Jane Declares.
McCray stood watching his master with attentive eye, as, apparently ignorant of his presence, the baronet—drenched as he was with rain and perspiration—threw himself into a chair, and covered his face with his hands.
The gardener stood on one leg, then on the other, then leaned on a chair-back, putting himself into every posture that would give him a little ease, for he was well-nigh exhausted. But no notice took Sir Murray. He was apparently buried in himself; and, at last, unable to draw his attention by coughing and shuffling about, Sandy McCray prepared to speak.
“He’s greeting aboot her, puir laddie,” he muttered to himself; “but, a’ the same, he might ha’ brought out the whuskee. We’re mair free with the wee drappie up north.” Then, aloud: “Hoot, then, Sir Mooray, it’s a bad habit to sit in wet clouts. Hadna ye better tak’ just a wet o’ some kind o’ sperrits? I think a little whuskee wad do ye nae hairm.”
“You here still?” exclaimed Sir Murray; and then, angrily, as a hand was laid upon the handle of the door: “Who’s that? I am engaged.”
But the door opened, and, to Sandy McCray’s astonishment, Jane crept in, white as a sheet, as if from some great horror; but, all the same, carrying tenderly, as she hushed it to sleep, the little child that, after five years, had been born to Sir Murray.
“Hoot, lassie! and what do ye do here?”
“What do I do?” exclaimed Jane, fiercely, her half-frightened aspect giving place to a look of rage. “I have come to ask that man what he has done with my dear lady!”
“Hoot, lassie! do ye ken it’s the laird?” exclaimed the alarmed gardener; and then, stooping over her, he put his face close to hers, and muttered to himself: “There isna a smell of the stuff on her mooth, or I’d say she’d been at the whuskee.”
“Stand aside, McCray!” she said hoarsely. “I want to ask him, I tell you, what he has done with my dear lady.”
After the manner of a woman of her class, she raised her voice as she spoke; when, in alarm, the Scot darted to and closed the door, turning the little inside bolt, and then hurrying back to his betrothed’s side; for there was something threatening in the baronet’s looks, as he rose from his chair, glaring the while at his wife’s maid.
“Stand back, McCray!” cried Jane, hoarsely, as he laid his hand upon her arm. “I’ve been silent all these months, but I’ll speak now. Let him strike me if he dares, but he dare not! See here!” she cried, “I’ve brought your little one down to you, to see if it will do anything towards melting your hard, proud, cruel heart, and making you tell the truth! Tell me now, and at once, what you have done with my dear lady!”
“Take her away, and this instant!” hissed Sir Murray. “The woman’s mad!”
“Mad! No, I am not mad! Keep back, McCray; I won’t go! Touch me again, and I’ll scream so as to alarm the house; and then all the servants shall hear what I mean to say to you alone. I’m not afraid, I tell you, and I will be answered. But, oh, Sir Murray!” she cried, softening for a moment, “tell me where the poor thing is! What have you done with her?”
“You Scotch wolf!” exclaimed Sir Murray, in a rage, to the gardener, “why do you not take the mad fool from my sight?”
McCray placed his arm round Jane, and tried to lead her off; but she struggled from him, and uttered a wild, piercing scream that made him start aside, as if the shrill sound had pierced him like a sword.
“I will not go!” cried the girl, stamping with fury. “I will know first! Do you think I am to be cheated and blinded by all this pretended hunting to find my poor darling, ill-used lady? Why did you come, with your pride and your money, to her happy home, and take her away to be your miserable wife? Why did you ever come near the poor, sweet innocent? And then, after all her suffering, to insult her with your cruel, base suspicions, so unmanly—so false!”
“Curse the woman! Am I to strike her in the mouth?” raged Sir Murray, in a hoarse whisper; for there were voices to be heard outside—evidently those of the servants, alarmed by the wild shriek, and once the door was softly tried.
“Na—na, Sir Mooray!” said McCray; “nae blows to a woman. The puir thing’s daft wi’ grief and passion, and greeting after her lady; but she’ll be better therectly. Whush, then, Jenny, let’s gang our gait, and leave the laird to himsel’.”
“If you touch me again, McCray, I’ll alarm the house!” cried Jane; and the great Scot fell back once more, as going closer to Sir Murray Gernon, she continued, hoarsely:
“You’ve been making your plans for long enough, and this is a part of them! It will blind some people, but it won’t me. I’ve been watching, as well as you; for my heart bled to see the poor, ill-used, neglected, tortured thing pining away, day after day! But Heaven will judge you for this, and bring down punishment upon you! She knew it was coming: she shuddered, and talked of dying, and begged of me to be a mother to her poor little one, and I swore I would; and I will, poor humble servant as I am! But right makes me strong, while wrong makes you weak and a coward, so that you are afraid, and obliged to listen to me. I’m not afraid of your fierce looks, for it shall all out, if I go to the magistrates myself. Hunting round, looking for her, you false, cruel traitor! Do you think you could deceive me? You listened for some purpose to the cruel lies of that wretch Gurdon, who ought to have had his tongue cut out; and now that you have planned and plotted, you think we are all cheated, but you are wrong. I don’t care who hears me, I will speak, and I say it now. Look at him, McCray: you are a bold, honest man, before whom he cowers—this great baronet, with his title—like a beaten hound! I tell you that for weeks past he has been trying to poison—”
With an exclamation of rage Sir Murray rushed at her; but she never flinched.
“To poison my dear lady!” exclaimed Jane.
“Hush—hush! for Heaven’s sake, hush, woman!” cried Sir Murray; and in an instant he had placed his hand over her mouth.
But it was only for an instant; McCray had dragged him from her, as, reeling as she spoke, Jane gasped:
“Keep him from me; his hands are yet red! I tell you, as I will tell the world, if I live, my lady is not lost, but murdered!”