john anderson, the proprietor of the “bull’s head,” stood gazing wrathfully upon the scene of disorder which met his eyes as he opened the door of the sitting-room of his distinguished lodger’s apartments. it was early evening, and still that lodger remained in bed, although he had been called at different intervals throughout the day by the irate, though kind-hearted, landlord himself. “dear—dear—dear,” he muttered to himself, as he arranged the furniture, “i’ll just give robbie a bit o’ my mind.” he went to the door of the sleeping apartment and looked in. “sleepin’ like a bairn,” he said softly, “an’—an’ wi’ his boots on. ma certie!” he raised his hands in horror. “weel, i’m glad ye’re nae under the bed. ah, weel, young blood must hae its course. i mind i was young mysel’, an’ if i do say it i could drink mair whusky than any mon in the toon. oh, those were happy days,” and he sang softly to himself, as he continued his work about the room:
“we are na fou’
we’re nat that fou’,
but just a droppie in our ee.
the cock may craw,
the day may daw’,
an’ ay we’ll taste the barley bree.”
[159]
a knock on the door interrupted his song.
“weel, who is it?” he called impatiently.
“open the door,” replied a female voice eagerly.
“a lassie,” exclaimed john in amazement. “oh, robbie, ye devil.” he swung open the door and stood back to allow the gorgeously dressed lady to enter the room. her dress of rich purple brocaded silk, cut in the extreme of fashion, rustled stiffly over the polished floor. her head with its powdered wig was held haughtily erect as she surveyed the room with sparkling black eyes that nervously took in her surroundings, through the tiny holes in the black mask which concealed her face.
“i—i thought—isn’t mr. burns at home?” she stammered uneasily.
“weel, what may ye be wantin’ wi’ mr. burns?” asked john cautiously. he had been bothered to death with answering the questions of the silly women who flocked to the parlors of the inn in hopes of seeing their idol.
the lady turned on him sharply. “none of your business, my good man,” she retorted haughtily. “how dare you question me, sirrah?”
john was quite taken aback by the imperious tones, but he still had his suspicions. “weel, i thought perhaps ye were one o’ the artless bonnie wenches who were here last night wi’ the lads makin’ merry till the wee sma’ hours. if ye are——” he paused significantly.
[160]
she flashed him an angry look. “make your mind easy on that score, my good fellow,” she retorted icily. “i have called to interview mr. burns on an important matter. is he at home?”
“aye; he is in there asleep,” replied john, pointing to a door beside the large book cabinet, which nearly occupied one side of the room.
“asleep!” she repeated incredulously. “lud, he retires uncommon early for a gallant,” and there was a note of disappointment in her deep contralto voice.
“early is it?” said john, with a knowing smile. “faith, he hasna been up this day.”
“what?” she ejaculated in horror. “not all day? then you must awaken him immediately. i must have speech with him at once,” and she spread her voluminous draperies over the wide lounge and calmly seated herself. “do you hear?” she cried impatiently, as john made no move.
“i hae excellent hearin’, mum,” replied john carelessly, “but i ken when i’m well off, an’ i hae nae desire to feel the toe o’ robert’s boot.”
“a pest on your stubbornness, fool,” she cried angrily, springing to her feet.
“an’ i hae my doubts o’ a lass who comes to a mon’s lodgings at night,” continued john, resenting her impatience. “it’s na respectable.”
she looked him over insolently, then shrugged her shoulders. “i protest, landlord,” she replied, in[161] a mocking tone, “i am quite respectable, even if i am here unchaperoned. but, lud, i like not conventionalities, and this adventure suits my madcap spirit well.” she walked to the door of the sleeping chamber and was about to open it, when his voice arrested her.
“i ken it all the time,” he cried indignantly. “ye’re a brazen hussy.”
“landlord!” she gasped in astonishment.
“an’ ye can leave my inn,” continued john, now thoroughly aroused. “we are respectable, if ye are na.”
