“This is one of the melancholy airs of my native land,” he would say. “You may think it strange to see a soldier weep, and indeed it is to make a near friend of you,” says he. “But the notes of this singing are in my blood, and the words come out of my heart. And when I mind upon my red mountains and the wild birds calling there, and the brave streams of water running down, I would scarce think shame to weep before my enemies.” Then he would sing again, and translate to me pieces of the song, with a great deal of boggling and much expressed contempt against the English language. “It says here,” he would say, “that the sun is gone down, and the battle is at an end, and the brave chiefs are defeated. And it tells here how the stars see them fleeing into strange countries or lying dead on the red mountain; and they will never more shout the call of battle or wash their feet in the streams of the valley. But if you had only some of this language, you would weep also because the words of it are beyond all expression, and it is mere mockery to tell you it in English.”
Well, I thought there was a good deal of mockery in the business, one way and another; and yet, there was some feeling too, for which I hated him, I think, the worst of all. And it used to cut me to the quick to see Catriona so much concerned for the old rogue, and weeping herself to see him weep, when I was sure one half of his distress flowed from his last night’s drinking in some tavern. There were times when I was tempted to lend him a round sum, and see the last of him for good; but this would have been to see the last of Catriona as well, for which I was scarcely so prepared; and besides, it went against my conscience to squander my good money on one who was so little of a husband.
Chapter XXVII – A TWOSOME
I BELIEVE it was about the fifth day, and I know at least that James was in one of his fits of gloom, when I received three letters. The first was from Alan, offering to visit me in Leyden; the other two were out of Scotland and prompted by the same affair, which was the death of my uncle and my own complete accession to my rights. Rankeillor’s was, of course, wholly in the business view; Miss Grant’s was like herself, a little more witty than wise, full of blame to me for not having written (though how was I to write with such intelligence?) and of rallying talk about Catriona, which it cut me to the quick to read in her very presence.
For it was of course in my own rooms that I found them, when I came to dinner, so that I was surprised out of my news in the very first moment of reading it. This made a welcome diversion for all three of us, nor could any have foreseen the ill consequences that ensued. It was accident that brought the three letters the same day, and that gave them into my hand in the same room with James More; and of all the events that flowed from that accident, and which I might have prevented if I had held my tongue, the truth is that they were preordained before Agricola came into Scotland or Abraham set out upon his travels.
The first that I opened was naturally Alan’s; and what more natural than that I should comment on his design to visit me? but I observed James to sit up with an air of immediate attention.
“Is that not Alan Breck that was suspected of the Appin accident?” he inquired.
I told him, “Ay,” it was the same; and he withheld me some time from my other letters, asking of our acquaintance, of Alan’s manner of life in France, of which I knew very little, and further of his visit as now proposed.
“All we forfeited folk hang a little together,” he explained, “and besides I know the gentleman: and though his descent is not the thing, and indeed he has no true right to use the name of Stewart, he was very much admired in the day of Drummossie. He did there like a soldier; if some that need not be named had done as well, the upshot need not have been so melancholy to remember. There were two that did their best that day, and it makes a bond between the pair of us,” says he.
I could scarce refrain from shooting out my tongue at him, and could almost have wished that Alan had been there to have inquired a little further into that mention of his birth. Though, they tell me, the same was indeed not wholly regular.
Meanwhile, I had opened Miss Grant’s, and could not withhold an exclamation.
“Catriona,” I cried, forgetting, the first time since her father was arrived, to address her by a handle, “I am come into my kingdom fairly, I am the laird of Shaws indeed – my uncle is dead at last.”
She clapped her hands together leaping from her seat. The next moment it must have come over both of us at once what little cause of joy was left to either, and we stood opposite, staring on each other sadly.
But James showed himself a ready hypocrite. “My daughter,” says he, “is this how my cousin learned you to behave? Mr. David has lost a new friend, and we should first condole with him on his bereavement.”
“Troth, sir,” said I, turning to him in a kind of anger, “I can make no such great faces. His death is as blithe news as ever I got.”
“It’s a good soldier’s philosophy,” says James. “‘Tis the way of flesh, we must all go, all go. And if the gentleman was so far from your favour, why, very well! But we may at least congratulate you on your accession to your estates.”
“Nor can I say that either,” I replied, with the same heat. “It is a good estate; what matters that to a lone man that has enough already? I had a good revenue before in my frugality; and but for the man’s death – which gratifies me, shame to me that must confess it! – I see not how anyone is to be bettered by this change.”
“Come, come,” said he, “you are more affected than you let on, or you would never make yourself out so lonely. Here are three letters; that means three that wish you well; and I could name two more, here in this very chamber. I have known you not so very long, but Catriona, when we are alone, is never done with the singing of your praises.”
She looked up at him, a little wild at that; and he slid off at once into another matter, the extent of my estate, which (during the most of the dinner time) he continued to dwell upon with interest. But it was to no purpose he dissembled; he had touched the matter with too gross a hand: and I knew what to expect. Dinner was scarce ate when he plainly discovered his designs. He reminded Catriona of an errand, and bid her attend to it. “I do not see you should be one beyond the hour,” he added, “and friend David will be good enough to bear me company till you return.” She made haste to obey him without words. I do not know if she understood, I believe not; but I was completely satisfied, and sat strengthening my mind for what should follow.
The door had scarce closed behind her departure, when the man leaned back in his chair and addressed me with a good affectation of easiness. Only the one thing betrayed him, and that was his face; which suddenly shone all over with fine points of sweat.
“I am rather glad to have a word alone with you,” says he, “because in our first interview there were some expressions you misapprehended and I have long meant to set you right upon. My daughter stands beyond doubt. So do you, and I would make that good with my sword against all gainsayers. But, my dear David, this world is a censorious place – as who should know it better than myself, who have lived ever since the days of my late departed father, God sain him! in a perfect spate of calumnies? We have to face to that; you and me have to consider of that; we have to consider of that.” And he wagged his head like a minister in a pulpit.
“To what effect, Mr. Drummond?” said I. “I would be obliged to you if you would approach your point.”