CHAPTER XXXI.
In one of the good old houses of the good old town of Edinburgh, and in a handsome and commodious room, hung with polished leather stamped with various figures of birds and flowers, in a fashion of which hardly a vestige now remains, sat Sir George Ramsay and his younger brother, just after the sun had gone down. The younger was in high spirits, for, mere lad as he was at the time, he had many of the weaknesses of the child still in his nature: varying in mood, easily elated; when checked or disappointed, moody and irritable; when prosperous, successful, and unopposed, gay, good-humoured, and even placable. That morning he had been greatly irritated by the news--for news travelled slowly in those days--that his brother's servant, and that one of his own favourites too, had been killed by the Earl of Gowrie's man, David Drummond; and the very calmness with which Gowrie had met his intemperate insinuations and haughty bearing had not served to calm him; but the knighthood just received had done more than any arguments could have effected to soften and improve him; and now he was talking cheerfully with one of much stronger sense and more amiable character than himself, who knew him well, and how to direct his mind to better purposes.
"Well, George, well," he said, "I am glad to hear what you tell me of the earl. I have no wish to think ill of Gowrie, and if he has acted as you mention, perhaps he had a right to be offended at the way I spoke this morning; and I will apologize. A man who is ready to fight another at any time, need not fear to apologize; but Newburn stated the matter very differently."
"A man of honour need never fear to apologize when he knows himself in the wrong, whether he be prepared to fight in a bad cause or not, John," replied his brother, with a quiet smile; "and nobody, I think, will suspect our house of wanting courage. As for Newburn, he is a firebrand, and being now deprived of the power of doing mischief himself by the consequences of one of his own insolences, he seeks alone to set others by the ears. I have now had the whole story from good William Rhind, who was in the carriage at the time. Newburn first looked into the lady's face, with an insulting laugh, and then, when the curtain was drawn, pulled it violently back, and thrust his head quite into the carriage."
"Then he deserved what he got," replied John Ramsay, frankly; "but as to this other business, you must look to it, George; for I feel sure that Gowrie is a man who will stand by his own people."
"Doubtless, when they are in the right," replied the other; "but not when they are in the wrong. I tell you, he seized the scoundrel with his own hand, as soon as he saw him flying with the poor fellow's blood upon him, and instantly gave him into the custody--not of his own followers, as he might have done, and no one said him nay, but--of the officers of the town. I forgot to tell you, too, that he has given a pension upon the lands of Ruthven to the widow, and her two daughters--fifty marks a year to each."
"That's noble--that's kind!" exclaimed John Ramsay.
"It is," said his brother; "but nevertheless, I shall go to Perth on the day of the trial, not from any doubt of Gowrie's justice, but for my own honour's sake. Thus, I beseech you, John, listen to no more tales from Newburn, who would only deceive you. As for my part, I tell you fairly, cousin or no cousin, he shall never darken my doors again. I stood by him as long as a gentleman and man of honour could; but in this business he sought so grossly to pervert the truth, that I will have no more to do with him."
Young John Ramsay mused for a minute or two; and his brother, thinking that he was pursuing the same train of thought, added, "You cannot deny, John, that his whole conduct through life has been disgraceful."
"I was not thinking of him, Dalhousie," said the younger brother, with a laugh; "I was wondering what Gowrie can have done with this same beautiful lady--this Lady Julia Douglas, and what can have made the king all in a moment seem to care so little about the matter. Either his majesty, with his cunning wit, has found out where she really is, and knows she is out of his power, or else he is waiting for the return of the messenger he sent to Italy to inquire about her treasures. The earl's movements have been very strange, as I told you, and though so strictly watched----"