John Burnet of Barns Part 5

There was a pause and he took a draught of ale.

"Weel, I roared as loud as I could, and the auld runt whae bides i' the Castle heard me. He cam doun and askit me what was wrang. 'Wrang,'

says I. 'If ye dinna ca' ten feet o' water and you no able to soom, wrang, I just wis ye were here yoursel.' So he gangs cannily back and brings anither man to look at me; and the twae thocht for a while, and then each grippit an airm and after a gey wammlin' I got oot. I was angry at their delay, for I couldna hae held on muckle langer, so I kickit them baith an' cam aff here. I've muckle need o' yill, fur I feel as if I had eaten ten pund o' snaw."

"Come nearer the fire, Simon," said one. "Ye're a muckle tried man."

"I'm a' that," said the brown-faced poacher, and relapsed into silence.

The lights were now lit in the streets of Peebles, as we could see by the glimmer through the windows; but in our room no lamp was needed, for the bright firelight was sufficient for a man to read a little book by.

The great shadows danced on the wall, bent and crooked into a thousand phantasies; and the men by the fire nodded and spoke little. Then the old man Turnbull began an argument with the tailor about some clothes in which he said he had been cheated; and Peter Crustcrackit, never a quiet-tempered man, was rejoining with vigour. I heard only fragments of their talk, being taken up in dreaming of my future course, and when I should go to see the world.

The mild-mannered man, him they called John Look-up, was sleeping in his chair, and his jug of ale which he had emptied hung limply in his hand.

In a little it fell to the floor and rolled beneath his chair; but the sleeper never stirred. The poacher sat shrouded in vapour, which the heat of the fire had brought out of his wet garments, and a mingled smell of damp cloth and burning wood filled the room. The discordant voices of the tailor and his antagonist rose and fell, now sinking to a mumbled whisper, and now rising to sharp recrimination. By and by they came to an end of their dispute, and silence reigned undisturbed; and I verily believe that in five minutes we should all have been sound asleep, had not something occurred to rouse us.

This was no less than the entrance of another guest. The door was flung open and a man entered, swaggering with a great air and bearing into the slumbrous place a breath of the outer world. He was the finest man I had ever seen, two inches and more taller than myself, who am not short, and clean made as a greyhound. His face was tanned a deep brown, and bare save for a yellow moustachio on his upper lip. His hair hung long and fine over his shoulders, setting off the erect poise of his head.

He had removed his cloak and hat, and showed a dress of the height of fas.h.i.+on; his cravat was of delicate foreign lace and the sash around his middle of the finest silk. But what I marked especially were his features, the thin, straight nose, the well-bred chin, and the clear eyes; but for a certain weakness in the jaw I should have called it the handsomest face I had ever seen. More, it was a face that wis familiar to me. I had seen the like of it before; but where I could not tell, and I cudgelled my brains to think of it.

"Ah, my faith," said the stranger, speaking with a foreign accent, "what have we here? A room-full of sleepy citizens. Or drunk, egad, drunk, I believe."

And he walked over to where Peter Crustcrackit sat nodding, and stared in his face. Now the noise wakened the rest; and Peter also, who sitting up with a stupid air thought that he was still in the shop, and cried hurriedly, "What d'ye lack, sir? Silks or satins or plain kersey," and ran into a recital of his wares.

The newcomer looked at him with an amused smile. "It is not difficult to tell your profession, my friend. The ninth of a man."

Then he surveyed the rest of us in turn with his restless eyes, until his look fell upon me. He must have marked something about my appearance distinct from the others, for he bowed and addressed me politely.

"You are not one of these fellows, I think. May I ask the favour of your name? I have been long absent from this country and have forgot faces."

"You are welcome to it," said I. "They call me John Burnet-of Barns," I added, for the first time using my new-found t.i.tle.

He crossed to my side in an instant and held out his hand. "Your hand, Master Burnet. You and I should be well known to each other, for we shall be near neighbours. You may have heard of Michael Veitch of Dawyck, him that was soldiering abroad. I am that same, returned like the prodigal from far countries."

Now I knew where I had seen the face before. It was but a coa.r.s.e and manly counterpart of Marjory's, though I fancied that hers was still the braver and stronger, if all were told.

"I have often heard of you," I said, "and I am glad to be the first to bid you welcome to your own countryside. These are some men of the town, honest fellows, who come here for their evening ale."

"Your health, gentlemen," he cried, bowing to the company. "Landlord, bring ale and a bottle of your best Burgundy till I pledge these honest fellows."

"Eh, sirs," I heard Peter Crustcrackit mutter under his breath, "sic an invasion o' gentles. The Northgate o' Peebles micht be the High Street o' Embro', for a' the braw folk that are coming tae't. I maun think aboot s.h.i.+fting my shop."

It would be well on for eight o'clock ere Master Veitch and I left the _Pegasus_ to ride homeward. The night was quieter and milder, and overhead a patch of clear sky showed the stars. He had with him two serving-men who carried his belongings, but they rode some little distance behind. He was full of questions about Dawyck and his kinsfolk there and the countryside around; so I must needs tell him something of what had pa.s.sed between Marjory and myself. He seemed not ill-pleased.

"What," he cried, "little Marjory, who was scarce higher than my knee when I left! To think that she should have grown into a woman already!

And you say she is pretty?"

Which question gave me much opportunity for such talk as one must use when he feels the littleness of words.

Then he must ask me about myself, of my father, of whose death he was ignorant, and what I purposed to do. "For I doubt," said he, "that you will have but a dull time of it at Barns in that great desolate house.

It little befits an active man to pine at home like a mouse in a cell."

