The Sapphire Cross

End of Volume I

Nocturnal

“Perhaps, after all, it’s just as weel that he did not come,” mused Alexander McCray, as he stood one morning upon the long wooden bridge which connected, at the narrowest part, the two shores of the fine piece of water lying between the park of Merland Castle and the pleasure-grounds. He was leaning over the rail, and gazing down into the clear depths below, where, screened by the broad leaves of the water-lilies, which here and there bore some sweet white chalice, the huge carp were floating lazily, now and then giving a flip with their broad tails to send themselves a few feet through the limpid medium in which they dwelt.

“Perhaps, after all, it’s just as weel that he did not come any more, but if he had, I would have pitched him in here as freely as have looked at him, and he wouldn’t have hurt neither – a bad chiel. Them that’s born to be hanged will never be drowned, and he’ll come to the gallows sure enough, and deserves it, too, for ill-using that poor bairn as he did.”

“Weel, this winna do,” he said, starting from his reverie, and shouldering the broom with which he had been sweeping the bridge. “I’ll just e’en go and do the paths under the bedroom windows; the lassie might happen to give a look out.”

The gardener walked on, thoughtfully gazing up at the windows, and thinking the while of the nights when he had watchfully made his way, stealthy as a burglar, from bush to bush, or crouched beneath the shrubs. Few nights had passed without his seeing Jane Barker’s light extinguished, but there had been no further visit from John Gurdon.

“He didn’t like the flat of my spade,” said McCray, with a grin, and this seemed to be the case – the ex-butler never from that night having been heard of. Still, more now from habit than anything, the gardener continued his nocturnal rounds, telling himself that he could not sleep without one peep at the lassie’s window before going to bed.

But Alexander McCray seemed to make but little progress in his love affairs. Whenever he met Jane she had always a pleasant smile for him, but he knew in his heart that it was not the smile he wished to see.

“But bide a wee,” he said. “Her puir heart’s sair. Wait awhile and it will all come reet.”

The gardener was favoured that morning, for as he applied his broom lightly here and there to the wandering leaves, the early ones of autumn, he heard a window, above his head, thrown open, and as he looked up, there was Jane leaning out, ready to smile and nod down to him.

“Company coming, lassie?” said McCray, leaning upon his broom.

“Company? No, Mr McCray,” said Jane; “why did you think so?”

“Because ye’re getting ready the best bedroom,” said the gardener.

“Oh dear, no,” said Jane; “we shall never have company here again, I think. I’m only having this put ready for Sir Murray himself, because some of the old plaster ceiling of his own room’s come down.”

“Puir lad! he looks bad,” said McCray.

“And serve him right, too,” said Jane, defiantly. “I haven’t patience with him.”

“Nay, lassie, perhaps not,” said McCray. “But ye’ve plenty of patience with them as is waur.”

“Please don’t talk about that,” said Jane, pleadingly.

“Nay, lassie, then I winna,” said McCray, sadly; “but be patient mysel’, if it’s for twenty long years ere ye turn to me.”

Jane leaned out, giving the gardener one long earnest gaze, such a one as made his heart beat more freely, but the coming steps of some one along a neighbouring path sent Jane to her work, and McCray’s broom rustling over gravel and leaf.

Before many seconds had passed Lady Gernon came by, very pale and thoughtful. She had a basket in her hand, and, evidently bent upon some expedition, she made her way through the ring fence, and away across the park, neither looking to the right nor left.

“Siller and titles are nice things,” mused McCray; “but they don’t seem to make yon puir creature happy.”

McCray swept as he thought, and thought as he swept. Jane did not again appear at the window, and if she had done so, the opening of one in the lower range would have kept him from speaking to her, while, as he swept on and on, hunting out errant leaves from the hiding-places where they were waiting for a bit of fun with the wind, he became conscious of the dark, lowering face of Sir Murray, apparently watching the progress of his lady from the side of the house where he now was.

“He’s a puir, miserable sort of chiel,” muttered the gardener; “he seems to want a rousing up. It’s my belief that a few hours’ trenching a day wi’ a good broad spade wad do him a world of good. He eats too much, and he drinks too much; but I’m sorry for him, puir lad – I’m sorry for him!”

That night Alexander McCray sat in his little room, thoroughly enjoying himself, for he was so elated with the glance Jane had that morning bestowed upon him, that he had treated himself to a pipe and a small tumbler of whisky and water, over which he sat smiling and happy, for it struck him that he had at last got in the thin edge of the wedge, and that the future would all be plain sailing.

“And she’s as good a woman as ever the sun shone on,” said Sandy at last, as, after draining the last drop from his tumbler of whisky and water, and trying in vain to ignite the ashes at the bottom of his pipe, he tapped the bowl upon the bar, and then stood up to think.

Should he? – shouldn’t he? The night was dark and gusty, and he had sat thinking till it was long past twelve. There was nothing to go for, and the lassie’s light might be out, and she fast asleep in bed long enough before; but then he would have the satisfaction of knowing that all was right, and for months past now he had not missed a night. He did not think he would go, though, for it was evident now that Jane was beginning to think a little of his words, and no doubt matters would soon brighten up and be settled. No, he would not go to-night – there was no need; and upon the strength of that resolution he took off his coat, and methodically hung it behind the door. Then out came his snuff-box, when a pinch or two seemed to drive away the happy ease engendered by the whisky and water, clearing his brain, and forcing him to think of the realities of life.

