The Sapphire Cross

“My child,” he said, sadly, “I own I hate father and son with a fierce, undying hatred; but it is not that alone which makes me tell you that Brace Norton can never be your husband. Can you not believe me when I tell you that every word I utter is solemn truth?”

“Yes – oh yes!” sobbed Isa.

“Then you will see Lord Maudlaine?”

“Indeed – indeed, I cannot!” sobbed Isa. “I – ”

“Hush!” said Sir Murray, sternly, as, rising, he stood holding her hand. “In plain terms, you must. Hearken to me, Isa. You know me only as a cold, harsh, and bitter man; an unhappy life has made me what I am. Proud I was always: but I might have been amiable – loving and loved – but it was not to be. I have still some traces of better feeling left; and I ask you – I implore you – not to force me to make revelations that shall prove the impossibility of your wedding Brace Norton. I might look over his father having been the bane of my life, and, did I see that it was for your happiness, give way; but once again, I tell you that it is impossible. Will you take my word?”

Isa looked up into his face with an aspect that was pitiable.

“Can you feel no pity for me?” she whispered.

“Yes,” he said, gently; “I am having pity on you, though you cannot see it, and are obliged blindly to take my word. And now I ask you, can you not have pity on me?”

Isa sat as if stunned, while, throwing her hand from him, Sir Murray strode for awhile up and down the room. Then, returning to her, he again seated himself by her side.

“Look here, Isa,” he said, “Lord Maudlaine wishes this affair to take place at the end of this month. I may tell him that you consent, may I not?”

“No!” she said, her spirit rising at the thought of being forced into accepting a man she despised. “I will not consent.”

“You are blind, Isa – blind!” he said, sadly; and then a groan seemed to tear itself from his breast, as he bent over her, speaking in low, hoarse tones.

“I would have spared you,” he said; “for whatever you might have felt for this young man, Isa, you had the one good excuse, that you had obeyed me in accepting Lord Maudlaine. Time will not allow that the wedding should longer be deferred. It is his wish that it should take place at once – and mine; for my life is a burden to me here. I lead the life of one haunted by the past; and it was only when, moved by some strange impulse that I could not counteract, I returned, to find, what? – misery, and disappointment, and scenes that remind me of what should have been my happier days. But, once more, do you force me to this avowal? I ask you again to spare yourself and me, taking it for granted that what I tell you is right. May I refrain, and then tell Lord Maudlaine to come to you?”

“I cannot – indeed I cannot!” imploringly exclaimed Isa.

Sir Murray rose, his face working and his whole aspect speaking of the careworn, broken man. Then waiting a few moments, he stood with one hand shading his eyes, before again speaking.

“Isa,” he said, “Jane McCray has acted the part of a mother to you, at your own mother’s wish; and I have ever kept her at your side. Go to her now, and ask her why I have never shown you a father’s love – a parent’s tender care; and though she will utter a strenuous defence of the dead, you may read in her words my reason for saying that Brace Norton can never be your husband. You will know yourself that it is impossible that such an union can take place; for, before Heaven, my child, I believe every word I utter to be true!”

With Trouble Looming

“Dinna be fashed with me, lassie, I ainly say what I think and feel, and I do believe that it is perhaps better things should tak’ their course. If ye could ha’ married the man ye chose, Jenny, first aff, I dinna think, my lassie, there’d ha’ been this nice, smooth auld face under your cap, and the grey ainly sprunk lightly among your hair, just like to set it aff. Why, your e’en are bright as ay they were, when I had a sair heart aboot Jock Gurdon, who’s got well again, and Sir Mooray is na gane to prosecute him; but, Jenny, lassie, he’s na sae bad a man, aifter all, Sir Mooray is na, for there, lassie – there they air, ten new crisp five-pound notes, and all for Jock Gurdon, to take him ower to America, and start life as a new man.”

“Heaven bless Sir Murray for it!” said Jane, fervently.

“Amen to that, lassie; and I hope Jock Gurdon will mend his ways. And I’ve been thinking, lassie, that if I tak’ the money, it will rise up some of the auld anger in the man, so ye shall e’en do it yer ainsel’, and give him a few words for his benefit; for ye’re a gude woman, Jane, and Heaven was verra kind to me when He gave me sic a wife.”

Jane McCray did not speak, but her comely face was raised to her husband’s, and a few bright tears fell from her eyes as she returned his loving kiss.

“I should be a happy woman if it were not for that poor bairn,” said Jane. “She believes it, though I scolded her, and told her how cruel and false it all was, and that my own dear, sweet lady – ”

“Hoot, lassie! ye’re getting excited. The puir child has said ‘yes’ to his lordship at last, and they’re to be married. Marriages air made in heaven, lassie, so let’s hope it’s all for the best.”

