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  CHAPTER XV -- A RAY OF LIGHT

  For the remainder of the night Count Victor's sleep was delicious ordisturbed by dreams in which the gloomy habitation of that strangeHighland country was lit with lamps--the brightest a woman's eyes.Sometimes she was Cecile, dancing--all abandoned, a child of dalliance,a nymph irresolute--to the music of a flageolet; sometimes another whoseradiance fascinated, whose presence yet had terror, for (in the mannerof dreams that at their maddest have some far-compassing and tremendousphilosophy such as in the waking world is found in poems) she was morethan herself, she was the other also, at least sharing the secrets ofthat great sisterhood of immaculate and despoiled, and, looking in hisface, compelled to see his utter unworthiness.

  He rose early and walked in the narrow garden, still sodden with rain,though a bold, warm sun shone high to the east. For ordinary he was notchangeable, but an Olivia in Doom made a difference: those moulderingwalls contained her; she looked out on the sea from those high peeringwindows; that bower would sometimes shelter her; those alien breezesflowing continually round Doom were privileged to kiss her hair.Positively there seems no great reason, after all, why he should be soprecipitate in his removal to the town! Indeed (he told himself with thesmile of his subconscious self at the subterfuge) there was a risk ofmiscarriage for his mission among tattling _aubergistes_, lawyers, andmerchants. He was positively vexed when he encountered Mungo, and thatfunctionary informed him that, though he was early afoot, the Baron wasearlier still, and off to the burgh to arrange for his new lodgings.This precipitancy seemed unpleasantly like haste to be rid of him.

  "Ah," said he to the little servant, "your master is so good, so kind,so attentive. Yet I do not wonder, for your Highland hospitality isrenowned. I have heard much of it from the dear exiles--Glengarry _parexemple_, when he desired to borrow the cost of a litre or the priceof the diligence to Dun-querque in the season when new-come Scots werereaching there in a humour to be fleeced by a compatriot with threelanguages at command and the boast of connections with Versailles."

  Mungo quite comprehended.

  "Sir," said he, with some feeling, "there was never bed nor boardgrudged at Doom. It's like father like son a' through them. The Baron'sgreat-gutcher, auld Alan, ance thought the place no' braw enough for theeye o' a grand pairty o' Irish nobeelity that had bidden themsel's tosee him, and the day they were to come he burned the place hauf doon. Itwas grand summer weather, and he camped them i' the park behin' there,sparing time nor money nor device in their entertainment. Ye see whatmight hae been a kin' o' penury in a castle was the very extravagance o'luxury in a camp. A hole in the hose is an accident nae gentlemanneed be ashamed o', but the same darned is a disgrace, bein' povertyconfessed, as Annapla says."

  It was a touchy servant this, Montaiglon told himself--somewhat sharper,too, than he had thought: he must hazard no unkind ironies upon themaster.

  "Charming, charming! good Mungo," said he. "The expedient might havebeen devised by my own great-grandfather--a gentleman of--of--ofcommercial pursuits in Lyons city. I am less fastidious, perhaps, thanthe Irish, being very glad to take Doom Castle as I have the honour tofind it."

  "But ye're thinkin' the Baron is in a hurry to billet ye elsewhere,"said the servant bluntly.

  In an ordinary lackey this boldness would have been too much forCount Victor; in this grotesque, so much in love, it seemed, with hisemployer, and so much his familiar and friend in a ridiculous Scotsfashion, the impertinence appeared pardonable. Besides, he blamedhimself for the ill-breeding of his own irony.

  "That, if I may be permitted to point it out, is not for us to consider,Monsieur Mungo," said he. "I have placed myself unreservedly in theBaron's hands, and if he considers it good for my indifferent healththat I should change the air and take up my residence a little fartheralong your delightful coast while my business as a wine merchant fromBordeaux is marching, I have no doubt he has reason."

  A smile he made no effort to conceal stole over Mungo's visage.

  "Wine merchant frae Bordeaux!" he cried. "I've seen a hantle o' themhereaboots at the fish-curin' season, but they cam' in gabbarts toFrench Foreland, and it wasnae usual for them to hae Coont to theirnames nor whingers to their hips. It was mair ordinar the ink-horn attheir belts and the sporran at their groins."

