“Father, something must be done for him and his family at once.”
“But, my dear,” he meekly replied, “our hands are tied by his own obstinacy.”
“Can we not get up a subscription for him?” she asked. He shook his head slowly.
“’Twould be to no purpose, Nancy,” he returned thoughtfully. “He would refuse all offers of pecuniary aid. I know well his independent principles, and so do you.”
They talked over many plans and projects, but none seemed feasible, and they were about to give up in despair, when Henry Mackenzie was announced. He had just arrived from Ellisland, and immediately spoke of his visit to the poet, and under what painful conditions he had found him—told them of his promise to Burns to secure the office of supervisor for him, and had called to consult with his lordship concerning its bestowal.
Nancy listened with bated breath and tear-dimmed eyes as he spoke of the change in Robert, his poverty, his indomitable courage and independence, in spite of the ravages of disease and the black, gloomy outlook for future prosperity.
“Nancy and I were just discussing some means of alleviating his distress as you entered,” said the Duke as Mr. Mackenzie finished his recital. “And it affords me much gratification to be able to assist him to the office of supervisor of the excise and its attendant increase of salary.”
“’Twill be a God-send to him, believe me, my lord,” returned Mr. Mackenzie feelingly.
“The news will be dispatched to him at once!” cried Nancy with sparkling eyes. “’Twill relieve his present distress of mind.”
With that assurance, Mr. Mackenzie rose, and thanking them for their kindness in behalf of the indigent poet, took his leave.