St. Agnes' Eve—ah, bitter chill it was!The owl, for all his feathers, was acold,The hare limped trembling thro' the frozen grass;And silent was the flock in woolly fold!—Keats.
A freezing night. Faustina shook as with an ague-fit, and her teeth chattered like a pair of castanets, as she crouched down in one corner of the back seat and huddled all her wrappings close about her. But the cold still seemed to penetrate through all her furs and velvets and woolens and enter the very marrow of her bones.
Beside her sat the viscount, silent, grim, and still, as though he were congealed to ice. Before her sat the two policemen, well wrapped up in their greatcoats and thick shawls.
All were silent except Faustina. She shook and moaned and chattered incessantly. Such a mere animal was this wretched woman that she was quite absorbed in her present sufferings. While enduring this intense cold she could not look forward to the terrors of the future.
"It's insufferable!" she exclaimed, fiercely stamping her feet; "can you not make this beast of a carriage closer, then? My flesh is stone and my blood is ice, I tell you."
One window had been left open a little way, to let a breath of air into the carriage, which, crowded with four persons, was otherwise stifling. But the viscount now raised both his fettered hands and closed up the window. The arrangement did not prove satisfactory. It deprived the sufferers of air without making them any warmer. Faustina shook and moaned and chattered all the same.
"Oh, wretches!" she exclaimed, in furious disgust; "open the window again! I am suffocated! I am poisoned! They have all been eating garlic and drinking whisky!"
The window was opened at her desire, but as they were then crossing the narrow isthmus of rock that connected the castle steep with the land, the wind, from that exposed position, was cutting sharp, and drove into the aperture the stinging snow, which entered the skin like needle points.
"Ah, shut it! shut it! It kills me! It is infamous to treat a poor little lady so!" she cried, bursting into tears.
Again the window was closed; but not for any length of time. Apparently she could neither bear it open nor shut. So, shaking, moaning, and complaining, the poor creature was taken through that long and bitter night journey which ended at last only at the station house of Banff.
Half dead with cold, she was lifted out of the carriage by the two policemen who stood upon the sidewalk, where she remained, shaking, chattering, and weeping tears that froze upon her cheeks as they fell.
She could see nothing in that dark street but the gloomy building before her, dimly lighted by its iron lamp above the doorway.
There she remained till the viscount was handed out.
"Cuthbert," said his lordship to the old man, who had exposed himself to the severe weather of this night and driven the carriage for the sake of being near his master as long as possible, "Cuthbert, take the carriage around to the 'Highlander' and put up there for the night. We shall want it to take us back to the castle to-morrow, after this ridiculous farce is over."
"Verra weel, me laird," replied old Cuthbert, touching his hat with all the more deference because his master was suffering degradation.
"Ah! is it so? Will we really get back to the castle to-morrow?" whimpered Faustina, shaking, chattering, and wringing her hands.
"Of course we will," replied his lordship.
"Ah, but how shall I get through the night? I must have a good fire and a comfortable bed, and something warm to drink. Will you see to it, Malcolm?" she whiningly inquired.
"Don't be a fool!" was the gentlemanly reply; for the viscount burned with half-suppressed rage against the woman. whose fatal beauty had led him into all this disgrace.
She burst into a passion of tears.
"That is the reward I get for all my love!" she exclaimed.
"Faustina, for your own sake, if not for any other's, exercise some discretion!" exclaimed the viscount angrily.
"Villain!" she screamed, in fury, "I had no discretion when I listened to you!"
"I wish to Heaven you had had then! I should not have been in this mess," he replied.
"Ah!" she hissed. "If my hands were not fettered I would tear your eyes!"
"Sweet angel!" sneered the viscount, in mockery and self-mockery.
"Thsche!" she hissed, "let me at him!"
The viscount laughed, a hard, bitter, scornful laugh.
And at it they went, criminating and recriminating, until the empty carriage was driven away, and the policemen took them by the shoulders and pushed them into the station house.
They found themselves in a large stone hall, with iron-grated windows. It was partially warmed with a large, rusty stove, around which many men of the roughest cast were gathered, smoking, talking, and laughing. The walls were furnished with rude benches, upon which some men sat, some reclined, and some lay at full length. The stone floor was wet with the slop of the snow that had been brought in by so many feet and had melted. In one of these slops lay a woman, dead drunk.
"Ah! Good God! I cannot stay here!" cried Faustina, gathering up her skirts, as well as she could with her fettered hands, and looking around in strong disgust.
The viscount laughed in derision; he was angry, desperate, and he rejoiced in her discomfiture.
"Eh, Saunders! take these two women in the women's room," said McRae, beckoning a tall, broad-shouldered, red-headed Scot to his assistance.
"Hech! it will take twa o' the strongest men here to lift yon lassie," replied the man, lumbering slowly along towards the prostrate woman, and trying to raise her. If he failed in lifting her, he succeeded in waking her, and he was saluted for his pains with a volley of curses, to which he replied with a shake or two.
"Oh, horror! I will not stay here!" cried Faustina, stamping with rage.
"Attend to her, Christie. Dunlap, help Saunders to remove that woman," said McRae.
Two of the policemen succeeded in raising the fallen woman, and leading her between them into an adjoining room. The man addressed as "Christie" would have taken Faustina by the arm, and led her after them, but that she fiercely shook herself from his grasp.
"Follow then and ye like, lass; but gae some gait ye maun, ye ken," said the man good-naturedly.
She glanced around the dreary room, upon the grated windows, the sloppy floor, the rusty stove, and the wretched men, and finally seemed to think that she could not do better than to leave such a repulsive scene.
"Go along, then, and I will follow, only keep your vile hands off me," said Faustina, gathering up her dainty raiment and stepping carefully after her leader. As she did so she turned a last look upon Lord Vincent. The viscount had thrown himself upon a corner of one of the benches, where he sat, with his fettered hands folded together, and his head bent down upon his breast, as if he were in deep despair.
"Imbecile!" was the complimentary good-night thrown by his angel, as she passed out of the hall into the adjoining room. This—the women's room—was in all respects similar to the men's hall, being furnished with the like grated windows, rusty iron stove, and rude benches. Along, on these benches, or on the floor, were scattered wretched women in every attitude of self-abandonment; some in the stupor of intoxication; some in the depths of sorrow; some in stony despair; some in reckless defiance.
The men who had come in with the drunken woman deposited her on one of the benches, from which she quickly rolled to the floor, where she lay dead to all that was passing around her. Her misfortune was greeted with a shout of laughter from the reckless denizens of this room; but that shout was turned into a deafening yell when their eyes fell upon Faustina's array.