“peace, fool!” she exclaimed furiously. “i am lady glen——” she stopped and bit her lips angrily at the indiscreet slip of her tongue. suddenly a daring thought entered her mind. one glance at his face told her that he had not caught the name. to think was to act with my lady. then she continued glibly, “i am lady nancy gordon, daughter of the duke of gordon, of gordon castle. it will be all over town in a day,” she thought with malicious satisfaction.
john staggered back as though he had been shot. “ye lady nancy?” he gasped in amazement. “oh, my lady, i ask your pardon.”
“’tis not easily granted, numskull,” replied the imperious beauty, her black eyes flashing dangerously. the sound of a carriage rolling over the cobble stones suddenly arrested her attention. for[162] a moment she listened intently, then, with a startled exclamation, she turned to john and said in a frightened whisper, “’fore heaven! if it should be my husband—my father, i mean, in pursuit of me.” she ran hastily to the window from where a view of the street could be obtained and threw open the casement.
“it would serve ye right, my lady,” said john to himself.
“great heavens! ’tis my uncle, sir william creech!” she gasped. then she said aloud, “landlord, ’tis my father, as i feared! oons! what a scrape i’m in.” she closed the shutter hastily.
“’twill ruin your reputation to be found here at night, my lady,” cried john concernedly, trotting nervously to the window.
“o lud,” she replied airily, “i’m not concerned over my reputation, ’tis already torn to ribbons by my dear friends. ’tis my—my father’s wrath i fear. he is like to do some mischief.” an imperious knocking sounded on the door below.
“he has found ye, lassie,” cried old john excitedly. “go down to him; dinna let him find ye here in robbie’s chamber. ye ken the blame will all fall on the lad,” and he sought to escort her to the door, but she evaded his outstretched hand with laughing unconcern.
“nay, nay, my good fellow. i protest, i will not see him,” she exclaimed, with reckless abandon.[163] she would keep up the impersonation till the end. another such chance to blast her enemy’s reputation would not come to her in a lifetime, she thought wickedly. “listen,” she cried impetuously. “my father, the duke of gordon, while he admires the poetry of mr. burns, does not admire the man himself, consequently he did not send him an invitation to attend the masked ball which is given at gordon castle to-night,” she explained glibly. “’twas a monstrous insult to the bard of scotland, and i told my father so, and that i would not countenance it. then i stole away, as i thought, unobserved, and came here to induce mr. burns to return with me. once inside the castle my father will be forced to receive him graciously. now, hurry, landlord, tell him to dress and we’ll slip out quietly, and, with your connivance, elude my—father’s vigilance.” she watched him narrowly to note the effect of her story.
“my lady,” replied john proudly, “the lad goes to athol castle to-night, so ye had better gang hame wi’ your father.” she gave a quick start of delighted satisfaction. so he was going after all. if she had only known that and felt sure of it, she might have spared herself this nerve-racking experiment, she thought impatiently.
the pounding had kept up incessantly, and now a stern, commanding voice called out for the landlord.
“he’s calling me,” said john nervously; “ye’d[164] better go doon an’ explain a’ to him,” he told her pleadingly.
“landlord, where the devil are you?” they could hear the heavy tread of feet walking about the rooms below.
“he’s inside the house,” whispered john, wringing his hands.
“o lud, he seems most angry, doesn’t he?” she said in a subdued voice. she had suddenly grown tired of the deception, and was eager now to get away. “i—i think perhaps ’twould be best if he—er—my father didn’t find me here after all,” she admitted. “i—i really dare not face his anger.” she jumped up quickly, all her bravado vanished. “get me out of this place, landlord, quick, quick!” she gasped, clinging to him. oh, why had she come? sir william would make such a disagreeable scene if he found her here.
“into that room wi’ ye!” cried john quickly, pointing to a small door in the opposite side of the room; “an’ i’ll get your father out o’ the house.”
“why couldn’t the old fossil have stayed at home?” she said to herself angrily. “this promised to be such a romantic adventure, landlord,” she said aloud, poutingly. “and now ’tis all spoiled. plague take it. hurry, landlord, and get my—father away, for i must return to the ball before my absence is noticed.” she went into the room, her heart filled[165] with apprehension, and closed the door, which john promptly locked.
