Donal Grant

But she had tried the trick too often, for she had once served her fisherman in like fashion. Seeing her go into the baker's, Kennedy had conjectured her purpose, and hurrying toward the issue from the other exit, saw her come out of the court, and was again following her.

Donal hastened homeward. The moon rose. It was a lovely night. Dull-gleaming glimpses of the river came through the light fog that hovered over it in the rising moon like a spirit-river continually ascending from the earthly one and resting upon it, but flowing in heavenly places. The white webs shone very white in the moon, and the green grass looked gray. A few minutes more, and the whole country was covered with a low-lying fog, on whose upper surface the moon shone, making it appear to Donal's wondering eyes a wide-spread inundation, from which rose half-submerged houses and stacks and trees. One who had never seen the thing before, and who did not know the country, would not have doubted he looked on a veritable expanse of water. Absorbed in the beauty of the sight he trudged on.

Suddenly he stopped: were those the sounds of a scuffle he heard on the road before him? He ran. At the next turn, in the loneliest part of the way, he saw something dark, like the form of a man, lying in the middle of the road. He hastened to it. The moon gleamed on a pool beside it. A death-like face looked heavenward: it was that of lord Forgue—without breath or motion. There was a cut in his head: from that the pool had flowed. He examined it as well as he could with anxious eyes. It had almost stopped bleeding. What was he to do? What could be done? There was but one thing! He drew the helpless form to the side of the way, and leaning it up against the earth-dyke, sat down on the road before it, and so managed to get it upon his back, and rise with it. If he could but get him home unseen, much scandal might be forestalled!

On the level road he did very well; but, strong as he was, he did not find it an easy task to climb with such a burden the steep approach to the castle. He had little breath left when at last he reached the platform from which rose the towering bulk.

He carried him straight to the housekeeper's room. It was not yet more than half-past ten; and though the servants were mostly in bed, mistress Brookes was still moving about. He laid his burden on her sofa, and hastened to find her.

Like a sensible woman she kept her horror and dismay to herself. She got some brandy, and between them they managed to make him swallow a little. He began to recover. They bathed his wound, and did for it what they could with scissors and plaster, then carried him to his own room, and got him to bed. Donal sat down by him, and staid. His patient was restless and wandering all the night, but towards morning fell into a sound sleep, and was still asleep when the housekeeper came to relieve him.

As soon as Mrs. Brookes left Donal with lord Forgue, she went to Eppy's room, and found her in bed, pretending to be asleep. She left her undisturbed, thinking to come easier at the truth if she took her unprepared to lie. It came out afterwards that she was not so heartless as she seemed. She found lord Forgue waiting her upon the road, and almost immediately Kennedy came up to them. Forgue told her to run home at once: he would soon settle matters with the fellow. She went off like a hare, and till she was out of sight the men stood looking at each other. Kennedy was a powerful man, and Forgue but a stripling; the latter trusted, however, to his skill, and did not fear his adversary. He did not know what he was.

He seemed now in no danger, and his attendants agreed to be silent till he recovered. It was given out that he was keeping his room for a few days, but that nothing very serious was the matter with him.

In the afternoon, Donal went to find Kennedy, loitered a while about the village, and made several inquiries after him; but no one had seen him.

Forgue recovered as rapidly as could have been expected. Davie was troubled that he might not go and see him, but he would have been full of question, remark, and speculation! For what he had himself to do in the matter, Donal was but waiting till he should be strong enough to be taken to task.

CHAPTER XXVI.

CONFRONTMENT

At length one evening Donal knocked at the door of Forgue's room, and went in. He was seated in an easy chair before a blazing fire, looking comfortable, and showing in his pale face no sign of a disturbed conscience.

"My lord," said Donal, "you will hardly be surprised to find I have something to talk to you about!"

His lordship was so much surprised that he made him no answer—only looked in his face. Donal went on:—

"I want to speak to you about Eppy Comin," he said.

Forgue's face flamed up. The devil of pride, and the devil of fear, and the devil of shame, all rushed to the outworks to defend the worthless self. But his temper did not at once break bounds.

"Allow me to remind you, Mr. Grant," he said, "that, although I have availed myself of your help, I am not your pupil, and you have no authority over me."

"The reminder is unnecessary, my lord," answered Donal. "I am not your tutor, but I am the friend of the Comins, and therefore of Eppy."

His lordship drew himself up yet more erect in his chair, and a sneer came over his handsome countenance. But Donal did not wait for him to speak.

"Don't imagine me, my lord," he said, "presuming on the fact that I had the good fortune to carry you home: that I should have done for the stable-boy in similar plight. But as I interfered for you then, I have to interfere for Eppie now."

"Damn your insolence! Do you think because you are going to be a parson, you may make a congregation of me!"

"I have not the slightest intention of being a parson," returned Donal quietly, "but I do hope to be an honest man, and your lordship is in great danger of ceasing to be one!"

"Get out of my room," cried Forgue.

Donal took a seat opposite him.

"If you do not, I will!" said the young lord, and rose.

But ere he reached the door, Donal was standing with his back against it. He locked it, and took out the key. The youth glared at him, unable to speak for fury, then turned, caught up a chair, and rushed at him. One twist of Donal's ploughman-hand wrenched it from him. He threw it over his head upon the bed, and stood motionless and silent, waiting till his rage should subside. In a few moments his eye began to quail, and he went back to his seat.

"Now, my lord," said Donal, following his example and sitting down, "will you hear me?"

"I'll be damned if I do!" he answered, flaring up again at the first sound of Donal's voice.

"I'm afraid you'll be damned if you don't," returned Donal.

His lordship took the undignified expedient of thrusting his fingers in his ears. Donal sat quiet until he removed them. But the moment he began to speak he thrust them in again. Donal rose, and seizing one of his hands by the wrist, said,

"Be careful, my lord; if you drive me to extremity, I will speak so that the house shall hear me; if that will not do, I go straight to your father."

"You are a spy and a sneak!"

"A man who behaves like you, should have no terms held with him."

The youth broke out in a fresh passion. Donal sat waiting till the futile outburst should be over. It was presently exhausted, the rage seeming to go out for want of fuel. Nor did he again stop his ears against the truth he saw he was doomed to hear.

"I am come," said Donal, "to ask your lordship whether the course you are pursuing is not a dishonourable one."

"I know what I am about."

"So much the worse—but I doubt it. For your mother's sake, if for no other, you should scorn to behave to a woman as you are doing now."

"What do you please to imagine I am doing now?"

"There is no imagination in this—that you are behaving to Eppy as no man ought except he meant to marry her."

"How do you know I do not mean to marry her?"

"Do you mean to marry her, my lord?"

"What right have you to ask?"

"At least I live under the same roof with you both."

"What if she knows I do not intend to marry her?"

"My duty is equally plain: I am the friend of her only relatives. If I did not do my best for the poor girl, I dared not look my Master in the face!—Where is your honour, my lord?"

"I never told her I would marry her."

"I never supposed you had."

"Well, what then?"

"I repeat, such attentions as yours must naturally be supposed by any innocent girl to mean marriage."