‘For God’s sake, laddie,’ cried the old man, ‘don’t break down noo! There’s work to be done. You don’t know all yet, nor the half o’t.’
‘My mother!’ cried Desmond. ‘My mother!’ He took off his soft felt hat, crushing it in his hand, and pulled his collar open, stifling with surprise and emotion. Peebles, seeing it vain to continue his story for the moment, paused, waiting till the first shock of his communication should have passed away. ‘My mother!’ Desmond repeated again, after an interval. He spoke mechanically, with an utter lack of emotion in voice and manner. ‘My mother! Well?’
‘The laddie’s stunned wi’ the intelligence,’ said Peebles to himself, ‘and small wonder. Can you understand what I’m saying, Desmond?’ he asked, taking the lad’s arm. ‘We must gang on, lad. There’ll maybe be serious work for us this night. D’ye understand me?’
‘Yes,’ said Desmond slowly, his mind still feeling numbed and dim. ‘I can hear what you say, Mr. Peebles, but it—it all seems so strange. Is it dreaming that I am?’ ‘’tis no dream,’ answered Peebles. ‘It’s as real as the soil beneath your feet, and as true as God’s above ye. Pull yerself together, lad, pull yerself together!’
‘Well,’ said Desmond, resuming his way in obedience to the impetus of Peebles’ hand, ‘go on—I’ll try to understand.’
‘She came back,’ continued Peebles—speaking slowly, that the words might better penetrate the stunned intelligence of his companion—‘she came back a’ that weary way just to see the face and hear the voice o’ the bairn she’d suffered for eighteen years ago. But, laddie, she’s had strange news! You don’t ken all the sorrowfu’ story. I tauld you, when that young cub, your cousin, taunted you wi’ the accident o’ your birth, never to think shame o’ your mother. I’ve had no chance since to tell you more; I must tell it noo. Your mother was entrapped by a sham marriage—or, at least, the marriage was believed to be a sham. It was Blake of Blake’s Hall who officiated as priest. Somehow, Moya surmised that Blake might really have been a priest, and asked me to gang till him and speer if it was so. I went this afternoon and saw him, and he confessed that he had been in holy orders, and that, though the Bishop had ta’en his cure o’ souls from him, he had never been legally unfrocked. D’ye ken what that means, laddie?’
‘My brain’s reeling,’ said Desmond; ‘I understand nothing.’
‘It means,’ cried the old man, his voice breaking with glad emotion—‘it means that you’re Desmond Conseltine, my master’s legitimate son and heir, the next Lord Kilpatrick! Oh, laddie, it’s brave news—it’s brave news—and my heart was just bursting to tell it!’
Desmond spoke no word, and his silence after the communication of the tidings a little frightened his old friend, who peered into his face as they walked on quietly side by side.
‘Hae ye nothing to say, Desmond?’ he asked.