"Nay, nay," cried the Scot, eagerly. "I'll not fail thee, la.s.sie. But what am I to do? Where am I to go?"

"Follow them and watch them, never leaving them for an instant, and always being ready to give help."

"Yes, yes; I'll do it, la.s.sie."

"I knew you would," cried Jane, pressing his great hand between both of hers; "and now run--run all the way, for he went to his room after he left me, and came out pushing a pistol into his pocket. And, oh!

Alexander, if you love me, make haste, for I'm sure that there's something wrong!"

Book 1, Chapter x.x.xII.

WHAT SANDY DID NOT SEE.

"Gude save us!" muttered McCray, as he set off round the house at a sharp trot--"Gude save us and ha'e maircy! Here's a pretty pickle for an upper gairdner. Only just got my promotion, and I shall be brought down again as sure as my name's Sandy McCray. Trust the la.s.sies for getting ye into a mess. Only foregather with one of the pretty things, and ye'll be in a mess before long. Gude save us! what shall I do?

He'll be savage with me as a dog-otter. Nay, I ken what I'll do."

A bright thought had evidently crossed Sandy's mind, for, turning suddenly, he dodged into the kitchen-garden, and round by the tool-house, heralding his coming, a minute after, by a loud rattle, as he appeared, trundling a wheel-barrow, in which he had hastily thrown a basket and a three-p.r.o.nged fork.

"I'm after ferns for the new rockery, to be sure!" he said, with a grin; and then away he spun at a tremendous rate, dashing along to the north gate, and bringing the woman out to see whether he had gone mad.

"Don't go that way, Mr McCray!" cried the woman after him, as she saw him turn down the path which led to the wood. "Sir Murray and my lady have gone that way."

"Gude save us, that's the right news!" muttered Sandy; and the barrow rattled more loudly than ever, as he dashed along till he came to an alley, down which, a good quarter of a mile from where he stood, he could see Sir Murray and Lady Gernon.

"There they are, then," he muttered; and running the barrow aside, he took out basket and fork, and began to thread his way amongst the trees, so as to approach unseen close to where his master and Lady Gernon were walking.

But Sandy McCray was a cautious man, and before he had gone many yards he had stooped to dig up half-a-dozen hart's-tongue ferns, which he placed, with a fair quant.i.ty of leaf-mould, in his basket.

"There's my answer to whatever they speer," he muttered; and then, creeping cautiously forward, he made his way to where, by holding aside the hazel boughs, he could peer out into the alley, where in a few minutes he saw the couple he watched pa.s.s by within a couple of yards of where he stood, silently and without hardly a rustle of the leaves amongst which they pa.s.sed.

But just as they had gone by they stopped short, Lady Gernon holding tightly by Sir Murray's arm, as she gazed, with a wild, eager stare in his face.

"We had better make haste back, Lady Gernon," he said, quietly, and with a peculiar smile; and then they walked on.

"There, now! What could be better than that?" said McCray, as soon as he was alone. "She looks pale, but they were quiet enow. But what did he mean by showing his teeth to her when he smilt?"

Sandy McCray shook his head, and then, in obedience to his instructions, he followed slowly, contriving from time to time to keep the couple in sight, but ever and anon shaking his head as if something troubled him.

At last he said, half aloud:

"The la.s.sie is richt, after a'. There's your gude, sweet kiss, and your Judas kiss, and I think perhaps she did richt in sending me; but it's a sail job to leave one's work i' the daytime, and after a' there was not much to come for."

Had Sandy McCray been there five--nay, four--minutes sooner, he would have been of a different opinion, for Sir Murray Gernon, led, perhaps, by some tricksy sprite of the woods--some Puck of modern times--had hurried on and on, each moment growing more and more angry and excited at having missed the object of his search. For days past she had never left the Castle unwatched, but this time she had gone out suddenly, and at an hour when he had believed her to be in her bedroom. That there was some definite object for her walk he felt convinced, and when, after hurrying up and down several alleys of the wood, he at length caught sight of Lady Gernon, he felt no surprise--there was no great feeling of mad anger in his breast, but something like a bitter sense of satisfaction, such as might be that of any one who, after a long and arduous search, comes upon the object of his quest.

He uttered no exclamation, made no excited movement; but, with such a smile as McCray had described, he stood gazing down a woodland arcade, to where, some fifty yards in advance--framed, as it were, in the autumn-tinted leaves--stood Lady Gernon and the man to whom she had first given her love.

They were, perhaps, a yard apart--Lady Gernon, with her head bent, resting with one hand against a tree-trunk; Philip Norton--his hands upon the stick he held--gazing at her, it seemed, sadly and earnestly; but, as far as Sir Murray could tell, no word was spoken.

The next moment, quietly, and still smiling, Sir Murray slowly advanced down the arcade, half of which he had traversed before he was perceived; but even then there was no start--no guilty confusion--only Lady Gernon turned deadly pale, and a shade of trouble crossed Captain Norton's face.

Sir Murray, with the same strange smile, advanced to where they stood, raising his hat in answer to Norton's salute; and then, with the most courteous air, he said:

"Lady Gernon, you look pale."

"I believe, Sir Murray," said Norton, "Lady Gernon was startled and troubled at our sudden encounter."

