CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
SUSPICIONS, REVELATIONS, AND OTHER MATTERS.
With a swelled and scratched face, a discoloured eye, a damaged nose,and a head swathed in bandages--it is no wonder that Mrs Moss failed torecognise in John Barret the violent young man with the talent forassaulting ladies!
She was not admitted to his room until nearly a week after the accident,for, although he had not been seriously injured, he had received arather severe shock, and it was thought advisable to keep him quiet as amatter of precaution. When she did see him at last, lying on a sofa ina dressing-gown, and with his head and face as we have described, hisappearance did not call to her remembrance the faintest resemblance tothe confused, wild, and altogether incomprehensible youth, who hadtumbled her over in the streets of London, and almost run her down inthe Eagle Pass.
Of course Barret feared that she would recognise him, and had beengreatly exercised as to his precise duty in the circumstances; but whenhe found that she did not recognise either his face or his voice, hefelt uncertain whether it would not be, perhaps, better to say nothingat all about the matter in the meantime. Indeed, the grateful old ladygave him no time to make a "clean breast of it," as he had at firstintended to do.
"Oh! Mr Barret," she exclaimed, sitting down beside him, and layingher hand lightly on his arm, while the laird sat down on another chairand looked on benignly, "I cannot tell you how thankful I am that youhave not been killed, and how very grateful I am to you for all yourbravery in saving my darling Milly's life. Now, don't say a word aboutdisclaiming credit, as I know you are going to do--"
"But, dear madam," interrupted the invalid, "allow me to explain. Icannot bear to deceive you, or to sail under false colours--"
"Sail under false colours! Explain!" repeated Mrs Moss, quickly."What nonsense do you talk? Has not my daughter explained, and _she_ isnot given to colouring things falsely."
"Excuse me, Mrs Moss," said Barret; "I did not mean that. I only--"
"I don't care what you mean, Mr Barret," said the positive littlewoman; "it's of no use your denying that you have behaved in a noble,courageous manner, and I won't listen to anything to the contrary; soyou need not interrupt me. Besides, I have been told not to allow youto speak much; so, sir, if I am to remain beside you at all, I mustimpose silence."
Barret sank back on his couch with a sigh, and resigned himself to hisfate.
So much for the mother. Later in the same day the daughter sat besidehis couch. The laird was not present on that occasion. They werealone.
"Milly," said the invalid, taking her small hand in his, "have youmentioned it yet to your mother?"
"Yes, John," replied Milly, blushing in spite of--nay, rather more inconsequence of--her efforts not to do so. "I spoke to her some daysago. Indeed, soon after the accident, when we were sure you were goingto get well. And she did not disapprove."
"Ay, but have you spoken since she has seen me--since this morning?"
"Yes, John."
"And she is still of the same mind--not shocked or shaken by myappearance?"
"She is still of the same mind," returned Milly; "and not shocked in theleast. My darling mother is far too wise to be shocked by trifles--I--Imean by scratches and bruises. She judges of people by their hearts."
"I'm glad to hear that, Milly, for I have something shocking to tell herabout myself, that will surprise her, if it does nothing else."
"Indeed!" said Milly, with the slightest possible rise of her prettyeyebrows.
"Yes. You have heard from your mother about that young rascal who raninto her with his bicycle in London some time ago?"
"Yes; she wrote to me about it," replied Milly, with an amused smile."You mean, I suppose, the reckless youth who, after running her down,had the cowardice to run away and leave her lying flat on the pavement?Mother has more than once written about that event with indignation, andrightly, I think. But how came you to know about it, John?"
"Milly," said Barret, holding her hand very tight, and speakingsolemnly, "_I am that cowardly man_!"
"Now, John, you are jesting."
"Indeed--indeed I am not."
"Do you really mean to say that it was _you_ who ran against my--Oh! you_must_ be jesting!"
"Again I say I am _not_. I am the man--the coward."
"Well, dear John," said Milly, flushing considerably, "I must believeyou; but the fact does not in the least reduce my affection for you,though it will lower my belief in your prudence, unless you canexplain."
"I will explain," said Barret; and we need scarcely add that theexplanation tended rather to increase than diminish Milly's affectionfor, as well as her belief in, her lover! But when Barret went onfurther to describe the meeting in the Eagle Pass, she went off intouncontrollable laughter.
