“I wadna hae ye believe a’ ’at she
says, my lord,” said Malcolm, with a significant
smile, as he turned to creep away.
He closed the door behind him, and lest Mrs Catanach
should repossess herself of the key, drew it from
the lock, and, removing a few yards, sat down in the
passage by his own door. A good many minutes
passed, during which he heard not a sound.
At length the door opened, and his lordship came out.
Malcolm looked up, and saw the light of the candle
the marquis carried, reflected from a face like that
of a corpse. Different as they were, Malcolm
could not help thinking of the only dead face he had
ever seen. It terrified him for the moment in
which it passed without looking at him.
“My lord!” said Malcolm gently.
His master made no reply.
“My lord!” cried Malcolm, hurriedly pursuing
him with his voice, “am I to lea’ the
keyes wi’ yon hurdon, and lat her open what doors
she likes?”
“Go to bed,” said the marquis angrily,
“and leave the woman alone;” with which
words he turned into the adjoining passage, and disappeared.
Mrs Catanach had not come out of the wizard’s
chamber, and for a moment Malcolm felt strongly tempted
to lock her in once more. But he reflected that
he had no right to do so after what his lordship had
said—else, he declared to himself, he would
have given her at least as good a fright as she seemed
to have given his master, to whom he had no doubt
she had been telling some horrible lies. He withdrew,
therefore, into his room—to lie pondering
again for a wakeful while.
This horrible woman claimed then to know more concerning
him than his so called grandfather, and, from her
profession; it was likely enough; but information
from her was hopeless—at least until her
own evil time came; and then, how was any one to believe
what she might choose to say? So long, however,
as she did not claim him for her own, she could, he
thought, do him no hurt he would be afraid to meet.
But what could she be about in that room still?
She might have gone, though, without the fall of her
soft fat foot once betraying her!
Again he got out of bed, and crept to the wizard’s
door, and listened. But all was still. He
tried to open it, but could not: Mrs Catanach
was doubtless spending the night there, and perhaps
at that moment lay, evil conscience and all, fast
asleep in the tent bed. He withdrew once more,
wondering whether she was aware that he occupied the
next room; and, having, for the first time, taken
care to fasten his own door, got into bed, finally
this time, and fell asleep.
Malcolm had flattered himself that he would at least
be able to visit his grandfather the next day; but,
instead of that, he did not even make an attempt to
rise—head as well as foot aching so much,
that he felt unfit for the least exertion—a
phase of being he had never hitherto known. Mrs
Courthope insisted on advice, and the result was that
a whole week passed before he was allowed to leave
his room.
