“It is a lie,” she cried fiercely, rousing herself with some of her old-time spirit. “My little lass, they lie who say such things as that.”
Then, to my astonishment, fell rapidly the old woman’s tale. In quick, passionate words she pleaded on behalf of the patroon. She forestalled every bit of information that might by accident get to Miriam’s ears. She denied the truth of what the patroon had really done. She put good motives where he had acted from bad. Was it her old love returning at the last moment to act in behalf of the man who had ruined her? Or was she, too, like the rest of us trying merely to shield the young mistress? Everyone seemed to love her; everyone tried to save her from the ruin that we all foresaw. I stepped back and retraced my way to the manor-house.
All the way home my mind was occupied with a new thought. I flew backward in imagination to that scene on the Royal Lion when Ruth taught me my duty in words I had forgotten. From the time of our second separation, I had been growing still harder on the Catholics. My heart had leaped with joy when I knew that I had the patroon nearly in my grasp, and that it was a Catholic I was hounding to his ruin. Yet Ruth had taught me to be tolerant. How had I followed her instructions? Should I not be ashamed of myself? Then like a revelation it all came over me; why I had done nothing for so many weeks, why I could not play false to the patroon, why I stood spellbound on the cottage steps when Miriam was praying at the old woman’s bedside. When I left the cottage I held something in my hand. Now I looked at it passionately for a moment and put it in my bosom.
When I reached home I told the patroon what I had overheard, and that there was no danger of his daughter hearing anything he did not wish her to hear. I thought the tears came into his eyes when I told him this.
“It is for love of her,” he said in a low voice. “But not for me. God help her.”
The patroon had nothing for me to do, so I returned to my room. But I could not rest. After a while—it must have been towards midnight—I rose and went outside for a breath of air. I hardly knew where to walk. Then I bethought myself of Miriam alone in the cottage among the hills. I was just turning in that direction when I heard footsteps in the gravel path behind me. I drew back into the shadow to conceal myself till I knew who besides myself was stirring at this hour of the night. I soon recognized Louis Van Ramm coming towards me slowly. He paused near where I was hiding and looked about him.
“Where are you?” he asked in a guarded whisper.
“Here,” I answered.
“Ah, I thought I saw you. Let us walk farther from the house.” When we had gone a short distance he continued abruptly, “My mother is dead. The young mistress will stay there till I come. I told the patroon and he was glad that she was dead. Curse his soul! Now that he knows Ronald and not I was his son I shall go like the rest.”
“Why should he want your life?” I asked.