  "A malediction on the creature's shrewdness!" said Count Victorinwardly, while outwardly he simply smiled back.

  "The red wine is my specialty," said he, patting his side where the hiltof his sword should be. "My whinger, as you call it, is an auger: whothe devil ever broached a pipe of Scots spirits with a penknife? But Isee you are too much in the confidence of the Baron for there to be anynecessity of concealment between us."

  "H'm!" exclaimed Mungo dryly, as one who has a sense of being flatteredtoo obviously. "The Baron's a bairn, like a' true gentlemen I've seen,and he kens me lang enough and likes me weel enough to mak' nae secreto' what it were to a'body's advantage should be nae secret to MungoByde. In this place I'm sentinel, spy, and garrison; it wad ill becomethe officer in command to let me be doin' my wark withoot some clewto the maist important pairt o't. Ye're here on a search for aneDrimdarroch."

  "You are a wizard, Monsieur Mungo!" cried Montaiglon, not withoutchagrin at Doom's handing over so vast and vital a secret to a menial.

  "Ay, and ye might think it droll that I should ken that; But I be't token it, for there's mony a plot against my maister, and nae foreigneercomes inside thae wa's whase pedigree I canna' hae an inklin' o'. Ye'rehere aifter Drimdarroch, and ye're no' very sure aboot your host, andthat's the last thing I wad haggle wi' ye aboot, for your error'll cometo ye by-and-by."

  Count Victor waved a deprecating hand.

  "Oh, I ken a' aboot what mak's ye sae suspicious," went on Mungo,undisturbed, "and it's a thing I could mak' clear to ye in aquarter-hour's crack if I had his leave. Tak' my word for't, there's no'a better man wi' his feet in brogues this day than the Baron o' Doom.He should be searchin' the warld wi' the sword o' his faithers (and thesame he can use), but the damned thing is the warld for him doesna gangby the snout o' Cowal and the pass o' Glencroe. He had a wife ance;she's dead and buried in Kilmorich; noo he's doited on his hame and hisdochter--"

  "The charming Olivia!" cried Count Victor, thinking in one detail at allevents to surprise this little custodian of all the secrets.

  "Ye met her last night," said Mungo, calmly, seeming to enjoy therapidity with which his proofs of omniscience could be put forth."That's half the secret. Ye were daunderin' aboot the lobby wi' thaefine French manners I hae heard o'--frae the French theirsels--and wha'wad blame ye in a hoose like this? And ye're early up the day, but thelass was up earlier to tell me o' your meeting. She had to come to mebefore Annapla was aboot, for Annapla's no' in this part o' the ploy atall."

  "I protest I have no head for charades," said Count Victor, with agesture of bewilderment. "I do not know what you mean."

  Mungo chuckled with huge satisfaction.

  "Man, it's as plain's parridge! There's a gentleman in the toon down bythat's a hot wooer, and daddy's for nane o' his kind roon' Doom; d'yetak' me?"

  "But still--but still--"

  "But still the trystin' gaes on, ye were aboot to say. That's very true,Coont, but it's only the like o' you and me that has nae dochters toplague oorsel's wi' that can guess the like o' that. Ay, it gaes on asye say, and that's where me and Miss Olivia maun put oor trust in you.In this affair I'll admit I'm a traitor in the camp--at least, to thecamp commander, but I think it's in a guid cause. The lassie's fair affher heid, and nae wonder, for he's a fine mak' o' a man."

  "And a good one, I hope?" interjected Count Victor.

  "Humph!" said Mungo. "I thocht that wasna laid muckle stress on inFrance. He's a takin' deevil, and the kind's but middlin' morally,sae far as I had ony experience o' them. Guid or bad, Miss Olivia, naefurther gane nor last Friday, refused to promise she wad gie up meetin'him--though she's the gem o' dochters, God bless her bonny een! Hislordship got up i
n a tirravee and ordered her to her room, wi' Annaplafor warder, till he should mak' arrangements for sending her to hisguid-sister's in the low country. Your comin' found us in a kin' o'confusion, but ye might hac spared yersel' my trepannin' in the tolboothupstairs, and met her in a mair becomin' way at her faither's table ifit hadna been for Annapla."

