CHAPTER VIII.—THE ENEMY IN THE HOUSE.
It is a strange thing that I should be at a stick for a date—the date,besides, of an incident that changed the very nature of my life, and sentus all into foreign lands. But the truth is, I was stricken out of allmy habitudes, and find my journals very ill redd-up, {7} the day notindicated sometimes for a week or two together, and the whole fashion ofthe thing like that of a man near desperate. It was late in March atleast, or early in April, 1764. I had slept heavily, and wakened with apremonition of some evil to befall. So strong was this upon my spiritthat I hurried downstairs in my shirt and breeches, and my hand (Iremember) shook upon the rail. It was a cold, sunny morning, with athick white frost; the blackbirds sang exceeding sweet and loud about thehouse of Durrisdeer, and there was a noise of the sea in all thechambers. As I came by the doors of the hall, another sound arrestedme—of voices talking. I drew nearer, and stood like a man dreaming.Here was certainly a human voice, and that in my own master’s house, andyet I knew it not; certainly human speech, and that in my native land;and yet, listen as I pleased, I could not catch one syllable. An oldtale started up in my mind of a fairy wife (or perhaps only a wanderingstranger), that came to the place of my fathers some generations back,and stayed the matter of a week, talking often in a tongue that signifiednothing to the hearers; and went again, as she had come, under cloud ofnight, leaving not so much as a name behind her. A little fear I had,but more curiosity; and I opened the hall-door, and entered.
The supper-things still lay upon the table; the shutters were stillclosed, although day peeped in the divisions; and the great room waslighted only with a single taper and some lurching reverberation of thefire. Close in the chimney sat two men. The one that was wrapped in acloak and wore boots, I knew at once: it was the bird of ill omen backagain. Of the other, who was set close to the red embers, and made upinto a bundle like a mummy, I could but see that he was an alien, of adarker hue than any man of Europe, very frailly built, with a singulartall forehead, and a secret eye. Several bundles and a small valise wereon the floor; and to judge by the smallness of this luggage, and by thecondition of the Master’s boots, grossly patched by some unscrupulouscountry cobbler, evil had not prospered.
He rose upon my entrance; our eyes crossed; and I know not why it shouldhave been, but my courage rose like a lark on a May morning.
“Ha!” said I, “is this you?”—and I was pleased with the unconcern of myown voice.
“It is even myself, worthy Mackellar,” says the Master.
“This time you have brought the black dog visibly upon your back,” Icontinued.
“Referring to Secundra Dass?” asked the Master. “Let me present you. Heis a native gentleman of India.”
“Hum!” said I. “I am no great lover either of you or your friends, Mr.Bally. But I will let a little daylight in, and have a look at you.”And so saying, I undid the shutters of the eastern window.
By the light of the morning I could perceive the man was changed. Later,when we were all together, I was more struck to see how lightly time haddealt with him; but the first glance was otherwise.
“You are getting an old man,” said I.
A shade came upon his face. “If you could see yourself,” said he, “youwould perhaps not dwell upon the topic.”
“Hut!” I returned, “old age is nothing to me. I think I have been alwaysold; and I am now, I thank God, better known and more respected. It isnot every one that can say that, Mr. Bally! The lines in your brow arecalamities; your life begins to close in upon you like a prison; deathwill soon be rapping at the door; and I see not from what source you areto draw your consolations.”
Here the Master addressed himself to Secundra Dass in Hindustanee, fromwhich I gathered (I freely confess, with a high degree of pleasure) thatmy remarks annoyed him. All this while, you may be sure, my mind hadbeen busy upon other matters, even while I rallied my enemy; and chieflyas to how I should communicate secretly and quickly with my lord. Tothis, in the breathing-space now given me, I turned all the forces of mymind; when, suddenly shifting my eyes, I was aware of the man himselfstanding in the doorway, and, to all appearance, quite composed. He hadno sooner met my looks than he stepped across the threshold. The Masterheard him coming, and advanced upon the other side; about four feetapart, these brothers came to a full pause, and stood exchanging steadylooks, and then my lord smiled, bowed a little forward, and turnedbriskly away.
“Mackellar,” says he, “we must see to breakfast for these travellers.”
It was plain the Master was a trifle disconcerted; but he assumed themore impudence of speech and manner. “I am as hungry as a hawk,” sayshe. “Let it be something good, Henry.”
My lord turned to him with the same hard smile.
“Lord Durrisdeer,” says he.
“Oh! never in the family,” returned the Master.
