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diff --git a/40141-8.txt b/40141-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index d6d8008..0000000 --- a/40141-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,14071 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Red Rowans, by Flora Annie Steel - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Red Rowans - -Author: Flora Annie Steel - -Release Date: July 4, 2012 [EBook #40141] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RED ROWANS *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by -Google Books (New York Public Library) - - - - - - - - - - - -Transcriber's Notes: - - 1. Page scan source: - http://books.google.com/books?id=N48nAAAAMAAJ - (New York Public Library) - - 2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe]. - - - - - - - RED ROWANS - - - - - - - RED ROWANS - - - - - BY - - MRS. F. A. STEEL - - AUTHOR OF "MISS STUART'S LEGACY," ETC. - - - - - - New York - MACMILLAN AND CO. - AND LONDON - 1895 - _All rights reserved_ - - - - - - - Copyright, 1894, - By MACMILLAN AND CO. - - - - - - - RED ROWANS: A LOVE STORY. - - - - - PROLOGUE. - - "Love took up the Harp of Life and - .... smote the Chord of Self." - - -"Am I really like yon?" - -A small brown hand pointed peremptorily to a finished drawing on a -sketcher's easel hard by, and a pair of blue eyes frowned somewhat -imperiously at a young man, who, with one knee on the ground, was -busily searching in the long grass for a missing brush, while palette -and colours lay beside him ready to be packed up. The frown, however, -was lost on the back of his head, for he gave a decisive denial, -without turning round to look at the questioner. - -The girl's eyes shifted once more to the drawing, and an odd, wistful -curiosity came to her face as she took a step nearer to the easel. -What she saw there was really rather a clever study of herself as she -had been standing a few moments before, erect, yet with a kind of -caress towards the branch full of scarlet rowan berries, which one -round firm arm bent down from the tree above, against her glowing -face. There was a certain strength in the treatment; the artist had -caught something of the glorious richness of colouring in the figure -and its background, but the subject had been too much for him, and he -admitted it frankly. In truth, it would have needed a great painter to -have done Jeanie Duncan justice as she stood under the rowan tree that -autumn evening, and Paul Macleod was at best but a dabbler in art. -Still, it was a truthful likeness, though the nameless charm which -belongs to one face and not to another of equal beauty of form--in -other words, the mysterious power of attraction--had escaped pencil -and brush. There was nothing spiritual in this charm; it was -simply the power which physical beauty has sometimes to move the -imagination--almost the spiritual nature of men; and, such as it was, -it breathed from every curve of Jeanie Duncan's face and form. She was -very young, not more than seventeen at the most, and, as yet, in that -remote Highland glen, where every girl, regardless of her appearance, -had a jo, the pre-eminence of her own good looks had never dawned upon -her. So there was no mock humility in the words which followed on -rather a long pause. - -"I'll no be sae bonnie, I'm thinking." - -Something in her tone struck through even her companion's absorption; -for Paul Macleod was given to forgetting his world over trivialities. -He looked up sharply, rose hastily, stepped across to where she stood, -and laid his hand on her shoulder in easy familiarity. - -"Why, Jeanie, what's the matter now?" - -She moved away impatiently from his touch, and, as if from habit, her -arm, showing white under the russet bedgown she wore, went up to the -branch above her head. And there she stood once more with the ripe red -berries against her ripe red lips. - -"I'm sayin' I'll no be sae bonnie as yon." - -"Your eyes are not quite so blue, certainly; your cheeks not quite so -pink, your hair not quite so golden, nor your----" - -"That's enough, sir; ye needn't fash yourself more. I'm no for sale by -public roup. I was sayin' myself that I'll no be near sae bonnie as -yon." - -The rowan berries were being viciously stripped from their stems, and -allowed to fall in a defiant patter on the ground; yet there were -audible tears in the young voice. - -"You little goose! I didn't know you were so vain, Jeanie," he began. - -"I'm no vain," she interrupted, sharply. "It's no that, Mr. Paul. I -dinna care--at least no much--but if a lassie's bonnie----" she paused -suddenly and let the branch go. It swung back, sending a red shower of -overripe berries pattering round the girl and the man. - -"Well, Jeanie! If a lassie's bonnie?" repeated Paul Macleod, watching -the rapid changes in her vivid face with amused admiration; "if a -lassie's bonnie, what happens?" - -She confronted him with a certain dignity new to his experience of -her. - -"Ye ken fine, Mr. Paul, the difference it makes to a lassie if she is -real bonnie. Wasn't it yourself was lilting the 'Beggar-Maid' at me -the morn?" - -"Gracious Heavens, Jeanie! Ambitious as well! On which of the crowned -heads of Europe have you set your young affections? Tell me, that I -may kill him!" - -His arm slipped easily to her waist, and he bent to look in the face -which fell as it were before his touch. Yet it was paler than it had -been; for Jeanie Duncan neither giggled nor blushed. - -"It's no matter where I set my heart," she said, curtly, "when I'm no -bonnie." - -"Who said so? Not I," he remarked, coolly. - -"You said my eyes were no sae blue, my lips no sae red, my hair----" - -"Thank heaven they're not! Why, Jeanie! You must surely know that you -are a thousand times more beautiful than that--that chromo-lithograph -over there, which is only fit for a second-class Christmas number or -an undergraduate's room!" - -She withdrew herself from his arm, looking at him doubtfully, ready to -flare up in an instant. - -"You're no pokin' fun at me?" - -"Poking fun! Why"--his voice deepened suddenly, he stretched his hand -towards her again--"you are simply the most beautiful woman I have -ever seen." - -There was no mistaking the ring of reality in his tone, and yet there -was nothing emotional about it. He seemed to be asserting the fact as -much for his own benefit as for hers; and she also was lost in -herself, in her own eagerness, as she looked again at the portrait. - -"But it's real bonnie, Mr. Paul! Will it be as bonnie as the -Beggar-Maid?" - -"Still harping upon kings!" he said, coming back to her lightly. "Take -my advice, Jeanie, and be content with commoners." - -"But if I'm no content?" - -"Uneasy lies the head! Don't you remember my reading that to you the -other day?" - -She flashed round on him in an instant, superb in her quick response, -her quick resentment. - -"I mind mony a thing ye've read, mony a thing ye've said, mony a thing -ye've done. I've a deal to mind; too much, may be." - -It came as a shock to Paul Macleod. For his heart had, as yet, an -uncomfortable knack of acknowledging the truth. His head, however, -came to the rescue as usual, by swift denial that those long days -spent in painting Jeanie's portrait under the rowan tree were hardly -wise. - -"One can't have too much of a good thing, and it has been pleasant, -hasn't it?" - -"Mither says it's bin a sair waste o' time," replied the girl, -evasively. - -"I haven't wasted mine," retorted the young man airily. "Just look at -that masterpiece! And I've been as good as a quarter's schooling to -you, little one; think of the information I've imparted to my model, -the books I've lent, the--the things I've taught----" - -"Aye. You've taught me a deal. I ken that fine." - -He gave an impatient toss of his head as he turned away to pack up his -belongings; the girl helping him silently as if accustomed to the -task. - -Not a soul was in sight, though a wreath of blue peat smoke behind a -neighbouring clump of firs showed the near presence of a cottage. Save -for this one sign there was no trace of humanity in the scene except -those two in the foreground; both in their way types of youth, health, -and beauty--of physical nature at its best. But the solitude was not -silent. A breeze coming up with sunsetting rustled the rowan leaves, -and surged among the silver firs, in echo, as it were, to the long -hush of distant breakers on a rocky shore which came rhythmically to -mingle with the nearer rush of the burns streaking the hillside; while -far and near the air was filled with the wailing cry of lambs newly -separated from the ewes; most melancholy and depressing of all sounds, -especially when the sadness of coming night settles over earth and -sky, sending the shadows to creep up the hillsides and drive the -sunshine before their purple battalions. A veritable battle, this, of -assault and defence; each point of vantage, each knoll held by the -besieged until, surrounded by the enemy, the sunlight dies by inches, -gallantly, hopelessly, and the struggle begins again higher up. - -The girl and boy--for Paul Macleod was still in the early -twenties--felt oppressed by their surroundings, and after the manner -of youthful humanity they resented a feeling which had no foundation -in themselves. Were they not happy, alive to the uttermost, ready to -face the unknown, eager for the experience which the world seemed to -find so dreary? Why should they be saddened by things which were not -as _they_ were; which had had their day, or did not care to have it? - -"Come with me as far as the gate, Jeanie," he said, impatiently. "Ah! -I know you don't generally, but you might to-day. Then you can lock -it. If any of old Mackenzie's lambs were to get through to their -mothers he would lay the blame on you." - -"Why not to you, Mr. Paul?" - -He laughed rather contemptuously. "Because the road leads to your -croft, not mine; besides, no one ever lays blame to me. I never get -into trouble, somehow. I have all the luck that way, it seems, while -my brother--who is really no worse, I suppose--is always in hot water. -I never saw such a fellow." - -"They're saying," began Jeanie--half to cover the fact that she had -taken the first step down the sheep track--"that the laird----" she -stopped abruptly and looked furtively at her companion. - -"You may as well tell me what they are saying, Jeanie," he remarked, -coolly. "You always have to in the end, you know, and so there is no -use in making a fuss." - -She was not a girl to be at every one's command, but sooner or later -most women find it pleasant to be under orders, for a time, at any -rate; doubtless as the result of that past slavery of which we hear so -much nowadays. The feeling will be eradicated in the next generation -or so, but it must be allowed for in this. - -"They're sayin' Gleneira will have to sell the place, and"--she looked -at the face beside her critically, as if to judge how far she might -go--"they're sayin' it's a pity you were no the laird, Mr. Paul, for -you love every stick and stone about, and he is never coming near it -at all, at all." - -The young man walked on in silence. - -"Did ye know that I've never seen the laird, Mr. Paul, though me an' -mither has lived at the croft since I can mind anything; but, then, -she is no going down the strath, and he is no carin' for the fishin', -as you are; you're knowin' every stone in the river, I'm thinkin'." - -He turned to her with a quick laugh as if to dismiss the subject. "And -every face beside it; for I like pretty things, and some of them are -pretty. I'll tell you what it is, Jeanie, Gleneira's the most -beautiful place I ever saw; and you are the most beautiful girl in it. -Beggar-Maids haven't a chance, so I shall expect to be invited to your -nuptials with King Cophetua; a poor laird's Jock like myself can't -compete with a crowned head." The bitterness of his tone had more to -do with the prospect of having to let Gleneira go, than to the -manifest difficulty of appropriating Jeanie Duncan without offending -his head or her heart. - -"There's better worth having than crowns, maybe," said the girl, -doggedly. - -"Right! crowned heads may be penniless; let us say an old monarch wi' -siller." - -"There's better worth having than siller, maybe." - -Paul looked at her curiously. Apparently it was not for nothing that -he had amused his sitter by reciting the almost endless repertoire of -old ballads and songs in which he had taken delight since his earliest -boyhood. For it was part of his rather complex nature that he should -admire the romance and sentiment in which, with the easily adopted -cynicism of a clever lad, he professed to disbelieve. It suited him as -a refuge from himself; and yet the fact that Jeanie Duncan had -accepted this admiration as a proof of eternal truth did not displease -him. - -"Better worth than siller!" he echoed, wilfully provoking the answer -which he knew would come. "Why! there is nothing better worth than -siller--in the end." - -"Aye, there is," she put in confidently, "there's love. You've tell't -me the sang, many a time;--It's love that gar's the world gang round." - -Was it? They stood at the gate together, she holding it open for him -to pass, and the question came upon him suddenly. The old question -which comes to most men. Was it worth it? Should he, or should he not, -go the commonplace way of the world, and take what he could get? Yes, -if he could take it without bringing something into his life for ever, -which in all human probability he would not care to keep--_for ever_. -Even memory was a tie; and yet--his heart beat quicker, and the -knowledge that passion was beginning to disturb the balance of his -reason came home to him, bringing with it the same quick denial with -which he had met his own doubt as to the wisdom of the past. It was -his way of defending the emotional side of his nature. - -"Take care, Jeanie!" he said, seizing on the first commonplace detail -which met his eye, "that gate is newly tarred; you'll dirty your -hands." - -For the first time the girl challenged him deliberately. - -"I'm no carin'," she said defiantly, "my hands is used to dirt. I'm -not like you. It'll no hurt me." - -She closed the gate behind him sturdily, fastening the padlock, and -then without another word turned to go. In so doing she roused in an -instant all his obstinacy, all the imperious contrariety which would -not tolerate the decision of another, even though it tallied with his -own. - -"Are you going without saying good-bye, Jeanie? That's rude," he -began, stretching his hand over the gate, and once more wilfully -provoking a situation. "Nonsense! The least you can do is to shake -hands, and say thank you for all the benefits----" - -He paused, and the next instant had vaulted over the gate and was -kissing away her tears and calling everything to witness that he had -not meant to be unkind, that she was the dearest little girl in -creation. Both of which assertions were absolutely true to him at the -time; she had looked too bewilderingly sweet in her sudden burst of -grief for prudence. - -For the next half-hour, if there be another motive power besides Love -behind the veiled mystery of Life bidding the world go round, these -two young people did not trouble themselves about it. The descending -mists crept down to meet the shadows, the shadows crept up to meet the -mists, but sea and sky and land were full of light for the boy and -girl absorbed in the vast selfishness of passion. So lost in the -glamour with which the great snare for youth and freedom is gilded, -that neither of them thought at all of the probable ending to such a -fair beginning. Jeanie, because to her this new emotion was something -divine; Paul, because her estimate of it aided a certain -fastidiousness which, in the absence of better motives, had served -hitherto to keep him fairly straight. So, in a measure, the idyllic -beauty of the position as they sate, side by side on a lichen-covered -stone looking into each other's eyes, and supremely satisfied with -each other's appearance, served to make Paul Macleod's professions -more passionate than they would have been had she been less innocent. - -It was not until with a wrench he had acknowledged that it really was -time for her to be going home, and he was striding down the road -alone, that a chill came over him with the question-- - -"_Que diable allait il faire dans cette galere?_" - -It was one which, like a floating log after the rapids are past, -always came to the surface of Paul Macleod's life when the turmoil of -emotion was over. This time it brought an unpleasant surprise with it, -for to tell truth he had imagined himself secure against assault. He -had considered the situation calmly; had, so to speak, played with it, -asserting his power of evading its natural consequences if he chose, -of accepting them if he considered it worth while. And now, with his -heart still beating, his face still flushed, and with Jeanie's kisses -still tingling on his lips, it was no use denying that he had been -taken by storm. And it annoyed him. Suddenly the thought that it was -just the sort of scrape his brother would have fallen into came to -enhance the odd contempt which Paul Macleod's head always had for his -heart. The certainty, however, that he shared that brother's extremely -emotional nature was so unwelcome that it served for a time to -strengthen him in denial of his own weakness of will. After all, -impulse was the essence of passion. Had he not, recognising this, -voluntarily bade reason and prudence step aside. Would not any man -have been a fool to think twice of the future with Jeanie Duncan's -face ready to be kissed? It was worth something; in a way it was worth -all the rest of the world put together. So the serio-comedy might have -ended as such serio-comedies usually do but for the merest triviality; -nothing more nor less than the perception that he had tarred his hands -in vaulting over the gate! The offending stains sobered him, as no -advice, no reasoning, no reproof, could have done. To begin with, -there was no possibility of denying to himself that, be Love what it -may, he, Paul Macleod, would never in a calm moment of volition have -dirtied his hands in that fashion. He hated to be touched or soiled by -common things, without, as it were, a "by your leave." Then there was -a prophetic tinge in the consequences of his setting barriers at -defiance which appealed to his imagination. After all, would it be -worth while to carry about for the rest of your life an indelible mark -of a past pleasure, which could scarcely fail to become a disagreeable -reminiscence, no matter what was the _denouement_ of the present -situation? Marriage? Hardly that. Not only was he too poor to marry -for love, but was it by any means certain that such love as this was -worth the sacrifice of freedom. On the other hand, the only possible -alternative was, to begin with, such shocking bad form. The Macleods -of Gleneira had always kept straight in Gleneira itself. Besides, if -he harmed the girl in any way, he knew perfectly well that the regret -would be a tie to him all his life. That was the worst of having an -imagination. Other men might do it; he could not, if only for his own -sake. Then there was Jeanie, to think of poor little Jeanie, who -didn't even grasp the fact that she was in danger--who would---- - -Ah! Was it worth while? The question came back insistently, as, with a -plentiful supply of the salt butter recommended by the housekeeper at -Gleneira, he tried to get rid of the tar. He was no milksop, though he -liked delicate surroundings, and found a certain refinement necessary -to his comfort, but, if he had no objections to soiling his hands in -obedience to his own sovereign will and pleasure, he was always eager -to have them clean again. And so it was with his life. - -Poor little Jeanie Duncan! She in her innocent self-abandonment would -have welcomed anything which would have marked her as his indelibly. -And yet a real regard for her prompted his calculations. If he had -held her cheaper he would not have dreaded the remorse which would be -a tie to him all his life. It never occurred to him that this -squeamishness had come too late, or that the fine-weather flirtation -had in itself done the mischief; that the injury to an innocent girl -lies in the mind only. - -"Tell Donald that I shall want the light cart at five to-morrow -morning. I have to catch the Oban steamer," he said to the astonished -housekeeper as he sate down to his solitary dinner; for he had come to -Gleneira with the intention of spending long-leave in pottering about -the old place with gun and rod. - -So while Jeanie Duncan slept the sleep of perfect content, her lover -drove past the cottage in the grey mist of a rainy autumn morning -feeling intensely virtuous; and all the more so because his heart -really ached, even at the sight of the tarred gate. And no doubt -nine-tenths of the men he knew would have applauded his resolution in -running away, patted him on the back, told him he was a very fine -fellow, and said that but for his self-control the affair might have -ended miserably. Perhaps they would have been right; though, as a -matter of fact, Paul Macleod was running away from the natural -consequence of his own actions. - -Jeanie Duncan read his note of farewell with a scared white face. It -was gentle, regretful, kindly, and it killed her belief in Love for -ever. And unfortunately Love had not come to her in its sensual guise. -It had represented to her all the Truth, and Goodness, and Beauty in -the world. So she lost a good deal; and naturally enough a great -restlessness and desire for something to fill the empty space took -possession of her. Finally, when Spring drew on, and the first broods -were trying their wings, she--to use the phrase adopted by those who -tired of life in the remote glens--"thought of service in Glasgow." -Vague euphemism for much seeing of that unseen world beyond the hills. - -But while Paul Macleod in his travels carried with him the -consciousness of virtue, she had for memory the knowledge that she had -been weighed in the balance and found wanting. - -Two very different legacies from the same past. - - - - - CHAPTER I. - - -Within the long, low cottage the black smoke-polished rafters rose in -inky darkness above the rough whitewashed walls, and the mud floor -showed the traces of past leaks in many a hill and hollow. The two -tiny windows were set breathlessly agape, and through the open door a -flood of hot bright sunshine threw a bar of mote-speckled light across -the room, gilding the heads of the scholars who sat swinging their -legs on the benches and sending a sort of reflected glint from the -white wall up into the sombre shadow of the roof. Such was the -Episcopal Grant-in-Aid School of Gleneira one July day, some ten years -after Paul Macleod had driven down in the mist to catch the Oban -steamer. - -Without, was a pale, heat-blanched sky set in tall spectral-looking -hills which had lost contour and individuality in a haze, blending -rock and heather, grass and fern, hollows and heights, into one -uniform tint of transparent blue. Between the mountains there was a -little level growth of green corn flecked by yellow marigolds, white -ox-eyes, and scarlet poppies; then a stretch of dusty road, ending in -cool shadows of sycamore and pine, beside the school-house garden. - -A wonderful garden this. Of Liliputian size, yet holding in its tiny -clasp a specimen of almost every plant that grows and blows. Three -potato haulms, four cabbages, a dozen onions, half a yard of peas; a -tuft of parsley, two bronze-leaved beet-roots, a head of celery. This, -flanked by a raspberry cane, a gooseberry bush, and supported by an -edge of strawberry plants, constituted the kitchen garden. Beyond, in -the trim box-edged border leading to the school-house door, were -pansies, roses, geraniums, lilies, and peonies; every conceivable -flower, each family represented by one solitary scion. Last, not -least, the quaint drops of the Dielytra; which the children with -awestruck voices call "The Bishop." For when you strip away the pink, -sheathing petals, is there not inside a man in full white lawn -sleeves? And is not a man in lawn sleeves a disturbing element in a -remote Highland glen, where half the people are rigid Presbyterians? -Here in this little garden the bees hum lazily and the butterflies -come and go; sometimes one, misled by the stream of sunshine pouring -through the open door, floats in among the yawning scholars, rousing -them to momentary alertness and a faint wonder as to the ultimate fate -of the wanderer; whether he will philosophically give up the -enterprise or, foolishly persistent, lose himself amid the -smoke-blackened rafters. - -The passing interest, however, dies down again into the sleepy stolid -indifference which is the outward and visible sign of that inward -desire for freedom felt by each child in the school. No keen longing, -but simply a dull wish to be out on the hillside, down by the burn, -under the trees; anywhere away from catechisms, collects, or shoes and -stockings. The last being the worst infliction of all to these wild -little Highland colts accustomed for six days of the week to bare -feet, since the coarse knitted hose and hobnailed boots belonging to -the seventh are a direful aggravation of the tortures of Sunday -school; while even the glorious gentility bestowed by a pair of side -springs is but poor compensation for the discomfort to the wearer. - -Perhaps that was the reason why each pair of legs on the benches -swayed helplessly to the rhythm of a singularly unmelodious hymn which -the scholars were singing, led by the master in a muffled nasal chant. -The tune itself was old and quaint, having in its recurring semitones -a barbaric monotony which a lighter phrase here and there showed was -not so much due to the composition in itself as to its present -interpreter. The words were still more quaint, forming a sort of -Litany of the Prophets, with innumerable verses and many vain -repetitions. - -Nevertheless, it was an evident favourite with the children; partly, -it may be hoped, from its own intrinsic merits, mostly, it is to be -feared, from the startling novelties in Scripture history which it was -capable of promulgating when, as in the present case, the schoolmaster -was engaged in his secondary profession of postmaster. - -As the tune rose and fell, there came every now and again a pause, so -sudden, so absolute that a passer-by on the dusty road might well have -asked himself if some direful catastrophe had not occurred. Nothing of -the sort. A glance within would have shown him everything at its -usual; the scholars in rows, from the kilted urchin of four--guiltless -of English--to whom school is the art of sitting still, to the girl of -fourteen, blissfully conscious of a new silk handkerchief and the -admiration it excites in the bashful herd-boy on the opposite bench. -In the corner, at a table with a slanting desk, the master was busy -sorting the letters which Donald Post, as he is called, has just -brought in; the latter meanwhile mopping his hot face and disburdening -his bag of minor matters in the shape of tea, sugar, and bread, and -himself of the budget of news he has accumulated during his -fourteen-mile walk; in an undertone, however, for the hymn goes on. - -"_Whair is noo' the pro-phet Dan'l?_" droned the master, followed by a -wavering choir of childish trebles and gruff hobbledehoy voices, -"_Whair is noo' the pro-phet Dan'l?