Arriving in Perth the day after the festivities at Swanhaven, Bishopriggs proceeded to the Harp of Scotland—at which establishment for the reception of travelers he possessed7 the advantage of being known to the landlord as Mrs. Inchbare’s right-hand man, and of standing8 high on the head-waiter’s list of old and intimate friends.
Inquiring for the waiter first by the name of Thomas (otherwise Tammy) Pennyquick, Bishopriggs found his friend in sore distress9 of body and mind. Contending vainly against the disabling advances of rheumatism10, Thomas Pennyquick ruefully contemplated11 the prospect12 of being laid up at home by a long illness—with a wife and children to support, and with the emoluments13 attached to his position passing into the pockets of the first stranger who could be found to occupy his place at the inn.
Hearing this doleful story, Bishopriggs cunningly saw his way to serving his own private interests by performing the part of Thomas Pennyquick’s generous and devoted14 friend.
He forthwith offered to fill the place, without taking the emoluments, of the invalided16 headwaiter—on the understanding, as a matter of course, that the landlord consented to board and lodge him free of expense at the inn. The landlord having readily accepted this condition, Thomas Pennyquick retired17 to the bosom18 of his family. And there was Bishopriggs, doubly secured behind a respectable position and a virtuous19 action against all likelihood of suspicion falling on him as a stranger in Perth—in the event of his correspondence with Mrs. Glenarm being made the object of legal investigation20 on the part of her friends!
Having opened the campaign in this masterly manner, the same sagacious foresight21 had distinguished the operations of Bishopriggs throughout.
His correspondence with Mrs. Glenarm was invariably written with the left hand—the writing thus produced defying detection, in all cases, as bearing no resemblance of character whatever to writing produced by persons who habitually23 use the other hand. A no less far-sighted cunning distinguished his proceedings24 in answering the advertisements which the lawyers duly inserted in the newspaper. He appointed hours at which he was employed on business-errands for the inn, and places which lay on the way to those errands, for his meetings with Mrs. Glenarm’s representatives: a pass-word being determined26 on, as usual in such cases, by exchanging which the persons concerned could discover each other. However carefully the lawyers might set the snare—whether they had their necessary “witness” disguised as an artist sketching27 in the neighborhood, or as an old woman selling fruit, or what not—the wary28 eye of Bishopriggs detected it. He left the pass-word unspoken; he went his way on his errand; he was followed on suspicion; and he was discovered to be only “a respectable person,” charged with a message by the landlord of the Harp of Scotland Inn!
To a man intrenched behind such precautions as these, the chance of being detected might well be reckoned among the last of all the chances that could possibly happen.
Discovery was, nevertheless, advancing on Bishopriggs from a quarter which had not been included in his calculations. Anne Silvester was in Perth; forewarned by the newspaper (as Sir Patrick had guessed) that the letters offered to Mrs. Glenarm were the letters between Geoffrey and herself, which she had lost at Craig Fernie, and bent30 on clearing up the suspicion which pointed3 to Bishopriggs as the person who was trying to turn the correspondence to pecuniary31 account. The inquiries32 made for him, at Anne’s request, as soon as she arrived in the town, openly described his name, and his former position as headwaiter at Craig Fernie—and thu s led easily to the discovery of him, in his publicly avowed33 character of Thomas Pennyquick’s devoted friend. Toward evening, on the day after she reached Perth, the news came to Anne that Bishopriggs was in service at the inn known as the Harp of Scotland. The landlord of the hotel at which she was staying inquired whether he should send a message for her. She answered, “No, I will take my message myself. All I want is a person to show me the way to the inn.”
Secluded34 in the solitude35 of the head-waiter’s pantry, Bishopriggs sat peacefully melting the sugar in his whisky-punch.
It was the hour of the evening at which a period of tranquillity36 generally occurred before what was called “the night-business” of the house began. Bishopriggs was accustomed to drink and meditate37 daily in this interval38 of repose39. He tasted the punch, and smiled contentedly40 as he set down his glass. The prospect before him looked fairly enough. He had outwitted the lawyers in the preliminary negotiations41 thus far. All that was needful now was to wait till the terror of a public scandal (sustained by occasional letters from her “Friend in the Dark”) had its due effect on Mrs. Glenarm, and hurried her into paying the purchase-money for the correspondence with her own hand. “Let it breed in the brain,” he thought, “and the siller will soon come out o’ the purse.”
His reflections were interrupted by the appearance of a slovenly42 maid-servant, with a cotton handkerchief tied round her head, and an uncleaned sauce-pan in her hand.
“Eh, Maister Bishopriggs,” cried the girl, “here’s a braw young leddy speerin’ for ye by yer ain name at the door.”