“Every one in this house renders me my proper title,” says my lord. “Ifit please you to make an exception, I will leave you to consider whatappearance it will bear to strangers, and whether it may not betranslated as an effect of impotent jealousy.”
I could have clapped my hands together with delight: the more so as mylord left no time for any answer, but, bidding me with a sign to followhim, went straight out of the hall.
“Come quick,” says he; “we have to sweep vermin from the house.” And hesped through the passages, with so swift a step that I could scarce keepup with him, straight to the door of John Paul, the which he openedwithout summons and walked in. John was, to all appearance, soundasleep, but my lord made no pretence of waking him.
“John Paul,” said he, speaking as quietly as ever I heard him, “youserved my father long, or I would pack you from the house like a dog. Ifin half an hour’s time I find you gone, you shall continue to receiveyour wages in Edinburgh. If you linger here or in St. Bride’s—old man,old servant, and altogether—I shall find some very astonishing way tomake you smart for your disloyalty. Up and begone. The door you letthem in by will serve for your departure. I do not choose my son shallsee your face again.”
“I am rejoiced to find you bear the thing so quietly,” said I, when wewere forth again by ourselves.
“Quietly!” cries he, and put my hand suddenly against his heart, whichstruck upon his bosom like a sledge.
At this revelation I was filled with wonder and fear. There was noconstitution could bear so violent a strain—his least of all, that wasunhinged already; and I decided in my mind that we must bring thismonstrous situation to an end.
“It would be well, I think, if I took word to my lady,” said I. Indeed,he should have gone himself, but I counted—not in vain—on hisindifference.
“Aye,” says he, “do. I will hurry breakfast: we must all appear at thetable, even Alexander; it must appear we are untroubled.”
I ran to my lady’s room, and with no preparatory cruelty disclosed mynews.
“My mind was long ago made up,” said she. “We must make our packetssecretly to-day, and leave secretly to-night. Thank Heaven, we haveanother house! The first ship that sails shall bear us to New York.”
“And what of him?” I asked.
“We leave him Durrisdeer,” she cried. “Let him work his pleasure uponthat.”
“Not so, by your leave,” said I. “There shall be a dog at his heels thatcan hold fast. Bed he shall have, and board, and a horse to ride upon,if he behave himself; but the keys—if you think well of it, my lady—shallbe left in the hands of one Mackellar. There will be good care taken;trust him for that.”
“Mr. Mackellar,” she cried, “I thank you for that thought. All shall beleft in your hands. If we must go into a savage country, I bequeath itto you to take our vengeance. Send Macconochie to St. Bride’s, toarrange privately for horses and to call the lawyer. My lord must leaveprocuration.”
At that moment my lord came to the door, and we opened our plan to him.
“I will ne
ver hear of it,” he cried; “he would think I feared him. Iwill stay in my own house, please God, until I die. There lives not theman can beard me out of it. Once and for all, here I am, and here I stayin spite of all the devils in hell.” I can give no idea of the vehemencyof his words and utterance; but we both stood aghast, and I inparticular, who had been a witness of his former self-restraint.
My lady looked at me with an appeal that went to my heart and recalled meto my wits. I made her a private sign to go, and when my lord and I werealone, went up to him where he was racing to and fro in one end of theroom like a half-lunatic, and set my hand firmly on his shoulder.
“My lord,” says I, “I am going to be the plain-dealer once more; if forthe last time, so much the better, for I am grown weary of the part.”
“Nothing will change me,” he answered. “God forbid I should refuse tohear you; but nothing will change me.” This he said firmly, with nosignal of the former violence, which already raised my hopes.
“Very well,” said I “I can afford to waste my breath.” I pointed to achair, and he sat down and looked at me. “I can remember a time when mylady very much neglected you,” said I.
“I never spoke of it while it lasted,” returned my lord, with a highflush of colour; “and it is all changed now.”
“Do you know how much?” I said. “Do you know how much it is all changed?The tables are turned, my lord! It is my lady that now courts you for aword, a look—ay, and courts you in vain. Do you know with whom shepasses her days while you are out gallivanting in the policies? My lord,she is glad to pass them with a certain dry old grieve {8} of the name ofEphraim Mackellar; and I think you may be able to remember what thatmeans, for I am the more in a mistake or you were once driven to the samecompany yourself.”
“Mackellar!” cries my lord, getting to his feet. “O my God, Mackellar!”
