Маргарет Олифант
Merkland: or, Self Sacrifice
CHAPTER IV
THE festive morning dawned at last, a vigorous, red October day, and all about and around Merkland was bustle and preparation.
“Duncan,” cried Bell the cook, her face looming, already red and full, through a mist; “when was that weary man, Bob Partan, to send up the turbot?”
“Punctual at eleven,” said the laconic Duncan.
“Eh! man, Duncan,” said May, “have ye tried on your new livery yet? – isn’t it grand?”
“Hout, you silly fool,” responded Duncan, “has the like o’ me leisure, think you, to be minding about coats and breeks?”
“Eh!” exclaimed Bell, “what has possessed me! There’s no clove in a’ the house and they need to be in – I kenna how mony things. You maun off to Portoran, Duncan, gallopping; there’s not a minute to be lost.”
“Duncan,” cried Johnnie Halflin, the boy at the Tower, who, with sundry other articles, had been lent for the occasion, “I’ve casten doun a jar o’ the Smoothlie honey, and it’s broken twa o’ the bottles. Man, come afore the leddy sees’t.”
“Duncan,” said Barbara Genty, Mrs. Ross’s own especial attendant. “You are to go up to the parlor, this minute. You were sent for half an hour ago.”
“Conscience!” exclaimed the overwhelmed Duncan, “is there two of us, that ye are rugging and riving at a man in that gate? Get out o’ my road, ye young sinner, or there shall be mair things broken than bottles! I’m coming, Bauby. Woman Bell, could ye no hae minded a’thing at once?”
Above stairs, Mr. Lewis’s servant, who had left Merkland a loutish lad, and returned glistening in Parisian polish and refinement, a superfine gentleman, was condescendingly advising with Mrs. Ross, as to the garniture of the dinner-table. Things were so arranged in the Hotel de – , John said; for Monsieur Charles, Mr. Sutherland’s major-domo, had a style of his own. But for the country, John fancied this would do very well. Mrs. Ross had dismissed Anne, an hour before, to her own room, as useless; and half-offended with the airs of her son’s dignified servant, was yet not above hearing the style of the Hotel de – , and in some degree making it her model, certain that Parisian fashion had not penetrated to any other house in the district, and well-pleased to take the lead. For the gay parties at Falcon’s Craig, and the stately festivities at the Tower, had an individuality about them which had always been wanting in Merkland, and Mrs. Ross had resolved to outshine all to-day.
Anne, meanwhile, sat up stairs, busied with her ordinary work. She was the seamstress of the family, and the post was not by any means a sinecure.
The guests began to arrive, at last. Mr. Ambler, of Smoothlie, emerged from his dressing-room, neat as elderly, finical gentleman could be, with his carefully arranged dress, and wig, savoring of olden times. Mr. Ambler had been in India once, and alluded to the fact on all occasions; albeit, an indulged only son, with the snug enough of his lairdship to fall back upon, he had returned in the same vessel which took him out. But though Mr. Ambler was too fond of slippered ease to try his fortune under the burning sun of the East, his voyage supplied him with an inexhaustible fund of conversation, innocently self-complacent, in which India and its wonders had a place all incompatible with his brief experience of them.
Dashing in, full gallop, came the Falconers – the gay, bold brother and sister, fatherless and motherless, and entirely unrestrained in any way, whose wild freaks afforded so much material for gossip to the countryside. Then in a methodical, business-like trot, came in the sleek horses and respectable vehicle of Mr. Coulter, of Harrows; the Manse gig; the stately carriage of Mrs. Catherine, and other conveyances, whose occupants we need not specify by name. The room was filled. Alice Aytoun had never in her life been at so great a party.
She could distinguish on yonder sofa, in the corner, Mrs. Bairnsfather’s black satin gown, side by side with the strong thrifty hued silk of Mrs. Coulter, of Harrows. The Misses Coulter, in their Edinburgh robes, were near their mamma. They were very well-looking, well-dressed girls; but Alice’s own silk gown bore a comparison with theirs, and their ornaments were nothing like those delicate pearls. The discovery emboldened little Alice Aytoun, and took away her sole existing heaviness. She was fully prepared to enjoy herself.
