news of robert’s illness soon reached edinburgh, along with reports of his misconduct, profligacy, and intemperance, reports which were grossly exaggerated, together with many other slanderous falsehoods.
and rumors of his poverty and the destitute condition of his family brought sorrow and anxiety to the hearts of many of his loyal friends, who were only too ready and willing to offer him all the help and assistance that would be needed, but they knew, too, his inflexible pride and independence, and realized how futile would be their offers of friendly assistance.
for some days lady nancy gordon had been anxiously puzzling her brain for some thought or scheme whereby she could help the unfortunate bard who was plunged in such depths of poverty and misfortune. she was thinking of him now as she sat at the harpsichord, her fingers wandering idly over the keyboard in a running accompaniment to her thoughts. her father softly entered the room at this juncture, but she did not turn her head nor intimate that she was aware of his presence. presently[340] her touch grew more and more tender. anon she glided into one of those dreamily joyous, yet sorrowful, mazurkas, that remind one of gay wild flowers growing in rich profusion over silent and forgotten graves. lady nancy had reason to boast of herself, for she was a perfect mistress of the instrument—and as her fingers closed on the final chord, she wheeled round abruptly on the chair, and rising to her feet greeted her father with a tender smile. for a moment she regarded him in thoughtful silence, then as he laid down his paper, she walked up to him, a frown of displeasure wrinkling her smooth, white forehead.
“i think, father,” she said deliberately, with a haughty uptilt of her pretty nose, “i think it is perfectly disgraceful the way that hackney scribbler who writes for yon journal,” indicating the paper on the table, “either through malice or ignorance affixes such degrading epithets to the name of the bard of scotland, for by no other name will i ever speak of robert burns,” and she flashed an angry glance at the offending paper.
“poor obstinate lad,” sighed the duke thoughtfully. his mind went back to the day after the garden party at glencairn hall, when he had sent for robert to honor them with his presence at gordon house, and how the poet had taken offense at some thoughtless remark of his, given in kindly spirit; how with haughty pride, and wounded dignity,[341] he had gotten up from the table and after thanking them for their hospitality, declared he had not come to be insultingly patronized and pitied, and refusing to listen to reason, or explanation, he had left in bitter resentment and blind misunderstanding. lady nancy too was thinking the same thoughts, and after a moment’s meditation she looked into her father’s kindly face and remarked earnestly:
“father, something must be done for him and his family at once.”
“but, my dear,” he meekly replied, “our hands are tied by his own obstinacy.”
“can we not get up a subscription for him?” she asked. he shook his head slowly.
“’twould be to no purpose, nancy,” he returned thoughtfully. “he would refuse all offers of pecuniary aid. i know well his independent principles, and so do you.”
they talked over many plans and projects, but none seemed feasible, and they were about to give up in despair, when henry mackenzie was announced. he had just arrived from ellisland, and immediately spoke of his visit to the poet, and under what painful conditions he had found him—told them of his promise to burns to secure the office of supervisor for him, and had called to consult with his lordship concerning its bestowal.
nancy listened with bated breath and tear-dimmed eyes as he spoke of the change in robert, his poverty,[342] his indomitable courage and independence, in spite of the ravages of disease and the black, gloomy outlook for future prosperity.
“nancy and i were just discussing some means of alleviating his distress as you entered,” said the duke as mr. mackenzie finished his recital. “and it affords me much gratification to be able to assist him to the office of supervisor of the excise and its attendant increase of salary.”
“’twill be a god-send to him, believe me, my lord,” returned mr. mackenzie feelingly.