“It is neither the name of Mackellar nor the name of God that can changethe truth,” said I; “and I am telling you the fact. Now for you, thatsuffered so much, to deal out the same suffering to another, is that thepart of any Christian? But you are so swallowed up in your new friendthat the old are all forgotten. They are all clean vanished from yourmemory. And yet they stood by you at the darkest; my lady not the least.And does my lady ever cross your mind? Does it ever cross your mind whatshe went through that night?—or what manner of a wife she has been to youthenceforward?—or in what kind of a position she finds herself to-day?Never. It is your pride to stay and face him out, and she must stayalong with you. Oh! my lord’s pride—that’s the great affair! And yetshe is the woman, and you are a great hulking man! She is the woman thatyou swore to protect; and, more betoken, the own mother of that son ofyours!”
“You are speaking very bitterly, Mackellar,” said he; “but, the Lordknows, I fear you are speaking very true. I have not proved worthy of myhappiness. Bring my lady back.”
My lady was waiting near at hand to learn the issue. When I brought herin, my lord took a hand of each of us, and laid them both upon his bosom.“I have had two friends in my life,” said he. “All the comfort ever Ihad, it came from one or other. When you two are in a mind, I think Iwould be an ungrateful dog—” He shut his mouth very hard, and looked onus with swimming eyes. “Do what ye like with me,” says he, “only don’tthink—” He stopped again. “Do what ye please with me: God knows I loveand honour you.” And dropping our two hands, he turned his back and wentand gazed out of the window. But my lady ran after, calling his name,and threw herself upon his neck in a passion of weeping.
I went out and shut the door behind me, and stood and thanked God fromthe bottom of my heart.
* * * * *
At the breakfast board, according to my lord’s design, we were all met.The Master had by that time plucked off his patched boots and made atoilet suitable to the hour; Secundra Dass was no longer bundled up inwrappers, but wore a decent plain black suit, which misbecame himstrangely; and the pair were at the great window, looking forth, when thefamily entered. They turned; and the black man (as they had alreadynamed him in the house) bowed almost to his knees, but the Master was forrunning forward like one of the family. My lady stopped him, curtseyinglow from the far end of the hall, and keeping her children at her back.My lord was a little in front: so there were the three cousins ofDurrisdeer face to face. The hand of time was very legible on all; Iseemed to read in their changed faces a _memento mori_; and what affectedme still more, it was the wicked man that bore his years the handsomest.My lady was quite transfigured into the matron, a becoming woman for thehead of a great tableful of children and dependents. My lord was grownslack in his limbs; he stooped; he walked with a running motion, asthough he had learned again from Mr. Alexander; his face was drawn; itseemed a trifle longer than of old; and it wore at times a smile verysingularly mingled, and which (in my eyes) appeared both bitter andpathetic. But the Master still bore himself erect, although perhaps witheffort; his brow barred about the centre with imperious lines, his mouthset as for command. He had all the gravity and something of thesplendour of Satan in the “Paradise Lost.” I could not help but see theman with admiration, and was only surprised that I saw him with so littlefear.
But indeed (as long as we were at the table) it seemed as if hisauthority were quite vanished and his teeth all drawn. We had known hima magician that controlled the elements; and here he was, transformedinto an ordinary gentleman, chatting like his neighbours at thebreakfast-board. For now the father was dead, and my lord and ladyreconciled, in what ear was he to pour his calumnies? It came upon me ina kind of vision how hugely I had overrated the man’s subtlety. He hadhis malice still; he was false as ever; and, the occasion being gone thatmade his strength, he sat there impotent; he was still the viper, but nowspent his venom on a file. Two more thoughts occurred to me while yet wesat at breakfast: the first, that he was abashed—I had almost said,distressed—to find his wickedness quite unavailing; the second, thatperhaps my lord was in the right, and we did amiss to fly from ourdismasted enemy. But my poor man’s leaping heart came in my mind, and Iremembered it was for his life we played the coward.
When the meal was over, the Master followed me to my room, and, taking achair (which I had never offered him), asked me what was to be done withhim.
“Why, Mr. Bally,” said I, “the house will still be open to you for atime.”
“For a time?” says he. “I do not know if I quite take your meaning.”
“It is plain enough,” said I. “We keep you for our reputation; as soonas you shall have publicly disgraced yourself by some of your misconduct,we shall pack you forth again.”
“You are become an impudent rogue,” said the Master, bending his brows atme dangerously.
“I learned in a good school,” I returned. “And you must have perceivedyourself that with my old lord’s death your power is quite departed. Ido not fear you now, Mr. Bally; I think even—God forgive me—that I take acertain pleasure in your company.”