The stately dinner, and all its solemnities, were over at last. The real pleasure of the evening was commencing; the company forming into gay knots; and Lewis doing the honors, with so rare a grace, that his mother almost forgot her own duties in admiration of her son. Alice Aytoun admired him, too. The pretty little stranger had become a sort of centre already, with the gayest and most attractive of all those varied groups, about her – and Lewis let no opportunity pass of offering his homage. Even on Mrs. Catherine’s strong features, as she sat near her charge, there hovered a mirthful smile. Mrs. Catherine herself was not displeased that the debut of her little stranger should be so much a triumph.
“A pretty girl – there is no doubt of that,” said the good-humored Mrs. Coulter. “James, do you not think she is like our Ada? See, the heads of the two are together, and Jeanie is behind them, with young Walter Foreman. I declare that lad is constantly hovering about Jeanie. Ah, Mrs. Bairnsfather, we have many cares who have a family!”
“No doubt,” said the little, fat, round-about Mrs. Bairnsfather, the childless minister’s wife, whose cares, diverted from the usual channel of children-loving, expended themselves upon the many comforts of herself, and her easy, comfortable husband. “You must be troubled in various ways now that the young people have got to man’s estate, and woman’s. But what were you calling Miss Adamina, Mrs. Coulter? I noticed a change in the name.”
Mrs. Coulter looked slightly confused.
“You see, Mrs. Bairnsfather, it is a cumbrous name – four syllables – and we must have some contraction. When they were all bairns, they used to call her Edie, poor thing; but that would not do now; and at school she got Ada, and it really is a prettier name, and quite a good diminutive: so we just adopted it.”
“Dear me! is that it?” said Mrs. Bairnsfather. “When I got the last note from Harrows I saw it was ‘A. M. Coulter.’ And that’s it!”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Coulter. “Ada Mina – they are two very pretty names.”
Mrs. Bairnsfather coughed a short sarcastic cough of wonder, and Mrs. Coulter continued:
“Oh! there is John beside little Miss Aytoun. Is he not like his father, Mrs. Bairnsfather? James, did you not say that Miss Aytoun was a relative of Mrs. Catherine’s?”
“Ay, my dear,” said Mr. Coulter. “Mrs. Catherine told us so herself – you recollect? or was it to me she said it? So it was – when she was looking at yon new patent plough of John’s.”
“I wonder,” said Mrs. Bairnsfather, “who is likely to get the Tower? In the course of nature, it cannot be very long in Mrs. Catherine’s hands, and it’s a good estate.”
“Wonderfully improved in my time,” said Mr. Coulter. “Mrs. Catherine is not without a notion of the science of agriculture, which, to the shame of landed proprietors, is generally so much neglected. The low lands at Oran Point were but moor and heather in my memory, but they grow as fine barley now as any in the country.”
“Well, I suppose no one can say that Mrs. Catherine neglects her carnal interests,” said Mrs. Bairnsfather, with a professional sigh. Her husband was known among his shrewd parishioners to be greatly more observant of temporal than spiritual matters, and his wife, conscious of a failing in that respect, was wont to assume at times a technical solemnity.
“I believe Mrs. Catherine is a very excellent woman in every respect,” said the good-humored and uncensorious Mrs. Coulter, “and cares as little about money, for money’s sake, as any one can possibly do; but she thinks it a duty to use well and improve what Providence has given her, as you do yourself, James, though, to be sure, we have more motive, with a young family rising round us.”
“I was very much struck yesterday,” said Mr. Coulter, “with the contrast between the Tower fields, and the adjoining lands within the bounds of Strathoran. There is a place where the three estates meet – Mrs. Catherine’s, Mr. Sutherland’s and mine. You recollect the little burn, my dear, which that silly maid of yours fell into last Hallow-e’en? well, it is there. Mrs. Catherine’s stubble-fields stretch to the very burnside – mine are turnips – uncommonly fine Swedes; but, on the other side, spreading away as far as you can see, is the brown moor of Strathoran, miles of good land wastefully lost, besides breeding by the thousand these small cattle of game, to destroy our corn.”
