"Well, wait here till I tell you it is fit for travelling," said Sir Arthur, pleasantly, and addressed himself once more to his labors as a gardener.
Meanwhile Maitland threw himself down on a garden-bench, and cried aloud, "This is the real thing, after all,--this is actual repose. Not a word of political intrigue, no snares, no tricks, no deceptions, and no defeats; no waking to hear of our friends arrested, and our private letters in the hands of a Police Prefect. No horrid memories of the night before, and that run of ill-luck that has left us almost beggars. I wonder how long the charm of this tranquillity would endure; or is it like all other anodynes, which lose their calming power by habit? I 'd certainly like to try."
"Well, there is no reason why you shouldn't," said a voice from the back of the summer-house, which he knew to be Mrs. Trafford's.
He jumped up to overtake her, but she was gone.
"What was it you were saying about flowers, Jeanie? I was not minding," said Mrs. Butler, as she sat at her window watching the long heaving roll of the sea, as it broke along the jagged and rugged shore, her thoughts the while far beyond it.
"I was saying, ma'am, that the same man that came with the books t' other day brought these roses, and asked very kindly how you were."
"You mean the same gentleman, lassie, who left his card here!" said the old lady, correcting that very Northern habit of Ignoring all differences of condition.
"Well, I mind he was; for he had very white hands, and a big bright ring on one of his fingers."
"You told him how sorry I was not to be able to see him,--that these bad headaches have left me unable to receive any one?"
"Na; I did n't say that," said she, half doggedly.
"I just said, she's thinking too much about her son, who is away from home, to find any pleasure in a strange face. He laughed a little quiet laugh, and said, 'There is good sense in that, Jeanie, and I 'll wait for a better moment.'"
"You should have given my message as I spoke it to you," said the mistress, severely.
"I 'm no sae blind that I canna see the differ between an aching head and a heavy heart Ye 're just frettin', and there 's naething else the matter wi' you. There he goes now, the same man,--the same gentleman, I mean," said she, with a faint scoff. "He aye goes back by the strand, and climbs the white rocks opposite the Skerries."