Page:Once a Week Volume V.djvu/25

18 all was secured simply by the latch of the lock, and this could only be opened by the proper or a false key. But they had no fear of midnight intruders in those parts. There was nothing in the poor peasants’ cottages of sufficient value to tempt a thief.

At the dead hour of the night, when all was still and calm, the cottage-door was unlocked without a sound, and a dark figure stole in on tiptoe, pausing now and then to listen. The inner door was firmly shut. All seemed safe; the girl was fast asleep. The wind whistled without incessantly. The figure groped its way silently to the kitchen-bed. Then it drew from its bosom something which looked like a large white bundle, and laid it on the bed with a noiseless hand. Jessie slept on, unconscious of this strange visitor. A moment afterwards the dark figure again glided over the threshold, closed the door stealthily behind it, and stood alone in the dark street. Here it paused for a moment, muttering to itself; then it fled hastily through the darkness. It rushed swiftly onward, never once pausing, till it halted by the side of a dark wood, situated some five or six miles from the village. It stood still for a minute, trembling from head to foot. Presently it stepped over the low stone wall and entered the plantation, wandering along through the trees till it left them in a black shadow at its back. It stood beside a quiet cottage at the further corner of the wood; and, tapping at the dark pane, it trembled worse than ever. The door was opened a moment afterwards by a rough-looking man in a gamekeeper’s coat.

“The Lord be thankit, Rab, for it’s a’ owre now. I hae dune it, Rab,—I hae dune it. She slept like a peerie, wi’ her door fast snibbit.”

The man in the gamekeeper’s coat, familiarly addressed as Rab, cocked his eye at the speaker, gave a grunt, and shrugged his shoulders.

“It’s no’ a canny nicht’s work,” said Rab; “I dinna feel sae sure about it. I wadna hae helpit ye ava in the matter, wi’ nae ither raeson than the ane. It’s hard on the lassie; but it’ll tak’ the gumption out o’ the lad. Dinna glower there, woman! Come in wi’ ye; I’m no’ gaun to stand here a’ nicht. It’s dune now, and I maun e’en mak’ the best o’t.”

The woman entered and the door closed with a bang. The cottage, like most others thereabouts, contained a kitchen and a bed-room. A fire was lighted in the former, and on the table were glasses and a bottle containing whiskey. On one part of the dirty wall a shot-pouch and a powder-flask were hung on a rusty nail; a gun was slung across the ingle. The woman, still violently trembling, drew close to the fire; pouring out half a glass of raw spirits, she drank it hastily. The man continued to mutter to himself, cursing the night’s business and eyeing the woman with a hang dog air. But he seemed somewhat afraid of his companion.

“Hoot-toot, man!” said the woman pettishly. “Dinna fash your fule’s head about naething ava. It’s a bad job weel mendit. I ken the lassie weel; a’s safe. She’ll bring the town about her head the morn’s morn, or I’m dafter than ye think me. And whatna story can she tell the folk but ane that a’body ’ll ca’ a silly lee, made up to save hersel’ frae the shame o’ the sin. A’s safe, man; keep up heart.”

Rab shook his ugly head incredulously, and continued to mutter his doubts. The wind roared, and the night wore on, till the grey dawn broke dimly on the strange pair where they sat alone, hid from human observation. The hearts of both were beating loudly, for the woman was weak and the man was a coward. They were trembling for the consequences of the midnight act.

“She’ll hae seen it now, Rab; she’ll be wakened now! I’m feared, I’m feared!”

“Onybody micht see that in your face, I’m thinkin’. I was daft to hae aught to dae wi’t,” said the man in the gamekeeper’s coat.

“Ye were bound to stand by your ain, Rab Simpson; the wrang belanged to baith o’ us.”

“Worse luck,” said Rab.

“Ay!” said the woman, in tones full of bitter meaning. A cat-like look, full of fierce hate, gleamed for an instant in a pair of dull blue eyes.

dull grey dawn was breaking dimly when Jessie Cameron opened her eyes. She had slept heavily throughout the night, and her slumbers had been visited by pleasant dreams of Jock and little children. She was soon up and dressed, ready to commence the day’s work. She threw open the shutters of her bed-room and gazed out; the rain was falling with a dull monotonous music, and the winds that had whistled all night long were laid. Unlocking the door of the room, she entered the kitchen, singing to herself with a light heart. All was still and dark, till she threw open the kitchen shutters. She was about to open the outer door, when a low sobbing sound broke suddenly on the silence; she started and turned pale. She turned hurriedly round, but saw nothing unusual. But the low sobbing sound, which had ceased for an instant as she listened, was repeated.

Jesse walked towards the bed trembling all over. The mystery was cleared in a moment. Wrapt in an old shawl, and lying half-awake on the pillow, she saw a little baby, very pinky in the face, and with open querulous eyes.

She was stunned with the surprise; her head swam, and her heart began to throb violently. But she was a strong girl, and did not faint. She stood with her mouth and eyes wide open, and her hands lifted, utterly lost in astonishment. She had no time to reflect; but the thing was incomprehensible. Pressing her hands to her temples, she sank into a chair with a suppressed cry. It seemed like a strange dream. Might it not be a dream indeed? To make the matter certain, she rose up and peeped again at the intruder.

It was the smallest and the pinkest of babies; a preposterously babyish baby, with puffed pinky cheeks, and a head as bare as St. Dunstan’s shaven poll. Its great staring blue eyes were wide open, busy in astonished contemplation; its red crimpled tiny fist was in its mouth instead of a lollipop; its little fat toes were poked out kicking from underneath the shawl. Plainly, a careless baby, new to the world of men and women.

It was not till the baby began to cry after babies’ fashion, that Jessie began to comprehend