“Ay,” said Mrs. Bairnsfather, mysteriously, “I hear the Sutherlands are not in the best way.”
“Poor things! they are young to be out in the world alone,” said Mrs. Coulter; “and Isabel was a wilful girl at all times. I gathered from what Lewis Ross said, that they were living very gaily; but perhaps you have heard more?”
Mrs. Bairnsfather shook her head.
“It is a melancholy thing to think of the downfall of an old family!”
“Hout! Mrs. Bairnsfather,” said Mr. Coulter; “you are taking it too seriously. Strathoran can stand a good deal. It will take more than one lad’s extravagance to bring down the family, I trust; and young Sutherland used to have good sense and discretion. I spoke to him of draining Loelyin before he went away, and he really had very just ideas on the subject. No, no; let us hope there will be no ruin in the case.”
Mrs. Bairnsfather shook her head again.
“I have no objection to hope the best, Mr. Coulter; but it is no uncommon thing to be disappointed in hopes; and, if what I hear be true, there is more room for fear.”
“What’s this,” said Mr. Ambler, approaching the little group, as he made a leisurely, chatting, circuit round the room – ”hoping and fearing, Mrs. Bairnsfather? Is it about these happy-looking young people of ours, and the future matches that may spring from their pairings – eh, Mrs. Coulter?”
Mrs. Coulter smiled, and glanced over to where Walter Foreman lingered by her Jeanie’s side. They were a handsome couple, and Walter had a nice little improvable property, inherited from his mother. There was no saying what might come to pass.
“No, Mr. Ambler,” said Mrs. Bairnsfather, “we were speaking of poor young Strathoran;” and, from the depths of her fat bosom there came a mysteriously pathetic sigh.
“Strathoran! what’s happened to the lad?” exclaimed Mr. Ambler. “Lewis Ross left him well and merry – no accident I hope; but Lewis has not been a week at home yet: there is little time for any change in his fortunes.”
“Ah, Mr. Ambler,” said Mrs. Bairnsfather, “it is not aye well to be merry. I have heard from those who know, that young Mr. Sutherland’s gay life is putting his lands in jeopardy; they say he’ll spend a whole year’s income sometimes in a single night, poor ill-advised lad! I happened to mention it to Mrs. Catherine, but she turned about upon me, as if I was to be any better of Strathoran’s downfall, which I am sure I never meant, nor anything like it.”
“Bless me!” said Mr. Ambler, “I am concerned to hear that – I am grieved, do you know, to hear that. Is it possible? Why, I always thought Archie Sutherland was a wise lad – a discreet lad of his years.”
Mrs. Bairnsfather shook her head.
“Archibald Sutherland ruined!” continued Mr. Ambler, “no, it’s surely not possible – it must have been an ill-wisher that said that. Why, Strathoran is as big as Falcon’s Craig and Smoothlie put together – ay, and even ye might slip in a good slice off Merkland. Ruined! it’s not possible. When I came home from India I heard of old Strathoran saying – I do not recollect the amount, I always had a bad memory for figures – but a great sum every year. It must be a false alarm, Mrs. Bairnsfather.”
“Very well, gentlemen,” said Mrs. Bairnsfather, “it’s no concern of mine; but a little time will show that I am correct.”
“Bless me!” repeated Mr. Ambler, “then the lad must go to India, that is clear – he may do great things in India. You see when I was there myself, there was the best opening for a lad of talent that could possibly be; but I had a yearning for home. I was always uncommonly fond of home, and so I am only a country Laird, when I might have been a Nabob. But if he were once in India I would have no fear for him – he would soon get up again.”
“India, Mr. Ambler!” exclaimed Mr. Coulter, “no doubt there are fortunes to be made in India; but I fancy it’s a shame to us to send our sons away to seek gold, when it is lying in our very fields for the digging – agriculture – ”
“What’s that you’re saying, Mr. Coulter?” exclaimed the Laird of Smoothlie. “Gold! where is’t man? we’ll all take a hand at that work, if it were but for poor auld Scotland’s sake, who has ever been said to have but a scanty providing of the precious metal.”
