"Eh, lad, that is what Jean and me often say; but then the summer is not here yet, and may be we can find a cottage in Rowan-Glen, and there is Mrs. Dacre over at Corrie that would house them for a bit.
Mrs. St. Clair was speaking to me about it yesterday. "Where do they mean to live when they are married?" she says, quite sensible-like.
"Is there anywhere else I can go to make room for them?" And then she cried, poor bairn, and said she would like to stay in Rowan-Glen."
"Mrs. St. Clair," observed Fergus one day, looking up from his writing, "don"t you think people will be talking if you stay away from your husband any longer?" for he had once before said a word to her on the subject, only Fay had been hysterical and had begged him not to go on.
"Oh," she said, turning very pale, and dropping her work, "why will you speak to me of my husband, Mr. Fergus?"
"Because I think you ought to go back to him," he replied, in a quiet, business-like tone; "it is a wife"s duty to forgive--and how do you know that your husband has not bitterly repented driving you away from him. Would you harden your heart against a repentant man?"
"My husband does not want me," she returned, and a spasm crossed her face. "Should I have left him if he wanted to keep me? "One of us must go," that is what he said."
"Are you sure you understood him?" asked Fergus, but he felt at the moment as though it would relieve his feelings to knock that fellow down; "a man can say a thing when he is angry which he would be sorry to mean in his cooler moments."
"I saw it written," was the low answer; then, with an effort to silence him, "Mr. Fergus, you do not know my husband--you can not judge between us. I was right to leave him; I could not do otherwise."
"Was his name St. Clair?" he asked, somewhat abruptly; and as Fay reddened under his scrutinizing glance, he continued, rather sternly, "please do not say "Yes" if it be untrue; you do not look as though you could deceive any one."
"My husband"s name is St. Clair," replied Fay, with as much displeasure as she could a.s.sume. "I am not obliged to tell you or any one else that it is only his second name. I have reasons why I wish to keep the other to myself."
"Thank you, Mrs. St. Clair," answered Fergus, moved to admiration by this frankness and show of spirit; "believe me, it is through no feeling of idle curiosity I put this question, but because I want to help you."
"Yes, I know you are very good," replied Fay, more gently.
"If you would only trust us, and give us your confidence," he continued, earnestly. "Aunt Jeanie is not a woman of the world, but she has plenty of common sense; and forgive me if I say you are very young, and may need guidance. You can not hide from us that you are very unhappy, and that the husband you have left is still dear to you--" But Fay could hear no more; she rose with a low sob and left the room, and Fergus"s little homily on wifely forbearance was not finished.
It was so each time that he reopened the subject. Fay would listen up to a certain point, and seem touched by the young minister"s kindness and sympathy, but he could not induce her to open her heart to him.
She was unhappy--yes, she allowed that; she had no wish to leave her husband, but circ.u.mstances had been too strong for her, and nothing would induce her to admit that she had done wrong.
"Who would have thought that little creature had so much tenacity and will," Fergus said to himself, with a sort of vexed admiration, after one of these conversations; "why, Lilian is a big woman compared to Mrs. St. Clair, and yet my la.s.sie has not a t.i.the of her spirit. Well, I"ll bide my time; but it will not be my fault if I fail to have a grip of her yet."
But the spring sunshine touched the ragged tops of Ben-muich-dhui and Ben-na-hourd before Fergus got his "grip."
He was taking his porridge one morning, with an English paper lying beside his plate, when he suddenly started, and seemed all at once very much absorbed in what he was reading. A few minutes afterward, when Fay was stooping over her boy, who lay on the carpet beside her, sprawling in the sunshine, he raised his eyes, and looked at her keenly from under his bent brows; but he said nothing, and shortly afterward went off to his study; and when he was alone, he spread out the paper before him, and again studied it intently.
A paragraph in the second column had attracted his attention--
"A reward of two hundred pounds is offered to any person who can give such information of Lady Redmond and her child as may lead to them being restored to their friends. All communications to be forwarded to Messrs. Green and Richardson, Lincoln"s Inn."
And just above--
"Fay, your husband entreats you to return to your home, or at least relieve his anxiety with respect to you and the child.
Only come back, and all will be well.
"HUGH."
