The Antiquary — Complete by Walter Scott (best fiction novels to read TXT) 📖

prelatists. The less-favoured kirk-folk were committed to the charge of an aged domestic.

As this last discussed some disputed point with the porter, his name, as it chanced to be occasionally mentioned, and then his features, struck Ochiltree, and awakened recollections of former times. The rest of the assembly were now retiring, when the domestic, again approaching the place where Edie still lingered, said, in a strong Aberdeenshire accent, “Fat is the auld feel-body deeing, that he canna gang avay, now that he’s gotten baith meat and siller?”

“Francis Macraw,” answered Edie Ochiltree, “d’ye no mind Fontenoy, and keep thegither front and rear?’”

“Ohon! ohon!” cried Francie, with a true north-country yell of recognition, “naebody could hae said that word but my auld front-rank man, Edie Ochiltree! But I’m sorry to see ye in sic a peer state, man.”

“No sae ill aff as ye may think, Francis. But I’m laith to leave this place without a crack wi’ you, and I kenna when I may see you again, for your folk dinna mak Protestants welcome, and that’s ae reason that I hae never been here before.”

“Fusht, fusht,” said Francie, “let that flee stick i’ the wa’—when the dirt’s dry it will rub out;—and come you awa wi’ me, and I’ll gie ye something better thau that beef bane, man.”

Having then spoke a confidential word with the porter (probably to request his connivance), and having waited until the almoner had returned into the house with slow and solemn steps, Francie Macraw introduced his old comrade into the court of Glenallan House, the gloomy gateway of which was surmounted by a huge scutcheon, in which the herald and undertaker had mingled, as usual, the emblems of human pride and of human nothingness,—the Countess’s hereditary coat-of-arms, with all its numerous quarterings, disposed in a lozenge, and surrounded by the separate shields of her paternal and maternal ancestry, intermingled with scythes, hour glasses, skulls, and other symbols of that mortality which levels all distinctions. Conducting his friend as speedily as possible along the large paved court, Macraw led the way through a side-door to a small apartment near the servants’ hall, which, in virtue of his personal attendance upon the Earl of Glenallan, he was entitled to call his own. To produce cold meat of various kinds, strong beer, and even a glass of spirits, was no difficulty to a person of Francis’s importance, who had not lost, in his sense of conscious dignity, the keen northern prudence which recommended a good understanding with the butler. Our mendicant envoy drank ale, and talked over old stories with his comrade, until, no other topic of conversation occurring, he resolved to take up the theme of his embassy, which had for some time escaped his memory.

“He had a petition to present to the Earl,” he said;—for he judged it prudent to say nothing of the ring, not knowing, as he afterwards observed, how far the manners of a single soldier* might have been corrupted by service in a great house.

* A single soldier means, in Scotch, a private soldier.

“Hout, tout, man,” said Francie, “the Earl will look at nae petitions— but I can gie’t to the almoner.”

“But it relates to some secret, that maybe my lord wad like best to see’t himsell.”

“I’m jeedging that’s the very reason that the almoner will be for seeing it the first and foremost.”

“But I hae come a’ this way on purpose to deliver it, Francis, and ye really maun help me at a pinch.”

“Neer speed then if I dinna,” answered the Aberdeenshire man: “let them be as cankered as they like, they can but turn me awa, and I was just thinking to ask my discharge, and gang down to end my days at Inverurie.”

With this doughty resolution of serving his friend at all ventures, since none was to be encountered which could much inconvenience himself, Francie Macraw left the apartment. It was long before he returned, and when he did, his manner indicated wonder and agitation.

“I am nae seer gin ye be Edie Ochiltree o’ Carrick’s company in the Forty-twa, or gin ye be the deil in his likeness!”

“And what makes ye speak in that gait?” demanded the astonished mendicant.

“Because my lord has been in sic a distress and surpreese as I neer saw a man in my life. But he’ll see you—I got that job cookit. He was like a man awa frae himsell for mony minutes, and I thought he wad hae swarv’t a’thegither,—and fan he cam to himsell, he asked fae brought the packet—and fat trow ye I said?”

“An auld soger,” says Edie—“that does likeliest at a gentle’s door; at a farmer’s it’s best to say ye’re an auld tinkler, if ye need ony quarters, for maybe the gudewife will hae something to souther.”

“But I said neer ane o’ the twa,” answered Francis; “my lord cares as little about the tane as the tother—for he’s best to them that can souther up our sins. Sae I e’en said the bit paper was brought by an auld man wi’ a long fite beard—he might be a capeechin freer for fat I ken’d, for he was dressed like an auld palmer. Sae ye’ll be sent up for fanever he can find mettle to face ye.”

“I wish I was weel through this business,” thought Edie to himself; “mony folk surmise that the Earl’s no very right in the judgment, and wha can say how far he may be offended wi’ me for taking upon me sae muckle?”

But there was now no room for retreat—a bell sounded from a distant part of the mansion, and Macraw said, with a smothered accent, as if already in his master’s presence, “That’s my lord’s bell!—follow me, and step lightly and cannily, Edie.”

Edie followed his guide, who seemed to tread as if afraid of being overheard, through a long passage, and up a back stair, which admitted them into the family apartments. They were ample and extensive, furnished at such cost as showed the ancient importance and splendour of the family. But all the ornaments were in the taste of a former and distant period, and one would have almost supposed himself traversing the halls of a Scottish nobleman before the union of the crowns. The late Countess, partly from a haughty contempt of the times in which she lived, partly from her sense of family pride, had not permitted the furniture to be altered or modernized during her residence at Glenallan House. The most magnificent part of the decorations was a valuable collection of pictures by the best masters, whose massive frames were somewhat tarnished by time. In this particular also the gloomy taste of the family seemed to predominate. There were some fine family portraits by Vandyke and other masters of eminence; but the collection was richest in the Saints and Martyrdoms of Domenichino, Velasquez, and Murillo, and other subjects of the same kind, which had been selected in preference to landscapes or historical pieces. The manner in which these awful, and sometimes disgusting, subjects were represented, harmonized with the gloomy state of the apartments,—a circumstance which was not altogether lost on the old man, as he traversed them under the guidance of his quondam fellow-soldier. He was about to express some sentiment of this kind, but Francie imposed silence on him by signs, and opening a door at the end of the long picture-gallery, ushered him into a small antechamber hung with