CHAPTER XXIVTHE VANITY OF MENTHElast months had been a time of great anxiety to Lord Balnillo. In spite of his fine steering, and though he had escaped from molestation, he was not comfortable as he saw the imprisonments and confiscations that were going on; and the precariousness of all that had been secure disturbed him and made him restless. He was unsettled, too, by his long stay in Edinburgh, and he hankered afresh after the town life in which he had spent so many of his years. His trees and parks interested him still, but he looked on them, wondering how long he would be allowed to keep them. He was lonely, and he missed James, whom he had not seen since long before Culloden, the star of whose destiny had led him out again into the world of chance.He had the most upsetting scheme under consideration that a man of his age can entertain. At sixty-four it is few people who think seriously of changing their state, yet this was what David Balnillo had in mind; for he had found so many good reasons for offering his hand to Christian Flemington that he had decided at last to takethat portentous step. The greatest of these was the effect that an alliance with the Whig lady would produce in the quarters from which he feared trouble. His estate would be pretty safe if Madam Flemington reigned over it.It was pleasant to picture her magnificent presence at his table; her company would rid country life of its dulness, and on the visits to Edinburgh, which he was sure she would wish to make, the new Lady Balnillo would turn their lodging into a bright spot in society. He smoothed his silk stockings as he imagined the stir that his belated romance would make. He would be the hero of it, and its heroine, besides being a safeguard to his property, would be a credit to himself.There were some obstacles to his plan, and one of them was Archie; but he believed that, with a little diplomacy, that particular difficulty might be overcome. He would attack that side of the business in a very straightforward manner. He would make Madam Flemington understand that he was large-minded enough to look upon the episode in which he had borne the part of victim in a reasonable yet airy spirit. In the game in which their political differences had brought them face to face the honours had been with the young man; he would admit that with a smile and with the respect that one noble enemy accords to another. He would assure her that bygones should be bygones, and that when he claimed Archie as his grandson-in-law, he woulddo so without one grudging backward glance at the circumstances in which they had first met. His magnanimity seemed to him an almost touching thing, and he played with the idea of his own apposite grace when, in some sly but genial moment, he would suggest that the portrait upstairs should be finished.What had given the final touch to his determination was a message that James had contrived to send him, which removed the last scruple from his heart. His brother’s danger had weighed upon David, and it was not only its convenience to himself at this juncture which made him receive it with relief. Logie was leaving the country for Holland, and the next tidings of him would come from there, should he be lucky enough to reach its shores alive.Since the rescue of Gourlay the neighbourhood of the Muir of Pert—the last of his haunts in which Logie could trust himself—had become impossible for him, and he was now striving to get to a creek on the coast below Peterhead. It was some time since a roof had been over him, and the little cottage from which Flemington had despatched his urgent warning stood empty. Its inmate had been his unsuspected connection with the world since his time of wandering had begun; for though his fatal mistake in discovering this link in his chain of communication to Flemington had made him abjure its shelter, he had had no choice for some time between the Muir and any other place.The western end of the county swarmed with troops. Montrose was subdued; the passes of the Grampians were watched; there remained only this barren tract west of the river; and the warning brought to him from a nameless source had implored him to abandon it before the soldiery, which his informant assured him was collecting to sweep it from end to end, should range itself on its borders.Archie had withheld his name when he sent the dweller in the little hovel speeding into the night. He was certain that in making it known to James he would defeat his own ends, for Logie would scarcely be disposed to trust his good faith, and might well look on the message as a trick to drive him into some trap waiting for him between the Muir and the sea.James did not give his brother any details of his projected flight; he merely bade him an indefinite good-bye. The game was up—even he was obliged to admit that—and Ferrier, whose ardent spirit had been one with his own since the beginning of all things, was already making for a fishing village, from which he hoped to be smuggled out upon the high seas. Nothing further could be gained in Angus for the Stuart cause. The friends had spent themselves since April in their endeavours to resuscitate the feeling in the