“What do you mean, sir?”
“Where is Allan Campbell? That is what you must next find out.”
David looked at the minister like one distraught.
“I can’t understand—I can’t believe—gie me a drink o’ water, sir.”
He was faint and sick and trembling. He drank and sat down a few minutes; but though the doctor spoke more kindly, and set clearly before him what was best to be done, he heard nothing distinctly. As soon as he was able, even while the doctor was speaking, he rose and went out of the house. Sorrow has the privilege to neglect ceremonies, and David offered no parting courtesy, but for this omission the minister was rather pleased than angry with him:
“The lad has some heart, God be thanked!” he muttered, “and the day will come when he will be grateful to me for troubling it.”
David went with rapid steps down the rocks to Pittenloch. How hateful the place looked to him that afternoon! How dreary those few tossing boats! How mean the cottages! How vulgar the women in their open doors! How disagreeable the bare-footed children that recognized him and ran hither and thither with the news of his arrival.
He was full of shame and anger. Where was his praise, where was his honor, with this disgrace in his home? How could he show those newspapers extolling his diligence and attainments, when Maggie had made his very success a disgrace to him? Oh, how bitterly he felt toward her!
Mistress Caird met him at the door with her apron at her eyes: “Come in, sir,” she said, with a courtesy, “though it is a sorrowfu’ house you come to.”
“Aunt Janet, you have been drinking. I smell the whiskey above everything. Ah, there is the bottle!” His sharp eyes had seen it behind the tea caddy on the mantelshelf. He took it and flung it upon the shingle as far as his arm could send it.