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- padding-top:0em; - padding-bottom:0.75em; - line-height:100%; - margin-bottom:0em - } -ul { - margin-top: 0.5em - } -li { - margin-bottom: 0.5em; - } -p.link { - text-indent: 0em; - text-align: center; - padding-top: 0.4em; - line-height: 100%; - padding-bottom: 0.4em - } -</style> -</head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Flemington, by Violet Jacob - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Flemington - -Author: Violet Jacob - -Release Date: August 15, 2017 [EBook #55361] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FLEMINGTON *** - - - - -Produced by Paul Haxo with special thanks to the New York -Public Library, the HathiTrust Digital Library, and Google. - - - - - - -</pre> - -<div class="image"> -<p class="center"><img alt="Cover" src="images/cover.jpg" title="Cover" height="100%" -/></p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter" id="Front_matter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-i"></a></span></p> - -<p class="half_title">FLEMINGTON</p> - -<div class="pagebreak"></div> - -<div id="Title_Page"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-iii">[Pg iii]</a></span></p> - -<p class="tp_title">FLEMINGTON</p> - -<p class="author">BY VIOLET JACOB</p> - -<p class="author_info">(<small>MRS</small>. <small>ARTHUR</small> <small>JACOB</small>)<br -/> - -<small>A<small>UTHOR</small> <small>OF</small> “T<small>HE</small> -I<small>NTERLOPER</small>,” “T<small>HE</small> -S<small>HEEP</small>-S<small>TEALERS</small>,” &c.</small></p> - -<p class="publisher">LONDON<br /> - -JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W.<br /> - -1911</p> -</div> - -<div class="pagebreak"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-v">[Pg v]</a></span></p> - -<p class="dedication" id="Dedication"><span class="smallfont">TO</span><br /> - <br /> -EVELYN FRANCES MUNRO</p> - -<div class="pagebreak"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-vii">[Pg vii]</a></span></p> - -<h3 class="author_note" id="Author_Note">AUTHOR’S NOTE</h3> - -<div class="author_note"> -<p class="noindent no_bottom">T<small>HIS</small> book has no claim to be considered an -historical novel, none of the principal people in it being historic characters; but the -taking of the ship, as also the manner of its accomplishment, is true.</p> - -<p class="author_sig">V. J.</p> -</div> - -<div class="pagebreak"></div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-ix">[Pg ix]</a></span></p> - -<div class="contents" id="contents"> -<h3 class="toc" id="contents_hdg">CONTENTS</h3> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" class="toc" summary="Table of Contents"> -<tbody> -<tr> -<td class="tdc no_bottom" colspan="4" id="Chapter100_toc"><a href="#Chapter100_hdg">BOOK -I</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr no_bottom"><span class="reallysmall">CHAPTER </span></td> - -<td class="tdr no_bottom"> </td> - -<td class="tdr no_bottom"> </td> - -<td class="tdr no_bottom"><span class="reallysmall">PAGE</span></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdrch"><small>I.</small></td> - -<td class="tdl" id="Chapter101_toc"><a -href="#Chapter101_hdg"><small>PROLOGUE</small></a></td> - -<td class="tdl"> </td> - -<td class="tdrpg"><small>1</small></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdrch"><small>II.</small></td> - -<td class="tdl" id="Chapter102_toc"><a -href="#Chapter102_hdg"><small>JETSAM</small></a></td> - -<td class="tdl"> </td> - -<td class="tdrpg"><small>16</small></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdrch"><small>III.</small></td> - -<td class="tdl" id="Chapter103_toc"><a href="#Chapter103_hdg"><small>A -COACH-AND-FIVE</small></a></td> - -<td class="tdl"> </td> - -<td class="tdrpg"><small>30</small></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdrch"><small>IV.</small></td> - -<td class="tdl" id="Chapter104_toc"><a -href="#Chapter104_hdg"><small>BUSINESS</small></a></td> - -<td class="tdl"> </td> - -<td class="tdrpg"><small>46</small></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdrch"><small>V.</small></td> - -<td class="tdl" id="Chapter105_toc"><a href="#Chapter105_hdg">“<small>THE HAPPY -LAND</small>”</a></td> - -<td class="tdl"> </td> - -<td class="tdrpg"><small>64</small></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdrch"><small>VI.</small></td> - -<td class="tdl" id="Chapter106_toc"><a href="#Chapter106_hdg"><small>IN DARKNESS AND IN -LIGHT</small></a></td> - -<td class="tdl"> </td> - -<td class="tdrpg"><small>72</small></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdrch"><small>VII.</small></td> - -<td class="tdl" id="Chapter107_toc"><a -href="#Chapter107_hdg"><small>TREACHERY</small></a></td> - -<td class="tdl"> </td> - -<td class="tdrpg"><small>84</small></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdrch"><small>VIII.</small></td> - -<td class="tdl" id="Chapter108_toc"><a href="#Chapter108_hdg"><small>THE HEAVY -HAND</small></a></td> - -<td class="tdl"> </td> - -<td class="tdrpg"><small>100</small></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdrch"><small>IX.</small></td> - -<td class="tdl" id="Chapter109_toc"><a href="#Chapter109_hdg">“<small>TOUJOURS DE -L</small>’<small>AUDACE</small>”</a></td> - -<td class="tdl"> </td> - -<td class="tdrpg"><small>124</small></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdc top1" colspan="4" id="Chapter200_toc"><a href="#Chapter200_hdg">BOOK -II</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdrch"><small>X.</small></td> - -<td class="tdl" id="Chapter210_toc"><a -href="#Chapter210_hdg"><small>ADRIFT</small></a></td> - -<td class="tdl"> </td> - -<td class="tdrpg"><small>135</small></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdrch"><small>XI.</small></td> - -<td class="tdl" id="Chapter211_toc"><a href="#Chapter211_hdg"><small>THE GUNS OF -MONTROSE</small></a></td> - -<td class="tdl"> </td> - -<td class="tdrpg"><small>150</small></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdrch"><small>XII.</small></td> - -<td class="tdl" id="Chapter212_toc"><a -href="#Chapter212_hdg"><small>INCHBRAYOCK</small></a></td> - -<td class="tdl"> </td> - -<td class="tdrpg"><small>161</small></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdrch"><small>XIII.</small></td> - -<td class="tdl" id="Chapter213_toc"><a href="#Chapter213_hdg"><small>THE INTERESTED -SPECTATOR</small></a></td> - -<td class="tdl"> </td> - -<td class="tdrpg"><small>177</small></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdrch"><small>XIV.</small></td> - -<td class="tdl" id="Chapter214_toc"><a href="#Chapter214_hdg"><small>IN SEARCH OF -SENSATION</small></a></td> - -<td class="tdl"> </td> - -<td class="tdrpg"><small>185</small></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdrch"><small>XV.</small></td> - -<td class="tdl" id="Chapter215_toc"><a href="#Chapter215_hdg"><small>WATTIE HAS -THEORIES</small></a></td> - -<td class="tdl"> </td> - -<td class="tdrpg"><small>200</small></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdrch"><small>XVI.</small></td> - -<td class="tdl" id="Chapter216_toc"><a href="#Chapter216_hdg"><small>THE TWO ENDS OF THE -LINE</small></a></td> - -<td class="tdl"> </td> - -<td class="tdrpg"><small>212</small></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdrch"><small>XVII.</small></td> - -<td class="tdl" id="Chapter217_toc"><a -href="#Chapter217_hdg"><small>SOCIETY</small></a></td> - -<td class="tdl"> </td> - -<td class="tdrpg"><small>222</small></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdrch"><small>XVIII.</small></td> - -<td class="tdl" id="Chapter218_toc"><a href="#Chapter218_hdg"><small>BALNILLO FINDS -PERFECTION</small></a></td> - -<td class="tdl"> </td> - -<td class="tdrpg"><small>234</small></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdc top1" colspan="4" id="Chapter300_toc"><a href="#Chapter300_hdg">BOOK -III</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdrch"><small>XIX.</small></td> - -<td class="tdl" id="Chapter319_toc"><a href="#Chapter319_hdg"><small>THE -WINTER</small></a></td> - -<td class="tdl"> </td> - -<td class="tdrpg"><small>251</small></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdrch"><small>XX.</small></td> - -<td class="tdl" id="Chapter320_toc"><a href="#Chapter320_hdg"><small>THE PARTING OF THE -WAYS</small></a></td> - -<td class="tdl"> </td> - -<td class="tdrpg"><small>263</small></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdrch"><small>XXI.</small></td> - -<td class="tdl" id="Chapter321_toc"><a href="#Chapter321_hdg"><small>HUNTLY -HILL</small></a></td> - -<td class="tdl"> </td> - -<td class="tdrpg"><small>280</small></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdrch"><small>XXII.</small></td> - -<td class="tdl" id="Chapter322_toc"><a href="#Chapter322_hdg"><small>HUNTLY HILL -(<i>continued</i>)</small></a></td> - -<td class="tdl"> </td> - -<td class="tdrpg"><small>288</small></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdrch"><small>XXIII.</small></td> - -<td class="tdl" id="Chapter323_toc"><a href="#Chapter323_hdg"><small>THE MUIR OF -PERT</small></a></td> - -<td class="tdl"> </td> - -<td class="tdrpg"><small>299</small></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdrch"><small>XXIV.</small></td> - -<td class="tdl" id="Chapter324_toc"><a href="#Chapter324_hdg"><small>THE VANITY OF -MEN</small></a></td> - -<td class="tdl"> </td> - -<td class="tdrpg"><small>313</small></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdrch"><small>XXV.</small></td> - -<td class="tdl" id="Chapter325_toc"><a href="#Chapter325_hdg"><small>A ROYAL -DUKE</small></a></td> - -<td class="tdl"> </td> - -<td class="tdrpg"><small>327</small></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdrch"><small>XXVI.</small></td> - -<td class="tdl" id="Chapter326_toc"><a href="#Chapter326_hdg"><small>THE VANISHING -BIRD</small></a></td> - -<td class="tdl"> </td> - -<td class="tdrpg"><small>335</small></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdrch"><small>XXVII.</small></td> - -<td class="tdl" id="Chapter327_toc"><a -href="#Chapter327_hdg"><small>EPILOGUE</small></a></td> - -<td class="tdl"> </td> - -<td class="tdrpg"><small>346</small></td> -</tr> -</tbody> -</table> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="chapter" id="Chapter101"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="Chapter100_hdg"><a href="#Chapter100_toc">BOOK I</a></h3> - -<div class="pagebreak"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> - -<p class="title_chap1">FLEMINGTON</p> - -<h4 class="first" id="Chapter101_hdg"><a href="#Chapter101_toc">CHAPTER I<br /> -<span class="chap_title">PROLOGUE</span></a></h4> - -<p class="noindent">M<small>R</small>. D<small>UTHIE</small> walked up the hill with the -gurgle of the burn he had just crossed purring in his ears. The road was narrow and muddy, -and the house of Ardguys, for which he was making, stood a little way in front of him, -looking across the dip threaded by the water. The tall white walls, discoloured by damp -and crowned by their steep roof, glimmered through the ash-trees on the bank at his right -hand. There was something distasteful to the reverend man’s decent mind in this homely -approach to the mansion inhabited by the lady he was on his way to visit, and he found the -remoteness of this byway among the grazing lands of Angus oppressive.</p> - -<p>The Kilpie burn, travelling to the river Isla, farther west, had pushed its way through -the undulations of pasture that gave this particular tract, lying north of the Sidlaws, a -definite character; and the formation of the land seemed <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-4">[Pg 4]</a></span>to suggest that some vast ground-swell had -taken place in the earth, to be arrested, suddenly, in its heaving, for all time. Thus it -was that a stranger, wandering about, might come unwarily upon little outlying farms and -cottages hidden in the trough of these terrestrial waves, and find himself, when he least -awaited it, with his feet on a level with some humble roof, snug in a fold of the braes. -It was in one of the largest of these miniature valleys that the house of Ardguys stood, -with the Kilpie burn running at the bottom of its sloping garden.</p> - -<p>Mr. Duthie was not a stranger, but he did not admire the unexpected; he disliked the -approach to Ardguys, for his sense of suitability was great; indeed, it was its greatness -which was driving him on his present errand. He had no gifts except the quality of -decency, which is a gift like any other; and he was apt, in the company of Madam -Flemington, to whose presence he was now hastening, to be made aware of the great -inconvenience of his shortcomings, and the still greater inconvenience of his advantage. -He crossed the piece of uneven turf dividing the house from the road, and ascended the -short flight of stone steps, a spare, black figure in a three-cornered hat, to knock with -no uncertain hand upon the door. His one great quality was staying him up.</p> - -<p>Like the rest of his compeers in the first half of the seventeen hundreds, Mr. Duthie -wore garments of rusty blue or grey during the week, <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-5">[Pg 5]</a></span>but for this occasion he had plunged his -ungainly arms and legs into the black which he generally kept for the Sabbath-day, though -the change gave him little distinction. He was a homely and very uncultured person; and -while the approaching middle of the century was bringing a marked improvement to country -ministers as a class, mentally and socially, he had stood still.</p> - -<p>He was ushered into a small panelled room in which he waited alone for a few minutes, -his hat on his knee. Then there was a movement outside, and a lady came in, whose -appearance let loose upon him all those devils of apprehension which had hovered about him -as he made his way from his manse to the chair on which he sat. He rose, stricken yet -resolute, with the cold forlorn courage which is the bravest thing in the world.</p> - -<p>As Madam Flemington entered, she took possession of the room to the exclusion of -everything else, and the minister felt as if he had no right to exist. Her eyes, meeting -his, reflected the idea.</p> - -<p>Christian Flemington carried with her that atmosphere which enwraps a woman who has -been much courted by men, and, though she was just over forty-two, and a grandmother, the -most inexperienced observer might know how strongly the fires of life were burning in her -still. An experienced one would be led to think of all kinds of disturbing subjects by her -mere presence; intrigue, love, power—a thousand abstract <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-6">[Pg 6]</a></span>yet stirring things, far, far remote from the -weather-beaten house which was the incongruous shell of this compelling personality. -Dignity was hers in an almost appalling degree, but it was a quality unlike the vulgar -conception of it; a dignity which could be all things besides distant; unscrupulous in its -uses, at times rather brutal, outspoken, even jovial; born of absolute fearlessness, and -conveying the certainty that its possessor would speak and act as she chose, because she -regarded encroachment as impossible and had the power of cutting the bridge between -herself and humanity at will. That power was hers to use and to abuse, and she was -accustomed to do both. In speech she could have a plain coarseness which has nothing to do -with vulgarity, and is, indeed, scarcely compatible with it; a coarseness which is -disappearing from the world in company with many better and worse things.</p> - -<p>She moved slowly, for she was a large woman and had never been an active one; but the -bold and steady brilliance of her eyes, which the years had not faded, suggested swift and -sudden action in a way that was disconcerting. She had the short, straight nose common to -feline types, and time, which had spared her eyes, was duplicating her chin. Her eyebrows, -even and black, accentuated the heavy silver of her abundant unpowdered hair, which had -turned colour early, and an immense ruby hung from each of her tiny ears in a setting of -small diamonds. Mr. Duthie, who noticed none of these things particularly, <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-7">[Pg 7]</a></span>was, nevertheless, crushed -by their general combination.</p> - -<p>It was nine years before this story opens that Christian Flemington had left France to -take up her abode on the small estate of Ardguys, which had been left to her by a distant -relation. Whilst still almost a child, she had married a man much older than herself, and -her whole wedded life had been spent at the Court of James II. of England at St. Germain, -whither her husband, a Scottish gentleman of good birth in the exiled King’s suite, had -followed his master, remaining after his death in attendance upon his widow, Mary Beatrice -of Modena.</p> - -<p>Flemington did not long survive the King. He left his wife with one son, who, on -reaching manhood, estranged himself from his mother by an undesirable marriage; indeed, it -was immediately after this latter event that Christian quitted her post at Court, retiring -to Rouen, where she lived until the possession of Ardguys, which she inherited a few -months later, gave her a home of her own.</p> - -<p>Different stories were afloat concerning her departure. Many people said that she had -gambled away the greater part of her small fortune and was forced to retrench in some -quiet place; others, that she had quarrelled with, and been dismissed by, Mary Beatrice. -Others, again, declared that she had been paid too much attention by the young Chevalier -de St. George and had found it discreet to take herself out of his <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-8">[Pg 8]</a></span>way; but the believers in -this last theory were laughed to scorn; not because the world saw anything strange in the -Chevalier’s alleged infatuation, but because it was quite sure that Christian Flemington -would have acted very differently in the circumstances. But no one could be certain of the -truth: the one certain thing was that she was gone and that since her retreat to Rouen she -had openly professed Whig sympathies. She had been settled at Ardguys, where she kept her -political leanings strictly to herself, for some little time, when news came that smallpox -had carried off her son and his undesirable wife, and, as a consequence, their little boy -was sent home to the care of his Whig grandmother, much against the will of those -Jacobites at the Court of St. Germain who were still interested in the family. But as -nobody’s objection was strong enough to affect his pocket, the child departed.</p> - -<p>‘Madam’ Flemington, as she was called by her few neighbours, was in correspondence with -none of her old friends, and none of these had the least idea what she felt about her loss -or about the prospect of the child’s arrival. She was his natural guardian, and, though so -many shook their heads at the notion of his being brought up by a rank Whig, no one was -prepared to relieve her of her responsibility. Only Mary Beatrice, mindful of the elder -Flemington’s faithful services to James, granted a small pension for the boy’s upbringing -from her meagre private purse; but as <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-9">[Pg 9]</a></span>this was refused by Christian, the matter ended. And now, in -the year of grace 1727, young Archie Flemington was a boy of eight, and the living cause -of the Rev. William Duthie’s present predicament.</p> - -<p>Madam Flemington and the minister sat opposite to each other, silent. He was evidently -trying to make a beginning of his business, but his companion was not in a mood to help -him. He was a person who wearied her, and she hated red hair; besides which, she was an -Episcopalian and out of sympathy with himself and his community. She found him common and -limited, and at the present moment, intrusive.</p> - -<p>“It’s sma’ pleasure I have in coming to Ardguys the day,” he began, and then stopped, -because her eyes paralyzed his tongue.</p> - -<p>“You are no flatterer,” said she.</p> - -<p>But the contempt in her voice braced him.</p> - -<p>“Indeed, that I am not, madam,” he replied; “neither shall it be said of me that I gang -back from my duty. Nane shall assail nor make a mock of the Kirk while I am its -minister.”</p> - -<p>“Who has made a mock of the Kirk, my good man?”</p> - -<p>“Airchie.”</p> - -<p>The vision of her eight-year-old grandson going forth, like a young David, to war -against the Presbyterian stronghold, brought back Madam Flemington’s good-humour.</p> - -<p>“Ye may smile, madam,” said Duthie, plunged deeper into the vernacular by agitation, -“ay, ye <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-10">[Pg 10]</a></span>may lauch. -But it ill beseems the grey hair on yer pow.”</p> - -<p>Irony always pleased her and she laughed outright, showing her strong white teeth. It -was not only Archie and the Kirk that amused her, but the whimsical turn of her own fate -which had made her hear such an argument from a man. It was not thus that men had -approached her in the old days.</p> - -<p>“You are no flatterer, Mr. Duthie, as I said before.”</p> - -<p>He looked at her with uncomprehending eyes.</p> - -<p>A shout, as of a boy playing outside, came through the window, and a bunch of cattle -upon the slope cantered by with their tails in the air. Evidently somebody was chasing -them.</p> - -<p>“Let me hear about Archie,” said the lady, recalled to the main point by the sight.</p> - -<p>“Madam, I would wish that ye could step west to the manse wi’ me and see the evil -abomination at my gate. It would gar ye blush.”</p> - -<p>“I am obliged to you, sir. I had not thought to be put to that necessity by one of your -cloth.”</p> - -<p>“Madam——”</p> - -<p>“Go on, Mr. Duthie. I can blush without going to the manse for it.”</p> - -<p>“An evil image has been set up upon my gate,” he continued, raising his voice as though -to cry down her levity, “an idolatrous picture. I think shame that the weans ganging by to -the schule should see it. But I rejoice that there’s mony o’ them doesna’ ken wha it -is.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Fie, Mr. Duthie! Is it Venus?”</p> - -<p>“It has idolatrous garments,” continued he, with the loud monotony of one shouting -against a tempest, “and a muckle crown on its head——”</p> - -<p>“Then it is not Venus,” observed she. “Venus goes stripped.”</p> - -<p>“It is the Pope of Rome,” went on Mr. Duthie; “I kent him when I saw the gaudy claes o’ -him and the heathen vanities on his pow. I kent it was himsel’! And it was written at the -foot o’ him, forbye that. Ay, madam, there was writing too. There was a muckle bag out -frae his mou’ wi’ wicked words on it! ‘Come awa’ to Babylon wi’ me, Mr. Duthie.’ I gar’d -the beadle run for water and a clout, for I could not thole that sic’ a thing should be -seen.”</p> - -<p>“And you left the Pope?” said Madam Flemington.</p> - -<p>“I did,” replied the minister. “I would wish to let ye see to whatlike misuse Airchie -has put his talents.”</p> - -<p>“And how do you know it was Archie’s work?”</p> - -<p>“There’s naebody hereabouts but Airchie could have made sic’ a thing. The beadle tell’t -me that he saw him sitting ahint the whins wi’ his box of paint as he gae’d down the manse -road, and syne when he came back the image was there.”</p> - -<p>As he finished his sentence the door opened and a small figure was arrested on the -threshold by the sight of him. The little boy paused, disconcerted and staring, and a -faint colour rose in his olive face. Then his glum look changed to a <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-12">[Pg 12]</a></span>smile in which roguery, -misgiving, and an intense malicious joy were blended. He looked from one to the other.</p> - -<p>“Archie, come in and make your reverence to Mr. Duthie,” said Madam Flemington, who had -all at once relapsed into punctiliousness.</p> - -<p>Archie obeyed. His skin and his dark eyes hinted at his mother’s French blood, but his -bow made it a certainty.</p> - -<p>The minister offered no acknowledgment.</p> - -<p>If Archie had any doubt about the reason of Mr. Duthie’s visit, it did not last long. -The minister was not a very stern man in daily life, but now the Pope and Madam Flemington -between them had goaded him off his normal peaceable path, and his expression bade the -little boy prepare for the inevitable. Archie reflected that his grandmother was a -disciplinarian, and his mind went to a cupboard in the attics where she kept a cane. But -the strain of childish philosophy which ran through his volatile nature was of a practical -kind, and it reminded him that he must pay for his pleasures, and that sometimes they were -worth the expense. Even in the grip of Nemesis he was not altogether sorry that he had -drawn that picture.</p> - -<p>Madam Flemington said nothing, and Mr. Duthie beckoned to him to come nearer.</p> - -<p>“Child,” said he, “you have put an affront upon the whole o’ the folk of this parish. -You have raised up an image to be a scandal to the passers-by. You have set up a notorious -thing in our <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-13">[Pg -13]</a></span>midst, and you have caused words to issue from its mouth that the very -kirk-officer, when he dichted it out wi’ his clout, thought shame to look upon. I have -jaloused it right to complain to your grandmother and to warn her, that she may check you -before you bring disgrace and dismay upon her and upon her house.”</p> - -<p>Archie’s eyes had grown rounder as he listened, for the pomp of the high-sounding words -impressed him with a sense of importance, and he was rather astonished to find that any -deed of his own could produce such an effect. He contemplated the minister with a curious -detachment that belonged to himself. Then he turned to look at his grandmother, and, -though her face betrayed no encouragement, the subtle smile he had worn when he stood at -the door appeared for a moment upon his lips.</p> - -<p>Mr. Duthie saw it. Madam Flemington had not urged one word in defence of the culprit, -but, rightly or wrongly, he scented lack of sympathy with his errand. He turned upon -her.</p> - -<p>“I charge you—nay, I demand it of you,” he exclaimed—“that you root out the evil in yon -bairn’s nature! Tak’ awa’ from him the foolish toy that he has put to sic’ a vile use. I -will require of you——”</p> - -<p>“Sir,” said Madam Flemington, rising, “I have need of nobody to teach me how to correct -my grandson. I am obliged to you for your visit, but I will not detain you longer.”</p> - -<p>And almost before he realized what had happened, <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-14">[Pg 14]</a></span>Mr. Duthie found himself once more upon the -stone steps of Ardguys.</p> - -<p>Archie and his grandmother were left together in the panelled room. Perhaps the boy’s -hopes were raised by the abrupt departure of his accuser. He glanced tentatively at -her.</p> - -<p>“You will not take away my box?” he inquired.</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Duthie has a face like this,” he said airily, drawing his small features into a -really brilliant imitation of the minister.</p> - -<p>The answer was hardly what he expected.</p> - -<p>“Go up to the cupboard and fetch me the cane,” said Madam Flemington.</p> - -<p>It was a short time later when Archie, rather sore, but still comforted by his -philosophy, sat among the boughs of a tree farther up the hill. It was a favourite spot of -his, for he could look down through the light foliage over the roof of Ardguys and the -Kilpie burn to the rough road ascending beyond them. The figure of the retreating Mr. -Duthie had almost reached the top and was about to be lost in the whin-patch across the -strath. The little boy’s eyes followed him between the yellowing leaves of the tree which -autumn was turning into the clear-tinted ghost of itself. He had not escaped justice, and -the marks of tears were on his face; but they were not rancorous tears, whose traces live -in the heart long after the outward sign of their fall has gone. They were tears forced -from him by passing stress, and their sources were shallow. <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-15">[Pg 15]</a></span>Madam Flemington could deal out punishment -thoroughly, but she was not one of those who burn its raw wounds with sour words, and her -grandson had not that woeful sense of estrangement which is the lot of many children when -disciplined by those they love. Archie adored his grandmother, and the gap of years -between them was bridged for him by his instinctive and deep admiration. She was no -companion to him, but she was a deity, and he had never dreamed of investing her with -those dull attributes which the young will tack on to those who are much their seniors, -whether they possess them or not. Mr. Duthie, who had just reached middle life, seemed a -much older person to Archie.</p> - -<p>He felt in his pocket for the dilapidated box which held his chief treasures—those -dirty lumps of paint with which he could do such surprising things. No, there was not very -much black left, and he must contrive to get some more, for the adornment of the other -manse gatepost was in his mind. He would need a great deal of black, because this time his -subject would be the devil; and there should be the same—or very nearly the -same—invitation to the minister.</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter" id="Chapter102"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p> - -<h4 id="Chapter102_hdg"><a href="#Chapter102_toc">CHAPTER II<br /> -<span class="chap_title">JETSAM</span></a></h4> - -<p class="noindent">E<small>IGHTEEN</small> years after the last vestige of Archie’s -handiwork had vanished under the beadle’s ‘clout’ two gentlemen were sitting in the -library of a square stone mansion at the eastern end of the county of Angus. It was -evening, and they had drawn their chairs up to a fireplace in which the flames danced -between great hobs of polished brass, shooting the light from their thrusting tongues into -a lofty room with drawn curtains and shelves of leather-bound books. Though the shutters -were closed, the two men could hear, in the pauses of talk, a continuous distant roaring, -which was the sound of surf breaking upon the bar outside the harbour of Montrose, three -miles away. A small mahogany table with glasses and a decanter stood at Lord Balnillo’s -elbow, and he looked across at his brother James (whose life, as a soldier, had kept him -much in foreign countries until the previous year) with an expression of mingled good-will -and patronage.</p> - -<p>David Logie was one of the many Scottish<span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-17">[Pg 17]</a></span> gentlemen of good birth who had made the law his -profession, and he had just retired from the Edinburgh bench, on which, as Lord Balnillo, -he had sat for hard upon a quarter of a century. His face was fresh-coloured and healthy, -and, though he had not put on so much flesh as a man of sedentary ways who has reached the -age of sixty-two might expect to carry, his main reason for retiring had been the long -journeys on horseback over frightful roads, which a judge’s duties forced him to take. -Another reason was his estate of Balnillo, which was far enough from Edinburgh to make -personal attention to it impossible. His wife Margaret, whose portrait hung in the -dining-room, had done all the business for many years; but Margaret was dead, and perhaps -David, who had been a devoted husband, felt the need of something besides the law to fill -up his life. He was a lonely man, for he had no children, and his brother James, who sat -opposite to him, was his junior by twenty-five years. For one who had attained to his -position, he was slow and curiously dependent on others; there was a turn about the lines -of his countenance which suggested fretfulness, and his eyes, which had looked upon so -many criminals, could be anxious. He was a considerate landlord, and, in spite of the -times in which he lived and the bottle at his elbow, a person of very sober habits.</p> - -<p>James Logie, who had started his career in Lord Orkney’s regiment of foot with the -Scots<span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-18">[Pg 18]</a></span> Brigade in -Holland, had the same fresh complexion as his brother and the same dark blue eyes; but -they were eyes that had a different expression, and that seemed to see one thing at a -time. He was a squarer, shorter man than Lord Balnillo, quicker of speech and movement. -His mouth was a little crooked, for the centre of his lower lip did not come exactly under -the centre of the upper one, and this slight mistake on the part of Nature had given his -face a not unpleasant look of virility. Most people who passed James gave him a second -glance. Both men were carefully dressed and wore fine cambric cravats and laced coats; and -the shoes of the judge, which rested on the fender, were adorned by gilt buckles.</p> - -<p>They had been silent for some time, as people are who have come to the same conclusion -and find that there is no more to say, and in the quietness the heavy undercurrent of -sound from the coast seemed to grow more insistent.</p> - -<p>“The bar is very loud to-night, Jamie,” said Lord Balnillo. “I doubt but there’s bad -weather coming, and I am loth to lose more trees.”</p> - -<p>“I see that the old beech by the stables wants a limb,” observed the other. “That’s the -only change about the place that I notice.”</p> - -<p>“There’ll be more yet,” said the judge.</p> - -<p>“You’ve grown weather-wise since you left Edinburgh, David.”</p> - -<p>“I had other matters to think upon there,” answered Balnillo, with some pomp.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p> - -<p>James smiled faintly, making the little twist in his lip more apparent.</p> - -<p>“Come out to the steps and look at the night,” said he, snatching, like most restless -men, at the chance of movement.</p> - -<p>They went out through the hall. James unbarred the front door and the two stood at the -top of the flight of stone steps.</p> - -<p>The entrance to Balnillo House faced northward, and a wet wind from the east, slight -still, but rising, struck upon their right cheeks and carried the heavy muffled booming in -through the trees. Balnillo looked frowning at their tops, which had begun to sway; but -his brother’s attention was fixed upon a man’s figure, which was emerging from the -darkness of the grass park in front of them.</p> - -<p>“Who is that?” cried the judge, as the footsteps grew audible.</p> - -<p>“It’s a coach at the ford, ma lord—a muckle coach that’s couped i’ the water! Wully an’ -Tam an’ Andrew Robieson are seekin’ to ca’ it oot, but it’s fast, ma lord——”</p> - -<p>“Is there anyone in it?” interrupted James.</p> - -<p>“Ay, there was. But he’s oot noo.”</p> - -<p>“Where is he?”</p> - -<p>“He’ll na’ get forward the night,” continued the man. “Ane of the horse is lame. He -cursin’, ma lord, an’ nae wonder—he can curse bonnie! Robieson’s got his wee laddie wi’ -him, and he gar’d the loonie put his hands to his lugs. He’s an elder, ye see.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p> - -<p>The judge turned to his brother. It was not the first time that the ford in the Den of -Balnillo had been the scene of disaster, for there was an unlucky hole in it, and the -state of the roads made storm-bound and bedraggled visitors common apparitions in the -lives of country gentlemen.</p> - -<p>“If ye’ll come wi’ me, ma lord, ye’ll hear him,” said the labourer, to whom the profane -victim of the ford was evidently an object of admiration.</p> - -<p>Balnillo looked down at his silk stockings and buckled shoes.</p> - -<p>“I should be telling the lasses to get a bed ready,” he remarked hurriedly, as he -re-entered the house.</p> - -<p>James was already throwing his leg across the fence, though it was scarcely the cursing -which attracted him, for he had heard oaths to suit every taste in his time. He hurried -across the grass after the labourer. The night was not very dark, and they made straight -for the ford.</p> - -<p>The Den of Balnillo ran from north to south, not a quarter of a mile from the house, -and the long chain of miry hollows and cart-ruts which did duty for a high road from Perth -to Aberdeen plunged through it at the point for which the men were heading. It was a steep -ravine filled with trees and stones, through which the Balnillo burn flowed and fell and -scrambled at different levels on its way to join the Basin of Montrose, as the great -estuary of the river Esk was called. The ford lay just above one of the falls by which the -water leaped downwards, and the dense darkness <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-21">[Pg 21]</a></span>of the surrounding trees made it difficult for Captain -Logie to see what was happening as he descended into the black well of the Den. He could -distinguish a confusion of objects by the light of the lantern which his brother’s men had -brought and set upon a stone; the ford itself reflected nothing, for it was churned up -into a sea of mud, in which, as Logie approached, the outline of a good-sized carriage, -lying upon its side, became visible.</p> - -<p>“Yonder’s the captain coming,” said a voice.</p> - -<p>Someone lifted the lantern, and he found himself confronted by a tall young man, whose -features he could not see, but who was, no doubt, the expert in language.</p> - -<p>“Sir,” he said, “I fear you have had a bad accident. I am come from Lord Balnillo to -find out what he can do for you.”</p> - -<p>“His lordship is mighty good,” replied the young man, “and if he could force this -mud-hole—which, I am told, belongs to him—to yield up my conveyance, I should be his -servant for life.”</p> - -<p>There was a charm and softness in his voice which nullified the brisk impertinence of -his words.</p> - -<p>“I hope you are not hurt,” said James.</p> - -<p>“Not at all, sir. Providence has spared me. But He has had no mercy upon one of my poor -nags, which has broken its knees, nor on my stock-in-trade, which is in the water. I am a -travelling painter,” he added quickly, “and had best introduce myself. My name is -Archibald Flemington.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p> - -<p>The stranger had a difficulty in pronouncing his <i>r</i>’<i>s</i>; he spoke them like -a Frenchman, with a purring roll.</p> - -<p>The other was rather taken aback. Painters in those days had not the standing in -society that they have now, but the voice and manner were unmistakably those of a man of -breeding. Even his freedom was not the upstart licence of one trying to assert himself, -but the easy expression of a roving imagination.</p> - -<p>“I should introduce myself too,” said Logie. “I am Captain James Logie, Lord Balnillo’s -brother. But we must rescue your—your—baggage. Where is your postilion?”</p> - -<p>Flemington held up the lantern again, and its rays fell upon a man holding the two -horses which were standing together under a tree. James went towards them.</p> - -<p>“Poor beast,” said he, as he saw the knees of one of the pair, “he would be better in a -stall. Andrew Robieson, send your boy to the house for a light, and then you can guide -them to the stables.”</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, the two other men had almost succeeded in getting the carriage once more -upon its wheels, and with the help of Flemington and Logie, it was soon righted. They -decided to leave it where it was for the night, and it was dragged a little aside, lest it -should prove a pitfall to any chance traveller who might pass before morning.</p> - -<p>The two gentlemen went towards the house together, and the men followed, carring -Flemington’s <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-23">[Pg -23]</a></span>possessions and the great square package containing his canvases.</p> - -<p>When they entered the library Lord Balnillo was standing with his back to the fire.</p> - -<p>“I have brought Mr. Flemington, brother,” said Logie, “his coach has come to grief in -the Den.”</p> - -<p>Archie stopped short, and putting his heels together, made much the same bow as he had -made to Mr. Duthie eighteen years before.</p> - -<p>A feeling of admiration went through James as the warm light of the house revealed the -person of his companion, and something in the shrewd wrinkles round his brother’s -unimpressive eyes irritated him. He felt a vivid interest in the stranger, and the -cautious old man’s demeanour seemed to have raised the atmosphere of a law-court round -himself. He was surveying the new-comer with stiff urbanity.</p> - -<p>But Archie made small account of it.</p> - -<p>“Sir,” said Balnillo, with condescension, “if you will oblige me by making yourself at -home until you can continue your road, I shall take myself for fortunate.”</p> - -<p>“My lord,” replied Archie, “if you knew how like heaven this house appears to me after -the bottomless pit in your den, you might take yourself for the Almighty.”</p> - -<p>Balnillo gave his guest a critical look, and was met by all the soft darkness of a pair -of liquid brown eyes which drooped at the outer corners, and were set under thick brows -following their downward lines. Gentleness, inquiry, appeal, <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-24">[Pg 24]</a></span>were in them, and a quality which the -judge, like other observers, could not define—a quality that sat far, far back from the -surface. In spite of the eyes, there was no suggestion of weakness in the slight young -man, and his long chin gave his olive face gravity. Speech and looks corresponded so -little in him that Balnillo was bewildered; but he was a hospitable man, and he moved -aside to make room for Archie on the hearth. The latter was a sorry sight, as far as mud -went; for his coat was splashed, and his legs, from the knee down, were of the colour of -clay. He held his hands out to the blaze, stretching his fingers as a cat stretches her -claws under a caressing touch.</p> - -<p>“Sit down and put your feet to the fire,” said the judge, drawing forward one of the -large armchairs, “and James, do you call for another glass. When did you dine, Mr. -Flemington?”</p> - -<p>“I did not dine at all, my lord. I was anxious to push on to Montrose, and I pushed on -to destruction instead.”</p> - -<p>He looked up with such a whimsical smile at his own mishaps that Balnillo found his -mouth widening in sympathy.</p> - -<p>“I will go and tell them to make some food ready,” said the captain, in answer to a -sign from his brother.</p> - -<p>Balnillo stood contemplating the young man; the lines round his eyes were relaxing a -little; he was fundamentally inquisitive, and his companion matched no type he had ever -seen. He was a <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-25">[Pg -25]</a></span>little disturbed by his assurance, yet his instinct of patronage was tickled -by the situation.</p> - -<p>“I am infinitely grateful to you,” said Archie. “I know all the inns in Brechin, and am -very sensible how much better I am likely to dine here than there. You are too kind.”</p> - -<p>“Then you know these parts?”</p> - -<p>“My home is at the other end of the county—at Ardguys.”</p> - -<p>“I am familiar with the name,” said Balnillo, “but until lately, I have been so much in -Edinburgh that I am out of touch with other places. I am not even aware to whom it -belongs.”</p> - -<p>“It is a little property, my lord—nothing but a few fields and a battered old house. -But it belongs to my grandmother Flemington, who brought me up. She lives very -quietly.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed, indeed,” said the judge, his mind making a cast for a clue as a hound does for -the scent.</p> - -<p>He was not successful.</p> - -<p>“I had not taken you for a Scot,” he said, after a moment.</p> - -<p>“I have been told that,” said Archie; “and that reminds me that it would be proper to -tell your lordship what I am. I am a painter, and at this moment your hall is full of my -paraphernalia.”</p> - -<p>Lord Balnillo did not usually show his feelings, but the look which, in spite of -himself, flitted across his face, sent a gleam of entertainment through Archie.</p> - -<p>“You are surprised,” he observed, sighing. <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-26">[Pg 26]</a></span>“But when a man has to mend his fortunes he must mend them -with what tools he can. Nor am I ashamed of my trade.”</p> - -<p>“There is no need, Mr. Flemington,” replied the other, with the measured benevolence he -had sometimes used upon the bench; “what you tell me does you honour—much honour, -sir.”</p> - -<p>“Then you did not take me for a painter any more than for a Scot?” said Archie, smiling -at his host.</p> - -<p>“I did not, sir,” said the judge shortly. He was not accustomed to be questioned by his -witnesses and he had the uncomfortable sensation of being impelled, in spite of a certain -prejudice, to think moderately well of his guest.</p> - -<p>“I have heard tell of your lordship very often,” said the latter, suddenly, “and I know -very well into what good hands I have fallen. I could wish that all the world was more -like yourself.”</p> - -<p>He turned his head and stared wistfully at the coals.</p> - -<p>Balnillo could not make out whether this young fellow’s assurance or his humility was -the real key-note to the man. But he liked some of his sentiments well enough. Archie wore -his own hair, and the old man noticed how silky and fine the brown waves were in the -firelight. They were so near his hand as their owner leaned forward that he could almost -have stroked them.</p> - -<p>“Are you going further than Montrose?” he inquired.</p> - -<p>“I had hoped to cozen a little employment out of <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-27">[Pg 27]</a></span>Aberdeen,” replied Flemington, “but it is a -mere speculation. I have a gallery of the most attractive canvases with me—women, divines, -children, magistrates, provosts—all headless and all waiting to see what faces chance and -I may fit on to their necks. I have one lady—an angel, I assure you, my lord!—a vision of -green silk and white roses—shoulders like satin—the hands of Venus!”</p> - -<p>Balnillo was further bewildered. He knew little about the arts and nothing about -artists. He had looked at many a contemporary portrait without suspecting that the -original had chosen, as sitters often did, an agreeable ready-made figure from a selection -brought forward by a painter, on which to display his or her countenance. It was a custom -which saved the trouble of many sittings and rectified much of the niggardliness or -over-generosity of Nature.</p> - -<p>“I puzzle you, I see,” added Archie, laughing, “and no doubt the hair of Van Dyck would -stand on end at some of our modern doings. But I am not Van Dyck, unhappily, and in common -with some others I do half my business before my sitters ever see me. A client has only to -choose a suitable body for his own head, and I can tell you that many are thankful to have -the opportunity.”</p> - -<p>“I had no idea that portraits were done like that,” said Lord Balnillo; “I never heard -of such an arrangement before.”</p> - -<p>“But you do not think it wrong, I hope?” exclaimed Flemington, the gaiety dying out of -his <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-28">[Pg 28]</a></span>face. “There -is no fraud about it! It is not as if a man deceived his sitter.”</p> - -<p>The half-petulant distress in his voice struck Balnillo, and almost touched him; there -was something so simple and confiding in it.</p> - -<p>“It might have entertained your lordship to see them,” continued Archie ruefully. “I -should have liked to show you the strange company I travel with.”</p> - -<p>“So you shall, Mr. Flemington,” said the old man. “It would entertain me very greatly. -I only fear that the lady with the white roses may enslave me,” he added, with rather -obvious jocosity.</p> - -<p>“Indeed, now is the time for that,” replied Archie, his face lighting up again, “for I -hope she may soon wear the head of some fat town councillor’s wife of Aberdeen.”</p> - -<p>As he spoke Captain Logie returned with the news that dinner was prepared.</p> - -<p>“I have been out to the stable to see what we could do for your horses,” said he.</p> - -<p>“Thank you a thousand times, sir,” exclaimed Archie.</p> - -<p>Lord Balnillo watched his brother as he led the painter to the door.</p> - -<p>“I think I will come, too, and sit with Mr. Flemington while he eats,” he said, after a -moment’s hesitation.</p> - -<p>A couple of hours later Archie found himself in a comfortable bedroom. His valise had -been soaked in the ford, and a nightshirt of Lord <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-29">[Pg 29]</a></span>Balnillo’s was warming at the fire. When he had put it on -he went and looked at himself in an old-fashioned mirror which hung on the wall. He was a -good deal taller than the judge, but it was not his own image that caused the -indescribable expression on his face.</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter" id="Chapter103"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p> - -<h4 id="Chapter103_hdg"><a href="#Chapter103_toc">CHAPTER III<br /> -<span class="chap_title">A COACH-AND-FIVE</span></a></h4> - -<p class="noindent">A<small>RCHIE</small> sat in his bedroom at a table. The window was -open, for it was a soft October afternoon, and he looked out meditatively at the prospect -before him.</p> - -<p>The wind that had howled in the night had spent itself towards morning, and by midday -the tormented sky had cleared and the curtain of cloud rolled away, leaving a mellow sun -smiling over the Basin of Montrose. He had never been within some miles of Balnillo, and -the aspect of this piece of the country being new to him, his painter’s eye rested -appreciatively on what he saw.</p> - -<p>Two avenues of ancient trees ran southward, one on either side of the house, and a -succession of grass fields sloped away before him between these bands of timber to the -tidal estuary, where the water lay blue and quiet with the ribbon of the South Esk winding -into it from the west. Beyond it the low hills with their gentle rise touched the horizon; -nearer at hand the beeches and gean-trees, so dear to Lord Balnillo’s heart, were red and -gold. Here and there, where the <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-31">[Pg -31]</a></span>gale had thinned the leaves, the bareness of stem and bough let in glimpses -of the distant purple which was the veil of the farther atmosphere. To the east, shut out -from his sight by all this wood, was the town of Montrose, set, with its pointed steeple, -like the blue silhouette of some Dutch town, between the Basin and the North Sea.</p> - -<p>A pen was in Flemington’s hand, and the very long letter he had just written was before -him.</p> - -<div class="letter"> - -<p class="address">“B<small>ALNILLO</small> H<small>OUSE</small>.</p> - -<p class="salutation">“M<small>ADAM</small>, <small>MY</small> <small>DEAR</small> -G<small>RANDMOTHER</small>,</p> - -<p class="letter_first_para">“I beg you to look upon the address at the head of this -letter, and to judge whether fortune has favoured your devoted grandson.</p> - -<p>“I am <i>on the very spot</i>, and, what is more, seem like to remain there -indefinitely. Could anything in this untoward world have fallen out better? Montrose is a -bare three miles from where I sit, and I can betake myself there on business when -necessary, while I live as secluded as I please, cheek by jowl with the very persons whose -acquaintance I had laid so many plots to compass. My dear grandmother, could you but have -seen me last night, when I lay down after my labours, tricked out in my worshipful host’s -nightshirt! Though the honest man is something of a fop in his attire, his arms are not so -long as mine, and the fine ruffles on the sleeves did little more than adorn my elbows, -which made me feel like a lady till I looked at my skirts. Then I felt more like a -highlandman. <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-32">[Pg 32]</a></span>But I -am telling you only effects when you are wanting causes.</p> - -<p>“I changed horses at Brechin, having got so far in safety just after dark, and went on -towards Montrose, with the wind rising and never a star to look comfort at me through the -coach window. Though I knew we must be on the right road, I asked my way at every hovel we -passed, and was much interested when I was told that I was at the edge of my Lord -Balnillo’s estate, and not far from his house.</p> - -<p>“The road soon afterwards took a plunge into the very vilest place I ever saw—a steep -way scarcely fit for a cattle-road, between a mass of trees. I put out my head and heard -the rushing of water. Oh, what a fine thing memory is! I remembered having heard of the -Den of Balnillo and being told that it was near Balnillo house, and I judged we must be -there. Another minute and we were clattering among stones; the water was up to the axle -and we rocked like a ship. One wheel was higher than the other, and we leaned over so that -I could scarcely sit. Then I was inspired. I threw myself with all my weight against the -side, and dragged so much of my cargo of canvases as I could lay hold of with me. There -was a great splash and over we went. It was mighty hard work getting out, for the devil -caused the door to stick fast, and I had to crawl through the window at that side of the -coach which was turned to the sky, like a roof. I hope I may never be colder. We <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-33">[Pg 33]</a></span>turned to and got the -horses out and on to dry ground, and the postilion, a very frog for slime and mud, began -to shout, which soon produced a couple of men with a lantern. I shouted too, and did my -poor best in the way of oaths to give the affair all the colour of reality I could, and I -believe I was successful. The noise brought more people about us, and with them my lord’s -brother, Captain Logie, hurrying to the rescue with a fellow who had run to the house with -news of our trouble. The result was that we ended our night, the coach with a cracked axle -and a hole in the panel, the postilion in the servants’ hall with half a bottle of good -Scots whisky inside him, the horses—one with a broken knee—in the stable, and myself, as I -tell you, in his lordship’s nightshirt.</p> - -<p>“I promise you that I thought myself happy when I got inside the mansion—a solemn -block, with a grand manner of its own and Corinthian pillars in the dining-room. His -lordship was on the hearthrug, as solemn as his house, but with a pinched, precise look -which it has not got. He was no easy nut to crack, and it took me a little time to -establish myself with him, but the good James, his brother, left us a little while alone, -and I made all the way I could in his favour. I may have trouble with the old man, and, at -any rate, must be always at my best with him, for he seems to me to be silly, virtuous and -cunning all at once. He is vain, <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-34">[Pg -34]</a></span>too, and suspicious, and has seen so many wicked people in his judicial -career that I must not let him confound me with them. I could see that he had difficulty -in making my occupation and appearance match to his satisfaction. He wears a -mouse-coloured velvet coat, and is very nice in the details of his dress. I should like -you to see him—not because he would amuse you, but because it would entertain me so -completely to see you together.</p> - -<p>“James, his brother, is cut to a very different pattern. He is many years younger than -his lordship—not a dozen years older than myself, I imagine—and he has spent much of his -life with Lord Orkney’s regiment in Holland. There is something mighty attractive in his -face, though I cannot make out what it is. It is strange that, though he seems to be a -much simpler person than the old man, I feel less able to describe him. I have had much -talk with him this morning, and I don’t know when I have liked anyone better.</p> - -<p class="letter_last_para">“And now comes the triumph of well-doing—the climax to which -all this faithful record leads. I am to paint his lordship’s portrait (in his Judge’s -robes), and am installed here definitely for that purpose! I shall be grateful if you will -send me my chestnut-brown suit and a couple of fine shirts, also the silk stockings which -are in the top shelf of my cupboard, and all you can lay hands on in the matter of -cravats. My valise was soaked through and through, and, <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-35">[Pg 35]</a></span>though the clothes I am wearing were dried -in the night, I am rather short of good coats, for I expected to end in an inn at Montrose -rather than in a gentleman’s house. Though I am within reach of Ardguys, and might ride to -fetch them in person, I do not want to be absent unnecessarily. Any <i>important</i> -letters that I may send you will go by a hand I know of. I shall go shortly to Montrose by -way of procuring myself some small necessity, and shall search for that hand. Its owner -should not be difficult to recognize, by all accounts. And now, my dear grandmother, I -shall write myself</p> - -<p class="closing">“Your dutiful and devoted grandson,</p> - -<p class="signature">“A<small>RCHIBALD</small> F<small>LEMINGTON</small>.”</p> -</div> - -<p>Archie sealed his letter, and then rose and leaned far out of the window. The sun still -bathed the land, but it was getting low; the tree-tops were thrusting their heads into a -light which had already left the grass-parks slanting away from the house. The latter part -of his morning had been taken up by his host’s slow inspection of his canvases, and he -longed for a sight of his surroundings. He knew that the brothers had gone out together, -and he took his hat and stood irresolute, with his letter in his hand, before a -humble-looking little locked case, which he had himself rescued the night before from -among his submerged belongings in the coach, hesitating whether he should commit the paper -to it or keep it upon his own person. It seemed to be a matter <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-36">[Pg 36]</a></span>for some consideration. Finally, he put it -into his pocket and went out.</p> - -<p>He set forth down one of the avenues, walking on a gorgeous carpet of fallen leaves, -and came out on a road running east and west, evidently another connecting Brechin with -Montrose. He smiled as he considered it, realizing that, had he taken it last night, he -would have escaped the Den of Balnillo and many more desirable things at the same -time.</p> - -<p>As he stood looking up and down, he heard a liquid rush, and saw to his right a -mill-dam glimmering through the trees, evidently the goal of the waters which had soused -him so lately. He strolled towards it, attracted by the forest of stems and golden foliage -reflected in the pool, and by the slide down which the stream poured into a field, to -wind, like a little serpent, through the grass. Just where it disappeared stood a stone -mill-house abutting on the highway, from which came the clacking of a wheel. The miller -was at his door. Archie could see that he was watching something with interest, for the -man stood out, a distinct white figure, on the steps running up from the road to the -gaping doorway in the mill-wall.</p> - -<p>Flemington was one of those blessed people for whom common sights do not glide by, a -mere meaningless procession of alien things. Humanity’s smallest actions had an interest -for him, for he had that love of seeing effect follow cause, which is at once priceless -and childish—priceless <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-37">[Pg -37]</a></span>because anything that lifts from us the irritating burden of ourselves for -so much as a moment is priceless; and childish because it is a survival of the years when -all the universe was new. Priceless yet again, because it will often lead us down -unexpected side-tracks of knowledge in a world in which knowledge is power.</p> - -<p>He sat down on the low wall bounding the mill-field, for he was determined to know what -the miller was staring at. Whatever it was, it was on the farther side of a cottage built -just across the road from the mill.</p> - -<p>He was suddenly conscious that a bare-footed little girl with tow-coloured hair had -appeared from nowhere, and was standing beside him. She also was staring at the house by -the mill, but with occasional furtive glances at himself. All at once the heavy drone of a -bagpipe came towards them, then the shrill notes of the chanter began to meander up and -down on the blare of sonorous sound like a light pattern running over a dark background. -The little girl removed her eyes from the stranger and cut a caper with her bare feet, as -though she would like to dance.</p> - -<p>It was evident that the sounds had affected Flemington, too, but not in the same way. -He made a sharp exclamation under his breath, and turned to the child.</p> - -<p>“Who is that playing?” he cried, putting out his hand.</p> - -<p>She jumped back and stood staring.</p> - -<p>“Who is that playing?” he repeated.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p> - -<p>She was still dumb, scrubbing one foot against her bare ankle after the manner of the -shoeless when embarrassed.</p> - -<p>Archie was exasperated. He rose, without further noticing the child, and hurried -towards the mill. When he had reached the place where the stream dived through a stone -arch under the road he found she was following him. He heard the pad, pad, of her naked -soles in the mud.</p> - -<p>All at once she was moved to answer his question.</p> - -<p>“Yon’s Skirlin’ Wattie!” she yelled after him.</p> - -<p>But he strode on, taking no notice; fortune was playing into his hand so wonderfully -that he was ceasing to be surprised.</p> - -<p>In the little yard of the cottage he found a small crowd of children, two women, and -the miller’s man, collected round the strangest assortment of living creatures he had ever -seen. The name ‘Skirlin’ Wattie’ had conveyed something to him, and he was prepared for -the extraordinary, but his breath was almost taken away by the oddness of what he saw.</p> - -<p>In the middle of the group was a stout wooden box, which, mounted on very low wheels, -was transformed into the likeness of a rough go-cart, and to this were yoked five dogs of -differing breeds and sizes. A half-bred mastiff in the wheel of the team was taking -advantage of the halt and lay dozing, his jowl on his paws, undisturbed by the blast of -sound which poured over his head, whilst his companion, a large, smooth-haired <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-39">[Pg 39]</a></span>yellow cur, stood alert -with an almost proprietary interest in what was going on awake in his amber eyes. The -couple of collies in front of them sniffed furtively at the bystanders, and the -wire-haired terrier, which, as leader, was harnessed singly in advance of the lot, was -sharing a bannock with a newly-breeched man-child, the sinister nature of whose squint -almost made the dog’s confidence seem misplaced.</p> - -<p>The occupant of the cart was an elderly man, whom accident had deprived of the lower -part of his legs, both of which had been amputated just below the knee. He had the head of -Falstaff, the shoulders of Hercules, and lack of exercise had made his thighs and back -bulge out over the sides of his carriage, even as the bag of his pipes bulged under his -elbow. He was dressed in tartan breeches and doublet, and he wore a huge Kilmarnock bonnet -with a red knob on the top. The lower half of his face was distended by his occupation, -and at the appearance of Flemington by the gate, he turned on him, above the billows of -crimson cheek and grizzled whisker, the boldest pair of eyes that the young man had ever -met. He was a masterly piper, and as the tune stopped a murmur of applause went through -the audience.