country, but there was no more money to be raised, no more men to be collected. They told themselves that all they could do now was to wait in the hope of a day when their servicesmight be needed again. That day would find them both ready, if they were above ground.David knew that, had James been in Scotland, he would not have dared to think of bringing Christian Flemington to Balnillo.He had a feeling of adventure when he started from his own door for Ardguys. The slight awe with which Christian still inspired him, even when she was most gracious, was beginning to foreshadow itself, and he knew that his bones would be mighty stiff on the morrow; there was no riding of the circuit now to keep him in practice in the saddle. But he was not going to give way to silly apprehensions, unsuited to his age and position; he would give himself every chance in the way of effect. The servant who rode after him carried a handsome riding-suit for his master to don at Forfar before making the last stage of his road. It grieved Balnillo to think how much of the elegance of his well-turned legs must be unrevealed by his high boots. He was a personable old gentleman, and his grey cob was worthy of carrying an eligible wooer. He reached Ardguys, and dismounted under its walls on the following afternoon.He had sent no word in front of him. Christian rose when he was ushered into her presence, and laid down the book in her hand, surprised.“You are as unexpected as an earthquake,” she exclaimed, as she saw who was her visitor.“But not as unwelcome?” said David.“Far from it. Sit down, my lord. I had begun to forget that civilization existed, and now I am reminded of it.”He bowed, delighted.A few messages and compliments, a letter or two despatched by hand, had been their only communications since the judge left Edinburgh, and his spirits rose as he found that she seemed really pleased to see him.“And what has brought you?” asked Christian, settling herself with the luxurious deliberation of a cat into the large chair from which she had risen. “Something good, certainly.”“The simple desire to see you, ma’am. Could anything be better?”It was an excellent opening; but he had never, even in his youth, been a man who ran full tilt upon anything. He had scarcely ever before made so direct a speech.She smiled, amused. There had been plenty of time for thought in her solitude; but, though she had thought a good deal about him, she had not a suspicion of his errand. She saw people purely in relation to the uses she had for them, and, officially, she had pronounced him harmless to the party in whose interests she had kept him at her side. The circumstances were not those which further sentiment.“I have spent this quiet time in remembering your kindnesses to me,” he began, inspired by her smile.“You call it a quiet time?” she interrupted.“I had not looked on it in that way. Quiet for us, perhaps, but not for the country.”“True, true,” said he, in the far-away tone in which some people seek to let unprofitable subjects melt.Now that the active part of the rebellion had become history, she had no hesitation in speaking out from her solid place on the winning side.“This wretched struggle is over, and we may be plain with one another, Lord Balnillo,” she continued. “You, at least, have had much to alarm you.”“I have been a peaceful servant of law and order all my life,” said he, “and as such I have conceived it my place to stand aloof. It has been my duty to restrain violence of all kinds.”“But you have not restrained your belongings,” she observed boldly.He was so much taken aback that he said nothing.“Well, my lord, it is one of my regrets that I have never seen Captain Logie. At least you have to be proud of a gallant man,” she went on, with the same impulse that makes all humanity set a fallen child upon its legs.But Balnillo had a genius for scrambling to his feet.“My brother has left the country in safety,” he rejoined, with one of those random flashes of sharpness that had stood him in such good stead. His cunning was his guardian angel; for he didnot know what she knew—namely, that Archie had left Fort Augustus in pursuit of James.“Indeed?” she said, silenced.She was terribly disappointed, but she hid her feelings in barefaced composure.The judge drew his chair closer. Here was another opening, and his very nervousness pushed him towards it.“Ma’am,” he began, clearing his throat, “I shall not despair of presenting James to you. When the country is settled—if—in short——”“I imagine that Captain Logie will hardly trust himself in Scotland either in my lifetime or in yours. We are old, you and I,” she added, the bitterness of her disappointment surging through her words.She watched him to see whether this barbed truth pierced him; it pierced herself as she hurled it.“Maybe,” said he; “but age has not kept me from the business I have come upon. I have come to put a very particular matter before you.”She was still unsuspicious, but she grew impatient. He had wearied her often in Edinburgh with tedious histories of himself, and she had endured them then for reasons of policy; but she felt no need of doing so here. It was borne in upon her, as it has been borne in upon many of us, that a person who is acceptable in town may be unendurable in the country. She had not thought of that as she welcomed him.