“I believe it, my poor Malcolm,” she returned, “quite as much as I want, or as it is pleasant to believe it. I think you would do a great deal for me, Malcolm. But then you are so rude! take things into your hands, and do things for me I don’t want done! You will judge, not only for yourself, but for me! How can a man of your training and position judge for a lady of mine! Don’t you see the absurdity of it? At times it has been very awkward indeed. Perhaps when I am married it might be arranged; but I don’t know.” Here Malcolm ground his teeth, but was otherwise irresponsive as block of stone. “How would a gamekeeper’s place suit you? That is a half-gentlemanly kind of post. I will speak to the factor, and see what can be done.—But on the whole I think, Malcolm, it will be better you should go. I am very sorry. I wish you had not told me. It is very painful to me. You should not have told me. These things are not intended to be talked of.—Suppose you were to marry—say——”
She stopped abruptly, and it was well both for herself and Malcolm that she caught back the name that was on her lips.
The poor girl must not be judged as if she had been more than a girl, or other than one with every disadvantage of evil training. Had she been four or five years older, she might have been a good deal worse, and have seemed better, for she would have kept much of what she had now said to herself, and would perhaps have treated her brother more kindly while she cared even less for him.
“What will you do with Kelpie, my lady?” asked Malcolm quietly.
“There it is, you see!” she returned. “So awkward! If you had not told me, things could have gone on as before, and for your sake I could have pretended I came this voyage of my own will and pleasure. Now, I don’t know what I can do—except indeed you—let me see —if you were to hold your tongue, and tell nobody what you have just told me—I don’t know but you might stay till you got her so far trained that another man could manage her. I might even be able to ride her myself.—Will you promise?”
“I will promise not to let the fact come out so long as I am in your service, my lady.”
“After all that has passed, I think you might promise me a little more! But I will not press it.”
“May I ask what it is, my lady?”
“I am not going to press it, for I do not choose to make a favour of it. Still, I do not see that it would be such a mighty favour to ask—of one who owes respect at least to the house of Lossie. But I will not ask. I will only suggest, Malcolm, that you should leave this part of the country—say this country altogether, and go to America, or New South Wales, or the Cape of Good Hope. If you will take the hint, and promise never to speak a word of this unfortunate—yes, I must be honest, and allow there is a sort of relationship between us; but if you will keep it secret, I will take care that something is done for you—something, I mean, more than you could have any right to expect. And mind, I am not asking you to conceal anything that could reflect honour upon you or dishonour upon us.”
“I cannot, my lady.”