"Eh, sirs! wha the deil hae we here fra the ball?" they cried, gathering around her with curiosity.
"Off, you wretches!" screamed Faustina, stamping at them.
"Hech! but she hae a temper o' her ain, the quean," said one.
"Ou, aye, just! It will be for sticking her lad under the ribs she is here," surmised another.
"Eh, sirs, how are the mighty fa'en!" exclaimed a third, as they closed around her, and began to closely examine her rich dress.
"Rabble! how dare you?" screamed Faustina, fiercely twitching herself away from them.
"Eh! the braw furs and silks! the town doesna often see the loike o' them," said the first speaker, lifting up the corner of the rich sable cloak.
"Wretch, let alone!" shrieked Faustina, stamping frantically.
The uproar brought Policeman Christie to the scene.
"Take me away from this place directly, you beast! How dare you bring me among such wretches?" screamed the poor creature.
"My lass, I hae na commission to remove you. I dinna ken what ye hae done to bring yoursel' here; but here ye maun bide till the morn," said Christie kindly and composedly.
"I will not, I say! What have I done to be placed among these vile wretches?" she persisted, stamping.
"I dinna ken, lassie, as I telled ye before; but joodging by your manners, I suld say ye hae guided yoursel' an unco' ill gait. But howe'er that will be, here ye maun bide till the morn. And gin ye will heed guid counsel, ye'll haud your tongue," said Christie, at the same time good-naturedly setting down the hamper that contained Faustina's luxuries. She did not want it. She threw herself down upon one of the benches and burst into a passion of tears.
The women gathered around the hamper, and quickly tore off the lid and made themselves acquainted with its contents.
But Faustina did not mind. She was too deeply distressed to care what they did. The contents of the hamper were now of no use to her. The "good fire, the comfortable bed, the warm beverage" that she had vehemently demanded were unattainable, she knew, and she cared for nothing else now.
While Faustina, regardless that her famished fellow-prisoners were devouring her cakes, fruits, and wine, gave herself up to passionate lamentations, another scene was going on in the men's hall.
Lord Vincent sat gnawing his nails and "glowering" upon the floor in his corner. From time to time the door opened, letting in a gust of wind, sleet, and snow, and a new party of prisoners; but the viscount never lifted his eyes to observe them.
At length, however, he looked up and beckoned Constable McRae to his side.
"Here, you, fellow! I would like to see your warrant again. I wish to know who is my accuser."
"Judge Randolph Merlin, my lord, of the United States Supreme Court," answered McRae, once more taking out his warrant and submitting it to the inspection of his prisoner.
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the viscount affectedly. "Randolph Merlin! He has come to the country, I suppose, to look after his daughter; and finding that these negroes are among the missing, has pretended to get up this charge against me! It will not answer his purpose, however. And I only wonder that any magistrate in his senses should have issued a warrant for the apprehension of a nobleman upon his unsupported charge."
"Pray excuse me, my lord, but the charge was not unsupported," saidMcRae respectfully.
"How—not unsupported?"
"No, my lord. The judge had for witnesses the three negroes, and—"
"The three negroes!" exclaimed the viscount, recoiling in amazement; but quickly recovering his presence of mind, he added: "Oh! aye! of course! they ran off with my plate, and I suppose they have succeeded in effectually secreting it and eluding discovery. And now I suspect they have been looked up by their old master and persuaded to appear as false witnesses against me. Ha, ha, ha! what a weak device! I am amazed that any magistrate should have ventured upon such testimony to have issued a warrant for my apprehension."
"I beg your pardon, my lord; but theirs was not the only testimony. There were several gentlemen present, fellow-voyagers of Judge Merlin, who testified to the finding of the negroes in a state of slavery in Cuba; their testimony corroborates that of the negroes," said McRae.
Lord Vincent went pale as death.
"What does that mean? Oh, I see! it is all a conspiracy," he said, with an ineffectual effort at derision.
But at that moment there was a bustle outside; the door was thrown open, and another prisoner was brought in by two policemen.
"What is the matter? Who is it now?" inquired McRae, going forward.
"We have got him, sir," said a constable.
"Who?" demanded McRae.
"The murderer, sir!" answered the policeman, at the same moment dragging into view the assassin of Ailsie Dunbar, the ex-valet of Lord Vincent, Alick Frisbie.
Heavily fettered, his knees knocking together, pale and trembling, the wretch stood in the middle of the floor.
"Where did you take him?" inquired McRae.
"At the 'Bagpipes,' Peterhead," replied the successful captor.
"Pray, upon what charge is he arrested?" inquired the viscount, in a shaking voice, that he tried in vain to make steady.
"A trifle of murder, among other fancy performances," said McRae.
At this moment Frisbie caught sight of his master and set up a howl, through which his words were barely audible:
"Oh, my lord, you will never betray me! You will never be a witness against me! You will never hang me! You promised that you would not!"
"Hold your tongue, you abominable fool! What the fiend are you talking about? Do you forget yourself, sir?" roared the viscount, furious at the fatal folly of his weak accomplice.
"Oh, no, my lord, I do not forget myself! I do not forget anything. I beg your lordship's pardon for speaking, and I will swear to be as silent as the grave, if your lordship will only promise not to—"
"Will you stop short where you are, and not open your mouth again, you insufferable idiot!" thundered the viscount.
Frisbie gulped his last words, whined and crouched like a whipped hound, and subsided into silence.
And soon after this McRae and the other officers who were off duty for the remainder of the night went home and the doors were closed.
A miserable night it was to all within the station house, and especially to that guilty man and woman who had been torn from their luxurious home and confined in this dreary prison. All that could revolt, disgust, and utterly depress human nature seemed gathered within its walls. Here were drunkenness, deadly sickness, and reckless and shameless profanity, all of the most loathsome character. And all this was excruciating torture to a man like Lord Vincent, who, if he was not refined, was at least excessively fastidious. There was no rest; every few minutes the door was opened to receive some new prisoner, some inebriate, or some night-brawler picked up by the watch, and brought in, and then would ensue another scene of confusion.
An endless night it seemed, yet it came to an end at last, The morning slowly dawned. The pale, cold, gray light of the winter day looked sadly through the falling snow into the closely-grated, dusty windows. And upon what a scene it looked. Men were there, scattered over the floor and upon the benches in every stage of intoxication; some stupid, some reckless, some despairing; some sound asleep; some waking up and yawning, and some walking about impatiently.
As the day broadened and the hour arrived for the sitting of the police magistrate, the policemen came in and marched off the crowd of culprits to a hall in another part of the building, where they were to be examined. Even the women were marched out from the inner room after the men. It seemed that all the lighter offenders were to be disposed of first.
