I PART FROM MARJORY
"I've travelled far and seen many things, but, Gad, I never saw a stranger than this. My niece is driven out of house and home by an overbold lover, and you, Master Burnet, come here and bid me take over the keeping of this firebrand, which, it seems, is so obnoxious to His Majesty's lieges."
So spake the old laird of Smitwood, smiling. He was a man of full eighty years of age, but still erect with a kind of soldierly bearing. He was thin and tall, and primly dressed in the fashion of an elder day. The frosty winter of age had come upon him, but in his ruddy cheek and clean-cut face one could see the signs of a hale and vigorous decline. He had greeted us most hospitably, and seemed hugely glad to see Marjory again, whom he had not set eyes on for many a day. We had fallen to supper with keen appetite, for the air of the moors stirs up the sharpest hunger; and now that we had finished we sat around the hall-fire enjoying our few remaining hours of company together. For myself I relished the good fare and the warmth, for Heaven knew when either would be mine again. The high oak-roofed chamber, hung with portraits of Veitches many, was ruddy with fire-light. Especially the picture in front of the chimney by Vandyke, of that Michael Veitch who died at Philiphaugh, was extraordinarily clear and lifelike. Master Veitch looked often toward it; then he took snuff with a great air of deliberation, and spoke in his high, kindly old voice.
"My brother seems well to-night, Marjory. I have not seen him look so cheerful for years." (He had acquired during his solitary life the habit of talking to the picture as if it were some living thing.) "I can never forgive the Fleming for making Michael hold his blade in so awkward a fashion. Faith, he would have been little the swordsman he was, if he had ever handled sword like that. I can well remember when I was with him at Etzburg, how he engaged in a corner two Hollanders and a Swiss guard, and beat them back till I came up with him and took one off his hands."
"I have heard of that exploit," said I. "You must know that I have just come from the Low Countries, where the names of both of you are still often on men's lips."
The old man seemed well pleased.
"Ah," he said, "so you have come from abroad. In what place did you bide, may I enquire?"
"In the town of Leyden," said I, "for my aim was no more than to acquire learning at the college there. But I foregathered with many excellent Scots gentlemen from whom I heard the talk of the camp and the state."
"Say you so? Then what do you here? Did you return on the single errand of protecting my fair niece? But stay! I am an old man who cares not much for the chatter of the country, but I have heardor am I wrong?that you were not of the true party, but leaned to the Whigs?"
"Nay," I cried, "I beseech you not to believe it. God knows I am a king's man out and out, and would see all whigamores in perdition before I would join with them. But fate has brought me into a strange mixture of misfortunes. I land at Leith, expecting nothing save a peaceful homecoming, and lo! I find my cousin waiting with a warrant for my arrest. I am accused of something I am wholly innocent of, but I cannot prove it; nay, there is evidence against me, and my enemies in the Council are all-powerful. Moreover, if I suffer myself to be taken, Marjory is at the mercy of my foes. I take the only course; give the dragoons the slip, and ride straight to Tweeddale, escort her to a house where she will be safe and unknown; and when this is done take to the hills myself with a light heart. They are too ill-set against me for my setting any hope in going to Edinburgh and pleading my case. Was there any other way?"
"None," said Master Veitch, "but it is a hard case for yourself. Not the hiding among the moors; this is a noble trade for any young man of spirit. But the consorting with the vile fanatics of these deserts must go sore against your heart."
Now I, who had just come from the folk of the Cor Water, had no such dread of the hillmen, but I forebore to say it. For Master Veitch had been brought up in one school, those men in another. Both were blind to the other's excellencies; both were leal-hearted men in their own ways. It is a strange providence that has so ordered it that the best men in the world must ever remain apart through misunderstanding.
"But to come to my errand," said I. "I have brought you your niece for protection. You are a king's man, a soldier, and well known in the countryside. It is more than unlikely that any troops will come nigh you. Nor is it possible that the maid can be traced hither. I ask that you suffer her to abide in the house, while I take myself off that there be the less danger. And O, I beseech you, do not refuse me. She is your own flesh and blood. You cannot deny her shelter."
The old man's face darkened. "You take me for a strange kinsman, Master Burnet," he said, "if you think I would refuse my best aid to a kinswoman in distress. Do you think that you are the sole protector of my house?"
I bowed before his deserved rebuke.