_" - -The exigencies of the tune necessitated a repetition of the momentous -question again and yet again, the tune dying away into a pause, during -which the master's attention wandered to a novel superscription on a -letter. The children held their breath, the hum of the bees outside -became audible, all nature seemed in suspense awaiting the answer. - -"I'm thinking it will be from Ameriky," hazarded the master -thoughtfully to Donald Post, and, the solution seeming satisfactory, -he returned with increased energy to the triumphant refrain - -"_Safe intil the Pro-mised Land_." - -The children caught it up _con amore_ with a vague feeling of relief. -A terrible thing indeed, to Presbyterians or Episcopalians alike, if -the Prophet Daniel had been left hanging between heaven and another -place! So great a relief, that the gay progress of the tune and the -saint was barely marred by the master's renewed interest in a -postcard; which distraction led him into making an unwarrantable -statement that-- - -"_He went up in a fiery char-yot_." - -True, the elder pupils tittered a little over the assertion, but the -young ones piped away contentedly, vociferously. The Promised Land -once attained, the means were necessarily quite a secondary -consideration; and mayhap to their simple imaginings a fiery chariot -was preferable to the den of lions. - -"_Where is noo' the twal A-postles?_" led off the master again, after -a whispered remark to Donald Post, which provoked so interesting a -reply that the fate of the twelve remained trembling in the balance -long enough for the old refrain to startle the scholars from growing -inattention. - -"_Safe intil the Promised Land_." - -The sound echoed up into the rafters. Truly a blessed relief to reach -the haven after delays and difficulties. - -"_They went through_"--began the master. But whether in orthodox -fashion it would have been "_great tri-bu-la-tion_," or whether, on -the principle of compensation, the den of lions would have been -allowed twelve saints, will never be known. The mote-speckled beam of -sunshine through the door was darkened by a slight girlish figure, the -children hustled to their feet with much clatter of the unaccustomed -boots and shoes, and the schoolmaster, drowning his last nasal note -under a guilty cough, busied himself over a registered letter. For -Miss Marjory Carmichael objected on principle to the Litany of the -Prophets. - -The rather imperious frown, struggling with an equally obstinate smile -which showed on the newcomer's face, vanished at the sight of Donald -Post. - -"Any for me?" she asked eagerly. It was a charming voice, full of -interest and totally devoid of anxiety. An acute ear would have told -at once that life had as yet brought nothing to the speaker which -would make post-time a delight or a dread. She had for instance no -right to expect a love-letter or a dun; and her eagerness was but the -desire of youth for something new, her expectancy only the girlish -belief in something which must surely come with the coming years. For -the rest, a winsome young lady with a pair of honest hazel eyes and -honest walking boots. - -"'Deed no, Miss Marjory," replied the schoolmaster, selecting a thin -envelope and holding it up shamelessly to the light--a bold stroke to -divert attention from the greater offence of the hymn, "Forbye ain wi' -the Glasky post-mark that will just be ain o' they weary circulars, -for as ye may see for yoursel', Miss Marjory, the inside o't's -leethographed." - -"Thank you, Mr. McColl," said the girl, severely, as she took the -letter, "but if you have no objection I should prefer finding out its -contents in a more straightforward fashion." - -"Surely! Surely!" Mr. McColl, having got a little more than he -expected, gave another exculpatory cough, and looked round to Donald -Post for moral support. Perhaps from a sense that he often needed a -like kindness, this was an appeal which the latter never refused, and -if he could not draw upon real reminiscence for a remark or anecdote -bearing on the point, he never had any hesitation in giving an -I. O. U. on fancy and so confounding his creditors. On the present -occasion, however, he was taken at a disadvantage, being engaged in -trying to conceal from Marjory's uncompromising eyes a bottle of -whiskey which formed a contraband item in his bag; consequently he had -only got as far as a preliminary murmur that "there wass a good mony -wass liking to be reading their ain letters but that it was James -Macniven"--when the schoolmaster plucked up courage for further -defence. - -"Aye! Aye! 'tis but natur'l to sinfu' man to be liking his ain. Not -that they circulars interestin' readin', even if a body is just set on -learnin' like Miss Marjory. And I'm thinkin' it will only be from a -wine mairchant likely. It's extraordinair' the number of circulars -they'll be sending out; but the whiskey is a' the same. Bad, filthy -stuff, what will give parral--y--ses to them that drinks it." - -This second bid for favour, accompanied as it was by an unfortunate -glance for support at Donald--who was struggling unsuccessfully with -the neck of the black bottle--proved too much for Marjory's dignity, -and the consequent smile encouraged Mr. McColl to go on, oblivious -apparently of his last remark. - -"And it's whiskey we shall all be wanting, and plenty of it, to drink -the young laird's health. But I was forgetting you could scarcely have -heard the news, Miss Marjory, since it is only coming in the post just -now. It is the laird, Miss Marjory, that is to be home to-morrow by -the boat!" - -The girl forgot an incipient frown in sheer surprise. "Here! Captain -Macleod?" - -"Aye! it's the machine is to meet him at the ferry, the light cart for -his traps, and the house to be ready." In his desire for importance -Mr. McColl in the last words had given himself away completely, for -Marjory lived at Gleneira Lodge with her cousin, the factor. - -"The house to be got ready! Impossible! Mrs. Cameron had heard nothing -when I came out. Where did the news come from?" Marjory's voice, -especially to those who knew and loved her, as these good folks did, -never admitted of refusal, so the postmaster coughed again between the -thumps of the office stamp, which he had begun to use in a hurry. - -"It will be Mistress Macniven that was telling Donald Post, and Donald -Post he will be telling it to me." The words came in a sort of -sing-song, echoed by Donald himself in a croon of conviction. - -"Hou-ay! it was Mistress Macniven wass tellin' it to me, and it iss me -that iss tellin' it to Mr. McColl, and it is fine news--tamn me, but -it is fine news whatever." - -A twinkle came to Marjory's eyes, for in her character of Grand -Inquisitress to the Glen, such startling language was too evidently a -drag across the trail. - -"But where did Mrs. Macniven hear it?" - -"Aye! aye!" assented Donald, rising to go abruptly, "that is what it -will be, but she was tellin' it to me, whatever." - -"I don't believe a word of it," continued the girl; "Captain Macleod -would have written to my cousin, I know. It is just idle gossip." - -This was too much for the postmaster, who posed, as well as he might, -for being an authority on such questions. In the present instance he -preferred the truth to incredulity. - -'"Deed, Miss Marjory," he said, with unblushing effrontery, "it'll -just be one o' they postcards." - -"Hou-ay!" echoed Donald, softly. "She'll be yon o' they postcards, -whatever." - -"A postcard! What postcard?" - -Mr. McColl handed her one with the air of a man who has done his duty. -"Will you be taking it with you, or shall I be giving it to Donald, -here?" - -Marjory looked at him with speechless indignation; at least, she -trusted that was her expression, though the keen sense of humour, -which is the natural heritage of the Celt, struggled with her dignity -at first. - -"I am really ashamed of you, Mr. McColl," she said at last, with -becoming severity. "Of you and Mrs. Macniven; you ought to know better -than pry into other folks' secrets." - -But now that the cat was out of the bag, the postmaster showed fight. -"'Deed, and I'm no for seeing it was a secret at all! It is a penny -people will be paying if they're needin' secrets. And the laird is not -so poor, but he would put a penny to it if he was caring; though yon -crabbed writin' they teach the gentlefolk nowadays, is as most as gude -as an envelope. Lorsh me! Miss Marjory, but my laddies would be -gettin' tawse for a postcard like yon. It was just awful ill to read." - -"To read! Mr. McColl, I really am surprised at you! It is most -dishonourable to read other people's letters," protested the girl, -with great heat. - -"Surely! Surely! but yon's a postcard." - -From this position he refused to budge an inch, being backed up in it -by Donald, who, being unable to read, was busy in stowing away various -letters in different hiding-places in his person, with a view to their -future safe delivery at the proper destination. "It was a ferry useful -thing," he said, "was postcards, and if Miss Marjory would mind it -wass, when old Mistress Macgregor died her sons wass sending to Oban -for the whiskey to come by the ferry. But it wass the day before the -buryin' that a postcard wass coming to say the whiskey was to be at -the pier. But young Peter's cart wass going to the ferry to fetch the -whiskey and he was meeting Peter and telling him of the postcard. So -if it had not been for the postcaird it wass no whiskey they would be -having to Mistress Macgregor's funeral, whatever." A judicious -mingling of fact and fiction which outlasted Marjory's wrath. She put -the cause of offence in her pocket, remarking pointedly that as Donald -had such a budget of important news to retail, that would most likely -be the quickest mode of delivery, and then turned to her task of -giving the children their usual Sunday lesson, which she began with -such a detailed homily on the duty towards your neighbour, that Mr. -McColl took the excuse of Donald's departure to accompany him into the -garden, and remain there until she passed on to another subject. - -For Marjory Carmichael ruled the Glen absolutely; perhaps because she -was the only young lady in it. Girls there were and plenty, but none -in her own class of life, and the result on her character had been to -make her at once confident and unconscious of her own powers. She was -not, for instance, at all aware what a very learned young person she -was, and the fact that she had been taught the differential calculus -and the theory of Greek accents affected her no more than it affects -the average young man of one-and-twenty. The consequence being a -restfulness which, as a rule, is sadly wanting in the clever girls of -the period, who never can forget their own superiority to the mass of -their female relations. Having been brought up entirely among men, her -strongest characteristic was not unnaturally an emotional reserve, and -up to the present her life had been pre-eminently favourable to the -preservation of that bloom which is as great a charm to a girl as it -is to a flower, and which morbid self-introspection utterly destroys. -To tell the truth, however, she was apt to be over contemptuous of -gush, while her hatred of scenes was quite masculine. In fact, at -one-and-twenty, Marjory knew more about her head than her heart, -chiefly because, as yet, the call on her affections had been very -small. Her father, a shiftless delicate dreamer, brought up by a -brother years his senior, had married against that brother's wish, the -offence being aggravated by the fact that the bride with whom he ran -away was his brother's ward. One of those calm but absolutely hopeless -quarrels ensued which come sometimes to divide one portion of a family -from the other, without apparently much regret on either side. The -young couple had the butterfly instinct, and lived for the present. -They also had the faculty for making friends in a light airy fashion, -and after various vicissitudes, borne with the gayest good temper, -some one managed to find him a post as consul in some odd little -seaport in the south, where sunshine kept them alive and contented -until Marjory chose to put in an appearance and cost her mother's -life. The blow seemed to make the husband still more dreamy and -unpractical than ever, and, when cholera carried him off suddenly four -years afterwards, he made no provision whatever for the child's -future, save a scrawl, written with difficulty at the last moment, -begging his brother to look after Marjory for the sake of old times. - -Perhaps it was the best thing he could have done, since nothing short -of despair would have affected Dr. Carmichael, who had by this time -become so absorbed in the effort to understand life that he had almost -forgotten how to feel it. People wondered why a man, who had gained a -European reputation for his researches, should have cared to linger on -in a remote country district like Gleneira, and some went so far as to -hint that something more than mere displeasure at his brother's -disobedience lay at the bottom of his dislike to the marriage and his -subsequent misanthropy. - -Be that as it may, his first look at little Marjory's curly head was -absolutely unemotional, and he remarked to his housekeeper that it was -a good thing she seemed to take more after her mother than her father, -who had always been a cause of anxiety. For the rest, it was a pity -she was not a boy. Orphans should always be boys; it simplified -matters so much for the relations. However, Mrs. Campbell, the -housekeeper, must make the best of it, and bring her up as a girl. He -could not. - -But Marjory took a different view of the situation, and before six -months had passed it dawned upon the Doctor that, as often as not, she -was trotting round with her doll in his shadow as he paced the garden, -or sitting in a corner of his study intent on some game of her own. - -She was a singularly silent unobjectionable child at such times; at -others, if he might judge from the sounds that reached him, quite the -reverse. He laid down his pen to watch her as she sate in the sunshine -by the window one day, and heard her instantly tell her doll, that if -she was naughty and disturbed Dr. Carmichael she must be sent into the -garden. Another day he came upon her in his chair poring over a Greek -treatise in an attitude which even he recognised as a faithful copy of -his own. Finally, he discovered that she had taught her doll to draw -geometrical figures such as she often saw on the papers littered about -the room. This palpable preference for him and his occupations being -distinctly flattering, he began to take more notice of her, and try -experiments with her memory. So, by degrees, becoming interested in -her quick intelligence, he deliberately began to educate her, as he -would have educated a boy, with a view to her making her own living in -the future. As indeed she would have to do, in the event of his death; -since years before her advent he had sunk all his private means in an -annuity, and the expenses of his scientific work did not allow of his -saving much. The prospect neither pleased nor displeased the girl. It -came simply, naturally, to her, as it does to a boy. On the other -hand, she certainly worked harder than any boy would have done, partly -because she took it for granted that the tasks set her by Dr. -Carmichael were very ordinary ones, and partly because of that -feminine tolerance of mere drudgery which makes it so difficult to -compare the intellectual work of a man and a woman. For while you can -safely assume that an undergraduate has not worked more than so many -hours or minutes a day, it is quite possible that a girl student may -have sate up half the night over a trivial exercise. The primal curse -on labour, it must be remembered, was not extended to the woman, who -had a peculiar ban of her own. - -So, by the time she was seventeen, Marjory Carmichael was learned -beyond her years in Greek and Latin, and displayed a genius for -mathematics which fairly surprised her uncle. Then he died suddenly, -leaving her to the guardianship of a distant relation and ardent -disciple in Edinburgh, who was instructed to spend what small sum -might remain, after paying just debts, on completing the girl's -education, and starting her, not before the age of twenty-one, in a -career; preferably teaching, which he considered the most suitable -opening for her. She was strong, he said, in the letter in which he -informed Dr. Kennedy of his wishes, and singularly sensible for a -girl, despite a distressing want of proportion in her estimate of -things. Being neither sentimental nor sensitive, she was not likely to -give trouble. So far good, but at the very end of the letter came a -remark showing that the old man was not quite the fossil he pretended -to be. It ran thus: "All this concerns her head only; of her heart I -know nothing. Let us hope she has none; for it is a terrible drawback -to a woman who has brains. Anyhow, it has had no education from me." - -The description somehow did not prepare Dr. Tom Kennedy for either the -face or manner which greeted him on his arrival at the house of -mourning, but then he himself had the softest heart in the world, and -the mere sight of a lonely slip of a thing in a black dress gave him a -pang. But that was only for a moment; five minutes afterwards he -wondered how that suggestion of kissing and comforting her in -semi-fatherly fashion could have arisen. Yet the same evening after -she had bidden him good-night with a little stilted hope that he would -be comfortable, the temptation returned with redoubled force, when, on -going into the study for another volume of the book he had taken up to -his bedroom to read, he found her fast asleep in the dead man's chair, -her arms flung out over the table, her cheek resting on one of the -ponderous volumes which had been the dead man's real companions. Her -fresh young face looked happy enough in its sleep, though the marks of -tears were still visible, and yet Dr. Kennedy felt another pang. Had -the child no better confidante than that musty, fusty old book? Yet he -did not dare to rouse her, even though the room struck cold and -dreary, for he felt that the knowledge that he had so far been witness -of her weakness would be an offence, a barrier between them, and that -was the last thing he desired. So he crept out of the room again -discreetly, and smoked another cigar over the not uninteresting -novelty of his guardianship. For Tom Kennedy was sentimental, and -gloried in the fact. - -"You are very kind," said Marjory to him, a day or two afterwards, -with a half-puzzled and critical appreciation of his tact and -consideration. "But I don't see why you should take such trouble about -me. I shall get on all right, I expect. I think it is a mistake that -uncle has forbidden my beginning work till I am twenty-one, but, as it -can't be helped, I must go on as I've been doing, I suppose. I would -rather not go to school if that can be arranged. You see I don't know -any girls, and I am not sure if I should get on with them. If I could -stop here, Mr. Wilson at the Manse would look over my work, and I -could come up to Edinburgh for my examinations, you know." - -Evidently his guardianship was not going to be a burden to him. This -clear-eyed young damsel, despite a very dainty feminine appearance, -was evidently quite capable of looking ahead. - -"I will do my best to arrange everything as you wish," he replied, -feeling somehow a little hurt in his feelings. "My great object, of -course, will be that you shall be as happy as possible." - -"Happy?" she echoed, quaintly. "Uncle never said anything about that. -I'm not sure if I want that sort of thing." - -"What sort of thing?" he put in, rather aghast. - -"Oh! nonsense, and all that; and yet----" She looked at him with -almost tragic earnestness. "I am not sure if I don't like it after -all. It is funny, but it is nice." - -"What is nice?" - -"You're being so kind. Only I think it would make me lazy, and that -wouldn't do at all. Uncle used to say I must never forget that I had -to earn my own living." - -"And I--well! I'm afraid I should like to make you forget it," he -answered; "but we needn't quarrel about it, I suppose. At any rate, -not for the next four years." - -"But I don't mean to quarrel with you at all," she said, very -sedately. "I mean to be friends; it is so much more convenient." -Perhaps it was on the whole; even though as the years went on Dr. -Thomas Kennedy, aged forty, began to wish that her twenty-first -birthday would find her willing to continue the tie on another -footing. And yet he recognised, not without a certain admiration, that -she was not likely to be happy, even if married to one whom she -trusted and liked as she trusted and liked him, unless she had first -faced the world by herself. Of course, if she were to fall in love it -would be different; then, like other women, she might take a certain -pride in giving up her future. But she was scarcely likely to fall in -love with him, unless he made love to her, and that was exactly what -he could not do. In a sort of whimsical way he told himself it would -not be fair, since in his heart of hearts he did not believe in the -master passion! not, at least, in the romantic form in which alone it -would appeal to a girl like Marjory. To affect her it must be -something very intense indeed; something, in short, which his infinite -tenderness for the girl prevented him from giving. Perhaps if there -had been any symptoms of another lover appearing on the scene all this -philosophic consideration might have disappeared under the pressure of -rudimentary jealousy; but there were none. Indeed, barring the -Episcopalian clergyman, who was quite out of the question, there was -no young man of Marjory's own rank, or near it, at Gleneira, where he -had arranged for her to stay on with a distant cousin of his own. And -neither Will Cameron, the factor, nor old Mr. Wilson, at the Manse, -nor any of the occasional visitors were more likely to stir the -romantic side of the girl's nature than he was himself. Less likely, -indeed, since he had the manifest charm of being a person of more -importance. In appearance he was a small, dark man with a vivacious -face and something of a foreign manner, the latter being due to his -having wandered about on the Continent for years seeking surgical -experience at the cannon's mouth. So, on his last visit to Gleneira, -where he spent all his rare holidays, he had told himself point-blank -that he of all men in the world was bound in honour not to take -advantage of his ward's innocence and undisguised affection. She was -exceptionally fitted for the future she had mapped out for herself, so -in a way he was bound to let her try it. - -Consequently, as she sate that July afternoon teaching the children -their duty to their neighbour, there was no _arričre pensée_ of any -kind in her affectionate reliance on Cousin Tom's unfailing interest. -That would last until she grew tired of teaching, and he grew old. -Then, always supposing that it was agreeable to both parties, they -might settle down somewhere and be the best of friends till death did -them part. - -Weary of teaching! That did not seem likely, to judge by the way she -taught; and yet through all her work she was conscious of that -postcard in her pocket; conscious of the fact that there was no -denying Donald's proposition, and that it brought great news whatever. -But as she followed the trooping children out of doors to the -horse-chestnut shade, she took no notice whatever of Mr. McColl's -evident desire to re-open the question, and, with a curt remark that -the children knew their duty to their neighbour admirably, she set off -with a light, rapid step down the white road. - -Mr. McColl looked after her admiringly, unresentfully. Miss Marjory -was Miss Marjory, and without her help his grant in aid would be but a -poor thing, what with the Bishop's lawn sleeves and the new standards; -both of which are stumbling-blocks in a remote Highland parish even -when there is no other school within ten miles. Well, well, it was -grand news for the Glen that the laird was to be home, and there were -others besides Miss Marjory who would be glad to hear it. - - - - - CHAPTER II. - - -Mr. McColl was right, as Marjory herself had ere long to acknowledge; -for she had not gone far ere quick steps echoed behind her, and, -looking round, she saw the Reverend James Gillespie trying to overtake -her. She paused in resigned vexation, experience having taught her the -wisdom of waiting for him; the fact being that the fusion point of -mind and body was with him extremely low, and heat had a disastrous -effect on both; so she waited--that honest walking boot of hers -beating a very girlish tattoo of impatience the while against a rock. - -"This is great news, Miss Marjory," he began, breathlessly. "Great -news--I may say, good news--is--is it not?" - -The latter rather alarmed inquiry being the result of a glance at her -face; for she was in a contradictory mood, and the Reverend James -never had any fixed opinions in minor matters. He took them from his -friends and was, in consequence, often in the position of a child who, -having filled both hands with biscuits, is suddenly offered a sweetie. -Even then he was quite ready to swallow the new contribution if it was -firmly put into his mouth. There was no little excuse for him, -however, since his present environment in a measure forced him to a -poor opinion of himself in the past. The fact being that until the age -of fifteen he had been nothing more than the son of a poor crofter on -the estate of Gleneira. A clever lad, no doubt, who might perchance -rise to something above his father's fate. And then the Bishop, on the -lookout for recruits to the Gaelic-speaking clergy necessary to carry -on the work in the remoter glens, where the Episcopal faith still -lingers, had chosen him out like Samuel for the service of the Lord. -It had been a veritable translation, for the Bishop, being High -Church, had exalted views of the priesthood. The result being that -James Gillespie, fulfilled with a virtuous desire to justify the -Bishop's choice, soon lost the small amount of individuality he had -originally possessed. Educated by the Bishop, ordained by the Bishop, -made the Bishop's chaplain in order that the Bishop might coach him -through the rocks of social etiquette, he became, not unnaturally, a -sort of automaton, safe so far as his knowledge of the Bishop's views -went, but no further. On these points he was logic proof; on others -the veriest weathercock at the mercy of every breeze that blew. For -the rest, a good-looking, florid, fair young man, dressed rigorously -in clerical costume. This again being in deference to the Bishop who, -honest man, having his fair share of the serpent's wisdom, saw the -necessity of hedging this prophet in his own country about with every -dignity which might serve to emphasise the difference between his past -and present. The more so because the sparse congregations amid the -fastnesses of the hills were in the charge of different pastors. Once -a month or so the Reverend Mr. Wilson, from the Manse miles away down -the Strath, would drive up in a machine, put up with the Camerons at -the Lodge, and deliver a very cut-and-dried little sermon in the -school-house. On these occasions the Reverend Mr. Gillespie used to -trudge over the hills with his surplice in a brown paper parcel, so -leaving the Geneva gown and bands a fair field while he delivered an -equally cut-and-dried little homily to the still more outlying -faithful in a barn. About this arrangement, necessitated by ancient -custom, even the Bishop constrained his tongue, seeing that Mr. Wilson -belonged to the Church of Scotland, as by law established, and, what -is more, to the very highest and driest portion of it. He was a -courtly old gentleman, with a white tie, yards long, wound round his -neck numberless times, and finished off by an odd little bow made out -of the extreme