by Bret Harte
A ROSE OF GLENBOGIE.
The American consul at St. Kentigern stepped gloomily from the train atWhistlecrankie station. For the last twenty minutes his spirits had beenslowly sinking before the drifting procession past the carriage windowsof dull gray and brown hills--mammiform in shape, but so cold andsterile in expression that the swathes of yellow mist which lay intheir hollows, like soiled guipure, seemed a gratuitous affectation ofmodesty. And when the train moved away, mingling its escaping steamwith the slower mists of the mountain, he found himself alone on theplatform--the only passenger and apparently the sole occupant of thestation. He was gazing disconsolately at his trunk, which had taken uponitself a human loneliness in the emptiness of the place, when a railwayporter stepped out of the solitary signal-box, where he had evidentlybeen performing a double function, and lounged with exasperatingdeliberation towards him. He was a hard-featured man, with a thin fringeof yellow-gray whiskers that met under his chin like dirty strings totie his cap on with.
"Ye'll be goin' to Glenbogie House, I'm thinkin'?" he said moodily.
The consul said that he was.
"I kenned it. Ye'll no be gettin' any machine to tak' ye there. They'llbe sending a carriage for ye--if ye're EXPECTED." He glanced halfdoubtfully at the consul as if he was not quite so sure of it.
But the consul believed he WAS expected, and felt relieved at thecertain prospect of a conveyance. The porter meanwhile surveyed himmoodily.
"Ye'll be seein' Mistress MacSpadden there!"
The consul was surprised into a little over-consciousness. Mrs.MacSpadden was a vivacious acquaintance at St. Kentigern, whom hecertainly--and not without some satisfaction--expected to meet atGlenbogie House. He raised his eyes inquiringly to the porter's.
"Ye'll no be rememberin' me. I had a machine in St. Kentigern and droveye to MacSpadden's ferry often. Far, far too often! She's a strangeflagrantitious creature; her husband's but a puir fule, I'm thinkin',and ye did yersel' nae guid gaunin' there."
It was a besetting weakness of the consul's that his sense of theludicrous was too often reached before his more serious perceptions. Theabsurd combination of the bleak, inhospitable desolation before him, andthe sepulchral complacency of his self-elected monitor, quite upset hisgravity.
"Ay, ye'll be laughin' THE NOO," returned the porter with gloomysignificance.
The consul wiped his eyes. "Still," he said demurely, "I trust you won'tobject to my giving you sixpence to carry my box to the carriage whenit comes, and let the morality of this transaction devolve entirelyupon me. Unless," he continued, even more gravely, as a spick and spanbrougham, drawn by two thoroughbreds, dashed out of the mist up tothe platform, "unless you prefer to state the case to those twogentlemen"--pointing to the smart coachman and footman on the box--"andtake THEIR opinion as to the propriety of my proceeding any further.It seems to me that their consciences ought to be consulted as wellas yours. I'm only a stranger here, and am willing to do anything toconform to the local custom."
"It's a saxpence ye'll be payin' anyway," said the porter, grimlyshouldering the trunk, "but I'll be no takin' any other mon's opinion onmatters of my am dooty and conscience."
"Ah," said the consul gravely, "then you'll perhaps be allowing ME thesame privilege."
The porter's face relaxed, and a gleam of approval--purely intellectual,however,--came into his eyes.
"Ye were always a smooth deevel wi' your tongue, Mr. Consul," he said,shouldering the box and walking off to the carriage.
Nevertheless, as soon as he was fairly seated and rattling away from thestation, the consul had a flashing conviction that he had not onlybeen grievously insulted but also that he had allowed the wife of anacquaintance to be spoken of disrespectfully in his presence. And he haddone nothing! Yes--it was like him!--he had LAUGHED at the absurdity ofthe impertinence without resenting it! Another man would have slappedthe porter's face! For an instant he hung out of the carriage window,intent upon ordering the coachman to drive back to the station, but thereflection--again a ludicrous one--that he would now be only bringingwitnesses to a scene which might provoke a scandal more invidious to hisacquaintance, checked him in time. But his spirits, momentarily divertedby the porter's effrontery, sunk to a lower ebb than before.
