“I am glad to give you my hand, sir. I owe you more than can be told. I had not been where I am to-day but for you.”
“And if there is anything more needed?”
“There is nothing more, sir. I have paid back all I borrowed. I have been fortunate above my fellows. I owe you only the gratitude I freely and constantly pay.”
Allan scarcely understood him; he grasped the hand David offered him, then walked to Argyle Street and called a cab; in half an hour, he was in his own rooms in the Blytheswood Square house. His advent caused a little sensation; the housekeeper almost felt it to be a wrong. “In the very thick of the cleaning!” she exclaimed; “every bit of furniture under linen, and all the silver put by in flannel. Miss Campbell said she wasna coming until the end o’ September; and as for Mr. Allan, every one thought he was at a safe distance. We’ll hae to hurry wi’ the paint work noo, and if there’s one thing mair than anither no to be bided it’s hurrying up what should be taken pains wi’.”
Generally Allan would have been conscious of the disapproval his visit evoked, and he would have reconciled the servants to any amount of trouble by apologies and regrets; but at this time his mind was full of far more personal and serious affairs. He had been inclined to think the very best of Maggie, to be quite certain that she had been detained by circumstances absolutely uncontrollable by her; but after reading again and again her letters to David, he did think she ought to have had some written explanation of her absence waiting for him. She knew he would certainly see either Willie Johnson or Elder Mackelvine, and he felt that she might —if she wished—have spared him much anxiety and disappointment.
He longed now to see his father; he determined to tell him the truth, and be guided by his advice. But John Campbell’s last letter to his son had been dated from Southern Russia, and it was scarcely likely he would be in Glasgow for three weeks. However, Mary Campbell was at Drumloch, and he thought as he sipped his coffee, that it would probably be the best thing to go there, rest for a day or two with his cousin, and if he found her sympathetic, ask her help in his perplexity.
He called at the office on his way to the railway station, and he was met by the manager with an exclamation of peculiar satisfaction. “No one could be more welcome at this hour, Mr. Allan,” he said; “we were all longing for you. There is bad news from Russia.”
“My father?”
“Is very ill. He took a severe cold in a night journey over the Novgorod Steppe, and he is prostrate with rheumatic fever at Riga. I had just told Luggan to be ready to leave by to-night’s train for Hull. I think that will be the quickest route.”
“I can catch the noon train. I will call in an hour for money and advices, and go myself.”