In fact, Lord Grange was what was called in his day "a discreet man."
He wished to avoid scandal, and bore a character for religious zeal,
which appears to have been on occasion a very serious burden not easily
borne. He dreaded scandal and notoriety, and therefore he shrouded his
great act of iniquity in the most profound secrecy. Moreover, he kept
a conscience--something that, like Rob Roy's honesty, might be called
a conscience "after a kind." He said pretty accurately of himself in
his _Diary_--"I have religion enough to spoil my relish and prosecution
of this world, and not enough to get me to the next." We may probably
believe that, even if he could have performed the deed with perfect
secrecy and safety, so far as this world is concerned, he would not
have murdered his wife, his conscience recoiling at the dreadful
crime--his fear of the world causing him to shrink from exposure.
Urged by these two conflicting motives, he adopted the expedient of
the secret removal to a desolate and distant spot, believing that he
had surrounded the whole project with a deep and impenetrable cloud of
mystery. Never was human foresight more signally set at naught. It was
this very machinery of intense mystery that, by ministering to one of
the cravings of the human imagination, has made the incident one of the
most notorious of human events. It is almost satisfactory to know that
this dreaded notoriety visited the hoary tyrant, for after he had for
nine years enjoyed in secret the success of his plot, and kept his fair
fame with the world, we find him, when legal proceedings were commenced
against him, bitterly saying that "strange stories were spread all
over the town of Edinburgh, and made the talk of coffee-houses and
tea-tables, and sent, as I have ground to apprehend, to several other
places of Great Britain."[20] One may notice, too, in the following
discontented mumblings, the bitterness with which he contemplated the
divulging of the secret,--it is in a letter to the imprisoned lady's
champion, Mr Hope of Rankeillor.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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