The clattering of his horses' hoofs echoed back from the rocky wallsthat occasionally hemmed in the road was not enlivening, but was lessdepressing than the recurring monotony of the open. The scenery did notsuggest wildness to his alien eyes so much as it affected him with avague sense of scorbutic impoverishment. It was not the loneliness ofunfrequented nature, for there was a well-kept carriage road traversingits dreariness; and even when the hillside was clothed with scantyverdure, there were "outcrops" of smooth glistening weather-worn rocksshowing like bare brown knees under the all too imperfectly kiltedslopes. And at a little distance, lifting above a black drift of firs,were the square rigid sky lines of Glenbogie House, standing starklyagainst the cold, lingering northern twilight. As the vehicle turned,and rolled between two square stone gate-posts, the long avenue beforehim, though as well kept as the road, was but a slight improvement uponthe outer sterility, and the dark iron-gray rectangular mansion beyond,guiltless of external decoration, even to the outlines of its smalllustreless windows, opposed the grim inhospitable prospect with anequally grim inhospitable front. There were a few moments more of rapiddriving, a swift swishing over soft gravel, the opening of a heavydoor into a narrow vestibule, and then--a sudden sense of exquisitelydiffused light and warmth from an arched and galleried central hall, thesounds of light laughter and subdued voices half lost in the airy spacebetween the lofty pictured walls; the luxury of color in trophies,armor, and hangings; one or two careless groups before the recessedhearth or at the centre table, and the halted figure of a pretty womanon the broad, slow staircase. The contrast was sharp, ironical, andbewildering.
So much so that the consul, when he had followed the servant to hisroom, was impelled to draw aside the heavy window-curtains and look outagain upon the bleak prospect it had half obliterated. The wing in whichhe was placed overhung a dark ravine or gully choked with shrubs andbrambles that grew in a new luxuriance. As he gazed a large black birdfloated upwards slowly from its depths, circled around the house with afew quick strokes of its wing, and then sped away--a black bolt--in onestraight undeviating line towards the paling north. He still gazed intothe abyss--half expecting another, even fancying he heard the occasionalstir and flutter of obscure life below, and the melancholy call ofnightfowl. A long-forgotten fragment of old English verse began to haunthim--
Hark! the raven flaps hys wing In the briered dell belowe, Hark! the dethe owl loude doth synge To the night maers as thaie goe.
"Now, what put that stuff in my head?" he said as he turned impatientlyfrom the window. "And why does this house, with all its interior luxury,hypocritically oppose such a forbidding front to its neighbors?" Thenit occurred to him that perhaps the architect instinctively felt thata more opulent and elaborate exterior would only bring the poverty ofsurrounding nature into greater relief. But he was not in the habit oftroubling himself with abstruse problems. A nearer recollection of thepretty frock he had seen on the staircase--in whose wearer he hadjust recognized his vivacious friend--turned his thoughts to her. Heremembered how at their first meeting he had been interested in herbright audacity, unconventionality, and high spirits, which did not,however, amuse him as greatly as his later suspicion that she wasplaying a self-elected role, often with difficulty, opposition, andfeverishness, rather than spontaneity. He remembered how he had watchedher in the obtrusive assumption of a new fashion, in some recklessdeparture from an old one, or in some ostentatious disregard of certainhard and set rules of St. Kentigern; but that it never seemed to himthat she was the happier for it. He even fancied that her mirth at suchtimes had an undue nervousness; that her pluck--which was undoubted--hadsomething of the defiance of despair, and that her persistence often hadthe grimness of duty
rather than the thoughtlessness of pure amusement.What was she trying to do?--what was she trying to UNDO or forget? Hermarried life was apparently happy and even congenial. Her young husbandwas clever, complaisant, yet honestly devoted to her, even to theextension of a certain camaraderie to her admirers and a chivalrousprotection by half-participation in her maddest freaks. Nor could hehonestly say that her attitude towards his own sex--although marked by afreedom that often reached the verge of indiscretion--conveyed the leastsuggestion of passion or sentiment. The consul, more perceptive thananalytical, found her a puzzle--who was, perhaps, the least mystifyingto others who were content to sum up her eccentricities under the singlevague epithet, "fast." Most women disliked her: she had a few associatesamong them, but no confidante, and even these were so unlike her,again, as to puzzle him still more. And yet he believed himself strictlyimpartial.
He walked to the window again, and looked down upon the ravine fromwhich the darkness now seemed to be slowly welling up and obliteratingthe landscape, and then, taking a book from his valise, settled himselfin the easy-chair by the fire. He was in no hurry to join the partybelow, whom he had duly recognized and greeted as he passed through.They or their prototypes were familiar friends. There was the recentlycreated baronet, whose "bloody hand" had apparently wiped out thestains of his earlier Radicalism, and whose former provincialself-righteousness had been supplanted by an equally provincialskepticism; there was his wife, who through all the difficulties ofher changed position had kept the stalwart virtues of the Scotchbourgeoisie, and was--"decent"; there were the two native lairds thatreminded him of "parts of speech," one being distinctly alluded to asa definite article, and the other being "of" something, and apparentlygoverned always by that possessive case. There were two or three"workers"--men of power and ability in their several vocations; indeed,there was the general over-proportion of intellect, characteristic ofsuch Scotch gatherings, and often in excess of minor social qualities.There was the usual foreigner, with Latin quickness, eagerness,and misapprehending adaptability. And there was the solitaryEnglishman--perhaps less generously equipped than the others--whomeverybody differed from, ridiculed, and then looked up to and imitated.There were the half-dozen smartly frocked women, who, far from beingthe females of the foregoing species, were quite indistinctive, withthe single exception of an American wife, who was infinitely more Scotchthan her Scotch husband.
