“I do—I do command you,” said James, trembling and stammering with the impatient curiosity of a gossip; while Sir Mungo, with more malicious anxiety to get at the bottom of the mystery, stooped his long thin form forward like a bent fishing-rod, raised his thin grey locks from his ear, and curved his hand behind it to collect every vibration of the expected intelligence. Martha in the meantime frowned most ominously on Richie, who went on undauntedly to inform the king, “that his deceased father-in-law, a good careful man in the main, had a' touch of worldly wisdom about him, that at times marred the uprightness of his walk; he liked to dabble among his neighbour's gear, and some of it would at times stick to his fingers in the handling.”
“For shame, man, for shame!” said Martha; “since the infamy of the deed must be told, be it at least briefly.—Yes, my lord,” she added, addressing Glenvarloch, “the piece of gold was not the sole bait which brought the miserable old man to your chamber that dreadful night—his object, and he accomplished it, was to purloin this paper. The wretched scrivener was with him that morning, and, I doubt not, urged the doting old man to this villainy, to offer another bar to the ransom of your estate. If there was a yet more powerful agent at the bottom of this conspiracy, God forgive it to him at this moment, for he is now where the crime must be answered!”
“Amen!” said Lord Glenvarloch, and it was echoed by all present.
“For my father,” continued she, with her stern features twitched by an involuntary and convulsive movement, “his guilt and folly cost him his life; and my belief is constant, that the wretch, who counselled him that morning to purloin the paper, left open the window for the entrance of the murderers.”
Every body was silent for an instant; the king was first to speak, commanding search instantly to be made for the guilty scrivener. “I, lictor,” he concluded, “colliga manus—caput obnubito-infelici suspendite arbori.”
Lowestoffe answered with due respect, that the scrivener had absconded at the time of Lord Dalgarno's murder, and had not been heard of since.
“Let him be sought for,” said the king. “And now let us change the discourse—these stories make one's very blood grew, and are altogether unfit for bridal festivity. Hymen, O Hymenee!” added he, snapping his fingers, “Lord Glenvarloch, what say you to Mistress Moniplies, this bonny bride, that has brought you back your father's estate on your bridal day?”
“Let him say nothing, my liege,” said Martha; “that will best suit his feelings and mine.”
“There is redemption-money, at the least, to be repaid,” said Lord Glenvarloch; “in that I cannot remain debtor.”
“We will speak of it hereafter,” said Martha; “my debtor you cannot be.” And she shut her mouth as if determined to say nothing more on the subject.