“Faith! what faith?” returned Peter, almost fiercely. “We’re tauld to put no faith in man; an’ gien I bena come to that yet freely, I’m nearer till ’t nor ever I was afore.”
“Weel, Peter, a’ ’at I can say is, I ken my ain hert, an’ ye dinna ken ’t.”
“Daur ye tell me!” cried Peter. “Disna the Scriptur’ itsel’ say the hert o’ man is deceitfu’ an’ despratly wickit: who can know it?”
“Peter,” said Malcolm, and he spoke very gently, for he understood that love and not hate was at the root of his friend’s anger and injustice, “gien ye winna lippen to me, there’s naething for ’t but I maun lippen to you. Gang hame to yer wife, an’ gi’e her my compliments, an’ tell her a’ ’at’s past atween you an’ me, as near, word for word, as ye can tell the same; an’ say till her, I pray her to jeedge atween you an’ me—an’ to mak the best o’ me to ye ’at she can, for I wad ill thole to loss yer freenship, Peter.”
The same moment came the command for all but passengers to go ashore. The men grasped each other’s hand, looked each other in the eyes with something of mutual reproach, and parted—Blue Peter down the river to Scaurnose and Annie, Malcolm to the yacht lying still in the Upper Pool.
He saw it taken properly in charge, and arranged for having it towed up the river and anchored in the Chelsea Reach.
When Blue Peter found himself once more safe out at sea, with twelve hundred yards of canvas spread above him in one mighty wing betwixt boom and gaff; and the wind blowing half a gale, the weather inside him began to change a little. He began to see that he had not been behaving altogether as a friend ought. It was not that he saw reason for being better satisfied with Malcolm or his conduct, but reason for being worse satisfied with himself; and the consequence was that he grew still angrier with Malcolm, and the wrong he had done him seemed more and more an unpardonable one.
When he was at length seated on the top of the coach running betwixt Aberdeen and Fochabers, which would set him down as near Scaurnose as coach could go, he began to be doubtful how Annie, formally retained on Malcolm’s side by the message he had to give her, would judge in the question between them; for what did she know of theatres and such places? And the doubt strengthened as he neared home. The consequence was that he felt in no haste to execute Malcolm’s commission; and hence, the delights of greeting over, Annie was the first to open her bag of troubles: Mr Crathie had given them notice to quit at Midsummer.
“Jist what I micht hae expeckit!” cried Blue Peter, starting up. “Woe be to the man ’at puts his trust in princes! I luikit till him to save the fisher-fowk, an’ no to the Lord; an’ the tooer o’ Siloam’s fa’en upo’ my heid:—what does he, the first thing, but turn his ain auld freen’s oot o’ the sma beild they had! That his father nor his gran’father, ’at was naither o’ them God-fearin’ men, wad never hae put their han’ till. Eh, wuman! but my hert’s sair ’ithin me. To think o’ Ma’colm MacPhail turnin’ his back upo’ them ’at’s been freens wi’ ’im sin ever he was a wee loonie, rinnin’ aboot in coaties!”
“Hoot, man! what’s gotten intill yer heid?” returned his wife. “It’s no Ma’colm; it’s the illwully factor. Bide ye till he comes till ’s ain, an’ Maister Crathie ’ll hae to lauch o’ the wrang side o’ ’s mou’.”