Suddenly he became aware of a faint rustling at his door, and whatseemed to be a slight tap on the panel. He rose and opened it--the longpassage was dark and apparently empty, but he fancied he could detectthe quick swish of a skirt in the distance. As he re-entered his room,his eye fell for the first time on a rose whose stalk was thrust throughthe keyhole of his door. The consul smiled at this amiable solution of amystery. It was undoubtedly the playful mischievousness of the vivaciousMacSpadden. He placed it in water--intending to wear it in his coat atdinner as a gentle recognition of the fair donor's courtesy.
Night had thickened suddenly as from a passing cloud. He lit the twocandles on his dressing-table, gave a glance into the now scarcelydistinguishable abyss below his window, as he drew the curtains, and bythe more diffused light for the first time surveyed his room critically.It was a larger apartment than that usually set aside for bachelors;the heavy four-poster had a conjugal reserve about it, and a tall chevalglass and certain minor details of the furniture suggested that it hadbeen used for a married couple. He knew that the guest-rooms in countryhouses, as in hotels, carried no suggestion or flavor of the lasttenant, and therefore lacked color and originality, and he wasconsequently surprised to find himself impressed with some distinctlynovel atmosphere. He was puzzling himself to discover what it mightbe, when he again became aware of cautious footsteps apparently haltingoutside his door. This time he was prepared. With a half smile hestepped softly to the door and opened it suddenly. To his intensesurprise he was face to face with a man.
But his discomfiture was as nothing compared to that of thestranger--whom he at once recognized as one of his fellow-guests--theyouthful Laird of Whistlecrankie. The young fellow's healthy color atonce paled, then flushed a deep crimson, and a forced smile stiffenedhis mouth.
"I--beg your par-r-rdon," he said with a nervous brusqueness thatbrought out his accent. "I couldna find ma room. It'll be changed, andI--"
"Perhaps I have got it," interrupted the consul smilingly. "I've onlyjust come, and they've put me in here."
"Nae! Nae!" said the young man hurriedly, "it's no' thiss. That is, it'sno' mine noo."
"Won't you come in?" suggested the consul politely, holding open thedoor.
The young man entered the room with the quick strides but the mechanicalpurposelessness of embarrassment. Then he stiffened and stood erect. Yetin spite of all this he was strikingly picturesque and unconventional inhis Highland dress, worn with the freedom of long custom and acertain lithe, barbaric grace. As the consul continued to gaze at himencouragingly, the quick resentful pride of a shy man suddenly mantledhis high cheekbones, and with an abrupt "I'll not deesturb ye longer,"he strode out of the room.
The consul watched the easy swing of his figure down the passage, andthen closed the door. "Delightful creature," he said musingly, "and notso very unlike an Apache chief either! But what was he doing outsidemy door? And was it HE who left that rose--not as a delicate Highlandattention to an utter stranger, but"--the consul's mouth suddenlyexpanded--"to some fair previous occupant? Or was it really HIS room--helooked as if he were lying--and"--here the consul's mouth expanded evenmore wickedly--"and Mrs. MacSpadden had put the flower there for him."This implied snub to his vanity was, however, more than compensated byhis wicked anticipation of the pretty perplexity of his fair friend whenHE should appear at dinner with the flower in his own buttonhole. Itwould serve her right, the arrant flirt! But here he was interrupted bythe entrance of a tall housemaid with his hot water.
"I am afraid I've dispossessed Mr.--Mr.--Kilcraithie ratherprematurely," said the consul lightly.
To his infinite surprise the girl answered with grim decision, "Nane toosoon."
The consul stared. "I mean," he explained, "that I found him hesitatinghere in the passage, looking for his room."
"Ay, he's always hoaverin' and glowerin' in the passages--but it's no'for his ROOM! And it's a deesgrace to decent Christian folk his carryin'on wi' married weemen--mebbee they're nae better than he!"
"That will do," said the consul curtly. He had no desire to encourage arepetition of the railway porter's freedom.
"Ye'll no fash yoursel' aboot HIM," continued the girl, without heedingthe rebuff. "It's no' the meestreess' wish that he's keepit here in thewing reserved for married folk, and she's no' sorry for the excuse topit ye in his place. Ye'll be married yoursel', I'm hearin'. But, I kenye's nae mair to be lippened tae for THAT."