“the news will be dispatched to him at once!” cried nancy with sparkling eyes. “’twill relieve his present distress of mind.”
with that assurance, mr. mackenzie rose, and thanking them for their kindness in behalf of the indigent poet, took his leave.
having finished luncheon, the old duke excused himself, and going to his study, he made out the necessary papers of promotion for the struggling exciseman, with many a shake of his head and pitying sigh for the young genius who was reduced to such straits—driven to such a commonplace calling, through his headstrong recklessness, his foolish ideas of independence. having signed them he sat back in thoughtful meditation. suddenly the door opened, and his daughter asked permission to enter. having gained it, she crossed to her father, and sinking down beside him, in an eager, impetuous[343] manner quickly laid before him a project which had been formulating in her active brain while he was busy writing out the papers.
he started back in amazement. “what!” he cried. “are you out of your senses, nancy?”
“now, papa, listen!” she exclaimed earnestly. “’twill take but a day’s ride to reach dumfries, and think how delighted he will be to receive the promotion from your hands,” and she slyly noted the effect of the bit of delicate flattery.
he frowned and pursed his lips for a moment, and idly tapped the folded papers against his knee in thought. these signs boded success, as nancy well knew, and springing to her feet she gave him a big hug that set him gasping.
“look here, mistress nancy!” he exclaimed as soon as he recovered his breath, “why do you want to take this wearisome journey at this season of the year, just to visit the home of this poor exciseman?” and he wonderingly regarded the face that had suddenly grown flushed and pensive, as she looked with worshipful eyes at the large engraving over the fireplace, which contained the figure of burns in a characteristic attitude, reading one of his poems to the group of people that surrounded him.
“i want to see him once more before the fire of his genius grows cold,” she answered dreamily. “i want to see him in his home with his—his wife and[344] children around him.” she might have told him that she was heart-hungry for a sight of that dark, glowing face, the flashing black eyes that had thrilled her with such blissful pain, for the sound of that rich, majestic voice, that had so often stirred the uttermost depths of her heart. she felt that the yearning of her soul would not be satisfied till she had seen him again, spoken with him. she hoped, yet dreaded, that the sight of his changed face, his miserable surroundings, the commonplaceness of it all, of meeting the exciseman with his wife and children around him, rather than the idealized poet, would silence forever the strange unrest of her soul, banish all thoughts of sentiment from her mind, and destroy the spell of glamour which he had all unconsciously thrown about her. these thoughts flew through her mind with lightning speed while her father was making up his mind how best to dissuade her from her purpose.
“i fear me, nancy, ’twill give us both more pain than pleasure,” he said finally. “we may even lose our respect for him.”
“don’t say that, father!” she cried reproachfully. “no matter how low he may have fallen, and i protest that fame has exaggerated his misconduct woefully, we people of scotland cannot forget nor overlook the priceless treasure he has put into our thankless hands, a treasure that will be handed down to posterity with ever increasing regard, admiration[345] and love for its author,” and her flashing blue eyes, that had so often reminded robert of mary campbell, and which had formed a closer tie of comradeship between them, again sought and lingered upon the engraved likeness of her hero. the singular beauty of lady nancy gordon was illumined by that happy expression of countenance which results from the union of cultivated tastes and superior understanding with the finest affections of mind, and the influence of such attractions had been keenly felt by the ardent poet, who was not altogether unaware of the impression he had made upon her heart, which was as susceptible to the charms of wit and intellect as was his own. as she stood gazing up at the picture, she thought with an odd little smile how she had openly sought for his favors, delighted in his apparent preference for her society even while she told herself she knew he was only attracted by her brilliancy—that she appealed to his intellect—charmed him by her wit, her cleverness. no, she had never touched his heart, she thought with a sigh, and a look of sadness came into her thoughtful eyes.
“i fear, nancy, that robert still harbors feelings of resentment against us,” protested the duke after a pause. “i know he would rather not see us.”
but lady nancy overruled his objection. “then all the more reason for our assuring him of our[346] friendship and asking his forgiveness for any offense we have unintentionally offered him.”
seeing all arguments were useless, the old duke finally consented, and with a hug and a kiss, nancy left him and proceeded to make arrangements for their speedy departure for ayrshire.
