"Aye," said the sage, "I'll bear testimony to that. Nae mair capable laddie ever passed through my varra capable hands."
"Then why am I so unfortunate?" demanded the miserable young man, looking up to the ceiling. "I am cursed in some way. Whatever I take up, fails. I try and try and try again. I foresee all chances, and work desperately. Yet again and again, I fail."
Facing Gowrie, with clenched hands and desperate eyes, Herries neither saw nor heard the door into the back parts of the house, open and shut suddenly. It was just as though someone, hearing the raised voice, had peered out, and then, after a glance, had retired hastily. Gowrie looked out of the tail of his eye, but saw nothing, and shook his head at his unfortunate pupil.
"It's a weary world," he said with drunken seriousness.
"The world is all right," cried Herries, "it is the infernal folk who live in it that make me hate life. Oh," he dashed his hands across his eyes. "I could shame my manhood and weep, when I think of my sorrow"--here he became aware that Elspeth was in the room gazing at him with pitying eyes. A feeling of pride made him close his mouth, and with an abrupt gesture of despair, he left the room at a run. The girl followed to show him his sleeping-apartment. Old Gowrie remained, and cried to Mrs. Narby for a third glass of gin.
"Aye, aye," muttered the old reprobate, "breeth we are an' dust we mau' be. Puir laddie, an' sae clever. Aye a lad of pairts. I doot 'tis the drink," he wagged his head sadly. "Weel, and why should nae the puir wean droon his sorrows in the flowing bowl, the which term Thomas Moore applies tae whusky. He's got nae siller an' varra little o' that is in ma purse. But maybe he has enow tae help the guid friend whae guided his young footsteps. Hech," he rose, and pondered, "maybe if I flatter the lad, he may spare a bittock. Drink! aye drink, which maketh glad the hairt o' mon. He'll be guid for a shulling at daybreak."
In pursuance of this plan, the Rev. Michael Gowrie was shortly on his legs, staggering to the bedroom with a stiff jorum of gin and water. Mrs. Narby led the way, and pointed out the apartment occupied by Herries, with the unnecessary information that the unknown gentleman, now in the parlour, would sleep in the next room.
"An' me sleeping in the tap-room," mourned Gowrie. "Is yon gentleman in bed, wumon?"
"No. He's still in the parlour," snapped Mrs. Narby, bristling at being called a woman. "He's waiting fur 'is friend, as comes at eight."
"It'll be haulf an hoor tae eight," said Gowrie consulting a yellow-faced watch, not worthy of a pawnbroker's ticket.