“Ma’am,” he went on, intent on nothing but hisaffair, “I may surprise you—I trust I shall not offend you. At least you will approve the feelings of devotion, of respect, of admiration which have brought me here. I have an ancient name, I have sufficient means—I am not ill-looking, I believe——”“Are you making me a proposal, my lord?”She spoke with an accent of derision; the sting of it was sharp in her tone.“There is no place for ridicule, ma’am. I see nothing unsuitable in my great regard for you.”He spoke with real dignity.She had not suspected him of having any, personally, and she had forgotten that an inherited stock of it was behind him. The rebuke astonished her so much that she scarcely knew what reply to make.“As I said, I believe I am not ill-looking,” he repeated, with an air that lost him his advantage. “I can offer you such a position as you have a right to expect.”“You also offer me a brother-in-law whose destination may be the scaffold,” she said brutally; “do not forget that.”This was not to be denied, and for a moment he was put out. But it was on these occasions that he shone.“Let us dismiss family matters from our minds and think only of ourselves,” said he; “my brother is an outlaw, and as such is unacceptable to you, and your grandson has every reason to be ashamed to meet me. We can set these disadvantages,one against the other, and agree to ignore them.”“I am not disposed to ignore Archie,” said she.“Well, ma’am, neither am I. I hope I am a large-minded man—indeed, no one can sit on the bench for the time that I have sat on it and not realize the frailty of all creatures——”“My lord——” began Christian.But it is something to have learned continuance of speech professionally, and Balnillo was launched; also his own magnanimous attitude had taken his fancy.“I will remember nothing against him,” said he. “I will forget his treatment of my hospitality, and the discreditable uses to which he put my roof.”“Sir!” broke in Christian.“I will remember that, according to his lights, he was in the exercise of his duty. Whatsoever may be my opinion of the profession to which he was compelled, I will thrust it behind me with the things best forgotten.”“That is enough, Lord Balnillo,” cried Madam Flemington, rising.“Sit, madam, sit. Do not disturb yourself! Understand me, that I will allow every leniency. I will make every excuse! I will dwell, not on the fact that he was a spy, but on his enviable relationship to yourself.”She stood in the middle of the room, threatening him with her eyes. Some people tremblewhen roused to the pitch of anger that she had reached; some gesticulate; Christian was still.He had risen too.“If you suppose that I could connect myself with a disloyal house you are much mistaken,” she said, controlling herself with an effort. “I have no quarrel with your name, Lord Balnillo; it is old enough. My quarrel is with the treason in which it has been dipped. But I am very well content with my own. Since I have borne it, I have kept it clean from any taint of rebellion.”“But I have been a peaceful man,” he protested. “As I told you, the law has been my profession. I have raised a hand against no one.”“Do you think I do not know you?” exclaimed she. “Do you suppose that my ears were shut in the winter, and that I heard nothing in all the months I spent in Edinburgh? What of that, Lord Balnillo?”“You made no objection to me then, ma’am. I was made happy by being of service to you.”She laughed scornfully.“Let us be done with this,” she said. “You have offered yourself to me and I refuse the offer. I will add my thanks.”The last words were a masterpiece of insolent civility.A gilt-framed glass hung on the wall, one of the possessions that she had brought with her from France. David suddenly caught sight of his own head reflected in it above the lace cravat for which he had paid so much; the spectaclegathered up his recollections and his present mortification, and fused them into one stab of hurt vanity.“I see that you can make no further use of me,” he said.“None.”He walked out of the room. At the door he turned and bowed.“If you will allow me, I will call for my horse myself,” said he.He went out of the house and she stood where she was, thinking of what he had told her about his brother; she had set her heart upon Archie’s success in taking Logie, and now the man had left the country and his chance was gone. The proposal to which she had just listened did not matter to her one way or the other, though he had offended her by the attitude he took up when making it. He was unimportant. It was of Archie that she thought as she watched the judge and his servant ride away between the ash-trees. They were crossing the Kilpie burn when her maid came in, bringing a letter. The writing on it was strange to Christian.“Who has brought this?” she asked as she opened it.“Just a callant,” replied the girl.She read the letter, which was short. It was signed ‘R. Callandar, Captain,’ and was written at Archie Flemington’s request to tell her that he was under arrest at Brechin on a charge of conspiring with the king’s enemies.The writer added a sentence, unknown, as he explained, to Flemington.