</p> - -<p>“Man, ye’re the most mountaineous player in Scotland!” said the miller’s man, who was a -coiner of words.</p> - -<p>“Aye, dod, am I!” replied the piper.</p> - -<p>“Hae?” continued the miller’s man, holding out an apple.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p> - -<p>The beggar took it with that silent wag of the back of the head which seems peculiar to -the east coast of Scotland, and dropped it into the cart.</p> - -<p>Archie handed him a sixpence.</p> - -<p>“Ye’ll hae to gie us mair noo!” cried the squinting child, whose eyes had seen straight -enough, and who seemed to have a keen sense of values.</p> - -<p>“Aye, a sang this time,” added its mother.</p> - -<p>“Ye’ll get a pucklie meal an’ a bawbee gin’ ye sing ‘The Tod,’”<a id="footnote1_text" -href="#footnote1_note">*</a> chimed in an old woman, who had suddenly put her head out of -the upper story of the cottage.</p> - -<p>The beggar laid down his pipes and spat on earth. Then he opened his mouth and gave -forth a voice whose volume, flexibility, and extreme sweetness seemed incredible, -considering the being from whom it emanated.</p> - -<div class="verse"> -<blockquote class="stanza"> -<p class="i0">“There’s a tod aye blinkin’ when the nicht comes doon,</p> - -<p class="i0a">Blinkin’ wi’ his lang een, and keekin’ round an’ roun’,</p> - -<p class="i0a">Creepin’ by the farm-yaird when gloamin’ is to fa’,</p> - -<p class="i0a">And syne there’ll be a chicken or a deuk awa’.</p> - -<p class="i1a">Aye, when the guidwife rises there’s a deuk awa’!</p> -</blockquote> - -<blockquote class="stanza"> -<p class="i0">“There’s a lass sits greetin’ ben the hoose at hame,</p> - -<p class="i0a">For when the guidwife’s cankered she gie’s her aye the blame,</p> - -<p class="i0a">And sair the lassie’s sabbin’, and fast the tears fa’,</p> - -<p class="i0a">For the guidwife’s tynt a bonnie hen, and it’s awa’.</p> - -<p class="i1a">Aye, she’s no sae easy dealt wi’ when her gear’s awa’!</p> -</blockquote> - -<blockquote class="stanza"> -<p class="i0">“There’s a lad aye roamin’ when the day gets late,</p> - -<p class="i0a">A lang-leggit deevil wi’ his hand upon the gate,</p> - -<p class="i0a">And aye the guidwife cries to him to gar the toddie fa’,</p> - -<p class="i0a">For she canna thole to let her chicks an’ deuks awa’.</p> - -<p class="i1a">Aye, the muckle bubbly-jock himsel’ is ca’ed awa’!</p> -</blockquote> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p> - -<blockquote class="stanza"> -<p class="i0">“The laddie saw the tod gae by, an’ killed him wi’ a stane,</p> - -<p class="i0a">And the bonnie lass wha grat sae sair she sits nae mair her lane,</p> - -<p class="i0a">But the guidwife’s no contented yet—her like ye never saw,</p> - -<p class="i0a">Cries she, ‘This time it is the lass, an’ she’s awa’!’</p> - -<p class="i1a">Aye, yon laddie’s waur nor ony tod, for Jean’s awa’!”</p> -</blockquote> -</div> - -<p>Archie beat the top rail of the paling with so much enthusiasm that the yellow cur -began to bark. The beggar quieted him with a storm of abuse.</p> - -<p>The beldame disappeared from the window, and her steps could be heard descending the -wooden stair of the cottage. She approached the cart with a handful of meal on a platter -which Skirling Wattie tilted into an old leather bag that hung on his carriage.</p> - -<p>“Whaur’s the bawbee?” cried the squinting child.</p> - -<p>A shout of laughter went up, led by Archie.</p> - -<p>“He kens there’s nae muckle weicht o’ meal, and wha’ should ken it better?” said the -beggar, balancing the bag on his palm and winking at the miller’s man.</p> - -<p>The latter, who happened to be the child’s unacknowledged parent, disappeared behind -the house.</p> - -<p>“One more song, and I will supply the bawbee,” said Archie, throwing another coin into -the cart.</p> - -<p>Skirling Wattie sent a considering glance at his patron; though he might not understand -refinement, he could recognize it; and much of his local success had come from his nice -appraisement of audiences.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I’ll gie ye Logie Kirk,” said he.</p> - -<div class="verse2"> -<blockquote class="stanza"> -<p class="i0">“O Logie Kirk, among the braes</p> - -<p class="i0a">I’m thinkin’ o’ the merry days</p> - -<p class="i0a">Afore I trod the weary ways</p> - -<p class="i1a">That led me far frae Logie.</p> -</blockquote> - -<blockquote class="stanza"> -<p class="i0">“Fine do I mind when I was young,</p> - -<p class="i0a">Abune thy graves the mavis sung,</p> - -<p class="i0a">And ilka birdie had a tongue</p> - -<p class="i1a">To ca’ me back to Logie.</p> -</blockquote> - -<blockquote class="stanza"> -<p class="i0">“O Logie Kirk, tho’ aye the same,</p> - -<p class="i0a">The burn sings ae remembered name,</p> - -<p class="i0a">There’s ne’er a voice to cry ‘Come hame</p> - -<p class="i1a">To bonnie Bess at Logie!’</p> -</blockquote> - -<blockquote class="stanza"> -<p class="i0">“Far, far awa’ the years decline</p> - -<p class="i0a">That took the lassie wha was mine</p> - -<p class="i0a">And laid her sleepin’ lang, lang syne</p> - -<p class="i1a">Among the braes at Logie.”</p> -</blockquote> -</div> - -<p>His voice, and the wonderful pathos of his phrasing, fascinated Archie, but as the last -cadences fell from his mouth, the beggar snatched up the long switch with which he drove -his team and began to roar.</p> - -<p>“A’m awa’!” he shouted, making every wall and corner echo. “Open the gate an’ let me -through, ye misbegotten bairns o’ Auld Nick! Stand back, ye clortie-faced weans, an’ let -me out! Round about an’ up the road! Just round about an’ up the road, a’ tell ye!”</p> - -<p>The last sentences were addressed to the dogs who were now all on their legs and -mindful of the stick whirling in the air above them.</p> - -<p>Archie could see that he was not included in the beggar’s general address, but, being -nearest to the gate, he swung it open and the whole equipage <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-43">[Pg 43]</a></span>dashed through, the dogs guided with -amazing dexterity between the posts by their master’s switch. The rapid circle they -described on the road as they were turned up the hill towards Brechin seemed likely to -upset the cart, but the beggar leaned outwards so adroitly that none of the four wheels -left the ground. As they went up the incline he took up his pipes, and leaving the team to -its own guidance, tuned up and disappeared round the next bend in a blast of sound.</p> - -<p>Flemington would have given a great deal to run after him, and could easily have -overtaken the cart, for its pace was not very formidable. But the whole community, -including the tow-headed little girl, was watching Skirling Wattie out of sight and -speculating, he knew, upon his own identity. So he walked leisurely on till the road -turned at the top of the hill, and he was rewarded at the other side of its bend by the -sight of the beggar halting his team by a pond at which the dogs were drinking. He threw a -look around and behind him; then, as no human creature was to be seen, he gave a loud -whistle, holding up his arm, and began to run.</p> - -<p>Skirling Wattie awaited him at the pond-side, and as Archie approached, he could almost -feel his bold eyes searching him from top to toe. He stopped by the cart.</p> - -<p>“My name is Flemington,” said he.</p> - -<p>“A’ve heard worse,” replied the other calmly.</p> - -<p>“And I have a description of you in my pocket,” <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-44">[Pg 44]</a></span>continued Archie. “Perhaps you would like -to see it.”</p> - -<p>The beggar looked up at him from under his bushy eyebrows, with a smile of the most -robust and genial effrontery that he had ever seen on a human face.</p> - -<p>“A’d need to,” said he.</p> - -<p>Archie took a folded paper from his pocket.</p> - -<p>“You see that signature,” he said, putting his forefinger on it.</p> - -<p>The other reached up to take the paper.</p> - -<p>“No, no,” said Flemington, “this never goes out of my hand.”</p> - -<p>“That’s you!” exclaimed the beggar, with some admiration. “Put it back. A’ ken it.”</p> - -<p>He unhooked his leather bag, which hung inside the cart on its front board. This Archie -perceived to be made, apparently for additional strength, of two thicknesses of wood. -Skirling Wattie slid the inner plank upwards, and the young man saw a couple of sealed -letters hidden behind it, one of which was addressed to himself.</p> - -<p>“Tak’ yon,” said the beggar, as the sound of a horse’s tread was heard not far off, -“tak’ it quick an’ syne awa’ ye gang! Mind ye, a gang ilka twa days frae Montrose to -Brechin, an a’m aye skirlin’ as a gang.”</p> - -<p>“And do you take this one and have it sent on from Brechin,” said Archie hurriedly, -handing him the letter he had written to Madam Flemington.</p> - -<p>The other wagged the back of his head, and laid a finger against the rim of his -bonnet.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p> - -<p>Archie struck into the fields by the pond, and had time to drop down behind a whin-bush -before an inoffensive-looking farmer went by on his way between the two towns.</p> - -<p>The beggar continued his progress, singing to himself, and Flemington, who did not care -to face the mill and the curious eyes of the tow-headed little girl again, took a line -across country back to Balnillo.</p> - -<p>He hated the tow-headed little girl.</p> - -<hr class="small" /> - -<p class="footnote" id="footnote1_note"><a href="#footnote1_text">*</a> Fox.</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter" id="Chapter104"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p> - -<h4 id="Chapter104_hdg"><a href="#Chapter104_toc">CHAPTER IV<br /> -<span class="chap_title">BUSINESS</span></a></h4> - -<p class="noindent">E<small>VENTS</small> seemed to Flemington to be moving fast.</p> - -<p>Lord Balnillo dined soon after five, and during the meal the young man tried to detach -his mind from the contents of the letter lying in his pocket and to listen to his host’s -talk, which ran on the portrait to be begun next morning.</p> - -<p>The judge had ordered his robes to be taken out and aired carefully, and a little room -with a north aspect had been prepared for the first sitting. The details of Archie’s trade -had excited the household below stairs, and the servant who waited appeared to look upon -him with the curious mixture of awe and contempt accorded to charlatans and to those -connected with the arts. Only James seemed to remain outside the circle of interest, like -a wayfarer who pauses to watch the progress of some wayside bargain with which he has no -concern. Yet, though Archie’s occupations did not move Logie, the young man felt -intuitively that he was anything but a hostile presence.</p> - -<p>“With your permission I shall go early to bed to-night,” said Flemington to his host, -as the three <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-47">[Pg 47]</a></span>sat -over their wine by the dining-room fire and the clock’s hands pointed to eight.</p> - -<p>“Fie!” said the judge; “you are a young man to be thinking of such things at this -hour.”</p> - -<p>“My bones have not forgotten yesterday——” began Archie.</p> - -<p>“And what would you do if you had to ride the circuit, sir?” exclaimed Balnillo, -looking sideways at him like a sly old crow. “Man, James, you and I have had other things -to consider besides our bones! And here’s Mr. Flemington, who might be your son and my -grandson, havering about his bed!”</p> - -<p>Archie laughed aloud.</p> - -<p>“Captain Logie would need to have married young for that!” he cried. “And I cannot -picture your lordship as anybody’s grandfather.”</p> - -<p>“Come, Jamie, how old are you?” inquired his brother in a tone that had a light touch -of gratification.</p> - -<p>“I lose count nowadays,” said James, sighing. “I must be near upon eight-and-thirty, I -suppose. Life’s a long business, after all.”</p> - -<p>“Yours has scarcely been long enough to have begotten me, unless you had done so at -twelve years old,” observed Archie.</p> - -<p>“When I had to ride the circuit,” began Balnillo, setting down his glass and joining -his hands across his waistcoat, “I had many a time to stick fast in worse places than the -Den yonder—ay, and to leave my horse where he was and get forward on my clerk’s nag. I’ve -been forced to <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-48">[Pg 48]</a></span>sit -the bench in another man’s wig because my own had rolled in the water in my luggage, and -was a plaster of dirt—maybe never fit to be seen again upon a Lord of Session’s head.”</p> - -<p>Logie smiled with his crooked mouth. He remembered, though he did not mention, the -vernacular rhyme written on that occasion by some impudent member of the junior bar:</p> - -<div class="verse"> -<blockquote class="stanza"> -<p class="i1">“Auld David Balnillo gangs wantin’ his wig,</p> - -<p class="i1a">And he’s seekin’ the loan of anither as big.</p> - -<p class="i1a">A modest request, an’ there’s naething agin’ it,</p> - -<p class="i1a">But he’d better hae soucht a new head to put in it!”</p> -</blockquote> -</div> - -<p>“It was only last year,” continued his brother, “that I gave up the saddle and the -bench together.”</p> - -<p>“That was more from choice than from necessity—at least, so I have heard,” said -Archie.</p> - -<p>“You heard that, Mr. Flemington?”</p> - -<p>“My lord, do you think that we obscure country-folk know nothing? or that reputations -don’t fly farther than Edinburgh? The truth is that we of the younger generation are not -made of the same stuff. That is what my grandmother tells me so often—so often that, from -force of habit, I don’t listen. But I have begun to believe it at last.”</p> - -<p>“She is a wise woman,” said Balnillo.</p> - -<p>“She has been a mighty attractive one,” observed Archie meditatively; “at least, so she -was thought at St. Germain.”</p> - -<p>“At St. Germain?” exclaimed the judge.</p> - -<p>“My grandfather died in exile with his master, and my father too,” replied Flemington -quietly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p> - -<p>There was a silence, and then James Logie opened his mouth to speak, but Archie had -risen.</p> - -<p>“Let me go, Lord Balnillo,” he said. “The truth is, my work needs a steady hand, and I -mean to have it when I begin your portrait to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>When he had gone James took the empty seat by his brother.</p> - -<p>“His grandfather with the King, and he following this womanish trade!” he -exclaimed.</p> - -<p>“I should like to have asked him more about his father,” said Balnillo; “but——”</p> - -<p>“He did not wish to speak; I could see that,” said James. “I like the fellow, David, in -spite of his paint-pots. I would like him much if I had time to like anything.”</p> - -<p>“I have been asking myself: am I a fool to be keeping him here?” said the other. “Was I -right to let a strange man into the house at such a time? I am relieved, James. He is on -the right side.”</p> - -<p>“He keeps his ears open, brother.”</p> - -<p>“He seems to know all about <i>me</i>,” observed Balnillo. “He’s a fine lad, Jamie—a -lad of fine taste; and his free tongue hasn’t interfered with his good sense. And I am -relieved, as I said.”</p> - -<p>Logie smiled again. The affection he had for his brother was of that solid quality -which accepts a character in the lump, and loves it for its best parts. David’s little -vanities and vacillations, his meticulous love of small things, were plain enough to the -soldier, and he knew well that the bench <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-50">[Pg 50]</a></span>and the bar alike had found plenty to make merry over in -Balnillo. He had all the loyal feeling which the Scot of his time bore to the head of his -family, and, as his sentiments towards him sprang from the heart rather than from the -brain, it is possible that he undervalued the sudden fits of shrewdness which would attack -his brother as headache or ague might attack another man. The fact that David’s colleagues -had never made this mistake was responsible for a career the success of which surprised -many who knew the judge by hearsay alone. Drink, detail and indecision have probably -ruined more characters than any three other influences in the world; but the two latter -had not quite succeeded with Lord Balnillo, and the former had passed him over.</p> - -<p>“I wonder——” said James—“I wonder is it a good chance that has sent him here? Could we -make anything of him, David?”</p> - -<p>“Whisht, James!” said the other, turning his face away quickly. “You go too fast. And, -mind you, if a man has only one notion in his head, there are times when his skull is -scarce thick enough to stand between his thoughts and the world.”</p> - -<p>“That is true. But I doubt Flemington’s mind is too much taken up with his pictures to -think what is in other men’s heads.”</p> - -<p>“Maybe,” replied Balnillo; “but we’ll know that better a few days hence. I am not sorry -he has gone to bed.”</p> - -<p>“I will give him an hour to get between his <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-51">[Pg 51]</a></span>blankets,” said Logie, drawing out his watch. “That should -make him safe.”</p> - -<p>Meanwhile Flemington had reached his room and was pulling his great package of spare -canvases from under his sombre four-poster. He undid the straps which secured them and -drew from between two of them a long dark riding-coat, thrusting back the bundle into its -place. He changed his clothes and threw those he had taken off on a chair. Then he took -the little locked box he had saved so carefully from the catastrophe of the previous -night, and, standing on the bed, he laid it on the top of the tester, which was near -enough to the ceiling to prevent any object placed upon it from being seen. He gathered a -couple of cushions from a couch, and, beating them up, arranged them between the -bedclothes, patting them into a human-looking shape. Though he meant to lock his door and -to keep the key in his pocket during the absence he contemplated, and though he had -desired the servants not to disturb him until an hour before breakfast, he had the good -habit of preparing for the worst.</p> - -<p>He slipped out with the coat over his arm, turned the key and walked softly but boldly -down into the hall. He paused outside the dining-room, listening to the hum of the -brothers’ voices, then disappeared down the back-stairs. If he found the door into the -stable-yard secured he meant to call someone from the kitchen regions to open it and to -announce that he was going out to look at his disabled horse. He would say that <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-52">[Pg 52]</a></span>he intended to return -through the front door, by which Captain Logie had promised to admit him.</p> - -<p>Everything was quiet. The only sign of life was the shrill voice of a maid singing in -the scullery as she washed the dishes, and the house was not shut up for the night. -Through the yard he went and out unmolested, under the great arch which supported the -stable clock, and then ran swiftly round to the front. He passed under the still lighted -windows and plunged into a mass of trees and undergrowth which headed the eastern -approach.</p> - -<p>Once among the friendly shadows, he put on the coat, buttoning it closely about his -neck, and took a small grey wig from one of its deep pockets. When he had adjusted this -under his hat he emerged, crossed the avenue, dropped over the sunk wall dividing it from -the fields, and made down them till he reached the Montrose road. Through the still -darkness the sound of the Balnillo stable clock floated after him, striking nine.</p> - -<p>There was not enough light to show him anything but his nearest surroundings. The wall -which bounded the great Balnillo grass-parks was at his left hand, and by it he guided his -steps, keeping a perpetual look out to avoid stumbling over the inequalities and loose -stones, for there were no side-paths to the roads in those days. He knew that the town was -only three miles off, and that the dark stretch which extended on his right was the Basin -of Montrose. A cold snap played in the air, reminding him that autumn, <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-53">[Pg 53]</a></span>which in Scotland keeps -its mellowness late, was some way forward, and this sting in the breath of night was -indicated by a trembling of the stars in the dark vault overhead.</p> - -<p>He hastened on, for time was precious. The paper which he had taken from Skirling -Wattie’s hands had bid him prepare to follow Logie into the town when dark set in, but it -had been able to tell him neither at what hour the soldier would start nor whether he -would walk or ride.</p> - -<p>His chance in meeting the beggar so soon had put him in possession of James’s usual -movements immediately, but it had given him little time to think out many details, and the -gaps in his plans had been filled in by guesswork. He did not think James would ride, for -there had been no sound of preparation in the stable. His intention was to reach the town -first, to conceal himself by its entrance, and when James should pass, to follow him to -his destination. He had a rough map of Montrose in his possession, and with its help he -had been able to locate the house for which he suspected him to be bound—a house known by -the party he served to be one of the meeting-places of the adherents of Charles Edward -Stuart.</p> - -<p>Archie’s buoyancy of spirit was sufficient to keep at arm’s length a regret he could -not quite banish; for he had the happy carelessness that carries a man easily on any -errand which has possibilities of development, more from the cheerful love of chance than -from responsible feeling. <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-54">[Pg -54]</a></span>His light-hearted courage and tenacity were buried so deep under a -luxuriance of effrontery, grace, and mother-wit, and the glamour of a manner difficult to -resist, that hardly anyone but Madam Flemington, who had brought him up, suspected the -toughness of their quality. He had the refinement of a woman, yet he had extorted the -wonder of an east-coast Scotsman by his comprehensive profanity; the expression, at times, -of a timid girl, yet he would plunge into a flood of difficulties, whose further shore he -did not trouble to contemplate; but these contrasts in him spoke of no repression, no -conscious effort. He merely rode every quality in his character with a loose rein, and -while he attempted to puzzle nobody, he had the acuteness to know that his audience would -puzzle itself by its own conception of him. The regret which he ignored was the regret -that he was obliged to shadow a man who pleased him as much as did James Logie. He -realized how much more satisfaction he would have got out of his present business had its -object been Lord Balnillo. He liked James’s voice, his bearing, his crooked mouth, and -something intangible about him which he neither understood nor tried to understand. The -iron hand of Madam Flemington had brought him up so consistently to his occupation that he -accepted it as a part of life. His painting he used as a means, not as an end, and the -changes and chances of his main employment were congenial to a temperament at once boyish -and capable.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p> - -<p>The Pleiades rode high above Taurus, and Orion’s hands were coming up over the eastern -horizon as he reached the narrow street which was the beginning of Montrose. The place was -dark and ill-lit, like every country town of those days; and here, by the North Port, as -it was called, the irregularities of the low houses, with their outside stairs, offered a -choice of odd corners in which he might wait unseen.</p> - -<p>He chose the narrowest part of the street, that he might see across it the more -readily, and drew back into the cavity, roofed in by the ‘stairhead’ of a projecting -flight of steps which ran sideways up a wall. Few people would leave the town at that -hour, and those who were still abroad were likely to keep within its limits. A wretched -lamp, stuck in a niche of an opposite building, made his position all the more desirable, -for the flicker which it cast would be sufficient to throw up the figure of Logie should -he pass beneath it. He watched a stealthy cat cross its shine with an air of suppressed -melodrama that would have befitted a man-eating tiger, and the genial bellowing of a -couple of drunken men came down the High Street as he settled his shoulders against the -masonry at his back and resigned himself to a probable hour of tedium.</p> - -<p class="small_break"> </p> - -<p>Not a mile distant, James Logie was coming along the Montrose road. He had trodden it -many times in the darkness during the past weeks, and his mind was roving far from his -steps, far <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-56">[Pg 56]</a></span>even -from the errand on which he was bent. He was thinking of Archie, whom he believed to be -snug in bed at Balnillo.</p> - -<p>He had gone out last night and landed this fantastic piece of young humanity from the -Den, as a man may land a salmon, and he had contemplated him ever since with a kind of -fascination. Flemington was so much unlike any young man he had known that the difference -half shocked him, and though he had told his brother that he liked the fellow, he had done -so in spite of one side of himself. It was hard to believe that but a dozen years divided -them, for he had imagined Archie much younger, and the appeal of his boyishness was a -strong one to Logie, who had had so little time for boyishness himself. His life since he -was fifteen had been merged in his profession, and the restoration of the Stuarts had been -for many years the thing nearest to his heart. There had been one exception to this, and -that had long gone out of his life, taking his youth with it. He was scarcely a sad man, -but he had the habit of sadness, which is as hard a one to combat as any other, and the -burst of youth and buoyancy that had come in suddenly with Archie had blown on James like -a spring wind. Archie’s father and grandfather had died in exile, too, with Charles -Edward’s parents. And his eyes reminded him of other eyes.</p> - -<p>The events that had taken place since the landing of the Prince in July had made -themselves felt all up the east coast, and the country was <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-57">[Pg 57]</a></span>Jacobite almost to a man. Charles Edward -had raised his standard at Glenfinnan, had marched on Edinburgh in the early part of -September, and had established himself in Holyrood on the surrender of the town. After his -victory over Cope at Preston Pans, he had collected his forces on Portobello -sands—thirteen regiments composed of the Highland clans, five regiments of Lowlanders, two -troops of horse commanded by Lords Elcho and Balmerino, with two others under Lord -Kilmarnock and Lord Pitsligo. The command of the latter consisted of Angus men armed with -such weapons as they owned or could gather.</p> - -<p>The insurgent army had entered England in two portions: one of these led by Lord George -Murray, and one by the Prince himself, who marched at the head of his men, sharing the -fatigues of the road with them, and fascinating the imagination of the Scots by his -hopeful good-humour and his keen desire to identify himself with his soldiers. The two -bodies had concentrated on Carlisle, investing the city, and after a few days of defiance, -the mayor displayed the white flag on the ramparts and surrendered the town keys. After -this, the Prince and his father had been proclaimed at the market cross, in presence of -the municipality.</p> - -<p>But in spite of this success the signs of the times were not consistently cheering to -the Jacobite party. There had been many desertions during the march across the border, and -no sooner had the Prince’s troops left Edinburgh than the city <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-58">[Pg 58]</a></span>had gone back to the Whig dominion. At -Perth and Dundee the wind seemed to be changing too, and only the country places stuck -steadily to the Prince and went on recruiting for the Stuarts.</p> - -<p>Although he was aching to go south with the invaders, now that the English were -advancing in force, Logie was kept in the neighbourhood of Montrose by the business he had -undertaken. His own instincts and inclinations were ever those of a fighter, and he -groaned in spirit over the fate which had made it his duty to remain in Angus, concerned -with recruiting and the raising of money and arms. He had not yet openly joined the -Stuarts, in spite of his ardent devotion to their cause, because it had been represented -to him that he was, for the moment, a more valuable asset to his party whilst he worked -secretly than he could be in the field. The question that perplexed the coast of Angus was -the landing of those French supplies so sorely needed by the half-fed, half-clothed, -half-paid troops, in the face of the English cruisers that haunted the coast; and it was -these matters that kept Logie busy.</p> - -<p>James knew the harbour of Montrose as men know the places which are the scenes of the -forbidden exploits of their youth. This younger son, who was so far removed in years from -the rest of his family as to be almost like an only child, was running wild in the town -among the fisher-folk, and taking surreptitious trips across the bar when the staid David -was pursuing his respectable career at a very different kind of bar in Edinburgh. <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-59">[Pg 59]</a></span>He was the man that -Montrose needed in this emergency, and to-night he was on his way to the town; for he -would come there a couple of times in the week, as secretly as he could, to meet one David -Ferrier, a country gentleman who had joined the regiment of six hundred men raised by Lord -Ogilvie, and had been made deputy-governor of Brechin for the Prince.</p> - -<p>Ferrier also was a man well calculated to serve the cause. He owned a small property -and a farm not far from the village of Edzell, situated at the foot of a glen running up -into the Grampians, and his perfect knowledge of the country and its inhabitants of all -degrees gave him an insight into every turn of feeling that swept through it in those -troubled days. The business of his farm had brought him continually into both Brechin and -Montrose, and the shepherds, travelling incessantly with their flocks from hill to strath, -formed one of his many chains of intelligence. He had joined Lord Ogilvie a couple of -months earlier, and, though he was now stationed at Brechin with a hundred men of his -corps, he would absent himself for a night at a time, staying quietly at Montrose in the -house of a former dependent of his own, that he might keep an eye upon the movements of an -English ship.</p> - -<p>The Government sloop-of-war <i>Venture</i> had come into the harbour, carrying sixteen -guns and about eighty men, and had anchored south of the town, in the strait made by the -passage of the River Esk into the sea. Montrose, apparently, was <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-60">[Pg 60]</a></span>to suffer for the work she had done as a -port for Stuart supplies, for the <i>Venture</i>, lying at a convenient distance just -under the fishing village of Ferryden, had fired heavily on the town, though no Jacobite -troops were there. The commander had unrigged the shipping and burned two trading barques -whose owners were townsmen, and he had landed a force at the fort, which had captured the -town guns and had carried them on board a vessel lying at the quay.</p> - -<p>Ferrier looked with complete trust to James Logie and his brother Balnillo. The old -man, during his judicial career, had made some parade of keeping himself aloof from -politics; and as his retirement had taken place previous to the landing of the Prince, he -had sunk the public servant in the country gentleman before the world of politicians began -to divide the sheep from the goats. For some time few troubled their heads about the -peaceable and cautious old Lord of Session, whose inconspicuous talents were vegetating -among the trees and grass-parks that the late Lady Balnillo had husbanded so carefully for -him. As to his very much younger brother, who had been incessantly absent from his native -land, his existence was practically forgotten. But because the Government’s Secret -Intelligence Department on the east coast had remembered it at last with some suspicion, -Flemington had been sent to Montrose with directions to send his reports to its agent in -Perth. And Flemington had bettered his orders in landing himself at Balnillo.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p> - -<p>As Archie heard a steady tread approaching, he shrank farther back under the stair. He -could only distinguish a middle-sized male figure which might belong to anyone, and he -followed it with straining eyes to within a few feet of the lamp. Here it paused, and, -skirting the light patch, stepped out into the middle of the way.</p> - -<p>He scarcely breathed. He was not sure yet, though the man had come nearer by half the -street; but the height matched his expectation, and the avoidance of the solitary light -proved the desire for secrecy in the person before him. As the man moved on he slipped -from his shelter and followed him, keeping just enough distance between them to allow him -to see the way he went.</p> - -<p>The two figures passed up the High Street, one behind the other, Flemington shrinking -close to the walls and drawing a little nearer. Before they had gone a hundred yards, his -unconscious guide turned suddenly into one of those narrow covered-in alleys, or closes, -as they are called, which started at right angles from the main street.</p> - -<p>Archie dived in after him as unconcernedly as he would have dived into the mouth of -hell, had his interests taken him that way. These closes, characteristic of Scottish towns -to this day, were so long, and burrowed under so many sightless-looking windows and doors, -to emerge in unexpected places, that he admired James’s knowledge of the short cuts of -Montrose, though it seemed to <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-62">[Pg -62]</a></span>him no more than natural. The place for which he conceived him to be making -was a house in the New Wynd nicknamed the ‘Happy Land,’ and kept by a well-known widow for -purposes which made its insignificance an advantage. It was used, as he had heard, by the -Jacobite community, because the frequent visitors who entered after dusk passed in without -more comment from the townspeople than could be expressed in a lifted eyebrow or a sly -nudge. It was a disconcerting moment, even to him, when the man in front of him stopped, -and what he had taken for the distant glimmer of an open space revealed itself as a patch -of whitewash with a door in it. The close was a cul-de-sac.</p> - -<p>Flemington stood motionless as the other knocked at the door. Flight was undesirable, -for James might give chase, and capture would mean the end of a piece of work of which he -was justly proud. He guessed himself to be the fleeter-footed of the two, but he knew -nothing of the town’s byways, and other night-birds besides Logie might join in. But his -bold wit did not desert him, for he gave a loud drunken shout, as like those he had heard -at the North Port as he could make it, and lurched across the close. Its other inmate -turned towards him, and as he did so Archie shouted again, and, stumbling against him, -subsided upon the paved floor.</p> - -<p>The door beyond them opened a little, showing a portion of a scared face and a hand -which held a light.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Guid sakes! what’ll be wrang?” inquired a tremulous female voice.</p> - -<p>The man was standing over Archie, pushing him with his foot. His answer may have -reassured the questioner, but it had a different effect upon the heap on the ground.</p> - -<p>“Hoot, woman! don’t be a fool! It’s me—Ferrier!”</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter" id="Chapter105"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-64">[Pg 64]</a></span></p> - -<h4 id="Chapter105_hdg"><a href="#Chapter105_toc">CHAPTER V<br /> -“<span class="chap_title">THE HAPPY LAND</span>”</a></h4> - -<p class="noindent">T<small>HE</small> door opened a little further.</p> - -<p>“Here,” said Ferrier to the woman, “go up and bring me the roll of unwritten paper from -the table.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll no be coming in?”</p> - -<p>“Not now. Maybe in another hour or more.”</p> - -<p>“But wha’s yon?” said she.</p> - -<p>“Lord! woman, have you lived all these years in Montrose and never seen a drunken man?” -exclaimed he impatiently. “Shut the door, I’m telling you, and get what I want. He will -not trouble you. He’s past troubling anybody.”</p> - -<p>She obeyed, and Archie heard a bolt shot on the inside.</p> - -<p>Though he had been startled on discovering his mistake, he now felt comforted by it, -for, being unknown to Ferrier, he was much safer with him than he would have been with -James. He raised his head and tried to get an idea of his companion’s face, but the -darkness of the close was too great to let him distinguish his features. He had discovered -where he lived by accident, but <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-65">[Pg -65]</a></span>though a description of the man was in the little box now reposing on the -tester of his bed at Balnillo, he did not know him by sight. These things were going -through his mind as the woman returned from her lodger’s errand, and the door had just -been made fast again when there was a step at the close’s mouth and another man came -quickly in, stopping short as he found it occupied.</p> - -<p>Ferrier coughed.</p> - -<p>“Ferrier?” said James’s voice softly. “What is this?” he asked as his foot came in -contact with Archie.</p> - -<p>“It’s a drunken brute who came roaring in here a minute syne and fell head over heels -at my door,” replied the other. “The town is full of them to-night.”</p> - -<p>He stooped down and took Flemington by the shoulder.</p> - -<p>“Up you get!” he cried, shaking him.</p> - -<p>Archie breathed heavily and let his whole weight hang on Ferrier’s hand.</p> - -<p>“Haud awa’ frae me, lassie!” he expostulated thickly.</p> - -<p>Logie laughed.</p> - -<p>“He must be far gone indeed to take you for a lass,” he observed.</p> - -<p>Ferrier gave Archie a stronger shake.</p> - -<p>“A’ll no gang hame wantin’ Annie!” continued Flemington, whose humour was beginning to -find some pleasure in the situation.</p> - -<p>The raw vernacular that he had mastered with <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-66">[Pg 66]</a></span>absolute success in childhood was at his tongue’s end -still.</p> - -<p>“Come, come,” said James.</p> - -<p>Ferrier moved forward, but Archie had reached out a limp hand and taken him by the -ankle.</p> - -<p>“Annie!” he muttered, “ma bonnie, bonnie Annie!”</p> - -<p>Ferrier, who had nearly fallen forward, tried to strike out with his foot, but Archie’s -grip, nerveless yet clinging as a limpet, held him fast.</p> - -<p>“A’ tell ye, a’ll nae gang hame wantin’ Annie!” he repeated more loudly.</p> - -<p>“He has me by the foot, damn him!” said Ferrier.</p> - -<p>James swore quietly but distinctly.</p> - -<p>“Annie! <i>Annie!</i>” roared Archie, making the silent close echo again.</p> - -<p>“Great heavens!” exclaimed the exasperated James, “we shall have the whole town out of -bed if this goes on! Shake him off, man, and let us be going.”</p> - -<p>He bent down as he spoke and groping in the darkness, found Flemington’s heels. He -seized them and began to drag him backwards as a man drags a fighting dog. He had a grip -of iron.</p> - -<p>The effect of the sudden pull on Ferrier was to make him lose his balance. He staggered -against the side of the close, calling to Logie to desist.</p> - -<p>Archie still held on with back-boneless tenacity; but as the scrape of flint and steel -cut the darkness, he knew that he had carried his superfluous pleasantries too far. He -dared not loose Ferrier’s <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-67">[Pg -67]</a></span>ankle and roll to the wall, lest the action should prove him to be more -wideawake and less intoxicated than he seemed. He could only bury his face in his -sleeve.</p> - -<p>His next sensation was a violent stab of burning pain in his wrist that made him draw -it back with a groan.</p> - -<p>“I knew that would mend matters,” said James grimly, as he blew out the tiny twist of -ignited tow and replaced it and the steel box in his pocket. “Come away—this sot has -wasted our time long enough. He can sleep off his liquor as well here as anywhere -else.”</p> - -<p>“You’ve helped to sober him,” said Ferrier, as the two men went out of the close.</p> - -<p>Flemington sat up. The burn stung him dreadfully, for the saltpetre in which the tow -had been dipped added to the smart. But there was no time to be lost, so he rose and -followed again.</p> - -<p>Ferrier and Logie went off up the High Street, and turned down an offshoot of it which -Archie guessed to be the New Wynd, because it answered to its position in his map of the -town. He dashed to the corner and watched them by the one light which illuminated the -narrow street till he could see them no longer. Then he flitted after them, a soft-footed -shadow, and withdrew under a friendly ‘stairhead,’ as he had done at the North Port. A -little farther on he could distinguish the two ascending an outside stair to a squat -building, and he heard the sound of their knuckles on wood. Another minute and they were -admitted.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> - -<p>The two captains were let into a small room in the back premises of ‘The Happy Land’ by -a slatternly-looking woman, who disappeared when she had given them a light. Pens and ink -lay upon the table and the smoke of lamps had blackened the ceiling. It was a wretched -place, and the sound of rough voices came now and again from other parts of the house. -James drew up a chair, and Ferrier also sat down, tossing the roll of paper to his -companion.</p> - -<p>“A young man called Flemington is at Balnillo painting my brother’s portrait,” said -Logie. “It’s a pity that I have not something of his gift for drawing.”</p> - -<p>“Flemington——?” said the other. “There is a widow Flemington who lives a mile or so -this side of the Perthshire border; but that is the only part of the country I do not -know.”</p> - -<p>“This is her grandson. She lived at St. Germain, and her husband was with King James. -He is a strange lad—a fine lad too. My brother seems mightily taken up with him.”</p> - -<p>“Where is your plan?” asked Ferrier.</p> - -<p>James took out a small pocket-book and laid it on the table; then he smoothed out the -roll of paper, drew the points of the compass on it, and began to copy from the rough -sketches and signs which covered the leaf of his little book.</p> - -<p>Ferrier watched him in silence.</p> - -<p>“I could not do that were it to save my life,” he said at last.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I learned something, campaigning by the walls of Dantzig,” replied James.</p> - -<p>Ferrier watched the growing of the hasty map with admiration. His own talents for -organization and tactics had given this obscure landowner the position he held in the -Prince’s haphazard army, but the professional soldier was invaluable to him. He sat -wondering how he could have got on without James.</p> - -<p>“See,” said Logie, pushing the paper to him, “here lies the <i>Venture</i> off -Ferryden, at the south side of the river, and here is Inchbrayock Island. That English -captain is a fool, or he would have landed some men there. You and I will land on it, -Ferrier. And now,” he went on, “the man is twice a fool, for, though he has taken the guns -from the fort and put them on board one of the unrigged ships, he has left her beside the -quay. This point that I have marked with a cross is where she is moored. It would be idle -not to make use of such folly! Why, man, if we can carry through the work I have in my -mind, we shall blow the <i>Venture</i> out of the water! Three nights I have skulked round -the harbour, and now I think that every close and every kennel that opens its mouth upon -it is in my head. And the island is the key to everything.”</p> - -<p>Logie’s eyes shone in the dim room like the eyes of some animal watching in a cave.</p> - -<p>“We must get possession of the ship at the quay-side,” continued he. “Then we will take -a couple of the town guns and land them on Inchbrayock. <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-70">[Pg 70]</a></span>A hundred men from Brechin should be -sufficient.”</p> - -<p>“It must be done at night,” said the other.</p> - -<p>“At night,” said James, getting up and putting his hands on the back of his chair. “And -now, as soon as possible, we must go down to the harbour and look carefully at the -position of everything.”</p> - -<p>Ferrier stood up and stretched himself, as men so often will when they are turning over -some unacknowledged intention.</p> - -<p>James took up the roll of paper, glanced at it and threw it down again.</p> - -<p>“I see it as though it had come by inspiration!” he cried. “I see that we have a -blockhead to deal with, and when heaven sends such an advantage to His Highness, it is not -you nor I, Ferrier, who will balk its design. You will not hang back?”</p> - -<p>He looked at his friend as though he were ready to spring at him. But Ferrier went on -with his own train of thought. He was a slower man than Logie, but if he lacked his fire, -he lacked none of his resolution.</p> - -<p>“You are right,” he said. “A man is a fool who leaves what he has captured on the -farther side of the river, who thinks, having taken his enemy’s guns from a fort, that he -can let it stand empty. He has done these follies because he knows that there are no -troops in Montrose.”</p> - -<p>“Ay, but there are troops in Brechin!” burst out James.</p> - -<p>“There are troops in Brechin,” repeated <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-71">[Pg 71]</a></span>Ferrier slowly, “and they must be got quietly into the -town. I wish there were not eight miles of road between the two.”</p> - -<p>“I have not forgotten that,” said James, “and to-night I mean to remain here till -daylight and then return home by the side of the Basin. I will make my way along its shore -and judge whether it be possible for you to bring your men by that route. If you can get -them out of Brechin by the river-bank and so on along the side of the Esk, you will avoid -the road and I will be waiting for you at the fort.”</p> - -<p>Logie had come round the little table and stood by his friend, waiting for him to -speak.</p> - -<p>“I will go with you,” said Ferrier. “We can part below Balnillo, and I, too, will go -back to Brechin by the river. I must know every step before I attempt to bring them in the -dark. There must be no delays when the time comes.”</p> - -<p>James drew a long sigh of relief. He had never doubted his companion’s zeal, but his -heart had been on fire with the project he carried in it, and Ferrier’s complete -acceptance of it was balm to his spirit. He was a man who spared himself nothing, mentally -or physically.</p> - -<p>He folded the roll of paper and gave it to Ferrier.</p> - -<p>“Keep it,” said he. “Now we must go to the harbour.”</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter" id="Chapter106"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p> - -<h4 id="Chapter106_hdg"><a href="#Chapter106_toc">CHAPTER VI<br /> -<span class="chap_title">IN DARKNESS AND IN LIGHT</span></a></h4> - -<p class="noindent">W<small>HEN</small> the men had disappeared into the house, Archie -remained under his stairhead considering. He had been told in his instructions to discover -two things—whether Logie was in touch with Ferrier, and whether ‘The Happy Land’ was -frequented by the pair. Though Ferrier was in command of the small Jacobite force in -Brechin, it was suspected that he spent an unknown quantity of his time in Montrose.</p> - -<p>To the first of these questions he had already mastered the answer; it only remained -for him to be absolutely certain that the house in front of him was ‘The Happy Land.’ He -could not swear that he was in the New Wynd, though he was morally certain of it, but -there were marks upon the house which would be proof of its identity. There would be a -little hole, covered by an inside sliding panel, in the door of ‘The Happy Land,’ through -which its inmates could see anyone who ascended the stair without being seen themselves, -and there would be the remains of an ancient ‘risp,’ or tirling-pin, at one side of -it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p> - -<p>Archie ran lightly across the street, crept up the staircase, and passed his palm over -the wood. Yes, there was the hole, two inches deep in the solid door. He put in his finger -and felt the panel in the farther side. Then he searched along the wall till his hand came -in contact with the jagged edge of the ancient risp. There was no ring on it, for it had -long been disused, but it hung there still—a useless and maimed veteran, put out of -action.</p> - -<p>He returned to his post satisfied. His discoveries had earned him the right to go home, -but he did not mean to do so. How he was going to get back into Balnillo House, unseen, he -did not know, and had not, so far, troubled himself to imagine. Perhaps he might have to -stop out all night. He hoped not, but he was not going to meet trouble half-way. The house -would be locked, the household—with the exception of the errant James—abed, and his own -room was not upon the ground-floor. However, these were matters for later consideration, -and he would remain where he was for a time. For all he knew, Ferrier and Logie might -combine business with pleasure by staying in ‘The Happy Land’ till morning; but they were -just as likely to come out within measurable time, and then he could see where they went. -He was quite happy, as he was everywhere.</p> - -<p>He fell to thinking of other things: of his host, with his thin, neat legs and velvet -coat; of that ‘riding the circuit’ upon which the old man <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-74">[Pg 74]</a></span>valued himself so much. In his mind’s eye -he figured him astride of his floundering nag at the edge of some uninviting bog in an -access of precise dismay. That was how he would have wished to paint him. His powers of -detachment were such that he became fascinated by the idea, and awoke from it with a start -to hear the footsteps of Logie and Ferrier coming down the stairway opposite.</p> - -<p>They did not retrace their way up the Wynd, but went on to its end and turned into a -street leading southwards, whilst Archie slipped along in their wake. At last they reached -a wilderness of sheds and lumber, above which stood a windmill on a little eminence, and -the strong smell of sea and tar proclaimed the region of the harbour. A light shone clear -and large across the dark space of water, touching the moving ripples, and this Archie -guessed to be the riding-light of the <i>Venture</i>, which lay like a sullen watch-dog -under Ferryden village.</p> - -<p>He had to go very warily, for the pair in front stopped often and stood talking in low -voices, but the bales and coils of rope and heaps of timber with which the quays were -strewn gave him cover. He could not get close enough to them to hear what they said, but -their figures were much plainer against the background of water than they had been in the -streets, and he noted how often Logie would stretch out his arm, pointing to the solitary -light across the strait.</p> - -<p>There was scarcely any illumination on this <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-75">[Pg 75]</a></span>side of it, and the unrigged shipping lay in darkness as -Ferrier and his friend went along the quay and seated themselves on a windlass. Archie, -drawing closer, could hear the rustle as the former unrolled James’s map. The soldier took -out his flint and steel and struck a light, covering it with his hand, and both men bent -their heads over the paper. Archie’s wrist smarted afresh as he saw it; his sleeve had -rubbed the burn, and he could feel the oozing blood.</p> - -<p>He crouched behind them, peering through the medley of ropes and tackle which hung on -the windlass. By standing up he could have touched the two men. He had no idea what it was -that they were studying, but his sharp wits told him that it must be a map of some kind, -something which might concern the English ship across the waterway. He longed to get it. -His confidence in his own luck was one of the qualities that had served him best, and his -confidence in his own speed was great and, moreover, well-placed. He knew that he had -twelve years of advantage over James, and, from the sound of Ferrier’s voice, he judged -that he had the same, or more, over him.</p> - -<p>The temptation of chance overmastered him. He raised himself noiselessly, leaned over -the intervening tackle, and made a bold snatch at the map, which Ferrier held whilst James -was occupied with the lighted twist of tow.</p> - -<p>But his luck was to fail him this time. Logie moved his hand, knocking it against -Flemington’s, <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-76">[Pg 76]</a></span>and -the light caught the paper’s edge. A soft puff of sea-wind was coming in from over the -strait, and in one moment the sheet was ablaze. Archie snatched back his hand and fled; -but the glare of the burning paper had been bright enough to show Logie a man’s wrist, on -which there was a fresh, bleeding mark.</p> - -<p>The bright flare of the paper only intensified the darkness for the two astounded men, -and though each was instantly on his feet and running in the direction of the retreating -footsteps, Archie had threaded the maze of amphibious obstacles and was plunging between -the sheds into the street before either of them could get clear of the pitfalls of the -quay.</p> - -<p>He tore on, not knowing whither he went. His start had been a good one, but as he -paused to listen, which he did when he had gone some way, he could hear them following. -The town was so quiet that he met nobody, and he pressed on, trusting to luck for his -direction.</p> - -<p>Through the empty streets he went at the top of his speed, launched on the flood of -chance, and steering as best he could for the north end of the town. Finally, an -unexpected turning brought him within a few yards of the North Port. He waited close to -the spot where he had first taken shelter, and listened; then, hearing nothing, he struck -out at a brisk walk for the country, and was soon clear of Montrose.</p> - -<p>He sat down by the wayside to rest. He had had a more sensational night than he -expected, <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-77">[Pg 77]</a></span>and -though his spirits were still good, his ill-luck in missing the paper he had risked so -much to obtain had cooled them a little, and by the light of this disappointment he looked -rather ruefully on his poor prospects of getting to bed. It was past midnight, and there -seemed nothing to do but to return to Balnillo and to make himself as comfortable as he -could in one of the many out-buildings which the yard by its back-door contained. The -household rose early, and at the unlocking of that door he must manage to slip in and gain -his bedroom.</p> - -<p>He rose, plodded home, and stole into the courtyard, where, searching in an outhouse, -he found an endurable couch on a heap of straw. On this he spread his coat like a blanket, -crawling under it, and, with a calmness born of perfect health and perfect nerves, was -soon asleep.</p> - -<p>When dawn broke it found him wakeful. He had not rested well, for his burnt wrist was -very sore, and the straw seemed to find it out and to prick the wound, no matter how he -might dispose his hand. He propped himself against the wall by the open outhouse-window, -whence he could see the back door of Balnillo and watch for the moment of its first -opening. It would be neck or nothing then, for he must enter boldly, trusting to hit on a -lucky moment.</p> - -<p>At last the growing light began to define details of the house, tracing them out on its -great mass with an invisible pencil, and he thought he heard a movement within. The -stable-clock struck six, <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-78">[Pg -78]</a></span>and high above he could see the sun touching the slates and the stone angles -of the chimney-stacks with the first fresh ethereal beam of a pure October morning. He -inhaled its breath lovingly, and with it there fell from him the heaviness of his uneasy -night. All was well, he told himself. His sensuous joy in the world, his love of life and -its hazards and energies came back upon him, strong, clean, and ecstatic, and the sounds -of a bolt withdrawn made him rise to his feet.</p> - -<p>A maidservant came out carrying a lantern, whose beam burned with feeble -pretentiousness in the coming sunlight. She set it down by the threshold and went past his -retreat to the stable. No doubt she was going to call the men. When she had gone by he -slipped out, and in a dozen paces was inside the house.</p> - -<p>Another minute and he was in his room.</p> - -<p>He looked with some amusement at the rough effigy of himself which he had made in the -bed overnight, and when he had flung the cushion back to its place he got out of his -clothes and lay down, sinking into the cool luxury of the sheets with a sigh of pleasure. -But he had no desire to sleep, and when a servant came to wake him half an hour later he -was ready to get up. He rose, dressed, wrote out the detailed description of his night’s -discoveries, and put the document in his pocket to await its chance of transmission.</p> - -<p>A message was brought to him from Lord Balnillo as he left his room, which begged his -guest to excuse his company at breakfast. He <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-79">[Pg 79]</a></span>had been long astir, and busy with his correspondence; at -eleven o’clock he would be ready for his sitting, if that were agreeable to Mr. -Flemington.</p> - -<p>As Mr. Flemington realized how easily he might have met the judge as he ran through the -shuttered passage, his belief in the luck that had used him so scurvily last night -returned.</p> - -<p>There was no sign of James as Archie sat down to his meal, though a second place was -set at the table, and as he did not want to ask embarrassing questions, he made no inquiry -about him. Besides which, being immoderately hungry, he was too well occupied to trouble -about anyone.</p> - -<p>He went out upon the terrace when he had finished. The warm greyness of the autumn -morning was lifting from the earth and it was still early enough for long shadows to lie -cool on the westward side of the timber. As they shortened, the crystal of the dew was -catching shafts from the sun, and the parks seemed to lie waiting till the energy of the -young day should let loose the forces of life from under the mystery of its spangled veil. -Where the gean-trees glowed carmine and orange, touches of quickening fire shot through -the interstices of their branches, and coloured like a tress of trailing forget-me-not, -the South Esk wound into the Basin of Montrose, where the tide, ebbing beyond the town, -was leaving its wet sands as a feasting-ground for all sorts of roving birds whose crying -voices came faintly to Archie, mellowed by distance.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p> - -<p>Truly this was a fascinating place, with its changing element of distant water, its -great plain lines of pasture, its ordered vistas of foliage! The passion for beauty lay -deep below the tossing, driving impulses of Flemington’s nature, and it rose up now as he -stood on the yew-edged terraces of Balnillo and gazed before him. For the moment -everything in his mind was swallowed up but the abstract, fundamental desire for -perfection, which is, when all is said and done, humanity’s mainspring, its incessant -though often erring guide, whose perverted behests we call sin, whose legitimate ones we -call virtue; whose very existence is a guarantee of immortality.</p> - -<p>The world, this crystalline morning, was so beautiful to Archie that he ached with the -uncomprehended longing to identify himself with perfection; to cast his body down upon the -light-pervaded earth and to be one with it, to fling his soul into the heights and depths -of the limitless encompassing ether, to be drawn into the heart of God’s material -manifestation on earth—the sun. He understood nothing of what he felt, neither the -discomfort of his imprisonment of flesh, nor the rapturous, tentative, wing-sweeps of the -spirit within it. He left the garden terrace and went off towards the Basin, with the -touch of that elemental flood of truth into which he had been plunged for a moment fresh -on his soul. The whole universe and its contents seemed to him good—and not only good, but -of consummate interest—humanity was fascinating. His failure <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-81">[Pg 81]</a></span>to snatch the map from Ferrier’s hand last -night only made him smile. In the perfection of this transcendent creation all was, and -must be, well!</p> - -<p>His thoughts, woven of the same radiant appreciation, flew to James, whose personality -appealed to him so strongly. The gentle blood which ran in the veins of the pair of -brothers ran closer to the surface in the younger one; and a steadfast, unostentatious -gallantry of heart seemed to be the atmosphere in which he breathed. He was one of those -whose presence in a room would always be the strongest force in it, whether he spoke or -was silent, and his voice had the tone of something sounding over great and hidden depths. -It was not necessary to talk to him to know that he had lived a life of vicissitude, and -Archie, all unsuspected, in the watches of last night had seen a side of him which did not -show at Balnillo. His grim resourcefulness in small things was illustrated by the raw spot -on the young man’s wrist. That episode pleased Flemington’s imagination—though it might -have pleased him even better had the victim been someone else; but he bore James no malice -for it, and the picture of the man haunting the dark quays, strewn with romantic, -sea-going lumber, and scheming for the cause at his heart, whilst the light from the -hostile ship trailed the water beside him, charmed his active fancy.</p> - -<p>But it was not only his fancy that was at work. He knew that the compelling atmosphere -of Logie had not been created by mere fancy, because <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-82">[Pg 82]</a></span>there was something larger than himself, -and larger than anything he could understand, about the soldier. And feeling, as he was -apt to do, every little change in the mental climate surrounding him he had guessed that -Logie liked him. The thought added to the exultation produced in him by the glory of the -pure morning; and he suddenly fell from his height as he remembered afresh that he was -here to cheat him.</p> - -<p>It was with a shock that he heard Skirling Wattie’s pipes as he reached the Montrose -road, and saw the beggar’s outlandish cart approaching, evidently on its return journey to -Montrose. His heart beat against the report that lay in his pocket awaiting the -opportunity that Fate was bringing nearer every moment. There was nobody to be seen as the -beggar drew up beside him. The insolent joviality that pervaded the man, his almost -indecent oddness—things which had pleased Archie yesterday struck cold on him now. He had -no wish to stay talking to him, and he gave him the paper without a word more than the -injunction to have it despatched.