A Daughter of Raasay Part 33

"Gain! Who spoke of gain? Are you a Jew peddler or an English gentleman?"

cried Donald.

"They call me dissolute, gambler, profligate. These be hard names, but I have earned them all. I make no apologies and offer no excuses. As I have lived my life, so have I lived it. For b.u.t.tered phrases I have no taste.

Call me libertine, or call me man of fas.h.i.+on; 'tis all one. My evil nature--_C'est plus fort que moi_. At least I have not played the hypocrite. No canting sighs! No lapses to morality and prayers! No vices smugly hidden! The plain straight road to h.e.l.l taken at a gallop!" So, with chin in hand and dark eyes lit by the flickering flame, this roue and sentimentalist philosophized.

"And Montagu?" cried the Gael, harking back to his prosaic text.

"Has made his bed and he must lie in it."

"By Heaven, who ruined him and made an outlaw of him? Who drove him to rebellion?"

"You imply that I strewed his bed with nettles. Perhaps. 'Tis well my shoulders are broad, else they could not bear all that is laid upon them."

"You would never be letting a petty private grudge influence you?"

Volney turned, stung to the quick.

"You go too far, Captain Macdonald. Have I given bonds to save this fool from the consequences of his folly? I cherish no hatred toward him, but I play no Jonathan to his David. Egad, it were a pretty role for me to essay! You would cast me for a part full of heroics, the moving of heaven and earth to save my dearest enemy. Thank you, I am not for it. Neither for nor against him will I lift a hand. There is no malice in my heart toward this poor condemned young gentleman. If he can win free I shall be glad, even though his gain is my loss, but further than that I will not go. He came between me and the thing I most desired on earth. Shall I help him to the happiness which will condemn me to misery?"

For an instant the habitual veil of mockery was s.n.a.t.c.hed aside and the tortured soul of the man leaped from his burning eyes.

"You saved him at Portree," was all that Donald could say.

"I paid a debt to him and to c.u.mberland. The ledger is now balanced."

The Jacobite paced up and down the room for a minute, then stopped and touched the other on his shoulder where he sat.

"I too am somewhat in your debt, Sir Robert. When Montagu opposed you he fought for his own hand. Therein he was justified. But I, an outsider, interfered in a quarrel that was not mine own, spoiled sport for you, in short lost you the la.s.sie. You followed her to Scotland; 'twas I that drove you back to England when Montagu was powerless. From first to last I am the rock on which your love bark has split. If your cause has spelled failure I alone am to blame."

"So? What then?"

"Why this: without Captain Donald Roy Macdonald the lad had been helpless.

Donald was at his back to whisper words of advice and encouragement.

Donald contrived the plot which separated you from the lady. Donald stood good fairy to the blessed pair of bairns and made of himsel' a match-making auld mither. You owe your hatred to Donald Roy and not to the lad who was but his instrument."

The macaroni looked at the other with an odd smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

"And so?"

"And so," continued the Macdonald triumphantly, a challenge in his voice and manner, "and so, who but Donald should be your enemy? My certes, a prettier foe at the broadsword you will not find in a' Scotland."

"I do not quite take your meaning. Would you fight with me?"

"Blithe would I be to cross the steel with you, but little that would help Kenneth. My plan is this: save the lad from the halter and I will tak' his place."

"You mean that if I compa.s.s his freedom you will surrender to be executed?"

"I am meaning just that."

"I thought so from the first. 'Slife, man, do you think I can change my foes like gloves? _Chacun paie son ecot._"

"Why not? Iss not a man a better foe than a halfling boy?"

"I would never seek a better foe or a better friend than either you or Montagu, Captain. On my soul, you have both the true ring. But as to your offer I must decline it. The thing is one of your wild impracticable Highland imaginings, a sheer impossibility. You seem to think I have a blood feud and that nothing less than a foeman's life will satisfy me. In that you err. I am a plain man of the world and cannot reach your heroics."

The Jacobite's face fell.

"You are going to let the boy die then?"

Volney hesitated, then answered with a shrug.

"I shall be frank with you. To-day I secured Montagu a reprieve for two weeks. He shall have his chance such as it is, but I do not expect him to take it. If he shows stubborn I wash my hands of him. I have said the last word. You may talk till Yule without changing my mind." Then, with an abrupt turn of the subject: "Have you with you the sinews of war, Captain?

You will need money to effect your escape. My purse is at your service not less than my wardrobe, or if you care to lie hidden here for a time you will be quite safe. Watkins is a faithful fellow and devoted to me."

The Highlander flushed, stammering out:

"For your proffered loan, I accept it with the best will in the world; and as to your offer of a hiding-place, troth! I'm badly needing one. Gin it were no inconvenience----"

"None in the world."

"I will be remembering you for a generous foe till the day of my death.

You're a man to ride the water wi'."

"Lard! There's no generosity in it. Every Mohawk thinks it a pleasure to help any man break the laws. Besides, I count on you to help drive away the doldrums. Do you care for a hand at piquet now, Captain?"

"With pleasure. I find in the cartes great diversion, but by your leave I'll first unloose your man Watkins."

"'Slife, I had forgot him. We'll have him brew us a punch and make a night of it. Sleep and I are a thousand miles apart."

[3] The material for this chapter was furnished me with great particularity by Captain Donald Roy Macdonald. From his narrative to me, I set down the story in substance as he told it. --K. M.

CHAPTER XVII

THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW

There came to me one day a surprise, a marked hour among my weeks struck calm. Charles, Cloe, and Aileen had been wont to visit me regularly; once Selwyn had dropped in on me; but I had not before been honoured by a visit from Sir Robert Volney. He sauntered into my cell swinging a clouded cane, dressed to kill and point device in every ruffle, all dabbed with scented powder, pomatum, and jessamine water. To him, coming direct from the strong light of the sun, my cell was dark as the inside of Jonah's whale.

He stood hesitating in the doorway, groping with his cane for some guide to his footsteps.

For an instant I drew back, thinking he had come to mock me; then I put the idea from me. However much of evil there was in him, Volney was not a small man. I stepped forward to greet him.

"Welcome to my poor best, Sir Robert! If I do not offer you a chair it is because I have none. My regret is that my circ.u.mstances hamper my hospitality."

"Not at all. You offer me your best, and in that lies the essence of hospitality. Better a dinner of herbs where love is than a stalled ox and hatred, Egad," returned my guest with easy irony.