ends; a learned old man with a turn of the leg, -suggesting a youth when calves were visible, and a vast store of -classical quotations remaining over from the days when he lectured on -the humanities at St. Andrews. Neither did the Bishop consider the -Reverend Father Macdonald, who came once in three months or so, and -generally on a week day, an intruder. On the contrary, the Reverend -James had instructions to ask him to dinner, and, if it was a Friday, -to have cockle soup and stewed lentils for him; that is to say, if the -invitation was accepted, which it was not as a rule, the Father -preferring to eat potatoes and butter at the Camerons, and endure the -old lady's good-natured scorn, for the sake of hearing Marjory sing -Scotch songs and play Scarlatti. For Dr. Carmichael's one relaxation -had been, music, in which, as in other things, the girl had proved -herself to be an apt pupil. As often as not, too, on these occasions, -old Mrs. Cameron would send a man with the dogcart down the Strath to -fetch up Mr. Wilson, and then the two old enemies could fence at each -other courteously over the single glass of port, for which the Jesuit -had a dispensation. And, if the buttons seemed inclined to come off -the foils, Marjory, in the next room, would strike up, "Come, bring to -me a stoup o' wine, and bring it in a silver tassie." Then their old -heads would wag, and they would give over the endless battle for the -sake of hearing a "bonnie lassie" sing their favourite song. But it -was very different when the Free Church missioner came round, for he -was an earnest, red-haired person, who any day of the week would -gladly have testified against Black Prelacy to the bitter end of the -stake. He was a stumbling-block, even to Marjory, who professed calm -tolerance; but then those courtly old admirers of hers, to say nothing -of Cousin Tom's rather foreign manners, had spoilt her. So that amid -all her theories--the theories of clever youth instinct with the love -of justice and liberty--she could not help being repelled by the -roughness of life when, as it were, she touched and handled it. The -people themselves, however, thought it a sign of strength to bang the -pulpit and bellow, as, indeed, it was, undoubtedly. So the consensus -of opinion in all sects was that the Free Church had the finest -preacher. Not that it mattered much in a place where church-going on a -Sunday was a recognised dissipation, which had to last for a week. -Thus, no matter who was in the pulpit, the little school-house on a -fine day overflowed; and even the Reverend Father Macdonald had not a -few applicants for a blessing against witchcraft if the cows did not -milk properly. This, however, was done on the sly, by accident as it -were, when the petitioners chanced to meet priestly authority in the -post-office. - -In order, therefore, to hold his own amid the hosts of Midian, the -Reverend James spent quite a large slice of his modest income on -all-round collars and silk cassocks; and even when the old Adam arose -at the sight of a red-brown river, and he _had_ to creep away with a -hazel rod and a bag of worms to some seething pool where the sea-trout -lay, he still kept to his professional garments and sate on a rock -with his long coat-tails pinned behind his back, looking like a -gigantic crow about to fly. - -Despite this and other ridiculous habits, Marjory, with her clear, -honest eyes saw the real desire to do his duty to Church and State -underlying the young man's indecision; but, fortunately for him, she -had no notion that of late this had taken the form of wishing to marry -her. The fact being that in a recent visit the Bishop had not only -remarked that the parish clergy should be the husbands of one wife, -but had rather pointedly referred to the immense improvement in the -school standard, since Miss Carmichael had begun to practise teaching -there. The direct consequence of which had been to make the Reverend -James believe himself in love, and at the same time to make him regard -all Marjory's opinions as episcopally blessed. An effort needing -mental gymnastics of the highest class, especially when, as now, she -was bent on mischief. - -"Good news," she echoed. "Well, I hardly know; that must surely depend -entirely on what sort of person Captain Macleod turns out to be." This -she knew must, to begin with, savour of blasphemy to one born and bred -on the estate. - -"Naturally, I may say, of course, but----" he looked at her -pathetically, like a dog when asked to perform a difficult trick; -"you--you--you surely have not heard anything against him, have you?" - -Marjory's eyes twinkled, but only for a moment; after all it was poor -fun depolarising his mental compass. - -"Anything against him? No; except that he is too good-looking, I am -told." - -"Handsome is that handsome does," remarked the Reverend James, -cheerfully; it was a favourite proverb at the palace, and he felt sure -of his ground. Unfortunately, since it roused Marjory to -contradiction. - -"Nonsense! As if all the goodness in the world could change a snub -nose into a Grecian." - -"But surely, my dear Miss Marjory," protested the young man feebly, -"the proverb does not assert--em--that sort of thing. I have always -understood it--em--I mean the latter half--perhaps I should say the -simile--alludes to moral worth." - -"Now, Mr. Gillespie! does that mean you consider beauty and goodness -to be the same, or simply that you deny the value of physical beauty -altogether?" asked Marjory in aggrieved tones. - -"I--I don't think I mean either," he replied, so naively that she was -obliged to laugh; "but indeed," he went on, "it seems to me, as I -remember the Bishop said in his sermon on All Souls, that beauty and -goodness are in a measure synonymous, that----" - -"Do you mean," she interrupted hastily, but with a sort of quick -hesitation which came often to her speech when she was really -interested, "that not only are good things necessarily beautiful in a -way, but that beautiful things must be good? Look at Tito! All his -vileness did not mar the perfection of his beauty. It was a tower of -strength to him till the day of his death. It must be so--you can't -help it. The thing is good in itself." - -Never having read "Romola," the Reverend James fell back discreetly on -a more unimpeachable proverb, by remarking, with the air of a man -making a valuable contribution to the argument:-- - -"Beauty is but skin deep." - -"Who wants it to be more?" she asked, hotly. "That is all you see. No -one asks whether the muscles follow the proper curves beneath the -skin, or the bones are strong. And, after all, it seems to me that -goodness and beauty appeal to the same chord--the love of everything -that is clear, defined, orderly. Ugliness is so incoherent, so -indistinct, Mr. Gillespie! Did it ever strike you how unnecessarily -ugly we all are? Now, don't deny the fact. Remember the Bishop's hymn -says, 'only man is vile.'" - -"But that really does apply to his moral." - -"I don't agree with you. Some of us, perhaps, are wicked, but most of -us are hideous." - -"Do you really think so?" And the self-conscious look on his smug, -comely face was too much for her gravity. She laughed merrily. - -"There are exceptions to every rule, Mr. Gillespie; I only meant to -say that since the strongest and best, and therefore, according to -you, the most beautiful, had survived in the struggle for -existence----" - -"By the bye," he put in, for him quite eagerly, "the Bishop has just -sent me an excellent reply to the Darwinian----" - -Marjory went on remorselessly, "That we were singularly plain-looking, -as a rule. For my part I would gladly have eliminated the Carmichael -nose if I had had any choice in the matter." - -The remark left a grand opening for a compliment if he could at the -moment have thought of anything save the crude assertion that he -considered it the most beautiful nose in the world. So he remained -silent, casting about in his mind for a less absolute form, with such -concentrated admiration in his face, that even Marjory could not avoid -noticing it, and with a sudden curl of her lip, changed the subject by -asking him, in her best categorical manner, when he had last been to -see old Peggy, who was bad with her rheumatism. Now old Peggy's -cottage was not an inviting-looking abode--a boulder-built hut with a -peat roof and a rudimentary chimney--and it lay close by in a hollow -between the road and a bog full of waving cotton grass. So the -Reverend James regretfully gave up his opportunity as lost for the -time; but a gleam of manly resolution came to him as he looked first -at the hut, then down the road, the pleasant sunshiny road stretching -away to where a thin blue smoke from the chimneys of Gleneira Lodge -rose above the silver firs and copper beeches to the right of the big -house. All that distance to traverse with Marjory, as against Peggy -Duncan the pauper, who was bad enough at the best, but, with the -rheumatism, simply appalling. - -"I'm afraid I haven't time to-day," he began, with admirable regret, -which, however, changed to consternation as his companion paused and -held out her hand. - -"Then good-bye! I promised to look in on my way home. And on the whole -it is better as it is, for it is positively unsafe to visit old Peggy -in couples when she is ill. So long as she has but one visitor, you -know, the fear of losing a gossip bridles her tongue; but when there -are two, one is always a scapegoat." Now, Marjory looked at her -companion gravely, and spoke deliberately, "You wouldn't, I'm sure, -care to hear me abused; so it is wiser for me to go alone. Good-bye." - -She was off as she spoke down the brae, leaving him disappointed, yet -still vaguely content, the very thought of in the future having a wife -who would go and visit old Peggy filling him with peace, for that old -woman was a sore trial to his dignity, since she invariably made a -point of remembering his youth as a barefoot cotter's boy. But then at -heart she was a Presbyterian who did not believe in the sanctity of -orders. So he went on his way down the loch fairly satisfied with -himself, while Marjory took his place beside the sick bed of the -rheumatic old woman. - -The girl gave one regretful glance at the sunshine before she dived -into the darkness of the cottage. It was mean and squalid in the -extreme, yet to those accustomed to the dirt and warmth, the -discomfort and the cosiness of a Highland hut, its air of tidiness was -unusual. The mud floor was even and clean swept, the single pane of -glass doing duty as a window was neither broken nor patched with rags, -while the crazy, smoke-blackened dresser was ranged with common -earthenware. A gathering peat, just edged with fire, lay on the huge -stone hearth, above which a tiny black pot hung in the thin column of -pale blue smoke which, as it rose to the dim rafters, was illumined by -the only ray of sunlight in the house--that which streamed through the -round hole in the roof which did duty as a chimney. Beside the hearth -a fair-haired boy of about six lay fast asleep, while from a settle in -the darkness a pair of gleaming green eyes revealed the presence of a -cat. - -Nothing more to be seen by Marjory's sun-blinded sight. Not a sound to -be heard, until suddenly a grey hen roosting in the rafters began to -cluck uproariously with much sidelong prancings of a pair of yellow -legs, and downward dips of a quaint, irascible, tufted head. Instantly -from a recess bed arose a patient moan and a pious aspiration that the -Lord's will might be done at all costs. - -"Good afternoon, Peggy! I hope your sleep has done you good," said -Marjory blithely, as she sate down on the edge of the bed, and looked -steadily at the occupant's face. Old Peggy Duncan, with the assertion -that she had not slept for days trembling on her tongue, wavered -before the girl's decision, and murmured something about closing an -eye. - -"That is better than nothing, isn't it?" continued the uncompromising -visitor. "And as for wee Paulie! he's been having a fine snooze. -Haven't you, Paulie?" - -The child by the fire, rubbing his eyes drowsily, smiled back at her -rather sheepishly. - -"'Deed it's so," broke in the querulous voice, satisfied at finding a -legitimate object for complaint. "He's just the laziest, weariest -wean, and no caring a tinker's damn for his nanny. Just lyin' -sleepin', and me in an agony. Could ye not watch?--Ay!--Ay! But what -can one expect o' a child o' the devil----" - -"Peggy! You're a wicked old woman to speak like that. Paul does more -than most boys twice his age. I'll be bound he has been stuffing -indoors with you all day long without a grumble. Run away now, dear -laddie, and get the fresh air." - -The order, spoken in Gaelic, produced a sudden flash of life all over -the little fellow, and he was out of the door in a second. Marjory -looked after him with a pleasant smile. - -"He is a pretty boy, isn't he, Peggy?--quite the prettiest in the -glen." - -"Aye! he has the curse o' beauty. Sae had his mither. Ay! an' her -father before her. Thank the Lord, Miss Marjory, you're no bonnie." - -"I shall do nothing of the sort, Peggy. And how is the pain? Better -for that liniment I rubbed in yesterday?" - -"Better!" There was a world of satisfied scorn in the old voice. -"Better frae ae teaspoonful o' stuff. Lord be gude to us, Miss -Marjory! Naethin' short o' a meeracle'll better me, an' ye talk o' a -carnal rubbin' doing it." - -"It would be a miracle if it did, wouldn't it, Peggy?" retorted the -girl, calmly; "but if it did no good at all there is no use in -repeating it, so I'll be off and leave you to your sleep again." - -"Hoot awa! an' you tired wi' your walk. Just sit ye down and rest a -bit and dinna mind me. I'm used to being no minded, ye ken. Wha minds -a bit pauper body but the pairish? Two an' saxpence a week, an' a boll -o' meal term-day that's no meal at a', but just grits; grits and -dirt. I'm no wondering that they puts soddy (soda) until't at the -poor's-house to gar't swall. Ay! Aye! and me lyin' a week without -spiritual food, an' I cravin' for it from anyone." - -"Now, Peggy, you know quite well you told Mr. Gillespie you wanted -none of his priestcraft, the last time he was here. You are just a -bad, ungrateful old woman, and I've a great mind to go away without -making you a cup of tea or telling you the news." - -The old face set close in its white cap frills brightened visibly at -the last words. "Weel! Weel! I must na be hard on the puir lad. There -be divers gifts, an' may be he's gotten one somewhere. And but for the -pain makin' me clean wud, I'd have had the tea for you. Just cry on -Paulie--the kettle's on the fire, and he'll no be long, puir lammie." - -But Marjory preferred to leave the boy to his play, and set about the -task herself quickly, dexterously, while old Peggy watched her with -sagacious eyes; for she herself had been a notable worker, and had -still a regretful admiration for the capability in others. Rather a -despicable object, perhaps, this fretful rheumatic old woman, -grumbling and growling at everything; and yet, could the secrets of -all hearts be revealed, she might have seemed more of a heroine and -martyr than many a canonised saint. A youth of ceaseless plodding toil -had been given in stolid honesty to her master's interests; then late -in life, when the hopes of womanhood were almost over, had come a -brief St. Martin's summer, where a wandering Englishman engaged on -some mining venture close by had married the sober lass as a means of -being comfortable for the time, and after a year had deserted her -shamefully, leaving her to work harder than ever for the sake of the -little daughter who remained to show that Peggy's short spell of love -had not been a dream. Some, indeed, there were who maintained that it -had never had any solid foundation, and that the marriage had been but -a pretence. This coming to the mother's ears had roused in her a -fierce anger, which in its turn gave rise to a passionate desire to -prove this child of hers to be above their petty spite, superior to -their plodding lives. And in a measure she succeeded. Jeanie Duncan -grew up in what, to a girl of her class, was luxury, while her mother -sold brown sugar, herrings, tarred rope, and tobacco--in fact, kept a -general store. Until the girl, like many another, fretted at home, -sought service, and disappeared beyond the circle of blue hills; to be -followed after a time by her mother. - -But though pretty Jeanie Duncan never returned, old Peggy did, -bringing with her a baby. Not an unusual sequel to the story; and so, -though the neighbours shook their heads, there was no need to question -the woman. What else could have been expected from flighty Jeanie -Duncan, whose head had been turned by Mr. Paul's painting her picture. -And Peggy said nothing, even while she concealed nothing. Silent from -her youth, she was more silent than ever as she reverted again to the -hard toil of those early days, until one January the cold settled into -her ill-clad old bones when she was gathering sticks in the woods and -left her a cripple. And then the loss of her independence broke her -spirit and turned her into a fretful scold. A dreary, toil-worn, -barren youth, desertion, degradation, outrage of love and pride--all -this gamut of grief had she sounded without an answering groan. The -straw which broke her patience was not the hardness but the charity of -her fellow-creatures. A most irrational old lady, no doubt, yet not -altogether blameworthy in her self-satisfied appreciation of the tea -"that was no from the pairish, praise be to the Lord," and very human, -certainly, in her eager desire to hear the news of that parish. Yet -her face when Marjory told her of the laird's return seemed to settle -into a strange indifference. "The laird! It will be Mr. Paul you're -meaning." - -"Yes, Mr. Paul; he is the laird now, you know, and he hasn't been here -for nine years. He has been away in India with his regiment." - -"Lord sakes! as if I did na' know that; he has been the laird these -sax years gone. I mind it weel. And I mind him, too; ower weel, maybe. -A winsome laddie, fond of painting; but 'Thou shalt not make to -thyself the likeness,' ye ken. So he is coming home at last--bonnie -nae doot; and she, my Jeanie, is dust and ashes." - -It was seldom that Peggy alluded to her dead daughter, and there was a -wistful look in the crabbed old face. Marjory, quickly responsive, -stroked the crabbed old hand which lay on the coverlet gently; but old -Peggy would none of her sympathy and drew it away, while her voice -took almost a triumphant tone. - -"Ay! Dust and ashes! That's what we a' come to. Young and auld, Miss -Marjory, my dear, rich and poor. Ay! and pairish officers, forbye; -it's no to be escapit, thank the Lord! And if you're going ye might -just open yon drawer in the aumry an' tak' oot my deid claes. There's -a bonnie blaze in the fire that maun-na be wasted, and in life we are -in death, ye ken, so it's as weel to hae them aired. There's a deal o' -sickness comin' frae damp linen, and I'm sae subjec' to the -rheumatism." - -"That would be one of the ills you would leave behind you, Peggy," -suggested Marjory, with a tender smile at the oddity of the old -woman's thought. - -"I'm sure I hope sae, for it wad be maist terrible in the wings," -replied Peggy, gravely. Her eyes, following the girl as she complied -with the grim request, lit up with satisfaction, her mouth trembled in -the effort for calm indifference. - -"Ay! sure enough it's the best of cloth, yon, and there is twa rows -back stitchin' as fine as fine, and a frill down the front. Some has a -lace edgin', but I'm no sure o' furbelows. It wad no be decent for me -to come before my Maker prinked oot like a young lass; though Mary -McAndrews, who was a gude four year aulder nor me, had real -Valenciennes. But, there! she was ae' flighty, puir thing; her mind -set on bows and gum flowers, no on things above. Fine cloth an' a -cambric frill's gude eneuch for my funeral; an' the coffin no from the -pairish, thank the Lord!" - -As old Peggy lay there in the bay bed gossiping over her shroud she -was a grim sight; yet a pathetic one, since there is nothing in the -wide world which appeals to the humanity within us so much as the -tired, toil-wasted hands of old age folded on a coverlet waiting for -death. Marjory, with her strong young ones straightening the dead -clothes, felt a strange thrill at her heart, even as she thought of -the long years of welcome struggle before she, too, would be glad of -rest. - -"So Mr. Paul is to come hame again?" quavered the old voice, softened -inexplicably by that chill thought of death. "Aye, aye! he will be -bonnie still, for he was aye of the kind to mak' a bonnie corp. And no -that bad for a man--not by ordinair. Weel! when ye see him tell him -that ould Peggy's gone on the pairish, but that it'll no be a pairish -funeral. For there's twa bottles gude whiskey in the draw wi' the deid -claes, my dear, and that's eneuch to carry me to my grave as I sou'd -be carried." - - - - - CHAPTER III. - - -Will Cameron the grieve, or, in plain English, the land steward of the -Gleneira property, was leaning lazily over the shrubbery gate, -watching two men mowing a narrow strip of grass on either side of the -grand approach leading up to the Big House; a proceeding which gave -the whole place a most ridiculous half-shaven air. It had its merits, -however, in Mr. Cameron's eyes, seeing that it was supposed to make -the roadway look kempt while it preserved the rest of the lawn for -hay; an economy sorely needed at the Big House, after the late laird's -riotous living. Even now, when matters had mended somewhat, honest -Will did not care to think of those times when all he saw of the laird -of Gleneira was a signature on I O U's; for, when all was said and -done, his own honesty seemed bound up in that of the old place. A -gardener was nailing up the creepers covering the porch; the windows -of the house were set wide open, and through them a noise of hammering -and brushing floated out into the crisp morning air as Marjory came -up the road from the lodge; her footsteps crunching in the loose -sea-gravel, which not even the coming and going of years had worn into -compactness, and leant over the gate likewise. Will shifted a little, -almost unconsciously, to make room for her, with loose-limbed easy -good-nature, and in so doing revealed the whole attitude of his -individuality towards Marjory Carmichael. Briefly she was the dearest -girl in the world, but rather apt to make a fellow move on, when he -would much rather have stopped where he was. Yet they were the best of -friends, almost playmates, although he was double her age and -distinctly bald. For the rest a very straightforward simple person, -with nothing complex about him. One of those men whom Nature has made -firstly a sportsman, secondly a farmer; in other words, a descendant -of both Cain and Abel. Marjory herself was very fond of him, and no -wonder, since during the years she had spent with his mother he had -set himself to make things pleasant for her as a man about a house can -do when he has absolutely no ulterior object in view. The mere -suggestion of such an object would have filled him with terror, for -Marjory's energy was appalling. - -"What a pretty place it is after all," she said suddenly, and in so -saying spoke the truth. Framed in by an amphitheatre of purple -heather-clad hills and dark green fir-clad spurs, Gleneira House with -its swelling lawns stretching away to the rocky beach of the loch, its -tall silver pines and clumps of rhododendrons looked bright and -cheerful despite the nameless want which hangs always round an empty -house; the dead look, as if, the soul having passed from it, naught -remained save for it to hasten back to the dust whence it came. There -was something, however, which struck one as homelike in its low -irregular outline, its bow windows set in rose, jasmine, and magnolia; -above all in its clustered stacks of chimneys rising without respect -to symmetry and suggesting comfortable firesides within. Cosy -firesides in corners, not set back to back in pairs after the modern -fashion. A conglomerate building altogether, not unlike a two-storied -summer-house full of French windows. An airy feminine sort of house, -unlike the usual aggressively stony Scotch mansions, yet fitting in -strangely with its fairylike background of hills, and woods, and -lochs. - -"Very pretty, but awfully out of repair," replied Will, -disconsolately. "The roof won't last much longer." - -"Why doesn't he--Captain Macleod I mean--put on a new one?" - -"My dear Marjory! He can't afford it. A man has to spend a lot in an -expensive regiment like his, and----" - -"Nine years since he was in the Glen," interrupted the girl, bent on -her own thoughts. "I don't remember him a bit. What is he like, Will?" - -"Awfully handsome; about the handsomest boy I ever saw, and I don't -suppose he has changed much." - -"I know that--anything more?" - -"Spends a heap of money." - -"I know--anything more?" - -"Yes; you will like him." - -"Why?" - -"Women always do." - -Marjory turned down the corners of her mouth; a trick which with her -meant disapproval, disgust, dislike, disappointment,--such a variety -of small d's that Will was wont to say it was quite as reprehensible -as the collective big one of his sex. - -"He really is an awfully nice fellow," continued Will; "but the place -is going to rack and ruin. The farm houses are so poor that the south -country men won't take them, and a slack style of tenant only means -going from bad to worse. He ought to marry money. It is the only way -out of the difficulty, since he won't skin the woods or let the -place." - -"Why doesn't he come and live here as his fathers did," put in the -girl, quickly; "why shouldn't he be satisfied to do his duty to the -people as his fathers did?" - -"Because his income isn't what theirs was to begin with. The place is -heavily mortgaged; everyone knows it, so there is no reason why I -shouldn't say so. Then Alick Macleod ran through a heap of money -somehow, and left a lot of debts which had to be paid off. I don't say -that the Captain mightn't have been more economical, but it isn't all -his fault. And then he won't touch the estate. That is right enough in -a way, and yet Smith, the hook-and-eye man, offered twice its value -for that bit of moor that marches with his forest." - -"And Captain Macleod refused?" - -"Declined with thanks; and wrote me privately not to bother him again -with any proposals of that sort from a bloated mechanic." - -Marjory's mouth turned down again. "Indeed! that was very noble of -him." - -"So it was in a way," replied her companion, sticking to his own -ill-concealed satisfaction, "for the man is offensive to the last -degree. He has invented a tartan, and has a piper to play him to bed." - -"If he likes it, why not? Every man must have invented his own tartan, -once upon a time, you know; the Macleods into the bargain." - -Will Cameron smiled languidly. "You are a beggar to argue, Marjory. -But as I said before, the laird must marry money." - -"Sell himself instead of his property?" - -"Why not? he is worth buying, and she needn't be ugly." - -"Ugly! as if that were the only question! I believe it is all you men -think of. Why, Will, you haven't told me anything about Captain -Macleod except that he is good-looking; and I knew that before. I -wanted to hear what he was like--he himself, I mean." - -He looked at her with comical amusement. "You have come to the wrong -man, my dear. I never could tell my own character, much less anybody -else's. But here is old John, beaming with satisfaction at the thought -of coming slaughter among the birds. Ask him!" - -"Is it what the laird is like?" echoed