“A leddy?” repeated Bishopriggs, with a look of virtuous disgust. “Ye donnert ne’er-do-weel, do you come to a decent, ‘sponsible man like me, wi’ sic a Cyprian overture43 as that? What d’ye tak’ me for? Mark Antony that lost the world for love (the mair fule he!)? or Don Jovanny that counted his concubines by hundreds, like the blessed Solomon himself? Awa’ wi’ ye to yer pots and pans; and bid the wandering Venus that sent ye go spin!”
Before the girl could answer she was gently pulled aside from the doorway44, and Bishopriggs, thunder-struck, saw Anne Silvester standing in her place.
“You had better tell the servant I am no stranger to you,” said Anne, looking toward the kitchen-maid, who stood in the passage staring at her in stolid45 amazement46.
“My ain sister’s child!” cried Bishopriggs, lying with his customary readiness. “Go yer ways, Maggie. The bonny lassie’s my ain kith and kin15. The tongue o’ scandal, I trow, has naething to say against that.—Lord save us and guide us!” he added In another tone, as the girl closed the door on them, “what brings ye here?”
“I have something to say to you. I am not very well; I must wait a little first. Give me a chair.”
Bishopriggs obeyed in silence. His one available eye rested on Anne, as he produced the chair, with an uneasy and suspicious attention. “I’m wanting to know one thing,” he said. “By what meeraiculous means, young madam, do ye happen to ha’ fund yer way to this inn?”
Anne told him how her inquiries had been made and what the result had been, plainly and frankly47. The clouded face of Bishopriggs began to clear again.
“Hech! hech!” he exclaimed, recovering all his native impudence48, “I hae had occasion to remark already, to anither leddy than yersel’, that it’s seemply mairvelous hoo a man’s ain gude deeds find him oot in this lower warld o’ ours. I hae dune49 a gude deed by pure Tammy Pennyquick, and here’s a’ Pairth ringing wi the report o’ it; and Sawmuel Bishopriggs sae weel known that ony stranger has only to ask, and find him. Understand, I beseech50 ye, that it’s no hand o’ mine that pets this new feather in my cap. As a gude Calvinist, my saul’s clear o’ the smallest figment o’ belief in Warks. When I look at my ain celeebrity I joost ask, as the Psawmist asked before me, ‘Why do the heathen rage, and the people imagine a vain thing?’ It seems ye’ve something to say to me,” he added, suddenly reverting51 to the object of Anne’s visit. “Is it humanly possible that ye can ha’ come a’ the way to Pairth for naething but that?”
The expression of suspicion began to show itself again in his face. Concealing52 as she best might the disgust that he inspired in her, Anne stated her errand in the most direct manner, and in the fewest possible words.
“I have come here to ask you for something,” she said.
“Ay? ay? What may it be ye’re wanting of me?”
“I want the letter I lost at Craig Fernie.”
Even the solidly-founded self-possession of Bishopriggs himself was shaken by the startling directness of that attack on it. His glib53 tongue was paralyzed for the moment. “I dinna ken29 what ye’re drivin’ at,” he said, after an interval, with a sullen54 consciousness that he had been all but tricked into betraying himself.
The change in his manner convinced Anne that she had found in Bishopriggs the person of whom she was in search.
“You have got my letter,” she said, sternly insisting on the truth. “And you are trying to turn it to a disgraceful use. I won’t allow you to make a market of my private affairs. You have offered a letter of mine for sale to a stranger. I insist on your restoring it to me before I leave this room!”
Bishopriggs hesitated again. His first suspicion that Anne had been privately55 instructed by Mrs. Glenarm’s lawyers returned to his mind as a suspicion confirmed. He felt the vast importance of making a cautious reply.
“I’ll no’ waste precious time,” he said, after a moment’s consideration with himself, “in brushing awa’ the fawse breath o’ scandal, when it passes my way. It blaws to nae purpose, my young leddy, when it blaws on an honest man like me. Fie for shame on ye for saying what ye’ve joost said—to me that was a fether to ye at Craig Fernie! Wha’ set ye on to it? Will it be man or woman that’s misca’ed me behind my back?”
Anne took the Glasgow newspaper from the pocket of her traveling cloak, and placed it before him, open at the paragraph which described the act of extortion attempted on Mrs. Glenarm.
“I have found there,” she said, “all that I want to know.”
“May a’ the tribe o’ editors, preenters, paper-makers, news-vendors, and the like, bleeze together in the pit o’ Tophet!” With this devout56 aspiration—internally felt, not openly uttered—Bishopriggs put on his spectacles, and read the passage pointed out to him. “I see naething here touching57 the name o’ Sawmuel Bishopriggs, or the matter o’ ony loss ye may or may not ha’ had at Craig Fernie,” he said, when he had done; still defending his position, with a resolution worthy58 of a better cause.
