Under Orders.
Andy McCray, in spite of his dignity as head “gairdner,” was not above working hard himself, and he was busy enough when, slowly and gloomily, Sir Murray made his appearance, looking anxiously about the grounds, as if in search of something he could not see. He went first in one direction, then in another, and at last he returned to where Sandy was busy.
“Has her ladyship passed this way, gardener?” he said.
“Yes, Sir Mooray, a quarter of an hour syne. She took the path for the north gate.”
Sir Murray Gernon bent his head by way of thanks, and walked slowly down the path till he had passed round the house, when he started off walking swiftly, making for the north gate, through which he passed, and then walked hurriedly on.
There was the wife of one of the under-gardeners at the lodge ready to drop him a courtesy, and from her he could, no doubt, have learned in a moment which direction her ladyship had taken, but he refrained from asking; and, evidently with an idea that he knew the place to which she would resort, he took a narrow path leading off towards a wood, one of the few old forests yet left in England; but, after walking quite half an hour, always anxiously peering to right or left, he seemed to be at fault, and turned sharply back to go in another direction, this time almost at a run.
That he was much agitated was plain enough, for though his face, and even his lips, were white, the veins in his forehead stood out in a perfect network, his pulses, too, throbbing fiercely. Twice over a heavy bead of perspiration trickled down his face, but he heeded it not, but, evidently now settled upon the point he sought, he passed rapidly along a by-path which led into one of the inner recesses of the wood.
Sir Murray had not left the garden ten minutes when, rising from his work for an instant, McCray became aware of the flutter of a dress in the distance, and the next instant made out that the wearer was Jane Barker, who now signalled him to come to her.
“And me so busy, too,” muttered the gardener. “I did say that all my bit of courting should be done of an evening; and here’s a temptation, coming in the middle of the day. But there, gude save us, I must go when she calls, if I lose my place.”
“And there ye are, then,” he said, as he reached the place where Jane was anxiously awaiting him, “the brightest flower in the garden, lassie.”
“Oh, Alexander!” ejaculated Jane.
“Bless ye for that, my bairn! Ye’ve taken, then, to ca’ me by my name at last.”
“Pray—pray make haste and help me. What shall I do?”
“Do, lassie,” exclaimed the downright Scot. “Why, tell me what’s the matter.”
“Yes, yes,” cried the agitated girl. “You know my lady went out a little while since.”
“Ay, I saw her go.”
“And then Sir Murray came down.”
“To be sure, and he askit me the which way she’d gone.”
“Yes, yes,” cried Jane, “and I went up on to the top of the house on the leads, and I’ve been watching him, and he’s followed her.”
“To be sure, lassie; and wadna I ha’e done the same if ye’d gone the same gait?”
“Oh yes—no,—I don’t know,” said Jane; “but I don’t like it, and I want you to follow them.”
“Me? Follow? What, go after Sir Mooray and my lady?” exclaimed McCray. “Hoot, lassie, and have ye gone daft?”
“Daft! no!” cried Jane, angrily. “You must—indeed, you must go after them. He came to me quite angry when he found that her ladyship had gone out, and asked me where I thought she’d be; and I told him, like the fool that I was; and I don’t like things—I don’t, indeed; and I’m afraid there’s mischief on the way.”
“My dear bairn,” said the thoughtful Scot, “I’m afraid ye’ve been letting your fancy run away with ye full galop. Once you women get an idea into your poor little heads ye go racing after it full tear. Now, let me ask ye what is there strange in my lady going out to pick specimens, as she’s done hundreds o’ times before? and, now that they’re making it up, for Sir Mooray to go after her?”
“Nothing—nothing,” said Jane, earnestly, “if it were all genuine; but, Alexander—dear Alexander, there’s Judas kisses as well as true ones, and I know he did not mean what you saw. I’m troubled about it all, and I come to you for help: don’t fail me, please, now this first time.”
“Nay, nay,” cried the Scot, eagerly. “I’ll not fail thee, lassie. But what am I to do? Where am I to go?”
“Follow them and watch them, never leaving them for an instant, and always being ready to give help.”
“Yes, yes; I’ll do it, lassie.”
“I knew you would,” cried Jane, pressing his great hand between both of hers; “and now run—run all the way, for he went to his room after he left me, and came out pushing a pistol into his pocket. And, oh! Alexander, if you love me, make haste, for I’m sure that there’s something wrong!”