He broke out in a burst of laughter, which I clearly saw to be assumed.
“I have come with empty pockets,” says he, after a pause.
“I do not think there will be any money going,” I replied. “I wouldadvise you not to build on that.”
“I shall have something to say on the point,” he returned.
“Indeed?” said I. “I have not a guess what it will be, then.”
“Oh! you affect confidence,” said the Master. “I have still one strongposition—that you people fear a scandal, and I enjoy it.”
“Pardon me, Mr. Bally,” says I. “We do not in the least fear a scandalagainst you.”
He laughed again. “You have been studying repartee,” he said. “Butspeech is very easy, and sometimes very deceptive. I warn you fairly:you will find me vitriol in the house. You would do wiser to pay moneydown and see my back.” And with that he waved his hand to me and leftthe room.
A little after, my lord came with the lawyer, Mr. Carlyle; a bottle ofold wine was brought, and we all had a glass before we fell to business.The necessary deeds were then prepared and executed, and the Scotchestates made over in trust to Mr. Carlyle and myself.
“There is one point, Mr. Carlyle,” said my lord, when these affairs hadbeen adjusted, “on which I wish that you would do us justice. Thissudden departure coinciding with my brother’s return will be certainlycommented on. I wish you would discourage any conjunction of the two.”
“I will make a point of it, my lord,” said Mr. Carlyle. “The Mas— Ballydoes not, then, accompany you?”
“It is a point I must approach,” said my lord. “Mr. Bally remains atDurrisdeer, under the care of Mr. Mackellar; and I do not mean that heshall even know our destination.”
“Common report, however—” began the lawyer.
“Ah! but, Mr. Carlyle, this is to be a secret quite among ourselves,”interrupted my lord. “None but you and Mackellar are to be madeacquainted with my movements.”
“And Mr. Bally stays here? Quite so,” said Mr. Carlyle. “The powers youleave—” Then he broke off again. “Mr. Mackellar, we have a rather heavyweight upon us.”
“No doubt,” said I.
“No doubt,” said he. “Mr. Bally will have no voice?”
“He will have no voice,” said my lord; “and, I hope, no influence. Mr.Bally is not a good adviser.”
“I see,” said the lawyer. “By the way, has Mr. Bally means?”
“I understand him to have nothing,” replied my lord. “I give him table,fire, and candle in this house.”
“And in the matter of an allowance? If I am to share the responsibility,you will see how highly desirable it is that I should understand yourviews,” said the lawyer. “On the question of an allowance?”
“There will be no allowance,” said my lord. “I wish Mr. Bally to livevery private. We have not always been gratified with his behaviour.”
“And in the matter of money,” I added, “he has shown himself an infamousbad husband. Glance your eye upon that docket, Mr. Carlyle, where I havebrought together the different sums the man has drawn from the estate inthe last fifteen or twenty years. The total is pretty.”
Mr. Carlyle made the motion of whistling. “I had no guess of this,” saidhe. “Excuse me once more, my lord, if I appear to push you; but it isreally desirable I should penetrate your intentions. Mr. Mackellar mightdie, when I should find myself alone upon this trust. Would it not berather your lordship’s preference that Mr. Bally should—ahem—should leavethe country?”
My lord looked at Mr. Carlyle. “Why do you ask that?” said he.
“I gather, my lord, that Mr. Bally is not a comfort to his family,” saysthe lawyer with a smile.
My lord’s face became suddenly knotted. “I wish he was in hell!” criedhe, and filled himself a glass of wine, but with a hand so tottering thathe spilled the half into his bosom. This was the second time that, inthe midst of the most regular and wise behaviour, his animosity hadspirted out. It startled Mr. Carlyle, who observed my lord thenceforthwith covert curiosity; and to me it restored the certainty that we wereacting for the best in view of my lord’s health and reason.
Except for this explosion the interview was very successfully conducted.No doubt Mr. Carlyle would talk, as lawyers do, little by little. Wecould thus feel we had laid the foundations of a better feeling in thecountry, and the man’s own misconduct would certainly complete what wehad begun. Indeed, before his departure, the lawyer showed us there hadalready gone abroad some glimmerings of the truth.
“I should perhaps explain to you, my lord,” said he, pausing, with hishat in his hand, “that I have not been altogether surprised with yourlordship’s dispositions in the case of Mr. Bally. Something of thisnature oozed out when he was last in Durrisdeer. There was some talk ofa woman at St. Bride’s, to whom you had behaved extremely handsome, andMr. Bally with no small degree of cruelty. There was the entail, again,which was much controverted. In short, there was no want of talk, backand forward; and some of our wise-acres took up a strong opinion. Iremained in suspense, as became one of my cloth; but Mr. Mackellar’sdocket here has finally opened my eyes. I do not think, Mr. Mackellar,that you and I will give him that much rope.”