the bent but active old man, -pausing with a troop of wiry-haired terriers at his heels. "Then he is -real bonnie, Miss Marjory; that's what he is." - -"So I told her; but she wants to know more." John Macpherson scratched -his ear dubiously, then brightened up. "Then it's a terrible good shot -he will be. Aye! ever since he was a laddie no higher than my heart. -Just a terrible good shot, that's what he is." - -"After all," remarked Will, as the old man passed on, "that gives you -as good a clue to the laird as anything else would do. Old John meant -that as the highest praise. The coachman in all probability would say -he was a first-rate rider. I have heard mother call him a good young -man, but that was when _I_ had lost five pounds at the Skye gathering, -and he had won. The fact being that he had a knack of warping people's -judgment; it was he, by the way, who advised me to bet on a man who -couldn't putt a bit. He used always to twist me round his little -finger when we were boys together--and by Jove! he had a temper. -Sulky, too, and obstinate as a mule." - -"Thank you," interrupted Marjory, drily; "that's quite enough. Well, I -hope nobody nice will buy him." - -Will Cameron flushed up quite hotly. "Now, I call that really nasty, -Marjory, when it can't matter to you. And you know as well as I do -that we want money awfully; you, who are always railing at the black -huts, and the lack of chimneys, and----" - -But Marjory, after a habit of hers when she was not quite sure of her -ground, had shifted it, and passed on to the house, whence the sounds -of sweeping and hammering continued. Will shook his head at her -retreating figure, smiled, and called out cheerfully:-- - -"Tell mother not to hurry, he can't come till the evening boat." - -Vain message, since you might just as well have made such an appeal to -old Time himself as to Mrs. Cameron, who, despite her seventy years -and portly figure, was bustling about, the very personification of -order, even in her haste. You felt instinctively that every symptom of -hurry was the result of a conscientious conception of the importance -of her part in the day's proceedings, and that to be calm would have -been considered culpable. Yet, as she trotted about, her voluminous -black skirts tucked through their placket-hole, not a hair of her flat -iron-grey curls was astray, not a fold of her white muslin kerchief, -or frill of her starched lace cap was awry, though her aides-de-camp, -a couple of sonsy Highland maids, were generally dishevelled, cross, -and hot. - -"Eh! Marjory, my dear," she cried, catching sight of the latter, as -she entered the large low hall, set round with antlers; "ye're just in -the nick to help count the napery while I see to the laird's chamber. -He will be for having his old wee roomie, I misdoubt me; he was always -for having his own way, too. But he will just no have it, that's all. -Folks must accept their position, aye! and maintain their privileges -in these days, when every bit servant lassie claims a looking-glass to -prink at." The last words were delivered full in the face of a pert -South country maid, who, with an armful of towels, passed by in rather -an elaborate pink dress. It was merely a snap shot, however, for the -old lady hurried on her appointed way, leaving Marjory and the -offender, who was quite accustomed to being a target, in charge of the -dark lavender-scented linen closet. Pleasant work at all times this, -of handling the cool, smooth piles; the only household possessions -which never seem to suffer from being laid away, which come out of -their scented tomb with their smoothness emphasised by long pressure, -their folds sharply accurate, their very gloss seeming to have grown -in the dark. No fear of moth here; no hint of decay. Marjory, singling -out a fine tablecloth and napkins for the laird's first meal at home, -and choosing the whitest of sheets and pillow-cases for his bed, found -herself unable to believe that long years had passed since some -woman's hand had carefully put them away. It seemed impossible that it -should be so, and that they should be ready to begin their work as if -not a day had passed. Unchanged in a world of change! But the guest -himself would be more changed than his surroundings; for he could only -have been a boy--not much older than she herself--when he was last at -Gleneira. The thought lingered, and after her task was over she -wandered from room to room trying to put herself in his place, and -guess how it would strike him. For it was pleasant sometimes, when one -had an hour to spare, to spend it in that fanciful world of feeling, -with which her practical life had so little to do. - -His mother's sitting-room! That could not fail to be sad, even though -the fair-haired original of the faded portrait in pastels over the -mantelpiece had passed from life when he was still a child. Yet, if -_she_ by any chance could see even the smallest thing that had once -belonged to that mother whose memory was a mere abstraction, who had -never really existed for her at all, she would feel sad, and so he -must also who had known his. Well, Captain Macleod's mother must have -been dreadfully fond of fancy work, to judge by the room! And yet, not -so long ago, she herself had been full of childish admiration for that -terrible screen in the corner, which now only excited a wild wonder -how any responsible human being could have wasted hours--nay! days, -months--in producing such a fearful result. It represented a -Highlander in full national costume, done in cross-stitch; the flesh -was worked in small pink beads, giving a horrible pimply appearance to -the face and a stony glare to the eyes; in the distance rose purple -silk hills, and the foreground consisted of an over-grown velvet pile -mongrel with a tail in feather stitch. In those childish days of -admiration, however, it had had a fearful charm of its own, born of -its inaccessibility. For, once within a certain radius, the whole -picture disappeared into a senseless medley of silk, worsted, and -beads. Only distance lent design, making four white beads and a black -one a recognisable equivalent for the human eye. As she stood looking -at it now, an amused smile curved her lips, with the remembrance that -in still more childish days she had mixed up this magnificent -Highlander with her conceptions of the absent laird. Probably it was -quite as like him now as the crayon drawing, labelled "Paul," of a -pallid boy holding a toy ship, which hung on the wall beside the -pastel. On the other side was another pallid boy holding another ship, -and labelled "Alick." As far as she could judge Alick might have grown -up to be Paul, and Paul to be Alick. Only Paul held his ship in his -right hand, and Alick in his left; but that was, of course, only -because their portraits had to look at each other across the picture -of their mother; because, as it were, of the exigencies of Art. She -smiled to herself as she drifted on lazily to what Mrs. Cameron had -considered the keystone of the laird's position. It was a dim, -dignified room, with a dreadful bed. So large, so square, so evenly -surrounded with Macleod tartan hangings that a sleeper immured therein -might well on waking lose his airs, and which way he was lying. A bed -which might have a dozen ghostly occupants, and the flesh and blood -one be none the wiser of those dead and gone lairds of Gleneira. -Marjory, oppressed by the very look of it, threw the windows, wide as -they would set, to the air and sunshine. Even so, it was a dreary, -depressing room, especially to one coming alone, unwelcomed by -kindred, to his old home. With a sudden impulse of pity she drew from -her belt a bunch of white heather and stag-horn moss which she had -gathered that morning, and arranged it neatly in a little empty vase -which stood on the wide dressing-table. A poor effort, yet it gave a -certain air of expectancy to the room; more appropriate also to the -occasion than more elaborate garden flowers would have been, since -white heather stood for luck, and the stag-horn moss was the badge of -the Macleod clan. A charming little welcome, truly, if the laird had -eyes to see! Her face, reflected in the looking-glass as she stood -smiling over her task, would, however, have been a more charming -welcome still could the laird have seen it. And then the sound of -wheels on the loose gravel outside sent her to the window in sudden -alarm; but it was only the Manse machine, drawn by the old grey horse, -with Father Macdonald on the front seat beside Mr. Wilson, who, as he -caught sight of her, stood up with profound bows, disclosing a curly -brown Brutus wig. And there was Will lounging at the horse's head, and -his mother on the steps with dignified gesticulations. Beyond towards -the Strath was the wide panorama of hill and moor and sea, flooded in -light. The sudden feeling that it is good to be here, which comes even -to untransfigured humanity at times, filled the girl's heart with -content as she nodded back to her two devoted old friends who were now -both standing up in the dogcart, waving their hats. How good everyone -was to her! How happy they all were together in the Glen! And she had -never before seemed to realise it so completely. - -"Heard I ever the like?" rose in Mrs. Cameron's most imperious tones. -"To pass by the house wi' an empty stomach, and it not even a fast! A -fast, say I? A feast for Gleneira, and twa glasses o' port wine for -Father Macdonald whether he will or no. Marjory, my lass, away with -them like good boys to the parlour and cry on Kirsty for the glasses. -Will, ye gawk, are there no grooms in Gleneira House that you must be -standing there doing their wark. Now, Mr. Wilson, just come you down -to _terry-firmy_, as you would say yourself. You're no golden calf, -man, to be put up on a pedestal." - -"My dear Madam!" cried he, gaily, clambering down with no small regard -to the Graces. "If it is a question of worship, 'tis I who should be -at your feet. _Facilius crescit quam_." - -"_A cader va chi troppo in alto sale_," interrupted Father Macdonald, -clambering down on his side. He was a small man with round childish -face, possessed of that marvellously delicate yet healthy complexion -which one sees in Sisters of Charity; in those, briefly, who take no -care for beauty and lead a life of austerity and self-denial. A -complexion which a society woman would have given her eyes to possess. - -"Hoot away wi' your gifts o' tongues," retorted the old lady, in mock -indignation at the perennial jest of strange quotations. "Marjory, -just take them ben and stop their mouths wi' cake and wine. And make -them drink luck to the auld house that is to be graced wi' its -master." - -"Ah, my dear Madam," said the incorrigible offender, ambling up the -steps, and giving a sly glance at Marjory, "you agree with our friend -Cicero, '_Nec, domo dominus sed domino domus honestanda est_.'" - -Mrs. Cameron treated the remark with silent contempt, and Marjory, -leading the way into the morning room where Paul Macleod's portrait -hung on the wall, looked back with a kind smile at the two old men -who, never having owned chick or child of their own, treated her as a -daughter. A sort of dream-daughter, dear yet far removed from the hard -realities of every-day familiarity. - -"I'm so glad you were passing to-day, father," she said eagerly; "I -found a little Neapolitan song among some old music here, and I want -you to see if I sing it right." - -Mr. Wilson, seated in the armchair, his legs disposed elegantly, -straightened his necktie, and made a remark to the effect that the -Neapolitans were the most debased Christian population in Europe. And -that despite the fact that they lived, as it were, under the very nose -of the Pope. An attack which was the result of an ever-green jealousy -in regard to the little Jesuit's superior knowledge. - -"Neapolitan! Ah! my dear young lady, the patois is almost beyond me. -If it had been Roman!" The smooth childlike face grew almost wistful -thinking of the days so long ago spent in the still seclusion of the -Scotch college, or out in the noisy colour of the Roman streets; a -quaint memory for the old man who for fifty years had never seen a -town, whose very occupation was passing away from his life, as, one by -one, the old adherents to the old faith still lingering among the -mountain fastnesses, died and were buried by him. - -"Ah! you will manage," said Marjory, cheerfully. "It isn't as if you -didn't know the subject, for it is sure to be all about love. Songs -always are." - -So, while the cake and wine were coming in, she sate down to the piano -and sang, guided by the two old men, of love; for Mr. Wilson, great on -philology, had his views on the mutations of vowels and consonants, -and stood beside the little priest beating time to the phrases with -his gold eyeglasses. - -Mrs. Cameron found them so, and rallied them on their taste when there -was good port-wine on the table. - -"My dear Madam," retorted Mr. Wilson, positively shining with delight -at his own opportunity of showing that his acquaintance was not -confined to dead languages. "We have only put the 'Weib und Gesang' -before the 'Wein'; and I am sure anyone who had the privilege of -hearing Miss Marjory sing would do the same." - -She made him a little mock curtsey, but Mrs. Cameron would none of it, -and cut a huge slice of cake. "No! no! minister; from the very -beginning o' things men-folks cared more for their stomachs than their -hearts. If Eve, poor body, had only given Adam a better dinner he -wouldna have been wantin' to eat apples betwixt whiles, and a deal o' -trouble might have been saved. But a woman's different. She takes it -ill if a man doesn't fall in love with her; she's aye wantin'----" - -"I'm sure I don't want anything," put in Marjory, with her head in the -air. - -"Don't be talkin' havers, child. I tell ye a woman's aye wantin' it. -Auld as I am----" - -"My dear Madam," expostulated Mr. Wilson. - -"Haud your whist, minister," interrupted Mrs. Cameron, tartly; "what -will you be knowing o' a woman's heart? I tell you she may be auld and -grey, she may hae left half the pleasures o' this world behind her, -she may hae been a wife for two score years, and spent her heart's -bluid in rearing weans, but what's left o' the heart will be turnin' -wi' regret to the time when the auld body who sits on the tither side -o' the fire--girding at his food, maybe--was courtin' her. Or, maybe, -when some ither auld body that's no at the tither side of the fire was -courtin'. There's no sayin'." - -There was a silence: and then the old priest said under his breath: -"_Amor a nullo amato amor perdona_." - -Mr. Wilson nodded his brown Brutus wig in assent. He did not mind that -sort of Italian. Anyone with a rudimentary knowledge of the humanities -could understand so much. So they were merry over the cake and wine; -merry even over the parting with it in obedience to the minister's -Horatian order: "_Lusisti satis, editsi satis, alque bibisti, Tempus -abire ibe est_"--which Mrs. Cameron insisted on having explained to -her word by word. It was a complete exposition, she asserted, of the -whole duty of man as viewed by men. To eat, to drink, to amuse -themselves, and then to run away. - -That same evening, in the mirk end of the gloaming, Marjory, walking -in the garden between the great borders of clove pinks which were -sending out their fragrance to meet the coming night, heard the _feu -de joie_, arranged by old John Macpherson to greet the laird's -arrival, go off like the beginning of a battle. Half an hour -afterwards Will Cameron returned, calling loudly for his supper, and -full of enthusiasm. - -"Upon my word, Marjory, I think he is handsomer and more charming than -ever." - -"Favour is deceitful and beauty is vain," said the young lady, taking -a leaf out of Mr. Gillespie's book. - - - - - CHAPTER IV. - - -People who only know the West Highlands in the rainy months of August -and September, when a chill damp, almost suggestive of winter, comes -to the air, will scarcely credit the intense heat which June and July -often bring to the narrow glens, shut in on all sides by sun-baked -mountains. Then the springs fail, and the cattle break through the -fences, seeking the nearest point of the river; or stand knee-deep in -the estuary water, flicking away the plague of flies with their tails, -and lowing seaward to the returning tides. Then the burns, fine as a -silver thread down the mountain sides, run with a clear bell-like -tinkle through the boulders over which they will dash with a roar and -a rush in the coming Lammas floods. Then the cotton grass hangs -motionless on its hair-like stem, and the bog myrtle gives out a hot, -dry, aromatic scent, to mingle with that of the drying grass. On such -days as these, everything having life instinctively seeks the shade. -So Marjory Carmichael, on the morning after the laird's return, left -the dusty high-road, crossed the fast hardening bogs by the tussocks -of gay mosses tufted with bell-heather, and so continued her walk -along the alder-fringed bank of the river. Even at that early hour not -a leaf was stirring; the very bees hung lazily on the pale lilac -scabious flowers, and the faint hush of the river had a metallic -sound. Marjory, clambering down a fern-clad bank, sat down beneath a -clump of hazels, set with green nuts. Below her the river, between the -alder stems, showed olive and gold in sunlight or shade, with every -now and again a foam fleck sailing by; for, some fifty yards above her -resting-place, the Eira, fresh from a boisterous half-mile scramble -among the rocks, rushed through a narrow chasm at racing speed, and -fell recklessly, dashing itself into a white heat of hurry in a -seething whirling pool set in sheer walls of rock, and thence finding -outlet for its passion in a wider basin, and so, with ever clearing -face, sliding into peace in the dark oily pool beneath the bank where -Marjory sate. Her favourite nook, however, in all the river side, lay -higher up, close to the leap, where she could watch the gleaming -sea-trout and an occasional salmon patiently trying at the fall, see -the flash of the rapids beyond the fringing ferns, or mark the -drifting shadows on the opposite hillside. But the single rowan tree, -clinging with distorted roots to the heather-tufted cliff, flung its -branches over the fall, and gave no shade elsewhere; hence on this -hottest of hot July mornings Marjory chose the hazel hollow instead, -and leaning back among the flowering grasses, which sent a pinkish -bloom of tiny fallen blossom on her curly hair, drew a long, closely -written letter from her pocket, turned to its last sheet, and began to -read it. Not for the first time, but then Cousin Tom's letters were -worth a dozen of most people's, especially when they had something to -say, as this one had:-- - -"What a hurry you seem to be in to begin work; and I am always in such -a hurry to begin play. But then you have arrived, or are about to -arrive, at the years of discretion, and I am a mere child of -forty-one. Twenty years between us, dear! It is a lifetime; and what -right have I, or any other old foozle, to dictate to you, Mademoiselle -Grands-serieux, who, clever as she is, hardly knows, I think, when her -most affectionate and unworthy guardian is attempting a jest. It is an -evil habit in the old. Expect to hear from the School Committee in -Hounslow before many days are over. I think all is settled fairly, but -I hear there is no chance of your being needed before the beginning of -November. And this is still July. Three whole months, therefore, ere -Mademoiselle need take up the burden of teaching vulgar little boys -the elements of Euclid. And yet the momentous coming of age, when -Wisdom, let us hope, is to be justified of one of her children, is -this week. Marjory, my dear! Fate has given you a real holiday at -last! Of course, I am an incorrigible idler compared to you, but, -believe me, my heart has ached at times over your sense of duty! Life -is not all work, even if it is not all beer and skittles. So take the -goods the gods provide (as dear old Wilson would say in the proper -tongue--my Latin is merely a catalogue of dry bones)--put away all the -books--let two and two be five or five hundred for the time, while you -cross the Asses' Bridge with the rest of humanity. Wake up, my dear -little girl! or rather begin to dream! Of what? you ask. Of anything, -my dear, except Woman's Suffrage. By the way, I have six new reasons -against the latter, which I will detail to Mademoiselle Grands-serieux -when a detestable bacillus, who will neither be born nor die, permits -of my joining her in the earthly paradise. Meanwhile have a good -time--a real good time." - -Marjory leant back again on a great basket of spreading lastrea which -gave out scent like honey as she crushed it. Cousin Tom was -delightful, and perhaps he was right. The sudden content with Life as -it was which had come to her the day before when she realised its -peace, its beauty, its kindliness, returned now. Through the arching -hazel boughs the sunlight filtered down in a tempered brilliance -restful to the eyes; a grasshopper shrilled in the bents; a yellow -butterfly, settling on a leaf beside her, folded its wings and, -apparently, went to sleep. An earthly paradise, indeed! Surely if one -could dream anywhere it would be here. - -Suddenly a faint _shwish-shwish_ broke the silence. _Shwish-shwish_, -at regularly recurring intervals. Marjory, recognising the sound, -wondered listlessly who could be fishing the lower pool at this early -hour. One of the keepers, perhaps, hopeful of a trout for his master's -breakfast; rather a forlorn chance even in the pot above, with that -cloudless sky. A jarring whizz, accompanied by a convulsion in the -alder branches, broke in on her drowsiness, making her sit up with -intelligent appreciation of the cause. The somebody, whoever he might -be, was "in" to the tree. Another convulsion, gentler, but more -prolonged; another short and sharp, as if somebody were losing his -temper. Then a persuasive wiggle to all points of the compass in turn, -and finally the whirr of a check reel. - -Somebody being evidently about to try conclusions with Nature, Marjory -leant forward in deep interest, knowing by bitter experience that it -was two to one against humanity. At last, as she expected, there came -a series of short, sharp jerks; then something she had not expected. -On the morning air one comprehensive monosyllable--"Damn." That was -all. No affix, no suffix; without nominative or accusative; soft, but -trenchant. - -"A gentleman," said Marjory to herself, without a moment's hesitation, -as she rose to peer through the thick tangle of alders. If so, the -laird, of course. Yes! It must be he, on the opposite bank, standing -irresolute; weighing the pros and cons of breaking in, no doubt. -Marjory's experienced eyes following the taut line, rested finally on -the cast looped round a branch just above her, and apparently within -reach. The mere possibility was sufficient to make her forget all save -the instinct to help. - -"Don't break, please, I can get it." - -Her eager voice, unmistakably girlish and refined, echoed across to -Paul Macleod, who, after a moment's astonished search, traced it to a -face half-seen among the parting leaves. He took off his hat -mechanically, for though it might have been a pixie's there was no -mistaking its gender, and the sex found a large measure of outward -respect in Paul Macleod. For the rest, help offered was with him -invariably help accepted; a fact which accounted for a large portion -of his popularity, since people like those around whom the memory of -their own benevolence can throw a halo. So he stood watching Marjory -settle methodically to her task, wondering the while who the girl -could possibly be. For that she had white hands and trim ankles was -abundantly evident, and neither of these charms was to be expected in -the rustic beauties of the Glen. - -"I am afraid I am giving you a lot of trouble," he said -sympathetically, as for the third time the branch flew back from -Marjory's hold with a sudden spring. - -"Not at all," she gasped jerkily; one cannot speak otherwise on tiptoe -with both hands above one's head. - -"Perhaps I had better help." - -"Perhaps you had," she answered resentfully, desisting for a moment -after a fourth rebuff. "There is no positive necessity for you to -remain idle. You might for instance reel in as I pull." - -His faint smile was tempered by respect. The young lady on the -opposite bank knew what she was about, and, perhaps, might even be -good looking, if she were not quite so red in the face. So he obeyed -meekly, and was rewarded by a gasp of triumph. - -"There! I've got it. I knew you could help if you tried." - -"I'm immensely obliged," he began; then the girl's foot slipped, the -branch sprang from her hand, she made an ineffectual jump after it, -and the next instant the all but disentangled cast, flung into the air -by the rebound, was hard and fast in a higher twig. - -Marjory could have stamped with despite; thought it wiser to laugh, -but found the opposite bank full of silent, grieved sympathy. - -"I'll get it yet," she called across the water, with renewed -determination. - -"I think, if you'll allow me, I will break in," came the deferential -voice after a time. "It really must be very tiring to jump like that." - -"Not at all; thank you," she retorted, without a pause. "I never--give -in." - -"So it appears. Will you allow me to come over and help?" - -Come over and help, indeed! Marjory's growing anger slackened to -contempt. As if he could come over without a detour of half a mile -down or quarter of a mile up the river; and he must know it, unless he -had no memory. "You can't," she jerked between her efforts. "You -had--better slack line--and sit down--I'll get it somehow." - -Very much "somehow." Her hat fell off first. Then, after a desperate -spring, in which she succeeded in clutching a lower branch, a hairpin -struck work. Hot, dishevelled, exasperated, yet still determined, she -persevered without deigning another reference to the silence over the -way, until an arm clothed in grey tweed reached over hers and bent the -branch down within her reach. She looked round, and, even in her -surprise, the great personal charm and beauty of the face looking into -hers struck her almost painfully; for it seemed to soothe her quick -vexation, and so to claim something from her. - -"I jumped," he said, answering the look on hers. "It is quite easy by -the fall." - -Something new to her, something which sent a lump to her throat, made -her turn away and say stiffly: "I am sorry I gave you the trouble of -coming. It would have been better if you had broken in. Good morning." - -He stood grave as a judge, courteous, deferential, yet evidently -amused, still bending down the bough. - -"Will you not finish the task you began? You said you never gave in; -besides, I can hardly do it for myself." The fact was palpable; it -required two hands to disentangle a singularly awkward knot. To deny -this would be to confess her own annoyance, so she turned back again. -Rather an awkward task with a face so close to your own, watching your -ineptitude. And yet she forgot her impatience in a sudden thought. If -he had fallen! If that face had had the life crushed out of it! - -"You ought not to have jumped," she said, impulsively. "It was very -dangerous." - -"Pardon me; I have done it hundreds of times when I was a boy." - -"Boys may do foolish things." - -He smiled. "And men should not; but are dangerous things necessarily -foolish?" - -"Needlessly dangerous things are so, surely?" - -"In that case, what becomes of courage?" - -She paused, frankly surprised both at herself and him. How came it -that