Robert felt as though he must choke with fury. He forgot the presence of Lord Glencairn. He forgot everything but his just indignation. “My God!” he cried passionately, striding up to the sneering woman, “you dare to speak so—you!”
“Yes, I!” she returned coolly, eying him disdainfully up and down. “What have you to say against me?” She drew herself up imperiously.
“Only this,” replied Robert in a low, tense voice, “ye may say what you will of me, but as ye value your happiness, do not breathe aught against the fair name of Mary Campbell.”
She uttered an angry exclamation, but remained speechless and so pale that her lips were devoid of color. If he were dishonorable enough to tell everything, she thought, with a thrill of fear, it would make things decidedly embarrassing and humiliating for her, besides giving her enemies a choice bit of scandal, which they would use to excellent advantage.
At this point a few of the guests, feeling decidedly uncomfortable and very much de trop, quietly left the room, but the others, and the room was filled, held their ground, shamelessly reveling in the extraordinary scene, the like of which had never before been seen in an Edinburgh drawing-room, which was being enacted before them.
“Robert, lad,” whispered Mrs. Dunlop, in a loud aside, “ye must say something. Deny this charge. I know you are innocent of any wrong doing. Speak, tell his lordship so!” and she pointed to where he stood crushed and silent, in speechless sorrow.
“What can I say, Mrs. Dunlop?” replied Robert, in an agony of indecision. “Would ye have me flatly contradict her ladyship and accuse her of lying?” He paused a moment with patient sadness. “Nay, nay, friend, there is nothing I can say noo that will smooth matters or clear me in the eyes of the world.”
“But you must tell them the truth,” insisted Mary. “Dinna’ let them believe this monstrous thing of you.” She looked indignantly at the cold repellent face of her ladyship, and continued fearlessly, “She’s a bold, wicked woman, and she seeks your ruin!”
“How dare you, you insolent creature!” hissed her ladyship furiously, while the amazed guests looked in open-mouthed amazement at the demure little dairymaid so suddenly transformed, standing with head thrown back and eyes flashing accusingly.
But Robert remained rigidly silent. He would not be so base, so ungrateful as to shatter his benefactor’s belief in his wife’s honor, her veracity, he told himself in a spirit of self-sacrifice. He owed all he had in the world to him, and he would remain silent for his sake, and he kept his eyes fixed unresponsively on the rug at his feet, but the little drops of perspiration stood out on his brow, as he fought against the temptation to clear his good name from ignominy.