"And you are sure that mother has no idea that you are the man?" sheasked.
"Not the remotest."
"Well, now, John, you must not let her know for some time yet. You mustgain her affections, sir, before you venture to reveal your truecharacter."
Of course Barret agreed to this. He would have agreed to anything thatMilly proposed, except, perhaps, the giving up of his claim to her ownhand. Deception, however, invariably surrounds the deceiver with moreor less of difficulty. That same evening, while Milly was sitting alonewith her mother, the conversation took a perplexing turn.
There had been a pretty long pause, after a rather favourable commentaryon the character of Barret, when the thin little old lady had wound upwith the observation that the subject of their criticism was aremarkably agreeable man, with a playfully humorous and a delightfullyserious turn of mind--"and _so_ modest" withal!
Apparently the last words had turned her mind into the new channel, forshe resumed--
"Talking of insolence, my dear--"
"_Were_ we talking of insolence, mother?" said Milly, with a surprisedsmile.
"Well, my love, I was thinking of the opposite of modesty, which is thesame thing. Do you know, I had a meeting on the day of my arrival herewhich surprised me very much? To say truth, I did not mention itsooner, because I wished to give you a little surprise. Why do youchange your seat, my love? Did you feel a draught where you were?"
"No--no. I--I only want to get the light a little more at my back--tokeep it off my face. But go on, mother. What was the surprise about?I'm anxious to know."
If Milly did not absolutely know, she had at least a pretty good idea ofwhat was coming!
"Well, of course you remember about that young man--that--that_cowardly_ young man who--"
"Who ran you down in London? Yes, yes, _I_ know," interrupted thedaughter, endeavouring to suppress a laugh, and putting her handkerchiefsuddenly to her face. "I remember well. The monster! What about him?"
"You may well call him a monster! Can you believe it? I have met himhere--in this very island, where he must be living somewhere, of course;and he actually ran me down again--all _but_." She added the last twowords in order to save her veracity.
"You don't really mean it?" exclaimed Milly, giving way a little inspite of herself. "With a bicycle?"
It was the mother's turn to laugh now.
"No, you foolish thing; even _I_ have capacity to understand that itwould be impossible to use those hideous--frightful instruments, on thebad hill-roads of this island. No; but it seems to be the nature ofthis dis-disagreeable--I had almost said detestable--youth, to move onlyunder violent impulse, for he came round a corner of the Eagle Cliff atsuch a pace that, as I have said, he _all but_ ran into my arms andknocked me down."
"Dreadful!" exclaimed Milly, turning her back still more to the lightand working mysteriously with her kerchief.
"Yes, dreadful indeed! And when I naturally taxed him with hiscowardice and meanness, he did not seem at all penitent, but went onlike a lunatic; and although what he said was civil enough, his way ofsaying it was very impolite and strange; and after we had parted, Iheard him give way to fiendish laughte
r. I could not be mistaken, forthe cliffs echoed it in all directions like a hundred hyenas!"
As this savoured somewhat of a joke, Milly availed herself of it, setfree the safety-valve, and, so to speak, saved the boiler!
"Why do you laugh so much, child?" asked the old lady, when her daughterhad transgressed reasonable limits.
"Well, you know, mother, if you _will_ compare a man's laugh to ahundred hyenas--"
"I didn't compare the man's voice," interrupted Mrs Moss; "I said thatthe cliffs--"
"That's worse and worse! Now, mother, don't get into one of yourhypercritical moods, and insist on reasons for everything; but tell meabout this wicked--this dreadful young man. What was he like?"
"Like an ordinary sportsman, dear, with one of those hateful guns in hishand, and a botanical box on his back. I could not see his face verywell, for he wore one of those ugly pot-caps, with a peak before andbehind; though what the behind one is for I cannot imagine, as men haveno eyes in the back of their heads to keep the sun out of. No doubtsome men would make us believe they have! but it was pulled down on thebridge of his nose. What I did see of his face seemed to be handsomeenough, and his figure was tall and well made, unquestionably, but hisbehaviour--nothing can excuse that! If he had only said he was sorry,one might have forgiven him."