* * * * *
The rest of that important day passed prosperously through. It was ourpolicy to keep the enemy in view, and I took my turn to be his watchmanwith the rest. I think his spirits rose as he perceived us to be soattentive, and I know that mine insensibly declined. What chieflydaunted me was the man’s singular dexterity to worm himself into ourtroubles. You may have felt (after a horse accident) the hand of abone-setter artfully divide and interrogate the muscles, and settlestrongly on the injured place? It was so with the Master’s tongue, thatwas so cunning to question; and his eyes, that were so quick to observe.I seemed to have said nothing, and yet to have let all out. Before Iknew where I was the man was condoling with me on my lord’s neglect of mylady and myself, and his hurtful indulgence to his son. On this lastpoint I perceived him (with panic fear) to return repeatedly. The boyhad displayed a certain shrinking from his uncle; it was strong in mymind his father had been fool enough to indoctrinate the same, which wasno wise beginning: and when I looked upon the man before me, still sohandsome, so apt a speaker, with so great a variety of fortunes torelate, I saw he was the very personage to captivate a boyish fancy.John Paul had left only that morning; it was not to be supposed he hadbeen altogether dumb upon his favourite subject: so that here would beMr. Alexander in the part of Dido, with a curiosity inflamed to hear; andthere would be the Master, like a diabolical Æneas, full of matter themost pleasing in the world to any youthful ear, such as battles,sea-disasters, flights, the forests of the West, and (since his latervoyage) the ancient cities of the Indies. How cunningly these baitsmight be employed, and what an empire might be so founded, little bylittle, in the mind of any boy, stood obviously clear to me. There wasno inhibition, so long as the man was in the house, that would be strongenough to hold these two apart; for if it be hard to charm serpents, itis no very difficult thing to cast a glamour on a little chip of manhoodnot very long in breeches. I recalled an ancient sailor-man who dwelt ina lone house beyond the Figgate Whins (I believe, he called it afterPortobello), and how the boys would troop out of Leith on a Saturday, andsit and listen to his swearing tales, as thick as crows about a carrion:a thing I often remarked as I went by, a young student, on my own moremeditative holiday diversion. Many of these boys went, no doubt, in theface of an express command; many feared and even hated the old brute ofwhom they made their hero; and I have seen them flee from him when he wastipsy, and stone him when he was drunk. And yet there they came eachSaturday! How much more easily would a boy like Mr. Alexander fall underthe influence of a high-looking, high-spoken gentleman-adventurer, whoshould conceive the fancy to entrap him; and, the influence gained, howeasy to employ it for the child’s perversion!
I doubt if our enemy had named Mr. Alexander three times before Iperceived which way his mind was aiming—all this train of thought andmemory passed in one pulsation through my own—and you may say I startedback as though an open hole had gaped across a pathway. Mr. Alexander:there was the weak point, there was the Eve in our perishable paradise;and the serpent was already hissing on the trail.
I promise you, I went the more heartily about the preparations; my lastscruple gone, the danger of delay written before me in huge characters.From that moment forth I seem not to have sat down or breathed. Now Iwould be at my post with the Master and his Indian; now in the garret,buckling a valise; now sending forth Macconochie by the side postern andthe wood-path to bear it to the trysting-place; and, again, snatchingsome words of counsel with my lady. This was the _verso_ of our life inDurrisdeer that day; but on the _recto_ all appeared quite settled, as ofa family at home in its paternal seat; and what perturbati
on may havebeen observable, the Master would set down to the blow of hisunlooked-for coming, and the fear he was accustomed to inspire.
Supper went creditably off, cold salutations passed and the companytrooped to their respective chambers. I attended the Master to the last.We had put him next door to his Indian, in the north wing; because thatwas the most distant and could be severed from the body of the house withdoors. I saw he was a kind friend or a good master (whichever it was) tohis Secundra Dass—seeing to his comfort; mending the fire with his ownhand, for the Indian complained of cold; inquiring as to the rice onwhich the stranger made his diet; talking with him pleasantly in theHindustanee, while I stood by, my candle in my hand, and affected to beovercome with slumber. At length the Master observed my signals ofdistress. “I perceive,” says he, “that you have all your ancient habits:early to bed and early to rise. Yawn yourself away!”