Lord Vincent and Frisbie were left alone in charge of one officer.
"When are we to be examined?" demanded the viscount haughtily of this man.
"I dinna ken," he answered, composedly lighting his pipe and smoking away.
Lord Vincent paced up and down the wet and dirty stone floor, until at length the door opened and McRae, the officer who arrested him, entered.
"Ah, you have come at last. I wish to be informed why we have been left here all this time? Everyone else has been removed," exclaimed the viscount.
"My lord, those poor creatures who were brought here during the night were not arrested for any grave offense. Some were brought in only to keep them from perishing in the snowstorm, and others for drunkenness or disorder. The sitting police magistrate disposes of them. They will mostly be discharged. But you, my lord, are here upon a heavy charge, and you are to go before Sir Alexander McKetchum."
"Why, then, do you not conduct me there? Do you mean to keep me in this beastly place all day?"
"My lord, your examination is fixed for ten o'clock; it is only nine now," said McRae, passing on to the inner room, from which he presently appeared with Faustina.
Wretched did the poor creature look with her pale and tear-stained face, her reddened eyes and disheveled hair; and her rich and elegant white evening dress with its ample skirts and lace flounces bedraggled and bedabbled with all the filth of the station house.
"I have had a horrid night! I have been in worse than purgatory. I have not closed my eyes. I wish I was dead. See what you have brought me to, Malcolm! And—only look at my dress!" sobbed the woman.
"Your dress! That is just exactly what I am looking at. A pretty dress that to be seen in. What the demon do you think people will take you for?" sneered his lordship.
"I do not know! I do not care! poor trampled lily that I am!"
"Poor trampled fool! Why didn't you change that Merry Andrew costume for something plainer and decenter before you left the castle?"
"Why didn't you tell me to do it, then? I never thought of it.Besides, I didn't know what this beast of a station house was like.No carpets, no beds, no servants. And I'm dying for want of themall. And now I must have my breakfast. Why don't you order it,Malcolm?" she whimpered.
"I am afraid they do not provide breakfasts any more than they do other luxuries for the guests of this establishment," replied the viscount, with a malignant laugh.
"But I shall starve, then," said the poor little animal, bursting into tears.
"I cannot help it," replied the viscount, very much in the same tone as if he had said: "I do not care."
But here McRae spoke:
"My lord, there is nearly an hour left before we shall go before the magistrate. If you wish, therefore, you can send out to some hotel and order your breakfast brought to you here."
"Thank you; I will avail myself of your suggestion. Whom can I send?" inquired the viscount.
"Christie, you can go for his lordship," said McRae to his subordinate, who had just entered the hall.
Christie came forward to take the order.
"What will you have?" inquired Lord Vincent, curtly addressing his "sweet angel."
"Oh, some strong coffee with cream, hot rolls with fresh butter, and broiled moor hen with currant jelly," replied Faustina.
Lord Vincent wrote his order down with a pencil on a leaf of his tablets, tore it out and gave it to Christie, saying:
"Take this to the 'Highlander' and tell them to send the breakfast immediately. Also inquire for my servant, Cuthbert Allan, who is stopping there, and order him to put my horses to the carriage and bring them around here for my use."
The man bowed civilly and went out to do this errand.
In about half an hour he returned, accompanied by a waiter from the "Highlander," bringing the breakfast piled up on a large tray, unfolded the cloth and spread it upon one of the benches and arranged the breakfast upon it.
"Did you see my servant?" inquired Lord Vincent of his messenger.
"Yes, me laird, and gi'e him your order. The carriage will be round," replied the man.
As the viscount and his companion drew their bench up to the other bench upon which their morning meal was laid, Mr. Frisbie, who had been sitting in a remote corner of the hall with his head buried on his knees, got up and humbly stood before them, as if silently offering his services to wait at table.
"He here!" exclaimed Faustina, in amazement.
"Yes, he is in the same boat with us. Go sit down, Frisbie; we don't need you," said Lord Vincent. And the ex-valet retired and crouched in his corner like a repulsed dog.
Trouble did not take away the appetite of Mrs. Dugald. It does not ever have that effect upon constitutions in which the animal nature largely preponderates. She ate, drank, and wept, and so got through a very hearty repast. Lord Vincent, having swallowed a single cup of coffee, which constituted the whole of his breakfast, sat and watched her performances with unconcealed scorn.
Before Faustina got through Officer McRae began impatiently to consult his large silver turnip.
"It is time to go," he said at length.
But Faustina continued to suck the bones of the moor hen, between her trickling tears.
"We must not keep the magistrate waiting," said McRae.
But Faustina continued to suck and cry.
"I am sorry to hurry you, madam; but we must go," said McRae decisively.
"Ah, bah! what a beastly place! where a poor little lady is not permitted to eat her breakfast in peace!" she exclaimed, throwing down the delicate bone at which she had been nibbling, and fiercely starting up.
As she had not removed her bonnet and cloak during the whole night she was quite ready.
As they were going out Lord Vincent pointed to Frisbie and inquired:
"Is not that fellow to go?"
"No; he is in upon a heavier charge, you know, my lord. Your examination precedes his," said McRae, as he conducted his prisoners into the street, leaving Mr. Frisbie to solace himself with the remnants of Faustina's breakfast, guarded by Christie.
The viscount's carriage was drawn up before the door.
"Is it hame, me laird I" inquired old Cuthbert, touching his hat, from the coachman's box.
"No. You are to take your directions from this person," replied his lordship sullenly, as he hurried into the carriage to conceal himself and his fettered wrists from the passers-by.
McRae put Mrs. Dugald into the carriage, and then jumped up and seated himself on the box beside the coachman, and directed him where to drive.
The snow was still falling fast, and the streets were nearly blocked up.
Ay, think upon the cause—Forget it not: when you lie down to rest,Let it be black among your dreams; and whenThe morn returns, so let it stand betweenThe sun and you, as an ill-omened cloud,Upon a summer's day of festival.—Byron.
After a drive of about twenty minutes through the narrow streets the carriage stopped before the town hall. McRae jumped down from the box and assisted his prisoners to alight.
"Will I wait, me laird?" inquired old Cuthbert, in a desponding tone.
"Certainly, you old blockhead!" was the courteous reply of the viscount, as he followed his conductor into the building.
McRae, who had Mrs. Dugald on his arm, led the way through a broad stone passage, blocked up with the usual motley crowd of such a place, into an anteroom, half filled with prisoners, guarded by policemen, and waiting their turn for examination, and thence into an inner room, where, in a railed-off compartment at the upper end, and behind a long table, sat the magistrate, Sir Alexander McKetchum, and his clerk, attended by several law officers.