So from one thing to another, he had me to tell him of all my desires, of how I longed above all things to travel and see the world; and he spoke to me in such a fas.h.i.+on that ere we had come to the ford of Tweed my intention was fixed to ride out like the Spanish Don to see what might befall me.

CHAPTER VIII

I TAKE LEAVE OF MY FRIENDS

The next month was, I think, the busiest in my life. For from the evening of my meeting with Michael Veitch my mind was firmly made up to go to travel abroad, and with this determination came all the countless troubles which a man must meet before he can leave his home. I was busy night and day, now down at Peebles, now riding up Manor and all over the Barns lands, seeing that all things were in right order ere my departure. I got together all the money I desired, and with drafts on the Dutch bankers, which the lawyer folk in Edinburgh got for me, I was in no danger of falling into poverty abroad.

On Tam Todd I laid the management of all things in my absence; and Tam, much impressed by his responsibility, though it was a task which he had really undertaken long before in the later years of my father's life, went about his work with a serious, preoccupied air, as of Atlas with the world on his shoulders. I had much ado in getting ready my baggage for the journey, for I wished to take little, being confident that I could buy all things needful abroad. Jean Morran, on the other hand, would have had me take half the plenis.h.i.+ng of the house of Barns, from linen sheets to fresh-kirned b.u.t.ter, for I could not persuade her to think otherwise than that I was going into a desolate land among heathen savages.

Then I had to visit many folk up and down Tweed to take farewell; and I had so many letters given me to men of standing abroad, that, if I had delivered them all, I should have had to spend more time than I cared.

One I valued more than any other-a letter written by Master Gilbert Burnet, of London, to a professor in the university of Leyden-which I hoped would bring me into the company of scholars. For I had changed my original intention of going to the wars, first, because I found on examination that, in my inmost heart, I had that hankering after learning which would never be sated save by a life with some facilities for study; second, because, now that I was the sole member of the house, it behooved me to bide on the land and see to it, and any such thing as soldiering would keep me away for too great a time. I sent, too, to the College Library at Glasgow, for all the books on the Low Countries to be had, and spent much profitable time reading of the history of the place, and how the land lay.

During these days I was much in the company of the new master of Dawyck, and a most delectable comrade I found him. He had a vast stock of tales and jests, collected in his travels, with which he would amuse his friends; he was something of a scholar, and could talk learnedly when he chose; and he was expert at all outdoor sports, pressing me hard at the sword-play, in which I prided myself on my skill. He was of a free, generous nature, and singularly courteous to all, high and low, rich and poor alike. Yet, with all these excellencies, there was much that I liked ill about him, for he was over-fond of resorting to the taverns at Peebles, where he would muddle his wits in the company of his inferiors.

His life at Dawyck was none of the most regular, though, indeed, I have little cause to blame him, being none so good myself; though the vice of over-indulging in wine was one that Providence always mercifully kept me from.

He came perhaps every third day to Barns to ride with me in the haugh, and he would abide to supper-time, or even over night, making me fear for Marjory's peace of mind. To his sister he was most dutiful and kind, and I was glad to think that now the days might be more pleasant for her with her brother in the house. And it pleased me to think that when I went abroad, my lady would be left in no bad keeping.

The days, the short January days, pa.s.sed quickly over my head, and, almost ere I knew, the time had come for my departure. And now, when the hour came so nigh, I felt some pain at the thought of leaving home and my beloved countryside for unknown places; though, to tell the truth, such thoughts were not ill to dispel by the contemplation of the pleasures in prospect. Yet it was with mingled feelings that I rode over to Dawyck on a sharp Monday afternoon to bid Marjory farewell.

I found her in the low, dim room, looking to the west, where she was wont to sit in winter. A great fire crackled cheerily on the hearth, and many little devices about the place showed a woman's hand. Holly, with scarlet berries, put colour into the sombre walls, and Marjory herself, brighter than any flower, made the firelight dull in the contrast; so fair she looked, as she greeted me, with her bright hair and unfathomable eyes.

"I have come to see you for the last time, Marjory," I said; "to-morrow I set out on my travels."

"I am vexed that you are going away," and she looked at me sadly; "it will be lonely in Tweeddale without you."

"My dear la.s.s, I will not be long. Two years at the longest, and then I will be home to you, and travel no more. What say you, Marjory?"

"Your will be done, John. Yet I would I could have gone with you."

"I would you could, my dear," I said. "But that might scarce be. You would not like, I think, to sail on rough seas, or bide among towns and colleges. You love the woods too well."

"Wherever you were," said she, with her eyes drooped, "I would be content to be."

"But Marjory, la.s.s," I spoke up cheerfully, for I feared to make her sad, "you would not like me to stay at home, when the world is so wide, and so many brave things to be seen."

"No, no. I have no love for folks who bide in the house like children.

I would have you go and do gallantly, and come home full of fine tales.

But where do you mean to go, and how will you pa.s.s your time?"

"Oh," said I, "I go first to Rotterdam, where I may reside for a while.

Then I purpose to visit the college at Leyden, to study; for I would fain spend some portion of my time profitably. After that I know not what I will do, but be sure that I will be home within the two years.

For, though I am blithe to set out, I doubt not that I will be blither to come back again."

"I trust you may not learn in those far-away places to look down on Tweeddale and the simple folks here. I doubt you may, John; for you are not a steadfast man," and, at this, she laughed and I blushed, for I thought of my conduct at Glasgow.

"Nay, nay," I answered; "I love you all too well for that. Though the Emperor of Cathay were to offer me all his treasure to bide away, I would come back. I would rather be a shepherd in Tweeddale than a n.o.ble in Spain."