Chapter 38
CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE TWO DOGS Lady Florimel's fancy was so full of the expected pleasure that she woke soon after dawn. She rose and anxiously drew aside a curtain of her window. The day was one of God's odes, written for men. would that the days of our human autumn were as calmly grand as gorgeously hopeful as the days that lead the aging year down to the grave of winter if our white hairs were sunlit from behind like those radiance bordered clouds if our air were as pure as this when it must be as cold
if the falling at last of long-cherished hopes did but like that of the forest leaves let in more of the sky more of the infinite possibilities of the region of truth which is the matrix of fact we should go marching down the hill of life like a battered but still bannered army on its way home but alas how often we rot instead of march towards the grave if he be not rotten before he die said hamlet's absolute grave-digger if the year was dying around lady florimel as she looked like a deathless sun from a window of the skies it was dying at least with dignity the sun was still revelling in the gift of himself a thin blue mist went up to greet him like the first of the smoke from the altars of the morning the fields lay yellow below the rich colours of decay hung heavy on the woods and seemed to clothe them as with the trappings of a majestic sorrow but the spiderwebs sparkled with dew and the gossamer films floated thick in the level sunbeams it was a great time for the spiders those visible deaths of the insect race
the sun like a householder leaving his house for a time was burning up a thousand outworn things before he went hence the smoke of the dying hearth of summer was going up to the heavens But there was a heart of hope left, for when farthest away, the sun is never gone, and the snow is the earth's blanket against the frost. But alas, it was not Lady Florimel who thought these things. Looking over her shoulder, and seeing both what she can and what she cannot see, I am having a think to myself. Which it is an offence to utter in the temple of art, cry the critics.
Not against art, I think. But if it be an offence to the worshipper of art, let him keep silence before his goddess. For me, I am a sweeper of the floors in the temple of life, and his goddess is my mare, and shall go in the dust-cart.
If I find a jewel as I sweep, I will fasten it on the curtains of the doors, nor heed if it should break the fall of a fold of the drapery. Below Lady Florimel's oriel window, under the tall bridge, the burn lay dark in a deep pool
with a slow revolving eddy in which one leaf attended by a streak of white froth was performing solemn gyrations away to the north
the great sea was merry with waves and spotted with their broken crests heaped against the horizon it looked like a blue hill dotted all over with feeding sheep
but today she never thought why the waters were so busy to what end they foamed and ran flashing their laughter in the face of the sun. The mood of nature was in harmony with her own,
and she felt no need to discover any higher import in its merriment. How could she, when she sought no higher import in her own, had not as yet once suspected that every human gladness, even to the most transient flicker of delight, is the reflex, from a potsherd it may be,
but of an eternal sun of joy? Stay. Let me pick up the gem. Every faintest glimmer, all that is not utter darkness, is from the shining face of the Father of Lights. Not a breath stirred the ivy leaves about her window.
But out there, on the wide blue, the breezes were frolicking, and in the harbor the new boat must be tugging to get free. She dressed in haste, called her staghound, and set out the nearest way, that is, by the town gate, for the harbor. She must make acquaintance with her new plaything.
Mrs. Cattenaw, in her nightcap, looked from her upper window as she passed, like a great spider from the heart of its web, and nodded significantly after her, with a look and a smile such as might mean that for all her good looks she might have the heartache some day. But she was to have the first herself. For that moment her ugly dog, now and always with the look of being fresh from an ash pit, rushed from somewhere and laid hold of Lady Florimel's dress,
frightening her so that she gave a cry. Instantly her own dog, which had been loitering behind, came tearing up, five lengths at a bound, and descended like an angel of vengeance upon the offensive animal, which would have fled, but found it too late.
Opening his huge jaws, Demon took him across the flanks, much larger than his own, as if he had been a rabbit. His howls of agony brought Mrs. Cattenaw out in her petticoats. She flew at the hound, which Lady Florimel was in vain attempting to drag from the cur, and seized him by the throat.
Take care! He is dangerous! cried the girl. Finding she had no power upon him, Mrs. Cattenaw forsook him, and in despairing fury rushed at his mistress. Demon saw it with one flaming eye, left the cur, which howling hideously dragged his hindquarters after him into the house,
and sprang at the woman. Then indeed was Lady Florimel terrified, for she knew the savage nature of the animal when roused. Truly with his eyes on fire as now, his long fangs bared,
the bristles on his back erect and his mustache sticking straight out, he might well be believed, much as civilization might have done for him, a wolf after all. His mistress threw herself between them and flung her arms tight round his neck. Run, woman! Run for your life! she shrieked. I can't hold him long! Mistress Katanoff fled,
cowed by terror. Her huge legs bore her huge body, a tragic comic spectacle, across the street to her open door. She had hardly vanished, flinging it to behind her, when Demon broke from his mistress, and going at the door as if launched from a catapult, burst it open and disappeared also. Lady Florimel gave a shriek of horror and darted after him.
The same moment the sound of Duncan's pipes as he issued from the town gate, at which he always commenced instead of ending his reveille, now reached her, and bethinking herself of her inability to control the hound, she darted again from the cottage and flew to meet him,
crying aloud, Mr. MacPhail! Duncan! Duncan, stop your pipes and come here directly. And who may be calling me? asked Duncan, who would not thoroughly distinguish the voice through the near clamor of his instrument.
She laid her hand trembling with apprehension on his arm and began pulling him along. It's me, Lady Florimel, she said. Come here directly. Demon has got into a house and is worrying a woman. God have mercy, cried Duncan. Take her pipes, my lady, for fear anything bad should happen to them.