"Here are the prisoners, your worship," said McRae, advancing with his charge to the front of the table.
Sir Alexander looked up. He was a tall, raw-boned, sinewy old Gael, with high features, a lively, red face, blue eyes, white hair and side whiskers, and an accent as broad as Cuthbert's own. He was apparently a man of the people.
"Malcolm, lad, I am verra sorry to see your father's son here on such a charge," he said.
"I am here by your warrant, sir! it is altogether a very extraordinary proceeding!" said the viscount haughtily.
"Not mare extraordinary than painful, lad," said the magistrate.
"Who are my accusers, sir?" demanded the viscount, as if he was in ignorance of them.
"Ye sall sune see, me laird. Johnstone, have the witnesses in this case arrived?" he inquired, turning to one of his officers.
"Yes, your worship."
"Then bring them in."
Johnstone departed upon his errand; and the magistrate turned his eyes upon the prisoners before him.
"Eh, it is a bonnie lassie, to be here on such a charge," he muttered to himself, as he looked at Faustina, standing, trembling and weeping, before him. Then beckoning the officer who had the prisoners in charge:
"McRae, mon, accommodate the lady with a chair. Why did ye put fetters on her? Surely there was no need of them."
"There was need, your worship. The 'lady' resisted the warrant, and fought like a Bess o' Bedlam," said McRae, as he set a chair for Faustina.
"Puir bairn! puir, ill-guided bairn!" muttered the old man between his teeth. But before he could utter another word Johnstone re- entered the room, ushering in Judge Merlin, Ishmael Worth, and the three negroes.
"Good Heaven!" exclaimed Faustina, in horror, as her eyes met those of Katie; "it is the ghost of the black negro woman raised from the dead!"
Katie heard this low exclamation, and replied to it by such grotesque and awful grimaces as only the face of the African negro is capable of executing.
"No, it is herself. There are no such things as ghosts. It is herself, and I have been deceived," muttered Faustina to herself. And then she fell into silence.
Perhaps Lord Vincent had not altogether credited McRae's statement, made to him at the station house, for certainly his eyes opened with consternation on seeing this party enter the room.
Johnstone marshaled them to their appointed places on the right hand of the magistrate.
On turning around Ishmael met full the eyes of the viscount. Ishmael gravely bowed and averted his head. He could not be otherwise than courteous under any circumstances; and he could not bear to look upon a fellowman in his degradation, no matter how well that degradation was deserved.
Judge Merlin also bowed, as he looked upon his worthless son-in-law; but the judge's bow was full of irony as his face was full of scorn.
The magistrate looked up from the document he was reading and acknowledged the presence of the new arrivals with a bow. Then turning to the prisoner he said:
"Malcolm, lad, this is an unco ill-looking accusation they hae brought against you; kidnaping and slave-trading, na less—a sort of piracy, ye ken, lad! What hae ye to say till it?"
"What have I to say to it, sir? Why, simply that it has taken me so by surprise that I can find nothing to say but that I am astounded at the effrontery of any man who could bring such a charge against me, and at the fatuity, if you will excuse my terming it so, of any magistrate who could issue a warrant against me upon such a charge," said the viscount haughtily.
"Nay, nay, lad! nay, nay! I had guid grounds for what I did, as ye shall hear presently, and noo, gen ye hae na objection, we will proceed wi' the investigation——"
"But I have an objection, sir! I tell you this has taken me utterly by surprise. I am totally unprepared for it. I must have time, I must have counsel," said the viscount with much heat.
"Then I maun remand ye for another examination," replied SirAlexander McKetchum coolly.
"But I object to that, also. I object to be kept in confinement while there is nothing proved against me, and I demand my liberty," said the viscount insolently.
"Why dinna ye demaund the moon and stars, laddie? I could gi'e them to ye just as sune," replied Sir Alexander.
"You have no right to detain me in custody!" fiercely broke forthLord Vincent.
"Whisht, lad, I hae no richt to set you at leeberty."
Here old Katie, whose eyes had been snapping whole volleys of vindictive fire upon the prisoners, broke out into words before Judge Merlin or Ishmael could possibly prevent her.
"Don't you let him go, ole marse! he's one nasty, 'ceitful, lyin', white nigger as ebber libbed! He did do it, and he needn't 'ny it, not while I'm standin' here! Don't you let him go, ole marse! he's cunnin' as de debbil, and he'd run away, sure as ebber you's born! You take my 'vice and don't you let him go! he artful as ole Sam!"
"Katie, Katie, Katie!" remonstrated Ishmael, in a low voice.
"So he is, den! and he knows it himse'f, too! Yes, you is, you grand vilyun! Ah, ha! 'member how you stood dere cussin' and swearin' and callin' names, and sassin' at me, hard as ebber you could! Oh, ho! I telled you den how it was goin' to be! You didn't beliebe me, didn't you? Berry well, den! Now you see! now it's my turn!"
"Katie, be silent!" ordered Judge Merlin in a low tone.
"Yes, marse, yes, chile, I gwine be silent arter I done ease my mind speaking. Umph, humph!" she said, turning again to the unhappy prisoner. "Umph, humph! thought you and dat whited salt-peter was gwine gobern de world all your own way, didn't you? Heave me down in de wault to sleep long o' de rats, didn't you? Ah, ha! where you sleep las' night—and where you gwine to sleep to-night? Not in your feathery bed, dat's sartain! Send me 'cross de seas, to lib long ob de barbariums in de Stingy Islands, didn't you? Oh, ho! where you gwine be sent 'cross de seas? Not on a party ob pleasure, dat sartain, too! Ebber hear tell ob Bottommy Bay, eh? Dere where you gwine. Tell you good."
Here Sir Alexander, who had been gazing in speechless astonishment upon what seemed to him to be an incomprehensible phenomenon, recovered himself, found his voice, and said to Judge Merlin, very much as if he were speaking of some half-tamed wild animal:
"Keep that creature quiet or she must be removed."
"Katie," said Ishmael gently, "you would not like to be taken from the courtroom, would you?"
"No! 'cause I don't want to be parted from my lordship. I lubs him so well!" replied Katie, with a vindictive snap of her eyes.
"Then you must be silent," said Ishmael, "or you will be sent away."
"Look here, ole marse!" said Katie, addressing the bench, "he had his sassagefaction sassin' at me dere at Scraggy! now it's my turn! And I gwine gib it to him good, too. Say, my lordship! sold me to a low life 'fectioner to work in de kitchen—didn't you! Umph-humph! What you gwine to work at? not crickets, dat's sartain! Ebber try to take your recreation in de quarries wid a big ball and chain to your leg, eh? And an oberseer wid a long whip, ha?" she grinned.
