Rescue.
“Ye maraudin’ villin, take that! And there’s for ye too, ye deevil!” exclaimed a low, deep voice, and then another heavy, flapping blow was struck; there was a crash, a scuffle, another blow or two, and then came the sound of a heavy fall, succeeded by another, and the crackle of breaking twigs.
“Heaven save us!” ejaculated the newcomer. “There goes half the pots off the stand, and, by all that’s good, one of them’s gone right amongst the azaleas!”
Then there was a perfect stillness, unbroken even by the night wind, which had lulled once more, when, after listening at the door for a few moments, Alexander McCray, smiling at his opportune arrival and successful exploit, closed the portal, and slipped one of the bolts. Then, taking a box of matches from his pocket, he lit one, and then applied it to a candle in a sconce over the side-table.
“Why, my puir, daft bairn!” he said, tenderly, as he drew the gag from Jane’s teeth, and cut the rope which bound her feet. “It’s cruel treatment of such a flower. I’d have been here sooner, only I had to go to the tool-shed for a weepun; and it’s lucky I did,” he said, showing the spade with which he had dealt his blows.
“Oh, McCray!” sobbed Jane, “I’m ruined for ever, and undone!”
“Not you, my wee blossom,” cried McCray, stoutly. “You know now what a villin he is, so I won’t be ragging his character, seeing that he’s done for for ever. An’ I won’t blame ye a bit, not a wee bit, my sweet lassie,” he continued, as he tenderly chafed her swollen wrists. “Ye made a mistake, and trusted a rascal, and not the first poor daft chiel that did, to her cost. But he won’t forget the spade of Alexander McCray, of Galashiels, in a hurry, my lassie; and it’s all a gude act of Providence that I—”
Sandy stopped short, for he remembered the rabbit.
“It’s all gude luck,” he continued, “that I happened to hear ye whisper out of the lattice, and then came this morning to rake out the footsteps. I’ve been watching sin’ ten, that I have, and had no chance of warning ye when I saw the rogue had two to help him. And even then, my lassie, I thought they were only to take care of him, instead of being midnight robbers. But I sune fun them oot.”
“Oh, Mr McCray, it was a blessing you came!” sobbed Jane.
“Weel, yes, lassie, I just think it was. But ye’ll no foregather with the villin no more, will ye? Ye’ll ne’er speak to him again?”
“No, no—oh, never!” groaned Jane.
“That’s weel; and I won’t judge you for greeting over it all a bit, lassie. Your puir heart’s sair now, but it will heal up again, never fear. And now, I won’t say ony mair to ye, only recollect, Miss Jenny, I’m an honest man, and I lo’e ye verra dearly.”
Mr McCray had been growing somewhat excited as he spoke, and hence more broad in his language; but he cooled down into the matter-of-fact gardener after delivering himself of the above, and took a pinch of snuff to calm his feelings; for he felt that it would be wrong to press his suit with the poor girl while she was in such trouble, and his Scottish dignity was roused. Here was a damsel in distress—and were not the McCrays honourable men, from the time when they all wore plaid and wielded claymore, down to the present day, when their representative followed the pursuit of his forefather Adam?
“Oh, what is to become of me?” sobbed Jane.
“Just nothing at all but an honest man’s wife one of these days,” said Sandy.
“What shall I do?” cried Jane.
“Just wipe your bright eyes, and don’t talk quite so loud,” said Sandy.
“Oh, they’ll all be down directly,” cried Jane.
“Weel, I don’t know that,” said Sandy. “If any folk had been coming, they’d have been here sooner; so I think as no one knows anything about it but we twain, my lassie, why, ye’d better put oot the candle, and lock the door, and then go up to bed.”
“But do you think no one will know?” sobbed Jane.
“That’s just what I do think, my lassie; and if ye’ll promise me, like a good girl, never to have word again with Mr Jock Gurdon, I’ll be up wi’ the dawn, and put the damage reet outside, and then nobody’ll be a bit the wiser.”
“Oh, Mr McCray, how can I ever thank you?” sobbed Jane, catching one of his great hands in hers. “I do promise you, indeed!” And she tried to kiss it.
“Nay—nay, my puir bairn, that’s for me to do.” And he drew her towards him, and kissed her forehead gently and reverently.
“I’m a great, awkward-looking chid, Jenny Barker, but I’ve got a man’s heart in me. Ye’ve been sair deceived, and I don’t blame ye a bit for being true and faithful to your jo; but, now that’s all over, lassie, try and comfort your heart with the thought that there’s another man in the world who, while he loves the ground ye tread on, loves ye, too, sae weel, that he won’t say word more till he can see that it winna be distasteful to ye. And now, good night, bairn. Let me get my spade, and I’ll be off. Keep yer ain counsel, and I’ll keep it too; and ye may depend that Jock Gurdon will never say word about it.”
With a pleasant, quiet smile upon his broad, honest face, Sandy McCray took his spade and turned to go, when Jane laid her hand upon his arm to detain him.
“What is it, bairn?” said Sandy.
“I’m afraid—” whispered Jane, earnestly.
“Afraid? and why?” asked Sandy.
“Afraid those bad men may be watching for you,” whispered Jane.
“Heaven bless ye for that, lassie!” cried McCray, with the tears of pleasure starting into his eyes, as, catching her in his arms, he kissed her heartily. “Ye’ll send me away a happier man than I’ve been for months, seeing that douce-tongued carl hanging round ye. Go to your bed, lassie—go to your bed, and sleep soundly; and I should like to see the face of either of them come within reach of my spade!”
A minute later, and the gardener was listening to the cautious fastening of the door; and then, boldly stepping out on to the lawn, he looked around. But there was, as he had felt, no danger at hand, and soon after he was seated in his cottage, waiting patiently for the dawn, not trusting himself to sleep; and long before another gardener appeared, the last trace of disturbed flower-stand and bed had been removed, so that not another soul at Merland Castle knew of John Gurdon’s treachery.
“But I’ll e’en keep my eyes wide,” said Alexander to himself; “for it strikes me that the rascal may come again.”
“Maybe I ought to tell the laird, and put him on his guard, for the bit of siller in the butler’s pantry is a sair temptation to a rogue,” muttered McCray, as he pondered about the matter; “but I dinna see how I’m going to tell a bit without telling the whole, and getting the lassie into grief. So I’ll just say nae word to a soul, but take a leuke round of a neet, and have a peep at the lassie’s window as weel, lest the de’il should hang about to try and tempt the puir daughter of Eve to fresh sin. For though she means reet now, the lassie’s weak; and though she don’t know’t, there may yet be a bit of the auld weed in her heart not yet rooted oot; but wait a wee, and I’ll have that sweet heart of hers that clean and reet, that it shall blossom again beautifully, and I’d like to see the weed then as would get in.”