"And Hugh is the baby"s name. Ay, my lady, I think I have the grip of you at last," muttered Fergus, as he drew the inkstand nearer to him.
The next morning, Messrs. Green and Richardson received a letter marked "private," in which the writer begged to be furnished without delay with full particulars of the appearance of the missing Lady Redmond, and her age and the age of the child; and the letter was signed, "Fergus Duncan, the Manse, Rowan-Glen."
CHAPTER XLI.
UNDER THE ROWANS.
My wife, my life. O we will walk this world, Yoked in all exercise of n.o.ble end, And so thro" those dark gates across the wild That no man knows. Indeed I love thee: come,
Lay thy sweet hands in mine and trust to me.
TENNYSON"S _Princess_.
Fergus was not kept long in suspense; his letter was answered by return of post. Messrs. Green and Richardson had been evidently struck with the concise, businesslike note they had received, and they took great pains in furnishing him with full particulars, and begged that, if he had any special intelligence to impart, he would write direct to their client, Sir Hugh Redmond, Redmond Hall, Singleton.
After studying Messrs. Green and Richardson"s letter with most careful attention, Fergus came to the conclusion that it would be as well to write to Sir Hugh Redmond. He was very careful to post this letter himself, and, though he confided in no one, thinking a secret is seldom safe with a woman, he could not hide from Lilian and Aunt Jeanie that he was "a bit fashed" about something.
"For it is not like our Fergus," observed the old lady, tenderly, "to be stalking about the rooms and pa.s.sages like a sair-hearted ghost."
Sir Hugh was sitting over his solitary breakfast, with Pierre beside him, when, in listlessly turning over his pile of letters, the Scotch postmark on one arrested his attention, and he opened it with some eagerness. It was headed, "The Manse, Rowan-Glen," and was evidently written by a stranger; yes, he had never heard the name Fergus Duncan.
"DEAR SIR," it commenced, "two or three days ago I saw your advertis.e.m.e.nt in the "Standard," and wrote at once to your solicitors, Messrs. Green and Richardson, begging them to furnish me with the necessary particulars for identifying the person of Lady Redmond. The answer I received from them yesterday has decided me to act on their advice, and correspond personally with yourself. My aunt, Mrs. Duncan, has had a young married lady and her child staying with her all the winter. She calls herself Mrs. St. Clair, though I may as well tell you that she has owned to me that this is only her husband"s second name"--here Hugh started, and a sudden flush crossed his face.
"She arrived quite unexpectedly last September. She had been at the Manse as a child, with her father, Colonel Mordaunt;"
here Hugh dropped the letter and hid his face in his hands.
"My G.o.d, I have not deserved this goodness," rose to his lips; and then he hastily finished the sentence, "and she begged my aunt to shelter her and the child, as she had been obliged to leave her husband; and as she appeared very ill and unhappy, my aunt could not do otherwise.
"The particulars I have gleaned from Messrs. Green and Richardson"s letter have certainly led me to the conclusion that Mrs. St. Clair is really Lady Redmond. Mrs. St. Clair is certainly not nineteen, and her baby is eleven months old; she is very small in person--indeed, in stature almost a child; and every item in the lawyer"s letter is fully corroborated.
"We have not been able to gain any information from Mrs. St.
Clair herself; she declines to explain why she has left her home, and only appears agitated when questions are put to her.
Her fixed idea seems to be that her husband does not want her.
Her health has suffered much from ceaseless fretting, but she is better now, and the child thrives in our mountain air.
"As the sight of your handwriting would only excite Mrs. St.
Clair"s suspicions, it would be as well to put your answer under cover, or telegraph your reply. I need not tell you that you will be welcome at the Manse, if you should think it well to come to Rowan-Glen--I remain, dear sir, yours faithfully,
"FERGUS DUNCAN."
A few hours later a telegram reached the Manse.
"I am on my way; shall be at the Manse to-morrow afternoon. No doubt of ident.i.ty; unmarried name Mordaunt.
"H. REDMOND."
"Aunt Jeanie must be taken into counsel now," was Fergus"s first thought as he read the telegram; his second was, "better sleep on it first; women are dreadful hands at keeping a secret. She would be fondling her with tears in her dear old eyes all the evening, and Mrs.