Anne’s pride recoiled59 at the prospect of prolonging the discussion with him. She rose to her feet, and said her last words.
“I have learned enough by this time,” she answered, “to know that the one argument that prevails with you is the argument of money. If money will spare me the hateful necessity of disputing with you—poor as I am, money you shall have. Be silent, if you please. You are personally interested in what I have to say next.”
She opened her purse, and took a five-pound note from it.
“If you choose to own the truth, and produce the letter,” she resumed, “I will give you this, as your reward for finding, and restoring to me, something that I had lost. If you persist in your present prevarication60, I can, and will, make that sheet of note-paper you have stolen from me nothing but waste paper in your hands. You have threatened Mrs. Glenarm with my interference. Suppose I go to Mrs. Glenarm? Suppose I interfere61 before the week is out? Suppose I have other letters of Mr. Delamayn’s in my possession, and produce them to speak for me? What has Mrs. Glenarm to purchase of you then? Answer me that!”
The color rose on her pale face. Her eyes, dim and weary when she entered the room, looked him brightly through and through in immeasurable contempt. “Answer me that!” she repeated, with a burst of her old energy which revealed the fire and passion of the woman’s nature, not quenched62 even yet!
If Bishopriggs had a merit, it was a rare merit, as men go, of knowing when he was beaten. If he had an accomplishment63, it was the accomplishment of retiring defeated, with all the honors of war.
“Mercy presairve us!” he exclaimed, in the most innocent manner. “Is it even You Yersel’ that writ22 the letter to the man ca’ed Jaffray Delamayn, and got the wee bit answer in pencil on the blank page? Hoo, in Heeven’s name, was I to know that was the letter ye were after when ye cam’ in here? Did ye ever tell me ye were Anne Silvester, at the hottle? Never ance! Was the puir feckless husband-creature ye had wi’ ye at the inn, Jaffray Delamayn? Jaffray wad mak’ twa o’ him, as my ain eyes ha’ seen. Gi’ ye back yer letter? My certie! noo I know it is yer letter, I’ll gi’ it back wi’ a’ the pleasure in life!”
He opened his pocket-book, and took it out, with an alacrity64 worthy of the honestest man in Christendom—and (more wonderful still) he looked with a perfectly65 assumed expression of indifference66 at the five-pound note in Anne’s hand.
“Hoot! toot!” he said, “I’m no’ that clear in my mind that I’m free to tak’ yer money. Eh, weel! weel! I’ll een receive it, if ye like, as a bit Memento67 o’ the time when I was o’ some sma’ sairvice to ye at the hottle. Ye’ll no’ mind,” he added, suddenly returning to business, “writin’ me joost a line—in the way o’ receipt, ye ken—to clear me o’ ony future suspicion in the matter o’ the letter?”
Anne threw down the bank-note on the table near which they were standing, and snatched the letter from him.
“You need no receipt,” she answered. “There shall be no letter to bear witness against you!”
She lifted her other hand to tear it in pieces. Bishopriggs caught her by both wrists, at the same moment, and held her fast.
“Bide a wee!” he said. “Ye don’t get the letter, young madam, without the receipt. It may be a’ the same to you, now ye’ve married the other man, whether Jaffray Delamayn ance promised ye fair in the by-gone time, or no. But, my certie! it’s a matter o’ some moment to me, that ye’ve chairged wi’ stealin’ the letter, and making a market o’t, and Lord knows what besides, that I suld hae yer ain acknowledgment for it in black and white. Gi’ me my bit receipt—and een do as ye will with yer letter after that!”
Anne’s hold of the letter relaxed. She let Bishopriggs repossess himself of it as it dropped on the floor between them, without making an effort to prevent him.
“It may be a’ the same to you, now ye’ve married the other man, whether Jaffray Delamayn ance promised ye fair in the by-gone time, or no.” Those words presented Anne’s position before her in a light in which she had not seen it yet. She had truly expressed the loathing68 that Geoffrey now inspired in her, when she had declared, in her letter to Arnold, that, even if he offered her marriage, in atonement for the past, she would rather be what she was than be his wife. It had never occurred to her, until this moment, that others would misinterpret the sensitive pride which had prompted the abandonment of her claim on the man who had ruined her. It had never been brought home to her until now, that if she left him contemptuously to go his own way, and sell himself to the first woman who had money enough to buy him, her conduct would sanction the false conclusion that she was powerless to interfere, because she was married already to another man. The color that had risen in her face vanished, and left it deadly pale again. She began to see that the purpose of her journey to the north was not completed yet.