“There are harvests lying in the cold breast of the great Strathoran moor,” said the agriculturist, energetically, “of more import to man, Mr. Ambler, than if its sands were gold. If what we hear of Archibald Sutherland is true, he may never be able to do it now; but a sensible man, with sufficient capital, might double the rent-roll of Strathoran.”
Mr. Ambler looked slightly contemptuous.
“Well, well, Mr. Coulter, I’ll not gainsay you; but to tell the truth, I’ve no notion of making young lads of family and breeding amateur ploughmen – I beg your pardon, Mr. Coulter, I mean no affront to you – you look upon it as a science, I know, and doubtless so it is; but – you see if Archie Sutherland could fall in with such an opening, as was waiting ready for me when I went to India, he might be home again, a wealthy man, before your harvests were grown.”
“James,” interposed Mrs. Coulter, “you are not looking at our young people – how happy they all seem, poor things. I do not think you have seen my Ada, Mr. Ambler, since she returned from Edinburgh.”
Mr. Ambler adjusted his spectacles, with a smile. “No, I dare say not. Is that her with Lewis Ross? No, that’s Mrs. Catherine’s little friend. Ay, ay, I see her – like what her mother used to be, in my remembrance. Mrs. Coulter, you must have great pleasure in your fine family.”
Mrs. Coulter smiled, well pleased.
“Do you know, Mr. Ambler,” said Mrs. Bairnsfather, “who that Miss Aytoun is?”
“Who she is? No, indeed, except a very bonnie little girlie. She is that, without dispute; but Mr. Foreman will know. Mr. Foreman, can you tell Mrs. Bairnsfather who that young lady is, at Lewis Ross’s hand?”
“Miss Aytoun, ma’am, a relative of Mrs. Catherine’s,” said the lawyer.
“We know that,” said Mr. Ambler. “Is that all her history? Aytoun – Aytoun – I have surely some associations with that name myself.”
“Very likely,” said Mr. Foreman, dryly. “She comes from the south country; her mother lives in Edinburgh, I believe, and is of a good family. I do not know anything further of the young lady, Mrs. Bairnsfather; that is, nothing at all interesting.”
“Which means,” said Mrs. Coulter aside to her husband, as their little group increased, and the conversation became more general, “that Mr. Foreman knows something very interesting about that pretty little girl. Mrs. Catherine is a client of his. Perhaps he thinks of Miss Aytoun for Walter. James, will you call Jeanie to me?”
And so, in quiet talk, in that bright drawing-room, these ladies and gentlemen – all possessing their average share of kindliness – had decided upon the ruin of Archibald Sutherland, who sat this same night in yonder brilliant Parisian saloon, with the fatal dice trembling in his hand, in all the wild, delirious gaiety of a desperate man; and in their flood of easy conversation, had touched upon another centre of crime and misery, darker and more fatal still, the facts of which lingered in the lawyer-like memory of Walter Foreman’s father, and even attached some dim associations, in Mr. Ambler’s mind, to Alice Aytoun’s name. Strange domestic volcano, over which these slippered feet passed so heedlessly! How often, in quiet houses, and among quiet people, are mighty sins and mighty miseries passed by as lightly!
CHAPTER V
SLEEPY, weary, and uncomfortable, the household of Merkland reluctantly bestirred itself next morning. Mrs. Ross rose ill-humored from very weariness. Duncan, and May, and Barbara, were all more than ordinarily stupid; and Mr. Ambler, of Smoothlie, with all his neatness and finicality, was still in the house. The imperturbable Mr. Ambler was first in the breakfast-parlor, joking Anne on her pale cheeks, and Lewis on his last night’s conquests – fully prepared to do justice to the edibles of the breakfast-table, and not, in any degree, inclined to forgive the sleepiness which had mangled these delicate Oran trout, and sent up the eggs hard-boiled; for Mr. Ambler, by right of his comfort-loving old bachelorship, was excused everywhere for discussing matters of the table more minutely than ordinary strangers were privileged to do, and had besides, as Lewis Ross’s guardian, a familiar standing at Merkland.
“Bless me, Madam,” said Mr. Ambler, “your cook must have been up all the hours of the night. Sleepy huzzies! Why, I myself was not in bed till two o’clock, and here I am, as fresh as ever I was. And just look at this trout – as beautiful a beast as was ever caught in water – broken clean in two! It’s quite shocking!”