</p> - -<p>He left him, hurrying across the Montrose road and making for the place where the -ground began to fall away to the Basin. He sat down on the scrubby waste land by a -broom-bush, whose dry, burst pods hung like tattered black flags in the brush of green; -their acrid smell was coming out as the sun mounted higher. Below him the marshy ground -ran out to meet the water; and eastward the uncovered mud and wet sand, bared <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-83">[Pg 83]</a></span>by the tide ebbing -beyond Montrose, stretched along its shores to the town.</p> - -<p>The fall of the broom-covered bank was steep enough to hide anyone coming up from the -lower levels, and he listened to the movements of somebody who was approaching, and to the -crackling noise of the bushes as they were thrust apart.</p> - -<p>The sound stopped; and Archie, leaning forward, saw James standing half-way up the -ascent, with his back turned towards him, looking out across the flats. He knew what his -thoughts were. He drew his right sleeve lower. So long as he did not stretch out his arm -the mark could not be seen.</p> - -<p>He did not want to appear as if he were watching Logie, so he made a slight sound, and -the other turned quickly and faced him, hidden from the waist downwards in the broom. Then -his crooked lip moved, and he came up the bank and threw himself down beside -Flemington.</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter" id="Chapter107"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-84">[Pg 84]</a></span></p> - -<h4 id="Chapter107_hdg"><a href="#Chapter107_toc">CHAPTER VII<br /> -<span class="chap_title">TREACHERY</span></a></h4> - -<p class="noindent">J<small>AMES</small> did not look as if he had been up all night, -though he had spent the most part of it on foot with Ferrier. The refreshment of morning -had bathed him too, but he was still harassed in mind by some of the occurrences of the -last few hours. Last night he had seen the mark on the wrist stretched suddenly between -himself and his friend, and had understood its significance. It was the mark that he had -put there. As the two men listened to the flying footsteps that mystified them by their -doublings in the darkness, it had dawned upon them that the intruder skulking behind the -windlass and the tipsy reveller prone in the close were one and the same person. The -drunkard was a very daring spy, as sober as themselves.</p> - -<p>“You are out betimes,” said Archie, with friendly innocence.</p> - -<p>“I often am,” replied James simply.</p> - -<p>Archie pulled up a blade of grass and began to chew it meditatively.</p> - -<p>“I see your long night has done you good,” began Logie. “There were many things I -should <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-85">[Pg 85]</a></span>have liked -to ask you, yesterday evening, but you went away so early that I could not.”</p> - -<p>Silence dropped upon the two: upon Logie, because his companion’s manner last night had -hinted at remembrances buried in regret and painful to dig up; on Flemington, because he -knew the value of that impression, and because he would fain put off the moment when the -more complete deception of the man whose sympathetic attitude he divined and whose -generosity of soul was so obvious, must begin. He did not want to come to close quarters -with James. He had hunted him and been hunted by him, but he had not yet been obliged to -lie to him by word of mouth; and he had no desire to do so, here and now, in cold blood -and in the face of all this beauty and peace.</p> - -<p>“I could not but be interested in what you said,” continued the other. “You did not -tell us whether you had been at St. Germain yourself.”</p> - -<p>“Never!” replied Archie. “I was sent to Scotland at eight years old, and I have been -here ever since.”</p> - -<p>He had taken the plunge now, for he had been backwards and forwards to France several -times in the last few years, since he had begun to work for King George, employed in -watching the movements of suspicious persons between one country and the other.</p> - -<p>He looked down on the ground.</p> - -<p>The more he hesitated to speak, the more he knew that he would impress James. He -understood <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-86">[Pg 86]</a></span>the -delicacy of his companion’s feeling by instinct. It was not only dissimulation which bade -him act thus, it was the real embarrassment and discomfort which were creeping on him -under the eyes of the honourable soldier; all the same, he hoped that his reluctant -silence would save him.</p> - -<p>“You think me impertinent,” said Logie, “but do not be afraid that I mean to pry. I -know how hard life can be and how anxious, nowadays. There is so much loss and trouble—God -knows what may happen to this tormented country! But trouble does not seem natural when a -man is young and light-hearted, as you are.”</p> - -<p>Archie was collecting materials wherewith to screen himself from his companion’s -sympathy. It would be easy to tell him some rigmarole of early suffering, of want endured -for the cause which had lain dormant, yet living, since the unsuccessful rising of the -’15, of the devotion to it of the parents he had scarcely known, of the bitterness of -their exile, but somehow he could not force himself to do it. He remembered those parents -principally as vague people who were ceaselessly playing cards, and whose quarrels had -terrified him when he was small. His real interest in life had begun when he arrived at -Ardguys and made the acquaintance of his grandmother, whose fascination he had felt, in -common with most other male creatures. He had had a joyous youth, and he knew it. He had -run the pastures, climbed the trees, fished the Kilpie burn, <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-87">[Pg 87]</a></span>and known every country pleasure dear to -boyhood. If he had been solitary, he had yet been perfectly happy. He had gone to -Edinburgh at seventeen, at his own ardent wish, to learn painting, not as a profession, -but as a pastime. His prospects were comfortable, for Madam Flemington had made him her -heir, and she had relations settled in England who were always ready to bid him welcome -when he crossed the border. Life had been consistently pleasant, and had grown exciting -since the beginning of his work for Government. He wished to Heaven he had not met James -this morning.</p> - -<p>But to Logie, Archie was merely a youth of undoubted good breeding struggling bravely -for his bread in an almost menial profession, and he honoured him for what he deemed his -courage. There was no need to seek a reason for his poverty after hearing his words last -night. His voice, when he spoke of his father’s death in exile, had implied all that was -necessary to establish a claim on James’s generous and rather bigoted heart. For him, -there were only two kinds of men, those who were for the Stuarts and those who were not. -People were very reticent about their political feelings in those days; some from pure -caution and some because these lay so deep under mountains of personal loss and -misfortune.</p> - -<p>“I dare not look back,” said Archie, at last, “I have to live by my trade and fight the -world with my brush. You live by sticking your sword into its entrails and I by painting -its face a better <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-88">[Pg -88]</a></span>colour than Nature chose for it, and I think yours is the pleasanter calling -of the two. But I am grateful to mine, all the same, and now it has procured me the -acquaintance of his lordship and the pleasure of being where I am. I need not tell you -that I find myself in clover.”</p> - -<p>“I am heartily glad of it,” said James.</p> - -<p>“Indeed, so am I,” rejoined Archie, pleased at having turned the conversation so -deftly, “for you cannot think what strange things happen to a man who has no recognized -place in the minds of respectable people.”</p> - -<p>James rolled over on his chest, leaning on his elbows, and looked up at his companion -sitting just above him with his dark, silky head clear cut against the background of green -bush. The young man’s words seemed to trip out and pirouette with impudent jauntiness in -their hearer’s face. Logie did not know that Archie’s management of these puppets was a -part of his charm. His detached points of view were restful to a man like James, one -continually preoccupied by large issues. It was difficult to think of responsibilities in -Archie’s presence.</p> - -<p>“You might never imagine how much I am admired below stairs!” said the latter. “While I -painted a lady in the south, I was expected to eat with the servants, and the attentions -of a kitchen-girl all but cost me my life. I found a challenge, offering me the choice of -weapons in the most approved manner, under my dish of porridge. It came from a groom.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> - -<p>“What did you do?” asked James, astounded.</p> - -<p>“I chose warming-pans,” said Archie, “and that ended the matter.”</p> - -<p>James laughed aloud, but there was bitterness in his mirth. And this was a man born at -St. Germain!</p> - -<p>“We laugh,” said he, “but such a life could have been no laughing matter to you.”</p> - -<p>“But I assure you it was! What else could I do?”</p> - -<p>“You could have left the place——” began James. Then he stopped short, remembering that -beggars cannot be choosers.</p> - -<p>His expression was not lost on Archie, who saw that the boat he had steered so -carefully into the shallows was drawing out to deep water again, and that he had used his -luxuriant imagination to small purpose. He had so little self-consciousness that to keep -James’s interest upon himself was no temptation to him, though it might have been to some -men. He cast about for something wherewith to blot his own figure from the picture.</p> - -<p>“And you,” he said, gravely, “you who think so much of my discomforts, and who have -actually wielded the sword while I have merely threatened to wield the warming-pan—you -must have seen stranger things than the kitchen.”</p> - -<p>“I?” said James, looking fixedly out to where the town steeple threw its reflection on -the wet sand—“yes. I have seen things that I hope you will never see. It is not for me to -speak ill of <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-90">[Pg 90]</a></span>war, -I who have turned to it for consolation as a man may turn to his religion. But war is not -waged against men alone in some countries. I have seen it when it is waged against women -and little children, when it is slaughter, not war. I have seen mothers—young, beautiful -women—fighting like wild beasts for the poor babes that cowered behind their skirts, and I -have seen their bodies afterwards. It would be best to forget—but who can forget?”</p> - -<p>Archie sat still, with eyes from which all levity had vanished. He had known vaguely -that James had fought under Marshal Lacy in the War of the Polish Succession, in the -bloody campaign against the Turks, and again in Finland. The ironic futility of things in -general struck him, for it was absurd to think that this man, seared by war and wise in -the realities of events whose rumours shook Europe, one who had looked upon death daily in -company with men like Peter Lacy, should come home to be hunted down back streets by a -travelling painter. He contemplated his companion with renewed interest; no wonder he was -ruthless in small things. He was decidedly the most fascinating person he had known.</p> - -<p>“And you went to these things <i>for consolation</i>—so you said?”</p> - -<p>“For consolation. For a thing that does not exist,” said the other slowly.</p> - -<p>He paused and turned to his companion with an expression that horrified the young man -and paralyzed his curiosity. The power in his face <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-91">[Pg 91]</a></span>seemed to have given way, revealing, for a -moment, a defencelessness like the defencelessness of a child looking upon the dark; and -it told Archie that there was something that even Logie dreaded and that that something -was memory.</p> - -<p>The deep places he had guessed in James’s soul were deep indeed, and again Flemington -was struck with humility, for his own unimportance in contrast with this experienced man -seemed little less than pitiful. The feeling closed his lips, and he looked round at the -shortening shadows and into the stir of coming sunlight as a man looks round for a door -through which to escape from impending stress. He, who was always ready to go forward, -recoiled because of what he foresaw in himself. His self-confidence was ebbing, for he was -afraid of how much he might be turned out of his way by the influence on him of Logie. He -wished that he could force their talk into a different channel, but his ready wits for -once would not answer the call.</p> - -<p>Something not understood by him was moving James to expression, as reserved men are -compelled towards it at times. Perhaps the bygone youth in him rose up in response to the -youth at his side. The many years dividing him from his brother, the judge, had never -consciously troubled him in their intercourse, but the tremendous divergence in their -respective characters had thrown him back upon himself. Archie seemed to have the power of -turning a key that Balnillo had never held.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p> - -<p>“But I am putting you out of conceit with the world,” cried James abruptly; “let no one -do that. Take all you can, Flemington! I did—I took it all. Love, roystering, good -company, good wine, good play—all came to me, and I had my bellyful! There were merry -times in Holland with the Scots Brigade. It was the best part of my life, and I went to it -young. I was sixteen the day I stood up on parade for the first time.”</p> - -<p>“I have often had a mind to invade Holland,” observed Archie, grasping eagerly at the -impersonal part of the subject; “it would be paradise to one of my trade. The very thought -of a windmill weaves a picture for me, and those strange, striped flowers the Dutchmen -raise—I cannot think of their names now—I would give much to see them growing. You must -have seen them in every variety and hue.”</p> - -<p>“Ay, I saw the tulips,” said James, in a strange voice.</p> - -<p>“The Dutchmen can paint them too,” said Archie hurriedly.</p> - -<p>“What devil makes you talk of tulips?” cried James. “Fate painted the tulips for me. -Oh, Flemington, Flemington! In every country, in every march, in every fight, among dead -and dying, and among dancers and the music they danced to, I have seen nothing but those -gaudy flowers—beds of them growing like a woven carpet, and Diane among them!”</p> - -<p>No feminine figure had come into the background <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-93">[Pg 93]</a></span>against which stood Archie’s conception of -Logie.</p> - -<p>“Diane?” he exclaimed involuntarily.</p> - -<p>James did not seem to hear him.</p> - -<p>“Her eyes were like yours,” he went on. “When I saw you come into the light of the -house two evenings since, I thought of her.”</p> - -<p>Neither spoke for a few moments; then James went on again:</p> - -<p>“Fourteen years since the day I saw her last! She looked out at me from the window with -her eyes full of tears. The window was filled with flowers—she loved them. The tulips were -there again—crimson tulips—with her white face behind them.”</p> - -<p>Flemington listened with parted lips. His personal feelings, his shrinking dread of -being drawn into the confidence of the man whom it was his business to betray, were -swallowed by a wave of interest.</p> - -<p>“I was no more than a boy, with my head full of cards and women and horses, and every -devilry under heaven, when I went to the house among the canals. The Conte de Montdelys -had built it, for he lived in Holland a part of the year to grow his tulips. He was a rich -man—a hard, old, pinched Frenchman—but his passion was tulip-growing, and their -cultivation was a new thing. It was a great sight to see the gardens he had planned at the -water’s edge, with every colour reflected from the beds, and the green-shuttered house in -the middle. Even the young men of the Brigade<span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-94">[Pg 94]</a></span> were glad to spend an afternoon looking upon the show, and -the Conte would invite now one, now another. He loved to strut about exhibiting his -gardens. Diane was his daughter—my poor Diane! Flemington, do I weary you?”</p> - -<p>“No, no, indeed!” cried Archie, who had been lost, wandering in an enchanted labyrinth -of bloom and colour as he listened. The image of the house rising from among its waterways -was as vivid to him as if he had seen it with bodily eyes.</p> - -<p>“She was so young,” said the soldier, “so gentle, so little suited to such as I. But -she loved me—God knows why—and she was brave—brave to the end, as she lay dying by the -roadside . . . and sending me her love. . . .”</p> - -<p>He stopped and turned away; Archie could say nothing, for his throat had grown thick. -Logie’s unconscious gift of filling his words with drama—a gift which is most often given -to those who suspect it least—wrought on him.</p> - -<p>James looked round, staring steadily and blindly over his companion’s shoulder.</p> - -<p>“I took her away,” he went on, as though describing another man’s experiences; “there -was no choice, for the Conte would not tolerate me. I was a Protestant, and I was poor, -and there was a rich Spaniard whom he favoured. So we went. We were married in Breda, and -for a year we lived in peace. Such days—such days! The Conte made no sign, and I thought, -in my folly, he would let us alone. It seemed as though <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-95">[Pg 95]</a></span>we had gained paradise at last; but I did -not know him—Montdelys.”</p> - -<p>“Then the boy was born. When he was two months old I was obliged to come back to -Scotland; it was a matter concerning money which could not be delayed, for my little -fortune had to be made doubly secure now, and I got leave from my regiment. I could not -take Diane and the child, and I left them at Breda—safe, as I thought. At twenty-three we -do not know men, not the endless treachery of them. Flemington, when God calls us all to -judgment, there will be no mercy for treachery.”</p> - -<p>Archie’s eyes, fixed on the other pair, whose keen grey light was blurred with pain, -dropped. He breathed hard, and his nostrils quivered.</p> - -<p>“You seem to me as young as I was then. May God preserve you from man’s treachery. He -did not preserve me,” said James.</p> - -<p>“I do not know how Montdelys knew that she was defenceless,” continued he, “but I think -there must have been some spy of his watching us. As soon as I had left Holland he sent to -her to say he was ill, probably dying, and that he had forgiven all. He longed for the -sight of the boy, and he asked her to bring him that he might see his grandchild; she was -to make her home with him while I was absent, and he would send word to me to join them on -my return. Diane sent me the good news and went, fearing nothing, to find herself a -prisoner.</p> - -<p>“And all this time he had been working—he <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-96">[Pg 96]</a></span>and the Spaniard—to get the Pope to annul our marriage, and -they had succeeded. What they said to her, what they did, I know not, and never shall -know, but they could not shake Diane. I was on my way back to Holland when she managed to -escape with the boy. Storms in the North Sea delayed me, but I was not disturbed, knowing -her to be safe. I did not know when I landed at last that she was dead. . . . -She swam the canal, Flemington, with the child tied on her shoulders, and the -brother-officer of mine—a man in my own company, whom she had contrived to communicate -with—was waiting for her with a carriage. My regiment had moved to Bergen-op-Zoom, and he -meant to take her there. He had arranged it with the wife of my colonel, who was to give -her shelter till I arrived, and could protect her myself. They had gone more than half-way -to Bergen when they were overtaken, early in the morning. She was shot, Flemington. The -bullet was meant for Carmichael, the man who was with her, but it struck Diane. -. . . They laid her on the grass at the roadside and she died, holding -Carmichael’s hand, and sending—sending——”</p> - -<p>He stopped.</p> - -<p>“And the child?” said Archie at last.</p> - -<p>“Carmichael brought him to Bergen, with his mother. He did not live. The bullet had -grazed his poor little body as he lay in her arms, and the exposure did the rest. They are -buried at Bergen.”</p> - -<p>Again Archie was speechless.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I killed the Spaniard,” said James. “I could not reach Montdelys; he was too old to be -able to settle his differences in the world of men.”</p> - -<p>Archie did not know what to do. He longed with a bitter longing to show his companion -something of what he felt, to give him some sign of the passion of sympathy which had -shaken him as he listened; but his tongue was tied fast by the blighting knowledge of his -true position, and to approach, by so much as a step, seemed only to blacken his soul and -to load it yet more heavily with a treachery as vile as that which had undone James.</p> - -<p>“I could not endure Holland afterwards,” continued Logie; “once I had looked on that -Spanish hound’s dead body my work was done. I left the Scots Brigade and took service with -Russia, and I joined Peter Lacy, who was on his way to fight in Poland. Fighting was all I -wanted, and God knows I had it. I did not want to be killed, but to kill. Then I grew -weary of that, but I still stayed with Lacy, and followed him to fight the Turks. We -outlive trouble in time, Flemington; we outlive it, though we cannot outlive memory. We -outlast it—that is a better word. I have outlasted, perhaps outlived. I can turn and look -back upon myself as though I were another being. It is only when some chance word or -circumstance brings my youth back in detail that I can scarce bear it. You have brought it -back, Flemington, and this morning I am face to face with it again.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p> - -<p>“It does not sound as if you had outlived it,” said the young man.</p> - -<p>“Life is made of many things,” said James; “whether we have lost our all or not, we -have to plough on to the end, and it is best to plough on merrily. Lacy never complained -of me as a companion in the long time we were together, for I was on his staff, and I took -all that came to me, as I have done always. There were some mad fellows among us, and I -was no saner than they! But life is quiet enough here in the year since I came home to my -good brother.”</p> - -<p>The mention of Lord Balnillo made Flemington start.</p> - -<p>“Gad!” he exclaimed, rising, thankful for escape, “and I am to begin the portrait this -morning, and have set out none of my colours!”</p> - -<p>“And I have gone breakfastless,” said Logie with a smile, “and worse than that, I have -spoilt the sunshine for you with my tongue, that should have been silent.”</p> - -<p>“No, no!” burst out Flemington rather hoarsely. “Don’t think of that! If you only -knew——”</p> - -<p>He stood, unable to finish his sentence or to utter one word of comfort without -plunging deeper into self-abhorrence.</p> - -<p>“I must go,” he stammered. “I must leave you and run.”</p> - -<p>James laid a detaining hand on him.</p> - -<p>“Listen, Flemington,” he said. “Listen before you go. We have learnt something of each -other, you and I. Promise me that if ever you should <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-99">[Pg 99]</a></span>find yourself in such a position as the one -you spoke of—if you should come to such a strait as that—if a little help could make you -free, you will come to me as if I were your brother. Your eyes are so like Diane’s—you -might well be hers.”</p> - -<p>Archie stood before him, dumb, as James held out his hand.</p> - -<p>He grasped it for a moment, and then turned from him in a tumult of horror and -despair.</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter" id="Chapter108"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p> - -<h4 id="Chapter108_hdg"><a href="#Chapter108_toc">CHAPTER VIII<br /> -<span class="chap_title">THE HEAVY HAND</span></a></h4> - -<p class="noindent">I<small>T</small> was on the following day that Lord Balnillo stood in -front of a three-quarter length canvas in the improvised studio; Archie had begun to put -on the colour that morning, and the judge had come quietly upstairs to study the first -dawnings of his own countenance alone. From the midst of a chaos of paint his features -were beginning to appear, like the sun through a fog. He had brought a small hand-glass -with him, tucked away under his velvet coat where it could not be seen, and he now -produced it and began to compare his face with the one before him. Flemington was a quick -worker, and though he had been given only two sittings, there was enough on the canvas to -prompt the gratified smile on the old man’s lips. He looked alternately at his reflection -and at the judicial figure on the easel; Archie had a tactful brush. But though Balnillo -was pleased, he could not help sighing, for he wished fervently that his ankles had been -included in the picture. He stooped and ran his hand lovingly down his silk stockings. -Then he <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-101"> [Pg -101]</a></span>took up the glass again and began to compose his expression into the rather -more lofty one with which Flemington had supplied him.</p> - -<p>In the full swing of his occupation he turned round to find the painter standing in the -doorway, but he was just too late to catch the sudden flash of amusement that played -across Archie’s face as he saw what the judge was doing. Balnillo thrust the glass out of -sight and confronted his guest.</p> - -<p>“I thought you had gone for a stroll, sir,” he said rather stiffly.</p> - -<p>“My lord,” exclaimed Flemington, “I have been searching for you everywhere. I’ve come, -with infinite regret, to tell you that I must return to Ardguys at once.”</p> - -<p>Balnillo’s jaw dropped.</p> - -<p>“I have just met a messenger on the road,” said the other; “he has brought news that my -grandmother is taken ill, and I must hurry home. It is most unfortunate, most -disappointing; but go I must.”</p> - -<p>“Tut, tut, tut!” exclaimed the old man, clicking his tongue against his teeth and -forgetting to hope, as politeness decreed he should, that the matter was not serious.</p> - -<p>“It is a heart-attack,” said Archie.</p> - -<p>“Tut, tut,” said Balnillo again. “I am most distressed to hear it; I am indeed.”</p> - -<p>“I <i>may</i> be able to come back and finish the picture later.”</p> - -<p>“I hope so. I sincerely hope so. I was just studying the admirable likeness when you -came <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-102">[Pg 102]</a></span>in,” said -Balnillo, who would have given a great deal to know how much of his posturing Flemington -had seen.</p> - -<p>“Ah, my lord!” cried Archie, “a poor devil like me has no chance with you! I saw the -mirror in your hand. We painters use a piece of looking-glass to correct our drawing, but -it is few of our sitters who know that trick.”</p> - -<p>Guilty dismay was chased by relief across Balnillo’s countenance.</p> - -<p>“You are too clever for me!” laughed Flemington. “How did you learn it, may I ask?”</p> - -<p>But Balnillo had got his presence of mind back.</p> - -<p>“Casually, Mr. Flemington, casually—as one learns many things, if one keeps one’s ears -open,” said he.</p> - -<p>A couple of hours later Archie was on his way home. He had left one horse, still -disabled, in the judge’s stable, and he was riding the other into Brechin, where he would -get a fresh one to take him on. Balnillo had persuaded him to leave his belongings where -they were until he knew what chance there was of an early return. He had parted from -Archie with reluctance. Although the portrait was the old man’s principal interest, its -maker counted for much with him; for it was some time since his ideas had been made to -move as they always moved in Flemington’s presence. The judge got much pleasure out of his -own curiosity; and the element of the unexpected—that fascinating factor which had been -introduced into domestic life—was a continual <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-103">[Pg 103]</a></span>joy. Balnillo had missed it more than he knew since he -had become a completely rural character.</p> - -<p>Archie saw the Basin of Montrose drop behind him as he rode away with a stir of mixed -feelings. The net that Logie had, in all ignorance, spread for him had entangled his feet. -He had never conceived a like situation, and it startled him to discover that a -difficulty, nowhere touching the tangible, could be so potent, so disastrous. He felt like -a man who has been tripped up and who suddenly finds himself on the ground. He had risen -and fled.</p> - -<p>The position had become intolerable. He told himself in his impetuous way that it was -more than he could bear; and now, every bit of luck he had turned to account, every -precaution he had taken, all the ingenuity he had used to land himself in the hostile -camp, were to go for nothing, because some look in his face, some droop of the eyes, had -reminded another man of his own past, and had let loose in him an overwhelming impulse to -expression.</p> - -<p>“Remember what I told you yesterday,” had been James’s last words as Flemington put his -foot in the stirrup. “There must be no more challenges.”</p> - -<p>It was that high-coloured flower of his own imagination, the picture of himself in the -servants’ hall, that had finally accomplished his defeat. How could he betray the man who -was ready to share his purse with him?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p> - -<p>And, putting the matter of the purse aside, his painter’s imagination was set alight. -The glow of the tulips and the strange house by the winding water, the slim vision of -Diane de Montdelys, the gallant background of the Scots Brigade, the grave at -Bergen-op-Zoom—these things were like a mirage behind the figure of James. The power of -seeing things picturesquely is a gift that can turn into a curse, and that power worked on -his emotional and imaginative side now. And furthermore, beyond what might be called the -ornamental part of his difficulty, he realized that friendship with James, had he been -free to offer or to accept it, would have been a lifelong prize.</p> - -<p>They had spent the preceding day together after the sitting was over, and though Logie -had opened his heart no more, and their talk had been of the common interests of men’s -lives, it had strengthened Archie’s resolve to end the situation and to save himself while -there was yet time. There was nothing for it but flight. He had told the judge that he -would try to return, but he did not mean to enter the gates of Balnillo again, not while -the country was seething with Prince Charlie’s plots; perhaps never. He would remember -James all his life, but he hoped that their ways might never cross again. And, behind -that, there was regret; regret for the friend who might have been his, who, in his secret -heart, would be his always.</p> - -<p>He could, even now, hardly realize that he had <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-105">[Pg 105]</a></span>been actually turned from his purpose. It seemed to him -incredible. But there was one thing more incredible still, and that was that he could -raise his hand to strike again at the man who had been stricken so terribly, and with the -same weapon of betrayal. It would be as if James lay wounded on a battle-field and he -should come by to stab him anew. The blow he should deal him would have nothing to do with -the past, but Archie felt that James had so connected him in mind with the memory of the -woman he resembled—had, by that one burst of confidence, given him so much part in the -sacred kingdom of remembrance wherein she dwelt—that it would be almost as if something -from out of the past had struck at him across her grave.</p> - -<p>Archie sighed, weary and sick with Fate’s ironic jests. There were some things he could -not do.</p> - -<p>The two men had avoided politics. Though Flemington’s insinuations had conveyed to the -brothers that he was like-minded with themselves, the Prince’s name was not mentioned. -There was so much brewing in James’s brain that the very birds of the air must not hear. -Sorry as he was when Flemington met him with the news of his unexpected recall, he had -decided that it was well the young man should go. When this time of stress was over, -when—and if—the cause he served should prevail, he would seek out Archie. The “if” was -very clear to James, for he had seen enough of men and causes, of troops and campaigns and -the practical difficulties <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-106">[Pg -106]</a></span>of great movements, to know that he was spending himself in what might well -be a forlorn hope. But none the less was he determined to see it through, for his heart -was deep in it, and besides that, he had the temperament that is attracted by forlorn -hopes.</p> - -<p>He was a reticent man, in spite of the opening of that page in his life which he had -laid before Flemington; and reticent characters are often those most prone to rare and -unexpected bouts of self-revelation. But when the impulse is past, and the load ever -present with them has been lightened for a moment, they will thrust it yet farther back -behind the door of their lips, and give the key a double turn. He had enjoined Flemington -to come to him as he would come to a brother for assistance, and it had seemed to Archie -that life would have little more to offer had it only given him a brother like James. A -cloud was on his spirit as he neared Brechin.</p> - -<p>When he left the inn and would have paid the landlord, he thrust his hand into his -pocket to discover a thin sealed packet at the bottom of it; he drew it out, and found to -his surprise that, though his name was on it, it was unopened, and that he had never seen -it before. While he turned it over something told him that the unknown handwriting it bore -was that of James Logie. The coat he wore had hung in the hall at Balnillo since the -preceding night, and the packet must have been slipped into it before he started.</p> - -<p>As he rode along he broke the seal. The paper <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-107">[Pg 107]</a></span>it contained had neither beginning nor signature, yet he -knew that his guess was right.</p> - -<div class="letter"> -<p>“You will be surprised at finding this,” he read, “but I wish you to read it when there -are some miles between us. In these disturbed days it is not possible to tell when we may -meet again. Should you return, I may be here or I may be gone God knows where, and for -reasons of which I need not speak, my brother may be the last man to know where I am. But -for the sake of all I spoke of yesterday, I ask you to believe that I am your friend. Do -not forget that, in any strait, I am at your back. Because it is true, I give you these -two directions: a message carried to Rob Smith’s Tavern in the Castle Wynd at Stirling -will reach me eventually, wheresoever I am. Nearer home you may hear of me also. There is -a little house on the Muir of Pert, the only house on the north side of the Muir, a mile -west of the fir-wood. The man who lives there is in constant touch with me. If you should -find yourself in urgent need, I will send you the sum of one hundred pounds through -him.</p> - -<p>“Flemington, you will make no hesitation in the matter. You will take it for the sake -of one I have spoken of to none but you, these years and years past.”</p> -</div> - -<p>And now he had to go home and to tell Madam Flemington that he had wantonly thrown away -all the advantages gained in the last three days, <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-108">[Pg 108]</a></span>that he had tossed them to the wind for a mere -sentimental scruple! So far he had never quarrelled with his occupation; but now, because -it had brought him up against a soldier of fortune whose existence he had been unaware of -a few weeks ago, he had sacrificed it and played a sorry trick on his own prospects at the -same time. He was trusted and valued by his own party, and, in spite of his youth, had -given it excellent service again and again. He could hardly expect the determined woman -who had made him what he was to see eye to eye with him.</p> - -<p>Christian Flemington had kept her supremacy over her grandson. Parental authority was a -much stronger thing in the mid-eighteenth century than it is now, and she stood in the -position of a parent to him. His French blood and her long residence in France had made -their relationship something like that of a French mother and son, and she had all his -confidence in his young man’s scrapes, for she recognized phases of life that are apt to -be ignored by English parents in dealing with their children. She had cut him loose from -her apron-strings early, but she had moulded him with infinite care before she let him go. -There was a touch of genius in Archie, a flicker of what she called the <i>feu sacré</i>, -and she had kept it burning before her own shrine. The fine unscrupulousness that was her -main characteristic, her manner of breasting the tide of circumstance full sail, awed and -charmed him. For all his boldness and initiative, his devil-may-care <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-109">[Pg 109]</a></span>independence of will, -and his originality in the conduct of his affairs, he had never freed his inner self from -her thrall, and she held him by the strong impression she had made on his imagination -years and years ago. She had set her mark upon the plastic character of the little boy -whom she had beaten for painting Mr. Duthie’s gate-post. That was an episode which he had -never forgotten, which he always thought of with a smile; and while he remembered the -sting of her cane, he also remembered her masterly routing of his enemy before she applied -it. She had punished him with the thoroughness that was hers, but she had never allowed -the minister to know what she had done. Technically she had been on the side of the -angels, but in reality she had stood by the culprit. In spirit they had resented Mr. -Duthie together.</p> - -<p>He slept at Forfar that night, and pushed on again next morning; and as he saw the old -house across the dip, and heard the purl of the burn at the end of his journey, something -in his heart failed him. The liquid whisper of the water through the fine, rushlike grass -spoke to him of childhood and of the time when there was no world but Ardguys, no monarch -but Madam Flemington. He seemed to feel her influence coming out to meet him at every step -his horse took. How could he tell his news? How could he explain what he had done? They -had never touched on ethical questions, he and she.</p> - -<p>As he came up the muddy road between the <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-110">[Pg 110]</a></span>ash-trees he felt the chilly throe, the intense spiritual -discomfort, that attends our plunges from one atmosphere into another. It is the penalty -of those who live their lives with every nerve and fibre, who take fervent part in the -lives of other people, to suffer acutely in the struggle to loose themselves from an -environment they have just quitted, and to meet an impending one without distress. But it -is no disproportionate price to pay for learning life as a whole. Also, it is the only -price accepted.</p> - -<p>He put his horse into the stable and went to the garden, being told that Madam -Flemington was there. The day was warm and bright, and as he swung the gate to behind him -he saw her sitting on a seat at the angle of the farther wall. She rose at the click of -the latch, and came up the grass path to meet him between a line of espalier apple-trees -and a row of phlox on which October had still left a few red and white blossoms.</p> - -<p>The eighteen years that had gone by since the episode of the manse gate-post had not -done much to change her appearance. The shrinking and obliterating of personality which -comes with the passing of middle life had not begun its work on her, and at sixty-one she -was more imposing than ever. She had grown a great deal stouter, but the distribution of -flesh had been even, and she carried her bulk with a kind of self-conscious triumph, as a -ship carries her canvas. A brown silk mantle woven with a pattern of flower-bouquets <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-111">[Pg 111]</a></span>was round her -shoulders, and she held its thick folds together with one hand; in the other she carried -the book she had been reading. Her hair was as abundant as ever, and had grown no whiter. -The sun struck on its silver, and red flashes came from the rubies in her ears.</p> - -<p>She said nothing as Archie approached, but her eyes spoke inquiry and a shadow of -softness flickered over so slightly round her broad lips. She was pleased to see him, but -the shadow was caused less by her affection for him than by her appreciation of the -charming figure he presented, seen thus suddenly and advancing with so much grace of -movement in the sunlight. She stopped short when he was within a few steps of her, and, -dropping her book upon the ground without troubling to see where it fell, held out her -hand for him to kiss. He touched it with his lips, and then, thrusting his arm into the -phlox-bushes, drew out the volume that had landed among them. From between the leaves -dropped a folded paper, on which he recognized his own handwriting.</p> - -<p>“This is a surprise,” said Madam Flemington, looking her grandson up and down.</p> - -<p>“I have ridden. My baggage is left at Balnillo.”</p> - -<p>The moment of explanation would have to come, but his desire was to put it off as long -as possible.</p> - -<p>“There is your letter between the pages of my book,” said she. “It came to me this -morning, and I was reading it again. It gave me immense pleasure, Archie. I suppose you -have come to <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-112">[Pg -112]</a></span>search for the clothes you mentioned. I am glad to see you, my dear; but it -is a long ride to take for a few pairs of stockings.”</p> - -<p>“You should see Balnillo’s hose!” exclaimed Flemington hurriedly. “I’ll be bound the -old buck’s spindle-shanks cost him as much as his estate. If he had as many legs as a -centipede he would have them all in silk.”</p> - -<p>“And not a petticoat about the place?”</p> - -<p>“None nearer than the kitchen.”</p> - -<p>“He should have stayed in Edinburgh,” said Madam Flemington, laughing.</p> - -<p>She loved Archie’s society.</p> - -<p>“I hear that this Captain Logie is one of the most dangerous rebels in Scotland,” she -went on. “If you can lay him by the heels it is a service that will not be forgotten. So -far you have done mighty well, Archie.”</p> - -<p>They had reached the gate, and she laid her hand on his arm.</p> - -<p>“Turn back,” she said. “I must consult you. I suppose that now you will be kept for -some time at Balnillo? That nest of treason, Montrose, will give you occupation, and you -must stretch out the portrait to match your convenience. I am going to take advantage of -it too. I shall go to Edinburgh while you are away.”</p> - -<p>“To Edinburgh?” exclaimed Flemington.</p> - -<p>“Why not, pray?”</p> - -<p>“But you leave Ardguys so seldom. It is years——”</p> - -<p>“The more reason I should go now,” interrupted <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-113">[Pg 113]</a></span>she. “Among other things, I must see my man of business, -and I have decided to do it now. I shall be more useful to you in Edinburgh, too. I have -been too long out of personal touch with those who can advance your interests. I had a -letter from Edinburgh yesterday; you are better thought of there than you suspect, Archie. -I did not realize how important a scoundrel this man Logie is, nor what your despatch to -Montrose implied.”</p> - -<p>He was silent, looking on the ground.</p> - -<p>She knew every turn of Archie’s manner, every inflection of his voice. There was a -gathering sign of opposition on his face—the phantom of some mood that must not be allowed -to gain an instant’s strength. It flashed on her that he had not returned merely to fetch -his clothes. There was something wrong. She knew that at this moment he was afraid of her, -he who was afraid of nothing else.</p> - -<p>She stopped in the path and drew herself up, considering where she should strike. -Never, never had she failed to bring him to his bearings. There was only one fitting place -for him, and that was in the hollow of her hand.</p> - -<p>“Grandmother, I shall not go back to Balnillo,” said he vehemently.</p> - -<p>If the earth had risen up under her feet Madam Flemington could not have been more -astonished. She stood immovable, looking at him, whilst an inward voice, flying through -her mind like a snatch of broken sound, told her that she must <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-114">[Pg 114]</a></span>keep her head. She made no feeble mistake -in that moment, for she saw the vital importance of the conflict impending between them -with clear eyes. She knew her back to be nearer the wall than it had been yet. Her mind -was as agile as her body was by nature indolent, and it was always ready to turn in any -direction and look any foe squarely in the face. She was startled, but she could not be -shaken.</p> - -<p>“I’ve left Balnillo for good,” said he again. “I cannot go back—I will not!”</p> - -<p>“You—<i>will not?</i>” said Christian, half closing her eyes. The pupils had -contracted, and looked like tiny black beads set in a narrow glitter of grey. “Is that -what you have come home to say to <i>me?</i>”</p> - -<p>“It is impossible!” he cried, turning away and flinging out his arms. “It is more than -I can do! I will not go man-hunting after Logie. I will go anywhere else, do anything -else, but not that!”</p> - -<p>“There is nothing else for you to do.”</p> - -<p>“Then I will come back here.”</p> - -<p>“That you will not,” said Christian.</p> - -<p>He drew in his breath as if he had been struck.</p> - -<p>“What are you that you should betray me, and yet think to force yourself on me without -my resenting it? What do you think I am that I should suffer it?”</p> - -<p>She laughed.</p> - -<p>“I have not betrayed you,” said he in a husky voice.</p> - -<p>The loyal worship he had given her unquestioning <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-115">[Pg 115]</a></span>through the long dependence and the small -but poignant vicissitudes of childhood came back on him like a returning tide and doubled -the cruelty of her words. She was the one person against whom he felt unable to defend -himself. He loved her truly, and the thought of absolute separation from her came over him -like a chill.</p> - -<p>“I did not think you could speak to me in this way. It is terrible!” he said. His dark -eyes were full of pain. He spoke as simply as a little boy.</p> - -<p>Satisfaction stole back to her. She had not lost her hold on him, would not lose it. -Another woman might have flung an affectionate word into the balance to give the final -clip to the scale, but she never thought of doing that; neither impulse nor calculation -suggested it, because affection was not the weapon she was accustomed to trust. Her faith -was in the heavy hand. Her generalship was good enough to tell her the exact moment of -wavering in the enemy in front, the magic instant for a fresh attack.</p> - -<p>“You are a bitter disappointment,” she said. “Life has brought me many, but you are the -greatest. I have had to go without some necessities in my time, and I now shall have to go -without you. But I can do it, and I will.”</p> - -<p>“You mean that you will turn from me altogether?”</p> - -<p>“Am I not plain enough? I can be plainer if you like. You shall go out of this house -and go where you will. I do not care where you go. <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-116">[Pg 116]</a></span>But you are forgetting that I have some -curiosity. I wish to understand what has happened to you since you wrote your letter. That -is excusable, surely.”</p> - -<p>“It is Logie,” said he. “He has made it impossible for me. I cannot cheat a man who has -given me all his confidence.”</p> - -<p>“He gave you his confidence?” cried Madam Flemington. “Heavens! He is well served, that -stage-puppet Prince, when his servants confide in the first stranger they meet! Captain -Logie must be a man of honour!”</p> - -<p>“He is,” said Archie. “It was his own private confidence he gave me. I heard his own -history from his own lips, and, knowing it, I cannot go on deceiving him. I like him too -much.”</p> - -<p>Madam Flemington was confounded. The difficulty seemed so strangely puerile. A whim, a -fancy, was to ruin the work of years and turn everything upside down. On the top, she was -exasperated with Archie, but underneath, it was worse. She found her influence and her -power at stake, and her slave was being wrested from her, in spite of every interest which -had bound them together. She loved him with a jealous, untender love that was dependent on -outward circumstances, and she was proud of him. She had smiled at his devotion to her as -she would have smiled with gratified comprehension at the fidelity of a favourite dog, -understanding the creature’s justifiable feeling, and knowing how creditable it was to its -intelligence.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> - -<p>“What has all this to do with your duty?” she demanded.</p> - -<p>“My duty is too hard,” he cried. “I cannot do it, grandmother!”</p> - -<p>“<i>Too hard!</i>” she exclaimed. “Pah! you weary me—you disgust me. I am sick of you, -Archie!”</p> - -<p>His lip quivered, and he met her eyes with a mist of dazed trouble in his own. A black -curtain seemed to be falling between them.</p> - -<p>“I told him every absurdity I could imagine,” said he. “I made him believe that I was -dependent upon my work for my daily bread. I did not think he would take my lies as he -did. His kindness was so great—so generous! Grandmother, he would have had me promise to -go to him for help. How can I spy upon him and cheat him after that?”</p> - -<p>He stopped. He could not tell her more, for he knew that the mention of the hundred -pounds would but make her more angry; the details of what Logie had written could be given -to no one. He was only waiting for an opportunity to destroy the paper he carried.</p> - -<p>“We have to do with principles, not men,” said Madam Flemington. “He is a rebel to his -King. If I thought you were so much as dreaming of going over to those worthless Stuarts, -I would never see you nor speak to you again. I would sooner see you dead. Is <i>that</i> -what is in your mind?”</p> - -<p>“There is nothing farther from my thoughts,” said he. “I can have no part with rebels. -I am <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-118">[Pg 118]</a></span>a Whig, and -I shall always be a Whig. I have told you the plain truth.”</p> - -<p>“And now <i>I</i> will tell you the plain truth,” said Madam Flemington. “While I am -alive you will not enter Ardguys. When you cut yourself off from me you will do so -finally. I will have no half-measures as I have no half-sentiments. I have bred you up to -support King George’s interests against the whole band of paupers at St. Germain, that you -may pay a part of the debt of injury they laid upon me and mine. Mary Beatrice took my son -from me. You do not know what you have to thank her for, Archie, but I will tell you now! -You have to thank her that your mother was a girl of the people—of the streets—a slut -taken into the palace out of charity. She was forced on my son by the Queen and her -favourite, Lady Despard. That was how they rewarded us, my husband and me, for our -fidelity! He was in his grave, and knew nothing, but I was there. I am here still, and I -remember still!”</p> - -<p>The little muscles round her strong lips were quivering.</p> - -<p>Archie had never seen Madam Flemington so much disturbed, and it was something of a -shock to him to find that the power he had known always as self-dependent, aloof, -unruffled, could be at the mercy of so much feeling.</p> - -<p>“Lady Despard was one of that Irish rabble that followed King James along with better -people, a woman given over to prayers and confessions and priests. She is dead, thank God! -It <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-119">[Pg 119]</a></span>was she who -took your mother out of the gutter, where she sang from door to door, meaning to make a -nun of her, for her voice was remarkable, and she and her priests would have trained her -for a convent choir. But the girl had no stomach for a nunnery; the backstairs of the -palace pleased her better, and the Queen took her into her household, and would have her -sing to her in her own chamber. She was handsome, too, and she hid the devil that was in -her from the women. The men knew her better, and the Chevalier and your father knew her -best of all. But at last Lady Despard got wind of it. They dared not turn her into the -streets for fear of the priests, and to save her own son the Queen sacrificed mine.”</p> - -<p>She stopped, looking to see the effect of her words. Archie was very pale.</p> - -<p>“Is my true name Flemington?” he asked abruptly.</p> - -<p>“You are my own flesh and blood,” said she, “or you would not be standing here. Their -fear was that the Chevalier would marry her privately, but they got him out of the way, -and your father seduced the girl. Then, to make the Chevalier doubly safe, they forced him -to make her his wife—he who was only nineteen! They did it secretly, but when the marriage -was known, I would not receive her, and I left the court and went to Rouen. I have lived -ever since in the hope of seeing the Stuarts swept from the earth. Your father is gone, -and you are all I have left, but you shall go too if you join yourself to them.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I shall not do that,” said he.</p> - -<p>“Do you understand now what it costs me to see you turn back?” said Madam -Flemington.</p> - -<p>The mantle had slipped from her shoulders, and her white hands, crossed at the wrists, -lay with the fingers along her arms. She stood trying to dissect the component parts of -his trouble and to fashion something out of them on which she might make a new attack. -Forces outside her own understanding were at work in him which were strong enough to take -the fine edge of humiliation off the history she had just told him; she guessed their -presence, unseen though they were, and her acute practical mind was searching for them. -She was like an astronomer whose telescope is turned on the tract of sky in which, as his -science tells him, some unknown body will arise.</p> - -<p>She had always taken his pride of race for granted, as she took her own. The influx of -the base blood of the “slut” had been a mortification unspeakable, but to Madam -Flemington, the actual treachery practised on her had not been the crowning insult. The -thing was bad, but the manner of its doing was worse, for the Queen and Lady Despard had -used young Flemington as though he had been of no account. The Flemingtons had served -James Stuart whole-heartedly, taking his evil fortunes as though they had been their own; -they had done it of their own free will, high-handedly. But Mary Beatrice and her -favourite had treated Christian <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-121">[Pg -121]</a></span>and her son as slaves, chattels to be sacrificed to the needs of their -owner. There was enough nobility in Christian to see that part of the business as its -blackest spot.</p> - -<p>She had kept the knowledge of it from Archie, because she had the instinct common to -all savage creatures (and Christian’s affinity with savage creatures was a close one) for -the concealment of desperate wounds. Her silks, her ruby earrings, her physical indolence, -her white hands, all the refinements that had accrued to her in her world-loving life, all -that went to make the outward presentment of the woman, was the mere ornamental covering -of the savage in her. That savage watched Archie now.</p> - -<p>Madam Flemington was removed by two generations from Archie, and there was a gulf of -evolution between them, unrealized by either. Their conscious ideals might be identical; -but their unconscious ideals, those that count with nations and with individuals, were -different. And the same trouble, one that might be accepted and acknowledged by each, must -affect each differently. The old regard a tragedy through its influences on the past, and -the young through its influences on the future. To Archie, Madam Flemington’s revelation -was an insignificant thing compared to the horror that was upon him now. It was done and -it could not be undone, and he was himself, with his life before him, in spite of it. It -was like the withered leaf of a poisonous plant, a thing rendered innocuous by <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-122">[Pg 122]</a></span>the processes of -nature. What process of nature could make his agony innocuous? The word ‘treachery’ had -become a nightmare to him, and on every side he was fated to hear it.</p> - -<p>Its full meaning had only been brought home to him two days ago, and now the hateful -thing was being pressed on him by one who had suffered from it bitterly. What could he say -to her? How was he to make her see as he saw? His difficulty was a sentimental one, and -one that she would not recognize.</p> - -<p>Archie was not logical. He had still not much feeling about having deceived Lord -Balnillo, whose hospitality he had accepted and enjoyed, but, as he had said, he could not -go “man-hunting” after James, who had offered him a brother’s help, whose heart he had -seen, whose life had already been cut in two by the baneful thing. There was little room -in Archie’s soul for anything but the shadow of that nightmare of treachery, and the -shadow was creeping towards him. Had his mother been a grand-duchess of spotless -reputation, what could her virtue or her blue blood avail him in his present distress? She -was nothing to him, that “slut” who had brought him forth; he owed her no allegiance, bore -her no grudge. The living woman to whom he owed all stood before him beloved, admired, -cutting him to the heart.</p> - -<p>He assented silently; but Christian understood that, though he looked as if she had -carried her point, his looks were the only really unreliable part <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-123">[Pg 123]</a></span>of him. She knew that he was that curious -thing—a man who could keep his true self separate from his moods. It had taken her years -to learn that, but she had learnt it at last.</p> - -<p>For once she was, like other people, baffled by his naturalness. It was plain that he -suffered, yet she could not tell how she was to mould the hard stuff hidden below his -suffering. But she must work with the heavy hand.</p> - -<p>“You will leave here to-morrow,” she said; “you shall not stay here to shirk your -duty”; and again the pupils of her eyes contracted as she said it.</p> - -<p>“I will go now,” said he.</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter" id="Chapter109"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p> - -<h4 id="Chapter109_hdg"><a href="#Chapter109_toc">CHAPTER IX<br /> -“<span class="chap_title">TOUJOURS DE L</span>’<span class="chap_title">AUDACE</span>”</a></h4> - -<p class="noindent">“D<small>OAG</small>,” said the beggar, addressing the yellow cur, -“you an’ me’ll need to be speerin’ aboot this. Whiles, it’s no sae easy tellin’ havers -frae truth.”</p> - -<p>Though Skirling Wattie was on good terms with the whole of his team, the member of it -whom he singled out for complete confidence, whom he regarded as an employer might regard -the foreman of a working gang, was the yellow cur. The abuse he poured over the heads of -his servants was meant more as incentive than as rebuke, and he fed them well, sharing his -substance honestly with them, and looking to them for arduous service in return. They were -a faithful, intelligent lot, good-tempered, but for one of the collies, and the accepted -predominance of the yellow cur was merely one more illustration of the triumph of -personality. His golden eyes, clear, like unclouded amber, contrasted with the thick and -vulgar yellow of his close coat, and the contrast was like that between spirit and flesh. -He was a strong, untiring creature, with blunt jaws and legs that seemed to be made of -steel, <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-125">[Pg 125]</a></span>and it -was characteristic of him that he seldom laid down but at night, and would stand turned in -his traces as though waiting for orders, looking towards his master as the latter sang or -piped, whilst his comrades, extended in the dust, took advantage of the halt.</p> - -<p>The party was drawn up under the lee of a low wall by the grassy side of the Brechin -road, and its grotesqueness seemed greater than ever because of its entirely unsuitable -background.</p> - -<p>The wall encircled the site of an ancient building called Magdalen Chapel, which had -long been ruined, and now only survived in one detached fragment and in the -half-obliterated traces of its foundations. Round it the tangled grass rose, and a forest -of withered hemlock that had nearly choked out the nettles, stood up, traced like lacework -against the line of hills beyond the Basin. In summer its powdery white threw an -evanescent grace over the spot. The place was a haunt of Skirling Wattie’s, for it was a -convenient half-way house between Montrose and Brechin, and the trees about it gave a -comforting shelter from both sun and rain.</p> - -<p>The tailboard of the cart was turned to the wall so that the piper could lean his broad -back against it, and there being not a dozen inches between the bottom of his cart and the -ground, he was hidden from anyone who might chance to be in the chapel precincts. The -projecting stone which made a stile for those who entered the enclosure was just level -with his shoulder, and he <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-126">[Pg -126]</a></span>had laid his pipes on it while he sat with folded arms and considered the -situation. He had just been begging at a farm, and he had heard a rumour there that Archie -Flemington was gone from Balnillo, and had been seen in Brechin, riding westwards, on the -preceding morning. The beggar had got a letter for him behind his sliding boards which had -to be delivered without delay.</p> - -<p>“Doag,” said he again, “we’ll awa’ to auld Davie’s.”</p> - -<p>Skirling Wattie distrusted rumour, for the inexactitudes of human observation and human -tongues are better known to a man who lives by his wits than to anybody else. He was not -going to accept this news without sifting it. To Balnillo he would go to find out whether -the report was true. The only drawback was that “auld Davie,” as he called the judge, -abhorred and disapproved of beggars, and he did not know how he might stay in the place -long enough to find out what he wanted. He was a privileged person at most houses, from -the sea on the east to Forfar on the west, but Lord Balnillo would none of him. -Nevertheless, he turned the wheels of his chariot in his direction.</p> - -<p>He wondered, as he went along, why he had not seen Archie by the way; but Archie had -not left Balnillo by the Brechin road, being anxious to avoid him. What was the use of -receiving instructions that he could not bring himself to carry out? The last person he -wished to meet was the beggar.