The Sapphire Cross

“He’s a douce laddie,” muttered McCray, as he drove on, “and warth a score sic birkies as this one; but it was ill-luck his meeting as they did that day, and it winna do – it winna do! We shall be having sair wark yet, I’m afraid. They’re kittlecattle these womenkind, and I nearly suffered shipwreck with them mysel’.”

“There’s no one here,” said his lordship, now condescending to speak, as they drove to where the road faded away into a faint track, which, in its turn, led to the pine-grove.

“We’ll get doon and hopple the ponies, my laird, and walk on to the pine-wood. My young leddie may be in there.”

“Confound his barbarous tongue! Why don’t he speak English?” muttered the Viscount. “I don’t understand one-half he says.”

But McCray’s acts were plain enough, even if his words were obscure; and, descending, he secured the ponies, and was about to start towards the wood, already looking black and gloomy, when one of Brace Norton’s cries for help smote his ear.

“Gude save me! Hearken to that, noo!” cried McCray, excitedly.

“Only a marsh bird,” said his lordship, contemptuously.

“Gude save us! Come alang; that’s a soul in sair peril, my laird,” And starting in the direction of the cry, as fast as the treacherous nature of the ground would allow, McCray soon came in sight of that which made him redouble his pace.

“Here! Help, here!” cried a voice from behind. “I’m sinking!” When, with a glance over his shoulder, McCray saw that his companion was already above his knees in a soft place.

“De’il help ye – ye ill-far’ed, handle-named loon!” muttered McCray, fiercely. “Why couldna ye walk like a Christian, and not get in that way? I’ve ither work in hand.”

Then hastening on, he stepped from tuft to tuft, with an agility not to have been expected in a man of his years, till well within reach of words:

“Haud oup, then,” he cried – “haud oup, my bra’e laddie, I’m with ye. There!” he cried, as he threw himself at full length upon the yielding moss, and reached to where, ghastly of face, Brace still clung, and held up his charge – “there! I ha’e yer hand. Loose the rushes, and grip it weel – grip it weel.”

“Her first – take her first,” sobbed Brace, hoarsely.

“That I will!” cried McCray, working himself forward. “Gude save us, though, it’s sair wet work here, and I’m a deal heavier than I thocht. Noo I ha’e her, and she’s leet as swansdoon aifter a’. The puir bairn, I ha’e her safe, but she’s half dead. Lie there, my pretty, while I pu’ out the laddie. Noo, my laddie; that’s reet – that’s reet; the ither hand. Noo again. Gude – gude! another pu’. Hech! laddie, mind, or I shall be in wi ye. Noo then, anither pu’! That’s weel! I ha’e ye noo. Puir lad, ye’re cauld indeed, but ye’re safe, and reet too, so lie there while I tak’ the lassie.”

In effect, with the exertion of his great strength, McCray, broad-shouldered and iron muscled, had drawn both Isa and Brace from what had so nearly been a watery grave, but not without clanger to himself. Twice over the moss gave way with the stress placed upon it; but at last he had both lying safe beside him, and not before it was time, for Brace was completely exhausted.

“Let me carry her,” said Brace, hoarsely, as he staggered to his feet; but only to sink down again, his numbed limbs refusing their office.

“Ye’re a bra’e laddie,” said the Scot; “but your sperrit’s stronger than your power. I’ll carry the lassie to the carriage, and be back for you in a minute.”

“Never mind me,” groaned Brace. “I’m only cold. For Heaven’s sake drive off with her, for she is nearly dead with her long immersion.”

But before Brace’s words were well uttered, McCray was sturdily trudging over the sinking way with his dripping burden, which he placed in the pony-carriage, covered with a rug, and then returned to help the young man, who was crawling towards him.

“Bra’e laddie, ye air,” muttered McCray. “Ye found and savit her, I ken, and noo, half dead yersel’, ready to help, while that loon stands stoock there shouting for succour, and afraid to move. Here, hi! my laird, move yersel’, man, and, Gude sake, get out of that!”

“Here, give me your hand, my good fellow,” cried his lordship: “I’m in a dangerous spot.”

McCray growled fiercely as he went first and helped Brace to the chaise. Then turning back, he reached out the asked-for hand to extricate his lordship, but in so rough a manner that he nearly brought him into a horizontal position.

“Why, ye micht ha’e done that yersel’, my laird,” said McCray, angrily. “And noo I must leave ye, and hurry hame wi’ those two puir bairns.”

His lordship began to offer expostulations as he began to scuffle out of the bog, but it was to deaf ears, for McCray had run back, and before the noble suitor was on terra firma the ponies were unloosed and being made to gallop over the rough roadway.

“They’ll be dead wi’ cauld before I can get them to the Castle,” muttered McCray, as he held Isa in his arm, and rattled the reins with the other, so that the ponies plunged along furiously. “Puir bairns – puir bairns!”

McCray’s words were muttered, but Brace caught their meaning.

“Drive to the Hall,” he said, hoarsely; “it is quite a couple of miles nearer.”

