"I am sorry to hear that your mother is unwell," said the priest sympathetically.
"Aye, aye, sir, she's nae weel at all," was the answer.
"I would like to see her, if she's well enough," said Mr. McGillivray.
"Weel, sir, I wouldna' like to say she's nae fit to see a veesitor—but—ye ken, sir——"
"You mean she's not well enough to see me."
"Weel, it's this wye, Mr. McGillivray," answered Adam, lowering his voice; "I'm nae ohjectin' mysel', sin she askit me to let ye come; but the ithers is awfu' set again' it. That's the wye it is, sir."
The fact was, the "Cerberus" was not at all fierce—quite the contrary! He had been deputed by the others to confront the unwelcome visitor, as being the eldest, and therefore responsible for all unpleasant duties; but as far as he was concerned, he had no feeling in the matter. Like any Scotsman who had lived with his mother from childhood to mature manhood, he was deeply attached to her, and willing to agree to anything that might give her satisfaction in her present weak state; that the visit of the priest would be a comfort to her he strongly suspected, and hence the conflict between duty—as he regarded it—and affection.
It took very little persuasion from the priest to overcome Adam's scruples and gain admittance to the sick-room; this accomplished, it might seem that the battle had been won for religion, but the victory was not yet complete!
Adam had relented so far as to admit the priest, but no argument could persuade him to leave him alone with the invalid. He was the agent of the family, and it was his duty to see everything that went on. He would have nothing underhand in the matter!
Mr. McGillivray easily interpreted his action. He was afraid of what the others might say should he desert his post—that was all. Diplomacy was necessary and the priest rose to the occasion.