This was too much for the consul's gravity. "I'm afraid," he said withdiplomatic gayety, "that although I am married, as I haven't my wifewith me, I've no right to this superior accommodation and comfort. Butyou can assure your mistress that I'll try to deserve them."
"Ay," said the girl, but with no great confidence in her voice as shegrimly quitted the room.
"When our foot's upon our native heath, whether our name's Macgregor orKilcraithie, it would seem that we must tread warily," mused the consulas he began to dress. "But I'm glad she didn't see that rose, or MYreputation would have been ruined." Here another knock at the doorarrested him. He opened it impatiently to a tall gillie, who instantlystrode into the room. There was such another suggestion of Kilcraithiein the man and his manner that the consul instantly divined that he wasKilcraithie's servant.
"I'll be takin' some bit things that yon Whistlecrankie left," said thegillie gravely, with a stolid glance around the room.
"Certainly," said the consul; "help yourself." He continued his dressingas the man began to rummage in the empty drawers. The consul had hisback towards him, but, looking in the glass of the dressing-table, hesaw that the
gillie was stealthily watching him. Suddenly he passedbefore the mantelpiece and quickly slipped the rose from its glass intohis hand.
"I'll trouble you to put that back," said the consul quietly, withoutturning round. The gillie slid a quick glance towards the door, but theconsul was before him. "I don't think THAT was left by your master," hesaid in an ostentatiously calm voice, for he was conscious of an absurdand inexplicable tumult in his blood, "and perhaps you'd better put itback."
The man looked at the flower with an attention that might have beenmerely ostentatious, and replaced it in the glass.
"A thocht it was hiss."
"And I think it isn't," said the consul, opening the door.
Yet when the man had passed out he was by no means certain that theflower was not Kilcraithie's. He was even conscious that if the youngLaird had approached him with a reasonable explanation or appeal hewould have yielded it up. Yet here he was--looking angrily pale in theglass, his eyes darker than they should be, and with an unmistakableinstinct to do battle for this idiotic gage! Was there some morbiddisturbance in the air that was affecting him as it had Kilcraithie?He tried to laugh, but catching sight of its sardonic reflection inthe glass became grave again. He wondered if the gillie had beenreally looking for anything his master had left--he had certainly TAKENnothing. He opened one or two of the drawers, and found only a woman'stortoiseshell hairpin--overlooked by the footman when he had emptiedthem for the consul's clothes. It had been probably forgotten by somefair and previous tenant to Kilcraithie. The consul looked at hiswatch--it was time to go down. He grimly pinned the fateful flower inhis buttonhole, and half-defiantly descended to the drawing-room.
Here, however, he was inclined to relax when, from a group of prettywomen, the bright gray eyes of Mrs. MacSpadden caught his, were suddenlydiverted to the lapel of his coat, and then leaped up to his again witha sparkle of mischief. But the guests were already pairing off in dinnercouples, and as they passed out of the room, he saw that she was on thearm of Kilcraithie. Yet, as she passed him, she audaciously turned herhead, and in a mischievous affectation of jealous reproach, murmured:--
"So soon!"
At dinner she was too far removed for any conversation with him,although from his seat by his hostess he could plainly see her saucyprofile midway up the table. But, to his surprise, her companion,Kilcraithie, did not seem to be responding to her gayety. By turnsabstracted and feverish, his glances occasionally wandered towards theend of the table where the consul was sitting. For a few moments hebelieved that the affair of the flower, combined, perhaps, with theoverhearing of Mrs. MacSpadden's mischievous sentence, rankled in theLaird's barbaric soul. But he became presently aware that Kilcraithie'seyes eventually rested upon a quiet-looking blonde near the hostess. Yetthe lady not only did not seem to be aware of it, but her face was moreoften turned towards the consul, and their eyes had once or twice met.He had been struck by the fact that they were half-veiled but singularlyunimpassioned eyes, with a certain expression of cold wonderment andcriticism quite inconsistent with their veiling. Nor was he surprisedwhen, after a preliminary whispering over the plates, his hostesspresented him. The lady was the young wife of the middle-aged dignitarywho, seated further down the table, opposite Mrs. MacSpadden, wasapparently enjoying that lady's wildest levities. The consul bowed, thelady leaned a little forward.
"We were saying what a lovely rose you had."
The consul's inward response was "Hang that flower!" His outwardexpression was the modest query:--
"Is it SO peculiar?"
"No; but it's very pretty. Would you allow me to see it?"
Disengaging the flower from his buttonhole he handed it to her. Oddlyenough, it seemed to him that half the table was watching and listeningto them. Suddenly the lady uttered a little cry. "Dear me! it's fullof thorns; of course you picked and arranged it yourself, for any ladywould have wrapped something around the stalk!"
