Malcolm Part 96

"Who would see that you applied it properly?"

"My ain conscience, my lord--or Mr Graham, gien ye likit."

"And how would you live yourself?"

"Ow! lea' ye that to me, my lord. Only dinna imaigine I wad be behauden to yer lords.h.i.+p. I houp I hae mair pride nor that. Ilka poun' not', s.h.i.+llin', an' baubee sud be laid oot for her, an' what was left hainet (saved) for her."

"By Jove! it's a daring proposal!" said the marquis; and, which seemed strange to Malcolm, not a single thread of ridicule ran through the tone in which he made the remark.

The next day came, but brought neither strength of body nor of mind with it. Again his professional attendants besought him, and he heard them more quietly, but rejected their proposition as positively as before. In a day or two he ceased to oppose it, but would not hear of preparation. Hour glided into hour, and days had gathered to a week, when they a.s.sailed him with a solemn and last appeal.

"Nonsense!" answered the marquis. "My leg is getting better. I feel no pain--in fact nothing but a little faintness. Your d.a.m.ned medicines, I haven't a doubt."

"You are in the greatest danger, my lord. It is all but too late even now."

"Tomorrow, then--if it must be. Today I could not endure to have my hair cut--positively; and as to having my leg off,--pooh!

the thing's preposterous!"

He turned white and shuddered, for all the nonchalance of his speech.

When tomorrow came, there was not a surgeon in the land who would have taken his leg off. He looked in their faces, and seemed for the first time convinced of the necessity of the measure.

"You may do as you please," he said. "I am ready."

"Not today, my lord," replied the doctor. "Your lords.h.i.+p is not equal to it today."

"I understand," said the marquis, paled frightfully, and turned his head aside.

When Mrs Courthope suggested that Lady Florimel should be sent for, he flew into a frightful rage, and spoke as it is to be hoped he had never spoken to a woman before. She took it with perfect gentleness, but could not repress a tear. The marquis saw it, and his heart was touched.

"You mustn't mind a dying man's temper," he said.

"It's not for myself, my lord," she answered.

"I know: you think I 'm not fit to die; and, d.a.m.n it! you are right.

Never one was less fit for heaven, or less willing to go to h.e.l.l."

"Wouldn't you like to see a clergyman, my lord?" she suggested, sobbing.

He was on the point of breaking out in a still worse pa.s.sion, but controlled himself.

"A clergyman!" he cried; "I would as soon see the undertaker. What could he do but tell me I was going to be d.a.m.ned--a fact I know better than he can? That is, if it 's not all an invention of the cloth, as, in my soul, I believe it is! I 've said so any time this forty years."

"Oh, my lord, my lord! do not fling away your last hope."

"You imagine me to have a chance then? Good soul! You don't know better!"

"The Lord is merciful."

The marquis laughed--that is, he tried, failed, and grinned.

"Mr Cairns is in the dining room, my lord."

"Bah! A low pettifogger, with the soul of a bullock! Don't let me hear the fellow's name. I 've been bad enough, G.o.d knows! but I haven't sunk to the level of his help yet. If he 's G.o.d Almighty's factor, and the saw holds--'Like master, like man!' well, I would rather have nothing to do with either."

"That is, if you had the choice, my lord," said Mrs Courthope, her temper yielding a little, though in truth his speech was not half so irreverent as it seemed to her.

"Tell him to go to h.e.l.l. No, don't: set him down to a bottle of port and a great sponge cake and you needn't tell him to go to heaven, for he 'll be there already. Why, Mrs Courthope, the fellow isn't a gentleman! And yet all he cares for the cloth is, that he thinks it makes a gentleman of him--as if anything in heaven, earth, or h.e.l.l could work that miracle!"

In the middle of the night, as Malcolm sat by his bed, thinking him asleep, the marquis spoke suddenly.

"You must go to Aberdeen tomorrow, Malcolm," he said.

"Verra weel, my lord."

"And bring Mr Glennie, the lawyer, back with you."

"Yes, my lord."

"Go to bed then."

"I wad raither bide, my lord. I cudna sleep a wink for wantin' to be back aside ye."

The marquis yielded, and Malcolm sat by him all the night through.

He tossed about, would doze off and murmur strangely, then wake up and ask for brandy and water, yet be content with the lemonade Malcolm gave him.

Next day he quarrelled with every word Mrs Courthope uttered, kept forgetting he had sent Malcolm away, and was continually wanting him. His fits of pain were more severe, alternated with drowsiness, which deepened at times to stupor.

It was late before Malcolm returned. He went instantly to his bedside.

"Is Mr Glennie with you?" asked his master feebly.

"Yes, my lord."

"Tell him to come here at once."

When Malcolm returned with the lawyer, the marquis directed him to set a table and chair by the bedside, light four candles, get everything necessary for writing, and go to bed.

CHAPTER LXIX: THE MARQUIS AND THE SCHOOLMASTER

Before Malcolm was awake, his lords.h.i.+p had sent for him. When he re-entered the sick chamber, Mr Glennie had vanished, the table had been removed, and instead of the radiance of the wax lights, the cold gleam of a vapour dimmed sun, with its sickly blue white reflex from the wide spread snow, filled the room. The marquis looked ghastly, but was sipping chocolate with a spoon.

"What w'y are ye the day, my lord?" asked Malcolm.

"Nearly well," he answered; "but those cursed carrion crows are set upon killing me--d.a.m.n their souls!"