“For the best!” sobbed Jane McCray, wringing her hands. “Oh! Alexander, dear husband! can’t we stop it, for I foresee all sorts of misery and unhappiness for them both in the days to come; and it’s cruel – cruel to force the poor child!”

“Nay, my lassie, but it is na force. She is only giving way to Sir Mooray’s wishes, and if my laird here were a proper man, I wad na say a word. But there, he’s gane to town for some days – till the wedding time, noo – and the sooner its ower the better. Peter tells me that the puir bairn met young Norton, when they were oot laist, and he tried to speak to her, but she turned her head, and cantered on.”

Jane groaned, and wrung her hands. “I wish I was in my grave, sooner than see it all come to pass,” she sobbed.

“Weel, it’s perhaps a sair potion to swaller, Jenny; but be a woman. What does the puir bairn say?”

“Say? Nothing; only goes about the place pale and wan, with her poor heart breaking,” said the housekeeper; “and when that creature – ”

“Hoot, lassie! what creature?” said McCray.

“That popinjay lord,” said Jane scornfully. “When – ”

“Gude save us, lassie! dinna ye ken yer catechism: ‘order yersel’ lowly and reverently to a’ yer betters;’ and that’s na ordering yersel’ lowly and reverently.”

“When I’ve seen him take hold of her, as if she was his property that he had bought, and stroke her hair and kiss her, the poor thing has shuddered; and once she struggled from him, and came to me to take care of her – for she only sees him with me in the room – and as soon as he’d gone she sobbed, as if her heart would break.”

“Puir bairn,” said McCray; “but he’s gane noo, and she’ll ha’e a respite.”

“Respite, indeed!” said his wife angrily. “It puts me in mind of the old time – over five-and-twenty years ago – when my poor dear lady was all low and desponding because, at the wish of old Master and Mrs Elstree, she had accepted Sir Murray; and there she was with her cousin, Mrs Norton, you know, sobbing her poor eyes – I mean heart – away. I declare, whether it’s wrong or right, Alexander, that if that poor young man – no! poor? nonsense: he’s better off a deal than my fine lord, and as brave as he’s high – ”

“That’s a true word, lassie,” said McCray, who was having his evening pipe and tumbler of whisky and water, his day’s duties being ended.

“If that Mr Norton came to me and asked me to help him to run away with the child, I’d help him to the best of my power.”

“Nay – nay – nay! your tongue’s gane wild, lassie.”

“Wouldn’t you, then?” said Mrs McCray.

“Weel, I’ll na say,” said the cautious Scot. “Ye see, lassie, there’s for and against; and in spite of a’ ye say about crule suspeeshons, I think, as I said before, that it’s our duty to all we know to haud our peace and let matters tak’ their course.”

And matters were taking their course rapidly; for as time passed on, Brace Norton roamed the lanes like the ghost of his former self; but never once did he meet poor Isa.

The wedding-day was fixed, and the dresses were ordered, and once more Merland was to be the scene of festivity and rejoicing. After the wedding Lord and Lady Maudlaine, people said, were to start for the Continent, and Sir Murray intended to go alone to Italy to reside, while the Castle was to be the home of my lord and my lady.

“And you’ll have fine doings there, I suppose,” said one of two strange men who had come down to stay at old Chunt’s inn – surveyors they said they were, perhaps connected with the working on the marsh.

“Yes,” said Chunt, who was stout now, and hardly ever left his chair; “the Castle will be again what it ought to be, for the new master, they say, can make the shiners fly. I see he’s come down again.”

“Yes,” said one of the men, taking his pipe from his month; “I see he’s come down.”

“Ah, you know him, do you?” said Chunt.

“Know him? Well, so far as having him pointed out to me goes, I know him. Fine thing for him, they say.”

“Bless you,” said Chunt, “I believe there’s no end to the money he’ll have; but I hope it’ll be a happy marriage, that’s all I’ve got for to say.” And in spite of people trying to draw Chunt out, that was all he had to say, and he tightened his lips for fear another word should escape. “Wanted, eh?” said Chunt – “I’m coming,” and he waddled out to speak to a new-comer.

“How do, sir? Post-chaise and pair, sir. Oh, yes, sir; any time you like. You’ll give your orders? Thanky, sir.”

Mr Chunt waddled back as his visitor departed, and one of the frequenters of the bar asked who that gentleman was.

“That gent?” said Chunt. “Oh! that’s Master Brace Norton.”