“No,” I replied, “only from St Dunstan.”
“Just that—just that,” said the Laird, with a peculiar tone. “I thocht as much when I met the callant leadin’ awa the Cross-Key’s charger,—puir beast!”
I handed the Laird the letter of introduction which I had received from one of the medical professors in Edinburgh. He read it very slowly, as though he were spelling and weighing every word, and he had perused it twice from beginning to end before he rose and welcomed me to the Haugh.
“He’s a clever man, that professor,” quoth Laird Ramsay; “an’ he speaks o’ ye, doctor, in a flattering way; but the proof o’ the puddin’ is the preein’ o’t, ye ken. Ye’ve shown some spunk in comin’ sae quick to St Dunstan; but ye’re young eneuch to be on your ain coat-tail yet.”
“We must begin somewhere and sometime, Mr Ramsay,” I rejoined.
“Ye’re richt there,” answered the Laird; and then added with a chuckle, “but patients dinna like to be made victims o’. However, we’ll think aboot that. Ye’ll be nane the worse o’ something to eat and drink, I’m thinkin’; an’ to tell the truth, I want to weet my ain whistle.”
So saying, the Laird o’ the Haugh rose and rang the bell, and told the old serving-woman, the handmaiden of the household, to bid Jessie speak to him. In a short time Jessie, a tall, handsome, hearty, fresh-coloured, black-haired beauty, came tripping into the room. The Laird was not very ceremonious so far as the matter of introduction was concerned, but Jessie was one of those frank girls who can introduce themselves, and make you feel perfectly at home at once. The father and daughter were evidently strongly attached to each other.
“Bring us some wine first, like a gude lass,” said the Laird, “an’ then we’ll tak something mair substantial when ye’re ready.”
Jessie, like a dutiful daughter, placed the decanters and glasses on the table. There was an elasticity in her step, a grace in her every motion, and an irresistible charm in her frank and affectionate smile. The Laird did not seem altogether to relish the manner in which my eyes involuntarily followed her movements; and remembering what mine host of the Cross-Keys had told me on the previous night, I resolved to be as circumspect as possible, both in look and word. The Laird o’ the Haugh pledged the young doctor, and the young doctor pledged the Laird. Meanwhile, Jessie had disappeared to look after the substantials. A glass or two of his capital wine warmed Laird Ramsay into a fine conversational mood, and we got on famously together. After dinner, when the punch was produced, our intimacy increased, and I began to love the eccentric Laird for the sake of his beautiful and accomplished daughter. I discovered that he had a hearty relish for humorous stories and anecdotes, and I plied him with them in thick succession, until the fountain of laughter ran over in tears. I was determined to take the old gentleman by storm, and Miss Jessie, with quick feminine instinct, appeared to be more than half aware of my object. However, I carefully abstained from exciting his suspicion by conversing directly with Jessie, even when he appeared to be in the most genial and pleasant mood.
The evening was pretty far advanced when I left his hospitable board. “Mind, you’re to be the doctor o’ St Dunstan,” he said, as I mounted the Cross-Key’s charger. “We’ll hae naebody but yoursel, an’ ye mun be sure an’ come back soon again to the Haugh.” I rode home to mine inn fully resolved to locate myself in the village, and firmly persuaded that if I had not captivated the Laird’s daughter, I had at least conquered the Laird himself.