by Neil Munro
CHAPTER XLI -- CONCLUSION
Simon MacTaggart went out possessed by the devils of hatred and chagrin.He saw himself plainly for what he was in truth--a pricked bladder, hiscareer come to an ignoble conclusion, the single honest scheme he hadever set his heart on brought to nought, and his vanity already woundedsorely at the prospect of a contemptuous world to be faced for theremainder of his days. All this from the romantics of a Frenchman whowalked through life in the step of a polonaise, and a short season agowas utterly unaware that such a man as Simon MacTaggart existed, orthat a woman named Olivia bloomed, a very flower, among the wilds!At whatever angle he viewed the congregated disasters of the past fewweeks, he saw Count Victor in their background--a sardonic, smiling,light-hearted Nemesis; and if he detested him previously as a merelypossible danger, he hated him now with every fibre of his being as thecause of his upheaval.
And then, in this way that is not uncommon with the sinner, he must pityhimself because circumstances had so consistently conspired against him.
He had come into the garden after the interview with Argyll had made itplain that the darkest passages in his servant's history were known tohim, and had taken off his hat to get the night breeze on his brow whichwas wet with perspiration. The snow was still on the ground; among theladen bushes, the silent soaring trees of fir and ash, it seemed as ifthis was no other than the land of outer darkness whereto the lost aredriven at the end. It maddened him to think of what he had been broughtto; he shook his fist in a childish and impotent petulance at thespacious unregarding east where Doom lay--the scene of all his passions.
"God's curse on the breed of meddlers!" he said. "Another month and Iwas out of these gutters and hell no more to tempt me. To be the doucegood-man, and all the tales of storm forgotten by the neighboursthat may have kent them; to sit perhaps with bairns--her bairnsand mine--about my knee, and never a twinge of the old damnableinclinations, and the flageolet going to the honestest tunes. All lost!All lost for a rat that takes to the hold of an infernal ship, and comeshere to chew at the ropes that dragged me to salvation. This is where itends! It's the judgment come a day ower soon for Sim MacTaggart. But SimMacTaggart will make the rat rue his meddling."
He had come out with no fixed idea of what he next should do, but onestep seemed now imperative--he must go to Doom, otherwise his bloodwould burst every vein in his body. He set forth with the stimulus offury for the barracks where his men lay, of whom half-a-dozen at leastwere his to the gate of the Pit itself, less scrupulous even thanhimself because more ignorant, possessed of but one or two impulses--afoolish affection for him and an inherited regard for rapine too rarelyto be indulged in these tame latter days. To call them out, to find themarmed and ready for any enterprise of his was a matter of brief time.They set out knowing nothing at all of his object, and indifferent solong as this adorable gentleman was to lead them.
When they came to Doom the tide was full and round about it, so theyretired upon the hillside, sheltering in a little plantation of firthrough which they could see the stars, and Doom dense black againstthem without a sign of habitation.
And yet Doom, upon the side that faced the sea, was not asleep. Mungowas busy upon the preparations for departure, performing them in afunereal spirit, whimpering about the vacant rooms with a grief that wastrivial compared with that of Doom itself, who waited for the dawn asif it were to bring him to the block, or of Olivia, whose pillow waswet with unavailing tears. It was their last night in Doom. At daybreakMungo was to convey them to the harbour, where they should embark uponthe vessel that was to bear them to the lowlands. It seemed as if thesea-gulls came earlier than usual to wheel and cry about the rock,half-guessing that it was so soon to be untenanted, and finally, as itis to-day, the grass-grown mound of memories. Olivia rose and wentto her window to look out at them, and saw them as yet but vague greyfloating shapes slanting against the paling stars.
And then the household rose; the boat nodded to the leeward of the rock,with its mast stepped, its sail billowing with a rustle in the faintair, and Mungo at the sheet. The dawn came slowly, but fast enough forthe departing, and the landward portion of the rock was still in shadowwhen Olivia stepped forth with a tear-stained face and a trembling handon Victor's arm. He shared her sorrow, but was proud and happy too thather trials, as he hoped, were over. They took their seat in the boat andwaited for the Baron. Now the tide was down, the last of it running intiny rivulets upon the sand between the mainland and the rock, and Simonand his gang came over silently. Simon led, and turned the corner of thetower hastily with his sword in his hand to find the Baron emerging.He had not seen the boat and its occupants, but the situation seemed toflash upon him, and he uttered a cry of rage.
Doom drew back under the frowning eyebrow of what had been his home,tugged the weapon from his scabbard, and threw himself on guard.
"This is kind, indeed," he said in a pause of his assailant's confusionat finding this was not the man he sought. "You have come to say'Goodbye.' On guard, black dog, on guard!"
"_So dhuit maat!_--here then is for you," cried Sim, and waving back hisfollowers, engaged with a rasp of steel. It lasted but a moment: Doomcrouched a little upon bending knees, with a straight arm, parrying theassault of a point that flew in wild disorder. He broke ground for afew yards with feints in quarte. He followed on a riposte with alunge--short, sharp, conclusive, for it took his victim in the chestand passed through at the other side with a thud of the hilt againsthis body. Sim fell with a groan, his company clustering round him, notwholly forgetful of retaliation, but influenced by his hand that forbadetheir interference with his enemy.
"Clean up your filth!" said Doom in the Gaelic, sheathing his sword andturning to join his daughter. "He took Drimdarroch from me, and now, byGod! he's welcome to Doom."
"Not our old friends, surely?" said Count Victor, looking backward atthe cluster of men.
"The same," said Doom, and kept his counsel further.
Count Victor put his arm round Olivia's waist. The boat's prow fell off;the sail filled; she ran with a pleasant ripple through the waves, andthere followed her a cry that only Doom of all the company knew was acoronach, followed by the music of Sim MacTaggart's flageolet.
It rose above the ripple of the waves, above the screaming of the birds,finally stilling the coronach, and the air it gave an utterance to wasthe same that had often charmed the midnight bower, failing at the lastabruptly as it had always done before.
"By heavens! it is my Mary's favourite air, and that was all she knew ofit," said Doom, and his face grew white with memory and a speculation.
"Had he found the end of that air," said Count Victor, "he had found, ashe said himself, another man. But I, perhaps, had never found Olivia!"