he understood so quickly, that she followed him so clearly? Yet -it was pleasant. - -"Courage has nothing to do with the question." - -His smile broadened. "Thanks. I began by saying so. The fact being -that the jump is not dangerous." - -"No one else jumps it," she persisted. - -"Pardon me for mentioning that I am an unusually good jumper. -Besides-- - - - "The game is never yet worth a rap - For a rational man to play, - Into which some misfortune, some mishap - Cannot possibly find its way." - - -Again something new to her, something which this time sent a thrill of -answering recklessness through her veins, something of the mere joy -and pride of life made her ask in quick interest--"Who wrote that?" - -"A man who gave in at last; he shot himself." - -Marjory's face paled. Yes; men did that sort of thing, she knew. She -had read of it, and accepted the truth of it calmly. Now for the first -time she felt that she understood it, that she too stood on the brink -of the Great Unknown Sea, which might bring her to the haven where she -would be, or to shipwreck. Then in quick relief came a new cause for -resentment in the perception, as she began to wind up the now -disentangled cast, that a large portion of line remained attached to -it. In other words, her companion had deliberately cut it, and brought -his rod with him; had risked his life not for the sake of his flies, -but simply to amuse himself at her expense. - -"I think that is all I can do for you," she said, in a white heat of -annoyance. "Good morning, Captain Macleod." - -The name slipped from her unawares, and she recognised her own mistake -immediately. Her knowledge of his identity being a sort of -introduction, from which she could scarcely escape. For his position -as laird of Gleneira, owner of the very ground on which she was -trespassing, could not be ignored. She could not dismiss him like a -tramp. He took the advantage she had given him, coolly. - -"Thanks, so many," he said, holding back a branch to allow of her -passing before him, "but I am going also. It is too bright for sport. -In truth, I never expected any, and only came out to renew my -acquaintance with the river, and discover, what I expected, that I -have almost forgotten how to throw a fly." - -"Indeed, you have not forgotten how to break in, at any rate," she -replied viciously; then ashamed of her unnecessary heat, since surely -it was none of her business if he broke every cast he possessed, she -added, in superior tones, "there is no reason, however, why you should -not get a fish in the Long Pool. The sun won't touch it for half an -hour." - -"The Long Pool," he echoed, "which is that? I'm afraid I have almost -forgotten it, too." - -It was a palpable excuse for continuing the conversation, and as such -Marjory resented it; at the same time, no one ever appealed to her for -information without meeting with prompt attention, the teaching -element being strong in her. So was impatience at crass stupidity; or, -as Captain Macleod preferred to call it, a deficient bump of locality. - -"I'll see you as far as the Alder Island," she said at last, with some -irritation, "then you can't possibly make a mistake." That, at any -rate, would be better than trailing the whole two miles back to -Gleneira beside him. Not that he was forward or objectionable; on the -contrary, he treated her with a deference which would have been -pleasant had it not covered a quiet coercion which was perfectly -intolerable. So the glint of the Long Pool behind the Alder Island -came as a relief, and she pointed to it in a sort of triumph. - -"I'm afraid it is no use," he said despondently. "Too fine; besides, I -haven't had my breakfast, and it is growing late. I'll get Cameron to -come down afterwards and show me the casts. A river changes in ten -years." - -"You can't possibly judge from here; and I can show you the cast -perfectly," she retorted. It had come to a stand-up fight with the -gloves on between his will and hers, and accustomed as she was to -instant submission from everybody of the opposite sex, she would not -confess her own defeat by getting rid of him with a crude dismissal. -To begin with he scarcely merited the insult, and, in addition, it -might be awkward afterwards. So she pointed out the probable lie of -the fish, and, her sporting instincts overcoming her contempt, -exclaimed against the gaudy cast he selected--a cast no decent fish -would have looked at except in flood time. - -"No! no!" she cried, in real eagerness. "Something less like a -firework, if you have one--a brown body and turkey wing. Ah! here's -the very thing. I don't believe in the steel loops, though, do you--? -Will doesn't. And you have bridge rings I see; I never saw them -before. They look good. Now then! Just below the break, down the slidy -bit, and across to the ripple--Oh-h!" - -The exclamation was caused by a fall as of a coiled hawser on the -water, and a separate "blob" of each fly on the surface. - -"You had better try again," she said gravely, "and don't thrash so; -use your wrist." - -"If there was more wind," he suggested. - -"Nonsense! you ought to be able to throw that distance anyhow. It's -all knack; it will come back after a cast or two. I'm sure it will." - -Apparently she was wrong. The line ceased, it is true, to fall in a -heap like an umbrella, yet failed by many feet to reach the break -above the slidy bit. - -"Give me the rod a moment," she cried, "and I'll show you the turn of -the wrist. You'll recognise it then." - -There was an instant's pause as she stood, one foot planted against a -stone, her lithe figure thrown backwards, her chin following the -little toss of her head, tilted sideways; so that her eager young face -was in full view of her companion; and then the long line flew out in -the spey cast and seemed to nestle down just where the water broke. - -"Bravo!" cried Captain Macleod, as much to the picture as to the -skill. And then before he could say another word came an eddy, a noise -like the cloop of a cork, a glint of a silvery side, and the whirr of -the reel. Things to drive all else from a fisherman's brain. - -"In to him!" shouted the Captain, excitedly; "and a beauty, too. No! -no; keep it. I'd rather you kept it! I'd like to see you land him--if -you can." - -The implied doubt, joined to the vicious shooting of something like a -huge silver whiting with its tail in its mouth into the air, warning -the girl of the danger of a slack line, had the desired effect. She -set her teeth and gave herself up to repairing the error of -indecision. The fish, having got his head, was now further down the -pool than he should have been, and close to an ugly snag, towards -which he bored with the strange cunning which seems born in fish. -Marjory gave him the butt bravely, but he fought like a demon, and for -one instant the reel gave out an ominous clicking. - -"Perhaps I had better," came an eager voice beside her. "It is heavier -than I thought." - -"Please not! Please let me keep it now! I'd rather lose him--there!" A -rapid wind-up emphasised her excitement. "I can manage him, you -see--if you will go down--there by the white stones--I'll get him -into the shallow--the tackle is so light I can scarcely bring him -up--and--and--don't be in a hurry--I'll bring him in right over the -click." - -The old imperiousness was back in full swing, and once again she had a -willing slave, eager as she was for the sight of something long and -brown curving, snakelike, into the shallow as if of its own free will, -or coming in despairingly "this side up." It was a sharp, swift -struggle, all the sharper and swifter because of that ominous snag -over the way; and then an eight-pound grilse with the sea-lice still -on him lay on the bank. - -"Oh! What a beautiful creature! One of the prettiest I have ever -seen," cried Marjory, ecstatically, on her knees beside the prize. - -"Very much so, indeed." Captain Macleod's voice was absent, and his -eyes were not on the fish. "You killed him splendidly." - -The light went out of the girl's face; she rose to her feet slowly. - -"I wish I had given you the rod," she said, still looking down on the -palpitating, quivering bar of silver. - -"That is most forgiving of you!" - -She turned upon him almost indignantly. "Oh! I wasn't thinking of all -that--that stuff! I was thinking--it seems so cruel." - -"Many things seem so afterwards. One might spend a lifetime in -regretting, if it was worth it; but it isn't." - -"Isn't it? I wish anyhow that I hadn't killed that fish." - -"Why not go further back, and wish you hadn't interfered to safe my -cast? for, as it happens, the one you chose out was the very one Fate -had ordained should remain in an alder bush----" - -"Perhaps I do," she replied stiffly, realising how he had played upon -her for the first time. The knowledge, rather to her own surprise, -brought tears to her eyes. - -"I don't wonder that you regret having helped me," he said with a -sudden change of manner. "If you will tell me where to leave the fish -I will no longer trouble you. I am sorry for having given you so much -already." - -There was no mistaking the hidden depth of his apology. As he stood -there in the sunlight, looking at her gravely, Marjory felt to the -full the charm of his gracious presence. Who could really be angry -with him for such a trifle? For it was a trifle after all. - -"My name is Marjory Carmichael," she said briefly, "and I live at the -Lodge with the Camerons. But I don't want the fish. I don't indeed." - -"Then you shall not have it. I owe you some obedience, do I not?--and -thanks beyond measure." - -He stood there with his cap off smiling at her, and she, feeling -apologetic in her turn, hesitated. After all, if he was going her way -it would be foolishness itself to tramp that mile and a half with an -interval of fifty yards or so between them. - -"And now I must emulate your skill," he said cheerfully, "though I -can't expect your luck." And as she moved away she saw his flies -settle softly as thistledown in the right place. Well! that was better -than keeping up the pretence. - -As for him, though he continued to fish conscientiously, his thoughts -were with the figure of the retreating girl. She had amused him and -interested him greatly. A relation, he supposed, of Dr. Carmichael's; -in fact, he had a dim recollection of a curly-haired child scampering -about on a Sheltie ten years before; though he had never known the -doctor, who had lived as a recluse. But how came she here still, and -with the Camerons? A cut above them surely! By Jove! how she had hung -on to that grilse, and how nearly she had cried over it afterwards. -Maudlin sentimentality, of course, and yet he had felt the same a -hundred times over a wounded deer. The look in her eyes had been like -that, somehow; uncommonly pretty eyes they were, too, into the -bargain! - - - - - CHAPTER V. - - -Paul Macleod sate in the business-room, where so many lairds of -Gleneira had received rents and signed cheques, playing his part with -great propriety, much to Will Cameron's delight and astonishment. -Captain Macleod was, undoubtedly, the laird, and as such bound to a -semi-parental interest in every living thing, to say nothing of every -stick and stone about the old place. On the other hand, he had been -away in a perfectly different environment for nearly ten years, and it -seemed nothing short of marvellous to the factor that he should -remember every farmer and cottier, nay, more, their wives, and sons, -and daughters, by name. And so, perhaps it was; though, to tell truth, -the mental qualities it represented were small, being no more nor less -than a quick responsiveness to the renewal of past sensation; that -very responsiveness which ten years before had made Paul shrink from -giving an unpleasant memory a place in his life. Moralists are apt to -sneer at the popularity which the possessor of this faculty enjoys; -and, of course, it is easy to cheapen the sympathy of the man, who -when he sees you, is instantly reminded of all the past connected with -you in detail, and proceeds to inquire eagerly about your ox and ass, -your manservant and your maidservant, and everything that is within -your gate. Yet, when all is said and done, and though he certainly -gives the false impression that these things have never been out of -his mind, the gift is not only an enviable one, but in itself argues a -quicker sensibility than that possessed by his more stolid, if more -honest, neighbours. - -So there was no effort to Paul Macleod in taking up the thread of his -past life at Gleneira; at the same time, he felt no more regret at -hearing, as he did through Will's answers to his inquiries, of Jeanie -Duncan's death, somewhere in the vague South country, than he did for -many another item of news. Partly because that old life had really -passed out of existence for him altogether, and partly because Will, -being a good-natured kindly soul, said nothing about the child which -poor old Peggy had brought with her. There are many men of this -sort--more men for the matter of that than there are women--who hate -to face the sad aspect of life, and slur over a painful story whenever -they can. - -Thus Captain Macleod was able to quit the past and plunge into the -future without even the slight regret which the news must have brought -him; for in his way he had really loved Jeanie, and the thought that -his admirable self-sacrifice had not availed to keep her memory -pleasant, would have been a distinct annoyance. As it was, he began at -once on plans and arrangements, which convinced Will Cameron that the -laird must be going, unconsciously, to follow his advice, and marry a -rich wife. Nothing else could explain the fact that Gleneira House had -to be generally smartened up for the present, pending more solid -repairs during winter, that carriages and horses had to be bought at -once, and preparations of all sorts made for the houseful of guests -which would come with the shooting season. In the matter of slates, -glass, stables, and garden, Will Cameron felt himself equal to the -occasion, but when chintzes and furniture came under discussion he -meekly suggested a reference to Maples', or Morris, or his mother. - -"I should prefer Mrs. Cameron," replied the laird, with a laugh. "If I -wanted the other sort of thing my sister Blanche would do it for me -fast enough. Take a brougham by the day--to save her own horse, you -know--and re-create poor old Gleneira. First day, paper, painting, -draping; second day, furnishing; third day, creeping things -innumerable--you know them. Chenille things climbing up the lamp, a -Japanese toad on the writing-table, and a spider on the edge of a -teacup." He rose and went to the window. "But that sort of thing is -desecration of this," he went on, looking out on the opalescent -shimmer of sea and sky and hills; "though it does well enough in South -Kensington. I never could fit myself out, even in clothes, with a view -to both hemispheres, and though some folk profess to prepare for -heaven and enjoy earth at the same time, I'm not made that way." - -He pulled himself up with an airy smile, and turned round again. - -"So let us be off to Mrs. Cameron, and perhaps that young lady who is -staying with you--I met her by the river this morning----" - -"Marjory," put in Will, eagerly; "why, yes, of course, she is the very -person we want--has awfully good taste." - -"Indeed," said the other, smiling again. He was thinking that in that -case he could not claim distinction since she had not favoured him -with much of her approval. Not that it mattered, since he had quite -made up his mind that during the next few weeks, before his married -sister came to do hostess, Marjory would be a decided acquisition to -the limited society at his command; for Paul was distinctly gregarious -in his tastes. It did not take much to amuse him; but he needed some -gentle interest to start the wheels of his pleasure, and that interest -was, preferably, a woman. So, being able thus to combine duty and -amusement by a visit to the Lodge, he calmly suggested an adjournment -on the spot, to which Will agreed, blissfully oblivious of the fact -that not half-an-hour before he had left his mother in the agonies of -redding up the best parlour, with a view to the laird's expected visit -in the afternoon. - -No doubt when the women of the future have won large interests for -themselves, such a spectacle as Mrs. Cameron presented when she saw -two tweed-clad figures lounging up the path together will be -impossible. Even nowadays the attempt to describe her feelings must -fall far short of the reality, since few of this generation can grasp -the mental position of the last, and Mrs. Cameron belonged to the -generation before that. Of far better birth than many a farmer's wife -who would be ashamed at being discovered engaged in household work, -Mrs. Cameron would as a rule have gloried in what was to her the sole -aim and object of woman's creation; but this was no ordinary occasion; -how could that be one which necessitated clean muslin curtains at a -time when clean muslin curtains should not be, a cake made after her -mother's original recipe baking in the oven, and a bottle of her dead -husband's very best Madeira waiting to be decanted on the sideboard? - -She stood transfixed on the steps, in the very act of running a tape -through the stiffened hem of the curtain, an operation which in itself -had reduced her patience to the lowest ebb; and then, after an -instant's pause, her resentment found an outlet in one expressive -epithet. - -"The Gowk!" For it was Will's fault, of course; had not the lad been a -perfect dispensation ever since he was born? (this being her favourite -word for describing all the inevitable trials of her life). Besides, -after the manner of most housewifely women, she always visited any -failure in domestic arrangements on the head of the nearest male -belonging to the family. No one but a man, no one but a man, sent to -make _her_ life a burden, could have been guilty of such a disgraceful -blunder, when a word, a hint, could have kept the laird from coming -until the afternoon. The conviction brought a sort of martyred -resignation with it, as she continued in a lower key, "and the parlour -as bare as the loof o' my hand, save for the tea leaves on the -drugget." - -A more forlorn picture of discomfort could not have been suggested, -and Marjory, standing by with needle and thread, promptly suggested -that the laird should be shown into her study, since she was on the -point of going out; an assertion which mollified the old lady by its -suggestion that the visit must be to her alone. And wherefore not, -since she had seen three generations of Macleods come and go? So, with -vague remarks about sparing the rod and spoiling the child, which it -is to be supposed bore reference to poor Will's education, she hurried -off to meet her guest in the old-fashioned style, and take it out of -the offender--who in the meantime had, for hospitality's sake, to go -scot free--by a display of almost subservient humility to their -employer. - -"Come ben! Come ben, Gleneira, to your ain house. And tho' it is no so -tidy as I might have wished" (here a savage glance at her son -emphasised the stab) "it is not for me to say you nay, for even if we -have been here father and son, a' these years, it is no for us to be -forgettin' oor position and dependence." - -"Don't keep the laird standing on the steps all day," put in Will, -hurriedly; "he wants to have a crack with you, mother; let us go into -the parlour." - -"The parlour, William, as you should ken fine, is being redd up, so I -must fain ask the laird's pardon for takin' him to our boarder's wee -sitting-room." - -As a rule Mrs. Cameron would sooner have died than call Marjory a -boarder, and so level herself to the bit farmer-bodies who let -lodgings in the summer time; but at present any weapon against her -son's dignity was welcome, and she rejoiced to see him growing more -and more impatient. Letting lodgings, indeed! Aye, that was what the -poor shiftless creature would come to if he hadn't her to make both -ends meet! - -"My dear Mrs. Cameron," replied Paul, still holding her old hand and -looking sentimentally into her old face, "the pleasure of seeing you -is all I care for now. To begin with, it makes me feel years younger. -And how young I was when you caught me stealing your jam! I have -never forgotten the lecture you gave me, never! And then, do you -remember----?" He was fairly afloat on the sea of reminiscence now, -much to the old lady's gratification. But since this was distinctly an -irregular method of getting through a state visit, she led the way -defiantly to Marjory's little snuggery upstairs, with another sniff at -poor Will, which sent him off muttering something about letting its -owner know; a remark which increased his mother's wrath, and made her -more than ever set on a strict observance of the ceremony due to the -occasion. So she sat exactly opposite Paul on a high chair, and began -_seriatim_ on all domestic events in the Gleneira family during the -past nine years, until his head whirled, and the life which had seemed -to him so varied and gay, reduced itself to a mere excerpt from the -first column of the Times. Yet his deferential courtesy never failed, -and, as usual, brought him its own reward; for after a time, the old -lady, finding it impossible to resist his charm, thawed completely, -and finally getting quite jolly, frankly confessed her annoyance, and -hurried off to see if the cake were not sufficiently baked to admit of -Gleneira's breaking bread in the house, just for luck's sake. - -Paul, left alone, began to frown. This was Miss Carmichael's room; -but, apparently, she meant to steer clear of it while he was there. -Girls did that sort of thing; it made them feel independent. -Meanwhile, what sort of a girl was she, judged by her room; that sort -of knowledge often came in very useful when the dear creatures were -shy. Fond of flowers, certainly, and in a rational way; these were not -arranged in bouquets, but set one or two in a vase wherever a vase -could stand, so that you could see them. Books? A closed bookcase full -of the dreariest backs; they must have belonged to her uncle, or -perhaps to old Cameron, who had been a bit of a student; but scarcely -to a girl who could throw a salmon line like Miss Carmichael. Yes! She -had certainly looked as well as she was ever likely to look, when -swaying her lithe body to the sway of the rod. Pictures? A good -photograph that, over the mantelpiece, of Andrea del Sarto's -Maddelena; from the original, of course, and full size. That was the -best of photographs, you could have them exact, and sometimes half an -inch made such a difference. How well he remembered his first sight of -the picture in that dark corner of the Borghese gallery, and the -effect its dreamy eyes had had on him; the wonder, too, whether the -casket really held a very precious ointment, or a still more precious -_acquatofana_. Either was possible with that dim, mysterious smile; -and the woman herself--for it was Del Sarto's wife, of course--had -been a lying devil who made her husband's life a perfect hell. Now, -had Miss Carmichael chosen that photograph for herself; and, if so, -why? Since it did not fit the salmon fishing any better than the -books. Ah! there in the bow window, cut off from the rest of the room -by muslin drapery, was a low wicker chair, placed close to a revolving -bookstand. - -"Now for the last new novel," he said to himself cynically. "What is -the odds on anything in these latter times. I have seen nice girls -since I came home reading things in public which I would not leave -about in the smoking-room for fear the housemaid might be shocked. -Eheu!" - -It was a sort of prolonged low whistle of surprise and disappointment, -mingled with a distinct personal aversion to the treatise on Conic -Sections, which he took up inadvertently. The fact being that Paul -Macleod had at one period of his life thought of Woolwich, and that -particular book had, as it were, stood in the way of his ambition. -Perhaps it was that which made him fling it down contemptuously, -with a sort of vague indictment against the owner. She had not looked -like it certainly, yet for all he knew she might be one of those -clear-headed, hard-hearted nondescripts--the opposite extreme from -that angel-faced, sensual-minded demon over the mantelpiece--who -despised the emotions they were born to create, and would scorn to -have a foolish, illogical, unreasoning, lovable sentimentality. There -he paused abruptly, and whistled again; for on the stand among the -books was a little vase holding some white heather and stag-horn moss. -A curious coincidence truly, even if it were nothing more. He stood -looking at it for a minute or two, and then quite coolly exchanged it -for a similar bouquet which he was wearing in his buttonhole; a -bouquet which he had found in a vase on his dressing-table. - -Just then the door opened, at first gently, then hurriedly, while -Marjory's voice exclaimed in joyous relief, "Gone at last! What a -relief!" - -Paul emerged from his concealment with outstretched hand. -"Good-morning, Miss Carmichael," he said in that charming voice of -his, "delighted to find you at home." She looked at him with level, -puzzled eyes. - -"I think you must have heard what I said just now, didn't you?" Her -directness went straight through the veneer of conventional -politeness, and startled him into corresponding frankness. - -"Yes; every word," he said, turning to take up his cap. - -"Oh, please don't," she broke in eagerly. "It will make me feel so -ashamed. And it was only because I wanted to finish some papers and -send them off. You see to-morrow is my birthday, and I promised Tom to -take a holiday. But I forgot," she added with a quick apologetic -smile, "you don't know who Tom is, and it can't interest you----" - -"I beg your pardon," he interrupted, returning somewhat to his more -elaborate manner; "it interests me exceedingly to know who Tom is." - -Again her perfect unconsciousness drove him back to simplicity. - -"Tom is my guardian--Dr. Thomas Kennedy. I don't suppose _you_ have -heard of him, but most people have; I mean of that sort. He is in -Paris now busy over a bacillus." - -"Indeed!" said Paul, beginning to weary; "and so to-morrow is your -birthday, and you are to have a holiday; a whole holiday. That sounds -very virtuous, Miss Carmichael, to a man who has perpetual holidays." - -"But I am going to have six weeks! A real vacation. The first I've -ever had; because you see I've never been to school or college, and -work has always been more or less of an amusement to me. One must have -something to do, you know." - -"Pardon me, but I seldom find the necessity. Life in itself occupies -all my spare time; I mean all the time I can spare from things that -are necessary to keep in life." - -She looked at him again with frankly puzzled, half-amused eyes. "How -funny that sounds. I don't understand it a bit, but I daresay I shall -when I have really been idle for two or three weeks. Tom says it will -do me good before I start regular work. I am going to teach in a Board -school in November." - -"That seems a pity." - -"Why? I have to earn my own living, remember!" - -"Pardon me for saying that that seems to me a greater pity still." - -The puzzled, amused look grew more pronounced. "And that sounds still -funnier. Can't you see that some of us must work; there are so many of -us nowadays. Besides, I like work; uncle used to say that was lucky, -because I had to. You see I am absolutely alone in the world." - -"And that is the greatest pity of all." His voice, soft, kind, -courteous, carried them beyond the lightness of ordinary conversation -in a moment, and Marjory, recognising the fact, felt