"Then ye had better baith be dead wi' him—the father who banned his ain flesh and bluid and wished that he would dee before his very eyne, and the fause woman who had nae mair heart than to drive him frae her like a dog!"
"Woman!" broke out the master, but the interruption did not check her for an instant. She went on, broadening yet more in her native dialect as she grew yet more earnest:
"Nae, ye must e'en bide my wull and tak' it, Robert Brand! It has been waiting here for mony a day, and I can haud it nae longer! He was my braw, bonnie lad, and puir auld Elsie loed him better than ye a'! I harkit till ye, Robert Brand, when yer curse went blawin' through the biggin like an east win', and I ken'd ye was sawin a fuff to reap a swirl! Ye must ban and dom yer ain bluid because it wad na fecht, drivin' the bairn awa frae kin and kintra, and noo ye hae my curse to stay wi ye, sleepin' and wakin'—ye an' the fause beauty there that helpit ye work his dool!"
"Elspeth Graeme, if you say another word to insult Miss Hayley and outrage me, I will forget that you are a woman and choke you where you stand!" cried Robert Brand, no longer able to restrain himself, starting to his feet and drawing Margaret to the same position, with his arm around her waist. But the old woman did not flinch, or pause long in her denunciation.
"Nae, ye'll do naething of the kind, Robert Brand!—ye'll tak what must come till ye!" And indeed it looked as if the great dog behind her would have sprung at the throat of even the master if he had dared to lay hands on his strange servitor. "Ye'll tak the curse, baith o' ye, and ye'll groan under it until the day ye dee! Gin Carlton Brand is dead, ye murdered him, and his eldritch ghaist shall come back and haunt ye, by night and by day, in the mist o' the mountain and the crowd o' the street, till yer blastit under it and think auld Hornie has grippet ye by the hearts! Ye'll sing dool belyve, baith of ye! Auld Elsie tells ye so, and slight her if ye daur!"
Before these last words were spoken, Margaret Hayley had slipped from the grasp of the old man and was on her knees upon the ground, her proud spirit fairly broken, her hands raised in piteous entreaty, and her lips uttering feebly:
"Oh, we have both wronged him—I know it now. But spare me, good Elspeth, now when my heart is broken; and spare him!"
But Robert Brand, as was only natural—Robert Brand, feeble as he was, viewed the matter in a somewhat different light. Sorrow might have softened him, but it had by no means entirely cured his temper; and the serving-woman had certainly gone to such lengths in her freedom as might have provoked a saint to something very much like anger. He grasped Margaret from her kneeling position, apparently forgetting pain and weakness,—set her upon the seat and poured out a volley of sound, strong plain-English curses upon the old woman, that had no difficulty whatever in being understood. Dog or no dog, it seemed probable that he might even have given vent to his rage in a more forcible manner, when another interruption occurred which somewhat changed the posture of affairs.
Elsie Brand came out from the house, hat upon head, and dressed as for a ride. She had been taking one, in fact, with Dr. James Holton, who had driven her over for a call upon one of her friends; and she looked radiant enough to proclaim the truth that she had just left very pleasant company. Her plump little form as tempting and Hebe-ish as ever; her bright yellow hair a little "touzled" (it could not be possible that those people had been laying their heads too near together in the carriage as they came across the wood road!); and her blue eyes one flash of pleasure that had forgotten all the pain and sorrow in the world,—she was a strange element, just then, to infuse into the blending of griefs within that garden. She came out with hasty step, calling to Elspeth.
"Elspeth! Elspeth! What keeps you so long? The boy is waiting to know if father has any answer." Then seeing the others: "What, Margaret here with father? How do you do, Margaret?" It was notable how the voice fell slowed and softened, in speaking the last five words, and how the light went out from her young eyes as she spoke. Though friends always, Margaret Hayley and Elsie Brand had never been the same as before to each other, since that painful June morning on the piazza. How could they be? But Margaret was softened now, and she said, "Dear Elsie!" took the little girl in her arms and kissed her, so that something of the past seemed to have returned.