"Oh, Kirsten!" she cried, "such a scandal to happen in any respectable community! Ye may well cry, 'What is't?' Your precious Miss Laverock exchanging glances with a common shearer on the harvest field, and turning deadly pale. Yes! a common dirty shearer! Some poor unfortunate wretch with whom she has had an intrigue! That woman would intrigue with anything in the shape of a man. You must help me to find out more about him. He is the companion of Black Morgan. I'll expose her; and I'll see that your poor deluded master's eyes are opened."
Talk about vivisection! There are human beings who are vivisected by their fellow-creatures, sometimes consciously, sometimes unconsciously. That day at dinner, Miss Winnie Laverock was one of these hapless victims. The operators were Miss Thomasina Stocks and Mr Tosh; and Miss Jaap, with her bold black eyes, was a keen and gratified spectator of the operation.
First, Miss Stocks insisted upon leading back the conversation to the incident in the harvest field, and again and again expressed her astonishment at Winnie's sudden faintness. "What was it made you ill, I wonder? Was it the heat, do you think? For, you know, you were so well and bright a minute before."
Then Mr Tosh, in turn, after his headlong, haphazard manner, took up the subject. He had, he said, been instituting inquiries about that ruffian who insulted Miss Laverock and made her ill. The fellow, it seemed, called himself Riley, for the nonce at least. Whether it was his real name was very doubtful. Blackguards kept several names, just as decent folks kept several changes of garments, and as soon as one became too soiled, they put on another. Riley was the inseparable pal of Black Morgan, who had the words "burglar" and "garrotter" written on his countenance—yes, written in the Devil's own handwriting. Altogether, this Riley was a bad lot; and those keen eyes and greedy hands must have been inherited from a long line of thieves. He was some desperate criminal in disguise. What if he should turn out to be Crouch, the Glasgow murderer, that they were searching for everywhere?
Under this ruthless talk, poor Miss Laverock sat wincing and quivering and answering at random. At length her host interfered for her relief; and oh! how she thanked him inwardly from the bottom of her heart. Mr Stocks was, what I may be allowed to call, a natural Christian—one who had an instinctive sympathy and consideration for the sufferings of his fellow-creatures. Without the slightest fuss he adroitly diverted the conversation, by asking if they had heard of the last escapade of Rory Brand, the converted shoemaker: and then he told a most ludicrous incident,—how Rory had been at July Fair on an evangelising mission; how, when he was returning in the gloaming, near Inverarden, he had met a shabby old man, apparently a tramp; how he had addressed him at once as a lost sheep, exhorting him to give up his wandering and lawless life; how he had pressed upon him a tract entitled "Hoary Sinner, Stop!" and how this hoary sinner had turned out to be the saintly Dr Gowans, an ex-Moderator, and Convener of the Church's Missionary Society. In this way the attention of the company was diverted from Miss Laverock, and during the remainder of the dinner she was left in comparative peace.
But after she had retired from the table to her own room, she could not rest. She must see this infatuated young man, and ascertain the reason of his extraordinary condition, and implore him to spare her. The proceeding was dangerous, but at all hazards it must be done. So, without more consideration, she put on her hat and went out.
When Miss Laverock passed through the farmyard, the shearers had emptied their large basins of oatmeal porridge, and were lapped in that most delicious of all luxuries—rest after a long day of hard labour. On the heap of fragrant grass at the stable door reclined three or four Highlanders, passing the snuff-mull, and exchanging their rather stinted sentiments in their native Gaelic. On a seat improvised by the laying of a plank on two upright stones, sat some pawky Aberdonians enveloped in a small cloud of tobacco fumes. And outside on the road, under a tree, was a group of women, mending their linen as they rested their weary limbs on the cool green turf. On another occasion, Winnie's quick sympathy would have enabled her to appreciate this picture of honest well-earned content. But now, her eyes were searching right and left for one figure; and there he was, seated on a stone opposite the garden gate, and attended by his evil genius, Black Morgan. As she passed him, she gave him a glance, which he understood, for he rose and followed her; and when she had walked a short distance, she turned round, and the two stood face to face, ready for an explanation.
But there seemed to be no chance of the poor girl escaping from her perplexity. She had only time to ask—"Why do you come here, of all places, to disgrace me?" and he had only time to answer—"Don't be alarmed; I shall not disgrace you," when out from the farmyard appeared Mr Stocks, talking with his grieve. Like one surprised in a criminal act, Winnie turned aside abruptly into the garden gate. And there inside the wall was Miss Jaap, who made no attempt to conceal the fact that she had been eaves-dropping. With an air of the most righteous indignation she said,—
"Really, Miss Laverock, for the sake of public decency, you should not be seen talking to that man." And then she went out of the garden into the road as if to get hold of Riley and question him.
"How dare you!" was all that poor Winnie could answer, and then escaped hurriedly to her own room. There her vexation found vent in a tempest of tears and bemoanings.