“I’m much obliged to you, my lady, but there’s no fear of me. You saw me wash the fresh water out. Salt water never hurts.”
“You must go and change nevertheless,” said Clementina.
Malcolm looked to his mistress. She gave him a sign to obey, and he rose. He had taken three steps towards the house when Clementina recalled him.
“One word, if you please,” she said. “How is it that a man who risks his life for that of a little bird, can be so heartless to a great noble creature like that horse of yours? I cannot understand it!”
“My lady,” returned Malcolm with a smile, “I was no more risking my life than you would be in taking a fly out of the milk-jug. And for your question, if your ladyship will only think, you cannot fail to see the difference. Indeed I explained my treatment of Kelpie to your ladyship that first morning in the park, when you so kindly rebuked me for it, but I don’t think your ladyship listened to a word I said.”
Clementina’s face flushed, and she turned to her friend with a “Well!” in her eyes. But Florimel kept her head bent over her embroidery; and Malcolm, no further notice being taken of him walked away.
CHAPTER XLII.
ST RONAN’S WELL.
The next day the reading was resumed, and for several days was regularly continued. Each day, as their interest grew, longer time was devoted to it. They were all simple enough to accept what the author gave them, nor, had a critic of the time been present to instruct them that in this last he had fallen off, would they have heeded him much: for Malcolm, it was the first story by the Great Unknown he had seen. A question however occurring, not of art but of morals, he was at once on the alert. It arose when they reached that portion of the tale in which the true heir to an earldom and its wealth offers to leave all in the possession of the usurper, on the one condition of his ceasing to annoy a certain lady, whom, by villainy of the worst, he had gained the power of rendering unspeakably miserable. Naturally enough, at this point Malcolm’s personal interest was suddenly excited: here were elements strangely correspondent with the circumstances of his present position. Tyrrel’s offer of acquiescence in things as they were, and abandonment of his rights, which, in the story, is so amazing to the man of the world to whom it is first propounded, drew an exclamation of delight from both ladies—from Clementina because of its unselfishness, from Florimel because of its devotion: neither of them was at any time ready to raise a moral question, and least of all where the heart approved. But Malcolm was interested after a different fashion from theirs. Often during the reading he had made remarks and given explanations—not so much to the annoyance of Lady Clementina as she had feared, for since his rescue of the swift, she had been more favourably disposed towards him, and had judged him a little more justly—not that she understood him, but that the gulf between them had contracted. He paused a moment, then said:
“Do you think it was right, my ladies? Ought Mr Tyrrel to have made such an offer?”
“It was most generous of him,” said Clementina, not without indignation —and with the tone of one whose answer should decide the question.