"Did he _not_ say he was sorry?" asked Milly in some surprise.
"Oh, well, I suppose he did; and begged pardon after a fashion. Butwhat truth could there be in his protestations when he went away andlaughed like a hyena."
"You said a hundred hyenas, mother."
"No, Milly, I said the cliffs laughed; but don't interrupt me, younaughty child! Well, I was going to tell you that my heart softened alittle towards the young man, for, as you know, I am not naturallyunforgiving."
"I know it well, dear mother!"
"So, before we parted, I told him that if he had any explanations orapologies to make, I should be glad to see him at Kinlossie House. ThenI made up my mind to forgive him, and introduce him to you as the manthat ran me down in London! This was the little surprise I had in storefor you, but the ungrateful creature has never come."
"No, and he never will come!" said Milly, with a hearty laugh.
"How do you know that, puss?" asked Mrs Moss, in surprise.
Fortunately the dinner-bell rang at that moment, justifying Milly injumping up. Giving her mother a rather violent hug, she rushed from theroom.
"Strange girl!" muttered Mrs Moss as she turned, and occupied herselfwith some mysterious--we might almost say captious--operations beforethe looking-glass. "The mountain air seems to have increased herspirits wonderfully. Perhaps love has something to do with it! It maybe both!"
She was still engaged with a subtle analysis of this question--in frontof the glass, which gave her the advantage of supposing that she talkedwith an opponent--when sudden and uproarious laughter was heard in theadjoining room. It was Barret's sitting-room, in which his friends werewont to visit him. She could distinguish that the laughter proceededfrom himself, Milly, and Giles Jackman, though the walls were too thickto permit of either words or ordinary tones being heard.
"Milly," said Mrs Moss, severely, when they met a few minutes later inthe drawing-room, "what were you two and Mr Jackman laughing at soloudly? Surely you did not tell them what we had been speaking about?"
"Of course I did, mother. I did not know you intended to keep thematter secret. And it did so tickle them! But no one else knows it, soI will run back to John and pledge him to secrecy. You can caution MrJackman, who will be down directly, no doubt."
As Barret had not at that time recovered sufficiently to admit of hisgoing downstairs, his friends were wont to spend much of their time inthe snug sitting-room which had been apportioned to him. He usuallyheld his levees costumed in a huge flowered dressing-gown, belonging tothe laird, so that, although he began to look more like his former self,as he recovered from his injuries, he was still sufficiently disguisedto prevent recognition on the part of Mrs Moss.
Nevertheless, the old lady felt strangely perplexed about him.
One day the greater part of the household was assembled in his room whenMrs Moss remarked on this curious feeling.
"I cannot tell what it is, Mr Barret, that makes the sound of yourvoice seem familiar to me," she said; "yet not exactly familiar, but asort of far-away echo, you know, such as one might have heard in adream; though, after all, I don't think I ever did hear a voice in adream."
Jackman and Milly glanced at each other, and the latter put thesafety-valve to her mouth while Barret replied--
"I don't know," he said, with a very grave appearance of profoundthought, "that I ever myself dreamt a voice, or, indeed, a sound of anykind. As to what you say about some voices appearing to be familiar,don't you think that has something to do with classes of men? No man, Ithink, is a solitary unit in creation. Every man is, as it were, thetype of a class to which he belongs--each member possessing more or lessthe complexion, tendencies, characteristics, tones, etcetera, of hisparticular class. You are familiar, it may be, with the tones of theclass to which I belong, and hence the idea that you have heard my voicebefore."
"Philosophically put, Barret," said Mabberly; "I had no idea you thoughtso profoundly."
"H'm! I'm not so sure of the profundity," said the little old lady,pursing her lips; "no doubt you may be right as regards class; but then,young man, I have been familiar with all classes of men, and therefore,according to your principle, I should have some strange memoriesconnected with Mr Jackman's voice, and Mr Mabberly's, and the laird's,and everybody's."
"Well said, sister; you have him there!" cried the laird with a guffaw;"but don't lug me into your classes, for I claim to be an exception toall mankind, inasmuch as I have a sister who belongs to no class, and isready to tackle any man on any subject whatever, between metaphysics andbaby linen. Come now, Barret, do you think yourself strong enough to goout with us in the boat to-morrow?"