But here there was a burlesque outcry and a good-humored protest fromthe gentlemen around her against this manifestly leading question. "It'sno fair! Ye'll not answer her--for the dignity of our sex." Yet in themidst of it, it suddenly occurred to the consul that there HAD been aslip of paper wrapped around it, which had come off and remained in thekeyhole. The blue eyes of the lady were meanwhile sounding his, but heonly smiled and said:--
"Then it seems it IS peculiar?"
When the conversation became more general he had time to observe otherfeatures of the lady than her placid eyes. Her light hair was very long,and grew low down the base of her neck. Her mouth was firm, the upperlip slightly compressed in a thin red line, but the lower one, althoughequally precise at the corners, became fuller in the centre and turnedover like a scarlet leaf, or, as it struck him suddenly, like thetell-tale drop of blood on the mouth of a vampire. Yet she wasvery composed, practical, and decorous, and as the talk grew moreanimated--and in the vicinity of Mrs. MacSpadden, more audacious--shekept a smiling reserve of expression,--which did not, however, preventher from following that lively lady, whom she evidently knew, with akind of encouraging attention.
"Kate is in full fling to-night," she said to the hostess. LadyMacquoich smiled ambiguously--so ambiguously that the consul thought itnecessary to interfere for his friend. "She seems to say what most ofus think, but I am afraid very few of us could voice as innocently," hesmilingly suggested.
"She is a great friend of yours," returned the lady, looking at himthrough her half-veiled lids. "She has made us quite envy her."
"And I am afraid made it impossible for ME to either sufficiently thankher or justify her taste," he said quietly. Yet he was vexed at anunaccountable resentment which had taken possession of him--who but afew hours before had only laughed at the porter's criticism.
After the ladies had risen, the consul with an instinct of sympathy wasmoving up towards "Jock" MacSpadden, who sat nearer the host, when hewas stopped midway of the table by the dignitary who had sat oppositeto Mrs. MacSpadden. "Your frien' is maist amusing wi' her audacioustongue--ay, and her audacious ways," he said with large officialpatronage; "and we've enjoyed her here immensely, but I hae mae dootsif mae Leddy Macquoich taks as kindly to them. You and I--men of thewurrld, I may say--we understand them for a' their worth; ay!--ma wifetoo, with whom I observed ye speakin'--is maist tolerant of her, butman! it's extraordinar'"--he lowered his voice slightly--"that yonhusband of hers does na' check her freedoms with Kilcraithie. I wadna'say anythin' was wrong, ye ken, but is he no' over confident andconceited aboot his wife?"
"I see you don't know him," said the consul smilingly, "and I'd bedelighted to make you acquainted. Jock," he continued, raising hisvoice as he turned towards MacSpadden, "let me introduce you to SirAlan Deeside, who don't know YOU, although he's a great admirer of yourwife;" and unheeding the embarrassed protestations of Sir Alan and thelaughing assertions of Jock that they were already acquainted, he movedon beside his host. That hospitable knight, who had been airing hisknowledge of London smart society to his English guest with a singularmixture of assertion and obsequiousness, here stopped short. "Ay, sitdown, laddie, it was so guid of ye to come, but I'm thinkin' at your endof the table ye lost the bit fun of Mistress MacSpadden. Eh, but she wasunco' lively to-night. 'Twas all Kilcraithie could do to keep her fromproposin' your health with Hieland honors, and offerin' to lead off withher ain foot on the table! Ay, and she'd ha' done it. And that's abraw rose she's been givin' ye--and ye got out of it claverly wi' LadyDeeside."
When he left the table with the others to join the ladies, the sameunaccountable feeling of mingled shyness and nervous irascibility stillkept possession of him. He felt that in his present mood he could notlisten to any further criticisms of his friend without betraying someunwonted heat, and as his companions filed into the drawing-room heslipped aside in the hope of recovering his equanimity by a few moments'reflection in his own room. He glided quickly up the staircase andentered the corridor. The passage that led to his apartment was quitedark, especially befor
e his door, which was in a bay that really endedthe passage. He was consequently surprised and somewhat alarmed atseeing a shadowy female figure hovering before it. He instinctivelyhalted; the figure became more distinct from some luminous halo thatseemed to encompass it. It struck him that this was only the light ofhis fire thrown through his open door, and that the figure was probablythat of a servant before it, who had been arranging his room. He startedforward again, but at the sound of his advancing footsteps the figureand the luminous glow vanished, and he arrived blankly face to face withhis own closed door. He looked around the dim bay; it was absolutelyvacant. It was equally impossible for any one to have escapedwithout passing him. There was only his room left. A half-nervous,half-superstitious thrill crept over him as he suddenly grasped thehandle of the door and threw it open. The leaping light of his firerevealed its emptiness: no one was there! He lit the candle and peeredbehind the curtains and furniture and under the bed; the room was asvacant and undisturbed as when he left it.
