One of the Six Hundred: A Novel
as ill spare him as Sir Nigel could spare you; and gang where ye may,
Maister Newton, ye'll ne'er ha'e a truer or a sibber friend than Willie
Pitblado."
While the old man ran on thus, the dogs came bounding forth.
"Here," said my uncle, "is your old favourite pointer, the white and
tan, alive yet."
"But he's a _dis_-appointer noo, Maister Newton, being blind, or bleared
a bit; yet I ha'e na the heart, or rather want o' heart, to put the puir
beast awa'."
"And here is Keeper, too--brave old Keeper, that I played with when a
boy," I exclaimed, as a grand old mastiff, which knew my voice, sprang
upon me with joy, whining and barking the while--a dog that was always
gentle with children; that wagged his aristocratic tail at all ladies
and gentlemen, but howled and growled fearfully at all beggars and
poorly-clad folks.
There in that cottage old Willie now lived alone with his dogs and a
tame otter. This was a somewhat remarkable animal. He had found it as a
cub in a pond near Calderwood Glen, and gradually made it so
domesticated that it responded to his voice, followed him about, and
employed its talents in fishing for him, bringing each fish regularly to
his feet, and at a signal diving in for more; and, strange enough, the
terriers that hunted other otters never molested this one.
A pair of brisk young pointers were selected. We loaded, capped,
shouldered our guns, and set forth. This was but the beginning of the
day's sport, and I sighed with impatience for the end.
"Shall we try the belt of pines on the Standing Stane Rig?" said I.
"It used to be a braw cover for patricks (partridges), and in my
father's day for grouse," said Pitblado; "but those Roosians, the
weasels, the piots, the hawks, and the shepherd's collies, ha'e played
the de'il wi' it. At yon belt o' neeps, where ye see the shaws aboon
the snaw, the deer often come out o' the pine wood to ha'e a feed, so
that we may chance to get a pot shot at one to-day."
"Come on, then," said Sir Nigel, impatiently. "Blaze away while you
can, Newton. In the first week of next month partridge and pheasant
shooting ends."
"By that time, uncle, in these swift days of steam, I may be sabreing or
potting the Russians."
"Then sabre and pot with a will, boy."
It was from old Pitblado I had received all my early lessons in shooting
and fishing, in the art of casting bullets and making flies; and I
remember one special piece of advice he always gave me concerning
salmon.
"Aye _droon_ your salmon before ye land it, Maister Newton, for the dunt
on the heid spyles the quality o' the fish; ond if ye hook a grilse,
keep its tail up and well in the water till it's clean deid."
We saw no deer that day, and I shot so wildly and queerly, and generally
bang into the centre of every covey, without selecting or covering the
outside birds, that Sir Nigel was bewildered, and old Pitblado lost all
patience with me.
I traversed the snow-covered fields with them as one might do in a
dream. I heard an occasional shot from my uncle's gun, the birds rose
whirring in the air, and then one or two came tumbling down, to beat the
snow with their wings, and stain it with their blood, ere Pitblado
thrust them into his ample bag.
I heard his deep impressive voice saying from time to time, "Mark!" when
the coveys rose, and to watch where they alighted; then "Seek dead" to
the pointers usually followed the bang! bang! of Sir Nigel's barrels;
but my mind was completely absorbed in reverie. I saw only the face of
Louisa Loftus, with Berkeley hovering about her.
I imagined him having achieved the tete-a-tete I had failed to procure.
I imagined him opening the trenches by apologies, in set phraseology,
for the offence he had perpetrated in the conservatory; and if he
succeeded with such a basis for his operations, where might the matter
end? Heavens! for all I knew to the contrary, in a solemn engagement,
pending mamma Chillingham's consent, for his lordship, the earl, was
somewhat of a cypher in these matters, and in his own house generally.
How ingeniously one can torment oneself when afflicted by jealousy! and
thus much real misery was mine during that day's weary shooting, and
right glad was I when the sun of January, declining beyond the western
Lomond, warned my indefatigable uncle that it was time for us to return
homeward, after having traversed in our peregrinations some fifteen
miles of country.
He had shot four hares, and eighteen brace of birds, four of which were
beautiful golden pheasants; while I had knocked over only two
partridges--a result at which Cora and Lady Louisa laughed excessively,
and each declared they would have the said birds specially cooked for
themselves.
*CHAPTER VIII.*
The heavens were marked by many a filmy streak
E'en in the Orient, and the sun shone through
Those lines, as Hope upon a mourner's cheek
Sheds, meekly chastened, her delightful hue.
From groves and meadows, all empearled with dew,
Rose silvery mist, no eddying wind swept by;
The cottage chimneys, half concealed from view
By their embowering foliage, sent on high
Their pallid wreaths of smoke unruffled to the sky.
BARTON.
Next day the snow had entirely disappeared; the country again looked
fresh and green; and when we met for breakfast, and while the ladies
were exchanging their morning kisses lightly on each cheek--a la
Francaise, rather than a l'Ecossaise--various excursions were again
projected.
Among others, Cora urged that we should visit the ruined Castle of
Piteadie, which belonged of old to a branch of my uncle's family now
extinct.
It stands on the slope of a gentle eminence, some distance westward of
the famous "long town" of Kirkaldy, a pleasant ride of ten miles or so
from the glen; and was a place we frequently rode to in the days of my
boyhood, when my feats in the saddle were performed on a shaggy,
barrel-bellied Shetland pony; so I longed to see the old ruin again.
