But the keeper did not move. He stood with his arms crossed firmly on his broad chest, and a stern dogged expression on his handsome face.
“Ivor, hi!” exclaimed the old gentleman, in a louder voice, supposing that the man had not heard. “After work like this a dram will do you good.”
“Oo, ay!” remarked one of the shepherds, who had probably began to feel the “good” by that time; “a tram of whusky iss a fery coot thing at all times—specially when it is coot whusky!”
At this profound witticism there was a general laugh among the men, in the midst of which the laird repeated his invitation to Ivor, saying that he seemed knocked up after his exertions (which was partially true), and adding that surely he was man enough to take a little for his good at such a time, without giving way to it.
The laird did not mean this as a taunt, but it was taken as such by the keeper, who came forward quickly, seized the glass, and drained it. Having done so he stood for a moment like one awaking from a dream. Then, without a word of thanks, he dropped the glass, sprang into the shrubbery, and disappeared.
The laird was surprised, and his conscience smote him, but he turned the incident off with a laugh.
“Now, lads,” he said, “go to work again. It will take all your energies to keep the fire down, if it comes on to blow; and your comrades must be tired by this time.”
Fortunately it did not come on to blow. The night was profoundly calm, so that a steady though small supply of water sufficed to quench incipient flames.
Meanwhile Giles Jackman had left the group on the lawn almost at the same moment with the gamekeeper; for, having been accustomed to deal with men in similar circumstances, he had a suspicion of what might follow. The poor man, having broken the resolve so recently and so seriously formed, had probably, he thought, become desperate.
Ivor was too active for him, however. He disappeared before Jackman had followed more than a few yards. After a few moments of uncertainty, the latter made straight for old Molly Donaldson’s cottage, thinking it possible that her unhappy son might go there. On the way he had to pass the keeper’s own cottage, and was surprised to see a light in it and the door wide open. As he approached, the sound of the keeper’s voice was heard speaking violently, mingled with blows, as if delivered with some heavy instrument against timber. A loud crash of breaking wood met Jackman’s ear as he sprang in. Ivor was in the act of rending the remains of a door from a corner cupboard, while an axe, which he had just dropped, lay at his feet on the earthen floor. A black quart bottle, visible through the opening which had been made, showed the reason of his assault on the cupboard. If there had been any uncertainty on the point, it would have been dispelled by the wild laugh or yell of fierce exultation with which he seized the bottle, drew the cork, and raised it to his dry lips.