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The factor was a man imported to the district: he had not the feudal habit of respect for decayed lordship. "Indeed he does? And why disna Andrew Lashcairn come tae dae his own begging?" Marcella stared at him and her eyes flashed with indignation though her knees were trembling. "He is not begging, Mr. Braid. But the beasts are crying for food and he's needin' the corn the night."
It did not occur to her that the gipsy had heard the Lashcairn legend in the village the most natural thing for a legend-loving gipsy to hear she was accustomed to believing anything she was told, and that the gipsy's words confirmed her own longings made them seem true.
"Marcella Lashcairn," she said, standing under the white flare of the electric light and facing herself squarely in the little mirror, which showed her two scornful grey eyes, "You're a hypocrite! You think it's very splendid and grand to save a big, grown-up man from getting drunk. That's only because you're a girl and are flattered at his dependence on you.
It was a three-mile walk to the little town. There was a corn factor's shop there at which her father dealt. She walked in proudly. It was market day and the place was full of people. "Andrew Lashcairn says ye'll please to be sending up a sack of meal and a sack of corn the day," she said calmly to the factor who looked at her between narrowing eyes.
He was to be away one night starting at four in the morning he would rest at the hotel for the night and start back next morning. That night Marcella lay long awake, thinking about him. She was vaguely anxious; when she fell asleep she dreamed that he came home to Castle Lashcairn drunk. He was talking French his eyes were wild, his mouth loose and slobbering, his tongue bitter.
She realized in that quiet instant that this passionate disgust was utterly selfish; if he had been loathsome with any other disease than this she would have nursed and soothed him tenderly; if he had been clean and charming, as on the night of the aurora. "Oh, what a hypocrite you are, Marcella Lashcairn!" she said. "With all your high-falutin' ideas of balance and coolness!
Then she saw Hunchback Wullie and Tammas and Jock, and went across to talk to them. "Is the Lashcairn better, then?" asked Wullie. She shook her head. "He says he's going to die to-night, Wullie All Souls' Night," she said in a low voice. Wullie nodded comprehension.
It did not occur to her that Uncle Philip might be dead, or have left Wooratonga; with Lashcairn high-handedness to quote Wullie she expected all the world to do her bidding.
If you do come, please write a very long time in advance because we are thirty miles from the station and only go in for letters occasionally. If you can't come, I'll go on worrying with the lectures until I understand without you. "Yours sincerely, MARCELLA LASHCAIRN FARNE." She fastened the letter up in between two books.
"I wish you would go below," said the schoolmaster. "Men when intoxicated say things unfit for the ears of young ladies. You go away and leave him to me, Miss Lashcairn." "Louis, you trusted me to take care of you," she said in a low voice. He laughed hysterically until tears ran down his cheeks. "Thass ri', ole girl! Trus' take care of me! Nashly! Father drunkard father dead drunkard!
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