"But for certain. Marjory may abide here as long as she will," he added cheerfully. "We will do our best to entertain her, though I am too old to remember well the likings of girls. And if anyone comes seeking her on errand of no good, by God, he will learn that William Veitch has not lost the use of his arm.
"May I ask," said I, "that my servant be allowed to stay? He knows the hills as scarce any other living man, he is faithful, and clever as you would hardly believe were I to tell you. With him in the house I should have no fear for its safety."
"So be it," said the old man; "I will not deny that my servants are not so numerous nor so active that another would not be something of an improvement. Has he any skill in cooking?" This he asked in a shamefaced tone, for old as he was he had not lost his relish for good fare.
"I will ask him," said I, and I called Nicol from the servants' quarters.
"Your master gives me a good account of you," said the cracked voice of the laird of Smitwood, "and I would fain hope it true. I wished to interrogate you aboutah, your powersah, of cooking pleasing dishes," and he waved his hand deprecatingly.
"Oh, your honour, I am ready for a' thing," said Nicol. "Sheep's heid, singit to a thocht, cockyleeky and a' kind o' soup, mutton in half a dozen different ways, no to speak o' sic trifles as confections. I can cook ye the flesh o' the red deer and the troots frae the burn, forbye haggis and brose, partan pies and rizzard haddies, crappit-heids and scate-rumpies, nowt's feet, kebbucks, scadlips, and skink. Then I can wark wi' custocks and carlings, rifarts, and syboes, farles, fadges, and bannocks, drammock, brochan, and powsowdie."
"That will do, you may go," said the old man, rubbing his hands with glee. "By my word, a genuine Scots gastronome, skilled in the ancient dishes of the land. I anticipate a pleasing time while he bides here."
It was long ere the worthy gentleman could get over his delight in the project of my servant's presence. Even after he had gone he sat and chuckled to himself, for he was known among his friends to have a fine taste for dainties. Meantime, the light was dying out of doors, and more logs were laid on the fire, till it crackled and leaped like a live thing. I have ever loved the light of a wood-fire, for there is no more heartsome thing on earth than its cheerful crackle when one comes in from shooting on the hills in the darkening of a winter's day. Now I revelled in the comfort of it, since on the morrow I would have no other cheer than a flaming sunset.
So we sat around the hearth and talked of many things till the evening was late. The old man fell to the memories of former folk, and told us tales of our forbears as would have made them turn in their graves could they have heard them. Of my house he had scarce a good word to speak, averring that they were all 'scape-the-gallows every one, but gallant fellows in their way. "There was never a Burnet," he cried, "who would scruple to stick a man who doubted his word, or who would not ride a hundred miles to aid a friend. There were no lads like the Burnets in all the countryside for dicing and feasting and riding breakneck on the devil's errand. But, Gad, if they were stubborn as bulls when they were down themselves, they were as tender as women to folk in trouble."
"There's one of their name like to be in trouble for many days to come," said I.
"Meaning yourself? Well, it will do you no ill. There's naught better for a young man than to find out how little the world cares whether he be dead or alive. And, above all, you that pretend to be a scholar, it will ding some of the fine-spun fancies out of your head. But for the Lord's sake, laddie, dinna get a bullet in your skull or you'll have me with all my years taking the field to pay back them that did it." He spoke this so kindly that I was moved to forget the first half of his words through the excellency of the second. In truth I much needed the rough lessons of hardship and penury, for at that time I was much puffed up in a self-conceit and a certain pride of letters as foolish as it was baseless.
"I must be off in the morning before the dawning, for I have to be on the hills ere the soldiers get abroad. I must beg of you not to disturb yourself, Master Veitch, for my sake, but just to bid them make ready for me some provisions; and I will slip off ere the household be awake. It is better to say farewell now than to have many sad leave-takings at the moment of departure. I have no fear of my journey, for my legs are as good as any man's and I can make my hands keep my head. Also, my mind is easy since I know that Marjory is safe here."
"Then I will even bid you good-bye, John," said he, "for I am an old man and keep early hours. If you will follow me I will take you to your chamber. Alison will take you to the old room, Marjory, where you have not been since you were a little lass scarce up to my knee." And with obvious intent he walked out.
"God keep you, John," my dear lass whispered on my shoulder. "I will never cease to think of you. Ana oh, be not long in coming back."
And this was the last I saw of my lady for many days.