Had it been a trick of his senses or a bona-fide apparition? He hadnever heard of a ghost at Glenbogie--the house dated back somefifty years; Sir John Macquoich's tardy knighthood carried no suchimpedimenta. He looked down wonderingly on the flower in his buttonhole.Was there something uncanny in that innocent blossom? But here he wasstruck by another recollection, and examined the keyhole of his door.With the aid of the tortoiseshell hairpin he dislodged the paper he hadforgotten. It was only a thin spiral strip, apparently the white outeredge of some newspaper, and it certainly seemed to be of little serviceas a protection against the thorns of the rose-stalk. He was holding itover the fire, about to drop it into the blaze, when the flame revealedsome pencil-marks upon it. Taking it to the candle he read, deeplybitten into the paper by a hard pencil-point: "At half-past one."There was nothing else--no signature; but the handwriting was NOT Mrs.MacSpadden's!
Then whose? Was it that of the mysterious figure whom he had just seen?Had he been selected as the medium of some spiritual communication, and,perhaps, a ghostly visitation later on? Or was he the victim of someclever trick? He had once witnessed such dubious attempts to relieve themonotony of a country house. He again examined the room carefully, butwithout avail. Well! the mystery or trick would be revealed at half-pastone. It was a somewhat inconvenient hour, certainly. He looked down atthe baleful gift in his buttonhole, and for a moment felt inclinedto toss it in the fire. But this was quickly followed by his formerrevulsion of resentment and defiance. No! he would wear it, no matterwhat happened, until its material or spiritual owner came for it. Heclosed the door and returned to the drawing-room.
Midway of the staircase he heard the droning of pipes. There was dancingin the drawing-room to the music of the gorgeous piper who had marshaledthem to dinner. He was not sorry, as he had no inclination to talk, andthe one confidence he had anticipated with Mrs. MacSpadden was out ofthe question now. He had no right to reveal his later discovery. Helingered a few moments in the hall. The buzzing of the piper's dronesgave him that impression of confused and blindly aggressive intoxicationwhich he had often before noticed in this barbaric instrument, and hadalways seemed to him as the origin of its martial inspiration. From thishe was startled by voices and steps in the gallery he had justquitted, but which came from the opposite direction to his room. It wasKilcraithie and Mrs. MacSpadden. As she caught sight of him, he fanciedshe turned slightly and aggressively pale, with a certain hardening ofher mischievous eyes. Nevertheless, she descended the staircasemore deliberately than her companion, who brushed past him with anembarrassed self-consciousness, quite in advance of her. She lingeredfor an instant.
"You are not dancing?" she said.
"No."
"Perhaps you are more agreeably employed?"
"At this exact moment, certainly."
She cast a disdainful glance at him, crossed the hall, and followedKilcraithie.
"Hang me, if I understand it all!" mused the consul, by no meansgood-humoredly. "Does she think I have been spying upon her and hernoble chieftain? But it's just as well that I didn't tell her anything."
He turned to follow them. In the vestibule he came upon a figure whichhad halted before a large pier-glass. He recognized M. Delfosse, theFrench visitor, complacently twisting the peak of his Henri Quatrebeard. He would have passed without speaking, but the Frenchman glancedsmilingly at the consul and his buttonhole. Again the flower!
"Monsieur is decore," he said gallantly.
The consul assented, but added, not so gallantly, that though they werenot in France he might still be unworthy of it. The baleful flower hadnot improved his temper. Nor did the fact that, as he entered the room,he thought the people stared at him--until he saw that their attentionwas directed to Lady Deeside, who had entered almost behind him. Fromhis hostess, who had offered him a seat beside her, he gathered thatM. Delfosse and Kilcraithie had each temporarily occupied his room, butthat they had been transferred to the other wing, apart from the marriedcouples and young ladies, because when they came upstairs fromthe billiard and card room late, they sometimes disturbed the fairoccupants. No!--there were no ghosts at Glenbogie. Mysterious footstepshad sometimes been heard in the ladies' corridor, but--with peculiarsignificance--she was AFRAID they could be easily accounted for. SirAlan, whose room was next to the MacSpaddens', had been disturbed bythem.
He was glad when it was time to escape to the billiard-room and tobacco.For a while he forgot the evening's adventure, but eventually foundhimself listening to a discussion--carried on over steaming tumblers oftoddy--in regard to certain predispositions of the always debatable sex.