“The matter is serious,” he wrote, “the Duke of Cumberland is still in Edinburgh. It might be well if you could see him. Make no delay, as we await his orders.”She stood, turning cold, her eyes fixed on the maid.“Eh—losh, mem!” whimpered Mysie, approaching her with her hands raised.Madam Flemington felt as though her brain refused to work. There seemed to be nothing to drive it forward. The world stood still. The walls, an imprisoning horror, shut her in from all movement, all action, when action was needed. She had never felt Ardguys to be so desperately far from the reach of humanity, herself so much cut off from it, as now. And yet she must act. Her nearest channel of communication was the judge, riding away.“Fool!” she cried, seizing Mysie, “run—run! Send the boy after Lord Balnillo. Tell him to run!”The maid hesitated, staring at the pallor of her mistress’s face.“Eh, but, mem—sit you down!” she wailed.Christian thrust her from her path as though she had been a piece of furniture, and swept into the hall. A barefooted youth was outside by the door. He stared at her, as Mysie had done. She took him by the shoulder.“Run! Go instantly after those horses! Thatis Lord Balnillo!” she cried, pointing to the riders, who were mounting the rise beyond the burn. “Tell him to return at once. Tell him he must come back!”He shook off her grip and ran. He was a corner-boy from Brechin and he had a taste for sensation.Madam Flemington went back into her room. Mysie followed her, whimpering still, and she pushed her outside and sank down in her large chair. She could not watch the window, for fear of going mad.She sat still and steady until she heard the thud of bare feet on the stone steps, and then she hurried out.“He tell’t me he wadna bide,” said the corner-boy breathlessly. “He was vera well obliged to ye, he bad’ me say, but he wadna bide.”Christian left him and shut herself into the room, alone. Callandar’s bald lines had overpowered her completely, leaving no place in her brain for anything else. But now she saw her message from Lord Balnillo’s point of view, and anger and contempt flamed up again, even in the midst of her trouble.“The vanity of men! Ah, God, the vanity of men!” she cried, throwing out her hands, as though to put the whole race of them from her.
THElast months had been a time of great anxiety to Lord Balnillo. In spite of his fine steering, and though he had escaped from molestation, he was not comfortable as he saw the imprisonments and confiscations that were going on; and the precariousness of all that had been secure disturbed him and made him restless. He was unsettled, too, by his long stay in Edinburgh, and he hankered afresh after the town life in which he had spent so many of his years. His trees and parks interested him still, but he looked on them, wondering how long he would be allowed to keep them. He was lonely, and he missed James, whom he had not seen since long before Culloden, the star of whose destiny had led him out again into the world of chance.
He had the most upsetting scheme under consideration that a man of his age can entertain. At sixty-four it is few people who think seriously of changing their state, yet this was what David Balnillo had in mind; for he had found so many good reasons for offering his hand to Christian Flemington that he had decided at last to takethat portentous step. The greatest of these was the effect that an alliance with the Whig lady would produce in the quarters from which he feared trouble. His estate would be pretty safe if Madam Flemington reigned over it.
It was pleasant to picture her magnificent presence at his table; her company would rid country life of its dulness, and on the visits to Edinburgh, which he was sure she would wish to make, the new Lady Balnillo would turn their lodging into a bright spot in society. He smoothed his silk stockings as he imagined the stir that his belated romance would make. He would be the hero of it, and its heroine, besides being a safeguard to his property, would be a credit to himself.
There were some obstacles to his plan, and one of them was Archie; but he believed that, with a little diplomacy, that particular difficulty might be overcome. He would attack that side of the business in a very straightforward manner. He would make Madam Flemington understand that he was large-minded enough to look upon the episode in which he had borne the part of victim in a reasonable yet airy spirit. In the game in which their political differences had brought them face to face the honours had been with the young man; he would admit that with a smile and with the respect that one noble enemy accords to another. He would assure her that bygones should be bygones, and that when he claimed Archie as his grandson-in-law, he woulddo so without one grudging backward glance at the circumstances in which they had first met. His magnanimity seemed to him an almost touching thing, and he played with the idea of his own apposite grace when, in some sly but genial moment, he would suggest that the portrait upstairs should be finished.