"Exactly," said Sir Murray, quietly.

"You misunderstand me," said Norton, gravely, the shadow deepening upon his face. "I alluded to her encounter with me. Five minutes since, I met her by accident."

"Most accurate," said Sir Murray, smiling.

"And after the past--after the misunderstanding between our families, Sir Murray," continued Norton, not heeding the taunt.

"Exactly?" said Sir Murray.

"I was sorry that the meeting should have taken place. Lady Gernon," he said, turning to her, as he raised his hat, "I will deliver your message. It is, I know, both pain and sorrow to dear Ada that you should be apart. Still, I think it is for the best. Rest a.s.sured, though, that the love you sent her is yours in return. Heaven bless you! Good-bye, Sir Murray Gernon!" he said, turning to the smiling baronet--who stood with one hand buried in his breast-pocket--"I am sorry for the past; but it is irrevocable, and I still repeat that I am sorry for this encounter. Lady Gernon seems pale and ill. Good day."

He held out his hand quietly and frankly to the baronet, though he had forborne to do so to his lady, and there was an air of calm innocence in his aspect, that should have carried with it conviction; but Sir Murray never stirred; his hand was still buried in his breast, as, with a mocking smile, he said:

"Captain Norton, the army was never your vocation, any more than the losing office of mine-director."

"I do not understand you, Sir Murray," was the calm, sad reply, as for a moment Norton's eyes met Marion Gernon's imploring glance.

"Indeed," said the baronet, who had not lost the speaking look interchanged. "I meant that fortune awaited you upon the stage; you should have been an actor."

The colour seemed to fade from Norton's face at these galling words, and the great blue scar stood out more prominently than ever; but the next moment turning his gaze from Sir Murray, he fixed his eyes upon Marion with a soft, earnest, speaking look, that meant volumes; for, changing in an instant from a mocking smile to a look of rage and hate, Sir Murray Gernon drew a pistol from his pocket, and at a couple of paces'

distance presented it full at Norton. His finger was upon the trigger-- the weapon was fully c.o.c.ked--and even the slightest contraction of the angry man's muscles would have sent the contents through Philip Norton's breast. But he did not wince--not a muscle moved; the man who had before now stood deadly fire, stood firm, till, with an oath, Sir Murray hurled the pistol into the thicket, and led his wife away.

But before they had gone a dozen yards the smile had come back upon his lip, and he turned to gaze at Lady Gernon, to see on her countenance the same old stony, despairing look that had been there on the wedding morn.

Book 1, Chapter x.x.xIII.

JANE'S SUSPICIONS.

It is quite possible that in his heart of hearts Sir Murray Gernon had doubts as to who had been the spoiler of his family jewels, but he would admit nothing to his breast but such thoughts as were disparaging to Norton.

At the Castle nods and smiles were prevalent, and the servants gossiped respecting the happy change that had taken place, arguing all sorts of gaieties once more; for--so they said--the old house had been like a dungeon lately, and almost unbearable.

But there were doubts still in the minds of both Jane Barker and her lover, the former watching Sir Murray as narrowly as ever he watched his lady. There was a feeling of uneasiness in Jane's heart that grew stronger every day, a feeling not based upon any confidences of Lady Gernon's--for, though invariably kind and gentle, Marion was not one to make a friend and counsellor of her servant--but upon Jane's own observation. The sc.r.a.ps she gathered she pieced together, and, when alone, tried to form some definite course of action--a trial resulting in a rigid determination which she followed out.

What took place in private was never known, but the pallor upon Lady Gernon's cheeks grew daily of a more sickly hue. A physician was sent for from the county town with great ostentation by Sir Murray, and shortly after, another from London, resulting in prescriptions and medicine, which her ladyship took daily, such medicine being always administered by Jane, who made a point, for some reason or another, of leaving the bottles always upon the table in her ladyship's dressing-room; and this went on for quite a couple of months, the sickness increasing, though not sufficiently to confine Lady Gernon to her room. The walks, though, were pretty well given up, and it was only at very rare intervals that Lady Gernon strayed beyond the boundaries of the park.

The servants said that no one could be more attentive than Sir Murray now was, and that it was quite pleasant to see the alteration. But Jane said nothing, she merely tightened her lips, making no confidant; for once--twice, four different times--she had encountered Sir Murray coming from her mistress's dressing-room; and once, after such a visit, when she went to give Lady Gernon her daily medicine, the poor girl fainted away upon learning that her duty had been forestalled by Sir Murray himself.

Whatever might have been Jane Barkers suspicions, she felt that this could not go on for ever; and worn out, and sick at heart, she one day put on her bonnet, ordered McCray to act as her escort, and made her way to Merland Hall.

Mrs Norton welcomed her heartily, but almost in dread, not knowing what interpretation might be placed upon the visit, should it come to Sir Murray's ears. But, to her great astonishment, Jane's first act was to close the window, and then, crossing the room, she turned the key in the lock; when, coming back close to the astonished occupant of the room, she threw herself down upon her knees, sobbing wildly; and catching hold of Ada's hand, she kissed it fiercely again and again.

"Is anything wrong?" exclaimed Ada Norton, with a horrified look, for a dreadful fear had flashed across her mind.