"Ye'll not always judge by appearances," said Sir Alan. "Ye'll mind thestory o' the meenester's wife of Aiblinnoch. It was thocht that shewas ower free wi' one o' the parishioners--ay! it was the claish o' thewhole kirk, while none dare tell the meenester hisself--bein' a bookish,simple, unsuspectin' creeter. At last one o' the elders bethocht him ofa bit plan of bringing it home to the wife, through the gospel lipsof her ain husband! So he intimated to the meenester his suspicionsof grievous laxity amang the female flock, and of the necessity of aspecial sermon on the Seventh Command. The puir man consented--althoughhe dinna ken why and wherefore--and preached a gran' sermon! Ay, man! itwas crammed wi' denunciation and an emptyin' o' the vials o' wrath! Thecongregation sat dumb as huddled sheep--when they were no' starin' andgowpin' at the meenester's wife settin' bolt upright in her place. Andthen, when the air was blue wi' sulphur frae tae pit, the meenester'swife up rises! Man! Ivry eye was spearin' her--ivry lug was prickttowards her! And she goes out in the aisle facin' the meenester, and--"
Sir Alan paused.
"And what?" demanded the eager auditory.
"She pickit up the elder's wife, sobbin' and tearin' her hair in stronghysterics."
At the end of a relieved pause Sir Alan slowly concluded: "It was saidthat the elder removed frae Aiblinnoch wi' his wife, but no' till he hadeffected a change of meenesters."
It was already past midnight, and the party had dropped off one by one,with the exception of Deeside, Macquoich, the young Englishman, and aScotch laird, who were playing poker--an amusement which he understoodthey frequently protracted until three in the morning. It was nearlytime for him to expect his mysterious visitant. Before he went upstairshe thought he would take a breath of the outer evening air, and throwinga mackintosh over his shoulders, passed out of the garden door of thebilliard-room. To his surprise it gave immediately upon the fringe oflaurel that hung over the chasm.
It was quite dark; the few far-spread stars gave scarcely any light,and the slight auroral glow towards the north was all that outlined thefringe of the abyss, which might have proved dangerous to any unfamiliarwanderer. A damp breath of sodden leaves came from its depths. Besidehim stretched the long dark facade of the wing he inhabited, his ownwindow the only one that showed a faint light. A few paces beyond, asingular structure of rustic wood and glass, combining the peculiaritiesof a sentry-box, a summer-house, and a shelter, was
built against theblank wall of the wing. He imagined the monotonous prospect fromits windows of the tufted chasm, the coldly profiled northern hillsbeyond,--and shivered. A little further on, sunk in the wall like apostern, was a small door that evidently gave easy egress to seekersof this stern retreat. In the still air a faint grating sound like thepassage of a foot across gravel came to him as from the distance. Hepaused, thinking he had been followed by one of the card-players, butsaw no one, and the sound was not repeated.
It was past one. He re-entered the billiard-room, passed the unchangedgroup of card-players, and taking a candlestick from the hall ascendedthe dark and silent staircase into the corridor. The light of his candlecast a flickering halo around him--but did not penetrate the gloomydistance. He at last halted before his door, gave a scrutinizing glancearound the embayed recess, and opened the door half expectantly. But theroom was empty as he had left it.
It was a quarter past one. He threw himself on the bed withoutundressing, and fixed his eyes alternately on the door and his watch.Perhaps the unwonted seriousness of his attitude struck him, but asudden sense of the preposterousness of the whole situation, of hissolemnly ridiculous acceptance of a series of mere coincidences asa foregone conclusion, overcame him, and he laughed. But in the samebreath he stopped.
There WERE footsteps approaching--cautious footsteps--but not at hisdoor! They were IN THE ROOM--no! in the WALL just behind him! They weredescending some staircase at the back of his bed--he could hear theregular tap of a light slipper from step to step and the rustle ofa skirt seemingly in his very ear. They were becoming less and lessdistinct--they were gone! He sprang to his feet, but almost at thesame instant he was conscious of a sudden chill--that seemed to himas physical as it was mental. The room was slowly suffused with a coolsodden breath and the dank odor of rotten leaves. He looked at thecandle--its flame was actually deflecting in this mysterious blast.It seemed to come from a recess for hanging clothes topped by a heavycornice and curtain. He had examined it before, but he drew thecurtain once more aside. The cold current certainly seemed to be moreperceptible there. He felt the red-clothed backing of the interior,and his hand suddenly grasped a doorknob. It turned, and the wholestructure--cornice and curtains--swung inwards towards him with THE DOORON WHICH IT WAS HUNG! Behind it was a dark staircase leading from thefloor above to some outer door below, whose opening had given ingress tothe chill humid current from the ravine. This was the staircase where hehad just heard the footsteps--and this was, no doubt, the door throughwhich the mysterious figure had vanished from his room a few hoursbefore!