"Sir, if you have been sufficiently well entertained with this exhibition of gorilla intelligence and malignity, will you have the goodness to put a stop to the performance and proceed with the business of the day?" asked Lord Vincent arrogantly.
"Aye, lad! though, as ye ask for a short delay of proceeding, in order to get your counsel, which is but reasonable, there is no business on hand but just to remand you and your companion—puir lassie!—back to prison, for future examination," said the magistrate. Then turning to a policeman, he said: "If that strange creature becomes disorderly again, remove her from the room."
"Nebber mind, ole marse! he no call for to take de trouble. I done said all I gwine to say and now I gwine to shut up my mouf tight. I'd scorn to hit a man arter he's down," said Katie, bridling with a lofty assumption of magnanimity. And as she really did shut her mouth fast, the point of expulsion was not pressed.
"And noo, lad, naething remains but to send you back," said SirAlexander.
"I remarked to you before, sir, that I object to be remanded to prison, since nothing is proved against me. I totally object!" said the viscount stubbornly.
"Aye, lad, it appears too that ye object to maist things in legal procedure; the whilk is but natural, ye ken, for what saith the poet?
"'Nae thief e'er felt the halter drawWi' guid opinion o' the law,'"
replied the magistrate, with a touch of caustic humor.
"But, sir, I am ready to give bail to any amount."
"It will na do, lad. The accusation is too grave a one. Nae doubt ye would gi'e me bail, and leg bail to the boot o' that. Na, Malcolm, ye hae had your fling, lad, and noo yee'll just hae to abide the consequences," replied the magistrate, taking up a pen to sign a document that his clerk laid before him.
"Then I hope, sir, that since we are to be kept in restraint, we shall be placed in something like human quarters; and not in that den of wild beasts, your filthy police station," said the viscount.
"Ou, aye, surely, lad. Ye shall be made as comfortable as is consistent wi' your safe-keeping. Christie, take the prisoners to the jail, and ask the governor to put them in the best cells at his disposal, as a special favor to mysel'. And ask him also in my name to be kind and considerate to the female prisoner—puir lassie!" said the magistrate, handing the document to the policeman in question.
"Ole marse—" began Katie, breaking her word, and addressing the bench.
"The court is adjourned," said the magistrate, rising.
"But, ole marse—" repeated Katie.
"Remove the prisoners," he said, coming down from his seat.
"Yes, but, ole marse—" she persisted.
"Dismiss the witnesses!" he ordered, passing on.
"Laws bless my soul alive, can't a body speak to you?" exclaimedKatie, catching hold of his coat and detaining him.
"What is it that you want, creature?" demanded Sir Alexander, in astonishment.
"Only one parting word to 'lighten your mind, ole marse! Which it is dis: Just now you called dat whited salt-peter here a pure lassie, which, beggin' your pardon, is 'fernally false, dough you don't know it! 'cause if she's pure, all de wus ob de poor mis'able gals ye might pick up out'n de streets is hebbenly angels, cherrybims, and serryfims. Dere now, dat's de trufe! Don't go and say I didn't tell you!" And Katie let go his coat.
And with a bow to Judge Merlin and his party as he passed them, SirAlexander left the room.
The prisoners were removed—Faustina weeping, and the viscount affecting to sneer.
Judge Merlin and Ishmael went forth arm-in-arm. Of late the old man needed the support of the young one in walking. Sorrow and anxiety, more than age and infirmity, had bowed and weakened him. As the friends walked on, their conversation turned on the case in hand.
"The magistrate seems disposed to be very lenient," said the judge, in a discontented tone of voice.
"Not too lenient, I think, sir. He is evidently very kindly disposed towards the prisoner, with whose family he seems to be personally acquainted; but, notwithstanding all that, you observe, he is conscientiously rigid in the discharge of his magisterial duties in this case. He would not accept bail for the prisoner, although by stretching a point he might have done so," replied Ishmael.
"I wonder if he knew that? I wonder if he really knew the extent and limit of his power as a magistrate? I doubt it. I fancy he refused bail in order to keep on the safe side of an uncertainty. For, do you know, he impressed me as being a very illiterate man. Why, he speaks as broadly as the rudest Scotch laborer I have met with yet! He must be an illiterate man."
"Oh, no, sir; you are quite mistaken in him. Sir Alexander McKetchum is a ripe scholar, an accomplished mathematician, an extensive linguist, and last of all, a profound lawyer. He graduated at the celebrated law school of Glasgow University; at least so I'm assured by good authority," replied Ishmael.
"And speaks in a lingo as barbarous as that of our own negroes!" exclaimed the judge.
Ishmael smiled and said:
"I have also been informed that his early life was passed in poverty and obscurity, until the death of a distant relation suddenly enriched him and afforded him the means of paying his expenses at the University. Perhaps he clings to his rustic style of speech from the force of early habit, or from affection for the accent of his childhood, or from the spirit of independence, or from all three of these motives, or from no motive at all. However, with the style of his pronunciation we have nothing whatever to do. All that we are concerned about is his honesty and ability as a magistrate; and that appears to me to be beyond question."
"Oh, yes, yes, I dare say, he will do his duty. I am pleased that he refused bail and remanded the prisoners."
"Yes, he did his duty in that matter, though it must have been a very disagreeable one. And now, sir, as the prisoners are remanded and we have nothing more to detain us in Banff, had we not better return immediately to Edinboro'?" suggested Ishmael; for you see, ever since the news of his daughter's misfortunes had shaken the old man's strength, it was Ishmael who had to watch over him, to think for him and to shape his course.
"Y—yes; perhaps we had. But when I return to Edinboro', I go toCameron Court," said the judge hesitatingly.
"The best place for you, sir, beyond all question."
"Yes; and by the way, Ishmael, I am charged with an invitation from the Countess of Hurstmonceux to yourself, inviting you to accompany me on my visit to her ladyship. Do you think you would like to accept it?"
"Very much indeed. I have a very pleasant remembrance of Lady Hurstmonceux, though I doubt whether her ladyship will be able to recollect me," said Ishmael with a smile.
The judge was somewhat surprised at this ready acquiescence. After a short hesitation, he said:
"Do you know that Claudia is staying at Cameron Court?"
"Why, certainly. It was for that reason I favored your going there. It is, besides, under the circumstances, the most desirable residence for Lady Vincent."
This reply was made in so calm a manner that any latent doubt or fear entertained by the judge that there might be something embarrassing or unpleasant to Ishmael in his prospective meeting with Claudia was set at rest forever.