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p> - -<p>Wattie turned into the Balnillo gates and went up the avenue towards the stable. His -pipes were silent, and the fallen leaves muffled the sound of his wheels. He knew about -the mishap that had brought Flemington as a guest to the judge, and about the portrait he -was painting, for tidings of all the happenings in the house reached the mill sooner or -later. That source of gossip was invaluable to him. But, though the miller had confirmed -the report that Flemington had gone, he had been unable to tell him his exact -destination.</p> - -<p>He drove into the stable yard and found it empty but for a man who was chopping wood. -The latter paused between his strokes as he saw who had arrived.</p> - -<p>“A’m seekin’ his lordship,” began Wattie, by way of discovering how the land lay.</p> - -<p>“Then ye’ll no find him,” replied the woodman, who was none other than the elder, -Andrew Robieson, and who, like his master, disapproved consistently of the beggar. He was -a sly old man, and he did not think it necessary to tell the intruder that the judge, -though not in the house, was within hearing of the pipes. It was his boast that he “left -a’ to Providence,” but he was not above an occasional shaping of events to suit -himself.</p> - -<p>The beggar rolled up to the back-door at the brisk pace he reserved for public -occasions. A shriek of delight came from the kitchen window as the blast of his pipes -buzzed and droned across <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-128">[Pg -128]</a></span>the yard. The tune of the ‘East Nauk of Fife’ filled the place. A couple of -maidservants came out and stood giggling as Wattie acknowledged their presence by a wag of -the head that spoke gallantry, patronage, ribaldry—anything that a privileged old rogue -can convey to young womanhood blooming near the soil. A groom came out of the stable and -joined the group.</p> - -<p>The feet of the girls were tapping the ground. The beggar’s expression grew more -genially provocative, and his eyeballs rolled more recklessly as he blew and blew; his -time was perfect. The groom, who was dancing, began to compose steps on his own account. -Suddenly there was a whirl of petticoats, and he had seized one of the girls round the -middle.</p> - -<p>They spun and counter-spun; now loosing each other for the more serious business of -each one’s individual steps, now enlacing again, seeming flung together by some resistless -elemental wind. The man’s gaze, while he danced alone, was fixed on his own feet as though -he were chiding them, admiring them, directing them through niceties which only himself -could appreciate. His partner’s hair came down and fell in a loop of dull copper-colour -over her back. She was a finely-made girl, and each curve of her body seemed to be surging -against the agitated sheath of her clothes. The odd-woman-out circled round the pair like -a fragment thrown off by the spin of some travelling meteor. The passion for dancing that -is even now part of the life of Angus had caught all three, let loose <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-129">[Pg 129]</a></span>upon them by the -piper’s handling of sound and rhythm.</p> - -<p>In the full tide of their intoxication, a door in the high wall of the yard opened and -Lord Balnillo came through it. The fragment broke from its erratic orbit and fled into the -house with a scream; the meteor, a whirling twin-star, rushed on, unseeing. The piper, who -saw well enough, played strong and loud; not the king himself could have stopped him in -the middle of a strathspey. The yellow dog, on his feet among his reposing companions, -showed a narrow white line between his lips, and the hackles rose upon his plebeian -neck.</p> - -<p>“Silence!” cried Lord Balnillo. But the rest of his words were drowned by the yell of -the pipes.</p> - -<p>As the dancers drew asunder again, they saw him and stopped. His wrath was centred on -the beggar, and man and maid slunk away unrebuked.</p> - -<p>Wattie finished his tune conscientiously. To Balnillo, impotent in the hurricane of -braying reeds, each note that kept him dumb was a new insult, and he could see the -knowledge of that fact in the piper’s face. As the music ceased, the beggar swept off his -bonnet, displaying his disreputable bald head, and bowed like the sovereign of some jovial -and misgoverned kingdom. The yellow dog’s attitude forbade Balnillo’s nearer approach.</p> - -<p>“Go!” shouted the judge, pointing a shaking forefinger into space. “Out with you -instantly! <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-130">[Pg 130]</a></span>Is my -house to be turned into a house of call for every thief and vagabond in Scotland? Have I -not forbidden you my gates? Begone from here immediately, or I will send for my men to -cudgel you out!”</p> - -<p>But he leaped back, for he had taken a step forward in his excitement, and the yellow -cur’s teeth were bare.</p> - -<p>“A’m seekin’ the painter-laddie,” said the beggar, giving the dog a good-humoured -cuff.</p> - -<p>“Away with you!” cried the other, unheeding. “You are a plague to the neighbourhood. I -will have you put in Montrose jail! To-morrow, I promise you, you will find yourself where -you cannot make gentlemen’s houses into pandemoniums with your noise.”</p> - -<p>“A’d like Brechin better,” rejoined the beggar; “it’s couthier in there.”</p> - -<p>Balnillo was a humane man, and he prided himself, as all the world knew, on some -improvements he had suggested in the Montrose prison. He was speechless.</p> - -<p>“Ay,” continued Wattie, “a’m thinkin’ you’ve sent mony a better man than mysel’ to the -tolbooth. But, dod! a’m no mindin’ that. A’m asking ye, <i>whaur</i>’<i>s the -painter-lad?</i>”</p> - -<p>One of Balnillo’s fatal qualities was his power of turning in mid-career of wrath or -eloquence to daily with side-issues.</p> - -<p>He swallowed the fury rising to his lips.</p> - -<p>“What! Mr. Flemington?” he stammered. “What do you want of Mr. Flemington?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Is yon what they ca’ him? Well, a’m no seekin’ onything o’ him. It’s him that’s -seekin’ me.”</p> - -<p>Astonishment put everything else out of Balnillo’s mind. He glared at the intruder, his -lips pursed, his fingers working.</p> - -<p>“He tell’t me to come in-by to the muckle hoose and speer for him,” said the other. -“There was a sang he was needin’. He was seekin’ to lairn it, for he liket it fine, an’ he -tell’t me to come awa’ to the hoose and lairn him. Dod! maybe he’s forgotten. Callants -like him’s whiles sweer to mind what they say, but auld stocks like you an’ me’s got mair -sense.”</p> - -<p>“I do not believe a word of it,” protested Balnillo.</p> - -<p>“Hoots! ye’ll hae to try, or the puir lad ’ll no get his sang,” exclaimed Skirling -Wattie, smiling broadly. “Just you cry on him to come down the stair, an’ we’ll awa’ ahint -the back o’ yon wa’, an’ a’ll lairn him the music! It’s this way.”</p> - -<p>He unscrewed the chanter and blew a few piercing notes. The sound flew into the judge’s -face like the impact of a shower of pebbles. He clapped his hands to his ears.</p> - -<p>“I tell you Mr. Flemington is not here!” he bawled, raising his voice above the din. -“He is gone. He is at Ardguys by this time.”</p> - -<p>“Man, is yon true? Ye’re no leein’?” exclaimed Wattie, dropping his weapon.</p> - -<p>“Is yon the way to speak to his lordship?” said the deep voice of Andrew Robieson, who -<span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-132">[Pg 132]</a></span>had come up -silently, his arms full of wood, behind the beggar’s cart.</p> - -<p>“Turn this vagabond away!” exclaimed Balnillo, almost beside himself. “Send for the -men; bring a horsewhip from the stable! Impudent rogue! Go, Robieson—quick, man!”</p> - -<p>But Wattie’s switch was in his hand, and the dogs were already turning; before the -elder had time to reach the stables, he had passed out under the clock and was -disappearing between the trees of the avenue. He had learned what he wished to know, and -the farther side of Brechin would be the best place for him for the next few days. He -reflected that fortune had favoured him in keeping Captain Logie out of the way. There -would have been no parleying with Captain Logie.</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter" id="Chapter210"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="Chapter200_hdg"><a href="#Chapter200_toc">BOOK II</a></h3> - -<div class="pagebreak"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p> - -<h4 id="Chapter210_hdg"><a href="#Chapter210_toc">CHAPTER X<br /> -<span class="chap_title">ADRIFT</span></a></h4> - -<p class="noindent">A<small>RCHIE</small> rode along in a dream. He had gone straight out -of the garden, taken his horse from the stable, and ridden back to Forfar, following the -blind resolution to escape from Ardguys before he should have time to realize what it was -costing him. He had changed horses at the posting-house, and turned his face along the way -he had come. Through his pain and perplexity the only thing that stood fast was his -determination not to return to Balnillo. “I will go now,” he had said to Madam Flemington, -and he had gone without another word, keeping his very thoughts within the walled circle -of his resolution, lest they should turn to look at familiar things that might thrust out -hands full of old memories to hold him back.</p> - -<p>In the middle of his careless life he found himself cut adrift without warning from -those associations that he now began to feel he had valued too little, taken for granted -too much.</p> - -<p>Balnillo was impossible for him, and in consequence he was to be a stranger in his own -home. <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-136">[Pg 136]</a></span>Madam -Flemington had made no concession and had put no term to his banishment, and though he -could not believe that such a state of things could last, and that one sudden impulse of -hers could hurl him out of her life for ever, she, who had lived for him, had told him -that she would “do without him.” Then, as he assured himself of this, from that dim recess -wherein a latent truth hides until some outside light flashes upon its lair, came the -realization that she had not lived for him alone. She had lived for him that she might -make him into the instrument she desired, a weapon fashioned to her hand, wherewith she -might return blow for blow.</p> - -<p>All at once the thought made him spiritually sick, and the glory and desirableness of -life seemed to fade. He could not see through its dark places, dark where all had been -sunshine. He had been a boy yesterday, a man only by virtue of his astounding courage and -resource, but he was awakening from boyhood, and manhood was hard. His education had -begun, and he could not value the education of pain—the soundest, the most costly one -there is—any more than any of us do whilst it lasts. He did not think, any more than any -of us think, that perhaps when we come to lie on our death-beds we shall know that, of all -the privileges of the life behind us, the greatest has been the privilege of having -suffered and fought.</p> - -<p>All he knew was that his heart ached, that he had disappointed and estranged the person -he <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-137">[Pg 137]</a></span>loved best, -and had lost, at any rate temporarily, the home that had been so dear. But hope would not -desert him, in spite of everything. Madam Flemington had gone very wide of the mark in -suspecting him of any leaning towards the Stuarts, and she would soon understand how -little intention he had of turning rebel. There was still work for him to do. He had been -given a free hand in details, and he would go to Brechin for the night; to-morrow he must -decide what to do. Possibly he would ask to be transferred to some other place. But -nothing that heaven or earth could offer him should make him betray Logie.</p> - -<p>Madam Flemington had seen him go, in ignorance of whether he had gone in obedience or -in revolt. Perhaps she imagined that her arguments and the hateful story she had laid bare -to him had prevailed, and that he was returning to his unfinished portrait. In the -excitement of his interview with her, he had not told her anything but that he refused -definitely to spy upon James any more.</p> - -<p>He had started for Ardguys so early, and had been there such a short time, that he was -back in Forfar by noon. There he left his horse, and, mounting another, set off for -Brechin. He was within sight of its ancient round tower, grey among the yellowing trees -above the South Esk, when close to his left hand there rose the shrill screech of a pipe, -cutting into his abstraction of mind like a sharp stab of pain. It was so loud <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-138">[Pg 138]</a></span>and sudden that the -horse leaped to the farther side of the road, snorting, and Flemington, sitting loosely, -nearly lost his seat. He pulled up the astonished animal, and peered into a thicket of -alder growing by the wayside. The ground was marshy, and the stunted trees were set close, -but, dividing their branches, he saw behind their screen an open patch in the midst of -which was Skirling Wattie’s cart. His jovial face seemed to illuminate the spot.</p> - -<p>“Dod!” exclaimed the piper, “ye was near doon! A’d no seek to change wi’ you. A’m safer -wi’ ma’ doags than you wi’ yon horse. What ailed ye that ye gae’d awa’ frae Balnillo?”</p> - -<p>“Private matters,” said Archie shortly.</p> - -<p>“Aweel, they private matters was no far frae putting me i’ the tolbooth. What gar’d ye -no tell me ye was gaein’?”</p> - -<p>“Have you got a letter for me?” said Flemington, as Wattie began to draw up his -sliding-board.</p> - -<p>“Ay, there’s ane. But just wait you, ma lad, till a tell ye what a was sayin’ to auld -Davie——”</p> - -<p>“Never mind what you said to Lord Balnillo,” broke in Flemington; “I want my -letter.”</p> - -<p>He slipped from the saddle and looped the rein over his arm.</p> - -<p>“Dinna bring yon brute near me!” cried Wattie, as horse and man began to crush through -the alders. “A’m fell feared o’ they unchancy cattle.”</p> - -<p>Archie made an impatient sound and threw the <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-139">[Pg 139]</a></span>rein over a stump. He approached the cart, and the yellow -dog, who was for once lying down, opened his wary golden eyes, watching each movement that -brought the intruder nearer to his master without raising his head.</p> - -<p>“You are not often on this side of Brechin,” said Archie, as the beggar handed him the -packet.</p> - -<p>“Fegs, na!” returned Wattie, “but auld Davie an’ his tolbooth’s on the ither side o’t -an’ it’s no safe yonder. It’s yersel’ I hae to thank for that, Mr. Flemington. A didna ken -whaur ye was, sae a gae’d up to the muckle hoose to speer for ye. The auld stock came doon -himsel’. Dod! the doag gar’d him loup an’ the pipes gar’d him skelloch. But he tell’t me -whaur ye was.”</p> - -<p>“Plague take you! did you go there asking for me?” cried Archie.</p> - -<p>“What was a to dae? A tell’t Davie ye was needin’ me to lairn ye a sang! ‘The -painter-lad was seekin’ me,’ says I, ‘an’ he tell’t me to come in-by.’”</p> - -<p>Flemington’s annoyance deepened. He did not know what the zeal of this insufferable -rascal had led him to say or do in his name, and he had the rueful sense that the tangle -he had paid such a heavy price to escape from was complicating round him. The officious -familiarity of the piper exasperated him, and he resented Government’s choice of such a -tool. He put the letter in his pocket, and began to back out of the thicket. He would read -his instructions by himself.</p> - -<p>“Hey! ye’re no awa’, man?” cried Wattie.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I have no time to waste,” said Flemington, his foot in the stirrup.</p> - -<p>“But ye’ve no tell’t me whaur ye’re gaein’!”</p> - -<p>“Brechin!”</p> - -<p>Archie called the word over his shoulder, and started off at a trot, which he kept up -until he had left the alder-bushes some way behind him.</p> - -<p>Then he broke the seal of his letter, and found that he was to convey the substance of -each report that he sent in, not only to His Majesty’s intelligence officer at Perth, but -to Captain Hall, of the English ship <i>Venture</i>, that was lying under Ferryden. He was -to proceed at once to the vessel, to which further instructions for him would be sent in a -couple of days’ time.</p> - -<p>He pocketed the letter and drew a breath of relief, blessing the encounter that he had -just cursed, for a road of escape from his present difficulty began to open before him. He -must take to his own feet on the other side of Brechin, and go straight to the -<i>Venture</i>. He would be close to Montrose, in communication with it, though not within -the precincts of the town, and safe from the chance of running against Logie. Balnillo and -his brother would not know what had become of him, and Christian Flemington would be cured -of her suspicions by the simple testimony of his whereabouts.</p> - -<p>He would treat the two days that he had spent at the judge’s house as if they had -dropped out of his life, and merely report his late presence in <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-141">[Pg 141]</a></span>Montrose to the captain of the sloop. He -would describe his watching of the two men who came out of ‘The Happy Land,’ and how he -had followed them to the harbour through the darkness; how he had seen them stop opposite -the ship’s light as they discussed their plans; how he had tried to secure the paper they -held. He would tell the captain that he believed some design against the ship to be on -foot, but he would not let Logie’s name pass his lips; and he would deny any knowledge of -the identity of either man, lest the mention of Ferrier should confirm the suspicions of -those who guessed he was working with James. When he had reported himself to Perth from -the ship, he would no longer be brought into contact with Skirling Wattie, which at that -moment struck him as an advantage.</p> - -<p>The evenings had begun to close in early. As he crossed the Esk bridge and walked out -of Brechin, the dusk was enwrapping its parapet like a veil. He hurried on, and struck out -along the road that would lead him to Ferryden by the southern shore of the Basin. His way -ran up a long ascent, and when he stood at the top of the hill the outline of the moon’s -disc was rising, faint behind the thin cloudy bank that rested on the sea beyond Montrose. -There was just enough daylight left to show him the Basin lying between him and the broken -line of the town’s twinkling lights under the muffled moon.</p> - -<p>It was quite dark when he stood at last within hail of the <i>Venture</i>. As he went -along the bank <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-142">[Pg -142]</a></span>at the Esk’s mouth, he could see before him the cluster of houses that -formed Ferryden village, and the North Sea beyond it, a formless void in the night, with -the tide far out. Though the moon was well up, the cloud-bank had risen with her, and -taken all sharpness out of the atmosphere.</p> - -<p>At his left hand the water crawled slithering at the foot of the sloping bank, like a -dark, full-fed snake, and not thirty yards out, just where it broadened, stretching to the -quays of Montrose, the vessel lay at anchor, a stationary blot on the slow movement. -Upstream, between her and the Basin, the wedge-shaped island of Inchbrayock split the mass -of water into two portions.</p> - -<p>Flemington halted, taking in the dark scene, which he had contemplated from its reverse -side only a few nights ago. Then he went down to the water and put his hands round his -mouth.</p> - -<p>“<i>Venture</i> ahoy!” he shouted.</p> - -<p>There was no movement on the ship. He waited, and then called again, with the same -result. Through an open porthole came a man’s laugh, sudden, as though provoked by some -unexpected jest. The water was deep here, and the ship lay so near that every word was -carried across it to the shore.</p> - -<p>The laugh exasperated him. He threw all the power of his lungs into another shout.</p> - -<p>“Who goes there?” said a voice.</p> - -<p>“Friend,” replied Archie; and, fearing to be <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-143">[Pg 143]</a></span>asked for a countersign, he called quickly, “Despatches -for Captain Hall.”</p> - -<p>“Captain Hall is ashore,” announced a second voice, “and no one boards us till he -returns.”</p> - -<p>The <i>Venture</i> was near enough to the bank for Archie to hear some derisive -comment, the words of which he could not completely distinguish. A suppressed laugh -followed.</p> - -<p>“Damn it!” he cried, “am I to be kept here all night?”</p> - -<p>“Like enough, if you mean to wait for the captain.”</p> - -<p>This reply came from the open porthole, in which the light was obliterated by the head -of the man who spoke.</p> - -<p>There was a sound as of someone pulling him back by the heels, and the port was an eye -of light again.</p> - -<p>Flemington turned and went up the bank, and as he reached the top and sprang on to the -path he ran into a short, stoutish figure which was beginning to descend. An impatient -expletive burst from it.</p> - -<p>“You needn’t hurry, sir,” said Archie, as the other hailed the vessel querulously; “you -are not likely to get on board?”</p> - -<p>“What? what? Not board my own ship?”</p> - -<p>Flemington was a good deal taken aback. He could not see much in the clouded night, but -no impression of authority seemed to emanate from the indistinguishable person beside -him.</p> - -<p>“Ten thousand pardons, sir!” exclaimed the <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-144">[Pg 144]</a></span>young man. “You are Captain Hall? I have information for -you, and am sent by His Majesty’s intelligence officer in Perth to report myself to you. -Flemington is my name.”</p> - -<p>For a minute the little man said nothing, and Archie felt rather than saw his fidgety -movements. He seemed to be hesitating.</p> - -<p>A boat was being put off from the ship. She lay so near to them that a mere push from -her side brought the craft almost into the bank.</p> - -<p>“It is so dark that I must show you my credentials on board,” said Archie, taking -Captain Hall’s acquiescence for granted.</p> - -<p>He heard his companion drawing in his breath nervously through his teeth. No opposition -was made as he stepped into the boat.</p> - -<p>When he stood on deck beside Hall the ship was quiet and the sounds of laughter were -silent. He had the feeling that everyone on board had got out of the way on purpose as he -followed the captain down the companion to his cabin. As the latter opened the door the -light within revealed him plainly for the first time.</p> - -<p>He was a small ginger-haired man, whose furtive eyes were set very close to a -thin-bridged, aquiline nose; his gait was remarkable because he trotted rather than -walked; his restless fingers rubbed one another as he spoke. He looked peevish and a -little dissipated, and his manner conveyed the idea that he felt himself to have no -business where he was. As Archie remarked that, he told himself that it was a -characteristic <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-145">[Pg -145]</a></span>he had never yet seen in a seaman. His dress was careless, and a wine-stain -on his cravat caught his companion’s eye. He had the personality of a rabbit.</p> - -<p>Hall did not sit down, but stood at the farther side of the table looking with a kind -of grudging intentness at his guest, and Flemington was inclined to laugh, in spite of the -heavy heart he had carried all day. The other moved about with undecided steps. When at -last he sat down, just under the swinging lamp, Archie was certain that, though he could -be called sober, he had been drinking.</p> - -<p>“Your business, sir,” he began, in a husky voice. “I must tell you that I am fatigued. -I had hoped to go to bed in peace.”</p> - -<p>He paused, leaning back, and surveyed Flemington with injured distaste.</p> - -<p>“There is no reason that you should not,” replied Archie boldly. “I have had a devilish -hard day myself. Give me a corner to lie in to-night, and I will give you the details of -my report quickly.”</p> - -<p>He saw that he would meet with no opposition from Hall, whose one idea was to spare -himself effort, and that his own quarters on board the <i>Venture</i> were sure. No doubt -long practice had enabled the man to look less muddled than he felt. He sat down opposite -to him.</p> - -<p>The other put out his hand, as though to ward him off.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I have no leisure for business to-night,” he said. “This is not the time for it.”</p> - -<p>“All the same, I have orders from Perth to report myself to you, as I have told you -already,” said Archie. “If you will listen, I will try to make myself clear without -troubling you to read anything. I have information to give which you should hear at -once.”</p> - -<p>“I tell you that I cannot attend to you,” said Hall.</p> - -<p>“I shall not keep you long. You do not realize that it is important, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Am I to be dictated to?” exclaimed the other, raising his voice. “This is my own ship, -Mr. Flem—Fling—Fl——”</p> - -<p>The name presented so much difficulty to Hall that it died away in a tangled murmur, -and Archie saw that to try to make him understand anything important in his present state -would be labour lost.</p> - -<p>“Well, sir,” said he, “I will tell you at once that I suspect an attack on you is -brewing in Montrose. I believe that it may happen at any moment. Having delivered myself -of that, I had best leave you.”</p> - -<p>The word “attack” found its way to the captain’s brain.</p> - -<p>“It’s impossible!” he exclaimed crossly. “Why, plague on’t, I’ve got all the town guns! -Nonsense, sir—no’sense! Come, I will call for a bottle of wine, ’n you can go. There’s an -empty bunk, I s’pose.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p> - -<p>The order was given and the wine was brought. Archie noticed that the man who set the -bottle and the two glasses on the table threw a casual look at Hall’s hand, which shook as -he helped his guest. He had eaten little since morning, and drunk less. Now that he had -attained his object, and found himself in temporary shelter and temporary peace, be -realized how glad he was of the wine. When, after a single glassful, he rose to follow the -sailor who came to show him his bunk, he turned to bid good-night to Hall. The light -hanging above the captain’s head revealed every line, every contour of his face with -merciless candour; and Flemington could see that no lover, counting the minutes till he -should be left with his mistress, had ever longed more eagerly to be alone with her than -this man longed to be alone with the bottle before him.</p> - -<p>Archie threw himself thankfully into his bunk. There was evidently room for him on the -ship, for there was no trace of another occupant in the little cabin; nevertheless, it -looked untidy and unswept. The port close to which he lay was on the starboard side of the -vessel, and looked across the strait towards the town. The lamps were nearly all -extinguished on the quays, and only here and there a yellow spot of light made a faint -ladder in the water. The pleasant trickling sound outside was soothing, with its -impersonal, monotonous whisper. He wondered how long Hall would sit bemusing himself at -the table, and what the discipline of a ship commanded by this <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-148">[Pg 148]</a></span>curiously ineffective personality could -be. To-morrow he must make out his story to the little man. He could not reproach himself -with having postponed his report, for he knew that Hall’s brain, which might possibly be -clearer in the morning, was incapable of taking in any but the simplest impressions -to-night.</p> - -<p>Tired as he was, he did not sleep for a long time. The scenes of the past few days ran -through his head one after another—now they appeared unreal, now almost visible to his -eyes. Sometimes the space of time they covered seemed age-long, sometimes a passing flash. -This was Saturday night, and all the events that had culminated in the disjointing of his -life had been crowded into it since Monday. On Monday he had not suspected what lay in -himself. He would have gibed had he been told that another man’s personality, a page out -of another man’s history, could play such havoc with his own interests.</p> - -<p>He wondered what James was doing. Was he—now—over there in the darkness, looking across -the rolling, sea-bound water straight to the spot on which he lay? Would he—could space be -obliterated and night illumined—look up to find his steady eyes upon him? He lay quiet, -marvelling, speculating. Then Logie, the shadowy town, the burning autumn-trees of -Balnillo, the tulips round the house in far-away Holland, fell away from his mind, and in -their place was the familiar background of Ardguys, the Ardguys of his childhood, with the -silver-haired figure of <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-149">[Pg -149]</a></span>Madam Flemington confronting him; that terrible, unsparing presence wrapped -about with something greater and more arresting than mere beauty; the quality that had -wrought on him since he was a little lad. He turned about with a convulsive breath that -was almost a sob.</p> - -<p>Then, at last, he slept soundly, to be awakened just at dawn by the roar of a gun, -followed by a rattle of small shot, and the frantic hurrying of feet overhead.</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter" id="Chapter211"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p> - -<h4 id="Chapter211_hdg"><a href="#Chapter211_toc">CHAPTER XI<br /> -<span class="chap_title">THE GUNS OF MONTROSE</span></a></h4> - -<p class="noindent">W<small>HEN</small> Archie lay and pictured James on the other side of -the water his vision was a true one, but, while he saw him on the quay among the sheds and -windlasses, he had set him in the wrong place.</p> - -<p>James stood at the point of the bay formed by the Basin of Montrose, at the inner and -landward side of the town, not far from the empty fort from which Hall had taken the guns. -The sands at his feet were bare, for the tide was out, and the salt, wet smell of the -oozing weed blew round him on the faint wind. He was waiting for Ferrier.</p> - -<p>They had chosen this night, as at this hour the ebbing water would make it possible for -the hundred men of Ferrier’s regiment to keep clear of the roads, and to make their way -from Brechin on the secluded shore of the Basin. Logie had not been there long when he -heard the soft sound of coming feet, and the occasional knocking of shoes against stone. -As an increasing shadow took shape, he struck his hand twice against his <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-151">[Pg 151]</a></span>thigh, and the shadow -grew still. He struck again, and in another minute Ferrier was beside him; the soldiers -who followed halted behind their leader. The two men said little to each other, but moved -on side by side, and the small company wound up the rising slope of the shore to the -deserted fort and gathered at its foot.</p> - -<p>James and his friend went on a little way and stood looking east down the townward -shore of the strait past the huddled houses massed together at this end of Montrose. The -water slid to the sea, and halfway down the long quay in front of them was moored the -unrigged barque that held the town guns—the four-pounders and six-pounders that had -pointed their muzzles for so many years from the fort walls towards the thundering -bar.</p> - -<p>Hall had not concerned himself to bring the vessel into his own immediate -neighbourhood, nor even to put a few dozen yards of water between her and the shore. He -knew that no organized rebel force existed within nine miles of where she lay, and that -the Jacobites among the townsmen could not attempt any hostile movement unaided. He had -eighty men on board the <i>Venture</i> with him, and from them he had taken a small guard -which was left in charge of the barque. Every two or three days he would send a party from -the sloop to patrol the streets of Montrose, and to impress disloyally inclined people. -His own investigations of the place had not been great, for, though he went ashore a <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-152">[Pg 152]</a></span>good deal, it cannot -be said that King George’s interests were much furthered by his doings when he got -there.</p> - -<p>When Logie and Ferrier had posted a handful of men in the empty fort, they went on -towards the barque’s moorings followed by the rest, and leaving a few to guard the mouth -of each street that opened on the quay. The whole world was abed behind the darkened -windows and the grim stone walls that brooded like blind faces over the stealthy band -passing below. When they reached the spot where the ferry-boat lay that plied between -Montrose and the south shore of the strait, two men went down to the landing-stage, and, -detaching her chains, got her ready to push off. Then, with no more delay, the friends -pressed on to the main business of their expedition. As they neared the barque, a faint -shine forward where her bows pointed seaward suggested that someone on board was waking, -so, judging it best to make the attack before an alarm could be given, the two captains -ran on with their men, and were climbing over the bulwarks and tumbling on to her deck -before Captain Hall’s guard, who were playing cards round a lantern, had time to collect -their senses.</p> - -<p>The three players sprang to their feet, and one of them sent a loud cry ringing into -the darkness before he sprawled senseless, with his head laid open by the butt-end of -Ferrier’s pistol. In this unlooked-for onslaught, that had come upon them as suddenly as -the swoop of a squall in a <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-153">[Pg -153]</a></span>treacherous sea, they struck blindly about, stumbling into the arms of the -swarming, unrecognized figures that had poured in on their security out of the peaceful -night. James had kicked over the lantern, and the cards lay scattered about under foot, -white spots in the dimness. The bank of cloud was thinning a little round the moon, and -the angles of the objects on deck began to be more clearly blocked out. One of the three, -who had contrived to wrench himself from his assailant’s hold, sprang away and raced -towards the after-part of the ship, where, with the carelessness of security, he had left -his musket. Three successive shots was the signal for help from the <i>Venture</i> in case -of emergency, and he made a gallant effort to get free to send this sign of distress -across the strait. But he was headed back and overpowered before he could carry out his -intention. One of his companions was lying as if dead on the deck, and the other, who had -been cajoled to silence by the suggestive caress of a pistol at the back of his ear, was -having his arms bound behind him with his own belt.</p> - -<p>Not a shot had been fired. Except for that one cry from the man who lay so still at -their feet, no sound but the scuffling and cursing on the barque disturbed the quiet. -Ferrier’s men hustled their prisoners below into the cabin, where they were gagged and -secured and left under the charge of a couple of soldiers. No roving citizen troubled the -neighbourhood at this hour, for the fly-by-nights <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-154">[Pg 154]</a></span>of Montrose looked farther inland for their -entertainment, and the fisher-folk, who were the principal dwellers in the poor houses -skirting the quays, slept sound, and recked little of who might be quarrelling out of -doors so long as they lay warm within them. The barque was some way up-stream from the -general throng of shipping—apart, and, as Hall had thought, the more safe for that, for -his calculations had taken no count of an enemy who might come from anywhere but the town. -He had never dreamed of the silent band which had been yielded up by the misty stretches -of the Basin.</p> - -<p>James leaned over the vessel’s side towards the <i>Venture</i>, and thought of Captain -Hall. He had seen him in a tavern of the town, and had been as little impressed by his -looks as was Flemington. He had noticed the uncertain eye, the restless fingers, the -trotting gait, and had held him lightly as a force; for he knew as well as most men know -who have knocked about this world that character—none other—is the hammer that drives home -every nail into the framework of achievement.</p> - -<p>But he had no time to spend in speculations, for his interest was centred in the -ferry-boat that was now slipping noiselessly towards them on the current, guided -down-stream by the couple of soldiers who had unmoored her. As she reached the barque a -rope was tossed down to her, and she was made fast. The stolen guns were hauled <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-155">[Pg 155]</a></span>from their storage, -and a six-pounder lowered, with its ammunition, into the great tub that scarcely heaved on -the slow swirl of the river; and whilst the work was going on, Ferrier and James stepped -ashore to the quay, and walked each a short way along it, watching for any movement or for -the chance of surprise. There was nothing: only, from far out beyond the shipping, a soft -rush, so low that it seemed to be part of the atmosphere itself, told that the tide was on -the turn.</p> - -<p>In the enshrouding night the boat was loaded, and a dozen or so of the little company -pushed off with their spoil. Ferrier went with them, and Logie, who was to follow with the -second gun, watched the craft making her way into obscurity, like some slow black river -monster pushing blindly out into space.</p> - -<p>The scheme he had been putting together since the arrival of the <i>Venture</i> was -taking reality at last, and though he could stand with folded arms on the bulwark looking -calmly at the departing boat, the fire in his heart burned hot. Custom had inured him to -risks of every kind, and if his keenness of enterprise was the same as it had been in -youth, the excitement of youth had evaporated. It was the depths that stirred in Logie, -seldom the surface. Like Archie Flemington, he loved life, but he loved it differently. -Flemington loved it consciously, joyously, pictorially; James loved it desperately—so -desperately <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-156">[Pg 156]</a></span>that -his spirit had survived the shock which had robbed it of its glory, for him. He was like a -faithful lover whose mistress has been scarred by smallpox.</p> - -<p>He could throw himself heart and soul into the Stuart cause, its details and -necessities—all that his support of it entailed upon him, because it had, so to speak, -given him his second wind in the race of life. Though he was an adventurer by nature, he -differed from the average adventurer in that he sought nothing for himself. He did not -conform to the average adventuring type. He was too overwhelmingly masculine to be a -dangler about women, though since the shipwreck of his youth he had more than once -followed in the train of some complaisant goddess, and had reaped all the benefits of her -notice; he was no snatcher at casual advantages, but a man to whom service in any interest -meant solid effort and unsparing sacrifice. Also he was one who seldom looked back. He had -done so once lately, and the act had shaken him to the heart. Perhaps he would do so -oftener when he had wrought out the permanent need of action that lay at the foundation of -his nature.</p> - -<p>When the boat had come back, silent on the outflowing river, and had taken her second -load, he lowered himself into the stern as her head was pulled round again towards -Inchbrayock.</p> - -<p>The scheme fashioned by the two men for the capture of the vessel depended for its -success <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-157">[Pg 157]</a></span>on their -possession of this island. As soon as they should land on it, they were to entrench the -two guns, one on its south-eastern side, as near to the <i>Venture</i> as possible, and -the other on its northern shore, facing the quays. By this means the small party would -command, not only the ship, but the whole breadth of the river and its landing-places, and -would be able to stop communication between Captain Hall and the town. Heavy undergrowth -covered a fair portion of Inchbrayock, and the only buildings upon it—if buildings they -could be called—were the walls of an old graveyard and the stones and crosses they -encircled. Though the island lay at a convenient part of the strait, no bridge connected -it with Montrose, and those who wished to cross the Esk at that point were obliged to use -the ferry. The channel dividing its southern shore from the mainland being comparatively -narrow, a row of gigantic stepping-stones carried wayfarers dry-shod across its bed, for -at low tide there was a mere streak of water curling serpent-wise through the mud.</p> - -<p>When the guns were got safely into position on the island it was decided that Ferrier -was to return to the barque and take the remaining four-pounders with all despatch to a -piece of rising ground called Dial Hill, that overlooked the mass of shipping opposite -Ferryden.</p> - -<p>He did not expect to meet with much opposition, should news of his action be carried to -the <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-158">[Pg 158]</a></span>town, for -its main sympathies were with his side, and the force on the Government vessel would be -prevented from coming over the strait to oppose him until he was settled on his eminence -by the powerful dissuaders he had left behind him on Inchbrayock. He was to begin firing -from Dial Hill at dawn, and James, who was near enough to the <i>Venture</i> to see any -movement that might take place on her, was to be ready with his fire and with his small -party of marksmen to check any offensive force despatched from the ship to the quays. Hall -would thus be cut off from the town by the fire from Inchbrayock, on the one hand, and, -should he attempt a landing nearer to the watermouth, by the guns on Dial Hill, on the -other.</p> - -<p>James had placed himself advantageously. The thicket of elder and thorn which had -engulfed one end of the burial-ground made excellent concealment, and in front of him was -the solid wall, through a gap in which he had turned the muzzle of his six-pounder. He sat -on the stump of a thorn-tree, his head in his hands, waiting, as he knew he would have to -wait, for some time yet, till the first round from Dial Hill should be the signal for his -own attack. The moon had made her journey by this hour, and while she had been caught in -her course through the zenith in the web of cloud and mist that thickened the sky, she was -now descending towards her rest through a clear stretch; she swung, as though suspended -<span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-159">[Pg 159]</a></span>above the Basin, -tilted on her back, and a little yellower as she neared the earth, a dying, witch-like -thing, halfway through her second quarter. James, looking up, could see her between the -arms of the crosses and the leaning stones.</p> - -<p>The strangeness of the place arrested his thoughts and turned them into unusual tracks, -for, though far from being an unimaginative man, he was little given to deliberate -contemplation. The distant inland water under the lighted half disc was pale, and a -faintness seemed to lie upon the earth in this hour between night and morning. His -thoughts went to the only dwellers on Inchbrayock, those who were lying under his -feet—seamen, for the most part, and fisher-folk, who had known the fury of the North Sea -that was now beginning to crawl in and to surround them in their little township with its -insidious arms, encircling in death the bodies that had escaped it in life. Some of them -had been far afield, farther than he had ever been, in spite of all his campaigns, but -they had come in over the bar to lie here in the jaws of the outflowing river by their -native town. He wondered whether he should do the same; times were so uncertain now that -he might well take the road into the world again. The question of where his bones should -lie was a matter of no great interest to him, and though there was a vague restfulness in -the notion of coming at last to the slopes and shadows of Balnillo, he knew that the -wideness of the world <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-160">[Pg -160]</a></span>was his natural home. Then he thought of Bergen-op-Zoom. -. . .</p> - -<p>After a while he raised his head again, roused, not by the streak of light that was -growing upon the east, but by a shot that shattered the silence and sent the echoes -rolling out from Dial Hill.</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter" id="Chapter212"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p> - -<h4 id="Chapter212_hdg"><a href="#Chapter212_toc">CHAPTER XII<br /> -<span class="chap_title">INCHBRAYOCK</span></a></h4> - -<p class="noindent">A<small>RCHIE</small> sprang up, unable, for a moment, to remember -where he was. He was almost in darkness, for the port looked northward, and the pale light -barely glimmered through it, but he could just see a spurt of white leap into the air -midway across the channel, where a second shot had struck the water. As he rushed on deck -a puff of smoke was dispersing above Dial Hill. Then another cloud rolled from the bushes -on the nearest point of Inchbrayock Island, and he felt the <i>Venture</i> shiver and move -in her moorings. Captain Hall’s voice was rising above the scuffling and running that was -going on all over the ship, and the dragging about of heavy objects was making the decks -shake.</p> - -<p>He went below and begun to hustle on his clothes, for the morning air struck chill and -he felt the need of being ready for action of some kind. In a few minutes he came up -warily and crept round to the port side, taking what cover he could. Then a roar burst -from the side of the <i>Venture</i> as she opened fire.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p> - -<p>He stood, not knowing what to do with himself. It was dreadful to him to have to be -inactive whilst his blood rose with the excitement round him. No one on the vessel -remembered his existence; he was like a stray dog in a market-place, thrust aside by every -passer brushing by on the business of life.</p> - -<p>It was soon evident that, though the guns on the hill commanded the <i>Venture</i>, -their shot was falling short of her. As the sun heaved up from beyond the bar, the quays -over the water could be seen filling with people, and the town bells began to ring. An -increasing crowd swarmed upon the landing-stage of the ferry, but the boat herself had -been brought by James to the shore of Inchbrayock, and nobody was likely to cross the -water whilst the island and the high ground seaward of the town was held by the invisible -enemy which had come upon them from heaven knew where. Captain Hall was turning his -attention exclusively on Inchbrayock, and Flemington, who had got nearer to the place -where he stood, gathered from what he could hear that the man on Dial Hill was wasting his -ammunition on a target that was out of range. A shot from the vessel had torn up a shower -of earth in the bank that sloped from the thicket to the river-mud, and another had struck -one of the gravestones on the island, splitting it in two; but the fire went on steadily -from the dense tangle where the churchyard wall no doubt concealed earthworks that had -risen behind it in the dark hours. This, then, <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-163">[Pg 163]</a></span>was the outcome of James’s night-wanderings with -Ferrier.</p> - -<p>Archie contemplated Captain Hall where he stood in a little group of men. He looked -even less of a personage in the morning light than he had done in the cabin, and the young -man suspected that he had gone to bed in his clothes. This reminded him that he himself -was unwashed, unshaven, and very hungry. Whatsoever the issue of the attack might be, -there was no use in remaining starved and dirty, and he determined to go below to forage -and to find some means of washing. There was no one to gainsay him at this time of stress, -and he walked into Hall’s cabin reflecting that he might safely steal anything he could -carry from the ship, if he were so minded, and slip overboard across the narrow arm to the -bank with nothing worse than a wetting.</p> - -<p>Whilst he was attending to his own necessities, the booming went on overhead, and at -last a shout from above sent him racing up from the welcome food he had contrived to -secure. The wall on Inchbrayock was shattered in two or three places and the unseen gun -was silent. The cannonade from Dial Hill had stopped, but a train of figures was hurrying -across from the northern shore of the island, taking shelter among the bushes and stones. -A boat was being lowered from the <i>Venture</i>, for the tide, now sweeping in, had -covered the mud, making a landing possible. Men were crowding into her, and as Flemington -<span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-164">[Pg 164]</a></span>got round to his -former place of observation she was being pushed off.</p> - -<p>Hall, who was standing alone, caught sight of him and came towards him; his face looked -swollen and puffy, and his eyes were bloodshot.</p> - -<p>“We have been attacked,” he began—“attacked most unexpectedly!”</p> - -<p>“I had the honour to report that possibility to you last night, sir,” replied -Flemington, with a trifle of insolence in his manner.</p> - -<p>An angry look shot out of Hall’s rabbit eyes. “What could you possibly have known about -such a thing?” he cried. “What reason had you for making such a statement?”</p> - -<p>“I had a great many,” said Archie, “but you informed me that you had no leisure to -listen to any of them until this morning. Perhaps you are at leisure now?”</p> - -<p>“You are a damned impudent scoundrel!” cried the other, noticing Flemington’s -expression, which amply justified these words, “but you had better take care! There is -nothing to prevent me from putting you under arrest.”</p> - -<p>“Nothing but the orders I carry in my pocket,” replied Archie. “They are likely enough -to deter you.”</p> - -<p>The other opened his mouth to speak, but before he could do so a shot crashed into the -fore part of the ship, and a hail of bullets ripped out from the thicket on the island; -the boat, which was half-way between the <i>Venture</i> and Inchbrayock, spun round, and -two of the rowers fell forward over <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-165">[Pg 165]</a></span>their oars. Hall left Archie standing where he was.</p> - -<p>The gun that the ship’s gunners believed themselves to have disabled had opened fire -again, after a silence that had been, perhaps, but a lure to draw a sortie from her; and -as it was mere destruction for the boat to attempt a landing in the face of the shot, she -had orders to put back.</p> - -<p>The position in which he was placed was now becoming clear to Hall. He was cut off from -communication with the quays by the guns safely entrenched on the island, and those on -Dial Hill, though out of range for the moment, would prevent him from moving nearer to the -watermouth or making an attempt to get out to sea. He could not tell what was happening in -the town opposite, and he had no means of finding out, for the whole of the cannon that he -had been mad enough to leave by the shore was in the enemy’s possession, and would remain -so unless the townspeople should rise in the Government interest for their recapture. This -he was well aware they would not do.</p> - -<p>His resentment against his luck, and the tale-bearing voice within, which told him that -he had nothing to thank for it but his own carelessness, grew more insistent as his head -grew clearer. He had been jerked out of sleep, heavy-headed, and with a brain still dulled -by drink, but the morning freshness worked on him, and the sun warmed his senses into -activity. The sight of Flemington, clean, impertinent, and entirely comprehensive <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-166">[Pg 166]</a></span>of the circumstances, -drove him mad; and it drove him still madder to know that Archie understood why he had -been unwilling to see his report last night.</p> - -<p>Hall’s abilities were a little superior to his looks. So far he had served his country, -not conspicuously, but without disaster, and had he been able to keep himself as sober as -most people contrived to be in those intemperate days, he might have gone on his course -with the same tepid success. He was one who liked the distractions of towns, and he -bemoaned the fate that had sent him to anchor in a dull creek of the East Coast, where the -taverns held nothing but faces whose unconcealed dislike forbade conviviality, and where -even the light women looked upon his uniform askance. He was not a lively comrade at the -best of times, and here, where he was thrown upon the sole society of his officers, with -whom he was not popular, he was growing more morose and more careless as his habits of -stealthy excess grew upon him. Archie, with his quick judgment of his fellow-men, had -measured him accurately, and he knew it. In the midst of the morning’s disaster the -presence of the interloper, his flippant civility of word and insolence of manner, made -his sluggish blood boil.</p> - -<p>It was plain that the party on the island must be dislodged before anything could be -done to save the situation, and Hall now decided to land as large a force as he could -spare upon the mainland. <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-167">[Pg -167]</a></span>By marching it along the road to Ferryden he would give the impression that -some attempt was to be made to cross the strait nearer to the coast, and to land it -between Dial Hill and the sea. Behind Ferryden village a rough track turned sharply -southward up the bank, and this they were to take; they would be completely hidden from -Inchbrayock once they had got over the crest of the land, and they were to double back -with all speed along the mainland under shelter of the ridge, and to go for about a mile -parallel with the Basin. When they had got well to the westward side of the island, they -were to wheel down to the Basin’s shore at a spot where a grove of trees edged the brink; -for here, in a sheltering turn of backwater among the trunks and roots, a few boats were -moored for the convenience of those who wished to cross straight to Montrose by water -instead of taking the usual path by the stepping-stones over Inchbrayock Island.</p> - -<p>They were to embark at this place, and, hugging the shore, under cover of its -irregularities, to approach Inchbrayock from the west. If they should succeed in landing -unseen, they would surprise the enemy at the further side of the graveyard whilst his -attention was turned on the <i>Venture</i>. The officer to be sent in command of the party -believed it could be done, because the length of the island would intervene to hide their -manœuvres from the town, where the citizens, crowding on the quays, would be only too -ready <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-168">[Pg 168]</a></span>to direct -the notice of the rebels to their approach.</p> - -<p>As the boat put off from the ship Archie slipped into it; he seemed to have lost his -definite place in the scheme of things during the last twenty-four hours; he was nobody’s -servant, nobody’s master, nobody’s concern; and in spite of his bold reply to Hall’s -threat of arrest, he knew quite well that though the captain would stop short of such a -measure, he might order him below at any moment; the only wonder was that he had not done -so already. He did not know into what hands he might fall, should Hall be obliged to -surrender, and this contingency appeared to be growing likely. By tacking himself on to -the landing-party he would at least have the chance of action, and though, having been -careful to keep out of Hall’s sight, he had not been able to discover their destination, -he had determined to land with the men.</p> - -<p>After they had disembarked, he went boldly up to the officer in charge of the party and -asked for permission to go with it, and when this was accorded with some surprise, he fell -into step. As they tramped along towards Ferryden, he managed to pick up something of the -work in hand from the man next to him. His only fear was of the chance of running against -Logie; nevertheless, he made up his mind to trust to luck to save him from that, because -he believed that Logie, as a professional soldier, would be in command of the guns on the -hill. It was from <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-169">[Pg -169]</a></span>Dial Hill that the tactical details of the attack could best be directed, -and if either of the conspirators were upon the island, Archie was convinced it would be -Ferrier.</p> - -<p>They soon reached Ferryden. The sun was clear and brave in the salt air over the sea, -and a flock of gulls was screaming out beyond the bar, dipping, hovering, swinging -sideways against the light breeze, now this way, now that way, their wanton voices full of -mockery, as though the derisive spirits imprisoned in the ocean had become articulate, and -were crying out on the land. The village looked distrustfully at the approach of the small -company, and some of the fisher-wives dragged their children indoors as if they thought to -see them kidnapped. Such men as were hanging about watched them with sullen eyes as they -turned in between the houses and made for the higher ground.</p> - -<p>The boom of the <i>Venture</i>’<i>s</i> guns came to them from time to time, and once -they heard a great shout rise from the quays, but they could see nothing because of the -intervening swell of the land. They passed a farm and a few scattered cottages; but these -were empty, for their inmates had gone to the likeliest places they could find for a view -of what was happening in the harbour.</p> - -<p>Presently they went down to the Basin, straggling by twos and threes. At the water’s -edge a colony of beeches stood naked and leafless, their heads listed over westward by the -winds that <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-170">[Pg 170]</a></span>swept -up the river’s mouth. They were crowded thick about the creek down which Flemington and -his companions came, and at their feet, tied to the gnarled elbows of the great roots -beneath which the water had eaten deep into the bank, lay three or four boats with their -oars piled inside them. The beech-mast of years had sunk into the soil, giving a curious -mixture of heaviness and elasticity to the earth as it was trodden; a water-rat drew a -lead-coloured ripple along the transparency, below which the undulations of the bottom lay -like a bird’s-eye view of some miniature world. The quiet of this hidden landing-place -echoed to the clank of the rowlocks as the heavy oars were shipped, and two boatloads slid -out between the stems.</p> - -<p>Archie, who was unarmed, had borrowed one of the officer’s pistols, not so much with -the intention of using it as from the wish for a plausible pretext for joining the party. -At any time his love of adventure would welcome such an opportunity, and at this moment he -did not care what might happen to him. He seemed to have no chance of being true to -anybody, and it was being revealed to him that, in these circumstances, life was scarcely -endurable. He had never thought about it before, and he could think of nothing else now. -It was some small comfort to know that, should his last half-hour of life be spent on -Inchbrayock, Madam Flemington would at least understand that she had wronged him in -suspecting him of being a turncoat. If only James could <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-171">[Pg 171]</a></span>know that he had not betrayed him—or, -rather, that his report was in the hands of that accursed beggar before they met among the -broom-bushes! Yet, what if he did know it? Would his loathing of the spy under the -roof-tree of his brother’s house be any the less? He would never understand—never know. -And yet he had been true to him in his heart, and the fact that he had now no roof-tree of -his own proved it.</p> - -<p>They slipped in under the bank of the island and disembarked silently. The higher -ground in the middle of it crossed their front like the line of an incoming wave, hiding -all that was going on on its farther side. They were to advance straight over it, and to -rush down upon the thicket where the gun was entrenched with its muzzle towards the -<i>Venture</i>. There was to be no working round the north shore, lest the hundreds of -eyes on the quays should catch sight of them, and a hundred tongues give the alarm to the -rebels. They were to attack at once, only waiting for the sound of another shot to locate -the exact place for which they were to make. They stood drawn up, waiting for the -order.</p> - -<p>Archie dropped behind the others. His heart had begun to sink. He had assured himself -over and over again that Logie must be on Dial Hill; yet as each moment brought him nearer -to contact with the enemy, he felt cold misgiving stealing on him. What if his guesses had -been wrong? He knew that he had been a fool to run the risk he <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-172">[Pg 172]</a></span>had taken. Chance is such a smiling, -happy-go-lucky deity when we see her afar off; but when we are well on our steady plod -towards her, and the distance lessens between us, it is often all that we can do to meet -her eyes—their expression has changed. Archie’s willingness to take risks was unfailing -and temperamental, and he had taken this one in the usual spirit, but so much had happened -lately to shake his confidence in life and in himself that his high heart was beating -slower. Never had he dreaded anything as much as he dreaded James’s knowledge of the -truth; yet the most agonizing part of it all was that James could not know the whole -truth, nor understand it, even if he knew it. Archie’s reading of the other man’s -character was accurate enough to tell him that no knowledge of facts could make Logie -understand the part he had played.</p> - -<p>Sick at heart, he stood back from the party, watching it gather before the officer. He -did not belong to it; no one troubled his head about him, and the men’s backs were towards -him. He stole away, sheltered by a little hillock, and ran, bent almost double, to the -southern shore of the island. He would creep round it and get as near as possible to the -thicket. If he could conceal himself, he might be able to see the enemy and the enemy’s -commander, and to discover the truth while there was yet time for flight. He glanced over -his shoulder to see if the officer had noticed his absence, and being reassured, he -pressed on. <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-173">[Pg 173]</a></span>He -knew that anyone who thought about him at all would take him for a coward, but he did not -reckon that. The dread of meeting James possessed him.</p> - -<p>Sheep were often brought over to graze the island, and their tracks ran like network -among the bushes. He trod softly in and out, anxious to get forward before the next sound -of the gun should let loose the invading-party upon the rebels. He passed the end of the -stepping-stones which crossed the Esk’s bed to the mainland; they were now nearly -submerged by the tide rising in the river. He had not known of their existence, and as he -noticed them with surprise, a shot shook the air, and though the thicket, now not far -before him, blocked his view of the <i>Venture</i>’<i>s</i> hull, he saw the tops of her -masts tremble, and knew that she had been struck.