Taking his candle, he cautiously ascended the stairs until he foundhimself on the landing of the suites of the married couples and directlyopposite to the rooms of the MacSpaddens and Deesides. He was about todescend again when he heard a far-off shout, a scuffling sound on theouter gravel, and the frenzied shaking of the handle of the lower door.He had hardly time to blow out his candle and flatten himself againstthe wall, when the door was flung open and a woman frantically flew upthe staircase. His own door was still open; from within its depths thelight of his fire projected a flickering beam across the steps. As sherushed past it the light revealed her face; it needed not the peculiarperfume of her garments as she swept by his concealed figure to make himrecognize--Lady Deeside!
Amazed and confounded, he was about to descend, when he heard the lowerdoor again open. But here a sudden instinct bade him pause, turn, andreascend to the upper landing. There he calmly relit his candle, andmade his way down to the corridor that overlooked the central hall. Thesound of suppressed voices--speaking with the exhausted pauses that comefrom spent excitement--made him cautious again, and he halted. It wasthe card party slowly passing from the billiard-room to the hall.
"Ye owe it yoursel'--to your wife--not to pit up with it a day longer,"said the subdued voice of Sir Alan. "Man! ye war in an ace o' havin' abraw scandal."
"Could ye no' get your wife to speak till her," responded Macquoich, "togie her a hint that she's better awa' out of this? Lady Deeside has someinfluence wi' her."
The consul ostentatiously dropped the extinguisher from his candlestick.The party looked up quickly. Their faces were still flushed andagitated, but a new restraint seemed to come upon them on seeing him.
"I thought I heard a row outside," said the consul explanatorily.
They each looked at their host without speaking.
"Oh, ay," said Macquoich, with simulated heartiness, "a bit fuss betweenthe Kilcraithie and yon Frenchman; but they're baith goin' in themornin'."
"I thought I heard MacSpadden's voice," said the consul quietly.
There was a dead silence. Then Macquoich said hurriedly:--
"Is he no' in his room--in bed--asleep,--man?"
"I really don't know; I didn't inquire," said the consul with a slightyawn. "Good night!"
He turned, not without hearing them eagerly whispering again, andentered the passage leading to his own room. As he opened the doorhe was startled to find the subject of his inquiry--JockMacSpadden--quietly seated in his armchair by his fire.
"Jock!"
"Don't be alarmed, old man; I came up by that staircase and saw the dooropen, and guessed you'd be returning soon. But it seemed you went ROUNDBY THE CORRIDOR," he said, glancing curiously at the consul's face. "Didyou meet the crowd?"
"Yes, Jock! WHAT does it all mean?"
MacSpadden laughed. "It means that I was just in time to keepKilbraithie from chucking Delfosse down that ravine; but they bothscooted when they saw me. By Jove! I don't know which was the mostfrightened."
"But," said the consul slowly, "what was it all about, Jock?"
"Some gallantry of that d----d Frenchman, who's trying to do somewoman-stalking up here, and jealousy of Kilcraithie's, who's just gotenough of his forbears' blood in him to think nothing of sticking threeinches of his dirk in the wame of the man that crosses him. But I say,"continued Jock, leaning easily back in his chair, "YOU ought to knowsomething of all this. This room, old man, was used as a sort ofrendezvous, having two outlets, don't you see, when they couldn't get atthe summer-house below. By Jove! they both had it in turns--Kilcraithieand the Frenchman--until Lady Macquoich got wind of something, sweptthem out, and put YOU in it."
The consul rose and approached his friend with a grave face. "Jock, IDO know something about it--more about it than any one thinks. You and Iare old friends. Shall I tell you WHAT I know?"
Jock's handsome face became a trifle paler, but his frank, clear eyesrested steadily on the consul's.
"Go on!" he said.
"I know that this flower which I am wearing was the signal for therendezvous this evening," said the consul slowly, "and this paper,"taking it from his pocket, "contained the time of the meeting, writtenin the lady's own hand. I know who she was, for I saw her face asplainly as I see yours now, by the light of the same fire; it was aspale, but not as frank as yours, old man. That is what I know. But Iknow also what people THINK they know, and for that reason I put thatpaper in YOUR hand. It is yours--your vindication--your REVENGE, if youchoose. Do with it what you like."
Jock, with unchanged features and undimmed eyes, took the paper from theconsul's hand, without looking at it.
"I may do with it what I like?" he repeated.
"Yes."
He was about to drop it into the fire, but the consul stayed his hand.
"Are you not going to LOOK at the handwriting first?"
There was a moment of silence. Jock raised his eyes with a sudden flashof pride in them and said, "No!"
The friends stood side by side, grasping each other's hands, as theburning paper leaped up the chimney in a vanishing flame.
"Do you think you have done quite right, Jock, in view of any scandalyou may hear?"
"Quite! You see, old man, I know MY WIFE--but I don't think that DeesideKNOWS HIS."