Seeing all arguments were useless, the old Duke finally consented, and with a hug and a kiss, Nancy left him and proceeded to make arrangements for their speedy departure for Ayrshire.
CHAPTER XXV
The next morning dawned bleak and dismal. A damp, penetrating mist hung over the farm like a pall, and the chill of the rain-laden air penetrated into the rooms and made itself felt even by the side of the brightest fires. It affected the inmates of Ellisland farm to an alarming extent. They sat gloomily around the hearth idly watching the smoldering peat fire, which failed to send out much warmth—as if it, too, felt the depressing influences which surrounded the little household and which had plunged them all into such a slough of despond.
Robert had partaken of his bowl of porridge and now lay upon his bed, grateful for the added warmth of the woolen blankets which Jean had thrown over him with thoughtful solicitude. He appeared to the anxious watchers to be more like himself than he had been for some days, in spite of his restless, sleepless nights, as he lay there peacefully enjoying the antics of the children who were playing gleefully but quietly around the room their favorite game of “Blind man’s holiday.”
At sundown the night before Gilbert had hastened to the Inn to meet Squire Armour and to plead for another day’s grace, but the implacable old man refused to listen to him when he found he had failed to bring the money, and stormily took his departure with threats of instant eviction, leaving Gilbert in a state of utter distraction. He watched the Squire ride furiously away in the direction of Mossgiel with a heavy, sinking fear at his heart, then slowly made his way, with pale face and clenched hands, back to his brother’s cottage, where he wrestled with the fears that assailed him in despairing silence. Several times during the night he was on the verge of saddling his horse and dashing home, but the hope that the morning would bring the long-expected letter to Robert checked the impulse, and so he sat the long night through anxiously waiting for the dawn, praying fervently that he might not be too late to save his dear ones from the vindictive anger, the unyielding resolution of their irate landlord.
And now morning was here at last. Robert had fallen into a profound slumber of nervous exhaustion. Jean tucked him in carefully with the warm blankets, and taking the children with her, quietly closed the door upon the sleeping man with a prayer of thankfulness for his temporary respite from the troubles that surged about his head.
When her duties were over and the children playing on the green, Jean took her sewing and joined Gilbert in the living room. He was walking restlessly up and down, with nervous, flashing eyes that eagerly searched the road, as he passed and repassed the small window. His restless pacing, his look of hopeful anxiety smote Jean to the heart, for she had been bitterly resentful, and was still in a measure, against Gilbert’s selfishness in thinking only of his own extremity. It didn’t seem right or just that he should be here with outstretched hands, waiting to take the money that meant so much to their own struggling family at the present time, and without which she could only foresee grim want staring them all in the face—and she had to struggle with the desire that rushed over her to rise up and tell him of their bitter plight, to bid him go elsewhere for assistance; but the fear of Robert’s anger kept her silent. Then, too, she suddenly remembered that they had both kept their poverty and Robert’s continued ill luck and failures from the home folk, and it was only to be expected that Gilbert would naturally turn to his prosperous brother for assistance. “Prosperous, indeed! If he but knew,” and she sighed deeply, for her mother’s heart felt sore depressed as she thought of her own loved ones. They did not talk much. Each was too busy with his own gloomy thoughts.
In fancy, Gilbert could see Squire Armour at Mossgiel Farm, ordering out his mother and sister, watching them with sinister eyes as they got together their meager belongings, and then when they, with streaming eyes, had carried out the last piece of furniture and stood gazing at the home that was no longer theirs, the cruel landlord had heartlessly laughed at their sorrow and, locking the door, had ridden away with the keys in his pocket, leaving them standing there not knowing whither to go nor where to find food or shelter.