She led him hurriedly to the door. But ere he had quite crossed the threshold, he shivered and drew back. This is an evil house, he said. She'll not can go in. A great floundering racket was going on above, mingled with growls and shrieks, but there was no howling.
Call the dog, then. He will mind you, perhaps, she cried, knowing what a slow business and argument with Duncan was, and flew to the stair. Demon! Demon! cried Duncan, with agitated voice. Whether the dog thought his friend was in trouble next, I cannot tell, but down he came that instant with a single bound from the top of the stair,
right over his mistress's head as she was running up, and leaping out to Duncan, laid a paw upon each of his shoulders, panting with outlawed tongue. But the piper staggered back, pushing the dog from him. It is blood, he cried, to evil woman's blood.
Keep him out, Duncan dear, said Lady Flormel. I will go and see. There, he'll be up again if you don't mind. Very reluctantly, yet obedient, the bard laid hold of the growling animal by the collar.
And Lady Florimel was just turning to finish her ascent of the stair and see what dread thing had come to pass, when to her great joy she heard Malcolm's voice calling from the farther end of the street. Hey, Daddy, what's happened?
And I didn't hear the pipes. She rushed out, the pipes dangling from her hand, so that the drone trailed on the ground behind her. Malcolm! Malcolm! she cried, and he was by her side in scarcely more time than demon would have taken. Hurriedly, and rather incoherently, she told him what had taken place.
He sprang up the stair, and she followed. In the front garret, with a dormer window looking down into the street, stood Mrs. Cattenaw, facing the door, with such a malignant rage in her countenance that it looked demoniacal. Her dog lay at her feet, with his throat torn out.
As soon as she saw Malcolm, she broke into a fury of vulgar imprecation, most of it quite outside the pale of artistic record. "'Hoot! For shame, Mistress Katnarr!' he cried. "'Here is my lady behind me here in Ilka Ward. "'Deal's stapper, lugs with brunstone!
"'What but a curse would she have from me? "'I swear by God I should guard her pay for this, or my name's no—' She stopped suddenly. "'I thought his muckle,' said Malcolm with a keen look. "'You'll think twice, you deals, bookie.
"'or you think right? "'What are you to think? "'What should my name be but Bobby Catna?' "'Your uncle upset and seen you turn my ladies flunky. "'Sorrow take you both, my daunted beauty,
"'worried by that hell-take of hers.' "'Gin you gang on like that, "'the Marcus'll have you drummed out of the town "'or two days, Bior,' said Malcolm. "'Willy, then,' she returned with a confident sneer,
"'showing all the teeth she had left. "'You'll be far ben with the Marcus in your doubt, "'and yon done-it old devil you call your grandfather will be fain enough to be drummer, I'll swear. Care is my case. My lady, she's o'er ill-tongued for you to hearken till, said Malcolm, turning to Florimel,
who stood in the door, white and trembling. Just gang down and tell my grandfather to send the dog up. There's surely some gay to garen her holder tongue. Mrs. Cattenaw threw a terrified glance towards Lady Florimel. Indeed, I shall do nothing of the kind, replied Florimel. For shame. Hoots, my lady, returned Malcolm. I only said it to try the effect of it.
Seems not that ill. Ye son of a devil's soul, cried the woman. I so have amends of ye for this, and I should roast my own heart to get it. Indeed, but you're doing that fine already.
That foul brute of yours has gotten his arrows too. I wonder what he thinks a sommin' throat know, eh, mim? Have done, Malcolm, said Florimel. I am ashamed of you. If the woman is not hurt, we have no business in her house.
Here, Tiller, cried Mrs. Cattenaugh contemptuously. The woman. But Lady Florimel took no heed. She had already turned and was going down the stair. Malcolm followed in silence,
nor did another word from Mrs. Cattenaugh overtake them. Arrived in the street, Florimel restored his pipes to Duncan, who, letting the dog go, at once proceeded to fill the bag, and instead of continuing her way to the harbor, turned back, accompanied by Malcolm, Demon,
and Lady Stronach Strathspean. What a horrible woman that is, she said with a shudder. Aye, is she? But I doubt she would do war gin she didn't break out that gate wiles, rejoined Malcolm.
How do you mean? It frightes folk at her, and maybe sometimes puts it out of her power to do war. Ginever she seek to make it up wi' you, my lady, I would have little to say to her, gin I was you.
What could I have to say to a low creature like that? You wouldn't a kin what she might be up till, or how she might set about it, my lady. I would have you mistrust her altogether. My daddy has a fine moral nose for vermin,
and he cannot bite her, though he never had a glimpse of the false face of her, and in truth never spake till her. I will tell my father of her. A woman like that is not fit to live amongst civilized people.
You're right there, my lady, but she would only gain some other gate among the same. Of course you mon tell your father, but she's no fit for him to take any notice all. As they sat at breakfast, Florimel did tell her father.
His first emotion, however, at least the first he showed, was vexation with herself. You must not be going out alone, and at such ridiculous hours, he said. I shall be compelled to get you a governess. Really, Papa, she returned, I don't see the good of having a marquis for a father if I can't go about as safe as one of the fisher children.
And I might just as well be at school if I'm not to do as I like. What if the dog had turned on you, he said. If he dared, exclaimed the girl, and her eyes flashed. Her father looked at her for a moment, said to himself, there spoke a Collinsie, and pursued the subject no farther.
When they passed Mrs. Cattenaw's cottage an hour after, on their way to the harbor, they saw the blinds drawn down, as if a dead man lay within. According to after report, she had the brute already laid out like a human being, and sat by the bedside awaiting a coffin, which she had ordered of Waddy Witherspail.
End of chapter 38