  "For Annapla?" repeated Montaiglon.

  "Oh, ah! Annapla has the Gift, ye ken. Dae ye think I wad hae been saeceevil the ither nicht to her when she was yelping on the stair-heidif it hadna been her repute for the Evil E'e? Ye may lauch, but I couldtell tales o' Annapla's capacity. The night afore ye cam' she yokedhimsel' on his jyling the lassie, though she's the last that wad thrawhim. 'Oh.' said he, 'ye're a' tarred wi' the ae stick: if ye conniveat his comin' here without my kennin', I'll gie him death wi' his bootson!' It was in the Gaelic this, ye maun ken; Annapla gied me't efter.'Boots here, boots there,' quo' she, 'love's the fine adventurer, and Isee by the _griosach_' (that's the fire-embers, ye ken; between the asho' a peat and the creesh o' a candle thae kin' o' witches can tell yethings frae noo to Hogmanay)--' I see by the _griosach_,' says she,'that this ane'll come wi' his bare feet.' It staggered him; oh, ay! itstaggered him a bit. 'Barefit or brogues,' said he, 'she'll see no manfrom this till the day she gaes!' And he's the man to keep his word; butit looks as though we might shuffle the pack noo and start a new game,for the plans o' flittin' her to Dunbarton hae fallen through, I hear,and he'll hae to produce her before ye leave."

  "I'm in no hurry," said Count Victor, coolly twisting his moustache.

  "What! To hae her produced?" said the little man, slyly.

  "_Farceur!_ No, to leave."

  "Indeed is that sae?" asked Mungo, in a quite new tone, and reddening."H'm! Ye may hae come barefit, but the ither ane has the preference."

  "He has my sincere felicitations, I assure you," said Count Victor, "andI can only hope he is worthy of the honour of Master Mungo's connivanceand the lady's devotion."

  "Oh! _he's_ a' richt! It's only a whim o' Doom's that mak's himdiscoontenance the fellow. I'll allow the gentleman has a name forgallantry and debt, and a wheen mair genteel vices that's neither herenor there, but he's a pretty lad. He's the man for my fancy--six feettall, a back like a board, and an e'e like lightning. And he's nane thewaur o' ha'in' a great interest in Mungo Byde's storie."

  "Decidedly a diplomatist!" said Count Victor, laughing. "I always lovedan enthusiast; go on--go on, good Mungo. And so he is my nocturnal owl,my flautist of the bower, my Orpheus of the mountains. Does the giftedAnnapla also connive, and are hers the window signals?"

  "Annapla kens naething o' that--"

  "The--what do you call it?--the Second Sight appears to have itslimitations."

  "At least if it does she's nane the less willin' to be an unconsciousaid, and put a flag at the window at the biddin' o' Olivia to keep thewitches awa'. The same flag that keeps aff a witch may easily fetch abogle. There's but ae time noo and then when it's safe for the lad toventure frae the mainland, and for that there maun be a signal o' somekind, otherwise, if I ken his spirit, he wad never be aff this rock. I'mtellin' ye a' that by Mistress Olivia's command, and noo ye're in theplot like the lave of us."

  Mungo heaved a deep breath as if relieved of a burden.

  "Still--still," said Count Victor, "one hesitates to mention it to soexcellent a custodian of the family reputation--still there are otherthings to me somewhat--somewhat crepuscular."

  His deprecatory smile and the gesture of his hands and shouldersconveyed his meaning.

  "Ye're thinkin' o' the Baron in tartan," said Mungo, bluntly. He smiledoddly. "That's the funniest bit of all. If ye're here a while langerthat'll be plain to ye too. Between the darkest secrets and oorunderstanding o' them there's whiles but a rag, and that minds me thatMistress Olivia was behin' the arras tapestry chitterin' wi' fright whenye broke in by her window. Sirs! sirs! what times we're ha'in; there'sploy in the warld yet, and me unable--tuts! I'm no' that auld either.And faith here's himsel'."