none of her -usually quick resentment at the intrusion of a stranger into her inner -life; for she was not of those who parade their possession of a soul, -perhaps because she took it as a matter of course. - -"I suppose it is, in a way," she assented; "but I have been accustomed -to the position all my life, and somehow I never regret it." - -"That seems to me rather unnatural in a girl." - -"It is very lucky," she retorted. "What would become of me if I were -afraid?" - -"You would probably lead a far happier life." - -"Why?" - -They were standing opposite each other, looking into each other's -faces, and the beauty of his, the unconsciousness of hers, held them -both captive. - -"Because in all probability you would marry." - -There was a silence for a moment, but Paul Macleod, no mean judge of -character, partly because of the complexity of his own, had rightly -gauged the measure of what he had to deal with. What many girls might -have deemed an impertinence Marjory passed by as a mere truism. - -"I have often thought of that myself," she replied quietly; "but I -think you are mistaken." - -It was his turn now to put that terse, unconditional "Why?" - -"I am not likely to marry; as uncle used to say, I have not purchasing -power equal to my requirements." - -"Meaning, of course, that your ideal is too high. I should have -fancied so. You are very young, Miss Carmichael. And I am old; -besides, ten years knocking about in Indian cantonments disposes -effectually of the theory of twin souls. It is very beautiful, no -doubt; but I fancy mine must have died in the measles, or some other -infantile ailment. It did not survive to riper years, at any rate. But -here comes Mrs. Cameron, so I shall escape scathing this time. I -generally do." - -Marjory felt she could well believe it, palpably unjust though such -immunity might be, as she watched the laird give back the fervid -greeting of the Reverend James Gillespie, who followed close on the -tray of cake and wine. - -"My dear sir; welcome to the Glen," cried the young clergyman. "I have -been up at the Big House, and, hearing you were at the Lodge, ventured -to follow you. As parish clergyman----" - -"'Deed no! Gillespie," put in Mrs. Cameron, sharply. - -"I did not say minister, my dear Madam," retorted the Reverend James -with uncommon spirit; "I said clergyman; and considering that the -lairds of Gleneira have ever clung loyally to the Church." Here -something in the old lady's face made him, as it were, climb down -again. "Well, let us say parish priest." - -"'Deed no, again," interrupted the good lady, with a grim smile. "What -would Father Macdonald be saying?" - -The Reverend Mr. Gillespie climbed down still further for the sake of -peace, though the vexed question of effectual orders was a favourite -hunting-ground of the Bishop's. "As a native of Gleneira, deeply -interested in the spiritual and moral welfare of its inhabitants, -allow me to express my sincere pleasure in your return. Believe me, -Gleneira, the people welcome you to their midst." - -"It is really awfully kind of you all, when I have been such a -shocking ne'er-do-weel absentee. I assure you, Miss Carmichael, that -the number of times I've had to drink my own health in raw whiskey -this morning is incredible; enough to ruin it for the next year." - -The Reverend James put on his most professional air. "Too true. As the -Bishop says, whiskey is indeed the bane----" - -"Hoot, no!" interrupted Mrs. Cameron from the cake and wine; "good -whiskey ne'er harmed a good man. It is just the idle, feckless bodies -getting drunken that gives it a bad name." - -"But that is just the point, my dear lady," expostulated the young -man, feeling sure of his ground. "It is for the sake of the weaker -brother." - -"Havers!" began Mrs. Cameron; but the Reverend James was firm, and -quoted the text. - -"Aye, aye!" continued the old lady, "I ken where it comes from fine, -more's the pity, for I don't hold wi' it. It's just a premium on being -a poor body, and is the clear ruination o' this world whatever it may -be of the next. Gie me a useless, through--other man or woman, and -hey! it's a weaker brother an' maun' be cockered up." - -She showed so much animation that her opponent retired from the -contest discreetly by turning to the laird and beginning on a stock -subject. - -"I am sorry to say, Gleneira, that despite my own efforts, and the -Bishop's earnest desire for the erection of a church, matters remain -much as they were, when you were here last. That is to say, service -has still to be conducted in the school-house, which, er--in addition -to other illegitimate uses"--he glanced casually at his old enemy at -this point--"also serves as a post-office; a plan which has great and -undeniable inconvenience." - -"And convenience, too," put in Mrs. Cameron, remorselessly. "You see, -laird, the post is no delivered on the Sabbath-day, this bein' a -Christian land, and so when folk go to kirk they can kill twa birds -wi' one stane." - -This was too much. "In my opinion," retorted the Reverend James, -pompously, "it would be far less objectionable if Donald _did_ deliver -the letters than that the last words of the blessing should be the -signal for handing them round the congregation. But as is so often the -case in Scotland, the veneration for the day--which, by the way, is -not the Sabbath----" - -"No, no!" interrupted the old lady, "I'm no going that gate. I've told -ye oft, Mr. Gillespie, it is naught to me if it's the Sabbath or -Sunday, or Lord's-day or the first day o' the week we are keeping. But -I ken fine that in my learnin' days I was taught to keep it holy, so -if there is ony mistake it was none o' my makin'. It's the fault of -the minister." - -Mr. Gillespie coughed. "The hours of service are eleven o'clock for -matins, and four o'clock for evensong. Miss Marjory kindly helps us -with the harmonium. Indeed, one of my reasons for coming on here was -to ask her to settle the hymns for Sunday first, unless, indeed, you -yourself would select one suitable--er--to the occasion." - -Paul took the proffered hymn-book with visible embarrassment, and -looked appealingly towards Marjory, but it was impossible to laugh, -for the Reverend James's proposition was saved from absurdity by its -absolute simplicity. - -"Really! my dear sir," he began, when Mrs. Cameron came to his rescue. - -"Gie the laird a harvest hymn, Mr. Gillespie. I'll warrant he has sown -his wild oats, though maybe after all, you would no care to be reapin' -them, Gleneira." - -He laughed very boyishly. "My dear old friend, if they were fifty -shillings a quarter, I should be the richest man in Lorneshire, -instead of the poorest." - -"Poor," she echoed grimly; "you couldna' be poor if you tried. It is -no in some men. And now, Gleneira, there's some o' the farm folk -waiting to drink your health outside, so come awa'. And you, too, -Marjory, my dear, for you're a Gleneira lass when all's said and done. -And the parson can tak' a glass for his oft infirmities if he'll no do -it for anything less important." - -They followed her out into the sunshine, where, in a solemn -semi-circle, they found half-a-dozen or more of men and halflings, -headed, of course, by old John Macpherson as spokesman. He held a wine -glass in one hand, a black bottle in the other, and the liltiness of -his attitude, joined to a watery benevolence in his eye, told a tale -of previous exertions towards the laird's good health. It was evident -that, for the time being, he was an optimist, viewing the world as the -best of all possible worlds. A glass more, and he would be ready to -defend the proposition with his fists; another, and he would have wept -over its denial, for Aladdin's genii of the bottle was not more -powerful in metamorphosis than Scotch whiskey was on John Macpherson. - -"An' here's to you, Gleneira," he said, when Paul returned the glass. -"An' it's wissing you as rich as the Duke o' Wellington--Pech! -Mistress Cameron, but yon's gude whiskey--water never touched it." - -Even the refilled glass, as it passed from hand to hand, seemed to -have a vicarious effect on old John, who waxed more and more lilty, -and finally, when the others moved off, lingered for an audible -whisper, accompanied by an admiring glance at the laird. - -"Gorsh! Miss Marjory, wass I no tellin' you he was bonnie, and iss he -not bonnie, whatever?" - -"A leading question, John," said Paul, readily; "witness can't be -expected to answer it." - -But the argumentative mood was beginning. "An' what for no. Miss -Marjory will be a Highland lass, an' a Highland lass will no be so -shamefast, but they will be knowing a bonnie lad when they see one." - -"I quite agree with you, John," said the girl, quickly, with a -suspicion of both a frown and a smile on her face. - -Paul Macleod, as he walked home, found himself fully occupied in -trying, as it were, to piece the girl's character together to his -satisfaction. She was a novel experience, a pleasant one into the -bargain. - -So when she came to breakfast next morning, a bouquet of hot-house -flowers lay on her plate with Captain Macleod's best wishes for her -birthday. - -"I think it is very kind of him," she said judicially, in reply to -Mrs. Cameron's rapture over the laird's condescension; "but Peter -Morrison will be furious at having his show spoilt. And he has -amputated the poor things at the knee. Men ought never to pick -flowers, they don't understand them, except gardeners, and they never -want to pick them at all." - -When she went up that afternoon to the Big House in order to aid Mrs. -Cameron's taste in the matter of new curtains, there was a little -bunch of white heather and stag-horn moss tucked into her belt. In -finding room amongst the vases for the newcomers this had seemed too -pretty to throw away, that was all. But Paul Macleod's keen eyes fell -on it at once with a certain satisfaction; nevertheless, he made no -allusion to the subject, a reticence which he would not have observed -towards most women of his acquaintance. It was sufficient for him to -be aware of its complicated history. That sort of thing gave an -infinite zest to life. - - - - - CHAPTER VI. - - -Even in the dusty glare of a dusty July sun, one of the largest houses -in Queen's Gardens looked cool and pleasant with its delicate shades -of grey on wall and portico, its striped jalousies and tiled window -gardens gay with scarlet geraniums, yellow calceolarias, and blue -lobelias; flowers, all of them, which seem somehow to have lost their -flowerfulness by being so constantly associated in one's mind with -area railings, barrel organs, and the eternal rat-tat of the postman's -knock--to be brief, with London. For all the passer-by knew or cared, -those lines of brilliant red, yellow, and blue blossoms might have -been cunningly composed of paper, and would have served their purpose -to the full as well had they been so, since no one, even inside the -house, ever looked on them in the light of living, breathing plants -going through a process of asphyxiation. It is difficult no doubt to -resist the temptation to have pot-plants in London, but how often when -brought face to face with the hideous ravages which a day or two of -its poisonous atmosphere makes on our favourites has not the true -flower-lover felt nothing short of murder. The inhabitants of the -house in Queen's Gardens, however, had not even this chance for -remorse, since the boxes were kept bright by contract, and if any poor -plant was ill-advised enough to droop and complain, it was promptly -rooted up and replaced by the man who came in the early mornings to -"walk the hospitals" before the family appeared on the scene. - -Within the house, the same spick and span, utterly impersonal -attention to beauty prevailed. From basement to attic it was simply -perfect in its appointments. As it might well be, since an artist in -copper utensils had been let loose in the kitchen, the greatest -authority in the world on wall papers had been allowed his will in -friezes and dados; and so on from cellar to roof. There is, of course, -a good deal to be said in favour of this modern specialism. It is -distinctly comforting to know, that if you have not reached -perfection, you have at any rate paid for it; but to some barbarians -the loss of individuality in such houses is very grievous. To begin -with, you lose a most delightful study of character. And after all, if -Mrs. Jones has a sneaking admiration for a pea-green carpet with pink -cabbage roses sprinkled over it, why, in heaven's name, should she -conceal the fact? No green that ever was dyed is greener than grass, -no flower that ever was woven is half as brilliant as the -blossom-mosaic which Nature spreads for you to tread upon when the -snow melts from the upland Alps. Yet the house was charming enough in -detail if a little confusing _en masse_ to those sensitive to their -surroundings; since the drawing-room was Queen Anne, the dining-room -Tudor, and various other corridors and apartments Japanesque, -Renaissance, Early English, or Pompeian. - -This again did not affect the inmates, who, indeed, would have scorned -to feel as if time and space had been annihilated in the course of -half-a-dozen steps; such fanciful imaginations being almost wicked, -when time and space were distinctly necessary to the due performance -of your duty in that state of life to which it had pleased Providence -to call you. - -On this particular morning in July, Mr. and Mrs. Woodward and their -daughter Alice were seated at the breakfast table in the usual -comfortable indifferent silence of people who keep a diary of outside -engagements in a conspicuous place on the writing-table, and whose -inner lives move in decorous procession from morn till eve. A canary -was singing joyfully, but at the same time keeping a watchful eye on -the grey Persian cat which walked up and down rubbing itself, as it -passed and repassed, against Mrs. Woodward's gown, with an anxious -look on the bread and milk she was crumbling for it. Mr. Woodward, at -the other side of a central palm tree, studied the share list. Miss -Alice Woodward, who had evidently come down later than the others, was -still engaged listlessly on toast and butter; finally making a remark -in an undertone to her mother that as Jack had settled to ride with -her in the Park at eleven, she supposed it was about time to get -ready; a remark which resulted in her pushing away her plate -languidly. - -"You have eaten no breakfast, my dear, and you are looking pale," said -her mother, comfortably; "I will get you some more Blaud's from the -Stores." - -"Oh! I'm all right," replied the girl. "It's hot, and--and things are -tiresome. They generally are at the end of the season, aren't they?" - -She drifted easily, rather aimlessly, out of the room. Like everything -else in the house she was costly and refined; pretty in herself but -without any individuality. For the rest, blonde and graceful, with a -faintly discontented droop of the mouth, and large, full, china-blue -eyes. - -Mr. Woodward watched her retreat furtively till the door closed behind -her, then laid down his paper and addressed his wife with the air of a -man who attends strictly to business. That was, in fact, his attitude -towards his daughter at all times. He did not, he said, understand -girls, but he did his duty by them. - -"I heard from Macleod this morning, my dear." - -Mrs. Woodward went on crumbling bread gently, and there was a pause. -"Well, what does he say?" - -"That the house will be ready for visitors by the 8th of next month, -and that it will give him great pleasure to welcome us as soon after -that date as we can manage." - -"Nothing more?" - -"Only the old story; that he is most anxious for our consent in order -that he may speak definitely. There, read it yourself, a sensible, -gentlemanly letter. I really don't think she could do better." - -His tone was precisely what it would have been had he been -recommending the purchase of debenture stock in a safe concern. - -"Then I suppose we may consider it settled; I mean, if Alice likes the -place." - -"Just so; but I'm told it is charming; there is a man--in -hooks-and-eyes, by the way--who has the moor next it. I met him at the -Kitcheners' dinner. He said it only wanted money, and she will bring -that. Besides, the man himself is all that can be desired, even by a -girl." - -Mrs. Woodward nodded her head. "Yes, that is such a comfort, and Lady -George is so nice. Alice is quite fond of her, which is a great point -with a sister-in-law. In fact, everything seems most satisfactory." -She paused a moment, and a faint shade of doubt showed on her face. -"Only, of course, there is Jack." - -"Jack! heaven and earth, Sophia! what has Jack to do with it?" - -"Nothing, of course, only you know, or at any rate you might have seen -that he--well, that he may object." - -Mr. Woodward's face passed from sheer amazement to that peculiar -expression of virtuous indignation which so many English fathers -reserve for those who, without a nomination, have the temerity to -admire their daughters. - -"Jack! that boy Jack?" - -"He is older than Alice, my dear," put in his wife, with meek -obstinacy. She, on the contrary, was smiling, for, no matter how -ineligible the victim, a scalp is always a scalp to a mother; and -Jack was not ineligible. On the contrary, he was the head of the -soap-boiling business, now that her husband had received a -consideration for his interest, and retired into the more genteel -trade of blowing soap bubbles on 'Change. - -"Pooh!" retorted Mr. Woodward, angrily, "if he is troublesome send him -to me, I'll settle him. The lad must marry position, like Alice." He -paused, and his manner changed. "You don't, of course, mamma, -insinuate that--that Alice--that your daughter has been foolish -enough----" - -Mrs. Woodward rose with dignity, and gave the cat its bread and milk. -"_My_ daughter is a dear, good, sensible girl, Mr. Woodward; but that -doesn't alter the fact that your _nephew_ may be foolish. I consider -it extremely likely that he may be; it runs in the family." - -Mr. Woodward took up the share list again, using it--after the manner -of his kind when in domestic difficulties--as a shield, and his wife -put a fresh lump of sugar in the canary's cage, saw to its seed and -water, and left the room placidly. The bird was her bird, the cat her -cat, and therefore she did her duty by them. In the same conscientious -spirit she interviewed the housekeeper and ordered a very good dinner -for her husband because he was her husband. Some people have the knack -of getting a vast deal of purely selfish satisfaction out of their own -virtues. Finally, she went into the morning-room, and began to think -over the best way of doing her duty by her daughter also; for there -was this difficulty in the way, here, that she and Alice were too much -alike for sympathy. They found each other out continually, and, what -is more, placidly disapproved of the various little weaknesses they -shared in common. It is this inevitable likeness which is really at -the bottom of that state of affairs, which is expressed in the -feminine phrase, "they don't get on at home, somehow." But Alice was -not a revolting daughter. Apart from other considerations, she would -have thought it vulgar not to behave nicely to her parents, while Mrs. -Woodward herself would have felt her complacent self-respect -endangered if she had not had a high estimate of her own child; and -Alice was, in this aspect, a far easier subject than her brother Sam, -who, to tell truth, gave even his mother a few qualms in regard to his -personal appearance. - -But Alice was perfect in that respect, simply perfect. Not too -pronouncedly pretty; not the sort of girl whose photograph would be -put up surreptitiously in the shop windows, but really quite -unexceptionable as she came in to her mother's room and stood at the -window in her trim habit waiting for the horses to come round. Then -she turned to her mother composedly. - -"Father had a letter from Captain Macleod this morning, hadn't he? -When does he expect us?" - -Mrs. Woodward gave a sigh of relief. It was an advantage sometimes to -be seen through, especially when you were anxious to give a word of -warning before that long ride with Jack in the Park, and you did not -quite know how to set about it. - -"On the 8th; that will suit your father nicely; he will have done his -meetings by then. And you will like the change, won't you, darling?" - -"Immensely, of course. Then we had better go round to Redfern's to-day -and order tailor-made things; something that looks rough, you know, -but isn't. I hate rough things, they make me feel creepy. Ah! there is -Jack coming round the gardens. Good-bye, dearest." - -She stooped to kiss her mother dutifully ere leaving, and Mrs. -Woodward seized the opportunity. - -"Good-bye, darling, and before you go, Alice, about Jack." - -"What about Jack, mamma?" - -"You might tell him--perhaps." - -"What shall I tell him?" asked the girl, a trifle petulantly. "That we -are going down to stay at Gleneira with the Macleods. That is really -all there is to tell--as yet." - -"I know that, my dear; still--still it would be better if Jack did not -follow you about so much." - -"Of course, it would be better, and I have told him so often; I will -tell him again, if you like, so don't be anxious, you good, pretty -little mamma. I am very fond of Jack--he is a dear fellow--but I don't -intend to marry him. I see quite well how foolish it would be for us -both." - -Mrs. Woodward, as she watched the riders pass down the road, told -herself that Alice was one in a thousand, and deserved to be happy, as -no doubt she would be if she married Paul Macleod, who was so very -nice-looking. This point of good looks was one upon which Mrs. -Woodward laid great insistence, and it enabled her to spend the next -hour or two in finishing a sentimental novel in which the lovers, -after sternly rejecting the counsels of parents and guardians, were -rewarded in the third volume with Ł50,000 a year and a baronetcy. For, -like most mothers, poor Mrs. Woodward was sadly at sea on the -matrimonial question. Its romantic side appealed to her fancy, its -business side to her experience, since no woman can have done her duty -in the married state for a quarter of a century without seeing that -where personal pleasure has been the motive power in one point, sheer -personal self-abnegation has been the motive in ten. - -Meanwhile the cousins, after cantering round the Row, had reined in -their horses for a walk. Alice rode well, and the exercise had brought -an unwonted animation to her appearance. Jack, on the other hand, was -a tall, burly young fellow, a trifle over-dressed, but otherwise -unobjectionable, looked his best, with a heartwhole admiration for his -companion on his honest face. What a pretty couple they would make, -thought an old spinster, taking her constitutional in Kensington -Gardens, and began straightway to dream of a certain hunt ball where -someone had danced with her five times before supper. How many times -afterwards she had never had to confess, even to her twin sister; -thanks to the extras, which, of course, need not count. And yet -nothing had come of it! And just as she got so far in her -reminiscences Alice was saying to Jack pleasantly, "I shall miss these -rides of ours, Jack, shan't you?" - -"Why should you miss them?" he asked anxiously, for there was a -superior wisdom in her tone which he knew and dreaded. "I'm going down -to Heddingford when you go. We can ride there." - -"But we are going to Scotland first; didn't mamma tell you? We are to -stay with Captain Macleod." - -Poor Jack's heart gave a great throb of pain. - -"Macleod?" he echoed, "that is the tall, handsome fellow, isn't it, -who used to hang round you before I came up from the works?" - -This allusion to Paul's good looks was unfortunate, since Jack's were -not improved by the sudden flush which crimsoned even his ears. - -"I don't know what you mean by hanging round," retorted the girl, -quickly. "It is a very vulgar expression." - -This again was unwise, for Jack, knowing his strong point was not -refinement, felt instantly superior to such trivialities, and took the -upper hand. - -"Call it what you like, Ally. You know perfectly well what I mean, and -what he meant, too." - -There was no denying it, and, after all, why should it be denied? Had -she not a right to have other lovers besides Jack? - -"Let us come for another canter," she said, in the tone of voice which -an elder sister might have used to a troublesome little brother, who -required to be coaxed out of ill humour. "There is no use being cross -about it, you know." - -She went a little too far, and roused him into laying his hand on her -rein, abruptly. And the action startled her, for she hated any display -of emotion, being, in truth, totally unaccustomed to it. - -"Not yet, Ally! I want to have this out first. It is time I did. And -yet I don't know how to begin; perhaps because it never had a -beginning. I've always cared for you--you know that. Ever since----" -the young man's eyes grew moist suddenly over some childish -recollection, and then an almost savage look came to his face. "And -you--you cared. I'm sure you cared----" - -Some people have the knack of saying the wrong thing, and in this case -poor Jack Woodward gave his mistress a handle both to her pride and -her prudence. - -"Care," she echoed, in a patronising tone. "Of course, Jack, I cared. -I cared for you very much, and I care for you now. So much so that I -am not going to let you be foolish any more. We didn't understand what -things really meant in those old days----" - -"You don't understand now," he broke in hotly. - -"Don't I," she continued; "perhaps I don't, for I don't really see -what there is to make such a fuss about. And it is very selfish----" - -"Do you mean to say that it is selfish of me to love you?" he cried. -"Selfish to----" - -She interrupted him again with the same facile wisdom. - -"Very selfish, if we stand in each other's way. And, after all, Jack, -what we both need to make life really successful is something we -have neither of us got. We are only soap-boilers, you know, and -society----" - -"Society!" he echoed sternly. "What has society to do with it? I -didn't think you were so worldly." - -"I am not worldly," she retorted, in quite an aggrieved tone; "unless, -indeed, it is worldly to be sensible, to think of you as well as of -myself--to be unselfish and straightforward." - -"Straightforward! What, do you call it straightforward to let me hang -round you as I have done?" - -"Really, Jack, you are _impayable_ with your hangings round! Can you -not find a less objectionable phrase?" - -She was fencing with him, and he saw it, saw it and resented it with -the almost coarse resentment of a nature stronger and yet less -obstinate than hers. - -"Yes, if you like. I'll say you have played fast and loose with me--as -you have. You have known for years that I cared for you, and that I -intended to marry you. And when a girl allows that sort of thing to go -on without a word, and doesn't mean it, I say she is a flirt--a -heartless flirt, and I have nothing more to do with her." - -He turned his horse as he spoke, and without another word rode off, -leaving her to go home with the groom. Inexcusable violence, no doubt. -Alice told herself so again and again in the vain effort to get rid of -a certain surprised remorse, for the girl was emphatically a moral -coward, and any display of high-handed resentment, so far from rousing -her opposition, invariably made her doubtful of her own wisdom. She -hated scenes most cordially, hated, above all things, to have -opprobrious epithets hurled at her; for she clung with almost piteous -tenacity to her own virtue. It was too hard, too unkind of