</p> - -<p>Before him, the track took a sharp turn round a bend of the shore, which cut the path -like a little promontory, so that he could see nothing beyond it, and here he paused. In -another few minutes the island would be in confusion from the attack, and he might -discover nothing. He set his teeth and stepped round the corner.</p> - -<p>The track widened out and then plunged into the fringe of the thicket. A man was -kneeling on one knee with his back to Flemington; his hands were shading his eyes, and he -was peering along a tunnel-shaped gap in the branches, through which could be seen a patch -of river and the damaged bows of the <i>Venture</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p> - -<p>Archie’s instinct was to retreat, but before he could do so, the man jumped up and -faced him. His heart leaped to his mouth, for it was James.</p> - -<p class="break">* * * * *</p> - -<p>Logie stood staring at him. Then he made a great effort to pick up the connecting-link -of recollection that he felt sure he must have dropped. He had been so much absorbed in -the business in hand that he found it impossible for a moment to estimate the significance -of any outside matter. Though he was confounded and disturbed by the unlooked-for -apparition of the painter, the idea of hostility never entered his mind.</p> - -<p>“Flemington?” he exclaimed, stepping towards him.</p> - -<p>But the other man’s expression was so strange that he stopped, conscious of vague -disaster. What had the intruder come to tell him? As he stood, Flemington murmured -something he could not distinguish, then turned quickly in his tracks.</p> - -<p>Logie leaped after him, and seized him by the shoulder before he had time to double -round the bend.</p> - -<p>“Let me go!” cried Archie, his chest heaving; “let me go, man!”</p> - -<p>But James’s grip tightened; he was a strong man, and he almost dragged him over. As he -held him, he caught sight of the Government pistol in his belt. It was one that the -officer who had lent it to Flemington had taken from the ship.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p> - -<p>He jerked Archie violently round and made a snatch at the weapon, and the younger man, -all but thrown off his balance, thrust his arm convulsively into the air. His sleeve shot -back, laying bare a round, red spot outside the brown, sinewy wrist.</p> - -<p>Then there flashed retrospectively before James’s eye that same wound, bright in the -blaze of the flaming paper; and with it there flashed comprehension.</p> - -<p>His impulse was to draw his own pistol, and to shoot the spy dead, but Archie recovered -his balance, and was grappling with him so that he could not get his arm free. The -strength of the slim, light young man astonished him. He was as agile as a weasel, but -James found in him, added to his activity, a force that nearly matched his own.</p> - -<p>There was no possible doubt of Logie’s complete enlightenment, though he kept his -crooked mouth shut and uttered no word. His eyes wore an expression not solely due to the -violent struggle going on; they were terrible, and they woke the frantic instinct of -self-preservation in Flemington. He knew that James was straining to get out his own -pistol, and he hung on him and gripped him for dear life. As they swayed and swung to and -fro, trampling the bents, there rose from behind the graveyard a yell that gathered and -broke over the sound of their own quick breaths like a submerging flood, and the bullets -began to whistle over the rising ground.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p> - -<p>Archie saw a change come into James’s eyes; then he found himself staggering, hurled -with swift and tremendous force from his antagonist. He was flung headlong against the -jutting bend round which he had come, and his forehead struck it heavily; then, rolling -down to the track at its foot, he lay stunned and still.</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter" id="Chapter213"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p> - -<h4 id="Chapter213_hdg"><a href="#Chapter213_toc">CHAPTER XIII<br /> -<span class="chap_title">THE INTERESTED SPECTATOR</span></a></h4> - -<p class="noindent">A<small>S</small> James Logie dashed back to his men to meet this -unexpected attack, he left Flemington lying with his face to the bank and his back towards -the river; he was so close to the edge of the island that his hair rested on the wet sand -permeated by the returning tide coming up the Esk. James’s whole mind had gone back like a -released spring to its natural preoccupation, and he almost forgot him before he had time -to join the brisk affray that was going on.</p> - -<p>But though Archie lay where he fell, and was as still as a heap of driftwood, it was -only a few minutes before he came to himself. Perhaps the chill of the damp sand under his -head helped to revive him; perhaps the violence of the blow had been broken by the sod -against which he had been hurled. He stirred and raised himself, dazed, but listening to -the confused sounds of fighting that rang over Inchbrayock. His head hurt him, and -instinctively he grubbed up a handful of the cold, wet sand and held it to his brow. His -wits had not gone far, for there had been no long break <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-178">[Pg 178]</a></span>in his consciousness, and he got on his -feet and looked round for the best means of escape.</p> - -<p>James knew all. That was plain enough; and on the issue of the skirmish his own liberty -would depend if he did not get clear of the island at once. He went back round the bend, -and looking up the shore he saw a couple of the stepping-stones which were only half -covered by the tide. In the middle of the channel they had disappeared already, but at -either edge they lay visible, like the two ends of a partly submerged chain. Blood was -trickling down his face, but he washed it off, and made hastily for the crossing, wading -in.</p> - -<p>The Esk was not wide just there, though it was far deeper than he had fancied it, and -he stumbled along, churning up the mud into an opaque swirl through which he could not see -the bottom. He climbed the further bank, wasting no time in looking behind him, and never -stopped until he stood, panting and dizzy, on the high ridge of land from which he could -overlook Inchbrayock and the harbour and town. He was a good deal exhausted, for his head -throbbed like a boiling pot, and his hands were shaking. He lay down in a patch of whins, -remembering that he was on the sky-line. He meant to see which way the fortunes of war -were going to turn before deciding what to do with himself. Thanks to chance, his business -with Captain Hall was not finished, nor even begun; but as things seemed at present, -Captain Hall might be a <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-179">[Pg -179]</a></span>prisoner before the leisure which had been the subject of his own gibes -that morning should arrive. The vessel’s guns had roared out again as he struggled up the -steep, but there had been silence on the island, and even the rattle of musketry had now -stopped. Something decisive must have taken place, though he could not guess what it was, -and he was too far away to distinguish more than the moving figures in the graveyard.</p> - -<p>He was high enough to see the curve of the watery horizon, for Ferryden village was -some way below him. His view was only interrupted by a group of firs that stood like an -outpost between him and the land’s end. He lay among his friendly whin-bushes, staring -down on the strait. If James were victorious he knew that there would soon be a hue and -cry on his own tracks; but though alive to the desirableness of a good start in these -circumstances, he felt that he could not run while there remained any chance of laying the -whole of his report before Captain Hall. He thought, from what he had seen of the man, -that the less he was reckoned with by his superiors the better, but it was not his -business to consider that. As he turned these things over in his mind his eyes were -attracted to Dial Hill, upon which the sudden sign of a new turn of events could be -read.</p> - -<p>He could see the group of men with the guns below the flagstaff which crowned its -summit, and what now attracted his attention was a dark <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-180">[Pg 180]</a></span>object that had been run up the ropes, -its irregular outline flapping and flying against the sky as it was drawn frantically up -and down.</p> - -<p>Flemington was blessed with long sight, and he was certain that the two sharp-cut ends -that waved like streamers as the dark object dipped and rose, were the sleeves of a man’s -coat. He saw a figure detach itself from the rest and run towards the seaward edge of the -eminence. Ferrier—for he supposed now that Ferrier was on the hill—must be signalling out -to sea with this makeshift flag.</p> - -<p>He half raised himself from his lair. The cold grey-green of the ocean spread along the -world’s edge, broken by tiny streaks of foam as the wind began to freshen, and beyond the -fir-trees, seen through their stems, the reason of the activity on Dial Hill slid into -sight.</p> - -<p>A ship was coming up the coast not a couple of miles out, and as Flemington watched her -she stood in landward, as though attracted out of her course by the signals and the sound -of firing in Montrose harbour. She was too far off for him to distinguish her colours, but -he knew enough about shipping to be certain that she was a French frigate.</p> - -<p>He dropped back into his place; whilst these sensational matters were going forward he -did not suppose that anyone would think of pursuing him. The fact that the rebels were -signalling her in suggested that the stranger might not be unexpected, and in all -probability she carried <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-181">[Pg -181]</a></span>French supplies and Jacobite troops. The likelihood of an interview with -Captain Hall grew more remote.</p> - -<p>The frigate drew closer; soon she was hidden from him by the jutting out of the land. -Another shot broke from the <i>Venture</i>, but the quick reply from the island took all -doubt of the issue of the conflict from Archie’s mind. James was in full possession of the -place, and the surprise must have been a failure.</p> - -<p>Archie watched eagerly to see the ship arrive in the river-mouth. It was evident that -Hall, from his position under the south shore of the strait, had not seen her yet. -Presently she rounded the land and appeared to the hundreds of eyes on the quays, a -gallant, silent, winged creature, a vivid apparition against the band of sea beyond the -opening channel of the Esk, swept towards the town as though by some unseen impulse of -fate. The shout that went up as she came into view rose to where Archie lay on the -hillside.</p> - -<p>The tide was now running high, and she passed in under Dial Hill. Her deck was covered -with troops, and the waving of hats and the cheers of the townspeople, who were pouring -along the further side of the harbour, made the truth plain to the solitary watcher among -the whins. The <i>Venture</i> sent a shot to meet her that fell just in front of her bows, -but although it was followed by a second, that cut her rigging, no great harm was done, -and she answered with a broadside that echoed off the walls of the town till the strait -<span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-182">[Pg 182]</a></span>was in a roar. -It had no time to subside before James’s gun on Inchbrayock began again.</p> - -<p>Flemington could see that Hall’s surrender could only be a matter of time; the -new-comer would soon be landing her troops out of his range, and, having done so, would be -certain to attack the <i>Venture</i> from the Ferryden side of the river. Half of Hall’s -men were on the island, which was in possession of the rebels, his vessel was damaged and -in no condition to escape to sea, even had there been no hostile craft in his way and no -Dial Hill to stand threatening between him and the ocean.</p> - -<p>The time had come for Archie to think of his own plight and of his own prospects. He -was adrift again, cut off even from the disorderly ship that had sheltered him last night, -and from the unlucky sot who commanded her. His best plan would be to take the news of -Hall’s capture to Edinburgh, for it would be madness for him to think of going to Perth, -whilst his identity as a Government agent would be published by Ferrier and Logie all over -that part of the country. He was cast down as he sat with his hand to his aching head, and -now that it had resulted in that fatal meeting, his own folly in going to the island -seemed incredible.</p> - -<p>His luck had been so good all his life, and after the many years that he had trusted -her, the jade had turned on him! He had been too high-handed with her, that was the -explanation of it! He had asked too much. He had been over-confident <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-183">[Pg 183]</a></span>in her, over-confident -in himself. Flemington was neither vain nor conceited, being too heartily interested in -outside things to take very personal points of view; he merely went straight on, with the -joy of life lighting his progress. But now he had put the crown on his foolhardiness. He -had had so many good things—strength, health, wits, charm; the stage of his stirring life -whereon to use them, and behind that stage the peaceful background of the home he loved, -filled with the presence of the being he most admired and revered on earth.</p> - -<p>But new lights had broken in on him of late. Troublous lights, playing from behind a -curtain that hid unknown things. Suddenly he had turned and followed them, impelled by -uncomprehended forces in himself, and it seemed that in consequence all around him had -shifted, disintegrated, leaving him stranded. Once more as he watched, his anxious eyes on -the scene below him, his heart full of his own perplexities, a last roar of shot filled -the harbour, and then, on the <i>Venture</i>, he saw the flag hauled down.</p> - -<p>He rose and looked about him, telling himself that he must get as far from the -neighbourhood of Montrose as he could in the shortest possible time. Sixty miles of land -stretched between him and Edinburgh, and the only thing for him to do was to start by way -of the nearest seaport from which he could sail for Leith. He was a very different figure -from the well-appointed young man who had ridden away from Ardguys only yesterday, for he -<span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-184">[Pg 184]</a></span>was soaked to -above the knees from wading in the Esk; blood had dripped on his coat from the cut on his -forehead, and his hair at the back was clogged with sand. Excitement had kept him from -thinking how cold he was, and he had not known that he was shivering; but he knew it as he -stood in the teeth of the fresh wind. He laughed in spite of his plight; it was so odd to -think of starting for Edinburgh from a whin-bush.</p> - -<p>He turned southwards, determining to go forward till he should strike the road leading -to the seaport of Aberbrothock; by sticking to the high ground he would soon come to it at -the inland end of the Basin, and by it he might reach Aberbrothock by nightfall, and -thence take sail in the morning. This was the best plan he could devise, though he did not -care to contemplate the miles he would have to trudge. He knew that the broken coast took -a great inward curve, and that by this means he would be avoiding its ins and outs, and he -wished that he did not feel so giddy and so little able to face his difficulties. He -remembered that the money he had on him made a respectable sum, and realized that the less -worth robbing he looked, the more likely he would be to get to his journey’s end in -safety. He stepped out with an effort; southward he must go, and for some time to come -Angus must know him no more.</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter" id="Chapter214"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p> - -<h4 id="Chapter214_hdg"><a href="#Chapter214_toc">CHAPTER XIV<br /> -<span class="chap_title">IN SEARCH OF SENSATION</span></a></h4> - -<p class="noindent">W<small>HEN</small> Skirling Wattie had delivered his letter to -Flemington on the foregoing day, he watched the young man out of sight with disgust, and -cursed him for a high-handed jackanapes. He was not used to be treated in such a fashion. -There was that about Archie which took his fancy, for the suggestion of stir and movement -that went everywhere with Flemington pleased him, and roused his unfailing curiosity. The -beggar’s most pleasant characteristic was his interest in everybody and everything; his -worst, the unseasonable brutality with which he gratified it.</p> - -<p>A livelihood gained by his own powers of cajolery and persistence had left him without -a spark of respect for his kind. He would have been a man of prowess had his limbs been -intact—and destiny, in robbing his body of activity, had transferred that quality to his -brains. His huge shoulders and broad fists, the arrogant male glare of his roving eye, -might well hint at the wisdom of providence in keeping his sphere of action to the narrow -limits of a go-cart. Those who look <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-186">[Pg 186]</a></span>for likenesses between people and animals would be -reminded by him of a wild boar; and it was almost shocking to anyone with a sense of -fitness to hear the mellow and touching voice, rich with the indescribable quiver of -pathos and tragedy, that proceeded from his bristly jaws when he sang. The world that it -conjured up before imaginative listeners was a world of twilight; of stars that drew a -trail of tear-dimmed lustre about the ancient haunted places of the country; stars that -had shone on battlefields and on the partings of lovers; that had looked on the raids of -the border, and had stood over the dark border-towers among the peat. It was a strange -truth that, in the voice of this coarse and humble vagabond, lay the whole distinctive -spirit of the national poetry of Scotland.</p> - -<p>In the last few months his employment had added new zest to his life, for it was not -only the pay he received for his occasional carrying of letters that was welcome to him; -his bold and guileful soul delighted in the occupation for its own sake. He was something -of a student of human nature, as all those who live by their wits must be of necessity; -and the small services he was called upon to give brought him into contact with new -varieties of men. Archie was new to him, and, in the beggar’s opinion, immeasurably more -amusing than anyone he had seen yet. In modern parlance he would be called ‘a sportsman,’ -this low-bred old ruffian who had lost his legs, and who was left to the mercy of his own -<span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-187">[Pg 187]</a></span>ingenuity and to -the efforts of the five dumb animals which supplemented his loss. He had—all honour to -him—kept his love of life and its chances through his misfortune; and though he did not -know it himself, it was his recognition of the same spirit in Flemington that made him -appreciate the young man.</p> - -<p>His services to the state had not been important up to the present time. A few letters -carried, a little information collected, had been the extent of his usefulness. But, -though he was not in their regular employ, the authorities were keeping a favourable eye -on him, for he had so far proved himself capable, close-mouthed, and a very miracle of -local knowledge.</p> - -<p>He sat in his cart looking resentfully after Flemington between the stems of the alders -and the lattice of their golden-brown leaves, and, though the one word tossed over the -rider’s shoulders did not tell him much, he determined he would not lose sight of Archie -if he could help it. “Brechin” might mean anything from a night’s lodging to a lengthened -stay, but he would follow him as far as he dared and set about discovering his movements. -Skirling Wattie had friends in Brechin, as he had in most places round about, and certain -bolt-holes of his own wherein he could always find shelter for himself and his dogs; but -he did not mean to trust himself nearer than these refuges to Lord Balnillo, at any rate, -not for a few days. Chance had relieved him of the letter for which he was <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-188">[Pg 188]</a></span>responsible sooner -than he expected, and at present he was a free man. He roused his team, tucked his pipes -into their corner of the cart, and, guiding himself carefully between the trees, issued -from the thicket like some ribald vision of goblinry escaped from the world of -folk-lore.</p> - -<p>He turned towards Brechin, and set off for the town at a brisk trot, the yellow dog -straining at his harness, and his comrades taking their pace from him. Every inch of the -road was known to Wattie, every tree and tuft, every rut and hole; and as there were -plenty of these last, he bumped and swung along in a way that would have dislocated the -bones of a lighter person. The violent roughness of his progress was what served him for -exercise and kept him in health. There were not many houses near the highway, but the -children playing round the doors of the few he passed hailed him with shouts, and he -answered them, as he answered everyone, with his familiar wag of the head.</p> - -<p>When he entered Brechin and rolled past the high, circular shaft of its round tower, -the world made way for him with a grin, and when it was not agile enough to please him, he -heralded himself with a shrill note from the chanter, which he had unscrewed from his -pipes. Business was business with him. He meant to lie in the town to-night, but he was -anxious to get on to Flemington’s tracks before the scent was cold.</p> - -<p>He drove to the Swan inn and entered the yard, and there he had the satisfaction of -seeing Archie’s <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-189">[Pg -189]</a></span>horse being rubbed down with a wisp of straw. Its rider, he made out, had -left the inn on foot half an hour earlier, so, with this meagre clue, he sought the -streets and the company of the idlers haunting their thievish corners, to whom the passing -stranger and what might be made out of him were the best interests of the day. By the time -the light was failing he had traced Flemington down to the river, where he had been last -seen crossing the bridge. The beggar was a good deal surprised; he could not imagine what -was carrying Archie away from the place.</p> - -<p>In the dusk he descended the steep streets running down to the Esk, and, slackening his -pace, took out a short, stout pair of crutches that he kept beside him, using them as -brakes on either side of the cart. People who saw Wattie for the first time would stand, -spell-bound, to watch the incredible spectacle of his passage through a town, but, to the -inhabitants of Brechin, he was too familiar a sight for anything but the natural widening -of the mouth that his advent would produce from pure force of habit.</p> - -<p>The lights lit here and there were beginning to repeat themselves in the water, and men -were returning to their houses after the day’s work as he stopped his cart and sent out -that surest of all attractions, the first notes of ‘The Tod,’ into the gathering mists of -the river-side. By ones and twos, the details of a sympathetic audience drew together -round him as his voice rose over the sliding rush of the Esk. Idlers on the bridge <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-190">[Pg 190]</a></span>leaned over the grey -arches as the sound came to them above the tongue of the little rapid that babbled as it -lost itself in the shadow of the woods downstream.</p> - -<p>Then the pipes took up their tune. Jests and roars of laughter oiled the springs of -generosity, and the good prospects of supper and a bed began to smile upon the beggar. -When darkness set in, he turned his wheels towards a shed that a publican had put at his -disposal for the night, and he and his dogs laid themselves down to rest in its -comfortable straw. The yellow cur, relieved from his harness, stole closer and closer to -his master and lay with his jowl against the pipes. Presently Wattie’s dirty hand went out -and sought the coarse head of his servant.</p> - -<p>“Doag,” he was muttering, as he went to sleep.</p> - -<p>Perhaps in all the grim, grey little Scottish town, no living creature closed its eyes -more contentedly than the poor cur whose head was pillowed in paradise because of the -touch that was on it.</p> - -<p>Morning found man and dogs out betimes and migrating to the heart of the town. Wattie -was one who liked to get an early draught from the fountain-head of news, to be -beforehand, so to speak, with his day. The Swan inn was his goal, and he had not got up -the hill towards it when his practised eye, wise in other men’s movements, saw that the -world was hurrying along, drawn by some magnet stronger than its legitimate work. The -women were running out of their houses too. <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-191">[Pg 191]</a></span>As he toiled up the steep incline, a figure burst from -the mouth of a wynd and came flying down the middle of the narrow way.</p> - -<p>“Hey! what ails ye, man? What’s ’ahind ye?” he cried, stopping his cart and spreading -out his arms as though to embrace the approaching man.</p> - -<p>The other paused. He was a pale, foolish-looking youth, whose progress seemed as little -responsible as that of a discharged missile.</p> - -<p>“There’s fechtin’!” he yelled, apparently addressing the air in general.</p> - -<p>“Fechtin’?”</p> - -<p>“Ay, there’s fechtin’ at Montrose this hour syne! Div ye no hear them, ye deef muckle -swine?” continued the youth, rendered abusive by excitement.</p> - -<p>The two stared in each other’s faces as those do who listen. Dull and distant, a -muffled boom drove in from the coast. A second throb followed it.</p> - -<p>The youth dropped his raised hands and fled on.</p> - -<p>Wattie turned his dogs, and set off down the hill without more delay. Here was the -reason that Archie had left the town! It was in expectation of this present disturbance on -the coast that he had slipped out of Brechin by the less frequented road round the -Basin.</p> - -<p>He scurried down the hill, scattering the children playing in the kennel with loud -imprecations and threats. He sped over the bridge, and was soon climbing the rise on the -farther side of the Esk. If there was fighting going on, he would <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-192">[Pg 192]</a></span>make shift to see it, and Montrose would -be visible from most of his road. Soon he would get a view of the distant harbour, and -would see the smoke of the guns whose throats continued to trouble the air. Also, he would -get forward unmolested, for there would be the width of the Basin between himself and Lord -Balnillo.</p> - -<p>He breathed his team when he reached the top of the hill; for he was a scientific -driver, and he had some way to go. He cast a glance down at the place he had left, -rejoicing that no one had followed him out of it. When he was on his own errands he did -not like company, preferring, like most independent characters, to develop his intentions -in the perfect freedom of silence.</p> - -<p>When he drew near enough to distinguish the <i>Venture</i>, a dark spot under the lee -of Ferryden, he saw the white puffs of smoke bursting from her, and the answering clouds -rising from the island. There had been no time to hear the rumours of the morning before -he met the pale young man, or he would have learned that a body of Prince Charles’s men -under Ferrier had left Brechin last night whilst he lay sound asleep in the straw among -his dogs. He could not imagine where the assailants had come from who were pounding at the -ship from Inchbrayock.</p> - -<p>The fields sloped away from him to the water, leaving an uninterrupted view. He pressed -on to the cross-roads at which he must turn along the Basin’s shore. From there on, the -conformation <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-193">[Pg 193]</a></span>of -the land, and the frequent clumps of trees, would shut out both town and harbour from his -sight until he came parallel with the island.</p> - -<p>He halted at the turning for a last look at the town. The firing had ceased, which -reconciled him a little to the eclipse of the distant spectacle; then he drove on again, -unconscious of the sight he was to miss. For, unsuspected by him, as by the crowd -thronging the quays of Montrose, the French frigate was creeping up the coast, and she -made her appearance in the river-mouth just as Wattie began the tamer stage of his -journey.</p> - -<p>The yellow cur and his companions toiled along at their steady trot, their red tongues -hanging. The broadside from the French ship rang inland, and the beggar groaned, urging -them with curses and chosen abuse. His intimate knowledge of the neighbourhood led him to -steer for the identical spot on which Flemington, crouched in his whin-bush, had looked -down on the affray, and he hoped devoutly that he might reach that point of vantage while -there was still something to be seen from it. Silence had settled on the strait once -more.</p> - -<p>Not far in front a man was coming into sight, the first creature Wattie had seen since -leaving Brechin, whose face was turned from the coast. He seemed a person of irresolute -mind, as well as of vacillating feet, for every few yards he would stop, hesitating, -before resuming his way. The beggar cursed him heartily for a drunkard, for, though he had -a lively sympathy with backsliders <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-194">[Pg 194]</a></span>of that kind, he knew that accurate information was the -last thing to be expected from them. Before the wayfarers had halved the distance between -them the man stopped, and sitting down by the tumbledown stone dyke at the roadside, -dropped his head in his hands. As the cart passed him a few minutes later, he raised a -ghastly face, and Skirling Wattie pulled up astounded, with a loud and profane -exclamation, as he recognized Flemington.</p> - -<p>Though Archie had been glad to escape from the beggar yesterday, he was now thankful to -see anyone who might pass for a friend. He tried to smile, but his eyes closed again, and -he put out his hand towards the dyke.</p> - -<p>“I’m so devilish giddy,” he said.</p> - -<p>Wattie looked at the cut on his head and the stains of blood on his coat.</p> - -<p>“Ye’ve gotten a rare dunt,” he observed.</p> - -<p>Archie, who seemed to himself to be slipping off the rounded edge of the world, made no -reply.</p> - -<p>The other sat eyeing him with perplexity and some impatience. He did not know what he -wanted most—to get to Montrose, or to get news out of Flemington. The dogs lay down in the -mud. Flemington kept his hand to his eyes for a minute, and then lifted his head -again.</p> - -<p>“The ship has surrendered,” he said, speaking with difficulty; “I have been on the high -ground watching. She struck her flag. A French frigate——”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-195">[Pg 195]</a></span></p> - -<p>He stopped again. The road on which he sat was whirling down into illimitable -space.</p> - -<p>The other took in his plight. His coat, torn in his struggle with Logie, was full of -whin-prickles, and the wet mud was caked on his legs. His soft, silky hair was flattened -on his forehead.</p> - -<p>“Ye’ve been fechtin’ yersel’, ma lad,” said Wattie. “Whaur hae ye been?”</p> - -<p>“There’s a rebel force on Inchbrayock,” said Archie, with another effort; “I have been -on the island. Yes, I’ve been fighting. A man recognized me—a man I saw at—on the road by -Balnillo. They will be hunting me soon, and I have papers on me they must not find, and -money—all the money I have. God knows how I am to get away! I must get to -Aberbrothock.”</p> - -<p>“What was ye sayin’ aboot the French?”</p> - -<p>In broken sentences, and between his fits of giddiness, Archie explained the situation -in the harbour, and the beggar listened, his bristly brows knit, his bonnet thrust back on -his bald head; and his own best course of action grew clear to him. Montrose would soon be -full of rebel soldiers, and though these might be generous audiences when merry with wine -and loose upon the streets, their presence would make him no safer from Lord Balnillo. -Wattie knew that the judge’s loyalty was beginning to be suspected, and that he might well -have friends among the Prince’s officers, whose arrival might attract him to the town. And -to serve Archie would be a good recommendation for himself with his employers, <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-196">[Pg 196]</a></span>to say nothing of any -private gratitude that the young man might feel.</p> - -<p>“Bide you whaur ye are!” he exclaimed, rousing his dogs. “Lad, a’ll hae to ca’ ye oot -o’ this, an’ dod! we’ll need a’ our time!”</p> - -<p>Not far from them a spring was trickling from the fields, dropping in a spurt through -the damp mosses between the unpointed stones of the dyke. The obedient dogs drew their -master close to it, and he filled a battered pannikin that he took from among his small -collection of necessities in the bottom of the cart. He returned with the water, and when -Archie had bathed his head in its icy coldness, he drew a whisky-bottle from its snug lair -under the bagpipes, and forced him to drink. It was half full, for the friendly publican -had replenished his store before they parted on the foregoing night. As the liquid warmed -his stomach, Archie raised his head slowly.</p> - -<p>“I believe I can walk now,” he said at last.</p> - -<p>“Ye’ll need to try,” observed Wattie dryly. “Ye’ll no can ride wi’ me. Come awa’, -Maister Flemington. Will a gi’ ye a skelloch o’ the pipes to help ye alang?”</p> - -<p>“In God’s name, no!” cried Archie, whose head was splitting.</p> - -<p>He struggled on to his feet. The whisky was beginning to overcome the giddiness, and he -knew that every minute spent on the highroad was a risk.</p> - -<p>The beggar was determined to go to Aberbrothock with Archie; he did not consider him in -a <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-197">[Pg 197]</a></span>fit state to -be left alone, and he counselled him to leave the road at once, and to cut diagonally -across the high ground, whilst he himself, debarred by his wheels from going across -country, drove back to the cross roads, and took the one to the coast. By doing this the -pair would meet, Flemington having taken one side of the triangle, while Wattie had -traversed the other two. They were to await each other at a spot indicated by the latter, -where a bit of moor encroached on the way.</p> - -<p>As Wattie turned again to retrace his road, he watched his friend toiling painfully up -the slanting ground among the uneven tussocks of grass with some anxiety. Archie laboured -along, pausing now and again to rest, but he managed to gain the summit of the ridge. -Wattie saw his figure shorten from the feet up as he crossed the sky-line, till his head -and shoulders dropped out of sight like the topsails of a ship over a clear horizon; he -was disappointed at having missed the sight of so much good fighting. Archie’s account had -been rather incoherent, but he gathered that the rebels were in possession of the harbour, -and that a French ship had come in in the middle of the affray full of rebel troops. He -shouted the information to the few people he met.</p> - -<p>He turned southward at the cross roads. Behind him lay the panorama of the Basin and -the spread of the rolling country; Brechin, the Esk, the woods of Monrummon Moor, -stretching out to Forfar, and, northward, the Grampians, <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-198">[Pg 198]</a></span>lying with their long shoulders in the -autumn light. His beat for begging was down there across the water and round about the -country between town and town; but though his activities were in that direction, he knew -Aberbrothock and the coast well, for he had been born in a fishing-village in one of its -creeks, and had spent his early years at sea. He would be able to put Archie in the way of -a passage to Leith without much trouble and without unnecessary explanations; Archie had -money on him, and could be trusted to pay his way.</p> - -<p>He was the first to reach the trysting-place, and he drew up, glad to give his team a -rest; at last he saw Archie coming along with the slow, careful gait of a man who is -obliged to consider each step of his way separately in order to get on at all.</p> - -<p>“Sit ye doon,” he exclaimed, as they met.</p> - -<p>“If once I sit down I am lost,” said Archie. “Come on.”</p> - -<p>He started along the road with the same dogged step, the beggar keeping alongside. They -had gone about half a mile when Flemington clutched at a wayside bush and then slid to the -ground in a heap.</p> - -<p>Wattie pulled up, dismayed, and scanned their surroundings. To let him lie there by the -road was out of the question. He could not tell how much his head had been injured, but he -knew enough to be sure that exposure and cold might bring a serious illness on a man in -his state; he <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-199">[Pg -199]</a></span>did not understand that the whisky he had given Archie was the worst -possible thing for him. To the beggar, it was the sovereign remedy for all trouble of mind -or body.</p> - -<p>He cursed his own circumscribed energies; there was no one in sight. The nearest -habitation was a little farmhouse on the skirts of the moor with one tiny window in its -gable-end making a dark spot, high under the roof.</p> - -<p>Wattie turned his wheels reluctantly towards it. Unwilling though he was to draw -attention to his companion, there was no choice.</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter" id="Chapter215"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-200">[Pg 200]</a></span></p> - -<h4 id="Chapter215_hdg"><a href="#Chapter215_toc">CHAPTER XV<br /> -<span class="chap_title">WATTIE HAS THEORIES</span></a></h4> - -<p class="noindent">T<small>HOUGH</small> Skirling Wattie seldom occupied the same bed on -many consecutive nights, his various resting-places had so great a family likeness that he -could not always remember where he was when he chanced to wake in the small hours. Sheds, -barns, stables harboured him in the cold months when luck was good; loanings, old -quarries, whin-patches, the alder clump beyond Brechin, or the wall-side at Magdalen -Chapel, in the summer.</p> - -<p>To-night he lay in the barn abutting on the tiny farmhouse at which he had sought -shelter for Archie. He had met with a half-hearted reception from the woman who came to -the door. Her man was away, she told him, and she was unwilling to admit strangers in his -absence. She had never seen Wattie before, and it was plain that she did not like his -looks. He induced her at last, with the greatest difficulty, to give shelter in her barn -to the comrade whom he described as lying in extremity at the roadside. Finally, she -despatched her son, a youth of fifteen, to <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-201">[Pg 201]</a></span>accompany the beggar, and to help to bring the sufferer -back.</p> - -<p>Cold water revived Archie again, and he reached the barn with the assistance of the -lad, who, better disposed than his mother, cut a bundle of dry heather, which he spread in -a corner for his comfort. The woman looked with silent surprise at her undesired guest; -she had thought to see a fellow-traveller of different condition in company with the -masterful old blackguard in the cart. Her glances and her expressive silence made Wattie -uneasy, but there was no help for their plight whilst Flemington could scarcely stand.</p> - -<p>The beggar had spent the rest of that day in the barn. He was not suffered to enter the -farm, nor was he offered any food; but he had enough store by him from what he had -collected in Brechin for his own needs and those of his team. Archie’s only requirement -was the bowl of water that his companion had obtained from the boy. He lay alternately -dozing and tossing on his pile of heather. His body was chilled for his high boots had -been full of the Esk water, and Wattie had hesitated to draw them off, lest he should be -unable to get them on again after their soaking.</p> - -<p>Night fell on the barn at last. Wattie slept sound, with the yellow cur’s muzzle -against his shoulder; but he awoke towards midnight, for Archie’s feverish voice was -coming from the corner in which he lay. He inclined his ear, <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-202">[Pg 202]</a></span>attracted by the recurrent name of Logie -which ran through the disconnected babblings, rising again and again like some -half-drowned object carried along a swift stream. The darkness made every word seem more -distinct.</p> - -<p>“Listen to me!” cried Flemington. “Logie! Logie! you do not understand . . . -it is safe . . . it is burnt! Nobody shall know it from me. . . . I -cannot take your money, Logie . . . I will tell you everything, but you will not -understand. . . .”</p> - -<p>The beggar was holding his breath.</p> - -<p>“I did not guess it was Inchbrayock . . . I thought it would not be -Inchbrayock! Logie, I will say nothing . . . but I will tell you all. For God’s -sake, Logie, . . . I swear it is true! . . . Listen. -. . .”</p> - -<p>Skirling Wattie could hear him struggling as though he were fighting for his life.</p> - -<p>“Not to Ardguys . . . I cannot go back to Ardguys! I shall never tell -. . . never, never tell . . . but I shall know where you are! They -shall never know. <i>Ah!</i>” cried Archie, raising his voice like a man in distress -calling for help, “it is you, Logie! . . . My God, let me go!”</p> - -<p>The beggar dragged himself nearer. The fragment of moon did no more than turn the -chinks and cracks of the barn to a dull grey, and he could hardly see the outline of his -companion.</p> - -<p>The nightmares that were tormenting Archie pointed to something that must have happened -before he came by his hurt, and the injury and the chill had produced these light-headed -wanderings; <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-203">[Pg -203]</a></span>there were troubles boiling in his mind that he had kept behind his teeth -so long as his tongue was under control. Wattie wondered what was all this talk of Lord -Balnillo’s brother. It seemed as if there were some secret between this man, suspected, as -he well knew, of being an active rebel, and Flemington. Had it been light, Wattie would -have tried to get at the papers that Archie had spoken of as being on him when they met, -for these might give him some clue to the mystery. He sat in the dark leaning against the -wall of the barn, his arms tightly folded across his great chest, his lips pursed, his -gaze bent on the restless figure that he could just distinguish.</p> - -<p>All at once Archie sat up.</p> - -<p>“Where are you?” he asked in a high, strained voice.</p> - -<p>“A’m here,” replied the beggar.</p> - -<p>“Is it you, Logie?” exclaimed Flemington.</p> - -<p>“It’s mysel’.”</p> - -<p>Wattie smoothed the roughness out of his accent as best he could. The other seemed to -be hovering on the brink of consciousness. He sank back.</p> - -<p>“It is not Logie,” he said; “but you can tell him——”</p> - -<p>Wattie leaned forward and laid his broad palm firmly and very gently on his -shoulder.</p> - -<p>“What’ll a’ tell him?” said he.</p> - -<p>Flemington turned towards him and groped about with his hot hand.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Tell him from me that he can trust me,” he said in a hoarse, earnest whisper.</p> - -<p>The beggar’s touch seemed to quiet him. He lay still, murmuring indistinctly between -snatches of silence. Once again he sat up, groping about.</p> - -<p>“You will not forget?” he said.</p> - -<p>“Na, na,” replied Wattie.</p> - -<p>He pushed him gently back, patting him now and again as a nurse might pat a restless -child, and Archie grew calmer. The hand quieted him. Rough, dirty, guileful, profane as he -was, without scruple or conscience or anything but the desire to do the best for himself, -Skirling Wattie had got, lodged in body or spirit, or in whatsoever part of man the -uncomprehended force dwells, that personal magnetism which is independent alike of grace -and of virtue, which can exist in a soil that is barren of either. It may have been that -which the yellow cur, with the clear vision belonging to some animals, recognized and -adored; seeing not only the coarse and jovial reprobate who was his master, but the shadow -of the mysterious power that had touched him.</p> - -<p>The dog, awakened by Archie’s cry, found that the beggar had moved, and drew closer to -his side. Flemington dozed off again, and Wattie sat thinking; he longed to stir him up, -that he might have the chance of hearing more of his rambling talk. But he refrained, not -from humane feeling, but from the fear that the talker, if he were tampered with, might be -too ill to be moved on the morrow. Sleep was his best chance, and <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-205">[Pg 205]</a></span>Wattie had made up his mind that if it -were possible to move him, he would prevail on the boy to get a beast from the nearest -place that boasted anything which could carry him to Aberbrothock. He knew that Flemington -could pay for it, and he would direct him to a small inn in that place whose landlord, -besides being a retired smuggler, was a distant kinsman of his own. The matter of a -passage to Leith could be arranged through the same source for a consideration. Archie -should take his chance by himself.</p> - -<p>He realized with some bitterness the bright opportunities that can be lost upon a being -who has no legs to speak of; for he could easily have relieved him of what money he -carried had he been an able-bodied man. It was not that he lacked the force for such -deeds, but that honesty was wantonly thrust upon him because his comings and goings were -so conspicuous. Notoriety takes heavy toll; and he had about the same chance as the king -of being conveniently mislaid. He would have given a good deal for a sight of the papers -that Archie carried, and though the darkness interfered with him now, he promised himself -that he would see them if the morning light should find him still delirious. He could not -make out how ill he was; and in spite of his curiosity, he was not prepared to befriend -him with the chance of his growing worse. To have him dying upon his hands would be a -burden too great to endure, even should it lead to no awkward questionings. He would get -rid of him <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-206">[Pg -206]</a></span>to-morrow, whether his curiosity were satisfied or not: he had heard enough -to make him suspect very strongly that Flemington was in the pay of the rebels as well as -in that of the King. It was a situation that he, personally, could very well understand. -But the night turned, and Archie grew more peaceful as the hours went by. He had one or -two bouts of talking, but they were incoherent and fitful, and his mind appeared now to be -straying among different phantoms. There was no more about Logie, and Wattie could only -make out the word ‘Ardguys,’ which he knew as the name of a place beyond Forfar; and as he -had discovered in Brechin that Flemington lived somewhere in those parts, he guessed that -his thoughts were roving about his home. His breathing grew less laboured, and the watcher -could hear at last that he slept. The moon dropped, and with her going the crevices lost -their greyness and the barn grew black. The beggar, who was a healthy sleeper, laid -himself down again, and in the middle of his cogitations passed into oblivion.</p> - -<p>When he awoke the place was light, and Archie was looking at him with intelligent eyes; -they were hollow, and there were dark shadows below them, but they were the eyes of a man -in full possession of his wits.</p> - -<p>“We must get out of this place,” he said. “I have been standing up, but my knees seem -so heavy I can hardly walk. My bones ache, Wattie; I believe there is fever in me, but I -must get on. <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-207">[Pg -207]</a></span>Damn it, man, we are a sorry pair to be cast on the world like this! I fear -I took terrible liberties with your whisky yesterday.”</p> - -<p>It was a still, misty morning when the beggar, having harnessed his dogs, went out to -look for the boy. When he was gone, Flemington fumbled with his shaking fingers for the -different packets that he carried. All were there safely—his letters, his money. He -trusted nobody, and he did not like having to trust the beggar.</p> - -<p>His feverish head and the ague in his bones told him that he could scarcely hope to get -to Aberbrothock on foot. His boots were still wet, and a bruise on his hip that he had got -in falling yesterday had begun to make itself felt. He propped himself against the wall -and reached out for the water beside him.</p> - -<p>Wattie had been some time away when the barn door opened and the farm-woman appeared on -the threshold, considering him with suspicious disfavour.</p> - -<p>He dragged himself to his feet and bowed as though he were standing upon an Aubusson -carpet instead of upon a pallet of withered heather. The action seemed to confirm her -distrust.</p> - -<p>“Madam,” said he, “I have to thank you for a night’s shelter and for this excellent -refreshment. You are too good. I drink to you.”</p> - -<p>He raised the broken delf bowl with the drain of water that remained in it. Being -conscious of inhospitality, she was not sure how much <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-208">[Pg 208]</a></span>irony lay in his words, and his face told -her nothing.</p> - -<p>“It’s the last ye’ll get here,” said she.</p> - -<p>The more she looked at Flemington the more she was impressed by his undesirability as a -guest. She was one of those to whom anything uncommon seemed a menace.</p> - -<p>“Madam, I notice that you dislike me—why?”</p> - -<p>“Wha are ye?” she inquired after a pause, during which he faced her, smiling, his -eyebrows raised.</p> - -<p>“We are two noblemen, travelling for pleasure,” said he.</p> - -<p>She crossed her arms, snorting.</p> - -<p>“Heuch!” she exclaimed contemptuously. “A’ wish ma gudeman was hame. He’d sort the pair -o’ ye!”</p> - -<p>“If you think we have any design on your virtue,” he continued, “I beg you to dismiss -the idea. I assure you, you are safe with us. We are persons of the greatest delicacy, and -my friend is a musician of the first rank. I myself am what you see—your humble servant -and admirer.”</p> - -<p>“Ye’re a leear and a Frenchman!” cried she.</p> - -<p>Her eyes blazed. A little more provocation, and she might have attacked him. At this -moment Wattie’s cart drove into the yard behind her, axle deep in the sea of mud and -manure that filled the place. She turned upon the new-comer. She could not deal with -Archie, but the beggar was a foe she could understand, and she advanced, a whirl of abuse, -upon him. The <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-209">[Pg -209]</a></span>yellow dog’s growling rose, battling with her strident tones, and Archie, -seeing the mischief his tongue had wrought, limped out, fearful of what might happen.</p> - -<p>“Stand awa’ frae the doag, wumman! He’ll hae the legs o’ ye roogit aff yer henches gin -he get’s a haud o’ ye!” roared Wattie, as the yellow body leaped and bounded in the -traces.</p> - -<p>Amid a hurricane of snarling and shouts he contrived, by plying his stick, to turn the -animals and to get them out of the yard.</p> - -<p>Archie followed him, but before he did so he paused to turn to his enemy, who had taken -shelter in the doorway of the barn. He could not take off his hat to her because he had no -hat to take off, having lost it on Inchbrayock Island, but he blew a kiss from the points -of his fingers with an air that almost made her choke. Wattie, looking back over his -shoulder, called angrily to him. He could not understand what he had done to the woman to -move her to such a tempest of wrath, but he told himself that, in undertaking to escort -Archie, he had made a leap in the dark. He would direct him to his cousin’s house of -entertainment in Aberbrothock, and return to his own haunts without delay.</p> - -<p>At the nearest point of road the boy was standing by a sorry-looking nag that he held -by the ear.</p> - -<p>A few minutes later they had parted, and the boy, made happy by the coin he had been -given, was returning to the farm, while the beggar, who had also reaped some profit in the -last twenty-four <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-210">[Pg -210]</a></span>hours, watched his late companion disappearing down the road. When he was -out of sight he turned his own wheels in the direction of Brechin, and set off at a sober -pace for that friendly town. He was singing to himself as he went, first because he owned -the price of another bottle of whisky; secondly, because he was delighted to be rid of -Flemington; and thirdly, because an inspiring idea had come to him.</p> - -<p>His dogs, by the time they drew him into Brechin, would have done two heavy days’ work, -and would deserve the comparative holiday he meant to give them. He would spend to-morrow -in the town with his pipes in the company of that congenial circle always ready to spring -from the gutter on his appearance. Then, after a good night’s rest, and when he should -have collected a trifle, he would go on to Forfar and learn for certain whether Archie -lived at Ardguys and who might be found there in his absence.</p> - -<p>His idea was to arrive at the house with the last tidings of the young man; to give an -account of the attack on the <i>Venture</i>, its surrender, Flemington’s injury, and his -own part in befriending him. It took some time, in those days of slow communication, for -public news to travel so much as across a county, but even should the tale of the ship -have reached Ardguys, the news of Archie could scarcely have preceded him. He hoped to -find someone—for preference an anxious mother, who would be sensible of how much he had -done for her son. There would be fresh profit there.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p> - -<p>And not only profit. There was something else for which the beggar hoped, though profit -was his main object. He pictured some tender, emotional lady from whose unsuspicious heart -he might draw scraps of information that would fit into his own theories. He would try the -effect of Logie’s name, and there would be no harm in taking a general survey of -Flemington’s surroundings and picking up any small facts about him that he could -collect.</p> - -<p>His own belief in Archie’s double dealing grew stronger as he jogged along; no doubt -that shrewd and unaccountable young man was driving a stiff trade. There was little -question in his mind that the contents of the letter he had put into his hands by the -alder-clump had been sold to Captain James Logie, and that its immediate result had been -the taking of the ship. He had learned from Archie’s ravings that there had been a -question of money between himself and Logie. The part that he could make nothing of was -the suggestion, conveyed by Archie in the night, that he and the judge’s brother had been -fighting. “Let me go, Logie!” he had cried out in the darkness, and the blow on his -forehead, which was bleeding when he found him, proved recent violence.</p> - -<p>But though he could not explain these puzzles, nor make them tally with his belief, his -theory remained. Flemington was in league with Logie. For the present he determined to -keep his suspicions to himself.</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter" id="Chapter216"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p> - -<h4 id="Chapter216_hdg"><a href="#Chapter216_toc">CHAPTER XVI<br /> -<span class="chap_title">THE TWO ENDS OF THE LINE</span></a></h4> - -<p class="noindent">T<small>HREE</small> days afterwards Wattie sat at the gates of -Ardguys and looked between the pale yellow ash-trees at the house. There was nobody about -at the moment to forbid his entrance, and he drove quietly in at a foot’s pace and -approached the door. The sun shone with the clear lightness of autumn, and the leaves, -which had almost finished the fitful process of falling, lay gathered in heaps by the -gate, for Madam Flemington liked order. On the steep pitch of the ancient slate roof a few -pigeons, white and grey, sat in pairs or walked about with spasmodic dignity. The whole -made a picture, high in tone, like a water-colour, and the clean etched lines of the -stripped branches gave it a sharp delicacy and threw up the tall, light walls. All these -things were lost upon the beggar.</p> - -<p>He had informed himself in Forfar. He knew that the place was owned and lived in by a -lady of the name of Flemington, who was the grandmother of the young man from whom he had -lately parted. He had learned nothing of her <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-213">[Pg 213]</a></span>character and politics because of the seclusion in which -she lived, and he stared about him on every side and scanned the house for any small sign -that might give him a clue to the tastes or occupations of its inhabitant. Whilst he was -so engaged the front-door opened and the sound sent all the pigeons whirling from the roof -into the air in flashes of grey-blue and white. Madam Flemington stood on the top -step.</p> - -<p>The beggar’s hand went instinctively to his bonnet. He was a little taken aback—why, he -did not know—and he instantly abandoned his plan of an emotional description of Archie’s -plight. She stood quite still, looking down at him.</p> - -<p>Her luxuriant silver hair was covered by a three-cornered piece of black lace that was -tied in a knot under her chin, and she wore the ‘calash,’ or hood, with which the ladies -of those days protected their headdresses when they went out. A short furred cloak was -round her.</p> - -<p>She considered Wattie with astonishment. Then she beckoned to him to approach.</p> - -<p>“Who and what are you?” she asked, laying her hand on the railing that encircled the -landing of the steps.</p> - -<p>That question was so seldom put to him that it struck him unawares, like a stone from -behind a hedge. He hesitated.</p> - -<p>“A’ve got news for yer leddyship,” he began.</p> - -<p>“I asked your name,” said Madam Flemington.</p> - -<p>“Wattie Caird,” replied he. “Skirling Wattie, they ca’ me.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-214">[Pg 214]</a></span></p> - -<p>The countryside and its inhabitants did not appeal to Christian, but this amazing -intruder was like no one she had ever seen before. She guessed that he was a beggar, and -she brushed aside his announcement of news as merely a method of attracting attention.</p> - -<p>“You are one of the few persons in these parts who can afford to keep a coach,” she -remarked.</p> - -<p>A broad smile overspread his ribald countenance, like the sun irradiating a -public-house.</p> - -<p>“Dod, ma leddy, a’d think shame to visit ye on fut,” said he, with a wag of his -head.</p> - -<p>“You have better reasons than that,” she replied rather grimly.</p> - -<p>“Aye, aye, they’re baith awa’,” said he, looking at the place where his legs should -have been. “A’m an ill sicht for the soutars!”</p> - -<p>She threw back her head and laughed a little.</p> - -<p>She had seen no one for months, with the exception of Archie, who was so quick in mind -and speech, and the humour of this vagabond on wheels took her fancy. There was no whining -servility about him, in spite of his obvious profession.</p> - -<p>The horrified face of a maidservant appeared for one moment at a window, then vanished, -struck back by the unblessed sight of her mistress, that paralyzing, unapproachable power, -jesting, apparently, with Skirling Wattie, the lowest of the low. The girl was a native of -Forfar, the westernmost point of the beggar’s travels, and she had often seen him in the -streets.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p> - -<p>“You face life boldly,” said Madam Flemington.</p> - -<p>“An’ what for no? Fegs, greetin’ fills naebody’s kyte.”<a id="footnote2_text" -href="#footnote2_note">*</a></p> - -<p>She laughed again.</p> - -<p>“You shall fill yours handsomely,” said she; “go to the other door and I will send -orders to the women to attend to you.”</p> - -<p>“Aye, will I,” he exclaimed, “but it wasna’ just for a piece that a’ cam’ a’ the way -frae the muir o’ Rossie.”</p> - -<p>“From where?” said she.</p> - -<p>“The muir o’ Rossie,” repeated he. “Ma leddy, it was awa’ yonder at the tail o’ the -muir that a’ tell’t Maister Flemington the road to Aberbrothock.”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Flemington?”</p> - -<p>“Aye, yon lad Flemington—an’ a deevil o’ a lad he is to tak’ the road wi’! Ma leddy, -there’s been a pucklie fechtin’ aboot Montrose, an’ the Prince’s men hae gotten a haud o’ -King George’s ship that’s in by Ferryden. As a’ gaed doon to the toon, a’ kaipit<a -id="footnote3_text" href="#footnote3_note">†</a> wi’ Flemington i’ the road. He’d gotten a -clour on ’s heed. He was fechtin’ doon aboot Inchbrayock, he tell’t me.”</p> - -<p>“Fighting? With whom?” asked Madam Flemington, fixing her tiger’s eyes on him.</p> - -<p>The beggar had watched her face narrowly while he spoke for the slightest flicker of -expression that might indicate the way her feelings were turning.</p> - -<p>“He was fechtin’ wi’ Captain Logie,” he continued <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-216">[Pg 216]</a></span>boldly, “a fell man yon—ye’ll ken him, -yer leddyship?”</p> - -<p>“By name,” said Christian.</p> - -<p>“A’m thinkin’ it was frae him that he got the clour on ’s heed. A’ gie’d him ma guid -whisky bottle, an’ a’ got water to him frae a well. A’ ca’d him awa’ frae the roadside—he -didna ken wha would be aifter him ye see—an’ a’ gar’d a clatterin’ auld wife at the muir -side gie’s a shelter yon nicht. A’ didna’ leave the callant, ma’ leddy, till a’ got a -shelt to him. He’s to Edinburgh. A’ tell’t him wha ’d get him a passage to Leith—a’m an -Aberbrothock man, mysel’, ye ken.”</p> - -<p>“And did he send you to me?”</p> - -<p>“Aye, did he,” said he, lying boldly.</p> - -<p>There was no sign of emotion, none even of surprise, on her face. Her heart had beaten -hard as the beggar talked, and the weight of wrath and pain that she had carried since she -had parted with Archie began to lighten. He had listened to her—he had not gone against -her. How deep her words had fallen into his heart she could not tell, but deep enough to -bring him to grips with the man who had made the rift between them.</p> - -<p>“Are you sure of what you say?” she asked quickly; “did you see them fight?”</p> - -<p>“Na, na, but ’twas the lad himsel’ that tell’t me. He was on the ship.”</p> - -<p>“He was on the ship?”</p> - -<p>“Aye, was he. And he gae’d oot wi’ the sodgers to deave they rebels frae Inchbrayock. -<span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-217">[Pg 217]</a></span>They got the -ship, ma leddy, but they didna get him. He escapit.”</p> - -<p>“Did you say he was much hurt?” said Madam Flemington.</p> - -<p>“Hoots! ye needna’ fash yersel’, ma leddy! A’ was feared for him i’ the nicht, but -there wasna’ muckle wrang wi’ him when he gae’d awa’, or, dod, a’ wouldna’ hae left -him!”</p> - -<p>He had no mind to spoil his presentment of himself as Good Samaritan.