But how would Claudia bear this meeting? How would she greet the abandoned lover of her youth? That was the question that now troubled the judge.
It did not trouble Ishmael, however. He had no doubts or misgivings on the subject. True, he also remembered that there had been a long and deep attachment between himself and Claudia Merlin; but it had remained unspoken, unrevealed. And Claudia in her towering pride had turned from him in his struggling poverty, and had married for rank and title another, whom she despised; and he had conquered his ill- placed passion and fixed his affections upon a lovelier maiden. But that all belonged to the past. And now, safe in his pure integrity and happy love, he felt no sort of hesitation in meeting Lady Vincent, especially as he knew that, in order to save her ladyship effectually, it was necessary that he should see her personally.
But Ishmael never lost sight of the business immediately in hand. Their walk from the town hall towards their hotel took them immediately past the Aberdeen stage-coach office. Here Ishmael stopped a moment, to secure places for himself and company in the coach that started at eleven o'clock.
"We shall only have time to reach the hotel and pack our portmanteaus before the coach will call for us. It is a hasty journey; but then it will enable us to catch the afternoon train at Aberdeen, and reach Edinboro' early in the evening," said Ishmael.
And the judge acquiesced.
When they entered the inn, they found that the professor and the three negroes were there before them.
Ishmael gave the requisite orders, and they were so promptly executed that when, a few minutes later, the coach called, the whole party was ready to start. The judge and Ishmael rode inside, and the professor and the three negroes on the outside; and thus they journeyed to Aberdeen, where they arrived in time to jump on board the express train that left at two o'clock for Edinboro'. They reached Edinboro' at five o'clock in the afternoon, and drove immediately to Magruder's Hotel. Here they stopped only long enough to change their traveling dresses and dine. And then, leaving the three negroes in charge of the professor, they set out in a cab for Cameron Court. It was eight o'clock in the evening when they arrived and sent in their cards.
The countess and Claudia were at tea in the little drawing room when the cards were brought in.
"Show the gentlemen into this room," said Lady Hurstmonceux to the servant who had brought them.
And in a few minutes the door was thrown open and—"Judge Merlin andMr. Worth" were announced.
The countess arose to welcome her guests.
But Claudia felt all her senses reel as the room seemed to turn around with her.
Judge Merlin shook hands with his hostess and presented Ishmael to her, and then, leaving them speaking together, he advanced to embrace his daughter.
"My dearest Claudia, all is well. We have settled the whole party, the viscount, the valet, and the woman. They are lodged in jail, and are safe to meet the punishment of their crimes," he said, as he folded her to his bosom.
But oh! why did her heart beat so wildly, throbbing almost audibly against her father's breast?
He held her there for a few seconds; it was as long as he decently could, and then, gently releasing her, he turned towards Ishmael, and beckoning him to approach, said:
"My daughter, here is an old friend come to see you. Welcome him."
Ishmael advanced and bowed gravely.
"I am glad to see you, Mr. Worth," said Claudia in a low voice, as she held out her hand.
He took it, bowed over it, and said:
"I hope I find you well, Lady Vincent."
And then as he raised his head their eyes met; his eyes—those sweet, truthful, earnest, dark eyes, inherited from his mother—were full of the most respectful sympathy. But hers—oh, hers!
She did not mean to look at him so; but sometimes the soul in a crisis of agony will burst all bounds and reveal itself, though such revelation were fraught with fate. Grief, shame, remorse, and passionate regret for the lost love and squandered happiness that might have been hers, were all revealed in the thrilling, pathetic, deprecating gaze with which she once more met the eyes of her girlhood's young worshiper, her worshiper no longer.
"Of all sad words of tongue or penThe saddest are these: 'It might have been.'"
Only for an instant did she forget herself; and then Claudia Merlin was repressed and Lady Vincent reinstated. Her voice was calm as she replied:
"It is very kind in you, Mr. Worth, to some so long a distance, at so great a cost to your professional interests, for the sake of obliging my father and serving me."
"I would have come ten times the distance, at ten times the cost, to have obliged or served either," replied Ishmael earnestly, as he resigned her hand, which until then he had held.
"I believe you would. I know you would. I thank you more than I can say," she answered.
"Have you been to tea, Judge Merlin?" inquired the countess hospitably.
"No, madam; but will be very glad of a cup," answered the judge, pleased with any divertisement.
Lady Hurstmonceux rang, and ordered fresh tea and toast and more cups and saucers. And the party seated themselves. And thus the embarrassment of that dreaded meeting was overgot.
While they sipped their tea the judge exerted himself to be interesting. He gave a graphic account of the scene in the magistrate's office; the assumption of haughty dignity and defiance on the part of the viscount; the pitiable terrors of the ex-opera singer; the vindictive triumph of Katie; and the broad accent, caustic humor, and official obstinacy of the magistrate. Ishmael, when appealed to, assisted his memory. Claudia was gravely interested. But Lady Hurstmonceux was excessively amused.
They were surprised to hear that further proceedings were deferred; but they at last admitted that they would be obliged to be patient under "the law's delays."
After tea, fearing that her guests were in danger of "moping," Lady Hurstmonceux proposed a game of whist, saying playfully that it was very seldom she was so fortunate as to have the right number of evening visitors to form a rubber.
And as no one gainsaid their hostess, the tea service was taken away, the table cleared, and the cards brought. They seated themselves and cut for partners; and Claudia and her father were pitted against Lady Hurstmonceux and Ishmael.
Do you wonder at this? Do you wonder that people who had just passed through scenes of great trouble, and were on the eve, yes, in the very midst of a fatal crisis, people whose minds were filled with sorrow, humiliation, and intense anxiety, should gather around a table for a quiet game of whist; yes, and enjoy it, too?
Why, if you will take time to reflect, you will remember that such things are done in our parlors and drawing rooms every day and night in our lives. Our thoughts, our passions, our troubles, are put down, covered over, ignored, and we—play whist, get interested in honors and odd tricks, and win or lose the rub; or do something equally at variance with the inner life, that lives on all the same.
Our party spent a pleasant week at Cameron Court.
Ishmael occupied himself with making notes for the approaching trials, or with visiting the historical monuments of the neighborhood.
Judge Merlin devoted himself to his daughter.
Lady Hurstmonceux studied the comfort of her guests, and succeeded in securing it.
And thus the days passed until they received an official summons to appear before Sir Alexander McKetchum at the examination of Lord Vincent and Mrs. Dugald.
With pallid cheeks and haggard eyes,And loud laments and heartfelt sighs,Unpitied, hopeless of relief,She drinks the cup of bitter grief.