Jack to -blame her, and yet despite this, his condemnation seemed to dim that -lodestar of her firmament--common sense. After all, if he liked her, -why should they not marry? Why should such devotion be sacrificed to -the Moloch of position? In truth, as she thought over the incident, an -odd mixture of anger and regret came to upset her usual placidity, so -that, much to her own surprise, she broke down helplessly into tears -over her mother's conventional inquiry as to how she had enjoyed her -ride. Nor could she find any reason for this unwonted emotion, beyond -the fact that Jack had been brutal and called her a flirt, and had -ridden away, declaring that he would have nothing more to say to her. -That such would be the case Mrs. Woodward, as she administered sal -volatile and talked about the trying heat, felt was most devoutly to -be wished; but a long course of three volume novels warned her of the -danger of trusting to the permanence of lovers' quarrels. So after her -daughter had been provided with darkness and eau-de-cologne, and a -variety of other feminine remedies against the evil effects of -emotion, she went off to her own sitting-room to consider the position -by the light of her five-and-forty years of human experience. To begin -with, the girl's feelings were clearly more deeply implicated than -she, or for the matter of that Alice herself, had imagined. The -question, therefore, came uppermost whether this fact ought to be -admitted or deprecated; whether in short this evident dislike to -giving her cousin pain was the result of a romantic attachment or -simply the natural kindliness of a girl for a young fellow she had -known from infancy. Now the cogitations of mothers over their -daughters' matrimonial prospects are always fair game for both -moralist and novelist. For some mysterious reason the least display of -prudence is considered worldly; yet, on the face of it, a woman who -has had, say, five-and-twenty years of married life cannot possibly -fail to see how much of her own life has been made or marred by -influences which she never considered in accepting Dick, Tom, or -Harry. In nine cases out of ten it is the remembrance of her own -ignorance which makes her espouse the cause of the lover who can bring -the greatest number of chances for content. And it is idle to deny, -for instance, that a girl marrying into a family which will welcome -her is far less likely to quarrel with her husband than one who is -looked on askance by her mother-in-law. There is, in sober truth, an -immense deal to be said in favour of the French theory which holds -that given a favourable nidus, and kindly atmosphere, the germ of -happiness is more likely to grow into a goodly tree, and bear fruit a -thousandfold, than when it is planted in a hurry by two inexperienced -gardeners in the first pot which they fancy in the great Mart. Owing, -however, to our somewhat startling views as to the sanctity of the -romantic passion over the claims of duty towards oneself and others, -these minor considerations are considered mercenary to the last -degree, and the mother who is courageous enough to confess them openly -is held up to obloquy. Why, it is difficult to say, since none of us -really believe in the popular theory. It will not hold water for an -instant when put to the practical test of experience; even if we leave -out of consideration the fact that fully one-half of the people one -meets have never felt, and have never felt the desire to feel, an -absorbing passion. - -Mrs. Woodward, for instance, had not; moreover she had brought Alice -up from the cradle to share her views of life, and had never once -found her way barred by any bias towards a more passionate outlook. In -fact, she was, in her mother's estimate, the very last girl in the -world to find sentiment soothing. On the contrary, it distressed her, -made her cry, necessitated her lying down with smelling-salts and a -hot-bottle. Then above all things she loved a certain refined -distinction and exclusiveness. Even as a child she had held her head -high in the soap-boiling connection, and though she would no doubt be -very fairly happy with Jack, the Macleod family was distinctly more -suitable. The question, therefore, soon resolved itself, not into -whether the outworks of the girl's placidity should be defended, but -how this could best be effected. How in short Jack could be prevented -from posing as a martyr; for Mrs. Woodward was sharp enough to see -that, at present at any rate, the danger lay entirely in her -daughter's remorse. - -"It was very unkind of Jack I must say," she commented skilfully on -the story which Alice unfolded to her after a time; "but you mustn't -be hard on him, my dear. Men never have so much self-control as we -have, and no doubt the knowledge that you were right vexed him. They -get over these little rebuffs very quickly." - -"It--it seemed to hurt him though--and I hate--all that sort of -thing," murmured the girl doubtfully, looking as if she were going to -cry again. - -"And it hurts you apparently, though you know quite well that you only -did your duty." - -"I suppose so," remarked Alice, still more doubtfully; "only I wish he -hadn't been so unreasonable." - -"So do I; but in these cases the girl always has to have sense for -both. Besides Jack has a vile temper. But it is soon over. You will -see that he will come to dinner as usual--it is the opera night, and -he wouldn't miss that for anything--not even for you, my dear." - -Alice smiled a watery smile, and said she did not think it meant so -little to him as all that; but Mrs. Woodward maintained her position, -having, in fact, some grounds for her belief, owing to the despatch of -a certain little note which she had sent off before coming in to -console Alice, and which ran thus:-- - - -"Dear Jack,--Alice tells me you were very much put about to-day -regarding our visit to Scotland; why, I can scarcely understand. Dear -boy, if only for your own sake--since you can scarcely wish to quarrel -with her, or us--do try and keep that temper of yours a little more -under control. The poor girl came home crying, and I really cannot -allow you to go out with her again if you are so inconsiderate. You -ought to know quite well how sensitive she is, so for goodness' sake -don't let this stupid misunderstanding disturb us all.--Your -affectionate Aunt, - - "Sophia Woodward." - -P.S.--"We dine earlier to-day, as Alice wants to be in time for the -overture, 'Tannhauser.'" - - -A note which meant all or nothing according to the wishes of the -reader. In this case it meant all, for Jack, returning to his rooms -after a disastrous attempt to begin his future rôle in life by playing -whist with the old fogies at his club, was feeling that life, even as -a misogynist, was unendurable, when the sight of his aunt's -handwriting made his heart beat. The note was not in the least what he -had expected to receive, and made him somehow feel as if he had -grossly exaggerated the necessity for grief. - -"Aunt Soph is on my side, anyhow," said the young man, with a certain -elation, "and I was a brute, I'm afraid." - -The result being, that before Alice, who had been spending the -afternoon with Paul Macleod's sister, Lady George Temple, had returned -from her drive, Jack, with a big gardenia in his coat, was ushered -into the drawing-room, where his aunt, in satin and diamonds, was -skimming through the last few pages of another novel which had to be -returned to the library that evening. - -"Good boy!" she said, smiling. "Now, I hope you won't spoil Alice's -pleasure to-night by even alluding to your rudeness." - -Jack looked a little aghast. "But, Aunt Sophia, I must beg her -pardon." - -"Then you had better do it at once," replied Mrs. Woodward, "and get -it over. For there she is at the door. You can run downstairs and meet -her, for she will have to go up to dress at once. She is late as it -is." - -Begging your mistress's pardon on the way upstairs, before the eyes of -a butler and a footman, was not quite what Jack had pictured to -himself; but it was better than nothing, and Alice's unfeigned look of -relief at seeing him could not be mistaken. - -Mrs. Woodward slept soundly that night, feeling that she had done a -good day's work, and steered the bark of her daughter's happiness out -of a great danger. And happiness to her philosophy meant much, since -virtue was so very much easier of attainment when life went smoothly. -This was partly the reason why she did not detail the past danger to -her husband after the manner of some wives, who love to chase sleep -from their good man's eyes by breaking in upon the delicious -drowsiness of the first ten minutes in bed by perfectly needless -revelations of past woe. - -The tie, in fact, between these two whose night-capped heads reposed -side by side, was a curious one if absolutely commonplace. It -consisted of a vast amount of mutual respect for each other's position -as husband or wife, a solid foundation of placid affection, and no -confidence. For instance, Mrs. Woodward knew considerably more about -her son Sam Woodward's debts than his father did, to say nothing of -minor points in the matter of household management; but then at least -two-thirds of Mr. Woodward's life was absolutely unknown to the wife -of his bosom. He breakfasted and dined at home on week days, and on -Sundays he added lunch to the other meals; what is more, he never -deserted her for the club on the occasion of "At Homes." But of his -life between 10 A.M. and 7 P.M. she knew nothing, except that he -lunched at a bar in the City. So far as this went, he was to her -exactly what he was to the outside world; that is to say, Mr. -Woodward, the lucky financier, whose name meant money. Even the -success or failure of the companies which she saw advertised with his -name as director did not interest her, for she knew by experience that -money and to spare was always forthcoming. And to tell the truth, Mr. -Woodward was a singularly lucky man. When the smash came to the -company "For Preserving the North American Indian from Total -Extinction by Supplying him with a Sparkling Beverage, Exhilarating -but non-Alcoholic, to take the Place of the Deleterious Fire Water," -he had happened to sell his last remaining share the day before; and -even when the scheme for supplying hard-boiled eggs to the settlers in -Africa failed, it did not affect the home supply at all. And yet Mr. -Woodward's character as a business man stood above suspicion, and the -worst that had ever been said of him was that he could sail a point or -two nearer to the wind with safety than most men. - -So that night he also slept the sleep of the just, undisturbed by the -thoughts of Jack's temerity. Even if he had known of it, it is to be -feared that he would have set the question aside with the mental -verdict that it was clearly the business of the girl's mother to see -to such things. Poor mothers! who as they look at the bald head on the -pillow beside their own cannot but feel, even while they would not now -part with it for all the world, that life would have been less -disappointing if circumstances had been more kind. - -As for Alice herself, she slept peacefully also, the doubt which poor -Jack's pain had raised in her gentle mind having been allayed by his -prompt submission. And Jack snored--positively snored; for he was -rather fatigued with his own excitement, being of the sort which takes -most things not so much keenly as heavily. To tell the truth, also, -his determination to marry his cousin was so fixed that the greater -part of his pain had been sheer inability to grasp the idea of denial; -so that he reverted gladly to the old position without asking -questions as a less tenacious man might have done. - - - - - CHAPTER VII. - - -Lord George Temple sate moodily in the armchair of his study in his -little house in Mayfair chewing the end of a cigar and looking -disconsolately at a tray of whiskey and water and a plate of oval thin -Captain's biscuits on the table. He was a red-haired smooth-faced man -with rather a long upper lip, and a good-natured, somewhat whimsical -expression. - -"It is a confounded shame!" he said to his wife, who, with an opera -cloak slipping from her pretty bare shoulders, was resting for a -moment before going upstairs to bed. "Graham gives his cook -twenty-five pounds a year--I heard her telling you so one day when she -was wanting a new one--and yet there wasn't a thing fit to eat on the -table----" - -"Well, I don't know," put in Lady George, absently; "I think those -stuffed larks came from Mirobolants. I saw that style of decoration in -his place the other day, and I'm quite sure the iced soufflé was -Bombardi's; I know the shape." - -"Exactly what I said!" continued the husband, "not a thing fit for a -gouty man to eat at the table, and yet a woman on twenty-five pounds -ought to be up to roast chicken and a rice pudding." - -Blanche Temple looked at her spouse with the compassionate air of -tolerance which she invariably extended to his views. - -"But you can't give your friends roast chicken and rice pudding; you -can't, indeed, nowadays. People wouldn't come." - -"My dear girl," interrupted Lord George, obstinately, "there were four -men at the table who, like myself, partook of soup, fish, and cheese -straws. And one poor beggar didn't even have the soup." The thought -was apparently comforting, for he began more contentedly on a biscuit. -But his wife was now interested in the subject. Most things interested -her, either to affirmation or denial, for Paul Macleod's sister was a -very clever woman, if at the same time curiously conventional. - -"Well! I don't know who eats the things, then," she said, aggrievedly. -"Why, the last time we had a dinner-party--I mean when the Woodwards -were here--I'm sure Paul ought to be infinitely obliged to me for the -trouble I take--the cook who came in used pounds on pounds of stock -meat, and quarts on quarts of cream; to say nothing of a whole bottle -of whiskey. 'You had better give it her, my lady,' said Jane, 'for -fear as the dinner might 'ave no appearance.'" - -Among other unknown and despised talents which did not suit Lady -George's theory of her own rôle in life was a distinct turn for -mimicry. Her admirable impersonation of Jane, therefore, made her -husband burst out laughing; since by a whimsical perversion of affairs -he loved his wife dearly for the very qualities which she feigned not -to possess. For Blanche was essentially a theatrical woman, loving to -pose in all the relations of life, her present one being that of a -dutiful sister. On Paul's return from India she had not only hastened -to impress on him the absolute necessity for his marrying an heiress -if he wished to keep Gleneira in the family, but had also introduced -him to Alice Woodward, as a girl who would suit the part admirably. -For Lady George knew her brother's foibles thoroughly, and understood -that if he married for money, the bride must be a person who would -neither offend his refinement, nor require much display of affection; -since Paul would certainly never give himself away by pretending a -depth of sentiment he did not feel, and yet would not marry without -something of the sort. That she felt was the worst of him. _Au fond_ -he was absolutely truthful to himself. - -"Of course you could sell if you liked," she had said to him -skilfully, well knowing that the very thought was utterly repugnant; -"trade is always ready to buy a Highland property. The only -alternative is to marry a girl with money. I know one, pretty, -lady-like, refined; a girl of whom you would be very fond if she were -your wife. Her father is a speculator. Not quite so safe, of course, -as a solid business--buttons or tallow--though, by the way, he has -something to do with soap. Still, these Woodwards are quite -presentable, and _Monsieur le pčre_ has his wits about him. And then -you know there are always settlements, and deeds of gift, and those -sort of things which creditors make such a fuss about." - -Her brother winced visibly. "I should prefer not to have a row with -anybody else's creditors," he said shortly. "_I_ shall have enough -apparently to do in keeping my own quiet. England is a terribly -expensive place to live in." - -"London, you mean," retorted his sister, gaily. "You can always go -down to Gleneira and vegetate." - -That had been at the beginning of the season, and now Paul had gone -down, not to vegetate, but to prepare the old place for the visit of -inspection; not without a certain resentful irritation at the -necessity for it. Though at the same time it put the affair on an -easier footing for the present. - -Afterwards, however, Paul had every intention of imparting sentiment -into the transaction, if it could be done; and he knew himself to have -a vast capacity for falling in love, after the approved romantic -fashion, with any pretty girl who was willing to let him make love to -her. So his sister, bewailing the pounds of stock meat and quarts of -cream expended on his behalf, yet felt that she had been successful; -but, then, she would hardly have recognised herself if she had not -been so, since in her own little world, which she carefully avoided -extending unwisely either upwards or downwards, Lady George Temple was -always cited as a success in all the rôles which she felt called upon -to play. - -"I heard from Paul to-day, by the way," she said, as she gathered up -her gloves and fan. "He wants me to go and call on that Mrs. Vane. You -remember who I mean, of course?" - -"No, I don't," replied Lord George, relapsing into moodiness over the -biscuits. - -"You never do remember what I mean, dear! But she is the Colonel's -wife, who nursed Paul when he nearly died in India. Of course they do -it very often, I know, and it is more confusing than sending for a -woman whom you can pay and get rid of afterwards. Still, she really -did save his life--under Providence, of course--at least, Paul always -said so. Well, her husband, who, I believe, drank, or did something, -died two years ago, leaving her dreadfully off, so she went to live -with somebody--an uncle or an aunt, who, I fancy, must have left her -some money, for she has just taken a house somewhere in Chelsea. And -Paul, who hasn't seen her since those old days, has asked her to -Gleneira, and wants me to make her acquaintance first. Rather a bore, -for I wish to have a particularly pleasant party, and she will most -likely be an old frump." - -"Scarcely, my dear, if she nursed your brother, and he survived," -remarked Lord George, gravely. - -His wife frowned. "How can you be so absurd, dear; she must be quite -old, for Paul wrote she was a perfect mother to him, and that is quite -six years ago." - -Lord George's eyes twinkled again. "My dear Blanche, you and Paul have -exaggerated notions on the subject of a mother's----" He paused, at a -rattle on the door-handle, and looked apprehensively at his wife. The -next instant two charming little figures in frilled white nightgowns -burst into the room, and flinging themselves into their mother's arms -began to cover her with kisses. The daintiest little creatures, a boy -and a girl, with angelic faces and shrill, excited, happy, little -voices. - -"Oh, you bad children!" cried Blanche, without a trace of vexation. -"So you wanted to see mother, did you? And now you have seen her, off -to bed with you before Nannie comes after you, there's dear ones! -Quick! or she will be coming." - -"Quick, Adam! Quick, Evie!" echoed the happy voices excitedly, in a -rush to the open door, which ended in a sudden pull up, and a still -more excited cry. "Oh, mammy! Oh, daddy! here's Blazes comin' down the -stairs." - -Lord George's face lost its apprehensiveness in resignation. Yet, as -he settled himself back in his chair, his long upper lip betrayed a -disposition to smile, for Blasius, his youngest son, was apt to amuse -him. A very different child this, short, squat, and red-haired, who, -after sundry thumpings and bumpings outside, suggestive of falls, -appeared, rubbing his eyes sleepily, at the door; then the broad, -good-natured face expanded into a grin. "_Bickys'!_" he said, -laconically, as he toddled across to the tray. - -"Oh! what a welly greedy little boy, ain't he, Evie?" said Adam. "We -come to see our darlin' mummie, didn't we, duckums?" He was at her -side for a swift caress, and back again to stand expectantly beside -his sister, whose little dancing feet were keeping time to her nodding -golden head. As pretty a picture of light-hearted innocent enjoyment -as heart could desire, even at eleven o'clock at night! - -"Give him a biscuit, do, and let him go," said Lady George, hurriedly. -"It won't hurt him, they are quite plain. Dada will give you a -biscuit, Blasius, and then you can go back to bed, like a dear, can't -you?" - -Blasius' large, round, blue eyes assumed a look of vacuity as the -sentence proceeded; but as he stood sturdily on his little bare feet -beside his father both little chubby hands went out at once, and a -singularly full voice for so young a child gave out conglomerately:-- - -"Blathe's--'ll--take two, ta." - -Lord George shot a glance at his wife and complied; while from the -door came a little whisper, intended to be one of horror. "Oh, Addie! -ain't he a welly greedy little boy?" - -"And now Blasius will go to bed like a good boy, with his good little -brother and sister," remarked Lady George, with forced optimism. "Adam -and----" Her voice failed before a soft thud as Blasius sat down -solidly, and stuck his little bare feet beyond his little white -nightgown. - -"Mummie can go, Blazeth'll stay with dada--ta." - -Those two at the door stood bolt upright, with sidelong looks of pious -horror at each other-- - -"Oh, Evie! \ - > Ain't he a weally naughty little boy?" -"Oh, Addle! / - -"Blasius _must_ go to bed," began his mother, quite firmly, -"or--or--mummie will be very much grieved. Her little boy wouldn't -like to grieve his mummie, would he?" - -Lord George, who had looked hopeful at the decision of tone, sank back -in his chair and twiddled his thumbs. - -"You had better ring for nurse at once, Blanche. It always comes to -that in the end, and the child will get cold." - -His wife frowned. Her theories had been so successful with Adam and -Eve that the necessity for reverting to the _vi et armis_ with this -baby was grievous. She sate down beside him on the floor, and began in -mellifluous tones. - -"Listen, Blasius. Mummie wants her little Blasius to do something to -please her; she wants him to do something very much----" She got no -further, being gagged by a little soft hand and a very hard biscuit -together. - -"Blazeth's not a deedy 'ickle boy. Blazeth'll give poor 'ickle mummie -hith bicky, and be a dood 'ickle boy. Then daddy'll gif him anofer." - -Little chortles of intense enjoyment came from those angelic faces at -the door. - -"Go to bed, children; off with you at once," said their father, -quickly, whereupon an obedient patter of bare feet fled up the stairs -with an accompanying cackle of high, eager voices, busy over the pros -and cons of Blasius versus authority. - -"Do you think she'll assuade him, Evie? I don't." "I think he ought to -be smacked, I do." "I'd let him cry, it don't hurt a child to cry. -Nanna's mother says it's good for the lungs." "And Blazes likes to -cry, he does." "I say, Addie! how long will it be afore Duckum's -mummie has to ring the bell?" - -The last wonder being faintly audible from the landing above, settled -the business downstairs. Lord George rose and took the law into his -own hands. - -"Oh, George!" cried his wife, reproachfully, "how can you expect to -train up children in the way they should go if you are so impatient? -If once I could have got Blasius to understand what was really -required of him----" - -Here the advent of a big, stalwart figure in a wrapper, bearing a -white shawl, brought such sudden comprehension to the stalwart little -one, that the room for one brief moment resounded with yells. The next -found the door closed upon them, and Lady George looked disconsolately -at her husband, as she listened to the retreating struggles of her -youngest born. - -"I cannot think what makes him so different from the others," she -said, gloomily. - -"My dear," replied her husband, consolingly, "Cain came after Adam and -Eve; perhaps the next will be Abel. Besides, Blasius was a risky name. -I told you so at the time." - -"Saint Blasius was a very worthy man," retorted his spouse, hotly, -"and, considering that you and the boy were both born on his day, I -must say I think it quite natural that I should call my child George -Blasius--or, let me see, was it Blasius George?" - -"It is a matter of no importance, my dear," replied her husband, -drily. He did not remind his wife, nor did she choose to remember that -at the time she had been playing the ultra ritualistic rôle. To tell -the truth, she did not care to be brought face to face with her past -impersonations, unless the fancy seized her to revert to them; when, -at a moment's notice, she could resume the character as if she had -never ceased to play it. - -So, the next day, with a view to making a suitable impression on -Paul's widow, as she chose to call Mrs. Vane, she put on her most -dowdy garments, and actually went in an omnibus down the King's-road. -Thus far her environment suited her foregone conclusions, but, as she -stood in the wide stretch down by the river, the brilliant sunshine -streaming upon a very bright knocker and a very white door, a certain -feeling of distrust crept over her. Nor was the darkened room into -which she was ushered reassuring. The parquet floors were almost bare, -the windows beneath the striped Venetian awnings were set wide open to -a balcony wreathed with blossoming creepers, and hung with cages of -singing birds. A scent of flowers was in the air, a coolness, an -emptiness, and yet the first impression was one of ease and comfort. -Not the room, this, of an old frump. And this was not an old frump -rising from a cushioned lounge and coming forward like a white shadow -in the half light. - -"How good of you to come!" - -Lady George, dazzled as she was by the change from the sunlight -outside to the darkness within, yet saw enough to make her gasp. Lo! -this little bit of a woman with syren written all over her from the -tip of her dainty Parisian shoe to the crown of her fair, curly head, -was Paul's widow. His mother, forsooth! A pretty mother, indeed! - -Having got so far as this, Blanche, being, amongst other things, -somewhat of an artist, felt bound to admit that Violet Vane was very -pretty indeed; so pretty that it was a pleasure to watch the piquant -face, full of a quaint sort of humour and freshness, grow clear of the -shadows. In this half light she looked younger, no doubt, than she -really was; still, even in the garish day, Lady George felt -instinctively that her charm would remain. In fact, she was not at -all, no! not in the least, a suitable companion for Paul, when so much -depended on his being reasonable. - -"I haven't seen your brother for years," came the sweet but rather -thin voice. "It is so good of him to remember me. So more than good of -him to ask me down to Gleneira that I mean to go, if only to ensure -the kindness being credited to him. I wonder if he is much changed?" - -There was a certain challenge in the speech which Lady George was -quick enough to recognise, and, as she recognised it, wondered if her -own astonishment had been too palpable, as that in itself would be a -mistake, so she replied deftly: - -"He is not changed in one thing--his gratitude to you. And I am -grateful also, for Paul is very dear to me. The dearest fellow in the -world, is he not?" - -It was a statement to which, in the language of poker, Mrs. Vane could -hardly go one better, and therefore