Janet’s passage into the dining-room to get the wine was signalised by an immediate lowering of the tone of the conversation going on within. She came out carrying a glass of sherry, and was reluctantly followed by Robert, who came into the drawing-room, somewhat down-looked and shamefaced, to see his old companion and playmate. Janet, for her part, took the sherry to Mrs Ainslie, who had drawn her veil, a white one, over her face, concealing a little her agitated and excited countenance. The lady was profuse in her thanks, swallowed the wine hastily, and gave back the glass to Janet, almost pushing her away. “Thanks, thanks very much; that will do. Now leave me quiet a little to recover myself.”
“Maybe you would like to lie down on the sofa in the drawing-room out of the sun. The mistress is no in, but Mr Robert is there with Miss Susie.”
“No, thanks; I am very well where I am,” said Mrs Ainslie, with a wave of her hand. The conversation inside had ceased, and from the other side of the house there came a small murmur of voices. Mrs Ainslie waited until Janet had disappeared, and then she moved cautiously, making no sound with her feet upon the gravel, round the corner once more to the end window. Cautiously she stooped down to the window ledge and looked in. He was still seated opposite to the window, stretching out his long legs, and laying back his head as if after his dinner he was inclined for a nap. His eyes were closed. He was most perfectly at the mercy of the spy, who gazed in upon him with a fierce eagerness, noting his dress, his thickly grown beard, all the peculiarities of his appearance. She even noticed with an experienced eye the heaviness of his pocket, betraying something within that pocket to which he had moved his hand without conveying any knowledge to Mrs Ogilvy. All of these things this woman knew. She devoured his face with her keen eyes, and there came from her a little unconscious sound of excitement which, though it was not loud, conveyed itself to his watchful ear. He opened his eyes drowsily, said something, and then closed them again, taking no more notice. Lew had dined well and drank well; he was very nearly asleep.
She crept round again to the front and took her seat on the bench, again pulling down and arranging the white veil, which was almost like a mask over her face. Susie and Robert came out to her a few minutes after, she leading, he following. “If you will come in and rest,” said Robert, “my mother will probably be back very soon.”
“Oh no, it is best for us to get home,” said Mrs Ainslie. “Tell your dear mother we were so sorry to miss her. You were very merry with your friend, Mr Robert, when we came up to the house.”
“My friend?” said Robbie, startled. “Yes—I have a friend in the house.”
“All the village knows that,” said the lady, “but not who he is. Now I have the advantage of the rest, for I saw him through the window.”
Robert was still more startled and disturbed. “We’re—not fond of society—neither he nor I. I was trying to explain to Susie; but it sounds disagreeable. I—can’t leave him, and he knows nobody, so he won’t come with me.”
“Tell him he has an acquaintance now. You will come to see me, won’t you? I’ve been a great deal about the world, and I’ve met almost everybody—perhaps you, Mr Robert, I thought so the other day, and certainly—most other people: you can come to see me when you go out for your night walks that people talk of so. Oh, I like night walks. I might perhaps go out a bit with you. Dark is very long of coming these Scotch nights, ain’t it? But one of these evenings I’ll look out for you.” She paused here, and gave him a malicious look through her veil. “I’ll look for you, Mr Robert—and Lew.”
Robert stood thunderstruck as the ladies went away. Susie’s eyes had sought his with a wistful look, a sort of appeal for a word to herself, a something to be said which should not be merely formal. But Robbie was far too much concerned to have a thought to spare for Susie. She had not heard Mrs Ainslie’s last words: if she had heard them, she would have cared nothing, nor thought anything of them. What could this woman be to Robbie? was she trying to charm him as she had charmed the innocent unconscious minister? Susie turned away indignantly, and with a sore heart. She saw that she was nothing to her old comrade, her early lover; but yet she did not know how entirely she was nothing to him, and how full his mind was of another interest. He hurried back into the dining-room with panic in his soul. Lew lay stretched out on his chair as Mrs Ainslie had seen him; the warm afternoon and the heavy meal had overcome him; his long legs stretched half across the room; his head was thrown back on the high back of his chair. His eyes were shut, his mouth a little open. More complete rest never enveloped and soothed any fat and greasy citizen after dinner. Robert looked at him with mingled irritation and admiration. It is true that there was no thought of peril in the outlaw’s mind—this long interval of quiet had put all his alarms to sleep—but he would have been equally reckless, equally ready to take his rest and his pleasure, had he been consciously in the midst of his foes.