Next day he quarrelled with every word Mrs Courthope
uttered, kept forgetting he had sent Malcolm away,
and was continually wanting him. His fits of
pain were more severe, alternated with drowsiness,
which deepened at times to stupor.
It was late before Malcolm returned. He went
instantly to his bedside.
“Is Mr Glennie with you?” asked his master
feebly.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Tell him to come here at once.”
When Malcolm returned with the lawyer, the marquis
directed him to set a table and chair by the bedside,
light four candles, get everything necessary for writing,
and go to bed.
Before Malcolm was awake, his lordship had sent for
him. When he re-entered the sick chamber, Mr
Glennie had vanished, the table had been removed,
and instead of the radiance of the wax lights, the
cold gleam of a vapour dimmed sun, with its sickly
blue white reflex from the wide spread snow, filled
the room. The marquis looked ghastly, but was
sipping chocolate with a spoon.
“What w’y are ye the day, my lord?”
asked Malcolm.
“Nearly well,” he answered; “but
those cursed carrion crows are set upon killing me—damn
their souls!”
“We’ll hae Leddy Florimel sweirin’
awfu’, gien ye gang on that gait, my lord,”
said Malcolm.
The marquis laughed feebly.
“An’ what ’s mair,” Malcolm
continued, “I doobt they ’re some partic’lar
aboot the turn o’ their phrases up yonner, my
lord.”
The marquis looked at him keenly.
“You don’t anticipate that inconvenience
for me?” he said. “I ’m pretty
sure to have my billet where they ’re not so
precise.”
“Dinna brak my hert, my lord!” cried Malcolm,
the tears rushing to his eyes.
“I should be sorry to hurt you, Malcolm,”
rejoined the marquis gently, almost tenderly.
“I won’t go there if I can help it.
I should n’t like to break any more hearts.
But how the devil am I to keep out of it? Besides,
there are people up there I don’t want to meet;
I have no fancy for being made ashamed of myself.
The fact is I ’m not fit for such company, and
I don’t believe there is any such place.
But if there be, I trust in God there isn’t any
other, or it will go badly with your poor master,
Malcolm. It doesn’t look like true—now
does it? Only such a multitude of things I thought
I had done with for ever, keep coming up and grinning
at me! It nearly drives me mad, Malcolm—and
I would fain die like a gentleman, with a cool bow
and a sharp face about.”
“Wadna ye hae a word wi’ somebody ’at
kens, my lord?” said Malcolm, scarcely able
to reply.
“No,” answered the marquis fiercely.
“That Cairns is a fool.”
“He’s a’ that an’ mair, my
lord. I didna mean him.”
“They ‘re all fools together.’
“Ow, na, my lord! There ‘s a heap
o’ them no muckle better, it may be; but there
‘s guid men an’ true amang them, or the
kirk wad hae been wi’ Sodom and Gomorrha by
this time. But it ’s no a minister I wad
hae yer lordship confar wi’.”
