A Noble Life Part 11

"You wish, then, the matter to be kept private?" asked Mr. Menteith.

"Yes."

So in the course of the next few hours the will was drawn up. It was somewhat voluminous with sundry small legacies, no one being forgotten whom the earl desired to benefit or thought needed his help; but the bulk of his fortune he left unreservedly to Helen Cardross. Malcolm and another servant were called in as witnesses, and the earl saying to them with a cheerful smile "that he was making his will, but did not mean to die a day the sooner," signed it with that feeble, uncertain signature which yet had cost him years of pains to acquire, and never might have been acquired at all but for his own perseverance and the unwearied patience of Helen Cardross.

"She taught me to write, you know," said he to Mr. Menteith, as--the witnesses being gone--he, with a half-amused look, regarded his own autograph.

"You have used the results of her teaching well on her behalf today. It is no trifle--a clear income of ten thousand a year; but she will make a good use of it."

"I am sure of that. So, now, all is safe and right, and I may die as soon as G.o.d pleases."

He leaned his head back wearily, and his face was overspread by that melancholy shadow which it wore at times, showing how, at best, life was a heavy burden, as it could not but be--to him.

"Come, now," said the earl, rousing himself, "we have still a good many things to talk over, which I want to consult you about before you go,"

whereupon the young man opened up such a number of schemes, chiefly for the benefit of his tenantry and the neighborhood, that Mr. Menteith was quite overwhelmed.

"Why, my lord, you are the most energetic Earl of Cairnforth that ever came to the t.i.tle. It would take three lifetimes, instead of a single one, even if that reached threescore and ten, to carry out all you want to do."

"Would it? Then let us hope it was not for nothing that those good folk yesterday made themselves hoa.r.s.e with wishing me 'a lang life and a merry ane.' And when I die--but we'll not enter upon that subject.

My dear old friend, I hope for many and many a thirtieth of June I shall make you welcome to Cairnforth. And now let us take a quiet drive together, and fetch all the Manse people up to dinner at the Castle."

Chapter 8

The same evening the earl and his guests were sitting in the June twilight--the long, late northern twilight, which is nowhere more lovely than on the sh.o.r.es of Loch Beg. Malcolm had just come in with candles, as a gentle hint that it was time for his master, over whose personal welfare he was sometimes a little too solicitous, to retire, when there happened what for the time being startled every body present.

Malcolm, going to the window, sprang suddenly back with a shout and a scream.

"I kent it weel. It was sure to be! Oh, my lord, my lord!"

"What is the matter?" said Mr. Menteith, sharply. "You're gone daft, man;" for the big Highlander was trembling like a child.

"Whisht! Dinna speak o't. It was my lord's wraith, ye ken. It just keekit in and slippit awa."

"Folly! I saw nothing."

"But I think I did," said Lord Cairnforth.

"Hear him! Ay, he saw't his ain sel. Then it maun be true. Oh my dear lord!"

Poor Malcolm fell on his knees by the earl's little chair in such agitation that Mr. Cardross looked up from his book, and Helen from her peaceful needle-work, which was rarely out of her active hands.

"He thinks he has seen his master's wraith; and because the earl signed his will this morning, he is sure to die, especially as Lord Cairnforth saw the same thing himself. Will you say, my lord, what you did see?"

"Mr. Menteith, I believe I saw a man peering in at that window."

"It wasna a man--it was a speerit," moaned Malcolm. "My lord's wraith, for sure."

"I don't think so, Malcolm; for it was a tall, thin figure that moved about lightly and airily--was come and gone in a moment. Not very like my wraith, unless wraith of myself as I might have been."

The little party were silent till Helen said,

"What do you think it was, then?"

"Certainly a man, made of honest flesh and blood, though not much of either, for he was excessively thin and sickly-looking. He just 'keerkit in,' as Malcolm says, and disappeared."

"What an odd circ.u.mstance!" said Mr. Menteith.

"Not a robber, I trust. I am much more afraid of robbers than of ghosts."

"We never rob at Cairnforth; we are very honest people here. No, I think it is far likelier to be one of those stray tourists who are brought here by the steamers. They sometimes take great liberties, wandering into the Castle grounds, and perhaps one of them thought he might as well come and stare in at my windows."

"I hope he was English; I should not like a Scotsman to do such a rude thing," cried Helen, indignantly.

Lord Cairnforth laughed at her impulsiveness. There was much of the child nature mingled in Helen's gravity and wisdom, and she sometimes did both speak and act from impulse--especially generous and kindly impulse--as hastily and unthinkingly as a child.

"Well, Malcolm, the only way to settle this difficulty is to search the house and grounds. Take a good thick stick and a lantern, and whatever you find--be it tourist or burglar, man or spirit--bring him at once to me."

And then the little group waited, laughing among themselves, but still not quite at ease. Lord Cairnforth would not allow Mr. Cardross and Helen to walk home; the carriage was ordered to be made ready.

Presently, Malcolm appeared, somewhat crestfallen.

"It is a man, my lord, and no speerit. But he wadna come ben. He says he'll wait your lordship's will, and that's his name," laying a card before the earl, who looked at it and started with surprise.

"Mr. Menteith, just see--'Captain Ernest Henry Bruce.' What an odd coincidence!"

"Coincidence, indeed!" repeated the lawyer, skeptically. "Let me see the card."

"Earnest Henry! was that the name of the young man whom you sent out to India?"

"How should I remember? It was ten or fifteen years ago. Very annoying! However, since he is a Bruce, or says he is, I suppose your lordship must just see him."

"Certainly," replied, in his quiet, determined tone, the Earl of Cairnforth.

Helen, who looked exceedingly surprised, offered to retire, but the earl would not hear of it.

"No, no; you are a wise woman, and an acute one too. I would like you to see and judge of this cousin of mine--a faraway cousin, who would like well enough, Mr. Menteith guesses, to be my heir. But we will not judge him harshly, and especially we will not prejudge him. His father was nothing to boast of, but this may be a very honest man for all we know. Sit by me, Helen and take a good look at him."

And, with a certain amused pleasure, the earl watched Helen's puzzled air at being made of so much importance, till the stranger appeared.

He was a man of about thirty, though at first sight he seemed older, from his exceedingly worn and sickly appearance. His lank black hair fell about his thin, sallow face; he wore what we now call the Byron collar and Byron tie--for it was in the Byron era, when sentimentalism and misery-making were all the fashion. Certainly the poor captain looked miserable enough, without any pretense of it; for, besides his thin and unhealthy aspect, his attire was in the lowest depth of genteel shabbiness. Nevertheless, he looked gentlemanly, and clever too; nor was it an unpleasant face, though the lower half of it indicated weakness and indecision; and the eyes--large, dark, and hollow--were a little too closely set together, a peculiarity which always gives an uncandid, and often a rather sinister expression to any face. Still there was something about the unexpected visitor decidedly interesting.

Even Helen looked up from her work once--twice--with no small curiosity; she saw so few strangers, and of men, and young men, almost none, from year's end to year's end. Yet it was a look as frank, as unconscious, as maidenly as might have been Miranda's first glance at Ferdinand.

Captain Bruce did not return her glance at all. His whole attention was engrossed by Lord Cairnforth.