his monocle from my mind.
We had afternoon tea and a pleasant chat on current topics, and then our carriage was called. Just before we started, when we were standing in the hall, Miss Stuart asked me, in an undertone, if she could see, just for a minute, the man who had known her father. I called Joe inside, and Miss Stuart took him into the drawing-room. When he joined us again there was a glad look in his eye, and I knew his heart was proud within him, for he had shaken hands with his old Major's daughter.
I sat quiet and preoccupied in the corner of the brougham when driving home.
Just as the first twinkling light shone out ahead from the Gillfoot turn, Monteith turned to me. 'Russell,' he said, 'pardon my interrupting the flow of your pleasant meditations. You're a queer fellow in many ways; you—you don't say much till it suits you; but I can see as far through a brick wall as any one, and it may be—I say itmaybe—agreeable to you to know that Blackford Hall in Morningside will shortly be in the market. I've heard you say that if you ever settled down to married life you would like to live there.'
'Thank you, Monteith, for your information,' I said. 'Itisagreeable to me to know this.'
Nothing further was said on the subject till we were seated at my cosy fireside. Then Murray Monteith, blowing clouds of fragrant smoke above him, and glancing round my clean, well-furnished walls, said, 'By Jove, Russell! you're a lucky fellow; an old doting nurse there,' inclining his head toward the kitchen, 'who loves you almost with a mother's affection, and who wouldn't allow the wind to blow on you if she could prevent it, and the love of a girl like—like'——and he hesitated and looked at me.