In vain the sigh, in rain the tear,Compassion never enters here;But justice clanks the iron chainAnd calls forth shame, remorse, and pain.—Anon
The same carriage that brought Lord Vincent and Mrs. Dugald to the town hall conveyed them from that place to the county jail.
There Lord Vincent finally dismissed it, sending it home to the castle, and instructing Cuthbert to pack up some changes of clothing and his dressing-case and a few books and to bring them to him at the prison.
Mrs. Dugald at the same time stopped crying long enough to order the old man to ask Mrs. MacDonald to put up all that might be necessary to her comfort for a week, and dispatch it by the same messenger that should bring Lord Vincent's effects.
These arrangements concluded, the carriage drove away and Policeman McRae conducted his prisoners into the jail. He took them first into the warden's room, where he produced the warrant for their commital and delivered them up.
The warden, "Auld Saundie Gra'ame," as he was familiarly styled, was a tall, gaunt, hard-favored old Scot, who had been too many years in his present position to be astonished at any description of prisoner that might be confined to his custody. In his public service of more than a quarter of a century he had had turned over to his tender mercies more than one elegantly dressed female, and many more than one titled scamp. So, without evincing the least surprise, he simply took the female prisoner, named in the warrant "Faustina Dugald," to be—just what she was—a fallen angel who had dropped into the clutches of the law; and the male prisoner, named in the warrant "Malcolm Dugald, Viscount Vincent," to be—what he was—a noble rogue, guilty of being found out.
While he was reading the warrants, entering their names in his books, and writing out a receipt for their "bodies," Lord Vincent stood with his fettered hands clasped, his head bowed upon his chest, and his countenance set in grim endurance; and Faustina stood wringing her hands, weeping, and moaning, and altogether making a good deal of noise.
"Whisht, whisht, bairnie! dinna greet sae loud! Hech! but ye mak' din eneugh to deave a miller!" expostulated the warden, as he handed the receipt to McRae and turned his regards to the female prisoner.
But the only effect of his words upon Faustina was to open the sluices of her tears and make them flow in greater abundance.
"Eh, lassie, 'tis pity of you too! But hae ye ne'er been tauld that the way o' the transgreesor is haird? and the wages o' sin is deeth?" said the "kindly" Scot.
"But I do not deserve death! I never did kill anybody myself!" whimpered Faustina.
"Wha the de'il said ye did? I was quoting the Book whilk I greatly fear ye dinna aften look into, or ye would na be here noo."
"But I have no right to be here. I never did anything, I, myself, to deserve such treatment. It was Lord Vincent's fault. It was he who brought me to this!" whined Faustina.
"Nae doobt! nae doobt at a'! He's ane o' the natural enemies o' your sex, ye ken. And ye suld o' thocht o' that before ye trusted him sae far."
"I did not trust him at all. And I do not know what you mean by your insinuations, you horrid old red-headed beast!" cried Faustina.
"Whisht! whisht! haud your tongue, woman! Dinna be sae abusive! Fou' words du nae guid, as I aften hae occasion to impress upon the malefactors that are brocht here for safe-keeping," said the jailer, as he turned and looked around upon the underlings in attendance. Then beckoning one of the turnkeys to him, he said:
"Here, Cuddie, tak' this lass into the north corridor o' the women's ward; and when ye hae her safe in the cell, ye maun knock off the irons fra her wrists. Gang wi' Cuddie, lass; an dinna be fashed; he's nae a bad chiel."
Cuddie, a big, honest, good-natured looking brute, took a bunch of great keys from their hook on the wall and signing for his prisoner to follow him, turned to depart.
But Faustina showed no disposition to obey the order. And McRae, who had lingered in the room, now turned to the warden and said:
"If you please, sir, Sir Alexander McKetchum desired me to request you to put these prisoners into as comfortable quarters as you could command, consistent with their safe custody."
"Sir Alexander would do weel to mind his ain business. Wha the de'il gi'e him commission to dictate to me?" demanded the old Scot wrathfully.
"Nay, sir, he only makes the request as a personal favor," saidMcRae deprecatingly.
"Ou, aye, aweel, that's anither thing. Though there's nae muckle of choice amang the cells, for that matter; forbye it's the four points o' the compass, nor', sou', east, and wast. The jail is square and fronts nor', and the cells range accordingly. There's nae better than the nor' corridor o' the women's ward. Tak' the lass awa, Cuddie."
Cuddie laid his hand not unkindly on the shoulder of his prisoner, and Faustina, seeing at last that resistance was quite in vain, followed him out.
"Noo, Donald, mon," said the jailer, beckoning another turnkey, "convey his lairdship to the sou-wast corner cell in the men's ward. It has the advantage of twa windows and mare sunshine than fa's to the lot o' prison cells in general. And when ye get him there relieve him o' his manacles."
The officer addressed took down his bunch of keys, and turned to his prisoner. But Lord Vincent did not wait for the desecrating hand of the turnkey to be laid upon his shoulder. With a haughty gesture and tone he said:
"Lead the way, fellow; I follow you."
And Donald bowed and preceded his prisoner as if he had been a head- waiter of a fashionable hotel, showing an honored guest to his apartments.
When they were gone the old warden turned to the policeman:
"Will it gae hard wi' them, do ye think, McRae?"
"I think it will send them to penal servitude for twenty years or for life."
Meanwhile Cuddie conducted his prisoner through long lines of close, musty, fetid passages, and up high flights of cold, damp stone stairs, to the very top of the building, where the women's wards were situated.
Here he found a stout old woman, in a linen cap, plaid shawl, and linsey gown, seated at an end window, with her feet upon a foot- stove, and her hands engaged in knitting a stocking.
She was Mrs. Ferguson, the female turnkey.
"Here, mither, I hae brocht you anither prisoner," said Cuddie, coming up with his charge.
The old woman settled her spectacles on her nose, and looked up, taking a deliberate survey of the newcomer, as she said:
"Hech! the quean is unco foine; they be braw claes to come to prison in. Eh, Cuddie, I wad suner hae any ither than ane o' these hizzies brocht in."
"But, mither, the word is that she maun be made comfortable," saidCuddie.
"Ou, aye—nae doobt! she will be some callant's light o' luve, wha hae a plenty o' siller!" replied the old woman scornfully, as she rose from her place and led the way to the door of a cell about halfway down the same corridor.
"Ye'll pit her in here. It will be as guid as anither," she said.
Cuddie detached a certain key from his bunch and handed it to her. She opened the door, and they entered. The cell was a small stone chamber, six feet by eight, with one small grated window, facing the door. On the right of the window was a narrow bed, filling up that side of the cell; on the left was a rusty stove; that was all; there was no chair, no table, no strip of carpet on the cold stone floor; all was comfortless, desolate.