</p> - -<p>So far he had learnt nothing. He had spoken of the Prince’s men as rebels without a -sign of displeasure showing on Madam Flemington’s face. Archie might be playing a double -game and she might be doing the same, but there was nothing to suggest it. She was -magnificently impersonal. She had not even shown the natural concern that he expected with -regard to her own flesh and blood.</p> - -<p>“Go now,” said she, waving her hand towards the back part of the house; “you shall feed -well, you and your dogs; and when you have finished you can come to these steps again, and -I will give you some money. You have done well by me.”</p> - -<p>She re-entered the house and he drove away to the kitchen-door, dismissed.</p> - -<p>If Wattie hoped to discover anything more there about the lady and her household, he -was disappointed. The servants raised their chins in refined disapproval of the vagrant -upon whom their mistress had seen fit to waste words under the very front windows of -Ardguys. They resolved <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-218">[Pg -218]</a></span>that he should find the back-door, socially, a different place, and only -the awe in which they stood of Christian compelled them to obey her to the letter. A crust -or two would have interpreted her wishes, had they dared to please themselves. But Madam -Flemington knew every resource of her larder and kitchen, for French housekeeping and the -frugality of her exiled years had taught her thrift. She would measure precisely what had -been given to her egregious guest, down to the bones laid, by her order, before his -dogs.</p> - -<p>The beggar ate in silence, amid the brisk cracking made by five pairs of busy jaws; the -maids were in the stronghold of the kitchen, far from the ungenteel sight of his coarse -enjoyment. When he had satisfied himself, he put the fragments into his leathern bag and -went round once more to the front of the house.</p> - -<p>A window was open on the ground-floor, and Madam Flemington’s large white hand came -over the sill holding a couple of crown pieces. She was sitting on the window-seat within. -Her cloak and the calash had disappeared, and Wattie could see the fine poise of her head. -She dropped the coin into the cart as he drove below.</p> - -<p>As he looked up he thought that if she had been imposing in her outdoor garments she -was a hundredfold more so without them. He was at his ease with her, but he wondered at -it, though he was accustomed to being at his ease with everybody. A certain vanity rose in -him, coarse <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-219">[Pg -219]</a></span>remnant of humanity as he was, before this magnificent woman, and when he -had received the silver, he turned about, facing her, and began to sing.</p> - -<p>He was used to the plebeian admiration of his own public, but a touch of it from her -would have a different flavour. He was vain of his singing, and that vanity was the one -piece of romance belonging to him; it hung over his muddy soul as a weaving of honeysuckle -may hang over a dank pond. Had he understood Madam Flemington perfectly, he might have -sung ‘The Tod,’ but as he only understood her superficially, he sang ‘Logie Kirk.’ He did -not know how nearly the extremities of the social scale can draw together in the primitive -humours of humanity. It is the ends of a line that can best be bent to meet, not one end -and the middle.</p> - -<p>Yet, as ‘Logie Kirk’ rang out among the spectral ash-trees, she sat still, astonished, -her head erect, like some royal animal listening; it moved her, though its sentiment had -naught to do with her mood at present, nor with her cast of mind at any time. But love and -loss are things that lay their shadows everywhere, and Madam Flemington had lost much; -moreover, she had been a woman framed for love, and she had not wasted her gifts.</p> - -<p>As his voice ceased, she rose and threw the window up higher.</p> - -<p>“Go on,” she said.</p> - -<p>He paused, taking breath, for a couple of minutes. He knew songs to suit all political -<span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-220">[Pg 220]</a></span>creeds, but this -time he would try one of the Jacobite lays that were floating round the country; if it -should provoke some illuminating comment from her, he would have learned something more -about her, and incidentally about Archie, though it struck him that he was not so sure of -the unanimity of interest between the grandmother and grandson which he had taken for -granted before seeing Madam Flemington.</p> - -<p>His cunning eyes were rooted on her as he sang again.</p> - -<div class="verse2"> -<blockquote class="stanza"> -<p class="i0">“My love stood at the loanin’ side</p> - -<p class="i1a">And held me by the hand,</p> - -<p class="i0a">The bonniest lad that e’er did bide</p> - -<p class="i1a">In a’ this waefu’ land;</p> - -<p class="i0a">There’s but ae bonnier to be seen</p> - -<p class="i1a">Frae Pentland to the sea,</p> - -<p class="i0a">And for his sake but yestereen</p> - -<p class="i1a">I sent my love frae me.</p> -</blockquote> - -<blockquote class="stanza"> -<p class="i0">“I gie’d my love the white, white rose</p> - -<p class="i1a">That’s at my feyther’s wa’,</p> - -<p class="i0a">It is the bonniest flower that grows</p> - -<p class="i1a">Where ilka flower is braw;</p> - -<p class="i0a">There’s but ae brawer that I ken</p> - -<p class="i1a">Frae Perth unto the main,</p> - -<p class="i0a">And that’s the flower o’ Scotland’s men</p> - -<p class="i1a">That’s fechtin’ for his ain.</p> -</blockquote> - -<blockquote class="stanza"> -<p class="i0">“If I had kept whate’er was mine,</p> - -<p class="i1a">As I had gie’d my best,</p> - -<p class="i0a">My hairt were licht by day, and syne</p> - -<p class="i1a">The nicht wad bring me rest;</p> - -<p class="i0a">There is nae heavier hairt to find</p> - -<p class="i1a">Frae Forfar toon to Ayr,</p> - -<p class="i0a">As aye I sit me doon to mind</p> - -<p class="i1a">On him I see nae mair.</p> -</blockquote> - -<blockquote class="stanza"> -<p class="i0">“Lad, gin ye fa’ by Chairlie’s side,</p> - -<p class="i1a">To rid this land o’ shame,</p> - -<p class="i0a">There will na be a prouder bride</p> - -<p class="i1a">Than her ye left at hame;</p> - -<p class="i0a">But I will see ye whaur ye sleep</p> - -<p class="i1a">Frae lowlands to the peat,</p> - -<p class="i0a">And ilka nicht at mirk I’ll creep</p> - -<p class="i1a">To lay me at yer feet.”</p> -</blockquote> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p> - -<p>“You sing well,” said Christian when he had stopped; “now go.”</p> - -<p>She inclined her head and turned from the window. As his broad back, so grotesque in -its strange nearness to the ground, passed out between the gate-posts of Ardguys, she went -over to the mantelpiece.</p> - -<p>Her face was set, and she stood with clasped hands gazing into the fireplace. She was -deeply moved, but not by the song, which only stirred her to bitterness, but by the -searching tones of the beggar’s voice, that had smitten a way through which her feelings -surged to and from her heart. The thought that Archie had not utterly broken away from her -unnerved her by the very relief it brought. She had not known till now how much she had -suffered from what had passed between them. Her power was not all gone. She was not quite -alone. She would have scorned to admit that she could not stand in complete isolation, and -she admitted nothing, even to herself. She only stood still, her nerves quivering, making -no outward sign.</p> - -<p>Presently she rang a little hand-bell that was on the table.</p> - -<p>The genteel-minded maid appeared.</p> - -<p>“Mysie,” said Madam Flemington, “in three days I shall go to Edinburgh.”</p> - -<hr class="small" /> - -<p class="footnote" id="footnote2_note"><a href="#footnote2_text">*</a> Stomach.</p> - -<p class="footnote" id="footnote3_note"><a href="#footnote3_text">†</a> Met.</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter" id="Chapter217"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-222">[Pg 222]</a></span></p> - -<h4 id="Chapter217_hdg"><a href="#Chapter217_toc">CHAPTER XVII<br /> -<span class="chap_title">SOCIETY</span></a></h4> - -<p class="noindent">L<small>ORD</small> B<small>ALNILLO</small> looked out of his sedan -chair as it emerged from the darkness of a close on the northern slope of the Old Town of -Edinburgh. Far down in front of him, where the long alley stopped, a light or two was seen -reflected in the black water of the Nor’ Loch that lay between the ancient city and the -ground on which the new one was so soon to rise. The shuffling footfalls of his chairmen, -echoing off the sides of the covered entry, were drowned in the noise that was going on a -little way farther forward, where the close widened out into a square courtyard. One side -of this place was taken up by the house of Lady Anne Maxwell, for which the judge was -bound.</p> - -<p>It had been raining, and Edinburgh was most noisomely dirty under foot, so Balnillo’s -regard for his silk-clad legs and the buckled shoes on his slim feet, had made him decide -to be carried to his kinswoman’s party. He wore his favourite mouse colour, but the -waistcoat under his velvet coat was of primrose satin, and the lace under <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-223">[Pg 223]</a></span>his chin had cost him -more than he liked to remember.</p> - -<p>The courtyard sent up a glow of light into the atmosphere of the damp evening, for the -high houses towering round it rose black into the sky, limiting the shine and -concentrating it into one patch. From above, it must have looked like a dimly illuminated -well. It was full of sedan chairs, footmen, lantern-carriers and caddies, and the -chattering, pushing, jesting, and oaths were keeping the inhabitants of the neighbouring -‘lands’—such of them as were awake, for Edinburgh kept early hours in those days—from -going to sleep.</p> - -<p>The sedan chairs were set down at the door, for they could seldom be carried into the -low and narrow entrances of even the best town houses, and here, at Lady Anne’s, the -staircase wound up inside a circular tower projecting from the wall.</p> - -<p>The caddies, or street-messengers of Edinburgh, that strange brotherhood of useful, -omniscient rascals, without whose services nothing could prosper, ran in and out among the -crowd in search of odd jobs. Their eyes were everywhere, their ears heard everything, -their tongues carried news of every event. The caddies knew all that happened in society, -on the bench, in shops, in wynds, in churches, and no traveller could be an hour in the -town before they had made his name and business common property. In an hour and a half his -character would have gone the same way. Their home by day was at the Market <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-224">[Pg 224]</a></span>Cross in the High -Street, where they stood in gossiping groups until a call let one of them loose upon -somebody else’s business. It was the perpetual pursuit of other people’s business that had -made them what they were.</p> - -<p>A knot of caddies pressed round the door of Lady Anne Maxwell’s house as Lord Balnillo, -sitting erect in order not to crease his clothes and looking rather like an image carried -in a procession, was kept at a standstill whilst another guest was set down. Through the -open window of his chair there pressed a couple of inquisitive faces.</p> - -<p>“Hey, lads!” cried a caddie, “it’s Davie Balnillo back again!”</p> - -<p>“Losh, it’s himsel’! Aweel, ma lord, we’re fine an’ pleased to see ye! Grange is awa’ -in ben the hoose. I’se warrant he doesna’ ken wha’s ahint him!”</p> - -<p>Balnillo nodded affably. The instant recognition pleased the old man, for he had only -reached Edinburgh in time to dress for his cousin’s party; also, Lord Grange was a friend -of his, and he was glad to hear that he was in front. As he looked complacently upon the -crowd, his chairmen suddenly stepped forward, almost throwing him out of his seat.</p> - -<p>A cry rose round him.</p> - -<p>“Canny! Canny! ye Hieland deevils! Ye’ll hae the pouthered wiggie o’ him swiggit aff -his heed! Haud on, Davie; we’ll no let ye cowp!”</p> - -<p>Balnillo was rather annoyed, for he had been <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-225">[Pg 225]</a></span>knocked smartly against the window-frame, and a little -cloud of powder had been shaken on his velvet sleeve; but he knew that the one thing a man -might not lose before the caddies was his temper, if he did not want his rage, his -gestures, and all the humiliating details of his discomfiture to be the town talk next -day. He looked as bland as he could while he resettled himself.</p> - -<p>“It’ll no be waur nor ridin’ the circuit, ma lord?” inquired a voice.</p> - -<p>A laugh went round the group, and the chair moved on and was set down at its -destination. Though the caddies’ knowledge of the judge went as far down as his foibles, -the one thing that they did not happen to know was the motive that had brought him to -Edinburgh.</p> - -<p>The doings in the harbour had disturbed Balnillo mightily; for, though the success of -Ferrier and James in taking the <i>Venture</i> rejoiced him, he was dismayed by what he -had heard about Archie Flemington. His brother had told him everything. When Captain Hall -and his men had been conveyed as prisoners to the town, and the ship had been taken -possession of by Prince Charles’ agent in Montrose, Logie had gone hastily to Balnillo to -give the news to David, and to prepare for his own departure to join the Stuart army. -There was no longer any need for secrecy on his part, and it had always been his intention -to declare himself openly as soon as he had done his work in Montrose. The place was well -protected, and, besides the town guns that he and Ferrier <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-226">[Pg 226]</a></span>had taken from Hall, there were the two -armed vessels—both now belonging to the Prince—lying in the harbour.</p> - -<p>The arrival of the frigate with her supplies had turned Montrose from a -rebelliously-inclined town into a declared Jacobite stronghold. The streets and taverns -were full of Lord John Drummond’s troops, the citizens had given vent to their feelings -upon the town bells, bonfires blazed in the streets, and Prince Charlie’s name was on -every lip; girls wore white roses on their breasts, and dreamed at night of the -fascinating young spark who had come to set Scotland alight. The intense Jacobitism of -Angus seemed to have culminated in the quiet seaport.</p> - -<p>In all this outburst of loyalty and excitement the cautious Balnillo did not know what -to do. The risk of announcing his leanings publicly was a greater one than he cared to -take, for his stake in the country and the land was considerable, and he was neither -sanguine enough to feel certain of the ultimate triumph of the Stuarts like the Montrose -people, nor generous enough to disregard all results like James. As he told himself, after -much deliberation, he was “best away.”</p> - -<p>He had heard from James of Archie’s sudden appearance upon the island, armed with a -Government weapon and in company with the attacking force from the ship, and had listened -to James’s grim denunciation of him as a spy, his passionate regrets that he had not blown -his brains out there and then. James’s bitterness had been so <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-227">[Pg 227]</a></span>great that David told himself he could -scarcely recognize his quiet brother.</p> - -<p>There was abundant reason for it, but Logie had seemed to be beside himself. He had -scarcely eaten or slept during the short time that he had been with him, and his face had -kept the judge’s tongue still. After his account of what had happened, Balnillo had not -returned to the subject again.</p> - -<p>Step by step the judge had gone over all the circumstances of Flemington’s sudden -emergence from the Den on that windy night, and had seen how he had himself been cozened -and flattered into the business of the portrait which stood unfinished, in solitary and -very marked dignity, in the room with the north light. He was a man who suspected some of -his own weaknesses, though his knowledge did not prevent him from giving way to them when -he thought he could do so safely, and he remembered the adroit bits of flattery that his -guest had strewn in his path, and how obligingly he had picked them up. He was shrewd -enough to see all that. He thought of the sudden departure when Madam Flemington’s -mysterious illness had spirited Archie out of the house at a moment’s notice, and he saw -how he had contrived to imbue both himself and James with the idea that he shared their -political interests, without saying one definite word; he thought of his sigh and the -change in his voice as he spoke of his father’s death “in exile with his master.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-228">[Pg 228]</a></span></p> - -<p>These things stood up in a row before Balnillo, and ranged themselves into a sinister -whole. The plain truth of it was that he had entertained a devil unawares.</p> - -<p>There had been a great search for Flemington when the skirmish on Inchbrayock was over. -It was only ceasing when the French frigate swam into the river-mouth like a huge -water-bird, and James, plunged in the struggle, was unable to spare a thought to the -antagonist he had flung from him at the first sound of the attack.</p> - -<p>But when the firing had stopped, and the appearance of the foreign ship made the issue -of the conflict certain, he returned to the spot where he had left Archie, and found him -gone. He examined the sand for some trace of the vanished man’s feet, but the tide was now -high in the river, and his footprints had been swallowed by the incoming rush. The -stepping-stones were completely covered, and he knew that these—great fragments of rock as -they were—would now be lying under enough water to drown a man who should miss his footing -while the tide surged through this narrow stretch of the Esk’s bed. He guessed that the -spy had escaped by them, though a short time later the attempt would have been impossible. -He made a hasty search of the island, and, finding no sign of Flemington, he returned with -his men and the prisoners they had taken, leaving the dead to be carried over later to the -town for burial. The boats were on the Montrose side of Inchbrayock, and, their progress -<span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-229">[Pg 229]</a></span>being hampered -by the wounded, some time was lost before he could spare a handful of followers to begin -the search for Flemington. He picked up a few volunteers upon the quays, and despatched -them immediately to cross the strait and to search the southern shores of both the river -and the Basin; but they had barely started when Flemington and the beggar were nearing the -little farm on Rossie moor. Archie had spent so little time on the open road, thanks to -his companion’s advice, that none of those whom the pursuers met and questioned had seen -him. Before dusk came on, their zeal had flagged; and though one, quicker-witted than his -comrades, had suggested the moor as a likely goal for their quarry, he had been overborne -by their determination that the fugitive, a man who had been described to them as coming -from the other side of the county, would make in that direction.</p> - -<p>When James had gone to join the Stuart army on its march to England, his brother, -waiting until the Prince had left Holyrood, set forth for Edinburgh. It would have been -difficult for him to remain at home within sound of the noisy rejoicings of Montrose -without either joining in the general exultation or holding himself conspicuously aloof. -Prudence and convenience pointed to the taking of a little holiday, and his own -inclination did not gainsay them.</p> - -<p>He had not been in Edinburgh since his retirement, and the notion of going there, once -formed, grew more and more to his taste. A hundred <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-230">[Pg 230]</a></span>things in his old haunts drew him: -gossip, the liberal tables of his former colleagues, the latest modes in coats and -cravats, the musical assemblies at which he had himself performed upon the flute, the -scandals and anecdotes of the Parliament House and the society of elegant women. He loved -all these, though his trees and parks had taken their places of late. He loved James too, -and the year they had spent together had been agreeable to him; but politics and family -affection—the latter of the general rather than the individual kind—strong as their bonds -were, could not bring the brothers into true touch with each other. James was preoccupied, -silent, restless, and David had sometimes felt him to be inhuman in his lack of interest -in small things, and in his carelessness of all but the great events of life. And now, as -Balnillo stepped forth at Lady Anne Maxwell’s door, he was hugging himself at the prospect -of his return to the trimmings and embroideries of existence. He walked up the circular -staircase, and emerged into the candle-light of the long, low room in which his cousin’s -guests were assembled.</p> - -<p>Lady Anne was a youngish widow, with a good fortune and a devouring passion for cards. -She had all the means of indulging her taste, for not only did she know every living being -who went to the making of Edinburgh society, but, unlike most of her neighbours, she owned -the whole of the house in which she lived, and, consequently, had space wherein to -entertain them. <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-231">[Pg -231]</a></span>While nearly all the Edinburgh world dwelt in its flat, and while many -greater ladies than herself were contented to receive their guests in their bedchambers, -and to dance and drink tea in rooms not much bigger than the boudoirs of their -descendants, Lady Anne could have received Prince Charles Edward himself in suitable -circumstances had she been so minded. But she was very far from having any such -aspiration, and had not set foot in Holyrood while the Prince was there, for she was a -staunch Whig. As she greeted her cousin Balnillo, she was wondering how far certain -rumours that she had heard about him were true, and whether he also had been privy to the -taking of the sloop-of-war in Montrose harbour, for it was just a week since the news of -Logie’s exploit had reached Edinburgh. One of David’s many reasons for coming to her party -was his desire to make his reappearance in the polite world in a markedly Whig house.</p> - -<p>He stood talking to Lord Grange in the oak-panelled room half full of people; through -an open door another smaller apartment could be seen crowded with tables and card-players. -Lady Anne, all of whose guests were arrived, had vanished into it, and the two judges -stood side by side. Lord Grange, who valued his reputation for sanctity above rubies, did -not play cards—at least, not openly—and Balnillo, discovering new faces, as those must who -have been over a year absent from any community, was glad to have him at his elbow to -answer questions. Silks rustled, fans clicked, and the medley of noises in <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-232">[Pg 232]</a></span>the court below came -up, though the windows were shut.</p> - -<p>The candles, dim enough to our modern standards of lighting, shone against the darkness -of polished wood, and laughter and talk were escaping, like running water out of a -thicket, from a knot of people gathered round a small, plump, aquiline-nosed woman. The -group was at the end of the room, and now and again an individual would detach himself -from it, to return, drawn by some jest that reached him ere he had crossed the floor.</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Cockburn’s wit has not rusted this twelvemonth,” observed Lord Grange.</p> - -<p>“I marvel she has any left after nine years of housekeeping with her straitlaced -father-in-law,” replied Balnillo in a preoccupied voice.</p> - -<p>His eyes were elsewhere.</p> - -<p>“Ah!” said Grange, pulling a righteous face.</p> - -<p>The group round Mrs. Cockburn opened, and she caught sight of him for the first time. -She bowed and smiled civilly, showing her rather prominent teeth, then, noticing Balnillo, -she came over to the two men. Her friends stepped apart to let her pass, watching her go -with that touch of proprietary pride which a small intimate society feels in its more -original members. It was evident that her least acts were deemed worthy of -observation.</p> - -<p>As she greeted David, he turned round with a low bow.</p> - -<p>“My lord, I thought you were buried!” she exclaimed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-233">[Pg 233]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Dead and buried,” droned Grange, for the sake of saying something.</p> - -<p>“Not dead,” exclaimed she, “else I had been in mourning!”</p> - -<p>Balnillo bowed again, bringing his attention back with a jerk from the direction in -which it had been fixed.</p> - -<p>“Come, my lord, what have you been doing all this long time?”</p> - -<p>“I have been endeavouring to improve my estate, ma’am.”</p> - -<p>“And meanwhile you have left us to deteriorate. For shame, sir!”</p> - -<p>“Edinburgh morals are safe in Lord Grange’s hands,” rejoined Balnillo, with a sudden -flash of slyness.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Cockburn smiled behind her fan. There were odd stories afloat about Grange. She -looked appreciatively at Balnillo. He had not changed, in spite of his country life; he -was as dapper, as ineffective, and as unexpected as ever. She preferred him infinitely to -Grange.</p> - -<p>“Fie, Davie!” broke in the latter, with a leer; “you are an ungallant dog! Here is Mrs. -Cockburn wasting her words on you, and you do nothing but ogle the lady yonder by the -window.”</p> - -<p>Three pairs of eyes—the bright ones of Mrs. Cockburn, the rather furtive ones of -Balnillo, and the sanctimonious orbs of Lord Grange—turned in one direction.</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Cockburn is all knowledge, as she is all goodness,” observed the last named, -pompously. “Pray, ma’am, tell us who is that lady?”</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter" id="Chapter218"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-234">[Pg 234]</a></span></p> - -<h4 id="Chapter218_hdg"><a href="#Chapter218_toc">CHAPTER XVIII<br /> -<span class="chap_title">BALNILLO FINDS PERFECTION</span></a></h4> - -<p class="noindent">A <small>SCONCE</small> of candles beside a window-recess shed a -collective illumination from the wall, and Christian Flemington stood full in their light, -contemplating the company with superb detachment, and pervaded by that air, which never -left her, of facing the world, unaided and unabashed, with such advantages as God had -given her. Her neck, still white and firm, was bare, for she wore no jewels but the ruby -earrings which shot blood-red sparks around her when she moved. Long necks were in fashion -in those days, and hers was rather short, but the carriage of her head added enough to its -length to do more than equalize the difference. Her hair was like massed silver, and her -flesh—of which a good deal could be seen—rose like ivory above the wine-colour of her silk -gown, which flowed in spreading folds from her waist to the ground. A Spanish fan with -carved tortoiseshell sticks, a thing of mellow browns and golds, was half closed between -her fingers. When she opened it, it displayed the picture of a bull-fight.</p> - -<p>“That is Mrs. Flemington—Madam Flemington, <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-235">[Pg 235]</a></span>as I am told many people call her—I presume, because she -came to Scotland from France. You should know her, my lord,” she added, addressing -Balnillo; “you are from Angus.”</p> - -<p>But Balnillo was speechless.</p> - -<p>Grange, who was transferring a pinch of snuff from his box to his nose, paused, his -hand midway way between the two.</p> - -<p>“Is she the widow of Andrew Flemington, who was in France with King James?”</p> - -<p>“The same,” replied Mrs. Cockburn, tossing her head.</p> - -<p>She had small sympathy with the Stuarts.</p> - -<p>“I had not expected to see the lady here. Not that I know aught about her views. We -have a bare acquaintance, and she is like yourself, Lord Balnillo—just arrived in -Edinburgh when our young hero has left Holyrood.”</p> - -<p>“She has been a fine woman,” said Lord Grange, his eye kindling.</p> - -<p>“You may use the present tense, my lord,” said Mrs. Cockburn.</p> - -<p>“Aha!” sniggered Grange, who adhered to the time-honoured beliefs of his sex, “you dare -to show yourself generous!”</p> - -<p>“I dare to show myself what I am, and that is more than all the world can do,” said -she, looking at him very hard.</p> - -<p>He shifted from foot to foot. At this moment the gallows, to which he had condemned a -few people in his time, struck him as a personal inconvenience.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-236">[Pg 236]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Ma’am,” said he, swallowing his rage, “you must present Davie, or he will lose what -senses he has.”</p> - -<p>“Come, then, my lord, I will befriend you,” said she, glad of the chance to be rid of -Grange.</p> - -<p>Balnillo followed her, unable to escape had he wished to do so.</p> - -<p>Christian was a woman who stood very still. She turned her head without turning her -body as Mrs. Cockburn approached with her request, and Balnillo saw her calm -acquiescence.</p> - -<p>His breath had been almost taken away as he learned the identity of the stranger. Here -was the woman who knew everything about that astounding young man, his late guest, whose -alarming illness had recalled him, who had lived at St. Germain with the exiled queen, yet -who was the grandmother of a most audacious Whig spy! There was no trace of recent -ill-health here. He had pictured some faint, feeble shred of old womanhood, not the -commanding creature whose grey eyes were considering him as he advanced under cover of her -leisurely consent. She seemed to measure him carelessly as he stood before her. He was -torn asunder in mind, awestruck, dragged this way by his surprised admiration, that way by -his intense desire to wring from her something about Flemington. Here was a chance, -indeed! But Balnillo felt his courage drown in the rising fear of being unable to profit -by that chance. Admiring bewilderment overcame every other feeling. He no longer <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-237">[Pg 237]</a></span>regretted the price he -had paid for the lace on his cravat.</p> - -<p>His name had roused Madam Flemington, though she gave no sign of the thrill that went -through her as it fell from Mrs. Cockburn’s lips. As David stood before her in the correct -yet sober foppery of his primrose and mouse-colour, she regretted that she was quite -ignorant of the pretext on which Archie had left his picture unfinished, nor upon what -terms he had parted with the judge. She had no reason for supposing Balnillo to be aware -of the young man’s real character. He had been fighting with James Logie, according to -Skirling Wattie, yet there seemed to be no enmity in the business, for here was his -brother, Lord Balnillo, assiduous in getting himself presented to her. Mrs. Cockburn had -put her request with a smiling hint at the effect she had produced on his lordship. -Christian glanced at David’s meticulous person and smiled, arrogantly civil, secretly -anxious, and remained silent, ready to follow his lead with caution.</p> - -<p>The shrewd side of Balnillo was uppermost to-night, stimulated perhaps by the sight of -society and by the exhilarating sound of its voice. He recovered his momentarily scattered -wits and determined to approach his new acquaintance with such direct and simple questions -as might seem to her to be the natural inquiries of a man interested in Flemington, and -innocent of any mystery concerning him. It was quite possible—so he reasoned—that she was -unaware of the <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-238">[Pg -238]</a></span>details of what had happened on Inchbrayock Island. Archie had fled, and -the search for him had produced no result; he was unlikely to have made for his own home -if he did not wish to be found, and he and Madam Flemington might not have met since the -affair of the <i>Venture</i>. It should be his—Balnillo’s—task to convince her of his -ignorance.</p> - -<p>His intense curiosity about Archie was almost stronger than his wrath against him. -Unlike James, whose bitterness was too deep for words, whose soul was driven before the -fury of his own feelings like a restless ghost, David still looked back with a certain -pleasant excitement to Flemington’s meteoric flash through the even atmosphere of his -daily life. He would dearly have liked to bring him to justice, but he was anxious to hear -a little more of him first.</p> - -<p>He had a curious mixture of feelings about him. There was no vainer man in Scotland -than Balnillo, and if the mental half of his vanity had suffered from the deception -practised on it, the physical half was yet preening itself in the sunny remembrance of the -portrait at home—the portrait of David Balnillo as he would fain have had the world see -him—the portrait, alas and alas! unfinished. He could not feel quite as James felt, who -had opened his purse, and, more—far more than that—had laid open the most sacred page of -his life before Flemington. He had placed his personal safety in his hands, too, though he -counted that as a matter of less moment.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Madam,” said Balnillo, “to see you is to rejoice that you have recovered from your -serious illness.”</p> - -<p>“You are very obliging, my lord. I am quite well,” replied Christian, concealing a -slight surprise at this remark.</p> - -<p>“I am most happy in being presented to you,” he continued. “What news have you of my -charming friend Mr. Flemington, may I ask?”</p> - -<p>“When I heard your name, my lord, I determined to be acquainted with you, if only to -thank you for your kindness to my boy. He could not say enough of yourself and your -brother. I hope Captain Logie is well. Is he with you this evening?”</p> - -<p>The mention of James acted on David as he had designed that the mention of Archie -should act on Madam Flemington. These two people who were playing at innocence were using -the names of their relations to scare the enemy as savage tribes use the terrific faces -painted on their shields. Balnillo, in beginning the attack, had forgotten his own weak -point, and he remembered that he could give no satisfactory account of his brother at the -present moment. But his cunning was always at hand.</p> - -<p>“I had half expected to see him here,” said he, peering round the room; “there was some -talk of his coming. I arrived somewhat late, and I have hardly spoken to anyone but my -Lord Grange and Mrs. Cockburn. The sight of yourself, ma’am, put other matters out of my -head.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-240">[Pg 240]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Ah, sir,” exclaimed Christian, “I fear that your ardour was all on behalf of Archie! -But I am accustomed to that.”</p> - -<p>She cast a look of indolent raillery at him, drawing back her head and veiling her -eyes, fiery and seductive still, with the momentary sweep of their thick lashes.</p> - -<p>Balnillo threw out his chest like a pouter pigeon. He had not been so happy for a long -time. As he did so, she remembered Archie’s account of his silk legs, and his description -of him as being “silly, virtuous, and cunning all at once.” Silly she could well believe -him to be; virtuous he might be; whether he was cunning or not, time would show her. She -did not mean to let him go until she had at least attempted to hear more about James -Logie.</p> - -<p>“Madam,” said he, “since seeing you I have forgotten Mr. Flemington. Can I say -more?”</p> - -<p>So far she was completely puzzled as to how much he knew about Archie, but it was -beginning to enter her mind that her own illness, of which she had just learned from him, -had been the young man’s pretext for leaving his work when it was only begun. Why else had -the judge mentioned it? And who but Flemington could have put the idea into his head?</p> - -<p>She determined to make a bold attack on possibilities.</p> - -<p>“Archie was distracted by my illness, poor boy, and I fear that your lordship’s -portrait suffered. But you will understand his anxiety <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-241">[Pg 241]</a></span>when I tell you that I am the only living -relation that he has, and that his devotion to me——”</p> - -<p>“He needs no excuse!” cried David fervently.</p> - -<p>She laid her hand upon his arm.</p> - -<p>“I am still hardly myself,” she said. “I cannot stand long. Fetch me a chair, my -lord.”</p> - -<p>He skipped across the floor and laid hold upon one just in time, for a gentleman was on -the point of claiming it. He carried it back with the air of a conqueror.</p> - -<p>“Apart—by the curtain, if you please,” said Christian, waving her hand. “We can speak -more comfortably on the fringe of this rout of chattering people.”</p> - -<p>He set the chair down in a quiet place by the wall, and she settled herself upon it, -leaning back, her shoulder turned from the company. Balnillo’s delight deepened.</p> - -<p>“And the portrait, my lord. He did not tell me what arrangement had been made for -finishing it,” said Christian, looking up at him as he stood beside her.</p> - -<p>She seemed to be completely unconcerned, and she spoke with a leisurely dignity and -ease that turned his ideas upside down. He could make nothing of it. She appeared to court -the subject of Archie and the picture. He could only guess her to be innocent, and his -warm admiration helped his belief. At no moment since he knew the truth from his brother’s -lips had Archie’s character seemed so black as it did now. David’s <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-242">[Pg 242]</a></span>indignation waxed as -he grew more certain that Flemington had deceived the noble woman to whom he owed so much, -even as he had deceived him. He was becoming so sure of it that he had no desire to -enlighten her. He longed to ask plainly where Archie was, but he hesitated. Even the -all-wise Mrs. Cockburn was ignorant of this lady’s political sympathies, and knew her only -as the widow of a loyal exile. What might—what would be her feelings if she were to see -her grandson in his real character?</p> - -<p>Righteous anger smouldered under Balnillo’s primrose waistcoat, and his spasmodic -shrewdness began to doze in the increasing warmth of his chivalrous pity for this new and -interesting victim of the engaging rogue.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Flemington’s concern was so great when he left my house that no arrangement was -made,” said he. “I had not the heart to trouble him with my unimportant affairs when so -much was at stake.”</p> - -<p>Of the two cautious people who were feeling their way in the dark, it was the judge who -was the more mystified, for he had laid hold of a definite idea, and it was the wrong one. -Christian was merely putting a bold face on a hazardous matter, and hoping to hear -something of Logie. She had not sought the introduction. David would have been the butt of -her amused scorn had she been free enough from anxiety to be entertained. But she could -not imagine on what footing matters really stood, and she was becoming <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-243">[Pg 243]</a></span>inclined to suspect -the beggar’s statement that Flemington had been fighting with James. Her longing to see -Archie was great.</p> - -<p>She loved him in her own way, though she had driven him from her in her mortification -and her furious pride. She had not believed that he would really go there and then; that -he, who had served her purposes so gallantly all his life, would take her at her word. -What was he doing? Why had he gone to Edinburgh? Her own reason for coming had been the -hope of seeing him. She had been four days in the town now, and she dared not make open -inquiries for him, not knowing how far his defection had gone. She had accused him of -turning to the Stuarts, and he had denied the accusation, not angrily, but with quiet -firmness. Two horrible possibilities had occurred to her: one, that he was with the -Prince, and might be already known to the Government as a rebel; the other, that he had -never reached Edinburgh—that his hurt had been worse than the beggar supposed, and that he -might be ill or dying, perhaps dead. But it was only when she lay awake at night that she -imagined these things. In saner moments and by daylight she put them from her. She was so -well accustomed to being parted from him, and to the knowledge that he was on risky -business, that she would not allow herself to be really disturbed. She assured herself -that she must wait and watch; and now she was glad to find herself acquainted with -Balnillo, who seemed to be the <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-244">[Pg -244]</a></span>only clue in her hand. Mercifully, he had all the appearance of being an -old fool.</p> - -<p>“I see that you are too modest to tell me anything of the picture,” she began. “I hope -it promised well. You should make a fine portrait, and I believe that Archie could do you -justice. He is at his best with high types. Describe it to me.”</p> - -<p>David espied a vacant chair, and, drawing it towards him, sat down to the subject with -the same gusto that most men bring to their dinners. He cleared his throat.</p> - -<p>“I should have wished it to be full length,” said he, “but Mr. Flemington had no -suitable canvas with him. I wore my robes, and he was good enough to say that the crimson -was appropriate and becoming to me. Personally, I favour quiet colours, as you see, -ma’am.”</p> - -<p>“I see that you have excellent taste.”</p> - -<p>He bowed, delighted.</p> - -<p>“I remarked you as you came in,” continued she, “and I asked myself why these gentlemen -looked so garish. Observe that one beside the door of the card-room, my lord. I am sure -that he chose his finery with some care, yet he reminds me of a clown at a -merrymaking.”</p> - -<p>“True, true—excellently true!”</p> - -<p>“In my youth it was the man of the world who set the fashions; now it is the tailor and -the young sir fresh from his studies. What should these persons know of the subject?”</p> - -<p>Balnillo was in heaven; from force of habit he <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-245">[Pg 245]</a></span>ran his hand down the leg crossed upon his knee. The -familiar inward curve of the slim silk ankle between his fingers was like the touch of a -tried and creditable friend; it might almost be said that he turned to it for sympathy. He -would have liked to tell his ankle that to-night he had found a perfection almost as great -as its own.</p> - -<p>Lord Grange, who had taken leave of his hostess and was departing, paused to look at -him.</p> - -<p>“See,” said he, taking an acquaintance by the elbow, “look yonder at that doited Davie -Balnillo.”</p> - -<p>“He is telling her about his riding of the circuit,” said the other, grinning.</p> - -<p>“The circuit never made him smile like that,” replied Grange sardonically.</p> - -<p>An hour later Christian Flemington stood at the top of the circular staircase. Below -it, Balnillo was at the entrance-door, sending everyone within reach of his voice in -search of her sedan chair. When it was discovered, he escorted her down and handed her -into it, then, according to the custom of the time, he prepared to attend its progress to -her lodgings in Hyndford’s Close. The streets were even dirtier and damper than before, -but he was as anxious to walk from Lady Anne’s party as he had been determined to be -carried to it. He stepped along at the side of the chair, turning, when they passed a -light, to see the dignified silhouette of Madam Flemington’s head as it appeared in shadow -against the farther window.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-246">[Pg 246]</a></span></p> - -<p>Speech was impossible as they went, for avoidance of the kennel and the worse obstacles -that strewed the city at that hour, before the scavengers had gone their rounds, kept -David busy. The only profit that a man got by seeing his admired one home in Edinburgh in -1745 was the honour and glory of it.</p> - -<p>When she emerged from the chair in Hyndford’s Close he insisted upon mounting the -staircase with her, though its narrowness compelled them to go in single file; and when -they stopped halfway up at the door in the towering ‘land,’ he bade her good-night and -descended again, consoled for the parting by her permission that he should wait upon her -on the following day.</p> - -<p>Christian was admitted and sailed into her little room. A light was in it and Archie -was standing at the foot of the bed.</p> - -<p>Surprises had been rolling up round Madam Flemington all the evening; surprise at -meeting Balnillo, surprise at his attitude; and this crowning surprise of all. She was -bewildered, but the blessing of unexpected relief fell on her. She went towards him, her -hands outstretched, and Flemington, who was looking at her with a wistfulness she had -never seen in him before, took them and held them fast.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Archie!” she exclaimed.</p> - -<p>She could say no more.</p> - -<p>They sat down at the wide hearth together, the shadow of the great carved bed sprawling -over the crowded space between the walls and over <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-247">[Pg 247]</a></span>Christian’s swelling silks. Then he told her the history -of the time since they parted in Ardguys garden; of his boarding of the <i>Venture</i>; of -the fight with the rebels at Inchbrayock; of his meeting with Wattie; of how he had -reached Aberbrothock half dead, and had lain sick for two days in an obscure tavern by the -shore; how he had finally sailed for Leith and had reached Edinburgh.</p> - -<p>Christian heard him, her gaze fixed upon the fire. She had elicited nothing about James -Logie from Balnillo, and there was no word of him in Archie’s story. She longed to speak -of him, but would not; she longed to know if the beggar had told the truth in saying that -the two men had actually fought, but she asked nothing, for she knew that her wisest part -was to accept the essentials, considering them as the whole. She would ask no -questions.</p> - -<p>Archie had come back. She had forbidden Ardguys to him and he had evaded her ban by -coming here. Yet he came, having proved himself loyal, and she would ignore the rest.</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter" id="Chapter319"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-249">[Pg 249]</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="Chapter300_hdg"><a href="#Chapter300_toc">BOOK III</a></h3> - -<div class="pagebreak"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-251">[Pg 251]</a></span></p> - -<h4 id="Chapter319_hdg"><a href="#Chapter319_toc">CHAPTER XIX<br /> -<span class="chap_title">THE WINTER</span></a></h4> - -<p class="noindent">A<small>PRIL</small> is slow in Scotland, distrustful of her own -identity, timid of her own powers. Half dazed from the long winter sleep, she is often -bewildered, and cannot remember whether she belongs to winter or to spring.</p> - -<p>After the struggles and perplexities of the months that had elapsed since Balnillo and -Christian Flemington met in Edinburgh, she had come slowly to herself amid storms of -sleet. Beyond the Grampians, in the North, her awakened eyes looked on a country whose -heart had been broken at Culloden. The ragged company that gathered round its Prince on -that Wednesday morning was dispersed among the fastnesses of the hills, or lying dead and -dying among the rushes and heather, whilst Cumberland’s soldiers finished their bloody -business; the April snow that had blown in the faces of the clansmen as they hurled their -unavailing valour on the Whig army had melted upon mounds of slain, and in the struggle of -an hour the hopes of half a century had perished. Superior numbers, superior artillery, -and superior generalship, had <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-252">[Pg -252]</a></span>done their work; when the English dragoons had recovered themselves after -the Highland charge, they pursued almost to the gates of Inverness, returning again to the -battlefield before night should darken upon the carnage, to despatch the wounded wretches -who still breathed among their dead comrades.</p> - -<p>The country smelt of blood; reeked of it. For miles and miles round Inverness, where -the search for fugitives was hottest, burnt hovels and blackened walls made blots upon the -tardy green of spring. Women went about, white-faced and silent, trying to keep from their -eyes the self-betraying consciousness of hidden terrors; each striving to forget the -peat-stack on the moor where some hunted creature was lying, the scrub in the hollow that -sheltered some wounded body, the cranny in the hill to which she must journey painfully -after dark with the crusts in her apron.</p> - -<p>The shot still rattled out over the countryside where the search was going on, and -where, when it had been successful, a few maimed and haggard men stood along some shieling -wall in front of a platoon of Cumberland’s musketry. All down the shores of Loch Ness and -among the hills above the Nairn water south-west of Culloden, the dark rocks raised their -broken heads to the sky over God knows what agonies of suffering and hunger. The -carrion-crow was busy in the land. One-fifth of Prince Charles’s army was dead upon the -battle-field, and the church and tolbooth of Inverness were full of wounded <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-253">[Pg 253]</a></span>prisoners, to whom -none—not even the surgeons of their own party—were suffered to attend.</p> - -<p>And so April passed, and May was near her passing. Cumberland lay at Fort Augustus, to -which place he had retired with Kingston’s Horse and eleven battalions of foot. The -victorious army was the richer by much spoil, and money was free; the Duke’s camp was -merry with festivities and races, and in the midst of it he enjoyed a well-earned leisure, -enlivened by women and dice. He had performed his task of stamping out the danger that -threatened his family with admirable thoroughness, and he had, besides, the comfortable -prospect of a glorious return to London, where he would be the hero of the general -rejoicing that was to follow. He was rooted at Fort Augustus, a rock of success and -convivial self-satisfaction in the flood of tears and anguish and broken aspiration that -had drowned half Scotland.</p> - -<p>The Prince had begun his wanderings in the West, hiding among the hills and corries of -the islands, followed by a few faithful souls, and with a price of thirty thousand pounds -on his head, whilst Cumberland’s emissaries, chief among whom was John Campbell of Mamore, -Commandant of the West Highland garrisons, searched the country in every direction. The -rank and file of his army—such of his men as were not dead or in prison—were scattered to -the four winds; and those officers who had escaped after Culloden were in hiding, too, -some despairing, <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-254">[Pg -254]</a></span>some holding yet to the forlorn hope of raising his standard anew when the -evil day should be over. Among these last was James Logie.</p> - -<p>He had come unhurt through the battle. Complete indifference about personal issues had -wrapped him round in a protecting atmosphere, as it seems to enwrap and protect the -unconcerned among men. He had left the field in company with the Prince and a few friends, -with whom he reached the Ford of Falie on the Nairn River. They had held a rapid council -at this place, Prince Charles desiring that the remnant of his army should rendezvous at -Ruthven, in Badenoch, whilst he made his way to France; for his hopes were living still, -and he still looked for support and supplies from the French king. He had taken leave of -his companions at the ford, and had set off with half a dozen followers for the coast.</p> - -<p>Logie turned his face towards Angus. He had been a conspicuous figure in the Prince’s -immediate circle, and he knew that he had no time to lose if he was to cross the Grampians -alive. He thirsted to get back, and to test the temper of the east coast after the news of -the reverse; like his master, he was not beaten yet. He did not know what had become of -Ferrier and the Angus men, for he had been on the Prince’s staff; but the friends had met -on the night before the battle, and it was a compact between them, that, should the day go -against them, and should either or both survive the fight, they were to make for the <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-255">[Pg 255]</a></span>neighbourhood of -Forfar, where they would be ready, in case of necessity, to begin on their task of raising -new levies for the cause.</p> - -<p>He had reached the Spey, and had gained Deeside in safety by the shores of the Avon, -crossing the Grampians near the sources of the Isla.</p> - -<p>In the long winter that had passed since he joined the Prince in the field, James had -not forgotten Flemington. His own labours in Angus and at the taking of the -<i>Venture</i>, completely as they had filled his mind in the autumn, had sunk back into -the limbo of insignificant things, but Archie was often in his thoughts, and some time -before the advance on Inverness he had heard with indescribable feelings that he was -intelligence officer to the Duke of Cumberland. The terrible thing to Logie was that -Archie’s treachery seemed to have poisoned the sacred places in his own past; when he -turned back to it now, it was as though the figure of the young man stood blocking his -view, looking at him with those eyes that were so like the eyes of Diane, and were yet the -eyes of a traitor.</p> - -<p>He could not bear to think of that October morning by the Basin of Montrose. Perhaps -the story that a fatal impulse had made him lay bare to his companion had been tossed -about—a subject of ridicule on Flemington’s lips, its telling but one more proof to him of -the folly of men. He could scarcely believe that Archie would treat the record of his -anguish in such a way; but then, neither could he have believed that the <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-256">[Pg 256]</a></span>sympathy in Archie’s -face, the break in his voice, the tension of his listening attitude, were only the -stock-in-trade of a practised spy. And yet this horror had been true. In spite of the -unhealed wound that he carried, in spite of the batterings of his thirty-eight years, -Logie had continued to love life, but now he had begun to tell himself that he was sick of -it.</p> - -<p>And for another very practical reason his generous impulses and his belief in -Flemington had undone him. Perhaps if the young painter had come to Balnillo announcing an -ostentatious adherence to the Stuarts, he might have hesitated before taking him at his -own value; but his apparent caution and his unwillingness to speak, and the words about -his father at St. Germain, which he had let fall with all the quiet dignity of a man too -upright to pass under false colours, had done more to put the brothers on the wrong track -than the most violent protestations. Balnillo had been careful, in spite of his confidence -in his guest; but in the sympathy of his soul James had given Flemington the means of -future access to himself. Now the tavern in the Castle Wynd at Stirling could be of use to -him no longer, and he knew that only the last extremity must find him in any of the secret -haunts known to him in the Muir of Pert.</p> - -<p>Madam Flemington had never reopened the subject of James Logie with Archie. In her -wisdom she had left well alone. Installed in her little lodging in Hyndford’s Close, with -her woman <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-257">[Pg 257]</a></span>Mysie, -she had made up her mind to remain where she was. There was much to keep her in Edinburgh, -and she could not bring herself to leave the centre of information and to bury herself -again in the old white house among the ash-trees, whilst every post and every horseman -brought word of some new turn in the country’s fortunes.</p> - -<p>News of the Highland army’s retreat to Scotland, of the Battle of Falkirk, of the -despatch of the Duke of Cumberland to the North, followed one another as the year went by, -and still she stayed on. With her emergence from the seclusion of the country came her -emergence from the seclusion she had made for herself; and on the Duke’s thirty hours’ -occupation of Holyrood, she threw off all pretence of neutrality, and repaired with other -Whig ladies to the palace to pay her respects to the stout, ill-mannered young General -whose unbeguiling person followed so awkwardly upon the attractive figure of his -predecessor.</p> - -<p>Now that Archie was restored to her, Christian found herself with plenty of occupation. -The contempt she had hitherto professed for Edinburgh society seemed to have melted away, -and every card-party, every assembly and rout, knew her chair at its door, her arresting -presence in its midst. Madam Flemington’s name was on a good many tongues that winter. -Many feared her, some maligned her, but no one overlooked her. The fact that she was the -widow of an exiled Jacobite lent her an additional interest; and as <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-258">[Pg 258]</a></span>the polite world set -itself to invent a motley choice of reasons for her adherence to the House of -Hanover—which it discovered before her reception by the Duke at Holyrood made it public—it -ended by stumbling on the old story of a bygone liaison with Prince Charles’s father. The -idea was so much to its taste that it was generally accepted; and Christian, unknown to -herself, became the cast-off and alienated mistress of that Prince whom her party had -begun to call ‘The Old Pretender.’ It was scarcely a legend that would have conciliated -her had it come to her ears, but, as rumour is seldom on speaking terms with its victims, -she was ignorant of the interested whispers which followed her through the wynds and up -the staircases of the Old Town.</p> - -<p>But the reflected halo of royalty, while it casts deep shadows, reaches far. The -character of royal light of love stood her in good stead, even among those to whom her -supposed former lover was an abhorred spectre of Popery and political danger. The path -that her own personality would surely open for her in any community was illumined and made -smooth by the baleful interest that hangs about all kingly irregularities, and there was -that in her bearing which made people think more of the royal and less of the irregular -part of the business. Also, among the Whigs, she was a brand plucked from the burning, one -who had turned from the wrong party to embrace the right. Edinburgh, Whig at <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-259">[Pg 259]</a></span>heart, in spite of its -backslidings, admired Madam Flemington.</p> - -<p>And not only Edinburgh, but that curious fraction of it, David Balnillo.</p> - -<p>The impression that Christian had made upon the judge had deepened as the weeks went -by. By the time he discovered her true principles, and realized that she was no dupe of -Archie’s, but his partisan, he had advanced so far in his acquaintance with her, had -become so much her servant, that he could not bring himself to draw back. She had dazzled -his wits and played on his vanity, and that vanity was not only warmed and cosseted by her -manner to him, not only was he delighted with herself and her notice, but he had begun to -find in his position of favoured cavalier to one of the most prominent figures in society -a distinction that it would go hard with him to miss.</p> - -<p>He had begun their conversation at Lady Anne Maxwell’s party by the mention of Archie -Flemington, but his name had not come up between them again, and when his enlightenment -about her was complete, and the talk which he heard in every house that he frequented -revealed her in her real colours, he had no further wish to discuss the man into whose -trap he had fallen.</p> - -<p>David Balnillo’s discoveries were extremely unpalatable to him. If Christian had -cherished his vanity, she had made it smart, too. No man, least of all one like the -self-appreciative judge, <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-260">[Pg -260]</a></span>can find without resentment that he has been, even indirectly, the dupe of -a person to whom he has attached himself; but when that person is a woman, determined not -to let him escape from her influence, the case is not always desperate. For three -unblessed days it was wellnigh desperate with Balnillo, and he avoided her completely, but -at the end of that time a summons from her was brought to him that his inclination for her -company and the chance sight of Lord Grange holding open the door of her chair forbade him -to disobey. She had worded her command as though she were conferring a favour; -nevertheless, after an hour’s hesitation, David had taken his hat and repaired to -Hyndford’s Close, dragging his dignity after him like a dog on a leash.</p> - -<p>If she guessed the reason of his absence from her side she made no remark, receiving -him as if she had just parted from him, with that omission of greeting which implies so -much. She had sent for him, she said, because her man of business had given her a legal -paper that she would not sign without his advice. She looked him in the face as fearlessly -as ever, and her glance sparkled with its wonted fire. For some tormented minutes he could -not decide whether or no to charge her with knowledge of the fraud that had been carried -on under his roof, but he had not the courage to do so. Also, he was acute enough to see -that she might well reply to his reproaches by reminding him that he had only himself to -thank for their <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-261">[Pg -261]</a></span>acquaintance. She had not made the advances; his own zeal had brought about -their situation. He felt like a fool, but he saw that in speaking he might look like one, -which some consider worse.</p> - -<p>He left her, assuring himself that all was fair in love and politics; that he could -not, in common good breeding, withhold his help from her in her legal difficulty; that, -should wind of Archie’s dealings with him get abroad in the town, he would be saving -appearances in avoiding a rupture with the lady whose shadow he had been since he arrived -in Edinburgh, and that it was his duty as a well-wisher of Prince Charles to keep open any -channel that might yield information about Flemington’s movements. Whatsoever may have -been the quality of his reasons, their quantity was remarkable. He did not like the little -voice that whispered to him that he would not have dared to offer them to James.</p> - -<p>There was no further risk of a meeting with Archie, for within a few days of the -latter’s appearance in Hyndford’s Close he had been sent to the Border with instructions -to watch Jedburgh and the neighbourhood of Liddesdale, through which the Prince’s army had -passed on its march to England. Madam Flemington knew that the coast was clear, and David -had no suspicion that it had been otherwise. Very few people in Edinburgh were aware of -Flemington’s visit to it; it was an event of which even the caddies were ignorant.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-262">[Pg 262]</a></span></p> - -<p>And so Balnillo lingered on, putting off his return to Angus from week to week. His -mouse-coloured velvet began to show signs of wear and was replaced by a suit of dark -purple; his funds were dwindling a little, for he was not a rich man, and a new set of -verses about him was going the round of the town. Then, with January, came the battle of -Falkirk and the siege of Stirling Castle, and the end of the month brought Cumberland and -the mustering of loyal Whigs to wait upon him at Holyrood Palace.