“Are there never any such incidents in Smoothlie, Mr. Ambler?” asked Mrs. Ross, somewhat sharply.
“Accidents, Madam! Do you call that an accident – the massacreing of a delicate animal like a trout? No, I send Forsyth to the kitchen every morning to superintend; and Forsyth, by long practice, has arrived at perfiteness, as the old proverb says. – Better try a bit of one though, Lewis, mangled though they be, than hurt your stomach with these eggs; they’re indigestible, man – like lead. Send me your plate; here is not a bad bit.”
“There is a kipper beside you, more carefully cooked, Mr. Ambler,” said Anne, smiling.
“Thank you, Anne, my dear; but I never take kippered trout when I can get fresh, fit for the eating. Lewis, man, what makes you yawn so much? It’s very ill-bred.”
Lewis laughed. Mrs. Ross looked displeased. “Poor boy, he is fatigued. No wonder, after all his exertions yesterday.”
“Fatigued! Nonsense. What should fatigue him?” said Mr. Ambler. “Take my word for it, Mrs. Ross, it’s just an idle habit, and not genuine weariness. A young man, like Lewis, fatigued with enjoying himself! – on his one-and-twentieth birthday, too! Who ever heard the like? When I was in India (which is neither the day nor yesterday) I have seen me up till far on in the night, and yet astir and travelling a couple of hours before sunrise. – What would you say to that, Lewis? No; so far as I can see, our young generation are more likely to be spoiled by indolence than overwork.”
“Indolence! that’s quite too bad, Mr. Ambler,” said Lewis. – ”Bear me witness, Anne, how I have been running about since I arrived at Merkland. I don’t think I have had a couple of hours to myself since I came home.”
“Lewis,” said Mr. Ambler, “what was yon I heard last night of Archie Sutherland? That little round body, Mrs. Bairnsfather, was enlightening us all as to Strathoran’s affairs. She says the lad is ruined.”
Lewis shrugged his shoulders.
“I can’t say, Mr. Ambler. I am not so deeply read in economics as the good lady. Archie’s an extravagant fellow: but – oh! if I say any more, I shall have Anne upon me. Never mind, he’s a fine fellow, Archie.”
“Anne?” said Mr. Ambler, inquisitively. “Ay, what is Anne’s special interest in Archie Sutherland? Well, I will ask no questions.”
“My special interest in Archie Sutherland, is a figment of my brother’s lively imagination, Mr. Ambler,” said Anne, quietly, “produced by what inspiration I do not know; but repeated, I suppose, because it annoys me.”
“Well, you can pay him back in his own coin,” said the old gentleman. “Oh, you need not look innocent, Lewis. Do you think nobody noticed you last night hanging about that pretty little girl of Mrs. Catherine’s? Bless me! Anne, my dear, what is the matter?”
Anne had turned very pale, and felt a deadly sickness at her heart, as she saw the color rising over Lewis’s cheek, and the conscious smile of pleasure and embarrassment hovering about his lip. But Mrs. Ross spoke before she could render any reason for her change of countenance.
“Miss Aytoun, indeed! Upon my word, Mr. Ambler, your ward is indebted to you – after all the pains that have been bestowed upon him, and all the advantages he has had, to think he could be attracted by yon little animated doll. Nonsense! Lewis will look higher, I confidently hope.”
“Upon my word, you dispose of me very summarily,” said Lewis, half laughing, half angry. “Mr. Ambler, will you put my mother in remembrance of those cabalistic forms of yesterday, which made me master of my own person and possessions. I suppose I may be very thankful, though, that you did not make me over to Miss Falconer – eh, Mr. Ambler?”
“Miss Falconer would not take you, Lewis,” said Mr. Ambler, coolly. “I will trouble you for the toast, Anne, and – yes, I will take the marmalade, too – do not alarm yourself, Lewis, you are in no danger from Miss Falconer.”