  Mungo punctiliously saluted his master as that gentleman emerged beneaththe frowning doorway and joined Count Victor in the dejected garden,lifted the faggot of firewood he had laid at his feet during his talkwith the visitor, and sought his kitchen.

  In Doom's aspect there was restraint: Count Victor shared the feeling,for now he realised that, in some respects, at all events, he had beendoing an injustice to his host.

  "I find, M. le Count," said Doom, after some trivial introductories,"that you cannot be accommodated in the inn down by for some daysyet--possibly another week. The Circuit Court has left a pack of thelegal gentlemen and jurymen there, who will not be persuaded to returnto Edinburgh so long as the cellar at the inn holds out, and my doer,Mr. Petullo, expresses a difficulty in getting any other lodging."

  "I regret exceedingly--"

  "No regret at all, M. le Count," said Doom, "no regret at all, unless itbe that you must put up with a while longer of a house that must be verydull to you. It is my privilege and pleasure to have you here--withoutprejudice to your mission--and the only difficulty there might be aboutit has been removed through--through--through your meeting with mydaughter Olivia. I learn you met her on the stair last night. Well--itwould look droll, I dare say, to have encountered that way, and noword of her existence from me, but--but--but there has been a littledisagreement between us. I hope I am a decently indulgent father, M. leCount, but--"

  "You see before you one with great shame of his awkwardness, Baron,"said Montaiglon. "Ordinarily, I should respect a host's privacy to theextent that I should walk a hundred miles round rather than stumble uponit, but this time I do not know whether to blame myself for my gaucherieor feel pleased that for once it brought me into good company. Mungo hasjust hinted with his customary discretion at the cause of the mystery.I sympathise with the father; I am, with the daughter, _tres charme_and--"

  This hint of the gallant slightly ruffled Doom.

  "Chut!" he cried. "The man with an only daughter had need be a man ofpatience. I have done my best with this Olivia of mine. She lost hermother when a child"--an accent of infinite tenderness here came to hisvoice. "These woods and this shore and this lonely barn of ours, allrobbed of what once made it a palace to me and mine, were, I fancied,uncongenial to her spirit, and I sent her to the Lowlands. She cameback, educated, as they call it--I think she brought back as good aheart as she took away, but singularly little tolerance sometimes forthe life in the castle of Doom. It has been always the town for herthese six months, always the town, for there she fell in with a fellowwho is no fancy of mine."

  Count Victor listened sympathetically, somewhat envying the lover,reviving in his mental vision the figure he had seen first twelve hoursago or less. He was brought to a more vivid interest in the story bythe altered tone of Doom, who seemed to sour at the very mention of theunwelcome cavalier.

  "Count," said he, "it's the failing of the sex--the very best of them,because the simplest and the sweetest--that they will prefer a fool to awise man and a rogue to a gentleman. They're blind, because the rogueis for ever showing off his sham good qualities till they shinebetter than an ordinary decent man's may. To my eyes, if not quite tomy knowledge, this man is as great a scoundrel as was ever left unhung.It's in his look--well, scarcely so, to tell the truth, but somethingof it is in his mouth as well as in his history, and sooner than see mydaughter take up for life with a creature of his stamp I would haveher in her grave beside her mother. Unluckily, as I say, the man's aplausible rogue: that's the most dangerous rogue of all, and the girl'sblind to all but the virtues and graces he makes a display of. I'llforgive Petullo his cheatry in the common way of his craft sooner thanhis introduction of such a man to my girl."

  To all this Count Victor could no more than murmur his sympathy, but hehad enough of the young gallant in him to make some mental reservationsin favour of the persistent wooer. It was an alluring type, this haunterof the midnight bower, and melancholy sweet breather in the classicree
d. All the wooers of only daughters, he reminded himself, as well asall the sweethearts of only sons, were unworthy in the eyes of parents,and probably Mungo's unprejudiced attitude towards the conspiring loverswas quite justified by the wooer's real character in spite of the illrepute of his history. He reflected that this confidence of Doom's leftunexplained his own masquerade of the previous night, but he gave nowhisper to the thought, and had, indeed, forgotten it by evening, whenfor the first time Olivia joined them at her father's table.