“thank the lord,” he muttered with a sigh of relief. “i breathe easier.” going to the door leading to the hall, he listened for a moment. from below came the sound of clinking glasses. he closed the door quickly. the coast was clear now. his guidwife was waiting on the customer. he hurried across the room and was about to release his prisoner, when he heard the door of robert’s chamber open. he turned quickly and found his lodger yawning in the doorway.
“well, john anderson, my jo john,” said he lazily, “what’s all the row here, eh?”
john looked up guiltily. “are ye up, laddie?” he stammered.
“nay, john, i’m walkin’ round in my bed,” retorted robert dryly. “dinna ye think it’s time for me to be up?” he asked. “what’s the matter, mon? stand still, ye make me dizzy.”
john was uneasily walking up and down, casting surreptitious glances at the door of the room which held the fair captive. “oh, johnny, my jo john,” laughed robert as he caught sight of the old man’s lugubrious countenance, “ye’ve been drinkin’ too much usqubaugh.”
“too much what, robbie?” he asked nervously.
“usqubaugh. dinna ken what that is? it’s whisky, whisky, whisky.”
[166]
“oh, i ken, laddie,” replied john, smiling grimly. “ye needna’ repeat it; one whisky is enough.”
“not for me,” laughed robert, slapping him on the shoulder. “ye dinna ken my capacity.” the noise of a chair overturning in the next room arrested his attention.
“what’s that?” he asked quickly.
“it’s n—nothing,” stammered john.
“there’s somebody in that room,” exclaimed rob, putting his ear to the crack in the door. “i hear her walking around.”
“nay, nay, rob, it’s nobody,” protested john, pushing him away.
“oh, oh, john anderson, my jo john!” cried rob, pointing an accusing finger at the flushed, embarrassed face of the old man, “i’m on to ye.”
“for shame, robbie, an’ me wi’ an old wife below stairs,” he answered indignantly.
“faith, i’ll just find out who it is,” chuckled rob, going toward the door.
“nay, nay, lad!” remonstrated john, holding him back. “wait, i’ll tell ye who it is.”
“ah, i knew it,” ejaculated rob triumphantly. “who is it?”
“it’s—it’s the bailie,” faltered john.
“the bailie? what’s he doing in there?”
“weel, he—he came to arrest ye for debt,” glibly lied the old man. “so i told him to wait in there[167] till ye came hame, an’ noo he’s my prisoner; that’s a’, robbie.”
rob grasped his hand gratefully. “ye’re a true friend, john anderson. let me see, how much do i owe him?”
john backed quickly away from him. “nay, nay, laddie!” he said decidedly. “i havena anither penny.”
“neither have i,” laughed rob ruefully. “so i’ll leave ye to get him out the best way ye can; he’s your prisoner, not mine. i’d like to pitch him down stairs. come on, john, between us we ought to manage the old shylock.”
“nay, nay, robbie,” he retorted dryly. “take my word for it, we’d hae our hands full.”
“weel, i’ll get into the rest of my clothes, for i’m due in society,” yawned rob, going to his room. “get rid of him, john; do what ye like with him; he’s no friend of mine,” and he went in and closed the door behind him.
john softly followed him to the door and turned the key in the lock. “i’ll take nae chances,” he said grimly.
“good-evening,” said a sweet voice timidly. he turned around and with a gasp of astonishment beheld a young girl standing in the doorway. suddenly he gave a great start. could his eyes deceive him? was that beautiful creature in the long white opera cloak, her golden locks piled in a gorgeous[168] mass high upon her little head, really the barefooted lass he had seen only a few days ago, in her short skirt of plaid?
“mary campbell, is it yoursel’, lass?” he finally gasped.
“aye, ’tis really me,” laughed mary happily. “i’m goin’ to the ball at athol castle with mrs. dunlop. i wanted robbie to see me in my gown before i went, so mrs. dunlop left me here, while she drove over to pick up mrs. mclehose; then she’ll return for me. where is robbie, john?”
