About this time it was observed that Geordie Willison had long interviews with Advocate Carstairs; but neither his mother, nor his sister, nor, indeed, any person, could get him to say a word on the subject. His manner, in regard to the story of Jessie, had been all along quite uniform, and many years had passed since his mother had given up in despair all attempts to get him to divulge it. He was, at present, apparently very absent, as if something of great importance occupied his mind.
One day, on leaving the advocate, he went direct for the house of Lady Maitland. He was admitted as usual. He said he wished to see her ladyship and Louise together.
“I hae heard,” began Geordie, “that my worthy freend, Sir Marmaduke, is dead. He was a gude man, and may the Lord deal mercifully wi’ him! Ludovic Brodie, they say, is the heir, an’ I dinna say he has nae richt to that title—though, maybe, it may cost some wigs a pickle flour to mak that oot. Noo, ye see, my Leddy Maitland, I hae dune ye some favours, and I’m just to take the liberty to ask ane in return. You an’ yer freend, Louise, maun admit, in open court, that yer leddyship bore, upon the 19th day of February o’ the year 16—, a dochter, and that that dochter is Jessie Warriston.”
Geordie waited for an answer, fixing his eyes on Lady Maitland.
Louise immediately began to make indications of a spirit of opposition; and Lady Maitland herself, gathering up any traces of dignity, which the presence of Geordie generally dispersed, replied—
“Thou hast no proof, sir, of the extraordinary charge, thou hast now, for the first time, brought against me; and I cannot convict myself of a crime.”
Louise blustered and supported her lady.
“Vat, in the name of God, is de meaning of dis fellow’s demand? Parbleu! He is mad—de fou—bad—vicked—mechant. Vere I your ladyship, I would trust him out, and give him de grand kick, and tomble him down de marche de stairs. Vy, sir, could you have de grand impudence to tell my lady she be de bad woman.”
Geordie heard all this with calmness and silence.
“It’s o’ sma importance to me,” he resumed, “whether yer leddyship comply wi’ my request or no; for, indeed, though politeness made me ca’ it a favour conferred upon me, the favour is a’ the ither way. Let yer leddyship be silent, an’ I’ll prove that yer leddyship bore the bairn; but ye maun ken that Geordie Willison has nae power ower the law—when the seals are broken, the judgment will come; and I canna prove the birth o’ the bairn without, at the same time, and by the same prufe, proving that ye attempted to strangle it, and left it for dead in the hedges o’ Warriston. Here is yer leddyship’s necklace, whilk I took fra the craig o’ the struggling cratur, and here are the claes it had on, marked wi’ draps o’ blude that cam frae its little mouth. I show thae things no as proofs on whilk I mean a’thegither to rest, but only to testify to ye what ye sae weel ken, that what I say is true. Speak, noo, my leddies—your lives are i’ the hands o’ the idiot cratur Geordie Willison. If ye gang to the court, ye are saved—if ye winna, ye are lost. Will ye gang, or will ye hang?”