A message was sent to the stable-yard after luncheon, and horses were
ordered for the party, which was to consist of Lady Louisa, Cora, Miss
Wilford, Berkeley, the M.P., and myself.
The ladies soon appeared in their riding-habits; and, to my perhaps
partial fancy, there seemed something matchless in the grace with which
Louisa Loftus held, or draped up, the gathered folds of her ample dark
blue skirt in her tightly gloved left hand.
There was the faintest flush on her usually pale cheek, a furtive
glancing in her long-lashed dark eyes, as she threw her veil over her
shoulder, gave a last smoothing to the braids of her black hair, and
tripped down the front steps, leaning on the arm of her courteous old
host, to where our cavalry stood, pawing the gravel impatiently, arching
their necks, and champing their bright steel bits.
We were soon mounted and _en route_. Cora and Lady Louisa, who were
resolved on having a little private gossip, after merrily quizzing me
about my dragoon seat on the saddle, rode at first together; and, as we
paired off down the avenue, followed by my man, Willie Pitblado, and
another well-mounted groom, I found myself alongside of Berkeley, after
Sir Nigel, who had a county meeting to attend at Cupar, left us.
"Your uncle's stables make a good turn-out of cavalry," said Berkeley;
"this grey is a good bit of horseflesh."
"'Treads well above his pasterns,' is rather a favourite with Sir
Nigel," said I, coldly, for he had a patronizing tone about him that I
did not relish. I could laugh with Lady Louisa when she spoke of Sir
Nigel as "a queer old droll," or "a dear old thing;" but I could ill
tolerate Berkeley, when he ran on in the following fashion--
"He is certainly a trump, Sir Nigel, but droll, as Lady Loftus
says--exquisitely droll! If he--haw--spills salt, no doubt he remembers
Judas, and throws a pinch over his left shoulder; knocks the bottoms out
of his eggs, lest the fairies make tugs of'em; and--haw, haw--would
faint, I suppose, if he dined one of thirteen."
"I am not aware that Sir Nigel has any of the proclivities that you
mention," said I; but, heedless that I was staring at him, Berkeley,
with his bland, insipid smile, continued his impertinence.
"Things have--haw--changed so much within the last few years, that these
old fellows are actually ignorant of the world they live in; and
the--haw, haw--world goes so fast, that in three years _we_ learn more
of it, and of life (Gad! they know nothing of real life), than they did
in thirty. As a young man, Sir Nigel was, I have no doubt, a buck in
leather breeches and hair powder--haw--drove a Stanhope, perhaps, and
wore a Spenser, _ultimus Romanorum_; paid his first visit to London in
the old mail coach, with a brace of pistols in his pocket, and the
thorough conviction that every second Englishman was a thief."
I listened with growing indignation, for on this man, who quizzed him
thus, my poor uncle was lavishing his genuine, old-fashioned Scottish
hospitality. I had every disposition to quarrel with Berkeley, and had
we been with the regiment, or elsewhere, would undoubtedly have done so;
but in my uncle's house, a _fracas_ with a guest, more especially a
brother officer, was the last thing to be thought of.
"You are somewhat unfriendly in your remarks, Mr. Berkeley," said I,
haughtily.
"I am--haw--not much of a reader, Norcliff; but I greatly admire a
certain writer, who says that 'Friendship means the habit of meeting at
dinner--the highest nobility of the soul being his who pays the
reckoning!'" replied Berkeley.
"And you always thought that axiom----"
"To be doocid good! Slubber is the only old fellow I ever knew who kept
pace with the times."
"Indeed!" said I, with an affected air of perfect unconcern. "I have
heard of him--he is said to have proposed to our fair friend in front."
"Ah, may I ask which of them?"
"For Lady Louisa."
"It is very likely--the families are extremely intimate, and I know that
she has gone twice to the Continent in Slubber's yacht."
Berkeley said this with a bearing cooler even than mine; but I was aware
that the fellow was scanning me closely through his confounded eyeglass.
"His fortune is, I believe, handsome?"
"Magnificent! Sixty thousand a year, at least--haw! His father was a
reckless fellow in the days of the Regency, going double-quick to the
dogs; but luckily died in time to let the estates go to nurse during the
present man's minority. I have heard a good story told of the late Lord
Slubber de Gullion, who, having lost a vast sum on the Derby, applied to
a well-known broker in town to give him five thousand pounds on my Lady
Slubber's jewels.
"'Number the brilliants,' said he, 'and put false stones in their
places; she will never know the difference.'
"'You are mosh too late, my lord,' replied he of the three six-pounders,
with a grin.
"'Too late! What the devil do you mean, Abraham?'
"'My Lady Slubbersh shold the diamonds to me three years ago, and these
stones are all falsh!'
"So my lord retired, collapsed with rage, to find that a march had been
stolen upon him--doocid good, that!"
The snow, I have said, had entirely disappeared, save on the summits of
the hills; but, swollen by its melting, the wayside runnels bubbled
merrily along under the black whins and withered ferns, reflecting the
pure blue of the sky overhead. At a place where the road became wider,
by a dexterous use of the spurs, I contrived to get my horse between the
pads of Cora and Lady Louisa, and so rid myself of Berkeley.
We chatted away pleasantly as we rode on at an easy pace, and ere long,
on ascending the higher ground, saw the wide expanse of the Firth of