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 longest 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 spider webs 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 harbour 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 harbour. She must make acquaintance with her new plaything.
Mrs Catanach 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
Catanach 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 Catanach 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
hind quarters 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
moustache 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."
Mrs Catanach fled, cowed by terror. Her huge legs bore her huge
body, a tragicomic 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 pe calling me?" asked Duncan, who had not thoroughly
distinguished the voice through the near clamour 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."
"Cod haf mercy!" cried Duncan. "Take her pipes, my laty, for fear
anything paad should happen to tem."
She led him hurriedly to the door. But ere he had quite crossed
the threshold he shivered and drew back.
"Tis is an efil house," he said. "She 'll not can co 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 an argument with Duncan was--and flew to
the stair.
"Temon! Temon!" 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
out lolled tongue. But the piper staggered back, pushing the dog
from him. "It is plood!" he cried; "ta efil woman's plood!"
"Keep him out, Duncan dear," said Lady Florimel. "I will go and
see. There! he'll be up again if you don't mind!"
Very reluctant, 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 'at
I dinna 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 Catanach 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.
"Hoots! for shame, Mistress Catanach!" he cried, "Here's my leddy
ahin' me, hearin' ilka word!"
"Deil stap her lugs wi' brunstane! What but a curse wad she hae
frae me? I sweir by God i s' gar her pey for this, or my name's no
--" She stopped suddenly.
"I thocht as muckle," said Malcolm with a keen look.
"Ye'll think twise, ye deil's buckie, or ye think richt! Wha are
ye to think? What sud my name be but Bawby Catanach? Ye're unco
upsettin' sin' ye turned my leddy's flunky! Sorrow taik ye baith!
My dawtit Beauty!--worriet by that hell tyke o' hers!"
"Gien ye gang on like that, the markis 'll hae ye drummed oot o'
the toon or twa days be ower," said Malcolm.
"Wull he than?" she returned with a confident sneer, showing all the
teeth she had left. "Ye'll be far hen wi' the markis, nae doobt!
An' yon donnert auld deevil ye ca' yer gran'father 'ill be fain
eneuch to be drummer, I'll sweir. Care 's my case!"
"My leddy, she's ower ill tongued for you to hearken till,"
said Malcolm, turning to Florimel who stood in the door white and
trembling. "Jist gang doon, an' tell my gran'father to sen' the
dog up. There's surely some gait o' garrin' her haud her tongue!"
Mrs Catanach threw a terrified glance towards Lady Florimel.
"Indeed I shall do nothing of the kind!" replied Florimel. "For
shame!"
"Hoots, my leddy!" returned Malcolm; "I only said it to try the
effec' o' 't. It seems no that ill."
"Ye son o' a deevil's soo!" cried the woman; "I s' hae amen's o'
ye for this, gien I sud ro'st my ain hert to get it."
"'Deed, but ye re duin that fine a'ready! That foul brute o' yours
has gotten his arles (earnest) tu. I wonner what he thinks o sawmon
troot noo!--Eh, mem?"
"Have done, Malcolm," said Florimel. "I am ashamed of you. If the
woman is not hurt, we have no business in her house."
"Hear till her!" cried Mrs Catanach 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 Catanach 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 harbour, turned back,
accompanied by Malcolm, Demon, and Lady Stronach's Strathspey.
"What a horrible woman that is!" she said with a shudder.
"Ay is she; but I doobt she wad be waur gien she didna brak oot
that gait whiles," rejoined Malcolm.
"How do you mean?"
"It frichts fowk at her, an' maybe sometimes pits 't oot o' her
pooer to du waur. Gien ever she seek to mak it up wi' ye, my leddy,
I wad hae little to say till her, gien I was you."
"What could I have to say to a low creature like that?"
"Ye wadna ken what she micht be up till, or hoo she micht set aboot
it, my leddy. I wad hae ye mistrust her a'thegither. My daddy has
a fine moral nose for vermin, an' he canna bide her, though he
never had a glimp o' the fause face o' her, an' in trowth never
spak till her."
"I will tell my father of her. A woman like that is not fit to live
amongst civilized people."
"Ye're richt there, my leddy; but she wad only gang some ither gait
amo' the same. Of coorse ye maun tell yer father, but she's no fit
for him to tak ony notice o'."
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 Colonsay!" and pursued the subject no further.
When they passed Mrs Catanach's cottage an hour after, on their
way to the harbour, 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 Watty Witherspail.