“he’s in there dressing, mary, but whist, i’ve something to tell ye first.”
“about robbie?” she asked anxiously.
“aye, there’s the devil to pay here, mary.” the old man’s face looked gloomy and perturbed. “there’s a—a lady in that room.”
“a—a lady!” gasped mary in amazement, looking at the door of robbie’s chamber.
“aye, lady nancy gordon hersel’.”
“then it’s true,” cried mary, sinking into a chair, a great fear tugging at her heart. “it’s true, then, all the stories i hear, that robert is be—bewitched wi’ her. i wouldna’ believe it before. mrs. dunlop says it isna’ true, that robbie hasna’ changed, but noo what can i think? oh, laddie, oh, laddie!” and she sank back pale and trembling.
“there, lassie, robert doesna’ care a penny for that lass,” he said tenderly. “she is only a heartless[169] coquette, o’er fond of adventure,” and he laid his wrinkled hand caressingly on the golden head. “noo look here, mary, ye mustna’ expect robert to be an angel all the time. he thinks only of ye, and he loves ye just as fondly, e’en if he does smile and make love to the ladies who throw themsel’s at his feet. he would lose his popularity, ye ken. ’tis only an amusin’ pastime, lassie, an’ but gives him inspiration for his poetry, so dinna’ take it to heart. ye ken rob is highly sensitive, a most temperamental lad, who is very susceptible to the charms of the fair sex, but whist, mary, he isn’t marrying any of them. there is only one lassie who will be his wife noo, and she’s nae far away from me this moment.” and he nodded his head sagely.
“why dinna’ they leave him alone?” sighed mary disconsolately. “’tis very unmaidenly in them to seek for his favor so openly.”
“noo, lassie,” said john seriously, “we maun get lady nancy out o’ this scrape, for the house is watched noo by her father, who suspects her presence here.”
he walked up and down the room for a few moments plunged in deep thought. all at once his face brightened.
“i have thought o’ a scheme, lassie,” he said suddenly. “let lady nancy take this long cloak of yours; ’twill cover her o’er entirely; then she can[170] walk boldly out past her father; he will think ’tis ye, mary, and will na’ stop her. ye’re both of a height,” and he regarded her with anxious eyes.
“why should i help her?” said mary, her heart still heavy and sore.
“for robbie’s sake,” pleaded john. “her father will blame the lad for it all; perhaps he will shoot him, and he an innocent man. why, lassie, he doesna’ even ken the lass is in the house.”
“doesna’ ken it?” repeated mary, smiling incredulously. “why, john, robert isna’ blind. if she is in his room——”
“but she isna’ in his room, mary,” interrupted john. “she’s in there, scared to death,” and he pointed to the door opposite.
“oh!” comprehended mary with a sigh of relief. “that’s different. i’ll help her noo, john,” and she jumped eagerly to her feet, her face flushed and earnest.
“that’s the girlie,” replied john heartily. going to the door, he opened it and whispered to lady nancy to come out.
“lud, i thought you were never coming,” she flashed as she hastily entered the room. she stopped short upon seeing mary.
“this lady will help ye get away,” said john, looking angrily at the bogus lady nancy.
“mary quickly divested herself of her mantle and threw it about the bare shoulders of the disdainful lady.”
“where have i seen that face before?” lady glencairn asked herself nervously, looking closely[171] into mary’s flushed, innocent face, that reminded her so guiltily of lady nancy gordon herself.
mary quickly divested herself of her mantle and threw it about the bare shoulders of the disdainful lady, who hastily drew the large hood over her elaborate court wig, entirely concealing it within its voluminous folds.
with a quick careless word of thanks to mary, she walked to the door, and calling to john, who was quietly turning the key in robert’s door, to show her the way out, she swiftly left the room, and with wildly beating heart, passed her uncle at the outer door, and mingled her presence with the stream of gallant courtiers and laughing, gayly-dressed ladies that wended its boisterous way along the crowded thoroughfare.
