by John Buchan
CHAPTER IX
I PART FROM MARJORY
"I've travelled far and seen many things, but, Gad, I never saw astranger than this. My niece is driven out of house and home by anoverbold lover, and you, Master Burnet, come here and bid me take overthe keeping of this firebrand, which, it seems, is so obnoxious to HisMajesty's lieges."
So spake the old laird of Smitwood, smiling. He was a man of fulleighty 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 andclean-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 Marjoryagain, whom he had not set eyes on for many a day. We had fallen tosupper with keen appetite, for the air of the moors stirs up thesharpest hunger; and now that we had finished we sat around thehall-fire enjoying our few remaining hours of company together. Formyself I relished the good fare and the warmth, for Heaven knew wheneither would be mine again. The high oak-roofed chamber, hung withportraits of Veitches many, was ruddy with fire-light. Especially thepicture in front of the chimney by Vandyke, of that Michael Veitch whodied at Philiphaugh, was extraordinarily clear and lifelike. MasterVeitch looked often toward it; then he took snuff with a great air ofdeliberation, and spoke in his high, kindly old voice.
"My brother seems well to-night, Marjory. I have not seen him look socheerful for years." (He had acquired during his solitary life thehabit of talking to the picture as if it were some living thing.) "Ican never forgive the Fleming for making Michael hold his blade in soawkward a fashion. Faith, he would have been little the swordsman hewas, if he had ever handled sword like that. I can well remember when Iwas with him at Etzburg, how he engaged in a corner two Hollanders and aSwiss guard, and beat them back till I came up with him and took one offhis hands."
"I have heard of that exploit," said I. "You must know that I have justcome from the Low Countries, where the names of both of you are stilloften on men's lips."
The old man seemed well pleased.
"Ah," he said, "so you have come from abroad. In what place did youbide, may I enquire?"
"In the town of Leyden," said I, "for my aim was no more than to acquirelearning at the college there. But I foregathered with many excellentScots 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 singleerrand of protecting my fair niece? But stay! I am an old man whocares not much for the chatter of the country, but I have heard--or am Iwrong?--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 aking's man out and out, and would see all whigamores in perdition beforeI would join with them. But fate has brought me into a strange mixtureof misfortunes. I land at Leith, expecting nothing save a peacefulhomecoming, and lo! I find my cousin waiting with a warrant for myarrest. I am accused of something I am wholly innocent of, but I cannotprove it; nay, there is evidence against me, and my enemies in theCouncil 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 thedragoons the slip, and ride straight to Tweeddale, escort her to a housewhere she will be safe and unknown; and when this is done take to thehills myself with a light heart. They are too ill-set against me for mysetting any hope in going to Edinburgh and pleading my case. Was thereany other way?"
"None," said Master Veitch, "but it is a hard case for yourself. Notthe hiding among the moors; this is a noble trade for any young man ofspirit. But the consorting with the vile fanatics of these deserts mustgo sore against your heart."
Now I, who had just come from the folk of the Cor Water, had no suchdread of the hillmen, but I forebore to say it. For Master Veitch hadbeen brought up in one school, those men in another. Both were blind tothe 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 inthe world must ever remain apart through misunderstanding.
"But to come to my errand," said I. "I have brought you your niece forprotection. You are a king's man, a soldier, and well known in thecountryside. It is more than unlikely that any troops will come nighyou. Nor is it possible that the maid can be traced hither. I ask thatyou suffer her to abide in the house, while I take myself off that therebe the less danger. And O, I beseech you, do not refuse me. She isyour own flesh and blood. You cannot deny her shelter."
The old man's face darkened. "You take me for a strange kinsman, MasterBurnet," he said, "if you think I would refuse my best aid to akinswoman in distress. Do you think that you are the sole protector ofmy house?"
I bowed before his deserved rebuke.
"But for certain. Marjory may abide here as long as she will," he addedcheerfully. "We will do our best to entertain her, though I am too oldto remember well the likings of girls. And if anyone comes seeking heron errand of no good, by God, he will learn that William Veitch has notlost the use of his arm.
"May I ask," said I, "that my servant be allowed to stay? He knows thehills as scarce any other living man, he is faithful, and clever as youwould hardly believe were I to tell you. With him in the house I shouldhave no fear for its safety."
"So be it," said the old man; "I will not deny that my servants are notso numerous nor so active that another would not be something of animprovement. Has he any skill in cooking?" This he asked in ashamefaced tone, for old as he was he had not lost his relish for goodfare.
"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 ofthe laird of Smitwood, "and I would fain hope it true. I wished tointerrogate you about--ah, your powers--ah, 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 adozen different ways, no to speak o' sic trifles as confections. I cancook ye the flesh o' the red deer and the troots frae the burn, forbyehaggis and brose, partan pies and rizzard haddies, crappit-heids andscate-rumpies, nowt's feet, kebbucks, scadlips, and skink. Then I canwark wi' custocks and carlings, rifarts, and syboes, farles, fadges, andbannocks, drammock, brochan, and powsowdie."
"That will do, you may go," said the old man, rubbing his hands withglee. "By my word, a genuine Scots gastronome, skilled in the ancientdishes 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 theproject of my servant's presence. Even after he had gone he sat andchuckled to himself, for he was known among his friends to have a finetaste for dainties. Meantime, the light was dying out of doors, andmore logs were laid on the fire, till it crackled and leaped like a livething. I have ever loved the light of a wood-fire, for there is no moreheartsome thing on earth than its cheerful crackle when one comes infrom shooting on the hills in the darkening of a winter's day. Now Irevelled in the comfort of it, since on the morrow I would have no othercheer than a flaming sunset.
So we sat around the hearth and talked of many things till the eveningwas late. The old man fell to the memories of former folk, and told ustales of our forbears as would have made them turn in their graves couldthey 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 gallantfellows in their way. "There was never a Burnet," he cried, "who wouldscruple to stick a man who doubted his word, or who would not ride ahundred miles to aid a friend. There were no lads like the Burnets inall the countryside for dicing and feasting and riding breakneck on thedevil's errand. But, Gad, if they were stubborn as bulls when they weredown themselves, they were as tender as women to folk in trouble."
"There's o
ne 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 betterfor a young man than to find out how little the world cares whether hebe dead or alive. And, above all, you that pretend to be a scholar, itwill ding some of the fine-spun fancies out of your head. But for theLord's sake, laddie, dinna get a bullet in your skull or you'll have mewith all my years taking the field to pay back them that did it." Hespoke this so kindly that I was moved to forget the first half of hiswords through the excellency of the second. In truth I much needed therough lessons of hardship and penury, for at that time I was much puffedup in a self-conceit and a certain pride of letters as foolish as it wasbaseless.
"I must be off in the morning before the dawning, for I have to be onthe hills ere the soldiers get abroad. I must beg of you not to disturbyourself, Master Veitch, for my sake, but just to bid them make readyfor 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 atthe moment of departure. I have no fear of my journey, for my legs areas good as any man's and I can make my hands keep my head. Also, mymind 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 manand keep early hours. If you will follow me I will take you to yourchamber. Alison will take you to the old room, Marjory, where you havenot been since you were a little lass scarce up to my knee." And withobvious intent he walked out.
"God keep you, John," my dear lass whispered on my shoulder. "I willnever 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.