Faustina burst into a fresh flood of tears as she threw herself upon the wretched bed.
"Let me tak' aff the fetters," said Cuddie gently.
Faustina arose to a sitting position, and held up her hands.
Cuddie, with some trouble, got them off, but so awkwardly that he bruised and grazed her wrists in doing so, while Faustina wept piteously and railed freely. Cuddie was too good-natured to mind the railing, but the dame fired up:
"Haud your growlin', ye ne'er-do well! Gin ye had your deserts, for a fou'-mouthed jaud, ye'd be in a dark cell on bread and water!"
"Whisht! whisht, mither! Let her hae the length o' her tongue, puir lass! It does her guid, and it does me na hurt. There, lass—the airns are aff, and if you'll o'ny put your kershief aroun' your bonnie wrists they'll sune be weel eneugh."
"Take me away! take me away from that horrid ol woman!" criedFaustina, turning her wrath upon the dame and appealing to Cuddie.
"Whisht! dinna ye mind her. She's a puir dolted auld carline," said Cuddie, in a voice happily too low to reach the ear of said "carline."
"Ye maunna guid her siccan a sair gait, mither," said Cuddie, as they left the cell.
"I doobt she has guided hersel' an uco' ill ane," retorted the dame.
Faustina was left sitting on the side of the hard bed, weeping bitterly. She did not throw off her bonnet or cloak. She could not make herself at home in this wretched den. Besides, it was bitterly cold; there was no fire in the rusty stove and she wrapped her sables more closely around her.
She remained there in the same position, cowering, shivering and weeping, for two or three miserable hours, when she was at length broken in upon by the old dame, who brought in her prison dinner— coarse beef broth, in a tin can, with an iron spoon, and a thick hunk or oatmeal bread on a tin plate.
"What is that!" ask Faustina.
"Your dinner. Is it na guid o' the authorities to feed the like o' you for naething?"
"My dinner! ugh! Do you think I am going to swallow that swill—fit only for pigs?" exclaimed Faustina, in disgust.
"Hech, sirs! what's the warld comming to? It is guid broose, verra guid broose, that many an honest woman would be unco glad to hae for hersel' and her puir bairns, forbyeyou!" said the dame wrathfully.
"Take it away! the sight of it makes me ill!"
"Verra weel; just as you please. I'll set it here, till ye come to your stomach," said the dame, setting the can and plate down upon the stone floor, for there was no other place to put them.
"I want a fire—I am frozen!" cried Faustina.
"Why did na ye say sae before?" growled the dame, going out.
In a few minutes she came back, bringing coals and kindlings and lighted the fire, and then retreated as sullenly as she had entered. Faustina drew near the stove, and sat down upon the floor to hover over it.
When she grew warm her eyes began to glitter dangerously. She turned herself around and surveyed the place. Like the frozen viper thawed to life, her first instinct was to bite.
"I would like to set fire to the prison !" she said.
But a moment's reflection proved to her the folly of this impulse. If she should use the fire in her stove for such incendiary purposes, herself would be the only thing burned up; the cell of stone and its furniture of iron would escape with a smoking.
She put off her bonnet and her sables—the first time since the night before, and she threw herself upon the bed, and lay there in a torment until six o'clock in the evening, when the door was once more unlocked by the dame, who brought her the prison supper—a tin can of oatmeal porridge.
"Here's your parritch; ye may eat it or leave it, just as ye please," said the woman, setting the can on the floor.
"I want some tea! I will have none of your filthy messes! Bring me some tea!" cried Faustina.
"I wish ye may get it, lassie, that's a'," answered the dame, as she went out and locked the door behind her.
That was the last visit Faustina had that night. She lay on her hard bed, weeping, moaning, and lamenting her fate, until the last light of day died out of the narrow window, and left the cell in darkness, but for the dim red ray in the corner, that showed where the fire in the rusty stove burned. And still she lay there, until the pangs of hunger began to assail her. These she bore some time before she could overcome her repugnance to the prison fare. At length, however, she arose and groped her way about the stone floor until she found the can of beef broth, which, upon trying, she discovered to taste better than it looked. She ate it all; then she ate the hunk of bread; and finally she finished with the oatmeal porridge. And, then, without undressing, she threw herself on the outside of her bed; and, overcome with fatigue, distress, and vigilance, she fell into a deep sleep that lasted until the morning.
It might have lasted much longer, but she was aroused about seven o'clock, by the entrance of her keeper, bringing her breakfast.
"Eh!" said the dame, glancing at the empty cans, "but I thocht ye would come to your stomach. Here's your breakfast."
Faustina raised herself up and gazed around in a bewildered way, but she soon recollected herself, and looked inquiringly at her keeper.
"It's your breakfast," said the latter; "it's guid rye coffee, sweeted wi' treacle, and a braw bit o' bannock."
"I want water and soap and towels," said Faustina, in an angry, peremptory manner.
"Ou, aye, nae doobt; and ye would like a lady's maid, and perfumery 'till your toilet. Aweel, there is a stone jug and bowl of water, and a hempen clout ahint the stove, gin that will serve your purpose," said the dame, setting down the breakfast, and gathering the empty cans from the floor as she left the cell.
Faustina, poor wretch, made such a toilet as her rude providings enabled her to do, and then, with what appetite she might, made her morning meal. And then she sat on the edge of her bed and cried and wished herself dead.
At about eleven o'clock she heard footsteps and voices approaching the cell. And the door was opened by the turnkey, who ushered in Mrs. MacDonald, followed by a servant from the castle, bringing a large box and a basket.
The servant set down his burdens and retired with the turnkey, who immediately locked the door.
And not until then, when they were left alone, did this precious pair of female friends rush into each other's arms, Faustina bursting into tears and sobbing violently on the bosom of Mrs. MacDonald, and Mrs. MacDonald wheedling, caressing, and soothing Faustina.
"Mine pet, mine darling, mine bonny bairn," were some of the epithets of endearment bestowed by the lady upon her favorite.
"Oh, madame, what a purgatory of a place, and what demons of people!" Faustina cried.
"Yes, my sweet child, yes, I know it! but bear up!"
"Nothing fit to eat, or drink, or sleep on, or sit down, or even to wash with; and no one to speak a civil word to me!" wailed Faustina, still dwelling upon present inconveniences rather than, thinking of the future perils.
"Yes, my dear, yes, I know; but now, sit you down and see what I have brought you," said Mrs. MacDonald, gently forcing Faustina to seat herself upon the side of the bed.
"Look at my poor dress," said Faustina, pointing down to the delicate white evening dress in which she had been arrested, and which was now crumpled, torn, and stained.