“Gude sake! I might just as weel commit a murder,” muttered the Scot. “But I shall commit one if I dinna get house-room for the lassie directly. I’ll e’en do as he says, if I dee for it. Get on wi’ ye!” he roared to the ponies, already speeding along like the wind, when, being no inexpert Jehu, he kept them at a sharp gallop, till a few minutes after, when he drew them up on their haunches at the door of Merland Hall.

End of Volume Two

How Doctors Rule

Pale and agitated, Mrs Norton hurried out, followed by the Captain, for Brace’s long absence had been causing them great uneasiness; but Mrs Norton’s agitation increased to a painful degree as soon as she saw in what company he had: returned. Isa’s state was the first consideration; and dismissing every other thought, the insensible girl was borne to a bed-room by Captain Norton, as reverently as if she had been something holy, his lip quivering as he marked in the sweet features the lineaments of the one whom he had so fondly loved. Whilst, with all a mother’s care, Mrs Norton tended her, taking the first steps towards insuring the poor girl’s recovery – steps but for which the services of Dr Challen, for whom McCray had directly galloped off, would have been in vain.

An hour after, when Isa had begun to show signs of returning animation, her wondering eyes ranging from face to face – letting them rest longest upon the soft, motherly countenance bent over her to kiss her so tenderly – there came the sound of wheels, and Dr Challen hurried up to the bedside, to express his approval of what had been done.

“And noo I must go and tell Sir Mooray,” said McCray to Captain Norton. “I thought I’d get the doctor first.”

“I sent a groom directly you had gone,” said the Captain.

“’Deed and you did weel,” said McCray; “but I must stay here and face him, sir, for he’ll be over directly with my laird, there, like twa roarin and rampagin’ lions.”

In effect, five minutes after, there was again the sound of rapid wheels, followed directly after by Sir Murray Gernon’s voice in the hall.

“How dared you to bring her here?” he exclaimed, in a hoarse, harsh voice, to his old retainer, who met him boldly on the step.

“’Deed, Sir Mooray, so as to save the dear bairn’s life, and not have to face ye wi’ a cauld dead bodie. It was a case of seconds, Sir Mooray, and I ken ye wadna ha’e likit for me to bring the puir laddie wha savit her from drownin’ to the Castle.”

“And who saved her?” exclaimed Sir Murray.

“Hoot! Sir Mooray, naebodie else but the douce sailor laddie ye passed camin’ hame, when the chaise was broke up.”

A bitter epithet was hissed from Sir Murray Gernon’s lips, as he listened to this announcement; for to his excited imagination it seemed as if Fate were struggling against him and striving to bring together two who, could he contrive it, should be through life as far removed, to all intents and purposes, one from the other, as the two poles.

Sir Murray ascended to the bed-room, and then descended to pace impatiently up and down, frowning and angry, till, after seeing his patient sink into a quiet slumber, Dr Challen gave a sigh of satisfaction, and then joined the baronet.

“What?” exclaimed the doctor, after listening to Sir Murray’s first remark.

“She must be taken home directly,” said Sir Murray.

“Quite out of the question, my dear Sir Murray,” said the doctor, pleasantly, as he partook of the glass of wine left upon the sideboard.

“But the carriage is waiting, Challen,” said Sir Murray. “I came over in the close carriage on purpose. Surely if she is lifted in and driven slowly it cannot hurt her.”

“Now look here, Gernon,” said the doctor, sturdily, “I brought that child into the world, and saved her life, sir – saved her life, when not half-a-dozen doctors in England could have done it. I’ve been your – Capital glass of port, by Jove! Try one. You won’t? Very good; I will. Let’s see – what was I saying? Ah! I’ve been your family medical attendant ever since I began to practise, and save and except such times as you chose to go abroad and put yourself into the hands of foreign poisoners, I’ve had your welfare at heart. Now, I’m a crotchety old fellow – better try a glass of Norton’s port: I’ll swear it’s ’20 vintage – crotchety old fellow – over professional matters; and if the Queen herself came meddling in a sick-room where I was engaged, I’d order her out as soon as look at her: ergo, I’m not at all afraid of a baronet.”

Sir Murray made a gesture of impatience.

“There, confound you, sir,” cried the doctor, testily, “I don’t care for your fuming – I’m not going to give way. Now, look here, Gernon: you ought to have more confidence in me, and in what I say. I don’t want to boast; but I saved your life; I saved your wife’s life; and, as aforesaid, I saved the life of that child up-stairs when it was a tiny spark that a breath would have destroyed. I’m proud of it, you see. Now you want to kill her, because she is here in the house of the people you most dislike in the world – out-and-out good sort of people, and good friends of mine, all the same. Can’t help it – I must speak plain. This is a case where plain speaking is necessary, so you need not fling about. You must sink all these family quarrels, and thank Heaven that the poor child was brought here, where there was a clever, sensible woman like Mrs Norton to take the first steps towards warding off fever.”

“But, surely, Challen,” exclaimed Sir Murray, deprecatingly now, “with plenty of wrapping, and the carriage!”