“I am no’ showing ye proper respect, my lord,” said Rolls at last; “but when things is a’ out of the ordinar like this, it canna be wondered at if a man forgets his mainners. It’s terrible strange all that’s happened. I canna well give an account o’t to myself. That I should been such an eediot, and you—maybe no’ so keen about your honour as your lordship’s friends might desire.” Here he made a pause, as sometimes a schoolmaster will do, to see his victim writhe and tempt him to rebellion. But Rintoul was cowed, and made no reply.
“And ye have much to answer for, my lord,” Rolls continued, “on my account, though ye maybe never thought me worth a thought. Ye’ve led me to take a step that it will be hard to win over—that has now no justification and little excuse. For my part, I canna see my way out of it, one way or another,” he added, with a sigh; “for you’ll allow that it’s but little claim you, or the like of you, for all your lordship, have upon me.”
“I have no claim,” said Rintoul, hastily; and then he added, in a whisper of intense anxiety, “What are you going to do?”
Rolls rose up from his bed to answer this question. He went to the high window with its iron railings across the light, from which he could just see the few houses that surrounded the gates, and the sky, above them. He gave a sigh, in which there was great pathos and self-commiseration, and then he said, with a tone of bewilderment and despair, though his phraseology was not, perhaps, dignified—“I’m in a hobble that I cannot see how to get out of. A man cannot, for his ain credit, say one thing one afternoon and another the next day.”
“Rolls,” said Rintoul, with new hope, coming a little closer, “we are not rich: but if I could offer you anything—make it up to you, anyhow—”
“Hold your peace, my lord,” said the old man testily—“hold your peace. Speak o’ the vulgar!” he added to himself, in an undertone of angry scorn. “Maybe you think I did it for siller—for something I was to get!” Then he returned to his bed and sat down again, passing Rintoul as if he did not see him. “But the lad is young,” he said to himself, “and it would be shairp, shairp upon the family, being the son-in-law and a’. And to say I did it, and then to say I didna do it, wha would put ony faith in me? I’m just committed to it one way or another. It’s not what I thought, but I’ll have to see it through. My Lord Rintoul,” said Rolls, raising his head, “you’ve gotten me into a pretty pickle, and I canna see my way out of it. I’m just that way situate that I canna contradict mysel’—at least I will not contradict mysel’!” he added, with an angry little stamp of his foot. “They may say I’m a homicide, but no man shall say I’m a leear. It would make more scandal if I were to turn round upon you and convict ye out of your ain mouth, than if I were just to hold my tongue, and see what the High Court of Justeeciary will say.”
“Rolls!” Rintoul could not believe his ears in the relief and joy. He wanted to burst forth into a thousand thanks, but dared not speak lest he should offend rather than please. “Rolls! if you will do me such a kindness, I shall never forget it. No words can tell what I feel. If I can do anything—no, no, that is not what I mean—to please you—to show my gratitude—”
“I am not one to flatter,” said Rolls. “It would be for none of your sake—it would be just for myself, and my ain credit. But there are twa-three things. You will sign me a paper in your ain hand of write, proving that it was you, and no’ me. I will make no use o’t till a’s blown over; but I wouldna like the master to go to his grave, nor to follow me to mine—as he would be sure to do—thinking it was me. I’ll have that for a satisfaction. And then there’s another bit maitter. Ye’ll go against our young master in nothing he’s set his heart upon. He is a lad that is sore left to himself. Good and evil were set before him, and he—did not choose the good. And the third thing is just this. Him that brings either skaith or scorn upon Miss Nora, I’ll no’ put a fit to the ground for him, if he was the king. Thir’s my conditions, my Lord Rintoul. If ye like them, ye can give your promise—if no’, no’; and all that is to follow will be according. For I’m no’ a Lindores man, nor have naething to do with the parish, let alane the family: ye needna imagine one way or another that it’s for your sake—”
“If you want to set up as overseer over my conduct,” cried Rintoul hastily, “and interfere with my private concerns—”
“What am I heedin’ aboot your lordship’s private concerns? No me! They’re above me as far as the castle’s above the kitchen. Na, na. Just what regards young Dalrulzian, and anything that has to do with Miss Nora—”
“Don’t bring in a lady’s name, at least,” cried Rintoul, divided between rage and fear.
“And who was it that brought in the lady’s name? You can do it for your purpose, my lord, and I’ll do’t for mine. If I hear of a thing that lady’s father would not approve of, or that brings a tear to her bonnie eyes, poor thing! poor thing!—”
“For heaven’s sake, Rolls, hold that tongue of
