News of Robert’s illness soon reached Edinburgh, along with reports of his misconduct, profligacy, and intemperance, reports which were grossly exaggerated, together with many other slanderous falsehoods. And rumors of his poverty and the destitute condition of his family brought sorrow and anxiety to the hearts of many of his loyal friends, who were only too ready and willing to offer him all the help and assistance that would be needed, but they knew, too, his inflexible pride and independence, and realized how futile would be their offers of friendly assistance.
For some days Lady Nancy Gordon had been anxiously puzzling her brain for some thought or scheme whereby she could help the unfortunate Bard who was plunged in such depths of poverty and misfortune. She was thinking of him now as she sat at the harpsichord, her fingers wandering idly over the keyboard in a running accompaniment to her thoughts. Her father softly entered the room at this juncture, but she did not turn her head nor intimate that she was aware of his presence. Presently[340] her touch grew more and more tender. Anon she glided into one of those dreamily joyous, yet sorrowful, mazurkas, that remind one of gay wild flowers growing in rich profusion over silent and forgotten graves. Lady Nancy had reason to boast of herself, for she was a perfect mistress of the instrument—and as her fingers closed on the final chord, she wheeled round abruptly on the chair, and rising to her feet greeted her father with a tender smile. For a moment she regarded him in thoughtful silence, then as he laid down his paper, she walked up to him, a frown of displeasure wrinkling her smooth, white forehead.
“I think, father,” she said deliberately, with a haughty uptilt of her pretty nose, “I think it is perfectly disgraceful the way that hackney scribbler who writes for yon journal,” indicating the paper on the table, “either through malice or ignorance affixes such degrading epithets to the name of the Bard of Scotland, for by no other name will I ever speak of Robert Burns,” and she flashed an angry glance at the offending paper.
“Poor obstinate lad,” sighed the Duke thoughtfully. His mind went back to the day after the garden party at Glencairn Hall, when he had sent for Robert to honor them with his presence at Gordon House, and how the poet had taken offense at some thoughtless remark of his, given in kindly spirit; how with haughty pride, and wounded dignity,[341] he had gotten up from the table and after thanking them for their hospitality, declared he had not come to be insultingly patronized and pitied, and refusing to listen to reason, or explanation, he had left in bitter resentment and blind misunderstanding. Lady Nancy too was thinking the same thoughts, and after a moment’s meditation she looked into her father’s kindly face and remarked earnestly:
“Father, something must be done for him and his family at once.”
“But, my dear,” he meekly replied, “our hands are tied by his own obstinacy.”
“Can we not get up a subscription for him?” she asked. He shook his head slowly.
“’Twould be to no purpose, Nancy,” he returned thoughtfully. “He would refuse all offers of pecuniary aid. I know well his independent principles, and so do you.”
They talked over many plans and projects, but none seemed feasible, and they were about to give up in despair, when Henry Mackenzie was announced. He had just arrived from Ellisland, and immediately spoke of his visit to the poet, and under what painful conditions he had found him—told them of his promise to Burns to secure the office of supervisor for him, and had called to consult with his lordship concerning its bestowal.
Nancy listened with bated breath and tear-dimmed eyes as he spoke of the change in Robert, his poverty,[342] his indomitable courage and independence, in spite of the ravages of disease and the black, gloomy outlook for future prosperity.
“Nancy and I were just discussing some means of alleviating his distress as you entered,” said the Duke as Mr. Mackenzie finished his recital. “And it affords me much gratification to be able to assist him to the office of supervisor of the excise and its attendant increase of salary.”
“’Twill be a God-send to him, believe me, my lord,” returned Mr. Mackenzie feelingly.
“The news will be dispatched to him at once!” cried Nancy with sparkling eyes. “’Twill relieve his present distress of mind.”
With that assurance, Mr. Mackenzie rose, and thanking them for their kindness in behalf of the indigent poet, took his leave.
Having finished luncheon, the old Duke excused himself, and going to his study, he made out the necessary papers of promotion for the struggling exciseman, with many a shake of his head and pitying sigh for the ............