Once in my own room, I made the customary motions of undressing, so thatI might time myself; and when the cycle was complete, set my tinder-boxready, and blew out my taper. The matter of an hour afterward I made alight again, put on my shoes of list that I had worn by my lord’ssick-bed, and set forth into the house to call the voyagers. All weredressed and waiting—my lord, my lady, Miss Katharine, Mr. Alexander, mylady’s woman Christie; and I observed the effect of secrecy even uponquite innocent persons, that one after another showed in the chink of thedoor a face as white as paper. We slipped out of the side postern into anight of darkness, scarce broken by a star or two; so that at first wegroped and stumbled and fell among the bushes. A few hundred yards upthe wood-path Macconochie was waiting us with a great lantern; so therest of the way we went easy enough, but still in a kind of guiltysilence. A little beyond the abbey the path debauched on the main roadand some quarter of a mile farther, at the place called Eagles, where themoors begin, we saw the lights of the two carriages stand shining by thewayside. Scarce a word or two was uttered at our parting, and theseregarded business: a silent grasping of hands, a turning of faces aside,and the thing was over; the horses broke into a trot, the lamplight spedlike Will-o’-the-Wisp upon the broken moorland, it dipped beyond StonyBrae; and there were Macconochie and I alone with our lantern on theroad. There was one thing more to wait for, and that was thereappearance of the coach upon Cartmore. It seems they must have pulledup upon the summit, looked back for a last time, and seen our lantern notyet moved away from the place of separation. For a lamp was taken from acarriage, and waved three times up and down by way of a farewell. Andthen they were gone indeed, having looked their last on the kind roof ofDurrisdeer, their faces toward a barbarous country. I never knew before,the greatness of that vault of night in which we two poor serving-men—theone old, and the one elderly—stood for the first time deserted; I hadnever felt before my own dependency upon the countenance of others. Thesense of isolation burned in my bowels like a fire. It seemed that wewho remained at home were the true exiles, and that Durrisdeer andSolwayside, and all that made my country native, its air good to me, andits language welcome, had gone forth and was far over the sea with my oldmasters.
The remainder of that night I paced to and fro on the smooth highway,reflecting on the future and the past. My thoughts, which at firstdwelled tenderly on those who were just gone, took a more manly temper asI considered what remained for me to do. Day came upon the inlandmountain-tops, and the fowls began to cry, and the smoke of homesteads toarise in the brown bosom of the moors, before I turned my face homeward,and went down the path to where the roof of Durrisdeer shone in themorning by the sea.
* * * * *
At the customary hour I had the Master called, and awaited his coming inthe hall with a quiet mind. He looked about him at the empty room andthe three covers set.
“We are a small party,” said he. “How comes?”
“This is the party to which we must grow accustomed,” I replied.
He looked at me with a sudden sharpness. “What is all this?” said he.
“You and I and your friend Mr. Dass are now all the company,” I replied.“My lord, my lady, and the children, are gone upon a voyage.”
“Upon my word!” said he. “Can this be possible? I have indeed flutteredyour Volscians in Corioli! But this is no reason why our breakfastshould go cold. Sit down, Mr. Mackellar, if you please”—taking, as hespoke, the head of the table, which I had designed to occupy myself—“andas we eat, you can give me the details of this evasion.”
I could see he was more affected than his language carried, and Idetermined to equal him in coolness. “I was about to ask you to take thehead of the table,” said I; “for though I am now thrust into the positionof your host, I could never forget that you were, after all, a member ofthe family.”
For a while he played the part of entertainer, giving directions toMacconochie, who received them with an evil grace, and attendingspecially upon Secundra. “And where has my good family withdrawn to?” heasked carelessly.
“Ah! Mr. Bally, that is another point,” said I. “I have no orders tocommunicate their destination.”
“To me,” he corrected.
“To any one,” said I.
“It is the less pointed,” said the master; “_c’est de bon ton_: mybrother improves as he continues. And I, dear Mr. Mackellar?”
“You will have bed and board, Mr. Bally,” said I. “I am permitted togive you the run of the cellar, which is pretty reasonably stocked. Youhave only to keep well with me, which is no very difficult matter, andyou shall want neither for wine nor a saddle-horse.”
He made an excuse to send Macconochie from the room.
“And for money?” he inquired. “Have I to keep well with my good friendMackellar for my pocket-money also? This is a pleasing return to theprinciples of boyhood.”
“There was no allowance made,” said I; “but I will take it on myself tosee you are supplied in moderation.”
