Man and Wife

  "Come! come! " said Arnold to Anne. "There's a comic side to all

  this. Try and see it as I do."

  Mr. Bishopriggs returned from the window, and announced the

  appearance of a new element of embarrassment in the situation at

  the inn.

  "My certie!" he said, "it's weel ye cam' when ye did. It's ill

  getting to this hottle in a storm."

  Anne started. and looked round at him. "A storm coming!" she

  exclaimed.

  "Eh! ye're well hoosed here--ye needn't mind it. There's the

  cloud down the valley," he added, pointing out of the window,"

  coming up one way, when the wind's blawing the other. The storm's

  brewing, my leddy, when ye see that!"

  There was another knock at the door. As Arnold had predicted, the

  landlady made her appearance on the scene.

  "I ha' just lookit in, Sir," said Mrs. Inchbare, addressing

  herself exclusively to Arnold, "to see ye've got what ye want."

  "Oh! you are the landlady? Very nice, ma'am--very nice."

  Mistress Inchbare had her own private motive for entering the

  room, and came to it without further preface.

  "Ye'll excuse me, Sir," she proceeded. "I wasna in the way when

  ye cam' here, or I suld ha' made bauld to ask ye the question

  which I maun e'en ask noo. Am I to understand that ye hire these

  rooms for yersel', and this leddy here--yer wife?"

  Anne raised her head to speak. Arnold pressed her hand warningly,

  under the table, and silenced her.

  "Certainly," he said. "I take the rooms for myself, and this lady

  here--my wife!"

  Anne made a second attempt to speak.

  "This gentleman--" she began.

  Arnold stopped her for the second time.

  "This gentleman?" repeated Mrs. Inchbare, with a broad stare of

  surprise. "I'm only a puir woman, my leddy--d'ye mean yer husband

  here?"

  Arnold's warning hand touched Anne's, for the third time.

  Mistress Inchbare's eyes remained fixed on her in merciless

  inquiry. To have given utterance to the contradiction which

  trembled on her lips would have been to involve Arnold (after all

  that he had sacrificed for her) in the scandal which would

  inevitably follow--a scandal which would be talked of in the

  neighborhood, and which might find its way to Blanche's ears.

  White and cold, her eyes never moving from the table, she

  accepted the landlady's implied correction, and faintly repeated

  the words: "My husband."

  Mistress Inchbare drew a breath of virtuous relief, and waited

  for what Anne had to say next. Arnold came considerately to the

  rescue, and got her out of the room.

  "Never mind," he said to Anne; "I know what it is, and I'll see

  about it. She's always like this, ma'am, when a storm's coming,"

  he went on, turning to the landlady. "No, thank you--I know how

  to manage her. Well send to you, if we want your assistance."

  "At yer ain pleasure, Sir, " answered Mistress Inchbare. She

  turned, and apologized to Anne (under protest), with a stiff

  courtesy. "No offense, my leddy! Ye'll remember that ye cam' here

  alane, and that the hottle has its ain gude name to keep up."

  Having once more vindicated "the hottle," she made the

  long-desired move to the door, and left the room.

  "I'm faint!" Anne whispered. "Give me some water."

  There was no water on the table. Arnold ordered it of Mr.

  Bishopriggs--who had remained passive in the back-ground (a model

  of discreet attention) as long as the mistress was in the room.

  "Mr. Brinkworth!" said Anne, when they were alone, "you are

  acting with inexcusable rashness. That woman's question was an

  impertinence. Why did you answer it? Why did you force me--?"

  She stopped, unable to finish the sentence. Arnold insisted on

  her drinking a glass of wine--and then defended himself with the

  patient consideration for her which he had shown from the first.

  "Why didn't I have the inn door shut in your face"--he asked,

  good humoredly--"with a storm coming on, and without a place in

  which you can take refuge? No, no, Miss Silvester! I don't

  presume to blame you for any scruples you may feel--but scruples

  are sadly out of place with such a woman as that landlady. I am

  responsible for your safety to Geoffrey; and Geoffrey expects to

  find you here. Let's change the subject. The water is a long time

  coming. Try another glass of wine. No? Well--here is Blanche's

  health" (he took some of the wine himself), "in the weakest

  sherry I ever drank in my life." As he set down his glass, Mr.

