“I s’ tie mysel’ up till ’t,” cried the factor, eagerly. “Gang an’ tell them i’ my name, ’at I tak back ilka scart o’ a nottice I ever ga’e ane o’ them to quit, only we maun ha’e nae mair stane’in’ o’ honest fowk ’at comes to bigg herbours till them.—Div ye think it wad be weel ta’en gien ye tuik a poun’-nott the piece to the twa women?”
“I wadna du that, sir, gien I was you,” answered Malcolm. “For yer ain sake, I wadna to Mistress Mair, for naething wad gar her tak it—it wad only affront her; an’ for Nancy Tacket’s sake, I wadna to her, for as her name, so’s her natur’: she wad not only tak it, but she wad lat ye play the same as aften ’s ye likit for less siller. Ye’ll ha’e mony a chance o’ makin’ ’t up to them baith, ten times ower, afore you an’ them pairt, sir.”
“I maun lea’ the cuintry, Ma’colm.”
“’Deed, sir, ye’ll du naething o’ the kin’. The fishers themsels wad rise, no to lat ye, as they did wi’ Blew Peter! As sune ’s ye’re able to be aboot again, ye’ll see plain eneuch ’at there’s no occasion for onything like that, sir. Portlossie wadna ken ’tsel’ wantin’ ye. Jist gie me a commission to say to the twa honest women ’at ye’re sorry for what ye did, an’ that’s a’ ’at need be said ’atween you an them, or their men aither.”
The result showed that Malcolm was right; for, the very next day, instead of looking for gifts from him, the two injured women came to the factor’s door, first Annie Mair, with the offering of a few fresh eggs, scarce at the season, and after her Nancy Tacket, with a great lobster.
CHAPTER LXIV.
A VISITATION.
Malcolm’s custom was, first, immediately after breakfast, to give Kelpie her airing—and a tremendous amount of air she wanted for the huge animal furnace of her frame, and the fiery spirit that kept it alight; then, returning to the Seaton, to change the dress of the groom, in which he always appeared about the house, lest by any chance his mistress should want him, for that of the fisherman, and help with the nets, or the boats, or in whatever was going on. As often as he might he did what seldom a man would—went to the long shed where the women prepared the fish for salting, took a knife, and wrought as deftly as any of them, throwing a marvellously rapid succession of cleaned herrings into the preserving brine. It was no wonder he was a favourite with the women. Although, however, the place was malodorous and the work dirty, I cannot claim so much for Malcolm as may at first appear to belong to him, for he had been accustomed to the sight and smell from earliest childhood. Still, as I say, it was work the men would not do. He had such a chivalrous humanity that it was misery to him to see man or woman at anything scorned, except he bore a hand himself. He did it half in love, half in terror of being unjust.
He had gone to Mr Crathie in his fisher-clothes, thinking it better the sick man should not be reminded of the cause of his illness more forcibly than could not be helped. The nearest way led past a corner of the house overlooked by one of the drawing-room windows, Clementina saw him, and, judging by his garb that he would probably return presently, went out in the hope of meeting him; and as he was going back to his net by the sea-gate, he caught sight of her on the opposite side of the burn, accompanied only by a book. He walked through the burn, climbed the bank, and approached her.
It was a hot summer afternoon. The burn ran dark and brown and cool in deep shade, but the sea beyond was glowing in light, and the laburnum-blossoms hung like cocoons of sunbeams. No breath of air was stirring; no bird sang; the sun was burning high in the west. Clementina stood waiting him, like a moon that could hold her own in the face of the sun.
“Malcolm,” she said, “I have been watching all day, but have not found a single opportunity of speaking to your mistress as you wished. But to tell the truth, I am not sorry, for the more I think about it, the less I see what to say. That another does not like a person, can have little weight with one who does, and I know nothing against him. I wish you would release me from my promise. It is such an ugly thing to speak to one’s hostess to the disadvantage of a fellow-guest!”