Lord Maudlaine had risen as Brace addressed him, and mad with shame and confusion, he stood listening to his rival’s words; but when Brace handed him the undischarged pistol by the butt, the old fiendish rage took possession of his soul, lending fire to his eye, and nerve to his arm. He took the weapon and held it to his side; but as Brace turned and walked down the path, he dashed after him.
“Stop!” he cried, hoarsely; “not yet—you have not yet escaped!” when, as Brace turned, startled at the change that had come upon his rival, the young man’s heart quailed for a few moments, for he was standing within six paces of the Viscount, who was taking deadly aim at his breast.
Another second, and the aim might have proved mortal; but, as the pistol exploded, a heavy body seemed to dart from the bushes beside the Viscount, who was thrust aside, and the bullet grazed the bark of a huge beech-tree a dozen yards in advance.
“Weel done, Peter, my lad!” cried a voice—“that was weel jumpit. Why, ye murderin’ loon, to shute at an unairmed man like that; and is it the like of thee as is to have the Castle? Gude-sake, Maister Norton, dinna ye hold me. I could shock all the braith out of his coward’s bodie, I could. Oh! ye may weel go,” he cried, loudly, as the Viscount hurried away. “We saw it all, Mr Brace, Peter here and me; but not soon enow to stop the first shot. We saw him go doon, and for a wee my hairt was in my mooth, for I thocht ye’d kilt him. But that was a bonny leap of the lad’s here, and disarrangit his aim, or, sir, I believe he’d have hit ye. But Sir Mooray shall know what a viper he’s got under his roof before he’s an hour older.”
“No, not a word—not a single hint of this must be given to him!” exclaimed Brace, firmly. “I will not win my way forward by such means. Mr McCray, I ask it as a favour: let this be all buried.”
“And it was verra like that ye were to being buried yersel’,” grumbled the old Scot; but after a good deal of arguing, Brace carried the day by the use of Isa’s name, and for her sake it was settled that the proceedings should be kept as their own secret, unless Lord Maudlaine should think proper to give a garbled account, in which case, in his own defence, Brace might find it necessary to speak, when McCray promised that he would “bear witness to the truth.”
“I’ll answer for the laddie here, sir,” said McCray; “and noo we must goo, for it winna do for us to be seen speaking to ye. Ye’re a proper lad, but I’m Sir Mooray’s sairvant, and we mustn’t foregather at all. I think I see how matters air; but I’m going to talk it ower with the gudewife, and then I shall have the scales cleart frae my een. Gude day, sir. Noo, Peter. Ah! laddie, ye shouldna ha’ ta’en that sovereign; but there, I dinna ken but what ye’re right. Ye savit the laddie’s life; and I think that its warth mair than a gowd sovereign to him.”
The next minute Brace Norton, now almost giddy with excitement, strode away. He had had a most narrow escape of his life, but he told himself that he could afford to be generous, for had not Isa that morning owned how painful it was to pass a day without seeing him? He was more and more, too, in her confidence, and she had told him of her fathers morose looks, and of how she found that he knew of their interviews, although he had not spoken a word, but, as was his wont at times, shut himself up from all intercourse, leaving her entirely to the persecution of her detested suitor.
“I cannot help leaving the house all I can,” she had said, naïvely. “If he would only go, see my dislike, or be generous, I would not care; but I believe he proposed to my father when we first encountered him in Italy, and my father acceded to his propositions.”
Then they had talked about the future, and forgetting what he had since gone through, Brace recalled all: how he had whispered comfort to her, and told her to hope. Of how he fully expected that the day would come when the old enmity of her father would be swept away, and that in spite of all the black clouds around them now, the sun would shine forth at last.