  Bishopriggs came in with the water. Arnold hailed him

  satirically. "Well? have you got the water? or have you used it

  all for the sherry?"

  Mr. Bishopriggs stopped in the middle of the room, thunder-struck

  at the aspersion cast on the wine.

  "Is that the way ye talk of the auldest bottle o' sherry wine in

  Scotland?" he asked, gravely. "What's the warld coming to? The

  new generation's a foot beyond my fathoming. The maircies o'

  Providence, as shown to man in the choicest veentages o' Spain,

  are clean thrown away on 'em."

  "Have you brought the water?"

  "I ha' brought the water--and mair than the water. I ha' brought

  ye news from ootside. There's a company o' gentlemen on

  horseback, joost cantering by to what they ca' the shootin'

  cottage, a mile from this."

  "Well--and what have we got to do with it?"

  "Bide a wee! There's ane o' them has drawn bridle at the hottle,

  and he's speerin' after the leddy that cam' here alane. The

  leddy's your leddy, as sure as saxpence. I doot," said Mr.

  Bishopriggs, walking away to the window, "_that's_ what ye've got

  to do with it."

  Arnold looked at Anne.

  "Do you expect any body?"

  "Is it Geoffrey?"

  "Impossible. Geoffrey is on his way to London."

  "There he is, any way," resumed Mr. Bishopriggs, at the window.

  "He's loupin' down from his horse. He's turning this way. Lord

  save us!" he exclaimed, with a start of consternation, "what do I

  see? That incarnate deevil, Sir Paitrick himself!"

  Arnold sprang to his feet.

  "Do you mean Sir Patrick Lundie?"

  Anne ran to the window.

  "It _is_ Sir Patrick!" she said. "Hide yourself before he comes

  in!"

  "Hide myself?"

  "What will he think if he sees you with _me?"_

  He was Blanche's g uardian, and he believed Arnold to be at that

  moment visiting his new property. What he would think was not

  difficult to foresee. Arnold turned for help to Mr. Bishopriggs.

  "Where can I go?"

  Mr. Bishopriggs pointed to the bedroom door.

  "Whar' can ye go? There's the nuptial chamber!"

  "Impossible!"

  Mr. Bishopriggs expressed the utmost extremity of human amazement

  by a long whistle, on one note.

  "Whew! Is that the way ye talk o' the nuptial chamber already?"

  "Find me some other place--I'll make it worth your while."

  "Eh! there's my paintry! I trow that's some other place; and the

  door's at the end o' the passage."

  Arnold h
urried out. Mr. Bishopriggs--evidently under the

  impression that the case before him was a case of elopement, with

  Sir Patrick mixed up in it in the capacity of guardian--addressed

  himself, in friendly confidence, to Anne.

  "My certie, mistress! it's ill wark deceivin' Sir Paitrick, if

  that's what ye've dune. Ye must know, I was ance a bit clerk body

  in his chambers at Embro--"

  The voice of Mistress Inchbare, calling for the head-waiter, rose

  shrill and imperative from the regions of the bar. Mr.

  Bishopriggs disappeared. Anne remained, standing helpless by the

  window. It was plain by this time that the place of her retreat

  had been discovered at Windygates. The one doubt to decide, now,

  was whether it would be wise or not to receive Sir Patrick, for

  the purpose of discovering whether he came as friend or enemy to

  the inn.

  CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH.

  SIR PATRICK.

  THE doubt was practically decided before Anne had determined what

  to do. She was still at the window when the sitting-room door was

  thrown open, and Sir Patrick appeared, obsequiously shown in by

  Mr. Bishopriggs.

  "Ye're kindly welcome, Sir Paitrick. Hech, Sirs! the sight of you

  is gude for sair eyne."

  Sir Patrick turned and looked at Mr. Bishopriggs--as he might

  have looked at some troublesome insect which he had driven out of

  the window, and which had returned on him again.

  "What, you scoundrel! have you drifted into an honest employment

  at last?"