“In moderation?” he repeated. “And you will take it on yourself?” Hedrew himself up, and looked about the hall at the dark rows of portraits.“In the name of my ancestors, I thank you,” says he; and then, with areturn to irony, “But there must certainly be an allowance for SecundraDass?” he said. “It in not possible they have omitted that?”
“I will make a note of it, and ask instructions when I write,” said I.
And he, with a sudden change of manner, and leaning forward with an elbowon the table—“Do you think this entirely wise?”
“I execute my orders, Mr. Bally,” said I.
“Profoundly modest,” said the Master; “perhaps not equally ingenuous.You told me yesterday my power was fallen with my father’s death. Howcomes it, then, that a peer of the realm flees under cloud of night outof a house in which his fathers have stood several sieges? that heconceals his address, which must be a matter of concern to his GraciousMajesty and to the whole republic? and that he should leave me inpossession, and under the paternal charge of his invaluable Mackellar?This smacks to me of a very considerable and genuine apprehension.”
I sought to interrupt him with some not very truthful denegation; but hewaved me down, and pursued his speech.
“I say, it smacks of it,” he said; “but I will go beyond that, for Ithink the apprehension grounded. I came to this house with somereluctancy. In view of the manner of my last departure, nothing butnecessity could have induced me to return. Money, however, is that whichI must have. You will not give with a good grace; well, I have the powerto force it from you. Inside of a week, without leaving Durrisdeer, Iwill find out where these fools are fled to. I will follow; and when Ihave run my quarry down, I will drive a wedge into that family that shallonce more burst it into shivers. I shall see then whether my LordDurrisdeer” (said with indescribable scorn and rage) “will choose to buymy absence; and you will all see whether, by that time, I decide forprofit or revenge.”
I was amazed to hear the man so open. The truth is, he was consumed with
anger at my lord’s successful flight, felt himself to figure as a dupe,and was in no humour to weigh language.
“Do you consider _this_ entirely wise?” said I, copying his words.
“These twenty years I have lived by my poor wisdom,” he answered with asmile that seemed almost foolish in its vanity.
“And come out a beggar in the end,” said I, “if beggar be a strong enoughword for it.”
“I would have you to observe, Mr. Mackellar,” cried he, with a suddenimperious heat, in which I could not but admire him, “that I amscrupulously civil: copy me in that, and we shall be the better friends.”
Throughout this dialogue I had been incommoded by the observation ofSecundra Dass. Not one of us, since the first word, had made a feint ofeating: our eyes were in each other’s faces—you might say, in eachother’s bosoms; and those of the Indian troubled me with a certainchanging brightness, as of comprehension. But I brushed the fancy aside,telling myself once more he understood no English; only, from the gravityof both voices, and the occasional scorn and anger in the Master’s,smelled out there was something of import in the wind.
* * * * *
For the matter of three weeks we continued to live together in the houseof Durrisdeer: the beginning of that most singular chapter of mylife—what I must call my intimacy with the Master. At first he wassomewhat changeable in his behaviour: now civil, now returning to his oldmanner of flouting me to my face; and in both I met him half-way. Thanksbe to Providence, I had now no measure to keep with the man; and I wasnever afraid of black brows, only of naked swords. So that I found acertain entertainment in these bouts of incivility, and was not alwaysill-inspired in my rejoinders. At last (it was at supper) I had a drollexpression that entirely vanquished him. He laughed again and again; and“Who would have guessed,” he cried, “that this old wife had any wit underhis petticoats?”
“It is no wit, Mr. Bally,” said I: “a dry Scot’s humour, and something ofthe driest.” And, indeed, I never had the least pretension to be thoughta wit.
From that hour he was never rude with me, but all passed between us in amanner of pleasantry. One of our chief times of daffing {9} was when herequired a horse, another bottle, or some money. He would approach methen after the manner of a schoolboy, and I would carry it on by way ofbeing his father: on both sides, with an infinity of mirth. I could notbut perceive that he thought more of me, which tickled that poor part ofmankind, the vanity. He dropped, besides (I must suppose unconsciously),into a manner that was not only familiar, but even friendly; and this, onthe part of one who had so long detested me, I found the more insidious.He went little abroad; sometimes even refusing invitations. “No,” hewould say, “what do I care for these thick-headed bonnet-lairds? I willstay at home, Mackellar; and we shall share a bottle quietly, and haveone of our good talks.” And, indeed, meal-time at Durrisdeer must havebeen a delight to any one, by reason of the brilliancy of the discourse.He would often express wonder at his former indifference to my society.“But, you see,” he would add, “we were upon opposite sides. And so weare to-day; but let us never speak of that. I would think much less ofyou if you were not staunch to your employer.” You are to consider heseemed to me quite impotent for any evil; and how it is a most engagingform of flattery when (after many years) tardy justice is done to a man’scharacter and parts. But I have no thought to excuse myself. I was toblame; I let him cajole me, and, in short, I think the watch-dog wasgoing sound asleep, when he was suddenly aroused.