What had given the final touch to his determination was a message that James had contrived to send him, which removed the last scruple from his heart. His brother’s danger had weighed upon David, and it was not only its convenience to himself at this juncture which made him receive it with relief. Logie was leaving the country for Holland, and the next tidings of him would come from there, should he be lucky enough to reach its shores alive.
Since the rescue of Gourlay the neighbourhood of the Muir of Pert—the last of his haunts in which Logie could trust himself—had become impossible for him, and he was now striving to get to a creek on the coast below Peterhead. It was some time since a roof had been over him, and the little cottage from which Flemington had despatched his urgent warning stood empty. Its inmate had been his unsuspected connection with the world since his time of wandering had begun; for though his fatal mistake in discovering this link in his chain of communication to Flemington had made him abjure its shelter, he had had no choice for some time between the Muir and any other place.
The western end of the county swarmed with troops. Montrose was subdued; the passes of the Grampians were watched; there remained only this barren tract west of the river; and the warning brought to him from a nameless source had implored him to abandon it before the soldiery, which his informant assured him was collecting to sweep it from end to end, should range itself on its borders.
Archie had withheld his name when he sent the dweller in the little hovel speeding into the night. He was certain that in making it known to James he would defeat his own ends, for Logie would scarcely be disposed to trust his good faith, and might well look on the message as a trick to drive him into some trap waiting for him between the Muir and the sea.
James did not give his brother any details of his projected flight; he merely bade him an indefinite good-bye. The game was up—even he was obliged to admit that—and Ferrier, whose ardent spirit had been one with his own since the beginning of all things, was already making for a fishing village, from which he hoped to be smuggled out upon the high seas. Nothing further could be gained in Angus for the Stuart cause. The friends had spent themselves since April in their endeavours to resuscitate the feeling in the country, but there was no more money to be raised, no more men to be collected. They told themselves that all they could do now was to wait in the hope of a day when their servicesmight be needed again. That day would find them both ready, if they were above ground.
David knew that, had James been in Scotland, he would not have dared to think of bringing Christian Flemington to Balnillo.
He had a feeling of adventure when he started from his own door for Ardguys. The slight awe with which Christian still inspired him, even when she was most gracious, was beginning to foreshadow itself, and he knew that his bones would be mighty stiff on the morrow; there was no riding of the circuit now to keep him in practice in the saddle. But he was not going to give way to silly apprehensions, unsuited to his age and position; he would give himself every chance in the way of effect. The servant who rode after him carried a handsome riding-suit for his master to don at Forfar before making the last stage of his road. It grieved Balnillo to think how much of the elegance of his well-turned legs must be unrevealed by his high boots. He was a personable old gentleman, and his grey cob was worthy of carrying an eligible wooer. He reached Ardguys, and dismounted under its walls on the following afternoon.
He had sent no word in front of him. Christian rose when he was ushered into her presence, and laid down the book in her hand, surprised.
“You are as unexpected as an earthquake,” she exclaimed, as she saw who was her visitor.
“But not as unwelcome?” said David.
“Far from it. Sit down, my lord. I had begun to forget that civilization existed, and now I am reminded of it.”
He bowed, delighted.
A few messages and compliments, a letter or two despatched by hand, had been their only communications since the judge left Edinburgh, and his spirits rose as he found that she seemed really pleased to see him.
“And what has brought you?” asked Christian, settling herself with the luxurious deliberation of a cat into the large chair from which she had risen. “Something good, certainly.”
“The simple desire to see you, ma’am. Could anything be better?”
It was an excellent opening; but he had never, even in his youth, been a man who ran full tilt upon anything. He had scarcely ever before made so direct a speech.
She smiled, amused. There had been plenty of time for thought in her solitude; but, though she had thought a good deal about him, she had not a suspicion of his errand. She saw people purely in relation to the uses she had for them, and, officially, she had pronounced him harmless to the party in whose interests she had kept him at her side. The circumstances were not those which further sentiment.
“I have spent this quiet time in remembering your kindnesses to me,” he began, inspired by her smile.
“You call it a quiet time?” she interrupted.“I had not looked on it in that way. Quiet for us, perhaps, but not for the country.”
“True, true,” said he, in the far-away tone in which some people seek to let unprofitable subjects melt.
Now that the active part of the rebellion had become history, she had no hesitation in speaking out from her solid place on the winning side.