  Mr. Bishopriggs rubbed his hands cheerfully, and took his tone

  from his superior, with supple readiness

  "Ye're always in the right of it, Sir Paitrick! Wut, raal wut in

  that aboot the honest employment, and me drifting into it. Lord's

  sake, Sir, hoo well ye wear!"

  Dismissing Mr. Bishopriggs by a sign, Sir Patrick advanced to

  Anne.

  "I am committing an intrusion, madam which must, I am afraid,

  appear unpardonable in your eyes," he said. "May I hope you will

  excuse me when I have made you acquainted with my motive?"

  He spoke with scrupulous politeness. His knowledge of Anne was of

  the slightest possible kind. Like other men, he had felt the

  attraction of her unaffected grace and gentleness on the few

  occasions when he had been in her company--and that was all. If

  he had belonged to the present generation he would, under the

  circumstances, have fallen into one of the besetting sins of

  England in these days--the tendency (to borrow an illustration

  from the stage) to "strike an attitude" in the presence of a

  social emergency. A man of the present period, in Sir Patrick's

  position, would have struck an attitude of (what is called)

  chivalrous respect; and would have addressed Anne in a tone of

  ready-made sympathy, which it was simply impossible for a

  stranger really to feel. Sir Patrick affected nothing of the

  sort. One of the besetting sins of _his_ time was the habitual

  concealment of our better selves--upon the whole, a far less

  dangerous national error than the habitual advertisement of our

  better selves, which has become the practice, public and

  privately, of society in this age. Sir Patrick assumed, if

  anything, less sympathy on this occasion than he really felt.

  Courteous to all women, he was as courteous as usual to Anne--and

  no more.

  "I am quite at a loss, Sir, to know what brings you to this

  place. The servant here informs me that you are one of a party of

  gentlemen who have just passed by the inn, and who have all gone

  on except yourself." In those guarded terms Anne opened the

  interview with the unwelcome visitor, on her side.

  Sir Patrick admitted the fact, without betraying the slightest

  embarrassment.

  "The servant is quite right," he said. "I am one of the party.

  And I have purposely allowed them to go on to the keeper's

  cottage without me. Having admitted this, may I count on

  receiving your permission to explain the motive of my visit?"

  Necessarily suspicious of him, as coming from Windygates, Anne

  answered in few and formal words, as coldly as before.

  "Explain it, Sir Patrick, if you please, as briefly as possible."

  Sir Patrick bowed. He was not in the least offended; he was even

  (if the confession may be made without degrading him in the

  public estimation) privately amused. Conscious of having honestly

  presented himself at the inn in Anne's interests, as well as in

  the interests of the ladies at Windygates, it appealed to his

  sense of humor to find himself kept at arm's-length by the very

  woman whom he had come to benefit. The temptation was strong on

  him to treat his errand from his own whimsical point of view. He

  gravely took out his watch, and noted the time to a second,

  before he spoke again.

  "I have an event to relate in which you are interested," he said.

  "And I have two messages to deliver, which I hope you will not

  object to receive. The event I undertake to describe in one

  minute. The messages I promise to dispose of in two minutes more.

  Total duration of this intrusion on your time--three minutes."

  He placed a chair for Anne, and waited until she had permitted

  him, by a sign, to take a second chair for himself.

  "We will begin with the event," he resumed. "Your arrival at this

  place is no secret at Windygates. You were seen on the foot-road

  to Craig Fernie by one of the female servants. And the inference

  naturally drawn is, that you were on your way to the inn. It may

  be important for you to know this; and I have taken the liberty

  of mentioning it accordingly." He consulted his watch. "Event

  related. Time, one minute."

  He had excited her curiosity, to begin with. "Which of the women

  saw me?" she asked, impulsively.

  Sir Patrick (watch in hand) declined to prolong the interview by

  answering any incidental inquiries which might arise in the

  course of it.

  "Pardon me," he rejoined; "I am pledged to occupy three minutes

  only. I have no room for the woman. With your kind permission, I

  will get on to the messages next."

  Anne remained silent. Sir Patrick went on.

  "First message: 'Lady Lundie's compliments to her step-daughter's

  late governess--with whose married name she is not acquainted.