"Quite. Indeed, I would have begged leave to go out some days ago, butDoctor Jackman there, who is a very stern practitioner, forbids me.However, I have my revenge, for I compel him to sit with me a greatdeal, and entertain me with Indian stories."
"Oh!" exclaimed Junkie, who happened to be in the room, "he hasn't toldyou yet about the elephant hunt, has he?"
"No, not yet, Junkie," returned Barret; "he has been faithful to hispromise not to go on with that story till you and your brothers arepresent."
"Well, but tell it now, Mr Jackman, and I'll go an call Eddie andArchie," pleaded the boy.
"You will call in vain, then," said his father, "for they have both goneup the burn, one to photograph and the other to paint. I never saw sucha boy as Archie is to photograph. I believe he has got every scene inthe island worth having on his plates now, and he has taken to thecattle of late--What think ye was the last thing he tried? I found himin the yard yesterday trying to photograph himself!"
"That must indeed have puzzled him; how did he manage?" asked MacRummle.
"Well, it was ingenious. He tried to get Pat Quin to manipulate theinstrument while he sat; but Quin is clumsy with his fingers, at leastfor such delicate work, and, the last time, he became nervous in hisanxiety to do the thing rightly; so, when Archie cried `Now,' for him tocover the glass with its little cap, he put it on with a bang thatknocked over and nearly smashed the whole concern. So what does the boydo but sets up a chair in the right focus and arranges the instrumentwith a string tied to the little cap. Then he sits down on the chair,puts on a heavenly smile, and pulls the string. Off comes the cap! Hecounts one, two--I don't know how many--and then makes a sudden dash atthe camera an' shuts it up! What the result may be remains to be seen."
"Oh, it'll be the same as usual," remarked Junkie in a tone of contempt."There's always something goes wrong in the middle of it. He tried totake Boxer the other day, and _he_ wagged his tail in the middle of it.Then he tried the cat, and she yawned in the midd
le. Then Flo, and shelaughed in the middle. Then me, an' I forgot, and made a face at Flo inthe middle. It's a pity it has got a middle at all; two ends would bebetter, I think. But won't you tell about the elephants to _us_, MrJackman? There's plenty of us here--please!"
"Nay, Junkie; you would not have me break my word, surely. When we areall assembled together you shall have it--some wet day, perhaps."
"Then there'll be no more wet days _this_ year, if I've to wait forthat," returned the urchin half sulkily.
That same day, Milly, Barret, and Jackman arranged that the mystery ofthe cowardly young man must be cleared up.
"Perhaps it would be best for Miss Moss to explain to her mother," saidGiles.
"That will not I," said Milly with a laugh.
"I have decided what to do," said Barret. "I was invited by her to calland explain anything I had to say, and apologise. By looks, if not bywords, I accepted that invitation, and I shall keep it. If you couldonly manage somehow, Milly, to get everybody out of the way, so that Imight find your mother alone in--"
"She's alone _now_," said Milly. "I left her just a minute ago, and sheis not likely to be interrupted, I know."
"Stay, then; I will return in a few minutes."
Barret retired to his room, whence he quickly returned with shootingcoat, knickerbockers, pot-cap and boots, all complete.
"`Richard's himself again!' Allow me to congratulate you," criedJackman, shaking his friend by the hand. "But, I say, don't you thinkit may give the old lady rather a shock as well as a surprise?"
Barret looked at Milly.
"I think not," said Milly. "As uncle often says of dear mother, `she istough.'"
"Well, I'll go," said Barret.
In a few minutes he walked into the middle of the drawing-room and stoodbefore Mrs Moss, who was reading a book at the time. She laid down thebook, removed her glasses, and looked up.
"Well, I declare!" she exclaimed, with the utmost elevation of hereyebrows and distension of her eyes; "there you are at last! And youhave not even the politeness to take your hat off, or have yourselfannounced. You are the most singularly ill-bred young man, for yourlooks, that I ever met with."
"I thought, madam," said Barret in a low voice, "that you would know mebetter with my cap on--"
He stopped, for the old lady had risen at the first sound of his voice,and gazed at him in a species of incredulous alarm.
