“Take it round, then,” he said. So
Malcolm settled into the business of the hour.
It was some time, after he knew where she was, before
he ventured to look at his sister: he would have
her already familiarised with his presence before
their eyes met. That crisis did not arrive during
dinner.
Lord Liftore was one of the company, and so, to Malcolm’s
pleasure, for he felt in him an ally against the earl,
was Florimel’s mysterious friend.
Scarcely had the ladies gone to the drawing room,
when Florimel’s maid, who knew Malcolm, came
in quest of him. Lady Lossie desired to see him.
“What is the meaning of this, MacPhail?”
she said, when he entered the room where she sat alone.
“I did not send for you. Indeed, I thought
you had been dismissed with the rest of the servants.”
How differently she spoke! And she used to call
him Malcolm! The girl Florimel was gone, and
there sat—the marchioness, was it? —or
some phase of riper womanhood only? It mattered
little to Malcolm. He was no curious student
of man or woman. He loved his kind too well to
study it. But one thing seemed plain: she
had forgotten the half friendship and whole service
that had had place betwixt them, and it made him feel
as if the soul of man no less than his life were but
as a vapour that appeareth for a little and then vanisheth
away.
But Florimel had not so entirely forgotten the past
as Malcolm thought—not so entirely at least
but that his appearance, and certain difficulties
in which she had begun to find herself, brought something
of it again to her mind.
“I thought,” said Malcolm, assuming his
best English, “your ladyship might not choose
to part with an old servant at the will of a factor,
and so took upon me to appeal to your ladyship to
decide the question.”
“But how is that? Did you not return to
your fishing when the household was broken up?”
“No, my lady. Mr Crathie kept me to help
Stoat, and do odd jobs about the place.”
“And now he wants to discharge you?”
Then Malcolm told her the whole story, in which he
gave such a description of Kelpie, that her owner,
as she imagined herself, expressed a strong wish to
see her; for Florimel was almost passionately fond
of horses.
“You may soon do that, my lady,” said
Malcolm. “Mr Soutar, not being of the same
mind as Mr Crathie, is going to send her up. It
will be but the cost of the passage from Aberdeen,
and she will fetch a better price here if your ladyship
should resolve to part with her. She won’t
fetch the third of her value anywhere, though, on
account of her bad temper and ugly tricks.”
“But as to yourself, MacPhail—where
are you going to go?” said Florimel. “I
don’t like to send you away, but, if I keep you,
I don’t know what to do with you. No doubt
you could serve in the house, but that would not be
suitable at all to your education and previous life.”