  Lady Lundie regrets to say that Sir Patrick, as head of the

  family, has threatened to return to Edinburgh, unless she

  consents to be guided by his advice in the course she pursues

  with the late governess. Lady Lundie, accordingly, foregoes her

  intention of calling at the Craig Fernie inn, to express her

  sentiments and make her inquiries in person, and commits to Sir

  Patrick the duty of expressing her sentiments; reserving to

  herself the right of making her inquiries at the next convenient

  opportunity. Through the medium of her brother-in-law, she begs

  to inform the late governess that all intercourse is at an end

  between them, and that she declines to act as reference in case

  of future emergency.'--Message textually correc
t. Expressive of

  Lady Lundie's view of your sudden departure from the house. Time,

  two minutes."

  Anne's color rose. Anne's pride was up in arms on the spot.

  "The impertinence of Lady Lundie's message is no more than I

  should have expected from her," she said. "I am only surprised at

  Sir Patrick's delivering it."

  "Sir Patrick's motives will appear presently," rejoined the

  incorrigible old gentleman. "Second message: 'Blanche's fondest

  love. Is dying to be acquainted with Anne's husband, and to be

  informed of Anne's married name. Feels indescribable anxiety and

  apprehension on Anne's account. Insists on hearing from Anne

  immediately. Longs, as she never longed for any thing yet, to

  order her pony-chaise and drive full gallop to the inn. Yields,

  under irresistible pressure, to t he exertion of her guardian's

  authority, and commits the expression of her feelings to Sir

  Patrick, who is a born tyrant, and doesn't in the least mind

  breaking other people's hearts.' Sir Patrick, speaking for

  himself, places his sister-in-law's view and his niece's view,

  side by side, before the lady whom he has now the honor of

  addressing, and on whose confidence he is especially careful not

  to intrude. Reminds the lady that his influence at Windygates,

  however strenuously he may exert it, is not likely to last

  forever. Requests her to consider whether his sister-in-law's

  view and his niece's view in collision, may not lead to very

  undesirable domestic results; and leaves her to take the course

  which seems best to herself under those circumstances.--Second

  message delivered textually. Time, three minutes. A storm coming

  on. A quarter of an hour's ride from here to the

  shooting-cottage. Madam, I wish you good-evening."

  He bowed lower than ever--and, without a word more, quietly left

  the room.

  Anne's first impulse was (excusably enough, poor soul) an impulse

  of resentment.

  "Thank you, Sir Patrick!" she said, with a bitter look at the

  closing door. "The sympathy of society with a friendless woman

  could hardly have been expressed in a more amusing way!"

  The little irritation of the moment passed off with the moment.

  Anne's own intelligence and good sense showed her the position in

  its truer light.

  She recognized in Sir Patrick's abrupt departure Sir Patrick's

  considerate resolution to spare her from entering into any

  details on the subject of her position at the inn. He had given

  her a friendly warning; and he had delicately left her to decide

  for herself as to the assistance which she might render him in

  maintaining tranquillity at Windygates. She went at once to a

  side-table in the room, on which writing materials were placed,

  and sat down to write to Blanche.

  "I can do nothing with Lady Lundie," she thought. "But I have

  more influence than any body else over Blanche and I can prevent

  the collision between them which Sir Patrick dreads."

  She began the letter. "My dearest Blanche, I have seen Sir

  Patrick, and he has given me your message. I will set your mind

  at ease about me as soon as I can. But, before I say any thing

  else, let me entreat you, as the greatest favor you can do to

  your sister and your friend, not to enter into any disputes about

  me with Lady Lundie, and not to commit the imprudence--the

  useless imprudence, my love--of coming here." She stopped--the

  paper swam before her eyes. "My own darling!" she thought, "who

  could have foreseen that I should ever shrink from the thought of

  seeing _you?"_ She sighed, and dipped the pen in the ink, and

  went on with the letter.

  The sky darkened rapidly as the evening fell. The wind swept in

  fainter and fainter gusts across the dreary moor. Far and wide

  over the face of Nature the stillness was fast falling which

  tells of a coming storm.

  CHAPTER THE TWELFTH.