“This wretched struggle is over, and we may be plain with one another, Lord Balnillo,” she continued. “You, at least, have had much to alarm you.”
“I have been a peaceful servant of law and order all my life,” said he, “and as such I have conceived it my place to stand aloof. It has been my duty to restrain violence of all kinds.”
“But you have not restrained your belongings,” she observed boldly.
He was so much taken aback that he said nothing.
“Well, my lord, it is one of my regrets that I have never seen Captain Logie. At least you have to be proud of a gallant man,” she went on, with the same impulse that makes all humanity set a fallen child upon its legs.
But Balnillo had a genius for scrambling to his feet.
“My brother has left the country in safety,” he rejoined, with one of those random flashes of sharpness that had stood him in such good stead. His cunning was his guardian angel; for he didnot know what she knew—namely, that Archie had left Fort Augustus in pursuit of James.
“Indeed?” she said, silenced.
She was terribly disappointed, but she hid her feelings in barefaced composure.
The judge drew his chair closer. Here was another opening, and his very nervousness pushed him towards it.
“Ma’am,” he began, clearing his throat, “I shall not despair of presenting James to you. When the country is settled—if—in short——”
“I imagine that Captain Logie will hardly trust himself in Scotland either in my lifetime or in yours. We are old, you and I,” she added, the bitterness of her disappointment surging through her words.
She watched him to see whether this barbed truth pierced him; it pierced herself as she hurled it.
“Maybe,” said he; “but age has not kept me from the business I have come upon. I have come to put a very particular matter before you.”
She was still unsuspicious, but she grew impatient. He had wearied her often in Edinburgh with tedious histories of himself, and she had endured them then for reasons of policy; but she felt no need of doing so here. It was borne in upon her, as it has been borne in upon many of us, that a person who is acceptable in town may be unendurable in the country. She had not thought of that as she welcomed him.
“Ma’am,” he went on, intent on nothing but hisaffair, “I may surprise you—I trust I shall not offend you. At least you will approve the feelings of devotion, of respect, of admiration which have brought me here. I have an ancient name, I have sufficient means—I am not ill-looking, I believe——”
“Are you making me a proposal, my lord?”
She spoke with an accent of derision; the sting of it was sharp in her tone.
“There is no place for ridicule, ma’am. I see nothing unsuitable in my great regard for you.”
He spoke with real dignity.
She had not suspected him of having any, personally, and she had forgotten that an inherited stock of it was behind him. The rebuke astonished her so much that she scarcely knew what reply to make.
“As I said, I believe I am not ill-looking,” he repeated, with an air that lost him his advantage. “I can offer you such a position as you have a right to expect.”
“You also offer me a brother-in-law whose destination may be the scaffold,” she said brutally; “do not forget that.”
This was not to be denied, and for a moment he was put out. But it was on these occasions that he shone.
“Let us dismiss family matters from our minds and think only of ourselves,” said he; “my brother is an outlaw, and as such is unacceptable to you, and your grandson has every reason to be ashamed to meet me. We can set these disadvantages,one against the other, and agree to ignore them.”
“I am not disposed to ignore Archie,” said she.
“Well, ma’am, neither am I. I hope I am a large-minded man—indeed, no one can sit on the bench for the time that I have sat on it and not realize the frailty of all creatures——”
“My lord——” began Christian.
But it is something to have learned continuance of speech professionally, and Balnillo was launched; also his own magnanimous attitude had taken his fancy.
“I will remember nothing against him,” said he. “I will forget his treatment of my hospitality, and the discreditable uses to which he put my roof.”
“Sir!” broke in Christian.
“I will remember that, according to his lights, he was in the exercise of his duty. Whatsoever may be my opinion of the profession to which he was compelled, I will thrust it behind me with the things best forgotten.”
“That is enough, Lord Balnillo,” cried Madam Flemington, rising.
“Sit, madam, sit. Do not disturb yourself! Understand me, that I will allow every leniency. I will make every excuse! I will dwell, not on the fact that he was a spy, but on his enviable relationship to yourself.”
She stood in the middle of the room, threatening him with her eyes. Some people tremblewhen roused to the pitch of anger that she had reached; some gesticulate; Christian was still.