</p> - -<p>David departed quietly. He had come to Edinburgh to avoid playing a marked part in -Angus, and he now returned to Angus to avoid playing a marked part in Edinburgh. He was -behaving like the last remaining king in a game of draughts when he skips from square to -square in the safe corner of the board; but he did not know that Government had kept its -eye on all his doings during the time of his stay. Perhaps it was on account of her -usefulness in this and in other delicate matters that Madam Flemington augured well for -her grandson, for when the Whig army crossed the Forth, Archie went with it as -intelligence officer to the Duke of Cumberland.</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter" id="Chapter320"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-263">[Pg 263]</a></span></p> - -<h4 id="Chapter320_hdg"><a href="#Chapter320_toc">CHAPTER XX<br /> -<span class="chap_title">THE PARTING OF THE WAYS</span></a></h4> - -<p class="noindent">J<small>ULY</small> spread a mantle of heather over the Grampians. In -Glen Esk, the rough road into the Lowlands, little better than a sheep-track, ran down the -shore of Loch Lee, to come out at last into the large spaces at the foot of the hills. The -greyness of the summer haze lay over everything, and the short grass and the roots of -bog-myrtle and thyme smelt warm and heady, for the wind was still. The sun seemed to have -sucked up some of the heather-colour out of the earth; the lower atmosphere was suffused -with a dusty lilac where, high overhead, it softened the contours of the scattered rocks. -Amongst carpets of rush and deep moss, dappled with wet patches, the ruddy stems of the -bog-asphodel raised slim, golden heads that drooped a little, as though for faintness, in -the scented warmth. An occasional bumble-bee passed down wind, purposeful and -ostentatious, like a respectable citizen zealous on the business of life.</p> - -<p>No one looking along the windings of the Glen, and drawing in the ardent quietness of -the summer <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-264">[Pg -264]</a></span>warmth, would have supposed that fire and sword had been through it so -lately. Its vastness of outline hid the ruined huts and black fragments of skeleton -gable-ends that had smoked up into the mountain stillness. Homeless women and children had -fled down its secret tracks; hunted men had given up their souls under its heights. The -rich plainland of Angus had sent its sons to fight for the Prince in the North, and of -those who survived to make their way back to their homes, many had been overtaken by the -pursuit that had swept down behind them through the hills. No place had a darker record -than Glen Esk.</p> - -<p>Archie Flemington rode down the Glen with his companion some little way in front of the -corporal and the three men who followed them. His left arm was in a sling, for he had -received a sabre-cut at Culloden; also, he had been rolled on by his horse, which was -killed under him, and had broken a rib. His wound, though not serious had taken a long -time to heal, for the steel had cut into the arm bone; he looked thin, too, for the winter -had been a time of strenuous work.</p> - -<p>One of the three private soldiers, the last of the small string of horsemen, had a rope -knotted into his reins, the other end of which was secured round the middle of a short, -thickset man who paced sullenly along beside the horse. The prisoner’s arms were bound at -his back, his reddish beard was unkempt, and his clothes ragged; he made a sorry figure in -the surrounding beauty.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-265">[Pg 265]</a></span></p> - -<p>Nearly two months had gone by since the Battle of Culloden, and the search for -fugitives was still going on in remote places. Cumberland, who was on the point of leaving -Fort Augustus for Edinburgh on his way to London, had given orders for a last scouring of -Glen Esk. The party had almost reached its mouth, and its efforts had resulted only in the -capture of this one rebel; but, as there was some slight doubt of his identity, and as the -officer who rode beside Archie was one whose conscience ranked a great way above his -convenience, the red-bearded man had fared better than many of those taken by Cumberland’s -man-hunters. If he were the person they supposed him to be, he was an Angus farmer -distantly related to David Ferrier, and he was now being brought to his own country for -identification.</p> - -<p>Captain Callandar, the officer in command, was a long, lean, bony man with a dark face, -a silent, hard-bitten fellow from Ligonier’s regiment. He and Archie had met very little -before they started south together, and they had scarcely progressed in acquaintance in -the few days during which they had ridden side by side. They had shared their food on the -bare turf by day, lain down within a few yards of each other at night; they had gone -through many of the same experiences in the North, and they belonged to the same -victorious army, yet they knew little more of each other than when they started. But there -was no dislike between them, certainly none on <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-266">[Pg 266]</a></span>Archie’s side, and if the other was a little critical of -the foreign roll of his companion’s <i>r</i>’<i>s</i>, he did not show it.</p> - -<p>Archie’s tongue had been quiet enough. He was riding listlessly along, and, though he -looked from side to side, taking in the details of what he saw from force of habit, they -seemed to give him no interest. He puzzled Callandar a good deal, for he had proved to be -totally different from anything that he had expected. The soldier was apt to study his -fellow-men, when not entirely swallowed up by his duty, and he had been rather pleased -when he found that Cumberland’s brilliant intelligence officer was to accompany him down -Glen Esk. He had heard much about him. Archie’s quick answers and racy talk had amused the -Duke, who, uncompanionable himself, felt the awkward man’s amazement at the readiness of -others, and scraps of Flemington’s sayings had gone from lip to lip, hall-marked by his -approval. Callandar was taciturn and grave, but he was not stupid, and he had begun to -wonder what was amiss with his companion. He decided that his own society must be -uncongenial to him, and, being a very modest man, he did not marvel at it.</p> - -<p>But the sources of Archie’s discomfort lay far, far deeper than any passing irritation. -It seemed to him now, as he reached the mouth of the Glen, that there was nothing left in -life to fear, because the worst that could come upon him was looming ahead, waiting for -him, counting his horse’s steps as he left the hills behind.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-267">[Pg 267]</a></span></p> - -<p>An apprehension, a mere suggestion of what might be remotely possible, a skeleton that -had shown its face to him in sleepless or overwrought moments since Cumberland’s victory, -had become real. To most people who are haunted by a particular dread, Fate plays one of -the tricks she loves so much. She is an expert boxer, and whilst each man stands up to her -in his long, defensive fight, his eye upon hers, guarding himself from the blow he expects -to receive in the face, she hits him in the wind and he finds himself knocked out.</p> - -<p>But she had dealt otherwise with Archie; for a week ago he had been specially detailed -to proceed to Angus to hunt for that important rebel, Captain James Logie, who was -believed to have made his way southward to his native parts.</p> - -<p>At Fort Augustus it was felt that Flemington was exactly the right man to be entrusted -with the business. He was familiar with the country he had to search, he was a man of -infinite resource and infinite intelligence; and Cumberland meant to be pleasant in his -harsh, ungraceful manner, when he gave him his commission in person, with a hint that he -expected more from Mr. Flemington than he did from anybody else. He was to accompany -Captain Callandar and his three men. The officer, having made a last sweep of Glen Esk, -was to go on by Brechin to Forfar, where he would be joined by another and larger party of -troops that was on its way down Glen Clova from Braemar, for Cumberland was drafting small -<span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-268">[Pg 268]</a></span>forces into -Angus by way of the Grampians, and the country was filling with them.</p> - -<p>He had dealt drastically with Montrose. The rebellion in the town had been suppressed, -and the neighbourhood put under military law. This bit of the east coast had played a part -that was not forgotten by the little German general, and he was determined that the -hornet’s nest he had smoked out should not re-collect. Whilst James Logie was at large -there could be no security.</p> - -<p>Of all the rebels in Scotland, Logie was the man whom Cumberland was most desirous to -get. The great nobles who had taken part in the rising were large quarry indeed, but this -commoner who had worked so quietly in the eastern end of Angus, who had been on the -Prince’s staff, who had the experience of many campaigns at his back, whose ally was the -notorious Ferrier, who had seized the harbour of Montrose under the very guns of a -Government sloop of war, was as dangerous as any Highland chieftain, and the news that he -had been allowed to get back to his own haunts made the Whig generals curse. Though he -might be quiet for the moment, he would be ready to stir up the same mischief on the first -recrudescence of Stuart energy. It was not known what had happened to Ferrier, for -although he was a marked man and would be a rich haul for anybody who could deliver him up -to Cumberland, he was considered a less important influence than James; and Government had -scarcely estimated his valuable services to <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-269">[Pg 269]</a></span>the Jacobites, which were every whit as great as those of -his friend.</p> - -<p>Lord Balnillo was a puzzle to the intelligence department. His name had gone in to -headquarters as that of a strongly suspected rebel; he was James’s brother; yet, while -Archie had included him in the report he had entrusted to the beggar, he had been able to -say little that was definite about him. The very definite information he had given about -James and Ferrier, the details of his pursuit of the two men and his warning of the attack -on the <i>Venture</i>, had mattered more to the authorities than the politics of the -peaceable old judge, and Balnillo’s subsequent conduct had been so little in accordance -with that of his brother that he was felt to be a source of small danger. He had been no -great power on the bench, where his character was so easy that prisoners were known to -think themselves lucky in appearing before him. No one could quite account for his success -in the law, and the mention of his name in the legal circles of Edinburgh raised nothing -worse than a smile. He had taken no part in the rejoicing that followed James’s feat at -Montrose, but had taken the opportunity of leaving the neighbourhood, and during his long -stay in Edinburgh he had frequented Whig houses and had been the satellite of a -conspicuous Whig lady, one who had been received by Cumberland with some distinction, the -grandmother of the man who had denounced Logie. The authorities decided to leave him -alone.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-270">[Pg 270]</a></span></p> - -<p>When the hills were behind the riders and the levels of the country had sunk and -widened out on either hand, they crossed the North Esk, which made a shallow curve by the -village of Edzell. The bank rose on its western side, and the shade of the trees was -delightful to the travellers, and particularly to the prisoner they carried with them. As -the horses snuffed at the water they could hardly be urged through it, and Callandar and -Archie dismounted on the farther shore and sat on a boulder whilst they drank. They -watched them as they drew the draught up their long throats and raised their heads when -satisfied, to stare, with dripping muzzles, at distant nothings, after the fashion of -their kind. The prisoner’s aching arms were unbound that he might drink too.</p> - -<p>“Egad, I have pitied that poor devil these last miles,” said Archie, as the man knelt -at the brink and extended his stiffened arms into a pool.</p> - -<p>The other nodded. Theoretically he pitied him, but a rebel was a rebel.</p> - -<p>“You have no bowels of compassion. They are not in your instructions, Callandar. They -should be served out, like ammunition.”</p> - -<p>Callandar turned his grave eyes on him.</p> - -<p>“The idea displeases you?” said Archie.</p> - -<p>“It would complicate our duty.”</p> - -<p>He spoke like a humourless man, but one side of his mouth twitched downwards a little, -and Flemington, who had the eye of a lynx for another man’s face, decided that the mere -accident of habit <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-271">[Pg -271]</a></span>had prevented it from twitching up. He struck him as the most repressed -person he had ever seen.</p> - -<p>“There would not be enough at headquarters to go round,” observed Archie.</p> - -<p>Callandar’s mouth straightened, and, like the horses, he looked at nothing. Criticism -was another thing not in his instructions.</p> - -<p>“They have drunk well,” he said at last. “An hour will bring us to the foot of Huntly -Hill. We can halt and feed them at the top before we turn off towards Brechin. You know -this country better than I do.”</p> - -<p>“Wait a little,” said Archie. “I am no rebel, and you may have mercy on me with a clear -conscience.”</p> - -<p>He had slipped his arm out of the sling and was resting it on his knee.</p> - -<p>“You are in pain?” exclaimed Callandar, astonished.</p> - -<p>Archie laughed.</p> - -<p>“Why, man, do you think I ride for pleasure with the top half of a bone working east -and the bottom half working west?”</p> - -<p>“I thought——” began Callandar.</p> - -<p>“You thought me churlish company, and maybe I have been so. But this ride has been no -holiday for me.”</p> - -<p>“I did not mean that. I would have said that I thought your wound was mended.”</p> - -<p>“My flesh-wound is mended and so is my rib,” said Flemington, “but there are two -handsome <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-272">[Pg -272]</a></span>splinters hobnobbing above my elbow, and I can tell you that they dance to -the tune of my horse’s jog.”</p> - -<p>Callandar’s opinion of him rose. He had found him disappointing as a companion, but -Archie had hid his pain, and he understood people who did that.</p> - -<p>The Edzell villagers turned out to stare at them as they passed a short time later, -when they took the road again. After the riders left its row of houses their way ran from -the river-level through fields that had begun to oust the moor, rising to the crest of -Huntly Hill, on the farther side of which the southern part of Angus spread its partial -cultivation down to the Basin of Montrose. Archie’s discomfort seemed to grow; he shifted -his sling again and again, and Callandar could see his mouth set in a hard line. Now and -then an impatient sound of pain broke from him. They rode on, silent, the long rise of the -hill barring their road like a wall, and the stems of the fir-strip that crowned it -beginning to turn to a dusky black against the sky, which was cooling off for evening. -Flemington’s horse was a slow walker, and he had begun to jog persistently. His rider, -holding him back, had fallen behind. Callandar rode on, preoccupied, and when, roused from -his thoughts, he turned his head, Archie waved him on, shouting that he would follow more -slowly, for the troopers moved at a foot’s pace because of their prisoner, and he stayed -abreast of them.</p> - -<p>As Callandar passed a green sea of invading <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-273">[Pg 273]</a></span>bracken that had struggled on to the road his jaw dropped -and he pulled up. Behind the feathering waves an individual was sitting in a wooden box on -wheels, and four dogs, harnessed to the rude vehicle, were lying on the ground in their -leathern traces. He noticed with astonishment that the man had lost the lower parts of his -legs.</p> - -<p>“You’ll be Captain Callandar,” said Wattie, his twinkling eyes on the other’s uniform; -“you’re terrible late.”</p> - -<p>“What do you want?” said the officer, amazed.</p> - -<p>The beggar peered through the fern and saw the knot of riders and their prisoner coming -along the road some little way behind.</p> - -<p>“Whaur’s yon lad Flemington?” he demanded.</p> - -<p>“What do you want?” exclaimed Callandar again. “If you are a beggar you have chosen a -strange place to beg in.”</p> - -<p>For answer Wattie pulled up his sliding panel and took out two sealed letters, holding -them low in the shelter of the fern, as if the midges, dancing their evening dance above -the bracken-tops, should not look upon them. Callandar saw that one of the letters bore -his own name.</p> - -<p>“Whisht,” said the beggar, thrusting them back quickly, “come doon here an’ hae a crack -wi’ me.”</p> - -<p>As Callandar had been concerned exclusively with troops and fighting, he knew little -about the channels of information working in the country, and it took him a moment to -explain the situation to himself. He dismounted under the fixed glare <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-274">[Pg 274]</a></span>of the yellow dog. He -was a man to whom small obstacles were invisible when he had a purpose, and he almost trod -on the animal, without noticing the suppressed hostility gathering about his heels. But, -so long as his master’s voice was friendly, the cur was still, for his unwavering mind -answered to its every tone. Probably no spot in all Angus contained two such steadfast -living creatures as did this green place by the bracken when Callandar and the yellow dog -stood side by side.</p> - -<p>The soldier tethered his horse and sat down on the moss. Wattie laid the letters before -him; the second was addressed to Archie. Callandar broke the seal of the first and read it -slowly through; then he sat silent, examining the signature, which was the same that -Flemington had showed to the beggar on the day when he met him for the first time, months -ago, by the mill of Balnillo.</p> - -<p>He was directed to advance no farther towards Brechin, but to keep himself out of sight -among the woods round Huntly Hill, and to watch the Muir of Pert, for it was known that -the rebel, James Logie, was concealed somewhere between Brechin and the river. He was not -upon the Balnillo estate, which, with Balnillo House, had been searched from end to end, -but he was believed to be in the neighbourhood of the Muir.</p> - -<p>“You know the contents of this?” asked Callandar, as he put away the paper inside the -breast of his coat.</p> - -<p>“Dod, a ken it’ll be aboot Logie. He’s a fell <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-275">[Pg 275]</a></span>man, yon. Have ye na got Flemington wi’ ye?”</p> - -<p>Callandar looked upon his companion with disapproval. He had never seen him, never -heard of him before, and he felt his manner and his way of speaking of his superiors to be -an outrage upon discipline and order, which were two things very near his heart.</p> - -<p>He did not reply.</p> - -<p>“Whaur’s Flemington?” demanded the beggar again.</p> - -<p>“You make very free with Mr. Flemington’s name.”</p> - -<p>“Tuts!” exclaimed Wattie, ignoring the rebuke, “a’ve got ma orders the same as yersel’, -an’ a’m to gie yon thing to him an’ to nae ither body. Foo will a dae that if a dinna ken -whaur he is?”</p> - -<p>His argument was indisputable.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Flemington will be with me in a moment,” said Callandar stiffly. “He is -following.”</p> - -<p>The sound of horses’ feet was nearing them upon the road, and Callandar rose and -beckoned to Archie to come on.</p> - -<p>“Go to the top of the hill and halt until I join you,” he told the corporal as the men -passed.</p> - -<p>As Archie dismounted and saw who was behind the bracken, he recoiled. It was to him as -if all that he most loathed in the past came to meet him in the beggar’s face. Here, at -the confines of the Lowland country, the same hateful influences were waiting to engulf -him. His soul was weary within him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-276">[Pg 276]</a></span></p> - -<p>He barely replied to Wattie’s familiar greeting.</p> - -<p>“Do you know this person?” inquired Callandar.</p> - -<p>He assented.</p> - -<p>“Ay, does he. Him and me’s weel acquaint,” said Wattie, closing an eye. “Hae, tak’ -yon.”</p> - -<p>He held out the letter to Flemington.</p> - -<p>The young man opened it slowly, turning his back to the cart, and his brows drew -together as he read.</p> - -<p>His destiny did not mean him to escape. Logie had been marked down, and the circle of -his enemies was narrowing round him. Flemington was to go no farther, and he was to remain -with Callandar to await another message that would be brought to their bivouac on Huntly -Hill, before approaching nearer to Brechin.</p> - -<p>He stood aside, the paper in his hand. Here was the turning-point; he was face to face -with it at last. He could not take part in Logie’s capture; on that he was completely, -unalterably determined. What would be the end of it all for himself he could not think. -Nothing was clear, nothing plain, but the settled strength of his determination. He looked -into the mellowing light round him, and saw everything as though it were unreal; the only -reality was that he had chosen his way. Heaven was pitiless, but it should not shake him. -Far above him a solitary bird was winging its way into the spaces beyond the hills; the -measured beat of its wings growing invisible as it grew smaller and smaller and was -finally lost to sight. He watched it, fascinated, <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-277">[Pg 277]</a></span>with the strange detachment of those whose senses and -consciousness are numbed by some crisis. What was it carrying away, that tiny thing that -was being swallowed by the vastness? His mind could only grasp the idea of distance -. . . of space. . . .</p> - -<p>Callandar was at his elbow, and his voice broke on him as the voice of someone -awakening him from sleep.</p> - -<p>“These are my orders,” he was saying, as he held out his own letter; “you know them, -for I am informed here that they are the duplicate of yours.”</p> - -<p>There was no escape. Callandar knew the exact contents of both papers. Archie might -have kept his own orders to himself, and have given him to suppose that he was summoned to -Forfar or Perth, and must leave him; but that was impossible. He must either join in -hunting Logie, or leave the party on this side of Huntly Hill.</p> - -<p>“We had better get on,” said Callandar.</p> - -<p>They mounted, and as they did so, Wattie also got under way. His team was now reduced -to four, for the terrier which had formerly run alone in the lead had died about the new -year.</p> - -<p>He took up his switch, and the yellow cur and his companions whirled him with a mighty -tug on to the road. He had been waiting for some time in the bracken for the expected -horseman, and as the dogs had enjoyed a long rest, they followed the horses at a steady -trot. Callandar and Flemington trotted too, and the cart soon fell <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-278">[Pg 278]</a></span>behind. Beyond the -crest of Huntly Hill the Muir of Pert sloped eastwards towards the coast, its edges -resting upon the Esk, but before the road began to ascend it forked in two, one part -running upwards, and the other breaking away west towards Brechin.</p> - -<p>“Callandar, I am going to leave you,” said Archie, pulling up his horse.</p> - -<p>“To leave?” exclaimed the other blankly. “In God’s name, where are you going?”</p> - -<p>“Here is the shortest way to Brechin, and I shall take it. I must find a surgeon to -attend to this arm. There is no use for me to go on with you when I can hardly sit in my -saddle for pain.”</p> - -<p>“But your orders?” gasped Callandar.</p> - -<p>“I will make that right. You must go on alone. Probably I shall join you in a few days, -but that will depend on what instructions I get later. If you hear nothing from me you -will understand that I am busy out of sight. My hands may be full—that is, if the surgeon -leaves me with both of them. Good-bye, Callandar.”</p> - -<p>He turned his horse and left him. The other opened his mouth to shout after him, -ordering him to come back, but remembered that he had no authority to do so. Flemington -was independent of him; he belonged to a different branch of the King’s service, and -although he had fought at Culloden he was under different orders. He had merely -accompanied his party, and Callandar knew very well that, though his junior in years, he -was a much more important person than himself. <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-279">[Pg 279]</a></span>The nature of Archie’s duties demanded that he should be -given a free hand in his movements, and no doubt he knew what he was about. But had he -been Callandar’s subordinate, and had there been a surgeon round the nearest corner, his -arm might have dropped from his shoulder before the officer would have permitted him to -fall out of the little troop. Callandar had never in all his service seen a man receive -definite orders only to disobey them openly.</p> - -<p>He watched him go, petrified. His brain was a good one, but it worked slowly, and -Archie’s decision and departure had been as sudden as a thunderbolt. Also, there was -contempt in his heart for his softness, and he was sorry.</p> - -<p>Archie turned round and saw him still looking after him. He sent back a gibe to -him.</p> - -<p>“If you don’t go on I will report you for neglect of duty!” he shouted, laughing.</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter" id="Chapter321"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-280">[Pg 280]</a></span></p> - -<h4 id="Chapter321_hdg"><a href="#Chapter321_toc">CHAPTER XXI<br /> -<span class="chap_title">HUNTLY HILL</span></a></h4> - -<p class="noindent">C<small>ALLANDAR</small> rode up Huntly Hill. The rose-red of the -blossoming briar that decks all Angus with its rubies glowed in the failing sunlight, and -the scent of its leaf came in puffs from the wayside ditches; the blurred heads of the -meadow-sweet were being turned into clouds of gold as the sun grew lower and the road -climbed higher. In front the trees began to mantle Huntly Hill.</p> - -<p>He had just begun the ascent at a foot’s pace when he heard the whirr of the beggar’s -chariot-wheels behind him, then at his side, and he turned in his saddle and looked down -on his pursuer’s bald crown. Wattie had cast off his bonnet, and the light breeze -springing up lifted the fringe of his grizzled hair.</p> - -<p>“Whaur awa’s Flemington?” he cried, as he came up.</p> - -<p>The other answered by another question; his thoughts had come back to the red-haired -prisoner at the top of the hill, and it struck him that the man in the cart might -recognize him.</p> - -<p>“What’s your name?” he asked abruptly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-281">[Pg 281]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Wattie Caird.”</p> - -<p>“You belong to these parts?”</p> - -<p>He nodded.</p> - -<p>“Then come on; I have not done with you yet.”</p> - -<p>“A’m asking ye whaur’s Flemington?”</p> - -<p>If Callandar had pleased himself he would have driven Wattie down the hill at the point -of the sword, his persistence and his pestilent, unashamed curiosity were so distasteful -to him. But he had a second use for him now. He was that uncommon thing, a disciplinarian -with tact, and by virtue of the combination in himself he understood that the troopers in -front of him, who had been looking forward eagerly to getting their heads once more under -a roof that night, would be disgusted by the orders he was bringing. He had noticed the -chanter sticking out from under Wattie’s leathern bag, and he thought that a stirring tune -or two might ease matters for them. He did not see his way to dispensing with him at -present, so he tolerated his company.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Flemington has a bad wound,” he answered. “He has gone to Brechin to have it -attended to.”</p> - -<p>“Whaur did he get it?”</p> - -<p>“At Culloden Moor.”</p> - -<p>“They didna tell me onything aboot that.”</p> - -<p>“Who tells you anything about Mr. Flemington? What do you know about him?”</p> - -<p>“Heuch!” exclaimed Wattie, with contempt, “it’s mysel’ that should tell them! A ken -mair <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-282">[Pg 282]</a></span>aboot -Flemington than ony ither body—a ken fine what’s brocht yon lad here. He’s seeking Logie, -like a’body else, but he kens fine he’ll na get him—ay, does he!”</p> - -<p>Callandar looked down from his tall horse upon the grotesque figure so close to the -ground. He was furious at the creature’s assumption of knowledge.</p> - -<p>“You are a piper?” said he.</p> - -<p>“The best in Scotland.”</p> - -<p>“Then keep your breath for piping and let other people’s business be,” he said -sternly.</p> - -<p>“Man, dinna fash. It’s King Geordie’s business and syne it’s mine. Him and me’s -billies. Ay, he’s awa’, is he, Flemington?”</p> - -<p>Callandar quickened his horse’s pace; he was not going to endure this offensive talk. -But Wattie urged on his dogs too, and followed hard on his heels.</p> - -<p>All through the winter, whilst the fortunes of Scotland were deciding themselves in the -North, he had been idle but for his piping and singing, and he had had little to do with -the higher matters on which he had been engaged in the autumn, whilst the forces of the -coming storm were seething south of the Grampians. He had not set eyes on Flemington since -their parting by the farm on Rossie Moor, but many a night, lying among his dogs, he had -thought of Archie’s voice calling to Logie as he tossed and babbled in his broken -dreams.</p> - -<p>He had long since drawn his conclusion and <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-283">[Pg 283]</a></span>made up his mind that he admired Archie as a mighty -clever fellow, but he was convinced that he was more astute than anybody supposed, and it -gave him great delight to think that, probably, no one but himself had a notion of the -part Flemington was playing. Wattie was well aware of his advancement, for his name was in -everybody’s mouth. He knew that he was on Cumberland’s staff, just as Logie was on the -staff of the Prince, and he wagged his head as he thought how Archie must have enriched -himself at the expense of both Whig and Jacobite. It was his opinion that, knowledge being -marketable, it was time that somebody else should enrich himself too. He would have given -a great deal to know whether Flemington, as a well-known man, had continued his traffic -with the other side, and as he went up the hill beside the dark Whig officer he was -turning the question over in his mind.</p> - -<p>He had kept his suspicions jealously to himself. Whilst Flemington was far away in the -North, and all men’s eyes were looking across the Grampians, he knew that he could command -no attention, and he had cursed because he believed his chance of profit to be lost. -Archie had gone out of range, and he could not reach him; yet he kept his knowledge close, -like a prudent man, in case the time should come when he might use it. And now Flemington -had returned, and he had been sent out to meet him.</p> - -<p>The way had grown steep, and as Callandar’s horse began to stumble, the soldier swung -himself <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-284">[Pg 284]</a></span>off the -tired beast and walked beside him, his hand on the mane.</p> - -<p>Wattie was considering whether he should speak. If his information were believed, it -would be especially valuable at this time, when the authorities were agog to catch Logie, -and the reward for his services must be considerable if there was any justice in the -world. They would never catch Logie, because Flemington was in league with him. Wattie -knew what many knew—that the rebel was believed to be somewhere about the great Muir of -Pert, now just in front of them, but so far as he could make out, the only person who was -aware of how the wind set with Archie was himself.</p> - -<p>What he had seen at the foot of Huntly Hill had astonished him till he had read its -meaning by the light of his own suspicions. Though he had not been close enough to the two -men to hear exactly what passed between them when they parted, he had seen them part. He -had seen Callandar standing to look after the other as though uncertain how to act, and he -had heard Archie’s derisive shout. There was no sign of a quarrel between them, yet -Callandar’s face suggested they had disagreed; there was perplexity in it and underlying -disapproval. He had seen his gesture of astonishment, and the way in which he had sat -looking after Flemington at the cross roads, reining back his horse, which would have -followed its companion, was eloquent to the beggar. Callandar had not expected the young -man to go.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-285">[Pg 285]</a></span></p> - -<p>Wattie did not know the nature of the orders he had brought, but he knew that they -referred to Logie. He understood that those who received them were hastening to meet those -who had despatched them, and would be with them that night; and this proved to him how -important it was that the letters should be in the hand of the riders before they advanced -farther on their way. He had been directed to wait on the northern side of Huntly Hill, -and had been specially charged to deliver them before Callandar crossed it. He told -himself that only a fool would fail to guess that they referred to this particular place. -But the illuminating part to Wattie was the speech he had heard by the bracken: it was all -that was needed to explain the officer’s stormy looks.</p> - -<p>“These are my orders,” Callandar had said, “but you know them, for I am informed that -they are the duplicate of yours.”</p> - -<p>Archie had disobeyed them, and Wattie was sure that he had gone, because the risk of -meeting Logie was too great to be run. Now was the time for him to speak.</p> - -<p>He had no nicety, but he had shrewdness in plenty. He was sudden and persistent in his -address, and divining the obstacles in Callandar’s mind, he charged them like a bull.</p> - -<p>“Flemington ’ll na let ye get Logie,” said he.</p> - -<p>He made his announcement with so much emphasis that the man walking beside him was -impressed in spite of his prejudices. He was annoyed too. He turned on him angrily.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-286">[Pg 286]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Once and for all, what do you mean by this infernal talk about Mr. Flemington?” he -cried, stopping short. “You will either speak out, or I will take it upon myself to make -you. I have three men in the wood up yonder who will be very willing to help me. I believe -you to be a meddlesome liar, and if I find that I am right you shall smart for it.”</p> - -<p>But the beggar needed no urging, and he was not in the least afraid of Callandar.</p> - -<p>“It’s no me that’s sweer to speak, it’s yersel’ that’s sweer to listen,” said he, with -some truth. “Dod, a’ve tell’t ye afore an’ a’m telling ye again—<i>Flemington</i> ’<i>ll -no let ye get him!</i> He’s dancin’ wi’ George, but he’s takin’ the tune frae Chairlie. -Heuch! dinna tell me! There’s mony hae done the same afore an’ ’ll dae it yet!”</p> - -<p>The officer was standing in the middle of the road, a picture of perplexity.</p> - -<p>“It’s no the oxter of him that gars him gang,” said Wattie, breaking into the broad -smile of one who is successfully letting the light of reason into another’s mind. “It’s no -his airm. Maybe it gies him a pucklie twist, whiles, and maybe it doesna, but it’s no that -that gars the like o’ him greet. <i>He wouldna come up Huntly Hill wi’ you</i>, <i>for he -ken’t he was ower near Logie.</i> It’s that, an’ nae mair!”</p> - -<p>Callandar began to think back. He had not heard one complaint from Archie since the day -they rode out of Fort Augustus together, and he remembered his own astonishment at hearing -<span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-287">[Pg 287]</a></span>he was in pain -from his wound. It seemed only to have become painful in the last couple of hours.</p> - -<p>“It is easy to make accusations,” he said grimly, “but you will have to prove them. -What proof have you?”</p> - -<p>“Is it pruifs ye’re needin’? Fegs, a dinna gang aboot wi’ them in ma poke! A can tell -ye ma pruifs fine, but maybe ye’ll no listen.”</p> - -<p>He made as though to drive on.</p> - -<p>Callandar stepped in front of the dogs, and stood in his path.</p> - -<p>“You will speak out before I take another step,” said he. “I will have no shuffling. -Come, out with what you know! I will stay here till I get it.”</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter" id="Chapter322"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-288">[Pg 288]</a></span></p> - -<h4 id="Chapter322_hdg"><a href="#Chapter322_toc">CHAPTER XXII<br /> -<span class="chap_title">HUNTLY HILL (<i>continued</i>)</span></a></h4> - -<p class="noindent">C<small>ALLANDAR</small> sat a little apart from his men on the fringe -of the fir-wood; on the other side of the clearing on which the party had bivouacked -Wattie formed the centre of a group. It was past sunset, and the troop-horses, having been -watered and fed, were picketed together. Callandar’s own horse snatched at the straggling -bramble-shoots behind a tree.</p> - -<p>The officer sat on a log, his chin in his hand, pondering on the amazing story that the -beggar had divulged. It was impossible to know what to make of it, but, in spite of -himself, he was inclined to believe it. He had questioned and cross-questioned him, but he -had been able to form no definite opinion. Wattie had described his meeting with Archie on -the day of the taking of the ship; he had told him how he had accompanied him on his way, -how he had been forced to ask shelter for him at the farm, how he had lain and listened in -the darkness to his feverish wanderings and his appeals to Logie. If the beggar’s tale had -been true, there seemed to be <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-289">[Pg -289]</a></span>no doubt that the intelligence officer whose services were so much valued -by Cumberland, had taken money from the rebels, though it seemed that he had hesitated -over the business. His conscience must have smitten him even in his dreams. “I will say -nothing, but I will tell you all!” he had cried to Logie. “I shall know where you are, but -they shall never know!” In his delirium, he had taken the beggar for the man whose -fellow-conspirator he was proving himself to be, and when consciousness was fighting to -return, and he had sense enough to know that he was not speaking to Logie, it was his -companion’s promise to deliver a message of reassurance that had given him peace and -sleep. “Tell him that he can trust me,” he had said. What puzzled Callandar was the same -thing that had puzzled Wattie: Why had these two men, linked together by a hidden -understanding, fought? Perhaps Flemington had repented of the part he was playing, and had -tried to cut himself adrift. “Let me go!” he had exclaimed. It was all past Callandar’s -comprehension. At one moment he was inclined to look on Wattie as an understudy for the -father of lies; at another, he asked himself how he could have had courage to invent such -a calumny—how he had dared to choose a man for his victim who had reached the position -that Archie had gained. But he realized that, had Wattie been inventing, he would hardly -have invented the idea of a fight between Flemington and Captain Logie. That little -incongruous touch <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-290">[Pg -290]</a></span>seemed to Callandar’s reasonable mind to support the truth of his -companion’s tongue.</p> - -<p>And then there was Flemington’s sudden departure. It did not look so strange since he -had heard what the beggar had to say. He began to think of his own surprise at finding -Archie in pain from a wound which seemed to have troubled him little, so far, and to -suspect that his reliable wits had been stimulated to find a new use for his injured arm -by the sight of Huntly Hill combined with the news in his pocket. His gorge rose at the -thought that he had been riding all these days side by side with a very prince among -traitors. His face hardened. His own duty was not plain to him, and that perturbed him so -much that his habitual outward self-repression gave way. He could not sit still while he -was driven by his perplexities. He sprang up, walking up and down between the trees. Ought -he to send a man straight off to Brechin with a summary of the beggar’s statement? He -could not vouch for the truth of his information, and there was every chance of it being -disregarded, and himself marked as the discoverer of a mare’s nest. There was scarcely -anything more repugnant to Callandar than the thought of himself in this character, and -for that reason, if for no other, he inclined to the risk; for he had the overwhelmingly -conscientious man’s instinct for martyrdom.</p> - -<p>His mind was made up. He took out his pocket-book and wrote what he had to say in <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-291">[Pg 291]</a></span>the fewest and -shortest words. Then he called the corporal, and, to his extreme astonishment, ordered him -to ride to Brechin. When the man had saddled his horse, he gave him the slip of paper. He -had no means of sealing it, here in the fir-wood, but the messenger was a trusted man, one -to whom he would have committed anything with absolute conviction. He was sorry that he -had to lose him, for he could not tell how long he might be kept on the edge of the Muir, -nor how much country he would have to search with his tiny force; but there was no help -for it, and he trusted that the corporal would be sent back to him before the morrow. He -was the only person to whom he could give the open letter. When the soldier had mounted, -Callandar accompanied him to the confines of the wood, giving him instructions from the -map he carried.</p> - -<p>Wattie sat on the ground beside his cart; his back was against a little raised bank. -Where his feet should have been, the yellow dog was stretched, asleep. As Callandar and -his corporal disappeared among the trees, he began to sing ‘The Tod’ in his rich voice, -throwing an atmosphere of dramatic slyness into the words that made his hearers shout with -delight at the end of each verse.</p> - -<p>When he had finished the song, he was barely suffered to take breath before being -compelled to begin again; even the prisoner, who lay resting, still bound, within sight of -the soldiers, listened, <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-292">[Pg -292]</a></span>laughing into his red beard. But suddenly he stopped, rising to his -feet:</p> - -<div class="verse"> -<blockquote class="stanza"> -<p class="i0">“A lang-leggit deevil wi’ his hand upon the gate,</p> - -<p class="i0a">An’ aye the Guidwife cries to him——”</p> -</blockquote> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">Wattie’s voice fell, cutting the line short, for a rush of steps was -bursting through the trees—was close on them, dulled by the pine-needles -underfoot—sweeping over the stumps and the naked roots. The beggar stared, clutching at -the bank. His three companions sprang up.</p> - -<p>The wood rang with shots, and one of the soldiers rolled over on his face, gasping as -he tried to rise, struggling and snatching at the ground with convulsed fingers. The -remaining two ran, one towards the prisoner, and one towards the horses which were -plunging against each other in terror; the latter man dropped midway, with a bullet -through his head.</p> - -<p>The swiftness of the undreamed-of misfortune struck panic into Wattie, as he sat alone, -helpless, incapable either of flight or of resistance. One of his dogs was caught by the -leaden hail and lay fighting its life out a couple of paces from where he was left, a -defenceless thing in this sudden storm of death. Two of the remaining three went rushing -through the trees, yelping as the stampeding horses added their share to the danger and -riot. These had torn up their heel-pegs, which, wrenched easily from a resistance made for -the most part of moss and pine-needles, swung and whipped at the ends of the flying <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-293">[Pg 293]</a></span>ropes behind the crazy -animals as they dashed about. The surviving trooper had contrived to catch his own horse, -and was riding for his life towards the road by which they had come from Edzell. The only -quiet thing besides the beggar was the yellow cur who stood at his master’s side, stiff -and stubborn and ugly, the coarse hair rising on his back.</p> - -<p>Wattie’s panic grew as the drumming of hoofs increased and the horses dashed hither and -thither. He was more afraid of them than of the ragged enemy that had descended on the -wood. The dead troopers lay huddled, one on his face and the other on his side; the -wounded dog’s last struggles had ceased. Half a dozen men were pursuing the horses with -outstretched arms, and Callandar’s charger had broken loose with its comrades, and was -thundering this way and that, snorting and leaping, with cocked ears and flying mane.</p> - -<p>The beggar watched them with a horror which his dislike and fear of horses made -agonizing, the menace of these irresponsible creatures, mad with excitement and terror, so -heavy, so colossal when seen from his own helpless nearness to the earth that was shaking -under their tread, paralyzed him. His impotence enwrapped him, tragic, horrible, a -nightmare woven of death’s terrors; he could not escape; there was no shelter from the -thrashing hoofs, the gleaming iron of the shoes. The cumbrous perspective of the great -animals blocked out the sky with its bulk as <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-294">[Pg 294]</a></span>their rocking bodies went by, plunging, slipping, -recovering themselves within the cramped circle of the open space. He knew nothing of what -was happening, nor did he see that the prisoner stood freed from his bonds. He knew James -Logie by sight, and he knew Ferrier, but, though both were standing by the red-bearded -man, he recognized neither. He had just enough wits left to understand that Callandar’s -bivouac had been attacked, but he recked of nothing but the thundering horses that were -being chased to and fro as the circle of men closed in. He felt sick as it narrowed and he -could only flatten himself, stupefied, against the bank. The last thing he saw was the -yellow coat of his dog, as the beast cowered and snapped, keeping his post with desperate -tenacity in the din.</p> - -<p>The bank against which he crouched cut the clearing diagonally, and as the men pressed -in nearer round the horses, Callandar’s charger broke out of the circle followed by the -two others. A cry from the direction in which they galloped, and the sound of frantic -nearing hoofs, told that they had been headed back once more. The bank was high enough to -hide Wattie from them as they returned, but he could feel the earth shake with their -approach, which rang in his ears like the roar of some dread, implacable fate. He could -see nothing now, as he lay half-blind with fear, but he was aware that his dog had leaped -upon the bank behind him, and he heard the well-known voice, hoarse and brutal with -defiant <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-295">[Pg 295]</a></span>agony, -just above his head. All the qualities that have gone to make the dog the outcast of the -East seemed to show in the cur’s attitude as he raised himself, an insignificant, common -beast, in the path of the great, noble, stampeding creatures. It was the curse of his -curship that in this moment of his life, when he hurled all that was his in the world—his -low-bred body—against the danger that swooped on his master, he should take on no nobility -of aspect, nothing to picture forth the heart that smote against his panting ribs. Another -moment and the charger had leaped at the bank, just above the spot where Skirling Wattie’s -grizzled head lay against the sod.</p> - -<p>The cur sprang up against the overwhelming bulk, the smiting hoofs, the whirl of -heel-ropes, and struck in mid-air by the horse’s knee, was sent rolling down the slope. As -he fell there was a thud of dislodged earth, and the charger, startled by the sudden -apparition of the prostrate figure below him, slipped on the bank, stumbled, sprang, and -checked by the flying rope, crashed forward, burying the beggar under his weight.</p> - -<p>James and Ferrier ran forward as the animal struggled to its feet, unhurt; it tore past -the men, who had broken their line as they watched the fall. The three horses made off -between the trees, and Logie approached the beggar. He lay crushed and mangled, as quiet -as the dead troopers on the ground.</p> - -<p>There was no mistaking Wattie’s rigid stillness, and as James and Ferrier, with the -red-bearded <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-296">[Pg 296]</a></span>man, -approached him, they knew that he would never rise to blow his pipes nor to fill the air -with his voice again. The yellow dog was stretched, panting, a couple of paces from the -grotesque body, which had now, for the first time, taken on dignity. As Logie bent to -examine him, and would have lifted him, the cur dragged himself up; one of his hind-legs -was broken, but he crawled snarling to the beggar’s side, and turned his maimed body to -face the men who should dare to lay a hand on Wattie. The drops poured from his hanging -tongue and his eye was alight with the dull flame of pain. He would have torn Logie to -bits if he could, as he trailed himself up to shelter the dead man from his touch. He made -a great effort to get upon his legs and his jaws closed within an inch of James’s arm.</p> - -<p>One of the men drew the pistol from his belt.</p> - -<p>“Ay, shoot the brute,” said another.</p> - -<p>James held up his hand.</p> - -<p>“The man is dead,” said he, looking over his shoulder at his comrades.</p> - -<p>“And you would be the same if yon dog could reach you,” rejoined Ferrier. “Let me shoot -him. He will only die lying here.”</p> - -<p>“Let him be. His leg is broken, that is all.”</p> - -<p>The cur made another attempt to get his teeth into Logie, and almost succeeded.</p> - -<p>Ferrier raised his pistol again, but James thrust it back.</p> - -<p>“The world needs a few such creatures as that <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-297">[Pg 297]</a></span>in it,” said he. “Lord! Ferrier, what a heart there is in -the poor brute!”</p> - -<p>“Stand away from him, Logie, he is half mad.”</p> - -<p>“We must get away from this place,” said James, unheeding, “or that man who has ridden -away will bring the whole country about our ears. It has been a narrow escape for you, -Gourlay,” he said to the released prisoner. “We must leave the old vagabond lying where he -is.”</p> - -<p>“There is no burying him with that devil left alive!” cried Ferrier. “I promise you I -will not venture to touch him.”</p> - -<p>“My poor fellow,” said James, turning to the dog, “it is of no use; you cannot save -him. God help you for the truest friend that a man ever had!”</p> - -<p>He pulled off his coat and approached him. The men stood round, looking on in amazement -as he flung it over the yellow body. The dog yelled as Logie grasped and lifted him, -holding him fast in his arms; but his jaws were muffled in the coat, and the pain of the -broken limb was weakening his struggles.</p> - -<p>Ferrier looked on with his hands on his hips. He admired the dog, but did not always -understand James.</p> - -<p>“You are going to hamper yourself with him now?” he exclaimed.</p> - -<p>“Give me the piper’s bonnet,” said the other. “There! push it into the crook of my arm -between the poor brute and me. It will make him go the easier. You will need to scatter -now. Leave the <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-298">[Pg -298]</a></span>piper where he is. A few inches of earth will do him no good. Ferrier, I am -going. You and I will have to lie low for awhile after this.”</p> - -<p>The cur had grown exhausted, and ceased to fight; he shivered and snuffled feebly at -the Kilmarnock bonnet, the knob of which made a red spot against the shirt on James’s -broad breast. Ferrier and Gourlay glanced after him as he went off between the trees. But -as they had no time to waste on the sight of his eccentricities, they disappeared in -different directions.</p> - -<p>Dusk was beginning to fall on the wood and on the dead beggar as he lay with his two -silent comrades, looking towards the Grampians from the top of Huntly Hill.</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter" id="Chapter323"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-299">[Pg 299]</a></span></p> - -<h4 id="Chapter323_hdg"><a href="#Chapter323_toc">CHAPTER XXIII<br /> -<span class="chap_title">THE MUIR OF PERT</span></a></h4> - -<p class="noindent">C<small>ALLANDAR</small> watched his corporal riding away from the -confines of the wood. His eyes followed the horse as it disappeared into hollows and -threaded its way among lumps of rock. He stood for some time looking out over the -landscape, now growing cold with the loss of the sun, his mind full of Flemington. Then he -turned back with a sigh to retrace his way. His original intention in bringing Wattie up -the hill came back to him, and he remembered that he had yet to discover whether he could -identify the red-bearded man. It was at this moment that the fusillade from his -halting-place burst upon him. He stopped, listening, then ran forward into the wood, the -map from which he had been directing the corporal clutched in his hand.</p> - -<p>He had gone some distance with the soldier, so he only reached the place when the quick -disaster was over to hear the hoof-beats of the escaping horses dying out as they galloped -down Huntly Hill. The smoke of the firearms hung below the branches like a grey canopy, -giving the unreality <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-300">[Pg -300]</a></span>of a vision to the spectacle before him. He could not see the beggar’s -body, but the overturned cart was in full view, a ridiculous object, with its wooden -wheels raised, as though in protest, to the sky. He looked in vain for a sign of his third -man, and at the sight of the uniform upon the two dead figures lying on the ground he -understood that he was alone. Of the three private soldiers who had followed him down Glen -Esk there was not one left with him. Archie, the traitor, was gone, and only the -red-bearded man remained. He could see him in the group that was watching James Logie as -he captured the struggling dog.</p> - -<p>Callandar ground his teeth; then he dropped on one knee and contemplated the sight from -behind the great circle of roots and earth that a fallen tree had torn from the sod. Of -all men living he was one of the last who might be called a coward, but neither was he one -of those hot-heads who will plunge, to their own undoing and to that of other people, into -needless disaster. He would have gone grimly into the hornet’s nest before him, pistol in -hand, leaving heaven to take care of the result, had the smallest advantage to his king -and country been attainable thereby. His own death or capture would do no more than -prevent him from carrying news of what had happened to headquarters, and he decided, with -the promptness hidden behind his taciturn demeanour, that his nearest duty was to identify -James Logie, if he were present. Callandar’s <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-301">[Pg 301]</a></span>duty was the only thing that he always saw quickly.</p> - -<p>From his shelter he marked the two Jacobite officers, and, as he knew Ferrier very well -from description, he soon made out the man he wanted. James was changed since the time -when he had first come across Archie’s path. His clothes were worn and stained, and the -life of wandering and concealment that he had led since he parted from the Prince had set -its mark on him. He had slept in as many strange places of late as had the dead beggar at -his feet; anxious watching and lack of food and rest were levelling the outward man to -something more primitive and haggard than the gallant-looking gentleman of the days before -Culloden, yet there remained to him the atmosphere that could never be obliterated, the -personality that he could never lose until the earth should lie on him. He was no better -clothed than those who surrounded him, but his pre-eminence was plain. The watcher -devoured him with his eyes as he turned from his comrades, carrying the dog.</p> - -<p>As soon as he was out of sight, the rebels scattered quietly, and Callandar crouched -lower, praying fortune to prevent anyone from passing his retreat. None approached him, -and he was left with the three dead men in possession of the wood.</p> - -<p>He rose and looked at his silent comrades. It would be useless to follow Logie, -because, with so many of his companions dispersing at this <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-302">[Pg 302]</a></span>moment about the fringes of the Muir of -Pert, he could hardly hope to do so unobserved. There would be no chance of getting to -close quarters with him, which was Callandar’s chief desire, for the mere suspicion of a -hostile presence would only make James shift his hiding-place before the gathering troops -could draw their cordon round him. He abandoned the idea with regret, telling himself that -he must make a great effort to get to Brechin and to return with a mounted force in time -to take action in the morning. The success of his ambush and his ignorance that he had -been watched would keep Logie quiet for the night.</p> - -<p>He decided to take the only road that he knew, the one by which Flemington had left -him. The upper one entangled itself in the Muir, and might lead him into some conclave of -the enemy. He began to descend in the shadows of the coming darkness that was drawing -itself like an insidious net over the spacious land. He had almost reached the road, when -a moving object not far from him made him stop. A man was hurrying up the hill some little -way to his right, treading swiftly along, and, though his head was turned from Callandar, -and he was not near enough for him to distinguish his features, the sling across his -shoulder told him that it was Flemington.</p> - -<p>Callandar stood still, staring after him. Archie’s boldness took away his breath. Here -he was, returning on his tracks, and if he kept his direction, he would have to pass -within a few hundred yards of the spot on which he knew that the <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-303">[Pg 303]</a></span>companions he had left would be halted; -Callandar had pointed out the place to him as they approached the hill together.</p> - -<p>Archie took a wider sweep as he neared the wood, and the soldier, standing in the -shadow of a rowan-tree, whose berries were already beginning to colour for autumn, saw -that he was making for the Muir, and knew that the beggar was justified. One thing only -could be bringing him back. He had come, as Wattie had predicted, to warn Logie.</p> - -<p>He had spoken wisdom, that dead vagabond, lying silent for ever among the trees; he had -assured him that Flemington would not suffer him to take Logie. He knew him, and he had -laughed at the idea of his wounded arm turning him out of his road. “It’s no the like o’ -that that gars the like o’ him greet,” he had said; and he was right. Callandar, watching -the definite course of the figure through the dusk, was sure that he was taking the -simplest line to a retreat whose exact position he knew. He turned and followed, running -from cover to cover, his former errand abandoned. It was strange that, in spite of all, a -vague gladness was in his heart, as he thought that Archie was not the soft creature that -he had pretended to be. There were generous things in Callandar. Then his generous impulse -turned back on him in bitterness, for it occurred to him that Archie had been aware of -what lay waiting for them, and had saved himself from possible accident in time.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-304">[Pg 304]</a></span></p> - -<p>They went on till they reached the border of the Muir, Flemington going as -unconcernedly as if he were walking in the streets of Brechin, though he kept wide of the -spot on which he believed the riders to have disposed themselves for the night. There was -no one who knew him in that part of the country, and he wore no uniform to make him -conspicuous in the eyes of any chance passer in this lonely neighbourhood. As Callandar -emerged from the straggling growth at the Muir’s edge, he saw him still in front going -through the deep thickness of the heather.</p> - -<p>Callandar wished that he knew how far the Muir extended, and exactly what lay on its -farther side. His map was thrust into his coat, but it was now far too dark for him to -make use of it; the tall figure was only just visible, and he redoubled his pace, gaining -a little on it. A small stationary light shone ahead, evidently the window of some -muirland hovel. There is nothing so difficult to decide as the distance of a light at -night, but he guessed that it was the goal towards which Archie was leading. He went -forward, till the young man’s voice hailing someone and the sound of knocking made him -stop and throw himself down in the heather. He thought he heard a door shut. When all had -been quiet for a minute he rose up, and, approaching the house, took up his stand not a -dozen yards from the walls.</p> - -<p>Perplexity came on him. He had been surprisingly successful in pursuing Flemington -<span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-305">[Pg 305]</a></span>unnoticed as far -as this hovel, but he had yet to find out who was inside it. Perhaps the person he had -heard speaking was Logie, but equally perhaps not. There was no sound of voices within, -though he heard movements; he dared not approach the uncurtained window to look in, for -the person whose step he heard was evidently standing close to it. He would wait, -listening for that person to move away, and then would try his luck. He had spent perhaps -ten minutes thus occupied when, without a warning sound, the door opened and Archie stood -on the threshold, as still as though he were made of marble. It was too dark for either -man to see more than the other’s blurred outline.</p> - -<p>Flemington looked out into the night.</p> - -<p>“Come in, Callandar!” he called. “You are the very man I want!”</p> - -<p>The soldier’s astonishment was such that his feet seemed frozen to the ground. He did -not stir.</p> - -<p>“Come!” cried Archie. “You have followed me so far that you surely will not turn back -at the last step. I need you urgently, man. Come in!”</p> - -<p>He held the door open.</p> - -<p>Callandar entered, pushing past him, and found himself in a low, small room, wretchedly -furnished, with another at the back opening out of it. Both were empty, and the light he -had seen was standing on the table.</p> - -<p>“There is no one here!” he exclaimed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-306">[Pg 306]</a></span></p> - -<p>“No,” said Flemington.