Doctor Vandyke :: :: University of Virginia Library

Fergus made a movement of his head,
and began folding the articles of his
master's wardrobe and laying them carefully
in a huge trunk, in one corner of
the apartment.

For some moments Lord Ruthven
remained perfectly silent, his breast
heaving.

“I tried to avoid her—to avoid making
her acquaintance!” he muttered,
“but Fate forced it upon me!”

“Eh?” grunted Fergus, dryly, continuing
to pack the trunk.

“It happened as before in the case
of—the man.”

“Your lordship means young Mr.
Innis?”

“Yes. That was what is called an
accident. This, too, was—an accident.”

“Do you believe in accidents, my
lord?”

“No!”

“Nor I. There are none.”

“None, and yet to think that, despite
every effort, I am thrown with—these
people! Does it not seem strange?”

“Every thing is strange in this world,
my lord. But I am glad we are going.”

“Yes, yes, we will go! Nothing
shall withhold me. Cursed Fate that
drives me! Oh, why, Fergus, am I not
a poor common mortal like the rest of
my kind? Why am I the exception, the
anomaly, the one being denied all happiness?”

“Your lordship speaks mysteriously.
You would say—”

Lord Ruthven was silent again and
slowly his pale face flushed.

“I mean,” he said, in a low tone,
“that were I not Ruthven, and therefore
accursed, I might — possibly — who
knows?—find some solace, some happiness,
in—”

He stopped, and knit his brows. His
eyes were fixed upon the floor. His face
filled with blushes.

“She is very beautiful!” he said, as
though to himself.

It is impossible to describe the expression
of Fergus, as he listened to this
unmistakable avowal. The old face
assumed an air of scorn, of pity, of apprehension,
of affection, wonderful to
see. He stopped packing the trunk, and,
looking at his master intently, said:

“Is your lordship really going to-morrow?
If not, 'twill be useless to
continue these preparations.”

“Going? Certainly I am going!”
exclaimed Lord Ruthven, almost angrily;
“what made you dream that I was not
really going?”

“I did not dream it, I thought it; and
what made me think it was—experience!”
said Fergus, coolly.

“Experience! what do you mean?”

“I mean, my lord, that you said you
were going before—when you first saw
the man—and you did not go!”

“You know why I did not go—because

I could not, and the man went
away! And I will add that it is disagreeable
to me to be thus catechised!”

An angry scowl accompanied the
words. Fergus stopped suddenly, and
turned to his master with a strange mixture
of offence and mortification upon
his old weather-beaten face.

Ruthven for a moment said nothing.
His heavy breathing was audible in the
silence. Suddenly he rose, went to
Fergus, and seized his hand in his own—

“Forgive me, Fergus—my poor, good
Fergus! poor, since you have so unhappy,
so wayward and unjust a master! Forgive
me, old friend—I am mad, I think,
to wound thus the only heart on earth
that beats true to me! But I have been
unnerved to-night—I scarce know what
I say. That face! that smile!—the lips,
the hair, all—they were the same, the
very same, Fergus! There was no room
for doubt—I have seen her, heard her—
'tis she! And listen, Fergus! I was
fool enough to promise to call and pay
her my respects. Do not sneer at your
poor master! I was weak, but I will be
strong. That promise binds me—I will
see her for ten minutes, but first my passage
will be taken to Europe—then I will
go—I will go—I will leave this cursed
soil, and, with the blessing of Heaven,
will set my foot upon it no more!”

“Heaven grant that your lordship
may keep your vow!”

“Oh, be not uneasy; I will keep it.”

Fergus inclined his head.

“Your lordship knows one thing—
that, whether in Europe or Virginia, he
possesses the heart of Fergus, who will
live or die with him!”

On the next morning, Fergus had
made all his arrangements: packed all
the trunks, paid all his master's accounts,
and went to engage their passage
in a vessel to sail that very night
for England.

A few moments before, his master
had gone to pay his first and last visit to
Colonel Brand and his family.

In three or four hours Fergus came
back. The vessel would not sail for four
days. His master had not returned; he
only reentered his lodgings toward midnight,
having dined and spent the evening
with Colonel Brand, who was greatly
interested in the news from Scotland.

Fergus shrugged his shoulders, and
said nothing. When he announced the
delay in the vessel's sailing, Ruthven said,
simply, in an absent way:

“'Tis well, Fergus.”

“I thought to hear `'Tis ill!”' muttered
the old servant; “and now, `'Tis
well!”'

Colonel Brand had requested Ruthven
to call, before his departure, and receive
some letters he designed writing to
friends in Scotland. The young nobleman
accordingly did so—on the very
next day—and, as before, remained until
late in the evening, conversing this time
almost exclusively with Honoria. When
he returned homeward, he might have
been heard muttering:

“And, if Fergus was right in his incredulity!—if
I do not go!—'twould be
frightful!—fearful! Does Fate drag me?
Oh, but I will go!—I will go!—I swear
it!”

As Colonel Brand's letters were not
written, it was necessary that Lord Ruthven
should repeat his visit. He went
thither on the next day—on the next—
and, to come to the result, announced
finally to Fergus, in a tone of voice impossible
to convey to the reader, that he
had changed his resolution: he would
not sail for Europe.

Fergus simply bowed his head, suppressing
the groan which rose to his lips
until his master left the room. Then he
uttered a species of moan, and muttered:

“Have mercy upon us, O Lord! but
may I live and die with my poor master!”

A month passed. Lord Ruthven and

Fergus had never again alluded to the
projected journey to Europe. The nobleman
spent the greater part of his time
in his chamber, motionless, in a sort of
trance; only, from time to time, he
looked, in a singular manner, over his
shoulder, as though some frightful object
haunted him. His private talks with
Fergus had abruptly ceased. At times
his eyes would meet those of the old servant,
and a glance, full of gloomy meaning,
would be exchanged between them.
But the pale lips did not open. The old
clansman only nodded, uttering deep
sighs, intent upon one thing only now—
implicit obedience to his chief.

When a month had passed in this
manner, Lord Ruthven, who had grown,
if possible, paler and more haggard than
before, said one morning to the old servant:

“Fergus, order my coach.”

Fergus bowed, and went to obey.

“It has come at last!” he muttered.
“The bonny bridegroom is going to his
bridal!”