“Yes, but I was the wrang man,” said Colin Cleland, drawing his hand away, and nobody laughed, for all but The Macintosh knew that story and made it some excuse for foolish habits.
“I’m a bit of a warlock myself,” said Dr Brash, beholding the spaewife’s vexation at a faux-pas she only guessed herself guilty of. “I’ll read your loof, Miss Macintosh, if ye let me.”
They all insisted she should submit herself to the Doctor’s unusual art, and taking her hand in his he drew the mitten off and pretended to scan the lines.
“Travel—h’m—a serious illness—h’m—your life, in youth, was quite adventurous, Miss Macintosh.”
“Oh! I’m no’ that auld yet,” she corrected him. “There’s mony a chance at fifty. Never mind my past, Dr Brash, what about my future?”
He glanced up a moment and saw her aunt and uncle listening in amusement, unaware as yet that he knew the secret, then scanned her palm again.
“The future—h’m! let me see. A long line of life; heart line healthy—h’m—the best of your life’s before you, though I cannot say it may be the happiest part of it. Perhaps my—h’m—my skill a little fails here. You have a strong will, Miss—Miss Macintosh, and I doubt in this world you’ll aye have your own way. And—h’m—an odd destiny surely ’s before you—I see the line of Fame, won—h’m—in a multitude of characters; by the Lord Hairry, ma’am, you’re to be—you’re to be an actress!”
The company laughed at such a prophecy for one so antiquated, and the Doctor’s absurdity put an end to the spaeing of fortunes, but he had effected his purpose. He had found the words that expressed the hope, half-entertained, so far, of Ailie, and the fear of her brother Dan. They learned before they left that he had not spoken without his cue, yet it was a little saddened they went home at midnight with their ward in masquerade.
CHAPTER XXXI.
Fortunately Kate’s marriage came to distract them for a while from the thought of Bud’s future. The essential house had been found that was suitable for a captain, yet not too dearly rented,—a piece of luck in a community where dwellings are rarely vacant, and every tenant over eighty years of age has the uneasy consciousness that half a dozen pairs betrothed have already decided upon a different colour of paint for his windows, and have become resigned, with a not unpleasing melancholy, to the thought that in the course of nature his time cannot be long.