I should say the Indian was continually travelling to and fro in thehouse. He never spoke, save in his own dialect and with the Master;walked without sound; and was always turning up where you would leastexpect him, fallen into a deep abstraction, from which he would start(upon your coming) to mock you with one of his grovelling obeisances. Heseemed so quiet, so frail, and so wrapped in his own fancies, that I cameto pass him over without much regard, or even to pity him for a harmlessexile from his country. And yet without doubt the creature was stilleavesdropping; and without doubt it was through his stealth and mysecurity that our secret reached the Master.
It was one very wild night, after supper, and when we had been makingmore than usually merry, that the blow fell on me.
“This is all very fine,” says the Master, “but we should do better to bebuckling our valise.”
“Why so?” I cried. “Are you leaving?”
“We are all leaving to-morrow in the morning,” said he. “For the port ofGlascow first, thence for the province of New York.”
I suppose I must have groaned aloud.
“Yes,” he continued, “I boasted; I said a week, and it has taken me neartwenty days. But never mind; I shall make it up; I will go the faster.”
“Have you the money for this voyage?” I asked.
“Dear and ingenuous personage, I have,” said he. “Blame me, if youchoose, for my duplicity; but while I have been wringing shillings frommy daddy, I had a stock of my own put by against a rainy day. You willpay for your own passage, if you choose to accompany us on our flankmarch; I have enough for Secundra and myself, but not more—enough to bedangerous, not enough to be generous. There is, however, an outside seatupon the chaise which I will let you have upon a moderate commutation; sothat the whole menagerie can go together—the house-dog, the monkey, andthe tiger.”
“I go with you,” said I.
“I count upon it,” said the Master. “You have seen me foiled; I mean youshall see me victorious. To gain that I will risk wetting you like a sopin this wild weather.”
“And at least,” I added, “you know very well you could not throw me off.”
“Not easily,” said he. “You put your finger on the point with your usualexcellent good sense. I never fight with the inevitable.”
“I suppose it is useless to appeal to you?” said I.
“Believe me, perfectly,” said he.
“And yet, if you would give me time, I could write—” I began.
“And what would be my Lord Durrisdeer’s answer?” asks he.
“Aye,” said I, “that is the rub.”
“And, at any rate, how much more expeditions that I should go myself!”says he. “But all this is quite a waste of breath. At seven to-morrowthe chaise will be at the door. For I start from the door, Mackellar; Ido not skulk through woods and take my chaise upon the wayside—shall wesay, at Eagles?”
My mind was now thoroughly made up. “Can you spare me quarter of an hourat St. Bride’s?” said I. “I have a little necessary business withCarlyle.”
“An hour, if you prefer,” said he. “I do not seek to deny that the moneyfor your seat is an object to me; and you could always get the first toGlascow with saddle-horses.”
“Well,” said I, “I never thought to leave old Scotland.”
“It will brisken you up,” says he.
“This will be an ill journey for some one,” I said. “I think, sir, foryou. Something speaks in my bosom; and so much it says plain—that thisis an ill-omened journey.”
“If you take to prophecy,” says he, “listen to that.”
There came up a violent squall off the open Solway, and the rain wasdashed on the great windows.
“Do ye ken what that bodes, warlock?” said he, in a broad accent: “thatthere’ll be a man Mackellar unco’ sick at sea.”
When I got to my chamber, I sat there under a painful excitation,hearkening to the turmoil of the gale, which struck full upon that gableof the house. What with the pressure on my spirits, the eldritch criesof the wind among the turret-tops, and the perpetual trepidation of themasoned house, sleep fled my eyelids utterly. I sat by my taper, lookingon the black panes of the window, where the storm appeared continually onthe point of bursting in its entrance; and upon that empty field I behelda perspective of consequences that made the hair to rise upon my scalp.The child corrupted, the home broken up, my master dead or worse thandead, my mistress plunged in
desolation—all these I saw before me paintedbrightly on the darkness; and the outcry of the wind appeared to mock atmy inaction.