“No,” he thought now, “it would not be right to give up what he had taught himself was a duty. How did he know but what, after all, that John Gurdon might come back that very night, and put back in a few moments what it had taken him months to erase?”

“I’ll go,” said Sandy, “if its only for the name of the thing. I mean to win the lassie if leaving no stone unturned will do it; and now, here’s a little wee bit of crag lying in my way, and I’m too idle to touch it. Sandy McCray, take your cap, mon, and go and do your duty. It’s the little tiny cracks that open out into big splits, so stop them up when they’re small. Keep your trees pruned back, my lad, or they’ll grow wild and ragged; and whenever ye feel a weed coming up in your nature, pull him up direct. This bit of wanting to stop away is a weed, lad, so pull it up at once.”

Sandy McCray must have taken it out by the very roots, for the next minute he had closed his door, and was stealthily walking over the grass towards the pleasure-grounds.

There was not a step of the way that was not familiar, and on the darkest night he could have avoided every flower-bed, as if by instinct, or even have made his way blindfold; hence he had soon crossed the bridge, and walked softly on towards the great lawn, noting, as he went, that there was not a single light visible in the great mansion.

“I’ll just go the length of the place, and then stop for a moment by the lassie’s window, and home again,” muttered McCray, and then he stopped short, for a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and a voice whispered in his ear:

“Stay here a few minutes, Joe. He’s gone to have a look up at the back windows, and I’ll go this side. Don’t move, because it’s so confoundedly dark!”

McCray felt the next minute, rather than saw, that he was alone. His breath came thickly, and his heart beat fast, as, wiping the sweat from his forehead, he bent down and ran softly over the grass to the edge of the lawn, leaped the gravel walk so as to land upon the other side, and then, softly creeping amongst the bushes, he hurried towards where Jane’s window looked down, a strange beating at his temples, and an aching void at his heart.

“And only to think,” he muttered, “me sitting drinking mysel’ drunk, and all the while the spoiler coming after my little ewe lamb.”

But Sandy’s spirits rose as he cautiously crept up, to find that Jane’s window was closed; he could just distinguish that from the faint glimmering of the glass. The robbers would gain no entrance, then, there; upon that point he could feel happy, and, with a weight removed from his mind, he stood thinking of what he should do.

He did not for a moment entertain a doubt but that it was Gurdon and his friends come back at last, perhaps ready to force an entrance, and open to murder as well as to rob. But Sandy’s heart was glad within him – his lassie was free of all complicity; and if they got at her now, it should only be over his strong body. But he felt that there was no fear of Jane being again deceived; the last occasion had been too plain an unveiling of John Gurdon’s character; so, hastily making up his mind as to his proceedings, he crept from amongst the bushes on his hands and knees, and set himself to try and discover where the nocturnal visitors now were, previously to taking further steps to baffle their plot.

The gardener had not long to seek, for before he had advanced far, a faint whispering told him where the enemy lay, while at the same moment the snap of a fastening and the gliding up of a window told him that an entrance had been effected.

The Burglary

“The de’ils ha been quick about it,” muttered Sandy; “and they’ve gone through the libr’y window, while, if that door I broke open has been mended again, it’s a strange thing to me. What shall I do? – ring them all up? No,” he said, after a pause; “then perhaps we shouldn’t catch them, for before I could get round again from the bell, they’d have slipped out of the window. No, we must catch them, for it strikes me verra strongly that if this is Mr Jock Gurdon, I should like to see him transported to the other side of the watter.”

For a few moments Sandy McCray stood thoughtful and puzzling what to do. He could easily have alarmed the burglars, for such they evidently were; but then that was not sufficient – there must be a capture made. But suddenly a bright thought struck him – he would run round to the butler’s pantry, and try and rouse whoever slept there. But did any one sleep there? Gurdon’s place had never been filled up, and it was most likely that the footman and under-butler still kept their places in the hall.

“I have it,” muttered Sandy, at last; and setting off across the lawn at a brisk trot, he made his way to the kitchen-garden, but what he sought was not there, of course not: it was round by the potting shed, he recollected then; and on cautiously proceeding there, he picked up from where it lay beside a wall a twenty-round light garden ladder, and set off with it to the front of the house, where he had spoken to Jane that morning.

“One – two – three – four; that’s the window,” muttered Sandy, and the next instant, exerting his great strength, he raised the ladder and rested the top against the window sill.

Fortunately, the window entered so quickly by the burglars was on the other side of the house, and the gardener was able to take his steps for giving an alarm unheard by them.

“Gude save us!” he muttered, climbing up. “I hope he winna shute me!”

The next minute he listened attentively, and then gave three sharp taps upon one pane, followed by two other similar signals, ere the blind was dragged back, the window thrown open, and Sir Murray’s hands were tightly grasping his throat.

“Hoot awa’ Sir Mooray, and tak’ awa’ ye’re hands from a man’s weam.”

“Hand over the letter, you scoundrel, or I’ll hurl you down!” exclaimed Sir Murray, through his teeth.

“The duel’s been sleeping in his clothes, and gone half daft,” muttered Sandy. And then, in a whisper: “Let me in, Sir Mooray, and look sharp, for there are burglars in the house!”

The gardener’s announcement seemed to bring his master to his right senses, and, loosing his hold, Sandy stepped lightly into the chamber.