“I will give you your receipt,” she said. “Tell me what to write, and it shall be written.”
Bishopriggs dictated69 the receipt. She wrote and signed it. He put it in his pocket-book with the five-pound note, and handed her the letter in exchange.
“Tear it if ye will,” he said. “It matters naething to me.”
For a moment she hesitated. A sudden shuddering70 shook her from head to foot—the forewarning, it might be, of the influence which that letter, saved from destruction by a hair’s-breadth, was destined71 to exercise on her life to come. She recovered herself, and folded her cloak closer to her, as if she had felt a passing chill.
“No,” she said; “I will keep the letter.”
She folded it and put it in the pocket of her dress. Then turned to go—and stopped at the door.
“One thing more,” she added. “Do you know Mrs. Glenarm’s present address?”
“Ye’re no’ reely going to Mistress Glenarm?”
“That is no concern of yours. You can answer my question or not, as you please.”
“Eh, my leddy! yer temper’s no’ what it used to be in the auld72 times at the hottle. Aweel! aweel! ye ha’ gi’en me yer money, and I’ll een gi’ ye back gude measure for it, on my side. Mistress Glenarm’s awa’ in private—incog, as they say—to Jaffray Delamayn’s brither at Swanhaven Lodge. Ye may rely on the information, and it’s no’ that easy to come at either. They’ve keepit it a secret as they think from a’ the warld. Hech! hech! Tammy Pennyquick’s youngest but twa is page-boy at the hoose where the leddy’s been veesitin’, on the outskirts73 o’ Pairth. Keep a secret if ye can frae the pawky ears o’ yer domestics in the servants’ hall!—Eh! she’s aff, without a word at parting!” he exclaimed, as Anne left him without ceremony in the middle of his dissertation74 on secrets and servants’ halls. “I trow I ha’ gaen out for wool, and come back shorn,” he added, reflecting grimly on the disastrous75 overthrow76 of the promising77 speculation78 on which he had embarked79. “My certie! there was naething left for’t, when madam’s fingers had grippit me, but to slip through them as cannily80 as I could. What’s Jaffray’s marrying, or no’ marrying, to do wi’ her?” he wondered, reverting to the question which Anne had put to him at parting. “And whar’s the sense o’ her errand, if she’s reely bent on finding her way to Mistress Glenarm?”
Whatever the sense of her errand might be, Anne’s next proceeding25 proved that she was really bent on it. After resting two days, she left Perth by the first train in the morning, for Swanhaven Lodge.
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1
harp
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| n.竖琴；天琴座 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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amicable
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| adj.和平的，友好的；友善的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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rheumatism
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| n.风湿病 | |
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contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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emoluments
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| n.报酬，薪水( emolument的名词复数 ) | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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invalided
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| 使伤残（invalid的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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foresight
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| n.先见之明，深谋远虑 | |
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writ
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| n.命令状，书面命令 | |
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habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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sketching
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| n.草图 | |
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wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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pecuniary
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| adj.金钱的；金钱上的 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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avowed
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| adj.公开声明的，承认的v.公开声明，承认( avow的过去式和过去分词) | |
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secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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meditate
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| v.想，考虑，（尤指宗教上的）沉思，冥想 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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negotiations
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| 协商( negotiation的名词复数 )； 谈判； 完成（难事）； 通过 | |
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slovenly
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| adj.懒散的，不整齐的，邋遢的 | |
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overture
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| n.前奏曲、序曲，提议，提案，初步交涉 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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49
dune
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| n.(由风吹积而成的)沙丘 | |
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50
beseech
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| v.祈求，恳求 | |
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reverting
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| 恢复( revert的现在分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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glib
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| adj.圆滑的，油嘴滑舌的 | |
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54
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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55
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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56
devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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57
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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59
recoiled
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| v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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prevarication
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| n.支吾；搪塞；说谎；有枝有叶 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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quenched
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| 解（渴）( quench的过去式和过去分词 )； 终止（某事物）； （用水）扑灭（火焰等）； 将（热物体）放入水中急速冷却 | |
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63
accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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65
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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66
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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67
memento
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| n.纪念品，令人回忆的东西 | |
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68
loathing
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| n.厌恶，憎恨v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的现在分词)；极不喜欢 | |
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69
dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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70
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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71
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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72
auld
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| adj.老的，旧的 | |
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73
outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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74
dissertation
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| n.（博士学位）论文，学术演讲，专题论文 | |
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75
disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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76
overthrow
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| v.推翻，打倒，颠覆；n.推翻，瓦解，颠覆 | |
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77
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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78
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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79
embarked
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| 乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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80
cannily
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| 精明地 | |
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