He had risen too.
“If you suppose that I could connect myself with a disloyal house you are much mistaken,” she said, controlling herself with an effort. “I have no quarrel with your name, Lord Balnillo; it is old enough. My quarrel is with the treason in which it has been dipped. But I am very well content with my own. Since I have borne it, I have kept it clean from any taint of rebellion.”
“But I have been a peaceful man,” he protested. “As I told you, the law has been my profession. I have raised a hand against no one.”
“Do you think I do not know you?” exclaimed she. “Do you suppose that my ears were shut in the winter, and that I heard nothing in all the months I spent in Edinburgh? What of that, Lord Balnillo?”
“You made no objection to me then, ma’am. I was made happy by being of service to you.”
She laughed scornfully.
“Let us be done with this,” she said. “You have offered yourself to me and I refuse the offer. I will add my thanks.”
The last words were a masterpiece of insolent civility.
A gilt-framed glass hung on the wall, one of the possessions that she had brought with her from France. David suddenly caught sight of his own head reflected in it above the lace cravat for which he had paid so much; the spectaclegathered up his recollections and his present mortification, and fused them into one stab of hurt vanity.
“I see that you can make no further use of me,” he said.
“None.”
He walked out of the room. At the door he turned and bowed.
“If you will allow me, I will call for my horse myself,” said he.
He went out of the house and she stood where she was, thinking of what he had told her about his brother; she had set her heart upon Archie’s success in taking Logie, and now the man had left the country and his chance was gone. The proposal to which she had just listened did not matter to her one way or the other, though he had offended her by the attitude he took up when making it. He was unimportant. It was of Archie that she thought as she watched the judge and his servant ride away between the ash-trees. They were crossing the Kilpie burn when her maid came in, bringing a letter. The writing on it was strange to Christian.
“Who has brought this?” she asked as she opened it.
“Just a callant,” replied the girl.
She read the letter, which was short. It was signed ‘R. Callandar, Captain,’ and was written at Archie Flemington’s request to tell her that he was under arrest at Brechin on a charge of conspiring with the king’s enemies.
The writer added a sentence, unknown, as he explained, to Flemington.
“The matter is serious,” he wrote, “the Duke of Cumberland is still in Edinburgh. It might be well if you could see him. Make no delay, as we await his orders.”
She stood, turning cold, her eyes fixed on the maid.
“Eh—losh, mem!” whimpered Mysie, approaching her with her hands raised.
Madam Flemington felt as though her brain refused to work. There seemed to be nothing to drive it forward. The world stood still. The walls, an imprisoning horror, shut her in from all movement, all action, when action was needed. She had never felt Ardguys to be so desperately far from the reach of humanity, herself so much cut off from it, as now. And yet she must act. Her nearest channel of communication was the judge, riding away.
“Fool!” she cried, seizing Mysie, “run—run! Send the boy after Lord Balnillo. Tell him to run!”
The maid hesitated, staring at the pallor of her mistress’s face.
“Eh, but, mem—sit you down!” she wailed.
Christian thrust her from her path as though she had been a piece of furniture, and swept into the hall. A barefooted youth was outside by the door. He stared at her, as Mysie had done. She took him by the shoulder.
“Run! Go instantly after those horses! Thatis Lord Balnillo!” she cried, pointing to the riders, who were mounting the rise beyond the burn. “Tell him to return at once. Tell him he must come back!”
He shook off her grip and ran. He was a corner-boy from Brechin and he had a taste for sensation.
Madam Flemington went back into her room. Mysie followed her, whimpering still, and she pushed her outside and sank down in her large chair. She could not watch the window, for fear of going mad.
She sat still and steady until she heard the thud of bare feet on the stone steps, and then she hurried out.
“He tell’t me he wadna bide,” said the corner-boy breathlessly. “He was vera well obliged to ye, he bad’ me say, but he wadna bide.”
Christian left him and shut herself into the room, alone. Callandar’s bald lines had overpowered her completely, leaving no place in her brain for anything else. But now she saw her message from Lord Balnillo’s point of view, and anger and contempt flamed up again, even in the midst of her trouble.
“The vanity of men! Ah, God, the vanity of men!” she cried, throwing out her hands, as though to put the whole race of them from her.