‘It’s dreadfu’ to be sae tempted,—and a’ the gude to gang to sic a haverel,’ added Claud, in a low troubled accent, as he turned away and walked towards the window.
‘Nae doubt,’ said his wife, ‘it’s an awfu’ thing to hear o’ sic disobedience as Charlie in his rashness has been guilty o’.’
‘It is, it is,’ replied her husband, ‘and many a ane for far less hae disinherited their sons,—cut them off wi’ a shilling.’
‘That’s true,’ rejoined the Leddy of Grippy. ‘Did na Kilmarkeckle gie his only daughter but the legacy o’ his curse, for running away wi’ the Englisher captain, and leave a’ to his niece Betty Bodle?’
‘And a’ she has might hae been in our family but for this misfortune.—When I think o’ the loss, and how pleased her father was when I proposed Charlie for her—It’s enough to gar me tak’ some desperate step to punish the contumacious reprobate.—He’ll break my heart.’
‘Dear keep me, gudeman, but ye’re mair fashed than I could hae thought it was in the power o’ nature for you to be,’—said Mrs. Walkinshaw, surprised at his agitation.
‘The scoundrel! the scoundrel!’ said Claud, walking quickly across the room—‘To cause sic a loss!—To tak’ nae advice!—to run sic a ram-race!—I ought, I will, gar him fin’ the weight o’ my displeasure. Betty Bodle’s tocher would hae been better than the Grippy—But he shall suffer for’t—I see na why a father may na tak’ his own course as weel as a son—I’ll no be set at naught in this gait. I’ll gang in to Mr. Keelevin the morn.’
‘Dinna be oure headstrong, my dear, but compose yoursel’,’—said the lady, perplexed, and in some degree alarmed at the mention of the lawyer’s name.—
‘Compose thysel, Girzy, and no meddle wi’ me,’ was the answer, in a less confident tone than the declaration he had just made, adding,—
‘I never thought he would hae used me in this way. I’m sure I was ay indulgent to him.’
‘Overly sae,’ interrupted Mrs. Walkinshaw, ‘and often I told you that he would gie you a het heart for’t, and noo ye see my words hae come to pass.’
Claud scowled at her with a look of the fiercest aversion, for at that moment the better feelings of his nature yearned towards Charles, and almost overcame the sordid avidity with which he had resolved to cut him off from his birthright, and to entail the estate of Grippy with the Plealands on Walter,—an intention which, as we have before mentioned, he early formed, and had never abandoned, being merely deterred from carrying it into effect by a sense of shame, mingled with affection, and a slight reverence for natural justice; all which, however, were loosened from their hold in his conscience, by the warranty which the imprudence of the marriage seemed to give him in the eyes of the world, for doing what he had so long desired to do. Instead, however, of making her any reply, he walked out into the open air, and continued for about half an hour to traverse the green in front of the house, sometimes with quick short steps, at others with a slow and heavy pace. Gradually, however, his motion became more regular, and ultimately ended in a sedate and firm tread, which indicated that his mind was made up on the question which he had been debating with himself.
CHAPTER XVIII
That abysm of legal dubieties, the office of Mr. Keelevin, the writer, consisted of two obscure apartments on the ground floor of M’Gregor’s Land, in M’Whinnie’s Close, in the Gallowgate. The outer room was appropriated to the clerks, and the inner for the darker mysteries of consultation. To this place Claud repaired on the day following the interesting communication, of which we have recorded the first impressions in the foregoing chapter. He had ordered breakfast to be ready an hour earlier than usual; and as soon as he had finished it, he went to his scrutoire, and taking out his title-deeds, put them in his pocket, and without saying any thing to his wife of what he intended to do, lifted his hat and stick from their accustomed place of repose, in the corner of the dining-room, and proceeded, as we have said, to consult Mr. Keelevin.
It is not the universal opinion of mankind, that the profession of the law is favourable to the preservation of simplicity of character or of benevolence of disposition; but this, no doubt, arises from the malice of disappointed clients, who, to shield themselves from the consequences of their own unfair courses, pretend that the wrongs and injustice of which they are either found guilty, or are frustrated in the attempt to effect, are owing to the faults and roguery of their own or their adversaries’ lawyers. But why need we advocate any revision of the sentence pronounced upon the limbs of the law? for, grasping, as they do, the whole concerns and interests of the rest of the community, we think they are sufficiently armed with claws and talons to defend themselves. All, in fact, that we meant by this apologetic insinuation, was to prepare the reader for the introduction of Mr. Keelevin, on whom the corrosive sublimate of a long and thorough professional insight of all kinds of equivocation and chicanery had in no degree deteriorated from the purity of his own unsuspicious and benevolent nature. Indeed, at the very time that Claud called, he was rebuking his young men on account of the cruelty of a contrivance they had made to catch a thief that was in the nocturnal practice of opening the window of their office, to take away what small change they were so negligent as to leave on or in their desks; and they were not only defending themselves, but remonstrating with him for having rendered their contrivance abortive. For, after they had ingeniously constructed a trap within the window, namely, a footless table, over which the thief must necessarily pass to reach their desks, he had secretly placed a pillow under it, in order that, when it fell down, the robber might not hurt himself in the fall.
‘Gude morning, gude morning, Mr. Keelevin; how’re ye the day?’ said Claud, as he entered.
‘Gaily, gaily, Grippy; how’re ye yoursel, and how’s a’ at hame? Come awa ben to my room,’ was the writer’s answer, turning round and opening the door; for experience had taught him that visits from acquaintances at that hour were not out of mere civility.
Claud stepped in, and seated himself in an old armed chair which stood on the inner side of the table where Mr. Keelevin himself usually wrote; and the lawyer followed him, after saying to the clerks, ‘I redde ye, lads, tak tent to what I hae been telling you, and no encourage yourselves to the practice of evil that good may come o’t. To devise snares and stratagems is most abominable—all that ye should or ought to do, is to take such precautions that the thief may not enter; but to wile him into the trap, by leaving the window unfastened, was nothing less than to be the cause of his sin. So I admonish you no to do the like o’t again.’
In saying this he came in, and, shutting the door, took his own seat at the opposite side of the table, addressing himself to Claud, ‘And so ye hae gotten your auld son married? I hope it’s to your satisfaction.’
‘An he has brewed good yill, Mr. Keelevin, he’ll drink the better,’ was the reply; ‘but I hae come to consult you anent a bit alteration that I would fain make in my testament.’
‘That’s no a matter of great difficulty, Laird; for, sin’ we found out that the deed of entail that was made after your old son was born can never stand, a’ ye have is free to be destined as ye will, both heritable and moveable.’
‘And a lucky discovery that was;—many a troubled thought I hae had in my own breast about it; and now I’m come to confer wi’ you, Mr. Keelevin, for I would na trust the hair o’ a dog to the judgement o’ that tavert bodie, Gibby Omit, that gart me pay nine pounds seven shillings and saxpence too for the parchment; for it ne’er could be called an instrument, as it had na the pith o’ a windlestrae to bind the property; and over and aboon that, the bodie has lang had his back to the wa’, wi’ the ’poplexy; so that I maun put my trust in this affair into your hands, in the hope and confidence that ye’re able to mak something