Then suddenly the madman took another thought.
"But what am I thinkin' on?" he cried. "The world is not for dune auld dotards, but for young folk—young folk—braw folk—rich folk like you and me, Elsie! See to that!"
He drew out the same large pocket-book that had dazzled the eyes of our shopmen at Yarrow's, and opening it, showed Elsie the rolls and rolls of notes, all of high denominations unseen before in Breckonside.
"There's a fortune there, lassie," he said, "a' made by Jeremy—every penny o't by Jeremy, for you and me, hinny! It bocht the melodeon here, that Hobby wadna gie this puir lad a shilling for. And it will mak' you the bonniest and the brawest wife i' the parish! Hark ye to that, Elsie! There's a fair offer for ye, the like o' that ye never heard! But noo, the nicht is afore us. I will pipe to ye, and ye shall dance. Oh, but though I say it that shouldna—ye are fell bonnie when ye dance!
"Jeremy's heart gangs oot to ye then. If onybody was to look at ye—that much—fegs, Jeremy wad put a knife into him—ay, ay, and the thing wadna be to dae twice! Oh, there's a heap o' braw lads in Breckonside that wadna be the waur o' a bluid lettin'! There's that upsettin' young Joe Yarrow for yin. I saw him the night standin' watchin' me as I was payin' for the melodeon, as if the siller was counterfeit! Certes, if Jeremy likit he could buy up the Yarrows ten times ower, faither and son!"
Then as the madman went off toward the door he lifted his finger with the half-playful air with which one admonishes a child.
"Jeremy can trust ye?" he queried. "Ay, ay, forbye the windows are barred, and the granddad has his door locked—that I ken weel. He aye sleeps best that gate! Bide here like a denty quean—wait for Jeremy. He will bring in the feast, the grand banquet in the cups o' silver an' gowd, the white wine and the reid—the best baker's bread, honey frae the kame, and a' the denty devices o' the King's ain pastry-cook—that were bocht for coined siller in Breckonside! Then, after the feast ye shall dance—dance, Elsie, as danced that other bonnie quean they caaed the dochter o' Herodias. Eh, but she maun hae made thae soldiers of Herod and thae grand wise-like lords yerk and fidge juist to watch her. But, for your dance, Elsie lassie. Gin ye be a wise bairn and dance it bonnie, Jeremy will gie ye, no the half o' his kingdom, but the hale! Ay, Jeremy's kingdom a' complete!"
And again he slapped his pocket into which he had slipped the fat pocket-book.
He was gone. Elsie waited one palpitating minute after he had locked the door. She could hear the sound of his feet descending the stairs. They died away. She listened yet a while longer, lest, with maniac cunning, he should return for the purpose of catching her in the act of disobedience. But the heavy clanging of a door and the screech of the great key in the lock warned her that it must be now or never.
Elsie flew to the door of the weaving-room. She would find Mr. Stennis. She would throw herself upon his mercy. She did not believe—she could not believe that he knew anything of the treatment she had undergone during the past months.