Lewis looked piqued. It was more agreeable to feel himself a prize, than to be told so very coolly that he was in no danger from Miss Falconer, and the pleasant flattery of those blue eyes of Alice Aytoun’s, which had looked up to him so gladly last night, returned upon him in consolatory fascination. His mother’s interference, too, excited a spirit of opposition and perversity, which stimulated the remembrance; and when Mr. Ambler had happily ridden away, Lewis beguiled Anne into going out with him, and, before long, their walk terminated at the door of the Tower, whither Alice Aytoun had seen them approaching, from her high window, and glided softly into the drawing-room, with her gay heart fluttering, that she might at once meet and welcome Miss Ross.
“Anne,” said Mrs. Catherine, “Alison Aytoun has a petition to make to you. She wants you to protect her when she goes to Falcon’s Craig. I, myself, as you know, am not given to visiting; besides that, at this time, I am taken up with graver matters. I would like you to take the bairn there to-morrow.”
“Oh, if you please, Miss Ross,” pleaded Alice.
“For the Tower is dreary enough for a young thing,” continued Mrs. Catherine, “At all seasons. Lewis, they are always quickening the speed of travel: how soon could a letter be answered from Paris?”
“Oh, in a week or two,” said Lewis, carelessly. “A fortnight, I dare say. But no one ever accused me of punctuality, Mrs. Catherine, so I cannot say exactly.”
“The more shame to you,” said Mrs. Catherine. “A silly youth bragging of a short-coming! Truly, Anne, I count it an affliction that folk must bear with the lads through their fool-estate, before ye can find an inkling of sense in any man. Alison, has Miss Ross consented to take charge of you? and will you go, Anne?”
“I shall be very glad,” said Anne, as Alice hung round her. “But is not Marjory related to Miss Aytoun?”
“It’s past counting, that kindred,” said Mrs. Catherine; “we could reckon it in my generation, that is with Alison’s grand-mother and the last family of Falconers passing the father of Ralph and Marjory, who was an only son, and died young – a poor peasweep he was, that might never have been born at all, for all the good he did! – and it was only a third or fourth cousinship then. I want the bairn to go to Falcon’s Craig, more for a diversion to her, than any other thing: and doubtless we must have festivities of our own, also. I will borrow your French serving-man from you, Lewis, to teach us a right manner of rejoicing.”
“You shall have him, with all my heart,” said Lewis, with some offended dignity; “only, I fear John would not take his orders from Mrs. Morison. He is too sensitive.”
“Set him up!” exclaimed Mrs. Catherine. “Sensitive, truly! Then you must e’en keep him and humor him yourself, Lewis. I am plaguit enough in my own household. There is Euphan Morison waylaying me with herbs. I caught her my ownself, this very morning, wileing the bairn Alison into poisoning herself with a drink made from dockens: the odor of them has not left me yet.”
“It was only camomile,” whispered Alice.
“Never you heed what it was,” said Mrs. Catherine. “Unwholesome trash that she calls good for the stomach, as if a bairn like Alison had any call to know whither she had a stomach or no! I have no patience with them. Jacky, you evil spirit, what are ye wanting now?”
“If you please,” said Jacky, “It’s Mr. Foreman – ”
Mrs. Catherine started.
“Where is he?”
“And a strange man with him, dressed like a gentleman,” continued Jacky. “They’re in the library, Mrs. Catherine.”
Mrs. Catherine rose hurriedly.
“Bairns, you will tarry till I come back. I am not like to be long.”
Mr. Foreman, the acute, and sagacious writer of Portoran, was seated in the library when Mrs. Catherine entered, and a man of equivocal appearance, bearded like the pard, who had been swaggering round the room, examining, with an eye of assumed connoisseurship, the dark family portraits on the wall, turned round at the sound of her step to make an elaborate bow. Mrs. Catherine looked at him impatiently.
“Well, Mr. Foreman, have you brought me any tidings?”
“I have brought you no direct tidings, Mrs. Catherine, but this,” – Mr. Foreman looked dubiously at the stranger – ”this gentleman, whom I met accidentally in Portoran, is charged with a mission, the particulars of which I thought you would like to know, being deeply interested in Mr. Sutherland.”
“Maiden aunt,” murmured the stranger. “Ah! I see.”
