an explanation of his conduct in the truth of the discarded scandal which had laid Lizzy's child at his door.
But amongst them was one who, having wronged him thus, and been convinced of her error, was now so fiercely his partisan as to be ready to wrong the whole town in his defence: that was Meg Partan, properly Mistress Findlay, Lizzy's mother. Although the daughter had never confessed, the mother had yet arrived at the right conclusion concerning the father of her child — how, she could hardly herself have told, for the conviction had grown by accretion: a sign here and a sign there, impalpable save to maternal sense, had led her to the truth; and now, if any one had a word to say against Malcolm, he had better not say it in the presence of the Partaness.
One day Blue Peter was walking home from the upper town of Portlossie, not with the lazy gait of the fisherman off work, poised backward with hands in trouser-pockets, but stooping care-laden with listless swinging arms. Thus Meg Partan met him, and of course attributed his dejection to the factor: "Deil hae 'im for an upsettin' rascal 'at hasna pride eneuch to haud him ohn lickit the gentry's shune! The man maun be fey! I houp he may, an' I wuss I saw the beerial o' 'im makin' for the kirkyaird. It's nae ill to wuss weel to a' body 'at wad be left! His nose is turnt twise the color i' the last twa month. He'll be drinkin' byous. Gien only Ma'colm Mac Phail had been at hame to haud him in order!"
Peter said nothing, and his silence, to one who spoke out whatever came, seemed fuller of restraints and meanings than it was. She challenged it at once: "Noo, what mean ye by sayin' naething, Peter? Guid kens it's the warst thing man or woman can say o' onybody to haud their tongue. It's a thing I never was blamed wi' mysel', an' I wadna du't."
"That's verra true," said Peter.
"The mair weicht's intill't whan I layt 't to the door o' anither," persisted Meg. "Peter, gien ye hae onything again' my freen', Ma'colm MacPhail, oot wi 't like a man, an' no playac' the gunpoother plot ower again. Ill wull's the warst poother ye can lay i' the boddom o' ony man's boat. But say 'at ye like, I s' uphaud Ma'colm again' the haill poustie o' ye. Gien he was but here! I say 't again, honest laad!"
But she could not rouse Peter to utterance, and losing what little temper she had, she rated him soundly, and sent him home saying with the prophet Jonah, "Do I not well to be angry? " for that also he placed to Malcolm's account. Nor was his home any more a harbor for his riven boat, seeing his wife only longed for the return of him with whom his spirit chode: she regarded him as an exiled king, one day to reappear and justify himself in the eyes of all, friends and enemies.
CHAPTER XLVIII.
TORTURE.
Though unable to eat any breakfast, Malcolm persuaded himself that he felt nearly as well as usual when he went to receive his mistress's orders. Florimel had had enough of horseback, indeed, for several days to come, and would not ride. So he saddled Kelpie, and rode to Chelsea to look after his boat. To get rid of the mare, he rang the stable-bell at Mr. Lenorme's and the gardener let him in. As he was putting her up, the man told him that the housekeeper had heard from his master. Malcolm went to the house to learn what he might, and found to his surprise, that if he had gone on the Continent he was there no longer, for the letter, which contained only directions concerning some of his pictures, was dated from Newcastle, and bore the Durham postmark of a week ago. Malcolm remembered that he had heard Lenorme speak of Durham Cathedral, and in the hope that he might be spending some time there, begged the housekeeper to allow him to go to the study to write to her master. When he entered, however, he saw something that made him change his plan, and having written, instead of sending the letter, as he had intended, enclosed to the postmaster at Durham, he left it upon an easel. It contained merely an earnest entreaty to be made and kept acquainted with his movements, that he might at once let him know if anything should occur that he ought to be informed concerning.
He found all on board the yacht in shipshape, only Davy was absent. Travers explained that he sent him on shore for a few hours every day. He was a sharp boy, he said, and the more he saw the more useful he would be, and as he never gave him any money, there was no risk of his mistaking his hours.
"When do you expect him?" asked Malcolm.
"At four o'clock," answered Travers.