"Forgive me," cried Barret, pulling off his cap; but again he stoppedabruptly, and, before he could spring forward to prevent it, the littleold lady had fallen flat upon the hearth-rug.
"Quick! hallo! Milly--Giles! Ass that I am! I've knocked her down_again_!" he shouted, as those whom he summoned burst into the room.
They had not been far off. In a few more minutes Mrs Moss was revivingon the sofa, and alone with her daughter.
"Milly, dear, this has been a great surprise; indeed, I might almostcall it a shock," she said, in a faint voice.
"Indeed it has been, darling mother," returned Milly in sympathetictones, as she smoothed her mother's hair; "and it was all my fault. Butare you quite sure you are not hurt?"
"I don't _feel_ hurt, dear," returned the old lady, with a slight dashof her argumentative tone; "and don't you think that if I _were_ hurt Ishould _feel_ it?"
"Perhaps, mother; but sometimes, you know, people are so _much_ hurtthat they _can't_ feel it."
"True, child, but in these circumstances they are usually unable toexpress their views about feeling altogether, which I am not, you see--no thanks to that--th-to John Barret."
"Oh! mother, I cannot bear to think of it--"
"No wonder," interrupted the old lady. "To think of my being violentlyknocked down _twice--almost_ three times--by a big young man like that,and the first time with a horrid bicycle on the top of us--I mightalmost say mixed up with us."
"But, mother, he _never_ meant it, you know--"
"I should _think_ not!" interjected Mrs Moss with a short sarcasticlaugh.
"No, indeed," continued Milly, with some warmth; "and if you only knewwhat he has suffered on your account--"
"Milly," cried Mrs Moss quickly, "is all that _I_ have suffered on_his_ account to count for nothing?"
"Of course not, _dear_ mother. I don't mean that; you don't understandme. I mean the reproaches that his own conscience has heaped upon hishead for what he has inadvertently done."
"Recklessly, child, not inadvertently. Besides, you know, hisconscience is not _himself_. People cannot avoid what conscience saysto them. Its remarks are no sign of humility or self-condemnation, oneproof of which is that wicked people would gladly get away fromconscience if they could, instead of agreeing with it, as they should,and shaking hands with it, and saying, `we are all that you call us, andmore.'"
"Well, that is exactly what John has done," said Milly, with increasing,warmth. "He has said all that, and more to me--"
"To _you_?" interrupted Mrs Moss; "yes, but you are not his conscience,child!"
"Yes, I am, mother; at least, if I'm not, I am next thing to it, for hesays _everything_ to me!" returned Milly, with a laugh and a blush."And you have no idea how sorry, how ashamed, how self-condemned, howoverwhelmed he has been by all that has happened."
"Humph! I have been a good deal more overwhelmed than he has been,"returned Mrs Moss. "However, make your mind easy, child, for duringthe last week or two, in learning to love and esteem John Barret, I haveunwittingly been preparing the way to forgive and forget the cowardlyyouth who ran me down in London. Now go and send Mr Jackman to me; Ihave a great opinion of that young man's knowledge of medicine andsurgery, though he _is_ only an amateur. He will soon tell me whether Ihave received any hurt that has rendered me incapable of feeling. Andat the same time you may convey to that coward, John, my entireforgiveness."
Milly kissed her mother, of course, and hastened away to deliver herdouble message.
After careful examination and much questioning, "Dr" Jackman pronouncedthe little old lady to be entirely free from injury of any kind, savethe smashing of a comb in her back-hair, and gave it as his opinion thatshe was as sound in wind and limb as before the accident, though therehad unquestionably been a considerable shock to the feelings, which,however, seemed to have had the effect of improving rather thanderanging her intellectual powers. The jury which afterwards sat uponher returned their verdict in accordance with that opinion.
It was impossible, of course, to prevent some of all this leaking intothe kitchen, the nursery, and the stable. In the first-mentioned spot,Quin remarked to the housemaid,--"Sure, it's a quare evint entirely,"with which sentiment the housemaid agreed.
"Aunt Moss is a buster," was Junkie's ambiguous opinion, in which Floand the black doll coincided.
"Tonal'," said Roderick, as he groomed the bay horse, "the old wummaniss a fery tough person."
To which "Tonal'" assented, "she iss, what-e-ver."