Ronald Morton; or, the Fire Ships. William Henry Giles Kingston

who will stir heaven and earth to keep the boy out of his rights; the moment he hears of Don Hernan’s death he will take possession of the property and assume the title. I must find out what tack Father Mendez is sailing on. Is he in the interest of the living marquis, or of the unborn baby? He is never happy unless he is playing some deep game or other. I suspect that he is waiting to see how things turn out. At all events, though he beats me hollow in an argument, I’ll try whether in a good cause I cannot outmanoeuvre him. He does not want for money, that I know. He has his belt stuffed full of gold pieces even now, so the want of means to go away does not keep him here. Why he does not offer some to me to get me away I do not know. Probably he looks on me as a rough, untutored sailor, and despises me too much to dread my interference with his plans. Perhaps he intends to buy me over, and to make use of me to aid him. He knows himself pretty well, and thinks all men are likewise rogues. He will be rather astonished if he finds that he has been outwitted by a straightforward, honest sailor.”

      At length the event for some time looked for, both at the castle and the cottage, occurred. Bertha Morton presented her husband with a fine boy, and scarcely had the young gentleman—Ronald Morton he was to be called—given notice of his arrival in the world by a lusty fit of crying, and had been exhibited in due form to his father, than the wise woman who attended on such occasions was now moving in hot haste to the castle of Lunnasting, to afford her aid to Donna Hilda, who was, it is said, in sore pain and distress. Alas! she had no fond husband to cheer and console her; no one to whom she could show with pride and joy the little creature about to be born into the world. Bertha Eswick had expressed her hopes that the child would be a girl. A lassie, she observed, would be a comfort and a companion to the poor lady, who would herself be able to instruct her, and would ever keep her by her side; whereas a boy must be sent away to school, and would then have to go into the world, where he would again see little or nothing of his poor mother.

      Father Mendez and Pedro Alvarez were walking up and down, but not together, on the sunny side of the court-yard. It was the only spot, they declared, in the whole island where they could be sheltered from the biting keenness of the wind, and feel any of the warmth to which they were accustomed in their own country. Both were anxious to hear whether a son or daughter was born to the lady of the mansion. Pedro Alvarez was certainly the least anxious.

      While the two foreigners were thus engaged, Moggie Druster, the cook, put her head out of a window and shouted—

      “It’s a braw laddie, sirs—a fine strapping bairn. It’s like to do weel, and so is it’s mother, poor lady.”

      “A what do you say it is, Mistress Moggie?” asked Father Mendez.

      “A braw laddie; a big bouncing boy, ye would ca’ him in English,” answered Moggie, with a slight touch of scorn in her tone.

      “A boy!” exclaimed the priest and the lieutenant almost at the same moment.

      The priest took several rapid turns up and down the courtyard with compressed lips and knitted brow, but said nothing.

      “And how goes the poor lady?” inquired Pedro Alvarez. “And good Mistress Moggie,” he continued, going up to her and whispering, “I tell her that her husband’s warmest friend is ready and at hand to assist and comfort her, as far as he has the power.”

      “Ay, that will I, Mr. Pedro; ye are a kind-hearted gentleman, that ye are,” answered Moggie, whose heart the honest lieutenant had completely won, in return for the culinary instruction he had afforded her.

      Poor Bertha Eswick was nearly worn to death from hurrying between her daughter’s cottage and the castle, though her young mistress required, and certainly obtained, by far the greatest share of her care. Healthy, however, as Bertha Morton had always appeared, soon after the birth of her child she caught a cold, and this produced an illness which made her mother and husband very anxious about her, and it became too evident, before long, to the anxious eyes of affection, that she held her life on a most precarious tenure. Hilda, on the contrary, seemed completely restored to health, both of body and mind. She had now a deeply interesting object in existence, and all her thoughts and attention were devoted to her infant.

      Lawrence Brindister did not return to the castle till late in the day on which Hilda’s child was born. He received the announcement with a look of incredulity on his countenance.

      “And so you tell me that an heir to Lunnasting is born,” he exclaimed to Bertha Eswick, whom he met as she was hurrying down for the first time from her mistress’s chamber. “Ha, ha, ha! how many heirs to Lunnasting are there, think ye? Never mind, good Bertha, ‘The prince will hae his ain again! The prince will hae his ain again!’ Who is the prince, think ye, Bertha? Ye little ken, but I do; the fool knows more than the wise man, or the wise woman either ha, ha, ha!”

      These remarks sorely puzzled Bertha Eswick, and made her think a great deal; she knew Lawrence Brindister thoroughly, and seldom failed to distinguish between the mere hallucinations which occasionally took possession of his mind, and the ideas which originated from facts. “If Marcus Wardhill is not the rightful possessor of Lunnasting, who can be the owner?” she asked herself, over and over again.

      Several weeks passed by, and young Don Hernan, for so Hilda’s new-born babe was called, gave every promise of being a remarkably healthy and robust child. Father Mendez seemed deeply interested in it, and took every opportunity of watching its progress, and examining it to ascertain that it was a thoroughly well-made healthy child.

      At length the father gave notice that he was going to Lerwick: he went, and some of the household declared that they breathed far more freely than they had done for a very long time. Pedro Alvarez walked about with a more self-confident air than usual, and Lawrence sang and laughed and rattled away as had been his custom in former days; even Hilda looked as if she had been relieved of an incubus which had depressed her spirits. She said nothing; she did not even mention the name of Father Mendez, but if by chance she heard it, she gave a slight shudder, while the frown which grew on her brow showed that whatever the influence he had gained over her, it was not of a nature to which she willingly submitted. He had announced that he should not be absent more than three or four days; but more than a week elapsed and he did not return. As no one wished him back, this caused more surprise than regret. Ten days, then a fortnight, passed by, and the priest did not appear. At last Pedro Alvarez whispered his suspicions to Lawrence Brindister that the reverend father had played them a slippery trick, and left Shetland altogether; this idea was found to be correct, when Sandy McNab, the pedlar and great news-monger of the district, paid his next visit to Whalsey. A foreigner who, though somewhat disguised, was recognised as the Spanish priest, Father Mendez, had been observed going on board a ship bound for the south, and he had not since then been seen in Lerwick. The lieutenant was more than usually agitated when he heard this. “There is some mischief brewing,” he observed, the first moment he found Lawrence alone. “You and I must try to fathom it, if we can. You can be secret, Mr. Lawrence, and with such a man as that cunning priest to contend, with, we need all the caution we can exercise.”

      “Mum’s the word with me,” answered Lawrence, looking very sagacious; “I love not the priest more than you do, for I believe he would not scruple to stick a dagger in the back of his brother if that brother stood in the way of any object he wished to attain. What he aims at I do not know: whether or not he wishes to advance the interests of Hilda’s child, is what I want to discover.”

      Pedro shook his head. “Not he, Mr. Lawrence,” he answered: “he cares not for the fatherless or the widow. I have watched him narrowly: his aim was to get Donna Hilda completely under his thumb, so that he might rule her and her child. While he thought that there was a prospect of success he remained on here, but when he at length discovered that he had totally failed, or that he could not depend for an instant on maintaining his influence, he at once altered his whole plan. You must understand that when we left Spain there were three persons in existence who would by law succeed to the title and estates of the Marquis of Medea before Don Hernan de Escalante. He often told me that he himself never expected to inherit the property, and that he must find some other means of improving his fortunes. It is my belief, however, that Father Mendez, by some of the wonderful means at his disposal, knew