“You seem to have clear eyes, Sir,” said Mrs. Catherine, sternly. “Mr. Sutherland will be a friend of yours, doubtless?”
“Ah! a fine young fellow – most promising lad!” was the answer. “Might be a credit to any family. I have the honor of a slight acquaintance. Nothing could be more edifying than his walk and conversation, I assure you, Madam.”
“I will thank you to assure me of what I ask, and trouble your head about no more,” said Mrs. Catherine. “Are the like of you acquaint – I am meaning, is Archibald Sutherland a friend of yours?”
“Very intimate. My friend Lord Gillravidge and he are. Astonishing young man, Madam, my friend Lord Gillravidge – missed church once last year, and was quite overcome with contrition – so much comforted by Mr. Sutherland’s Christian friendship and fraternity – quite delighted to be a spectator of it, I assure you.”
“I was asking you about Archibald Sutherland, Sir,” said Mrs. Catherine, standing stiffly erect, as the stranger threw himself into a chair unbidden, “and in what manner the like of you were connected with him. I am waiting for your answer.”
“A long story, Madame,” said the stranger, coolly, “of friendly interest and mutual good offices. I have seen Mr. Sutherland often with my friend Lord G., and was anxious to do him a service – my time being always at my friend’s disposal.”
“Mr. Foreman,” exclaimed Mrs. Catherine, “know you the meaning of all this? You are a lawyer, man; see if you cannot shape questions so as they shall be answered.”
“Your friend Lord Gillravidge is intimately acquainted with Mr. Sutherland?” interrogated Mr. Foreman.
“Precisely – delightful; dwelling together in unity, like – ”
“And Mr. Sutherland is in embarrassed circumstances?” continued Mr. Foreman, impelled by an impatient gesture from Mrs. Catherine.
The stranger turned round with a contraction of his forehead and gave a significant nod.
“A most benevolent young man – kind-hearted people are always being tricked by impostors, and made security for friends – merely temporary – does him infinite credit, I assure you, Madam.”
“Assure me no lies!” exclaimed Mrs. Catherine. “What have you to do – a paltry trickster as you are – with the lad Archie Sutherland: answer me that?”
“Madam!” exclaimed the stranger, rising indignantly, and assuming an attitude.
“The lady is aware of Mr. Sutherland’s embarrassments,” interposed Mr. Foreman, “and is putting no inquiries touching the cause. Your friend, Lord Gillravidge, Mr. – ”
“Fitzherbert, Sir,” said the stranger.
“Mr. Fitzherbert has served Mr. Sutherland in a pecuniary way?”
Mr. Fitzherbert bowed.
“And you are charged with a mission of a peculiar kind to Strathoran. Might I beg you to explain its nature to Mrs. Catherine Douglas, a lady who is deeply interested in your friend’s friend, Mr. Sutherland.”
The stranger looked perplexed, gracefully confused, and hung back, as if in embarrassment and diffidence.
“The fact is, Madam, I am placed in quite a peculiar position – a mission strictly confidential, intrusted to me – friendly inquiries – which I have no authority to divulge. I beg I may not be questioned further.”
“Mr. Fitzherbert, fortunately, was less delicate with me, Mrs. Catherine,” said Mr. Foreman. “Mr. Sutherland, Madam, is in treaty for the sale of Strathoran – for some portion of the estate, at least, and this gentleman is commissioned to report upon it, as he tells me, before the bargain is completed.”
“Not fair – against all principles of honor,” exclaimed Mr. Fitzherbert. “A mis-statement, Madam, I assure you; merely some shooting-grounds. Mr. Sutherland is no sportsman himself, and my friend, Lord Gillravidge, is a keen one. Amicable exchange – nothing more.”
Mrs. Catherine stood firmly erect; gazing into the blank air. The shock was great to her; for some moments she neither moved nor spoke.
“I appeal to yourself, Madam,” resumed the stranger. “I investigate farms and fields. I, fresh from the most refined circles: do I look like a person to report upon clods and cattle?”
The voice startled Mrs. Catherine from her fixed gravity.
“I will come to you by-and-by, Mr. Foreman,” she said. “Gather the story as clear as may be – at present, I cannot be troubled with strangers.”
