Malcolm had of course hastened to the schoolmaster with the joy of his deliverance from Mrs Stewart; but Mr Graham had not acquainted him with the discovery Miss Horn had made, or her belief concerning his large interest therein, to which Malcolm's report of the wrath born declaration of Mrs Catanach had now supplied the only testimony wanting, for the right of disclosure was Miss Horn's. To her he had carried Malcolm's narrative of late events, tenfold strengthening her position; but she was anxious in her turn that the revelation concerning his birth should come to him from his father. Hence Malcolm continued in ignorance of the strange dawn that had begun to break on the darkness of his origin.
Miss Horn had told Mr Graham what the marquis had said about the tutorship; but the schoolmaster only shook his head with a smile, and went on with his preparations for departure.
The hours went by; the days lengthened into weeks, and the marquis's condition did not improve. He had never known sickness and pain before, and like most of the children of this world, counted them the greatest of evils; nor was there any sign of their having as yet begun to open his eyes to what those who have seen them call truths, those who have never even boded their presence count absurdities.
More and more, however, he desired the attendance of Malcolm, who was consequently a great deal about him, serving with a love to account for which those who knew his nature would not have found it necessary to fall back on the instinct of the relation between them. The marquis had soon satisfied himself that that relation was as yet unknown to him, and was all the better pleased with his devotion and tenderness.
The inflammation continued, increased, spread, and at length the doctors determined to amputate. But the marquis was absolutely horrified at the idea,—shrank from it with invincible repugnance. The moment the first dawn of comprehension vaguely illuminated their periphrastic approaches, he blazed out in a fury, cursed them frightfully, called them all the contemptuous names in his rather limited vocabulary, and swore he would see them—uncomfortable first.
"We fear mortification, my lord," said the physician calmly.
"So do I. Keep it off," returned the marquis.
"We fear we cannot, my lord."
It had, in fact, already commenced.
"Let it mortify, then, and be damned," said his lordship.
"I trust, my lord, you will reconsider it," said the surgeon. "We should not have dreamed of suggesting a measure of such severity had we not had reason to dread that the further prosecution of gentler means would but lessen your lordship's chance of recovery."
"You mean then that my life is in danger?"
"We fear," said the physician, "that the amputation proposed is the only thing that can save it."
"What a brace of blasted bunglers you are!" cried the marquis, and turning away his face, lay silent. The two men looked at each other, and said nothing.
Malcolm was by, and a keen pang shot to his heart at the verdict. The men retired to consult. Malcolm approached the bed.
"My lord!" he said gently.
No reply came.
"Dinna lea 's oor lanes, my lord—no yet," Malcolm persisted. "What 's to come o' my leddy?"
The marquis gave a gasp. Still he made no reply.
"She has naebody, ye ken, my lord, 'at ye wad like to lippen her wi'."
"You must take care of her when I am gone, Malcolm,' murmured the marquis; and his voice was now gentle with sadness and broken with misery.
"Me, my lord!" returned Malcolm. "Wha wad min' me? An' what cud I du wi' her? I cudna even haud her ohn wat her feet. Her leddy's maid cud du mair wi' her—though I wad lay doon my life for her, as I tauld ye, my lord—an' she kens 't weel eneuch."
Silence followed. Both men were thinking.
"Gie me a richt, my lord, an' I'll du my best," said Malcolm, at length breaking the silence.
"What do you mean?" growled the marquis, whose mood had altered.
"Gie me a legal richt, my lord, an' see gien I dinna."
"See what?"
"See gien I dinna luik weel efter my leddy."
"How am I to see? I shall be dead and damned."
"Please God, my lord, ye'll be alive an' weel—in a better place, if no here to luik efter my leddy yersel'."
"Oh, I dare say!" muttered the marquis.
"But ye'll hearken to the doctors, my lord," Malcolm went on, "an' no dee wantin' time to consider o' 't."
"Yes, yes; tomorrow I'll have another talk with them. We'll see about it. There's time enough yet. They're all cox combs—every one of them. They never give a patient the least credit for common sense."
"I dinna ken, my lord," said Malcolm doubtfully.
After a few minutes' silence, during which Malcolm thought he had fallen asleep, the marquis resumed abruptly.
"What do you mean by giving you a legal right?" he said.
"There's some w'y o' makin' ae body guairdian till anither, sae 'at the law 'ill uphaud him—isna there, my lord?"
"Yes, surely. Well!—Rather odd—wouldn't it be?—A young fisher lad guardian to a marchioness! Eh? They say there's nothing new under the sun; but that sounds rather like it, I think."
Malcolm was overjoyed to hear him speak with something like his old manner. He felt he could stand any amount of chaff from him now, and so the proposition he had made in seriousness, he went on to defend in the hope of giving amusement, yet with a secret wild delight in the dream of such full devotion to the service of Lady Florimel.
"It wad soon' queer eneuch, my lord, nae doobt; but fowk maunna min' the soon' o' a thing gien 't be a' straucht an' fair, an' strong eneuch to stan'. They cudna lauch me oot o' my richts, be they 'at they likit—Lady Bellair, or ony o' them—na, nor jaw me oot o' them aither!"
"They might do a good deal to render those rights of little use," said the marquis.
"That wad come till a trial o' brains, my lord," returned Malcolm; "an' ye dinna think I wadna hae the wit to speir advice—an' what's mair, to ken whan it was guid, an' tak it! There's lawyers, my lord."
"And their expenses?"
"Ye cud lea' sae muckle to be waured (spent) upo' the cairryin' oot o' yer lordship's wull."
"Who would see that you applied it properly?"
"My ain conscience, my lord—or Mr Graham, gien ye likit."
"And how would you live yourself?"
"Ow! lea' ye that to me, my lord. Only dinna imaigine I wad be behauden to yer lordship. I houp I hae mair pride nor that. Ilka poun' not', shillin', an' baubee sud be laid oot for her, an' what was left hainet (saved) for her."
"By Jove! it 's a daring proposal!" said the marquis; and, which seemed strange to Malcolm, not a single thread of ridicule ran through the tone in which he made the remark.
The next day came, but brought neither strength of body nor of mind with it. Again his professional attendants besought him, and he heard them more quietly, but rejected their proposition as positively as before. In a day or two he ceased to oppose it, but would not hear of preparation. Hour glided into hour, and days had gathered to a week, when they assailed him with a solemn and last appeal.
"Nonsense!" answered the marquis. "My leg is getting better. I feel no pain—in fact nothing but a little faintness. Your damned medicines, I haven't a doubt."
"You are in the greatest danger, my lord. It is all but too late even now."
"Tomorrow, then—if it must be. Today I could not endure to have my hair cut—positively; and as to having my leg off,—pooh! the thing's preposterous!"
He turned white and shuddered, for all the nonchalance of his speech.
When tomorrow came, there was not a surgeon in the land who would have taken his leg off. He looked in their faces, and seemed for the first time convinced of the necessity of the measure.
"You may do as you please," he said. "I am ready."