The formidable examination which had excited so much interest terminated by the return of John’s fly to Dunnotter, with the butler in it, very grave and impressive in the solemn circumstances. Rolls himself did not choose to consider his position lightly. He acknowledged with great respect the salutations of the gentlemen, who could not be prevented from crowding to the door of the fly after him. Sir James, who was the first, thrust something secretly into Rolls’s hand. “They’ll not treat you so well as they treated your master. You must fee them—fee them, Rolls,” said the old general. “It’ll be better than I deserve, Sir James,” Rolls said. “Hoot! nothing will happen to you, man!” said Sir James. “He was well inspired to make a clean breast of it,” Mr. Monypenny said. “The truth before all—it’s the best policy.” “You’re very kind to say sae, sir,” said Rolls, solemnly. As he spoke he met the eye of Lord Rintoul, who stood behind fixing his regard upon the face of John’s substitute. It was a trouble to Rolls to understand what the young lord could mean, “glowering” as he did, but saying nothing. Was he better aware of the facts of the case than anyone suspected? might he come in with his story and shatter that of Rolls? This gave the old servant a little anxiety as he sat back solemnly in his corner, and was driven away.
It would be impossible to enumerate all the visitors who thronged into Miss Barbara Erskine’s house that day. She had three more leaves put into her dining-table, and Janet added dish to dish with the wildest prodigality. Sir James Montgomery was one of those who “convoyed” John to his old relative’s house. He walked upon one side of the hero, and Lord Lindores upon the other. “I will not conceal my fault from you, Miss Barbara,” he said. “I thought when I heard his story first it was just the greatest nonsense. But it worked upon me—it worked upon me; and then Lady Montgomery, she would not hear a word.”
“Women understand the truth when they hear it; it’s none so often,” Miss Barbara said, flushed with triumph and happiness. Rintoul had come in with the rest—or rather after the rest. He and John were the two who were somewhat out of all this tumult and rejoicing. They had not spoken to each other, keeping apart with an instinctive repugnance, silent in the midst of the rejoicing. But the rest of the company made up the deficiency. Such a luncheon! a duke’s son from England, an earl, all the best men in the county: and Janet’s dishes praised and consumed to the last morsel, and the best wine brought up from the cellar, and the house not big enough to contain the guests. Miss Barbara sat at the head of the table, with a little flush of triumph on her cheek. “It’s like a marriage feast,” she said to Sir James when they rose from the table.
“And I cannot see what should hinder it to be the forerunner—but the breakfast shall be at my house, Miss Barbara, since her parents have no house of their own here.”
“Oh, who are you calling her?” said Miss Barbara, shaking her head; and as she spoke she turned towards a group in a corner—two young figures close together. Sir James’s countenance grew long, but Miss Barbara’s bloomed out in genial triumph. “It’s not the first time,” she said, “that we have had a lady o’ title in Dalrulzian—and it will not be the last.” The magic of rank had triumphed even over prejudice. There could be no denying that Lady Edith Erskine would be a bonnie name—and a bonnie creature too.
“I got your letter,” John said. “I suppose an angel must have brought it. There is no telling how wretched I was before, or how happy after.”
“No angel, but my mother’s footman. I am afraid you thought it very bold, Mr. Erskine. I was afraid after, that I had said too much.”
“I think so too—unless you mean it to kill me like a sweet poison; which it will do, unless there is more—”
“Mr. Erskine, you have not quite come to yourself—all this excitement has gone to your head.”
“I want more,” said John—“more!” And Edith’s eyes sank before his. It was not like the affectionate proposals of Millefleurs, whose voice was audible now even through those low syllables so different in their tone. And Lady Lindores at that moment took her daughter by the arm. “Edith,” she said, in a tone of fright, “Edith!” Oh foolish, foolish mother! had she never thought of this till now?
The window of the dining-room looked out into the garden. Nevertheless, it was possible to find a covert where two could talk and not be seen.