</p> - -<p>“Where is the man you were speaking to?”</p> - -<p>“He is gone. The ill-mannered rogue would not wait to receive you.”</p> - -<p>“It was that rebel! It was Captain Logie!” cried Callandar.</p> - -<p>“It was not Logie; you may take my word for that,” replied Archie. He sat down on the -edge of the table and crossed his legs. “Try again, Callandar,” he said lightly.</p> - -<p>Callandar’s lips were drawn into an even line, but they were shaking. The mortification -of finding that Archie had been aware of his presence, had pursued his way unconcerned, -knowing that he followed, had called him in as a man calls the serving-man he has left -outside, was hot in him. No wonder his own concealment had seemed so easy.</p> - -<p>“You have sent him to warn Logie—that is what you have done!” he cried. “You are a -scoundrel—I know that!”</p> - -<p>He stepped up to him, and would have laid hold of his collar, but the sling stopped -him.</p> - -<p>“I have. Callandar, you are a genius.”</p> - -<p>As the other stood before him, speechless, Flemington rose up.</p> - -<p>“You have got to arrest me,” he said; “that is why I called you in. I might have run -out by the back of the house, like the man who is gone, who went with my message almost -before the door was shut. Look! I have only one serviceable arm and no sword. I left it -where I left my <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-307">[Pg -307]</a></span>horse. And here is my pistol; I will lay it on the table, so you will have -no trouble in taking me prisoner. You have not had your stalking for nothing, after all, -you mighty hunter before the Lord!”</p> - -<p>“You mean to give yourself up—you, who have taken so much care to save yourself?”</p> - -<p>“I have meant to ever since I saw you under the rowan-tree watching me, flattened -against the trunk like a squirrel. I would as soon be your prisoner as anyone -else’s—sooner, I think.”</p> - -<p>“I cannot understand you!” exclaimed Callandar, taking possession of the weapon Archie -had laid down.</p> - -<p>“It is hard enough to understand oneself, but I do at last,” said the other. “Once I -thought life easy, but mine has been mighty difficult lately. From here on it will be -quite simple. And there will not be much more of it, I fancy.”</p> - -<p>“You are right there,” said Callandar grimly.</p> - -<p>“I can see straight before me now. I tell you life has grown simple.”</p> - -<p>“You lied at the cross roads.”</p> - -<p>“I did. How you looked after me as I went! Well, I have done what I suppose no one has -ever done before: I have threatened to report you for neglecting your duty.” He threw back -his head and laughed. “And I am obliged to tell you to arrest me now. O Callandar, who -will correct your backslidings when there is an end of me?”</p> - -<p>The other did not smile as he looked at Flemington’s <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-308">[Pg 308]</a></span>laughing eyes, soft and sparkling under -the downward curve of his brows. Through his anger, the pity of it all was smiting him, -though he was so little given to sentiment. Perhaps Archie’s charm had told on him all the -time they had been together, though he had never decided whether he liked him or not. And -he looked so young when he laughed.</p> - -<p>“What have you done?” he cried, pacing suddenly up and down the little room. “You have -run on destruction, Flemington; you have thrown your life away. Why have you done -this—you?”</p> - -<p>“If a thing is worthless, there is nothing to do but throw it away.”</p> - -<p>Callandar watched him with pain in his eyes.</p> - -<p>“What made you suspect me?” asked Archie. “You can tell me anything now. There is only -one end to this business. It will be the making of you.”</p> - -<p>“Pshaw!” exclaimed the other, turning away.</p> - -<p>“Why did you follow me?” continued Archie.</p> - -<p>Callandar was silent.</p> - -<p>“Tell me this,” he said at last: “What makes you give yourself up now, without a -struggle or a protest, when little more than two hours ago you ran from what you knew was -to come, there, at the foot of the hill? Surely your friends would have spared -<i>you!</i>”</p> - -<p>“Now it is I who do not understand you,” said Archie.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-309">[Pg 309]</a></span></p> - -<p>His companion stood in front of him, searching his face.</p> - -<p>“Flemington, are you lying? On your soul, are you lying?”</p> - -<p>“Of what use are lies to me now?” exclaimed Archie impatiently. “Truth is a great -luxury; believe me, I enjoy it.”</p> - -<p>“You knew nothing of what was waiting for us at the top of Huntly Hill?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing, as I live,” said Archie.</p> - -<p>“The beggar betrayed you,” said Callandar. “When you were gone he told me that you were -in Logie’s pay—that you would warn him. He was right, Flemington.”</p> - -<p>“I am not in Logie’s pay—I never was,” broke in Archie.</p> - -<p>“I did not know what to think,” the soldier went on; “but I took him up Huntly Hill -with me, and when we had unsaddled, and the men were lying under the trees, I sent the -corporal to Brechin with the information. I went with him to the edge of the wood, and -when I came back there was not a man left alive. Logie and Ferrier were there with a horde -of their rebels. They had come to rescue the prisoner, and he was loose.”</p> - -<p>“Then he <i>was</i> Ferrier’s cousin!” exclaimed Flemington. “We were right.”</p> - -<p>“One of my men escaped,” continued Callandar, “or I suppose so, for he was gone. The -beggar and the other two were killed, and the horses had stampeded.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-310">[Pg 310]</a></span></p> - -<p>“So Wattie is dead,” mused Flemington. “Gad, what a voice has gone with him!”</p> - -<p>“They did not see me, but I watched them; I saw him—Logie—he went off quickly, and he -took one of the beggar’s dogs with him, snarling and struggling, with his head smothered -in his coat. Then I went down the hill, meaning to make for Brechin, and I saw you coming -back. I knew what you were about, thanks to that beggar.”</p> - -<p>Neither spoke for a minute. Archie was still sitting on the table. He had been looking -on the ground, and he raised his eyes to his companion’s face.</p> - -<p>Something stirred in him, perhaps at the thought of how he stood with fate. He was not -given to thinking about himself, but he might well do so now.</p> - -<p>“Callandar,” he said, “I dare say you don’t like me——” Then he broke off, laughing. -“How absurd!” he exclaimed. “Of course you hate me; it is only right you should. But -perhaps you will understand—I think you will, if you will listen. I was thrown against -Logie—no matter how—but, unknowing what he did, he put his safety in my hands. He did -more. I had played upon his sympathy, and in the generosity of his heart he came to my -help as one true man might do to another. I was not a true man, but he did not know that; -he knew nothing of me but that I stood in need, and he believed I was as honest as -himself. He thought I was with his own <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-311">[Pg 311]</a></span>cause. That was what I wished him to believe—had almost -told him.”</p> - -<p>Callandar listened, the lines of his long face set.</p> - -<p>“I had watched him and hunted him,” continued Archie, “and my information against him -was already in the beggar’s hands, on its way to its mark. I could not bring myself to do -more against him then. What I did afterwards was done without mention of his name. You -see, Callandar, I have been true to nobody.”</p> - -<p>He paused, waiting for comment, but the other made none.</p> - -<p>“After that I went to Edinburgh,” he continued, “and he joined the Prince. Then I went -north with Cumberland. I was freed from my difficulty until they sent me here to take him. -The Duke gave me my orders himself, and I had to go. That ride with you was hell, -Callandar, and when we met the beggar to-day I had to make my choice. That was the -turning-point for me. I could not go on.”</p> - -<p>“He said it was not your wound that turned you aside.”</p> - -<p>“He was a shrewd rascal,” said Flemington. “I wish I could tell how he knew so much -about me.”</p> - -<p>“It was your own tongue: once you spent the night in a barn together when you were -light-headed from a blow, and you spoke all night of Logie. You said enough to put him on -your track. That is what he told me as we went up Huntly Hill.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-312">[Pg 312]</a></span></p> - -<p>Archie shrugged his shoulders and rose up.</p> - -<p>“Now, what are you going to do?” he said.</p> - -<p>“I am going to take you to Brechin.”</p> - -<p>“Come, then,” said Archie, “we shall finish our journey together after all. It has been -a hard day. I am glad it is over.”</p> - -<p>They went out together. As Callandar drew the door to behind them Archie stood -still.</p> - -<p>“If I have dealt double with Logie, I will not do so with the king,” said he. “This is -the way out of my difficulty. Do you understand me, Callandar?”</p> - -<p>The darkness hid the soldier’s face.</p> - -<p>Perhaps of all the people who had played their part in the tangle of destiny, -character, circumstance, or whatsoever influences had brought Flemington to the point at -which he stood, he was the one who understood him best.</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter" id="Chapter324"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-313">[Pg 313]</a></span></p> - -<h4 id="Chapter324_hdg"><a href="#Chapter324_toc">CHAPTER XXIV<br /> -<span class="chap_title">THE VANITY OF MEN</span></a></h4> - -<p class="noindent">T<small>HE</small> last months had been a time of great anxiety to -Lord Balnillo. In spite of his fine steering, and though he had escaped from molestation, -he was not comfortable as he saw the imprisonments and confiscations that were going on; -and the precariousness of all that had been secure disturbed him and made him restless. He -was unsettled, too, by his long stay in Edinburgh, and he hankered afresh after the town -life in which he had spent so many of his years. His trees and parks interested him still, -but he looked on them, wondering how long he would be allowed to keep them. He was lonely, -and he missed James, whom he had not seen since long before Culloden, the star of whose -destiny had led him out again into the world of chance.</p> - -<p>He had the most upsetting scheme under consideration that a man of his age can -entertain. At sixty-four it is few people who think seriously of changing their state, yet -this was what David Balnillo had in mind; for he had found so many good reasons for -offering his hand to Christian Flemington that he had decided at last to take <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-314">[Pg 314]</a></span>that portentous step. -The greatest of these was the effect that an alliance with the Whig lady would produce in -the quarters from which he feared trouble. His estate would be pretty safe if Madam -Flemington reigned over it.</p> - -<p>It was pleasant to picture her magnificent presence at his table; her company would rid -country life of its dulness, and on the visits to Edinburgh, which he was sure she would -wish to make, the new Lady Balnillo would turn their lodging into a bright spot in -society. He smoothed his silk stockings as he imagined the stir that his belated romance -would make. He would be the hero of it, and its heroine, besides being a safeguard to his -property, would be a credit to himself.</p> - -<p>There were some obstacles to his plan, and one of them was Archie; but he believed -that, with a little diplomacy, that particular difficulty might be overcome. He would -attack that side of the business in a very straightforward manner. He would make Madam -Flemington understand that he was large-minded enough to look upon the episode in which he -had borne the part of victim in a reasonable yet airy spirit. In the game in which their -political differences had brought them face to face the honours had been with the young -man; he would admit that with a smile and with the respect that one noble enemy accords to -another. He would assure her that bygones should be bygones, and that when he claimed -Archie as his grandson-in-law, he would <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-315">[Pg 315]</a></span>do so without one grudging backward glance at the -circumstances in which they had first met. His magnanimity seemed to him an almost -touching thing, and he played with the idea of his own apposite grace when, in some sly -but genial moment, he would suggest that the portrait upstairs should be finished.</p> - -<p>What had given the final touch to his determination was a message that James had -contrived to send him, which removed the last scruple from his heart. His brother’s danger -had weighed upon David, and it was not only its convenience to himself at this juncture -which made him receive it with relief. Logie was leaving the country for Holland, and the -next tidings of him would come from there, should he be lucky enough to reach its shores -alive.</p> - -<p>Since the rescue of Gourlay the neighbourhood of the Muir of Pert—the last of his -haunts in which Logie could trust himself—had become impossible for him, and he was now -striving to get to a creek on the coast below Peterhead. It was some time since a roof had -been over him, and the little cottage from which Flemington had despatched his urgent -warning stood empty. Its inmate had been his unsuspected connection with the world since -his time of wandering had begun; for though his fatal mistake in discovering this link in -his chain of communication to Flemington had made him abjure its shelter, he had had no -choice for some time between the Muir and any other place.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-316">[Pg 316]</a></span></p> - -<p>The western end of the county swarmed with troops. Montrose was subdued; the passes of -the Grampians were watched; there remained only this barren tract west of the river; and -the warning brought to him from a nameless source had implored him to abandon it before -the soldiery, which his informant assured him was collecting to sweep it from end to end, -should range itself on its borders.</p> - -<p>Archie had withheld his name when he sent the dweller in the little hovel speeding into -the night. He was certain that in making it known to James he would defeat his own ends, -for Logie would scarcely be disposed to trust his good faith, and might well look on the -message as a trick to drive him into some trap waiting for him between the Muir and the -sea.</p> - -<p>James did not give his brother any details of his projected flight; he merely bade him -an indefinite good-bye. The game was up—even he was obliged to admit that—and Ferrier, -whose ardent spirit had been one with his own since the beginning of all things, was -already making for a fishing village, from which he hoped to be smuggled out upon the high -seas. Nothing further could be gained in Angus for the Stuart cause. The friends had spent -themselves since April in their endeavours to resuscitate the feeling in the country, but -there was no more money to be raised, no more men to be collected. They told themselves -that all they could do now was to wait in the hope of a day when their services <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-317">[Pg 317]</a></span>might be needed again. -That day would find them both ready, if they were above ground.</p> - -<p>David knew that, had James been in Scotland, he would not have dared to think of -bringing Christian Flemington to Balnillo.</p> - -<p>He had a feeling of adventure when he started from his own door for Ardguys. The slight -awe with which Christian still inspired him, even when she was most gracious, was -beginning to foreshadow itself, and he knew that his bones would be mighty stiff on the -morrow; there was no riding of the circuit now to keep him in practice in the saddle. But -he was not going to give way to silly apprehensions, unsuited to his age and position; he -would give himself every chance in the way of effect. The servant who rode after him -carried a handsome riding-suit for his master to don at Forfar before making the last -stage of his road. It grieved Balnillo to think how much of the elegance of his -well-turned legs must be unrevealed by his high boots. He was a personable old gentleman, -and his grey cob was worthy of carrying an eligible wooer. He reached Ardguys, and -dismounted under its walls on the following afternoon.</p> - -<p>He had sent no word in front of him. Christian rose when he was ushered into her -presence, and laid down the book in her hand, surprised.</p> - -<p>“You are as unexpected as an earthquake,” she exclaimed, as she saw who was her -visitor.</p> - -<p>“But not as unwelcome?” said David.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-318">[Pg 318]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Far from it. Sit down, my lord. I had begun to forget that civilization existed, and -now I am reminded of it.”</p> - -<p>He bowed, delighted.</p> - -<p>A few messages and compliments, a letter or two despatched by hand, had been their only -communications since the judge left Edinburgh, and his spirits rose as he found that she -seemed really pleased to see him.</p> - -<p>“And what has brought you?” asked Christian, settling herself with the luxurious -deliberation of a cat into the large chair from which she had risen. “Something good, -certainly.”</p> - -<p>“The simple desire to see you, ma’am. Could anything be better?”</p> - -<p>It was an excellent opening; but he had never, even in his youth, been a man who ran -full tilt upon anything. He had scarcely ever before made so direct a speech.</p> - -<p>She smiled, amused. There had been plenty of time for thought in her solitude; but, -though she had thought a good deal about him, she had not a suspicion of his errand. She -saw people purely in relation to the uses she had for them, and, officially, she had -pronounced him harmless to the party in whose interests she had kept him at her side. The -circumstances were not those which further sentiment.</p> - -<p>“I have spent this quiet time in remembering your kindnesses to me,” he began, inspired -by her smile.</p> - -<p>“You call it a quiet time?” she interrupted. <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-319">[Pg 319]</a></span>“I had not looked on it in that way. Quiet for us, -perhaps, but not for the country.”</p> - -<p>“True, true,” said he, in the far-away tone in which some people seek to let -unprofitable subjects melt.</p> - -<p>Now that the active part of the rebellion had become history, she had no hesitation in -speaking out from her solid place on the winning side.</p> - -<p>“This wretched struggle is over, and we may be plain with one another, Lord Balnillo,” -she continued. “You, at least, have had much to alarm you.”</p> - -<p>“I have been a peaceful servant of law and order all my life,” said he, “and as such I -have conceived it my place to stand aloof. It has been my duty to restrain violence of all -kinds.”</p> - -<p>“But you have not restrained your belongings,” she observed boldly.</p> - -<p>He was so much taken aback that he said nothing.</p> - -<p>“Well, my lord, it is one of my regrets that I have never seen Captain Logie. At least -you have to be proud of a gallant man,” she went on, with the same impulse that makes all -humanity set a fallen child upon its legs.</p> - -<p>But Balnillo had a genius for scrambling to his feet.</p> - -<p>“My brother has left the country in safety,” he rejoined, with one of those random -flashes of sharpness that had stood him in such good stead. His cunning was his guardian -angel; for he did <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-320">[Pg -320]</a></span>not know what she knew—namely, that Archie had left Fort Augustus in -pursuit of James.</p> - -<p>“Indeed?” she said, silenced.</p> - -<p>She was terribly disappointed, but she hid her feelings in barefaced composure.</p> - -<p>The judge drew his chair closer. Here was another opening, and his very nervousness -pushed him towards it.</p> - -<p>“Ma’am,” he began, clearing his throat, “I shall not despair of presenting James to -you. When the country is settled—if—in short——”</p> - -<p>“I imagine that Captain Logie will hardly trust himself in Scotland either in my -lifetime or in yours. We are old, you and I,” she added, the bitterness of her -disappointment surging through her words.</p> - -<p>She watched him to see whether this barbed truth pierced him; it pierced herself as she -hurled it.</p> - -<p>“Maybe,” said he; “but age has not kept me from the business I have come upon. I have -come to put a very particular matter before you.”</p> - -<p>She was still unsuspicious, but she grew impatient. He had wearied her often in -Edinburgh with tedious histories of himself, and she had endured them then for reasons of -policy; but she felt no need of doing so here. It was borne in upon her, as it has been -borne in upon many of us, that a person who is acceptable in town may be unendurable in -the country. She had not thought of that as she welcomed him.</p> - -<p>“Ma’am,” he went on, intent on nothing but his <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-321">[Pg 321]</a></span>affair, “I may surprise you—I trust I shall not offend -you. At least you will approve the feelings of devotion, of respect, of admiration which -have brought me here. I have an ancient name, I have sufficient means—I am not -ill-looking, I believe——”</p> - -<p>“Are you making me a proposal, my lord?”</p> - -<p>She spoke with an accent of derision; the sting of it was sharp in her tone.</p> - -<p>“There is no place for ridicule, ma’am. I see nothing unsuitable in my great regard for -you.”</p> - -<p>He spoke with real dignity.</p> - -<p>She had not suspected him of having any, personally, and she had forgotten that an -inherited stock of it was behind him. The rebuke astonished her so much that she scarcely -knew what reply to make.</p> - -<p>“As I said, I believe I am not ill-looking,” he repeated, with an air that lost him his -advantage. “I can offer you such a position as you have a right to expect.”</p> - -<p>“You also offer me a brother-in-law whose destination may be the scaffold,” she said -brutally; “do not forget that.”</p> - -<p>This was not to be denied, and for a moment he was put out. But it was on these -occasions that he shone.</p> - -<p>“Let us dismiss family matters from our minds and think only of ourselves,” said he; -“my brother is an outlaw, and as such is unacceptable to you, and your grandson has every -reason to be ashamed to meet me. We can set these disadvantages, <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-322">[Pg 322]</a></span>one against the other, and agree to -ignore them.”</p> - -<p>“I am not disposed to ignore Archie,” said she.</p> - -<p>“Well, ma’am, neither am I. I hope I am a large-minded man—indeed, no one can sit on -the bench for the time that I have sat on it and not realize the frailty of all -creatures——”</p> - -<p>“My lord——” began Christian.</p> - -<p>But it is something to have learned continuance of speech professionally, and Balnillo -was launched; also his own magnanimous attitude had taken his fancy.</p> - -<p>“I will remember nothing against him,” said he. “I will forget his treatment of my -hospitality, and the discreditable uses to which he put my roof.”</p> - -<p>“Sir!” broke in Christian.</p> - -<p>“I will remember that, according to his lights, he was in the exercise of his duty. -Whatsoever may be my opinion of the profession to which he was compelled, I will thrust it -behind me with the things best forgotten.”</p> - -<p>“That is enough, Lord Balnillo,” cried Madam Flemington, rising.</p> - -<p>“Sit, madam, sit. Do not disturb yourself! Understand me, that I will allow every -leniency. I will make every excuse! I will dwell, not on the fact that he was a spy, but -on his enviable relationship to yourself.”</p> - -<p>She stood in the middle of the room, threatening him with her eyes. Some people tremble -<span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-323">[Pg 323]</a></span>when roused to -the pitch of anger that she had reached; some gesticulate; Christian was still.</p> - -<p>He had risen too.</p> - -<p>“If you suppose that I could connect myself with a disloyal house you are much -mistaken,” she said, controlling herself with an effort. “I have no quarrel with your -name, Lord Balnillo; it is old enough. My quarrel is with the treason in which it has been -dipped. But I am very well content with my own. Since I have borne it, I have kept it -clean from any taint of rebellion.”</p> - -<p>“But I have been a peaceful man,” he protested. “As I told you, the law has been my -profession. I have raised a hand against no one.”</p> - -<p>“Do you think I do not know you?” exclaimed she. “Do you suppose that my ears were shut -in the winter, and that I heard nothing in all the months I spent in Edinburgh? What of -that, Lord Balnillo?”</p> - -<p>“You made no objection to me then, ma’am. I was made happy by being of service to -you.”</p> - -<p>She laughed scornfully.</p> - -<p>“Let us be done with this,” she said. “You have offered yourself to me and I refuse the -offer. I will add my thanks.”</p> - -<p>The last words were a masterpiece of insolent civility.</p> - -<p>A gilt-framed glass hung on the wall, one of the possessions that she had brought with -her from France. David suddenly caught sight of his own head reflected in it above the -lace cravat for which he had paid so much; the spectacle <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-324">[Pg 324]</a></span>gathered up his recollections and his -present mortification, and fused them into one stab of hurt vanity.</p> - -<p>“I see that you can make no further use of me,” he said.</p> - -<p>“None.”</p> - -<p>He walked out of the room. At the door he turned and bowed.</p> - -<p>“If you will allow me, I will call for my horse myself,” said he.</p> - -<p>He went out of the house and she stood where she was, thinking of what he had told her -about his brother; she had set her heart upon Archie’s success in taking Logie, and now -the man had left the country and his chance was gone. The proposal to which she had just -listened did not matter to her one way or the other, though he had offended her by the -attitude he took up when making it. He was unimportant. It was of Archie that she thought -as she watched the judge and his servant ride away between the ash-trees. They were -crossing the Kilpie burn when her maid came in, bringing a letter. The writing on it was -strange to Christian.</p> - -<p>“Who has brought this?” she asked as she opened it.</p> - -<p>“Just a callant,” replied the girl.</p> - -<p>She read the letter, which was short. It was signed ‘R. Callandar, Captain,’ and was -written at Archie Flemington’s request to tell her that he was under arrest at Brechin on -a charge of conspiring with the king’s enemies.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-325">[Pg 325]</a></span></p> - -<p>The writer added a sentence, unknown, as he explained, to Flemington.</p> - -<p>“The matter is serious,” he wrote, “the Duke of Cumberland is still in Edinburgh. It -might be well if you could see him. Make no delay, as we await his orders.”</p> - -<p>She stood, turning cold, her eyes fixed on the maid.</p> - -<p>“Eh—losh, mem!” whimpered Mysie, approaching her with her hands raised.</p> - -<p>Madam Flemington felt as though her brain refused to work. There seemed to be nothing -to drive it forward. The world stood still. The walls, an imprisoning horror, shut her in -from all movement, all action, when action was needed. She had never felt Ardguys to be so -desperately far from the reach of humanity, herself so much cut off from it, as now. And -yet she must act. Her nearest channel of communication was the judge, riding away.</p> - -<p>“Fool!” she cried, seizing Mysie, “run—run! Send the boy after Lord Balnillo. Tell him -to run!”</p> - -<p>The maid hesitated, staring at the pallor of her mistress’s face.</p> - -<p>“Eh, but, mem—sit you down!” she wailed.</p> - -<p>Christian thrust her from her path as though she had been a piece of furniture, and -swept into the hall. A barefooted youth was outside by the door. He stared at her, as -Mysie had done. She took him by the shoulder.</p> - -<p>“Run! Go instantly after those horses! That <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-326">[Pg 326]</a></span>is Lord Balnillo!” she cried, pointing to the riders, who -were mounting the rise beyond the burn. “Tell him to return at once. Tell him he must come -back!”</p> - -<p>He shook off her grip and ran. He was a corner-boy from Brechin and he had a taste for -sensation.</p> - -<p>Madam Flemington went back into her room. Mysie followed her, whimpering still, and she -pushed her outside and sank down in her large chair. She could not watch the window, for -fear of going mad.</p> - -<p>She sat still and steady until she heard the thud of bare feet on the stone steps, and -then she hurried out.</p> - -<p>“He tell’t me he wadna bide,” said the corner-boy breathlessly. “He was vera well -obliged to ye, he bad’ me say, but he wadna bide.”</p> - -<p>Christian left him and shut herself into the room, alone. Callandar’s bald lines had -overpowered her completely, leaving no place in her brain for anything else. But now she -saw her message from Lord Balnillo’s point of view, and anger and contempt flamed up -again, even in the midst of her trouble.</p> - -<p>“The vanity of men! Ah, God, the vanity of men!” she cried, throwing out her hands, as -though to put the whole race of them from her.</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter" id="Chapter325"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-327">[Pg 327]</a></span></p> - -<h4 id="Chapter325_hdg"><a href="#Chapter325_toc">CHAPTER XXV<br /> -<span class="chap_title">A ROYAL DUKE</span></a></h4> - -<p class="noindent">T<small>HE</small> Duke of Cumberland was at Holyrood House. He had -come down from the North by way of Stirling, and having spent some days in Edinburgh, he -was making his final arrangements to set out for England. He was returning in the enviable -character of conquering hero, and he knew that a great reception awaited him in London, -where every preparation was being made to do him honour; he was thinking of these things -as he sat in one of the grim rooms of the ancient palace. There was not much luxury here; -and looking across the table at which he sat and out of the window, he could see the dirty -roofs of the Canongate—a very different prospect from the one that would soon meet his -eyes. He was sick of Scotland.</p> - -<p>Papers were littered on the table, and his secretary had just carried away a bundle -with him. He was alone, because he expected a lady to whom he had promised an audience, -but he was not awaiting her with the feelings that he generally brought to such occasions. -Cumberland had <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-328">[Pg -328]</a></span>received the visits of many women alone since leaving England, but his -guests were younger than the one whose approach he could now hear in the anteroom outside. -He drew his brows together, for he expected no profit and some annoyance from the -interview.</p> - -<p>He rose as she was ushered in and went to the open fireplace, where he stood awaiting -her, drawn up to his full height, which was not great. The huge iron dogs behind him and -the high mantel-piece above his head dwarfed him with their large lines. He was not an -ill-looking young man, though his hair, pulled back and tied after the fashion of the day, -showed off the receding contours that fell away from his temples, and made his blue eyes -look more prominent than they were.</p> - -<p>He moved forward clumsily as Christian curtsied.</p> - -<p>“Come in, madam, come in. Be seated. I have a few minutes only to give you,” he said, -pointing to a chair on the farther side of the table.</p> - -<p>She sat down opposite to him.</p> - -<p>“I had the honour of being presented to your Royal Highness last year,” she said.</p> - -<p>“I remember you well, ma’am,” replied he shortly.</p> - -<p>“It is in the hope of being remembered that I have come,” said she. “It is to ask you, -Sir, to remember the services of my house to yours.”</p> - -<p>“I remember them, ma’am; I forget nothing.”</p> - -<p>“I am asking you, in remembering, to forget <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-329">[Pg 329]</a></span>one thing,” said she. “I shall not waste your Royal -Highness’s time and mine in beating about bushes. I have travelled here from my home -without resting, and it is not for me to delay now.”</p> - -<p>He took up a pen that lay beside him, and put the quill between his teeth.</p> - -<p>“Your Royal Highness knows why I have come,” continued she, her eyes falling from his -own and fixing themselves on the pen in his mouth. He removed it with his fat hand, and -tossed it aside.</p> - -<p>“There is absolute proof against Flemington,” said he. “He accuses himself. I presume -you know that.”</p> - -<p>“I do. This man—Captain Logie—has some strange attraction for him that I cannot -understand, and did him some kindness that seems to have turned his head. His regard for -him was a purely personal one. It was personal friendship that led him to—to the madness -he has wrought. His hands are clean of conspiracy. I have come all this way to assure your -Highness of that.”</p> - -<p>“It is possible,” said Cumberland. “The result is the same. We have lost the man whose -existence above ground is a danger to the kingdom.”</p> - -<p>“I have come to ask you to take that difference of motive into consideration,” she went -on. “Were the faintest shadow of conspiracy proved, I should not dare to approach you; my -request should not pass my lips. I have been in correspondence with him during the whole -of the campaign, and I know that he served the king loyally. I beg <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-330">[Pg 330]</a></span>your Highness to -remember that now. I speak of his motive because I know it.”</p> - -<p>“You are fortunate, then,” he interrupted.</p> - -<p>“Captain Callandar, to whom he gave himself up, wrote me two letters at his request, -one in which he announced his arrest, and one which I received as I entered my coach to -leave my door. Archie knows what is before him,” she added; “he has no hope of life and no -knowledge of my action in coming to your Highness. But he wished me to know the truth—that -he had conspired with no one. He is ready to suffer for what he has done, but he will not -have me ashamed of him. Look, Sir——”</p> - -<p>She pushed the letter over to him.</p> - -<p>“His motives may go hang, madam,” said Cumberland.</p> - -<p>“Your Highness, if you have any regard for us who have served you, read this!”</p> - -<p>He rose and went back to the fireplace.</p> - -<p>“There is no need, madam. I am not interested in the correspondence of others.”</p> - -<p>He was becoming impatient; he had spent enough time on this lady. She was not young -enough to give him any desire to detain her. She was an uncommon-looking woman, certainly, -but at her age that fact could matter to nobody. He wondered, casually, whether the old -stories about her and Charles Edward’s father were true. Women struck him only in one -light.</p> - -<p>“You will not read this, your Royal Highness?” said Christian, with a little tremor of -voice.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-331">[Pg 331]</a></span></p> - -<p>“No, ma’am. I may tell you that my decision has not altered. The case is not one that -admits of any question.”</p> - -<p>“Your Highness,” said Christian, rising, “I have never made an abject appeal to anyone -yet, and even now, though I make it to the son of my king, I can hardly bring myself to -utter it. I deplore my—my boy’s action from the bottom of my soul. I sent him from me—I -parted from him nearly a year ago because of this man Logie.”</p> - -<p>He faced round upon her and put his hands behind his back.</p> - -<p>“What!” he exclaimed, “you knew of this? You have been keeping this affair secret -between you?”</p> - -<p>“He went to Montrose on the track of Logie in November,” said she; “he was sent there -to watch his movements before Prince Charles marched to England, and he did so well that -he contrived to settle himself under Lord Balnillo’s roof. In three days he returned to -me. He had reported on Logie’s movements—I know that—your Highness’s agents can produce -his report. But he returned to my house to tell me that, for some fool’s reason, some -private question of sentiment, he would follow Logie no longer. ‘I will not go man-hunting -after Logie’—those were his words.”</p> - -<p>“Madam——” began Cumberland.</p> - -<p>She put out her hand, and her gesture seemed to reverse their positions.</p> - -<p>“I told him to go—I told him that I would <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-332">[Pg 332]</a></span>sooner see him dead than that he should side with the -Stuarts! He answered me that he could have no part with rebels, and that his act concerned -Logie alone. Then he left me, and on his way to Brechin he received orders to go to the -Government ship in Montrose Harbour. Then the ship was attacked and taken.”</p> - -<p>“It was Flemington’s friend, Logie, who was at the bottom of that business,” said -Cumberland.</p> - -<p>“He met Logie and they fought,” said Madam Flemington. “I know none of the details, but -I know that they fought. Then he went to Edinburgh.”</p> - -<p>“It is time that we finished with this!” exclaimed Cumberland. “No good is served by -it.”</p> - -<p>“I am near the end, your Highness,” said Christian, and then paused, unnerved by the -too great suggestiveness of her words.</p> - -<p>“These things are no concern of mine,” he observed in the pause; “his movements do not -matter. And I may tell you, ma’am, that my leisure is not unlimited.”</p> - -<p>It was nearing the close of the afternoon, and the sun stood like a red ball over the -mists of the Edinburgh smoke. Cumberland’s business was over for the day, and he was -looking forward to dining that evening with a carefully chosen handful of friends, male -and female.</p> - -<p>Her nerve was giving way against the stubborn detachment of the man. She felt herself -helpless, and her force ineffective. Life was breaking up <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-333">[Pg 333]</a></span>round her. The last man she had -confronted had spurned her in the end—through a mistake, it was true—but the opportunity -had been given him by her own loss of grip in the bewilderment of a crisis. This one was -spurning her too. But she went on.</p> - -<p>“He performed his work faithfully from that day forward, as your Royal Highness knew -when you took him to the North. His services are better known to you, Sir, than to anyone -else. He gave himself up to Captain Callandar as the last proof that he could take no part -with the rebels. He threw away his life.”</p> - -<p>“<i>That</i>, at least, is true,” said the Duke, with a sneer. He was becoming -exasperated, and the emphasis which he put on the word ‘that’ brought the slow blood to -her face. She looked at him as though she saw him across some mud-befouled stream. Even -now her pride rose above the despair in her heart. He was not sensitive, but her -expression stung him.</p> - -<p>“I am accustomed to truth,” she replied.</p> - -<p>He turned his back. There was a silence.</p> - -<p>“I came to ask for Archie’s life,” she said, in a toneless, steady voice, “but I will -go, asking nothing. Your Royal Highness has nothing to give that he or I would stoop to -take at your hands.”</p> - -<p>He stood doggedly, without turning, and he did not move until the sound of her sweeping -skirts had died away in the anteroom. Then he went out, a short, stoutish figure passing -along <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-334">[Pg 334]</a></span>the dusty -corridors of Holyrood, and entered a room from which came the ring of men’s voices.</p> - -<p>A party of officers in uniform got up as he came in. Some were playing cards. He went -up to one of the players and took those he held from between his fingers.</p> - -<p>“Give me your hand, Walden,” said he, “and for God’s sake get us a bottle of wine. Damn -me, but I hate old women! They should have their tongues cut out.”</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter" id="Chapter326"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-335">[Pg 335]</a></span></p> - -<h4 id="Chapter326_hdg"><a href="#Chapter326_toc">CHAPTER XXVI<br /> -<span class="chap_title">THE VANISHING BIRD</span></a></h4> - -<p class="noindent">T<small>HE</small> houses of Brechin climb from the river up the -slope, and a little camp was spread upon the crest of ground above them, looking down over -the uneven pattern of walls, the rising smoke, and the woods that cradled the Esk. Such of -Cumberland’s soldiery as had collected in Angus was drawn together here, and as the -country was settling down, the camp was increased by detachments of horse and foot that -arrived daily from various directions. The Muir of Pert was bare, left to the company of -the roe-deer and the birds, for James had been traced to the coast, and the hungry North -Sea had swallowed his tracks.</p> - -<p>The spot occupied by the tents of Callandar’s troop was in the highest corner of the -camp, the one farthest from the town, and the long northern light that lingered over the -hill enveloped the camp sounds and sights in a still, greenish clearness. There would be a -bare few hours of darkness.</p> - -<p>Callandar was now in command of a small force <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-336">[Pg 336]</a></span>consisting of a troop of his own regiment which had -lately marched in, and two of his men stood sentry outside the tent in which Archie -Flemington was sitting at an improvised table writing a letter.</p> - -<p>He had been a close prisoner since his arrest on the Muir of Pert, and during the week -that had elapsed, whilst correspondence about him and orders concerning him had gone to -and fro between Brechin and Edinburgh, he had been exclusively under Callandar’s charge. -That arrangement was the one concession made on his behalf among the many that had been -asked for by his friends. At his own request he was to remain Callandar’s prisoner till -the end, and it was to be Callandar’s voice that would give the order for his release at -sunrise to-morrow, and Callandar’s troopers whose hands would set him free.</p> - -<p>The two men had spent much time together. Though the officer’s responsibility did not -include the necessity of seeing much of his prisoner, he had chosen to spend nearly all -his leisure in Archie’s tent. They had drawn very near together, this incongruous pair, -though the chasm that lay between their respective temperaments had not been bridged by -words. They had sat together on many evenings, almost in silence, playing cards until one -of them grew drowsy, or some officious cock crowed on the outskirts of the town. Of the -incident which had brought them into their present relationship, they spoke not at <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-337">[Pg 337]</a></span>all; but sometimes -Archie had broken out into snatches of talk, and Callandar had listened, with his grim -smile playing about his mouth, to his descriptions of the men and things amongst which his -short life had thrown him. As he looked across at his companion, who sat, his eyes -sparkling in the light of the lantern, his expression changing with the shades of humour -that ran over his words, like shadows over growing corn, he would be brought up short -against the thought of the terrible incongruity to come—death. He could not think of -Archie and death. At times he would have given a great deal to pass on his responsibility -to some other man, and to turn his back on the place that was to witness such a tragedy. -In furthering Archie’s wishes by his own application for custody of him he had given him a -great proof of friendship—how great he was only to learn as the days went by. Would to God -it were over—so he would say to himself each night as he left the tent. He had thought -Archie soft when they parted at the cross-roads, and he had been sorry. There was no need -for sorrow on that score; never had been. The sorrow to him now was that so gallant, so -brilliant a creature was to be cut off from the life of the world, to go down into the -darkness, leaving so many of its inhabitants half-hearted, half-spirited, half alive, to -crawl on in an existence which only interested them inasmuch as it supplied their common -needs.</p> - -<p>His hostility against Logie ran above the level <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-338">[Pg 338]</a></span>of the just antagonism that a man feels -for his country’s enemy, and he questioned whether his life were worth the price that -Flemington was paying for it. The hurried words that Archie had spoken about Logie as they -left the hovel together had told him little, and that little seemed to him inadequate to -explain the tremendous consequences that had followed. What had Logie said or done that -had power to turn him out of his way? A man may meet many admirable characters among his -enemies without having his efforts paralyzed by the encounter. Flemington was not new to -his trade, and had been long enough in the secret service to know its requirements. A -certain unscrupulousness was necessarily among them, yet why had his gorge only risen -against it now? Callandar could find no signs in him of the overwrought sensibility that -seemed to have prompted his revolt against his task. Logie had placed his safety in -Archie’s hands, and it was in order to end that safety that the young man had gone out; he -had laid the trap and the quarry had fallen into it. What else had he expected? It was not -that Callandar could not understand the scruple; what he could not understand was why a -man of Archie’s occupation should suddenly be undone by it. Having accepted his task, his -duty had been plain. In theory, a rebel, to Callandar was a rebel, no more, and Archie, by -his deed, had played a rebel’s part; yet, in spite of that, the duty he must carry out on -the morrow was making his <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-339">[Pg -339]</a></span>heart sink within him. One thing about Archie stood out plain—he was not -going to shirk his duty to his king and yet take Government money. Whatsoever his doings, -the prisoner who sat in the tent over yonder would be lying under the earth to-morrow -because he was prepared to pay the last price for his scruple. No, he was not soft.</p> - -<p>Callandar would have died sooner than let him escape, yet his escape would have made -him glad.</p> - -<p>Callandar came across the camp and passed between the two sentries into Flemington’s -tent. The young man looked up from his writing.</p> - -<p>“You are busy,” said the officer.</p> - -<p>“I have nearly done. There seems so much to do at the last,” he added.</p> - -<p>The other sat down on the bed and looked at him, filled with grief. The lantern stood -by Archie’s hand. His head was bent into the circle of light, and the yellow shine that -fell upon it warmed his olive skin and brought out the brown shades in his brows and hair. -The changing curves of his mouth were firm in the intensity of his occupation. He had so -much expression as a rule that people seldom thought about his features but Callandar now -noticed his long chin and the fine lines of his nostril.</p> - -<p>His pen scratched on for a few minutes; then he laid it down and turned round.</p> - -<p>“You have done me many kindnesses, Callandar,” <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-340">[Pg 340]</a></span>said he, “and now I am going to ask you for another—the -greatest of all. It is everything to me that Captain Logie should get this letter. He is -safe, I hope, over the water, but I do not know where. Will you take charge of it?”</p> - -<p>“I will,” said the other—“yes.”</p> - -<p>The very name of Logie went against him.</p> - -<p>“You will have to keep it some little time, I fear,” continued Archie, “but when the -country has settled down you will be able to reach him through Lord Balnillo. Promise me -that, if you can compass it, he shall get this.”</p> - -<p>“If it is to be done, I will do it.”</p> - -<p>“From you, that is enough,” said Flemington, “I shall rest quietly.”</p> - -<p>He turned to his writing again.</p> - -<p>Callandar sat still, looking round the tent vaguely for something to distract his heavy -thoughts. A card lay on the ground and he picked it up. It was an ace, and the blank space -of white round it was covered with drawing. His own consideration had procured pens and -books—all that he could find to brighten the passing days for his prisoner. This was the -result of some impulse that had taken Flemington’s artistic fingers.</p> - -<p>It was a sketch of one of the sentries outside the tent door. The figure was given in a -few lines, dark against the light, and the outline of the man’s homely features had gained -some quality of suggestiveness and distinction by its <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-341">[Pg 341]</a></span>passage through Archie’s mind, and by the -way he had placed the head against the clouded atmosphere made by the smoke rising from -the camp. Through it, came a touched-in vision of the horizon beyond the tents. He looked -at it, seeing something of its cleverness, and tossed it aside.</p> - -<p>When Archie had ended his letter, he read it through:</p> - -<div class="letter"> -<p>“When this comes to your hands perhaps you will know what has become of me,” he had -written, “and you will understand the truth. I ask you to believe me, if only because -these are the last words I shall ever write. A man speaks the truth when it is a matter of -hours with him.</p> - -<p>“You know what brought me to Balnillo, but you do not know what sent me from it. I went -because I had no courage to stay. I was sent to find out how deep you were concerned in -the Stuart cause and to watch your doings. I followed you that night in the town, and my -wrist bears the mark you set on it still. That morning I despatched my confirmation of the -Government’s suspicions about you. Then I met you and we sat by the Basin of Montrose. God -knows I have never forgotten the story you told me.</p> - -<p>“Logie, I went because I could not strike you again. You had been struck too hard in -the past, and I could not do it. What I told you <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" -id="page-342">[Pg 342]</a></span>about myself was untrue, but you believed it, and would -have helped me. How could I go on?</p> - -<p>“Then, as I stood between the devil and the deep sea, my orders took me to the -<i>Venture</i>, and we met again on Inchbrayock. I had made sure you would be on the hill. -When I would have escaped from you, you held me back, and as we struggled you knew me for -what I was.</p> - -<p>“You know the rest as well as I do, and you know where I was in the campaign that -followed. Last of all I was sent out with those who were to take you on the Muir of Pert. -I had no choice but to go—the choice came at the cross-roads below Huntly Hill. It was I -who sent the warning to you from the little house on the Muir. You had directed me there -for a different purpose. I sent no name with my message, knowing that if I did you might -suspect me of a trick to entrap you again. That is all. There remained only the -consequences, and I shall be face to face with them to-morrow.</p> - -<p class="letter_last_para">“There is one thing more to say. Do not let yourself suppose -that I am paying for your life with mine. I might have escaped had I tried to do so—it was -my fault that I did not try. I had had enough of untruth, and I could no longer take the -king’s money; I had served his cause ill, and I could only pay for it. I have known two -true men in my life—you and the man who has promised that you shall receive this letter. -If <span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-343">[Pg 343]</a></span>you will -think of me without bitterness, remember that I should have been glad.</p> - -<p class="signature">“A<small>RCHIBALD</small> F<small>LEMINGTON</small>.”</p> -</div> - -<p>He folded the paper and rose, holding it out to Callandar.</p> - -<p>“I am contented,” said he; “go now, Callandar. You look worn out. I believe this last -night is trying you more than it tries me.”</p> - -<p class="break">* * * * *</p> - -<p>It was some little time after daybreak that Callandar stood again at the door of the -tent under the kindling skies. Archie was waiting for him and he came out. The eyes of the -sentries never left them as they went away together, followed by the small armed guard -that was at Callandar’s heels.</p> - -<p>The two walked a little apart, and when they reached the outskirts of the camp they -came to a field, an insignificant rough enclosure, in which half a dozen soldiers were -gathered, waiting. At the sight of Callandar the sergeant who was in charge of them began -to form them in a line some paces from the wall.</p> - -<p>Callandar and Flemington stopped. The light had grown clear, and the smoke that was -beginning to rise from the town thickened the air over the roofs that could be seen from -where they stood. The daily needs and the daily avocations were beginning again for those -below the hill, while they were ceasing for ever for him who stood <span -class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-344">[Pg 344]</a></span>above in the cool -morning. In a few minutes the sun would get up; already there was a sign of his coming in -the eastward sky.</p> - -<p>The two men turned to each other; they had nothing more to say. They had settled every -detail of this last act of their short companionship, so that there should be no -hesitation, no mistake, nothing to be a lengthening of agony for one, nor an evil memory -for the other.</p> - -<p>Archie held out his hand.</p> - -<p>“When I look at you,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Callandar.</p> - -<p>“There are no words, Callandar. Words are nothing—but the last bit of my life has been -the better for you.”</p> - -<p>For once speech came quickly to the soldier.</p> - -<p>“The rest of mine will be the better for you,” he answered. “You said once that you -were not a true man. You lied.”</p> - -<p>Flemington was giving all to disprove the accusation of untruth, and it was one of the -last things he was to hear.</p> - -<p>So, with these rough words—more precious to him than any that could have been -spoken—sounding in his ears, he walked away and stood before the wall. The men were lined -in front of him.</p> - -<p>His eyes roved for a moment over the slope of the country, the town roofs, the camp, -then went to the distance. A solitary bird was crossing the sky, and his look followed it -as it had followed the one he had seen when he made his choice <span class="pagenum"><a -class="newpage" id="page-345">[Pg 345]</a></span>at the foot of Huntly Hill. The first had -flown away, a vanishing speck, towards the shadows gathering about the hills. This one was -going into the sunrise. It was lost in the light. . . .</p> - -<p>“Fire!” said Callandar.</p> - -<p>For Archie was looking at him with a smile.</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter" id="Chapter327"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-346">[Pg 346]</a></span></p> - -<h4 id="Chapter327_hdg"><a href="#Chapter327_toc">CHAPTER XXVII<br /> -<span class="chap_title">EPILOGUE</span></a></h4> - -<p class="noindent">J<small>AMES</small> L<small>OGIE</small> stood at the window of a -house in a Dutch town. The pollarded beech, whose boughs were trimmed in a close screen -before the walls, had shed its golden leaves and the canal waters were grey under a cloudy -sky. The long room was rather dark, and was growing darker. By the chair that he had left -lay a yellow cur.</p> - -<p>He had been standing for some minutes reading a letter by the fading light, and his -back was towards the man who had brought it. The latter stood watching him, stiff and -tall, an object of suspicion to the dog.</p> - -<p>As he came to the end, the hand that held the paper went down to James’s side. The -silence in the room was unbroken for a space. When he turned, Callandar saw his powerful -shoulders against the dusk and the jealous shadows of the beech-tree’s mutilated arms.</p> - -<p>“I can never thank you enough for bringing me this,” said Logie. “My debt to you is -immeasurable.”</p> - -<p>“I did it for him—not for you.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-347">[Pg 347]</a></span></p> - -<p>Callandar spoke coldly, almost with antagonism.</p> - -<p>“I can understand that,” said James.</p> - -<p>But something in his voice struck the other. Though he had moved as if to leave him, he -stopped, and going over to the window, drew a playing-card from a pocket in his long -coat.</p> - -<p>“Look,” he said, holding out the ace scrawled with the picture of the sentry.</p> - -<p>James took it, and as he looked at it, his crooked lip was set stiffly, lest it should -tremble.</p> - -<p>“It was in his tent when I went back there—afterwards,” said Callandar.</p> - -<p>He took the card back, and put it in his pocket.</p> - -<p>“Then it was you——” began James.</p> - -<p>“He was my prisoner, sir.”</p> - -<p>James walked away again and stood at the window.</p> - -<p>Callandar waited, silent.</p> - -<p>“I must wish you a good-day, Captain Logie,” he said at last, “I have to leave Holland -to-night.”</p> - -<p>James followed him down the staircase, and they parted at the outer door. Callandar -went away along the street, and James came back slowly up the steep stairs, his hand on -the railing of the carved banisters. He could scarcely see his way.</p> - -<p>The yellow dog came to meet him when he entered his room, and as his master, still -holding the letter, carried it again to the light, he followed. Half-way across the floor -he turned to sniff at an old Kilmarnock bonnet that lay by the wainscot near the corner in -which he slept.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a class="newpage" id="page-348">[Pg 348]</a></span></p> - -<p>He put his nose against it, and then looked at Logie. Trust was in his eyes and -affection; but there was inquiry, too.</p> - -<p>“My poor lad,” said James, “we both remember.”</p> - -<p class="end"><span class="spacing">THE EN</span>D</p> - -<hr class="printer" /> - -<p class="printer">BILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, GUILDFORD</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter tnote"> -<h3 class="tnote" id="tnote">Transcriber’s Note</h3> - -<p>This transcription is based on images posted by the HathiTrust Digital Library from a -copy made available by the New York Public Library and digitized by Google:</p> - -<p class="link"><a -href="https://catalog.hathitrust.org/Record/100614266"> -catalog.hathitrust.org/Record/100614266</a></p> - -<p>The following changes were made to the printed text:</p> - -<ul> -<li>No attempt was made to reproduce the convention of using opening quotation marks along -the left margin when quoting a letter. See pp. 31-35, p. 107, and pp. 341-43.</li> - -<li>p. 14: by the abrupt departure of his accuser,—Changed the comma after “accuser” to a -period.</li> - -<li>p. 22: Where is your postillion?—Changed “postillion” to “postilion” for -consistency.</li> - -<li>p. 32: But I am telling you only effects whenyou are wanting causes.—Changed “whenyou” -to “when you”.</li> - -<li>p. 40: The author’s note defining “Tod,” originally at the bottom of the page, has -been moved to the end of the chapter in the html-based versions of this transcription or -placed in square brackets next to the word in the text version.</li> - -<li>p. 52: The wall which bounded the great Balnillo grassparks—Changed “grassparks” to -“grass-parks” for consistency.</li> - -<li>p. 60: who had been inces santly absent—Changed “inces santly”, which was split -between lines without a hyphen, to “incessantly”.</li> - -<li>p. 94: for his throat had grown thick—Added a period after “thick”.</li> - -<li>p. 97: I left the Scots’ Brigade—Deleted the apostrophe after “Scots” for -consistency.</li> - -<li>p. 104: the gallant background of the Scots’ Brigade—Deleted the apostrophe after -“Scots” for consistency.</li> - -<li>p. 104: the grave at Bergen op Zoom—Changed “Bergen op Zoom” to “Bergen-op-Zoom” for -consistency.</li> - -<li>p. 145: I will give you the details of my report quickly.—Added a closing quotation -mark after “quickly.”</li> - -<li>p. 157: that overlooked the mass of shiping opposite Ferryden.—Changed “shiping” to -“shipping”.</li> - -<li>p. 175: was grapling with him so that he could not get his arm free—Changed “grapling” -to “grappling”.</li> - -<li>p. 190: The women were ruuning out of their houses too.—Changed “ruuning” to -“running”.</li> - -<li>p. 191: “There’s fechtin!” . . . “Fechtin?” . . . “Ay, there’s -fechtin . . .”—Added an apostrophe after “fechtin” for consistency.</li> - -<li>p. 195: would make him no safer from Lord Balnillno.—Changed “Balnillno” to -“Balnillo”.</li> - -<li>p. 215: The author’s notes defining “kyte” and “kaipit,” originally at the bottom of -the page, have been moved to the end of the chapter in the html-based versions of this -transcription or placed in square brackets next to the word in the text version.</li> - -<li>p. 215: a’ tell ’t Maister Flemington the road to Aberbrothock.—Deleted the space -before the apostrophe in “tell ’t” for consistency.</li> - -<li>p. 215: he tell ’t me.—Deleted the space before the apostrophe in “tell ’t” for -consistency.</li> - -<li>p. 216: A’ tell ’t him wha ’d get him a passage to Leith—Deleted the space before the -apostrophe in “tell ’t” for consistency.</li> - -<li>p. 229: to begin the seaach for Flemington.—Changed “seaach” to “search”.</li> - -<li>p. 231: another smaller appartment could be—Changed “appartment” to “apartment”.</li> - -<li>p. 272: partial cultivation down to the Basin of Montrose—Added a period after -“Montrose”.</li> - -<li>p. 280: He had just began the ascent—Changed “began” to “begun”.</li> - -<li>p. 286: a’ve tell ’t ye afore an’ a’m telling ye again—Deleted the space before the -apostrophe in “tell ’t” for consistency.</li> - -<li>p. 288: on whicht he party had bivouacked—Changed “whicht he” to “which the”.</li> - -<li>p. 291: he gave himt he slip of paper—Changed “himt he” to “him the”.</li> - -<li>p. 297: what a heart there is the poor brute!—Inserted the word “in” between “is” and -“the”.</li> - -<li>p. 311: Callander listened, the lines of his long face set.—Changed “Callander” to -“Callandar” for consistency.</li> - -<li>p. 311: You see, Callander, I have been true to nobody.—Changed “Callander” to -“Callandar” for consistency.</li> - -<li>p. 325: the Duke of Cumberlaid is still in Edinburgh.—Changed “Cumberlaid” to -“Cumberland”.</li> - -<li>p. 327: he could see the dirty roofs of the Cannongate—Changed “Cannongate” to -“Canongate”.</li> - -<li>p. 336: it was to be Calandar’s voice—Changed “Calandar’s” to “Callandar’s”.</li> - -<li>p. 342: but you believed it, and would have helped me?—Changed the question mark at -the end of the sentence to a period.</li> - -<li>p. 347: Callandar spoke coldly, almost with antagonism—Added a period at the end of -the sentence.</li> -</ul> - -<p>Spellings deemed to be variants (e.g., “carring” and “East Nauk”) were retained.</p> -</div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Flemington, by Violet Jacob - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FLEMINGTON *** - -***** This file should be named 55361-h.htm or 55361-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/3/6/55361/ - -Produced by Paul Haxo with special thanks to the New York -Public Library, the HathiTrust Digital Library, and Google. - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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