it left her, as it were, to an -under-study of devotion. - -"He used to be very nice when I knew him; but, then, sick people are -always nice; they are so much at one's mercy," said the little lady, -airily. They were, in their way, admirable types of their kind, these -two women; both artificial, yet with an artificiality which sprang -from the head in the one case, from the heart in the other; for Mrs. -Vane saw through herself, and Lady George did not. - -"So that is Paul's sister," said the former to herself as, on the way -back to her lounge, after escorting her visitor in friendliest fashion -to the stairs, she paused to take up a photograph case lying on the -table. It contained Paul's portrait as he had been before the time -when she had watched his fair head tossing restlessly on the pillow in -that hot Indian room which nothing would cool. The memory of those -dreary days and nights came back to her in a rush, making her, -paradoxically, look years older, worn, haggard, and anxious. She -seemed to be back in them; to hear the gathering cry of the jackals -prowling past the open door, to see the flicker of the oil night-light -gleam on the splintered ice, turning it for a brief second to -diamonds, as she prepared it for the burning forehead above those -bright, yet glazed eyes; and, more than all, she seemed to feel the -old passionate protest against the possibility of his passing for ever -out of her life joined to the fierce determination to save him to the -uttermost. From what? from herself, perhaps. For Mrs. Vane had -performed the most unselfish act of her life when she had laughed and -scoffed at the devotion and gratitude of her patient. She had had -many, she said, and they had always felt like that during some period -of their convalescence. There was nothing for these sequelć of jungle -fever like three months' leave to the bears in Kashmir; and, if he -liked, he might bring her home one of those little silk carpets for -her sitting-room as a fee; she would prefer a carpet to anything else. -And so Paul had come back with his unromantic offering, cured, as she -had prophesied, of his feverishness, but not of his friendliness. That -had lasted, despite a separation of years. And something else had -lasted also, to judge by the look on Mrs. Vane's face as she stood -with Paul's photograph in her hand. - -Lady George Temple took a cab home, and tried to regain a sense of -lost importance by having the children down to tea. Paul had kept this -thing secret from her; he had allowed her for years to speak kindly, -effusively of the woman who had saved his life as if she were an old -frump, when she was really--Blanche, being a person of sense, felt -forced to acknowledge the truth--one of the most charming little -creatures imaginable, with just that half-sympathetic, half-bantering -manner which was so taking. And Paul, having done this, her own rôle -of devoted sisterhood suffered thereby; so she fell back upon her -motherhood. - -Thus, when her husband returned, he found the room littered with -Kindergarten toys, while Adam was threading beads by the -multiplication table, and Eve was busily engaged in marking the course -of the River Congo in red back-stitching on a remarkably black -continent of Africa, which was afterwards to do duty as a -kettleholder. Blasius, meanwhile, having been so far beguiled into the -Zeit-Geist as to consent to build a puff-puff out of some real -terra-cotta bricks and columns which were intended for an -architectural object lesson. - -"Oh, George!" began his wife, pausing with a lump of sugar in the -tongs over his cup, "Paul's widow is dreadful; I don't know what I -shall do with her." - -"Hand her over to me--I can generally manage to get on with people," -he said, watching the tongs greedily; for the question of sugar in his -tea was the cause of much dispute between him and his wife. A slow -smile came to her face as she replaced the lump. - -"No! my dear; it wouldn't be good for you," she said, coming back to -the present, and then she frowned. "I cannot think what induced Paul -to ask her just when so much depends on the Woodwards feeling -themselves to be _the_ guests _par excellence_," she continued, after -a brief but picturesque description of the offender. "And this woman -is sure to sing, and play, and dance, and act. I saw it in her face." - -"Jolly sort of person to have in a country house, I should say," -remarked her husband, secretly impressed. - -"I knew _you_ would say that, George," put in his wife, resignedly. -"Yes! she is just the sort of woman men love to dangle round." - -"Then ask someone to dangle. That will leave the coast clear for Paul -and Miss Woodward." - -Lady George raised her eyebrows scornfully. "As if that would do any -good! That sort of woman always insists on having the best men, and -Paul looks that in most society; besides I don't feel called upon to -pave the way to an heiress for anyone else but my brother. That is -what it would come to. No! I cannot conceive why Paul should make -things so--so much more difficult for himself." - -"Natural depravity, my dear," suggested her husband, helping himself -on the sly to sugar. "There is such a thing--Hullo! what's that?" - -That was the sudden discovery on Blazes' part that an Ionic column, -when used as an engine funnel, would, if hit violently with a good, -squat Norman one, break off in the middle; a discovery which was -followed by an outburst of that craze for destruction which healthy -children display on the least provocation. - -"He--he is not a 'Kindergarten' child," remarked his mother, -plaintively, when after a time the upstairs bell had once more been -rung and the offender carried off shrieking amid awed whispers of -intense enjoyment, about "welly welly naughty little boys" from Adam -and Eve. - -"No, my dear, he isn't," assented Lord George, cheerfully. "Some of us -are made that way; his uncle, for instance; but he isn't a fool, and -he knows which side his bread is buttered; a fact which has a -marvellous effect in keeping a man straight." - -"My dear George! what a terrible thing to say. It is a reversion to -that fear of punishment----" - -"My dear! I should like a second cup of tea, and this time I think you -might let me have a small lump of sugar--quite a small one." - -That evening Blanche wrote a long letter to her brother, which gave -her some trouble to compose. In it she lavished endless praises on -dear Mrs. Vane, who, to judge from her _looks_, must have had great -_trouble_, and fully deserved dear, kind Paul's grateful remembrance -of past services; which, by the way, she seemed to have extended to -many other fortunate invalids. Altogether a most delightful woman, of -_varied experiences_ if a trifle _manierée_; "though this," she added, -"my dear Paul, is, I fear, a common fault with women who have been -made much of _by many men_." - -As it so happened he read this remark at a small picnic party where -Marjory, the only lady present, was dispensing tea to Will Cameron, -himself, the Reverend James Gillespie, Father Macdonald, Mr. Wilson, -and Donald Post, who had been waylaid on the road just above the -little creek on the loch, where they had lit their fire, to say -nothing of the minister's man holding the Manse dogcart until its -occupants should choose to tear themselves away from temptation and -proceed on their journey. - -"_Quid datur a Divis felice optatius hora?_" quoted the minister -gallantly, as he set aside the girl's offer of another cup and rose to -go, while little Father Macdonald, following his example, quoted a -verse from Tasso to show that the memory of a pleasant hour might give -even greater pleasure than the hour itself. Paul Macleod, watching -them, and fully alive to the adoring look on the Reverend James's -face, continuing, as it were the kindly affection of Will's, gave a -short laugh as he tore up his letter and threw it into the embers of -the dying fire. - -Marjory looked at him inquiringly. - -"Only something that seems singularly out of place with my present -surroundings," he said in quick response; "but the world has a knack -of seeming very far away when one is in Gleneira." - - - - - CHAPTER VIII. - - -It was true. The more so because the heat-haze lingered, turning the -hills which lay between the Glen and the world beyond it, into a pale -blue, formless wall, which seemed somehow more of an arbitrary -division than it would have done had the contours of each successive -rise been clearly visible. The fierce sun beat down on the limestone -rocks, giving a russet tinge even to their mosses, and Paul Macleod's -useless rod lay in its case, since the river was reduced to a mere -tinkle of clear water in a moraine of boulders. So he took to -haymaking instead, partly because it suited his mood to play the rôle -of country proprietor--for to a certain extent he shared his sister's -dramatic temperament--and partly because Marjory always brought Will -Cameron's tea into the fields. It was quite idyllic to watch her from -afar, making it ready on the outskirts of a nut coppice or belt of -firs, and then to see her stand out into the rolling, undulating waves -of new cut grass which were creeping up the hillsides before the -scythes, and call to them in her clear, young voice, for, of course, -the laird could not be left out in the heat when his factor was -enjoying the cool. So he used to lounge about as Will did in the -scented hay, and talk nonsense, with infinite grace and skill, until, -with the extinction of his pipe, the latter's tardy sense of duty -would take fire, and he would insist on a return to work. - -On the whole, it was scarcely what Paul would have expected to amuse -him, and yet, after ten years of a land where hay-fields are not, and -it is unsafe to sit about for fear of snakes, it was strangely -pleasant. And so delightfully innocent! This came home to him -one night when, on going to his room, he saw his purse on the -dressing-table, and remembered that for a whole week he had not opened -it. The world had gone on as if there were no such thing in it as -money. He mentioned the fact next day among the hay-cocks, declaring -that if someone would only be responsible for his bills, he himself -would never care to see a shilling again. - -"Not I," said Will, rather dolefully; "for I'm afraid, Gleneira, these -masons and carpenters will cost a lot more than we fancied. It is -always the way when one touches a place. I remember when Inveresta -began he told me I wasn't to exceed a thousand, and before he was half -way through his list of absolute necessaries, the figures had passed -fifteen hundred. And yet I don't think it can be helped." - -He blew disconsolately at his pipe as if it were in fault, for he -prided himself on managing the estates in his charge with strict -economy, but Paul smiled indifferently. - -"My owner will be able to pay, I expect, when I get one. For when the -worst comes to the worst, Miss Carmichael, I can always put myself up -to auction. Do you think I should fetch a fair price? Item, one -Highland estate, seriously damaged by the Crofter Commission, and an -ancestral tree, ditto, by Darwinism. N.B.--Property encumbered by -several mortgages and one extravagant proprietor." He lay back against -a hay-cock with his hands behind his head, looking the personification -of lazy content as he watched her face shift and change. "You don't -seem to approve of my plan," he went on, in the same light tones, "but -the idea has infinite charm for me; it would save so much trouble, and -do so little harm. People sell themselves to the devil, we are told, -and that may be reprehensible--at any rate, it would be uncomfortable. -But what inconvenience or immorality can there be in making yourself -over, soul and body, to some virtuous Christian man or woman who, in -all probability, is far more capable of running the coach respectably -than you are?" - -"The same immorality as there is in any other form of suicide, I -suppose," she replied coldly; but he was not to be put off. - -"And what immorality is there in suicide, Miss Carmichael? I hold that -my life is my own, unless I make over the responsibility of it to -someone else, which you say is wrong. Therefore, I have a perfect -right to do what I please with it." - -"Once you have overcome the initial difficulty of discovering what you -do please," she retorted sharply. And he smiled. - -"You use a detective camera apparently, but I admit it. I am only -certain of one thing, it pleases me to please myself. It pleases me -now to forget that there is such a thing as money, and to go to bed at -ten o'clock." - -"Which shows that you are virtuously inclined, and that, -therefore----" - -"I refuse to be whitewashed by your charity," he interrupted. "I am of -the earth, earthy; though sometimes I can lie on my back in the hay -and see heaven opening----" His voice, with a sudden cadence in it, -ceased as he sprang lightly to his feet. - -"Come along, Cameron--you are intolerably long over that pipe--my -energy, Miss Carmichael, does not arise from Goodness, but from Greed. -If the hay is not in tonight, it may rain; if it rains, the hay will -be spoilt. If it is spoilt I shall have to buy more, and if I buy more -I shall not have that shilling to spend on myself. It comes to that in -the end, even in Arcadia." - -There were similar endings to many conversations in which Marjory -tilted bravely at various objects, which, in her heart of hearts, she -feared might be windmills. For she was never quite sure if he was in -earnest or not, and even when he had palpably played the fool with her -pet theories, or scouted a serious thought, a word, even a look, would -come to redeem the past, and give a curious zest to the future. Yet in -a way it distressed her also by confusing her clear-cut, unswerving -outlook on life. A man even professing such atrocious sentiments ought -to be unendurable, and this man was not. Far from it. And what was -almost more disconcerting, he evidently understood her better than -honest Will did; while, as for the Reverend James! the very thought -made her laugh. Yet, on the whole, she welcomed a reasonable cause -which, despite the holiday she had imposed on herself in obedience to -Cousin Tom's wishes, came to make an absence from the hay-fields less -marked, and a reversion to the young clergyman's company quite -natural. This being nothing more or less than a visit from the Bishop, -which, coming as it did in this holiday time, gave to the person who -was ostensibly responsible for the pupils' duties towards their -neighbours fearful anticipations of failure. For James Gillespie -was one of those persons who cannot teach; well meaning, fairly -well-educated, people who know the information they wish to impart and -cannot impart it, people who, in a repetition, invariably prompt the -wrong word, and send the hesitating memory hopelessly astray. And this -was a question of repetition, since the Bishop never interfered with -the secular teaching, which he left, with a Levite shake of the head, -to the Government inspector. So Marjory, relieved she scarcely knew -why, spent these afternoons in hammering the necessary precision into -the children's heads while the Reverend James sate watching her -rapturously and feeling that the whole parish, including himself, -would have no excuse for not knowing its duty towards its neighbour if -she were the clergyman's wife. - -And on the third day someone else seemed bitten with a desire to -learn, for Captain Macleod strolled in lazily and sate down on the -furthest bench, saying he had come to fetch the letters, and with her -permission would await their arrival in the cool. Why his presence -should have immediately aroused her to a resentful consciousness of -the adoring expression on the face beside her, she did not understand, -but the certainty and the uncertainty of it combined made her turn to -her companion with an audible asperity of tone: - -"I really think, Mr. Gillespie, that you might try and get the little -ones perfect in their hymn. You must remember that the last time the -Bishop inspected he told the children that the youngest Christian -should know one hymn, and the infants are not even perfect in the -'Happy Land.'" - -To hear being to obey, Mr. Gillespie retired towards the post-office -portion of the room where, with a semicircle of tiny bare-legged -lassies and laddies before him, he sate beside Paul Macleod and began -his task. It was rather a Herculean one, owing to the fact that his -pupils having no English, as the phrase runs, the simple stanzas were -to them mere gibberish. - -"It is three months they will be learnin' it, whatever," said Mr. -McColl, cheerfully, when the last of the semicircle had failed -hopelessly. - -"It is impossible, quite impossible," retorted Mr. Gillespie, in a -white heat of anxiety. "Some of them must have picked up something in -that case----" - -"'Deed, no, sir. Naethin's impossible with bairnies. And wee Paulie -there has it fine, for he is at me to learn it on him many a time, -because Miss Marjory was saying he would be a fool if he didn't. Speak -up, Paulie," he added, in the Gaelic, "you have it fine." - -Wee Paulie hung his close-cropped fair head with its odd little fringe -left over the forehead, so that nothing was to be seen but a rising -flush, and murmured some half-inaudible words, whereat the biggest boy -in Marjory's class said triumphantly: - -"He is saying that he will no be saying it to him, but to her." - -"Hush! Donald," came the quick, clear, dictatorial young voice; "that -is not the way to speak. Stand down two places. Paul, come here." - -The big Paul, seated on the back bench, looked up and smiled, feeling -it would be rather pleasant than otherwise to obey; and little Paul -pattered shamefacedly across to the girl's side, yet with a confident -air which raised the sleek head a little, and showed a pair of very -long lashes on the flushed cheeks. As he edged close Marjory passed -her arm round him, and with the other hand raised his chin square and -straight. - -"Now, Paul, if you please," she said, in the Gaelic; "clasp your -hands, and say it right out--to the whole school, remember. You know -it quite well, and you should never, never pretend that you don't know -when you do. It is mean." - -Big Paul, thinking that even reproof sounded pleasant in that voice, -and, at any rate, must be bearable in that position, smiled again, and -continued smiling unavoidably, as little Paul reeled off the whole -hymn from beginning to end in confused, unintelligible fluency, broken -only by hurried gasps for breath. - -"A pretty little fellow," said Captain Macleod, in an undertone to his -neighbour. "Who is he?" - -"Old Peggy Duncan's grandson--Jeanie Duncan's child--you must remember -her." - -The words seemed to jar the very foundations of happy, idle, careless -content, and Paul, even in his surprise, felt aggrieved. - -"Of course I remember her; but they told me she was dead. Who did she -marry?" - -The Reverend James Gillespie put on his most professional manner. "I'm -afraid it is a very sad story, but no one really knows the facts of -the case. She left home, as you may have heard----" - -"Yes! I have heard," put in Paul, suddenly, resentfully. "And I--I can -understand the rest. It's a common enough story, in all conscience." - -"Too true, too true," began his companion, but the laird had risen, -and, with a remark that he would wait outside for the tardy letters, -left the schoolhouse. Apparently he tired even of that, for when -Marjory, after lingering longer than was necessary over the -arrangements for the morrow's inspection with Mr. Gillespie, came out -with a half-annoyed expectation of finding the tall figure still -lounging under the horse-chestnut tree, it had gone, rather to her -surprise. - -Still, it would ensure her the solitary walk home which she loved; -since really it was too much to expect her to devote a whole afternoon -to the Reverend James who, curtly dismissed to a neglected parishioner -up the Glen, watched her pass down the loch with wistful yet still -admiring eyes until she disappeared behind a knoll of ash trees, -hiding the bridge which carried the road to the other side of the -river, and so down the seashore to Gleneira House and Lodge. A road -which, beautiful at all times, was never so beautiful as in the -sunsetting. There was one point, however, where its beauty seemed to -culminate, where, after climbing a rocky knoll cushioned with bosses -of bell-heather and the close oak scrub which springs from the roots -of past cuttings, it dipped down to the very edge of the water. Here, -on spring tides, the waves crept up to smooth away the wheel marks, -and leave a scalloped fringe of seaweed on the turf beyond. And hence -you could see straight through the cleft of the Narrowest, where the -hills embosoming the upper portion of the loch sloped down into the -gentler contours of the lower, right away to the Linnhe Loch, and so -beyond the purple bluff of Mull to the wide Atlantic. On that evening -the sun was setting into it in a golden glory, guiltless of a cloud. -And Marjory, cresting the knoll, thought instantly that here, indeed, -was a chance of the Green Ray. For ever since she had read Jules -Verne's book the idea of this, the last legacy of a dying day, had -remained with her fancifully. Many and many a time, half in jest, half -in earnest, she had watched for it, wondering if she would feel -different after she had seen it. If, in fairy-tale fashion, the world -would seem the better for it. Even if the legend was no legend, and -the phenomenon simply a natural one, due to refraction, there must be -something exhilarating in seeing that which other people had not seen; -in seeing the world transfigured, even for a second, for you, and you -only. Unless, indeed, others were watching with you. And, then, what a -strange tie that would be! To have seen something together that the -rest of the world had not seen; something at which it would laugh, but -which you knew to be true. The quaintness of the idea attracted her as -she walked over the crisp shingle to sit on a rock close to the -incoming tide. Out yonder on the far sea horizon it was a blaze of -light, but closer in the loch showed like a golden network of ripples -with ever-widening meshes enclosing the purple water till it ended, at -her very feet, in a faint foam-edge. There was no sound save the -blab-blabbing of the tiny wavelets on the rocks as they whispered to -each other of the havoc they had done far out at sea, or met every now -and again with a little tinkle of laughter to drown a stone. - -To Marjory, looking and listening so intently that consciousness -seemed to leave eyes and ears, came a sudden dread, not for herself, -but for others different from what she was. - -"Drowned--dead, drowned--drowned and cold--dead, dead, drowned!" Those -whispering voices seemed to repeat it over and over again, as for the -first time in her life she realised that others might not steer -straight for the sun across the ocean of life, as she did, -unswervingly. Of course, in a scholastic, unreal way she knew well -that there were swift currents to betray, big loadstone rocks to make -the compass waver, but till she had met Paul Macleod the possibility -of anyone deliberately and wilfully weighting his log and depolarising -his compass had not occurred to her. It is so, often, with those who, -as she was, are almost overburdened with that mysterious outcome of -past sacrifices, a sense of duty. But Paul, she recognised clearly, -might steer straight for the rocks, though his knowledge of seamanship -was equal to her own. On that point she would take no denial. It was -her one solace against her own interest in him. But for it what scorn -would be too great for the weakness of her tolerance for a handsome -face, a soft voice, and the most engaging of manners. No! The -charm--for there was undoubtedly a charm--lay elsewhere; in his -considerateness, his quick sympathy. This did not come, as he averred, -from a mere selfish desire to be liked, a mere selfish consideration -for his own comfort. It might suit him to say so, to declare his -disbelief in anything higher, to scoff, for instance, at the Green -Ray. The girl's thoughts rebounded swiftly to their starting-point, -and brought back sight to her dream-blinded eyes. - -Too late! Too late! The last outermost edge of the sun had dipped -beneath the sea; the fateful moment was past, and with the little -chill shudder of a breeze which had crept like a sigh over the water -at the Death of Day, the little wavelets at her feet were whispering-- - -"Drowned--dead--drowned! Who cares? Drowned! drowned! drowned!" - -She rose suddenly and stretched her hands out to the fast fading glow, -as if in entreaty. But only for a second; the next the voice of -someone coming up the opposite side of the knoll carolling a Gaelic -song made her turn quickly to see Paul Macleod outlined against the -blue of the hills as he paused on the summit to take breath and look -up into the child's face above him with a smile; for little Paul was -perched on his shoulder. - -The western glow, already leaving the earth, fell full on those two -faces, and on the firm delicate hands, holding the child secure. It -was like a St. Christopher, thought Marjory, with a pulse, almost of -pain, at her heart. For it left her bereft of something; of something -that had gone out irrevocably to be Paul's henceforth, even though the -first glimpse of her standing below made him loosen his clasp almost -roughly. - -"Is that you, Miss Carmichael?" he called, walking on to meet her; -"I'm doing good Samaritan against the grain; but I found the little -imp on the road. He had fallen from a rowan tree and sprained his -ankle." - -She found it easier for some reason to speak to the child in reproof. -"I've told you so often not to climb so recklessly," she said in -Gaelic. - -"He was getting berries for you; there was a bunch half ripe at the -very top; at least so he says," replied Captain Macleod in the same -language, then at her look of surprise added a trifle bitterly--"you -see I remember--we lairds don't often speak it--more's the pity--but I -have an uncomfortable memory for the days of my youth." - -"It was very good of you," she began, when he cut her short. - -"It was least trouble to carry him. He was whimpering like a little -cur at the river pool, so I elected to bring him along instead of -going back half a mile to ask someone else to do it for me. His -grandmother's cottage is just below the point there, isn't it? He can -walk as far as that." As he spoke he swung the child to the ground -lightly. "And you needn't look so fierce, Miss Carmichael; it won't -hurt him." - -She took no notice of his remark, except to ask the child if he could -manage. - -"If you speak in that tone of voice he will say 'no,' of course; but I -assure you it is all right. I've tied it up tight, and it wasn't very -bad to begin with." - -It had indeed been very neatly bandaged with a handkerchief torn into -strips, and the sight softened her rising indignation. "Possibly, but -it will be none the worse for being put in hot water. Come, Paulie, -lean on me, and if it's bad I'll carry you----" - -Before she could finish, the child was back on his namesake's -shoulder. - -"If you will show me the way down, I'll save you the trouble." - -The accent he laid deliberately on the pronoun took half the virtue -from his action, and yet the certainty that he had purposely put it -there showed her that he was alive to something else, and made her -lead the way silently to the cottage; and, even when there, the -remembrance of the St. Christopher picture joined to the unconscious -Highland hospitality, which forbids an unsought parting on the -threshold, made her ask if he would not come in and let old Peggy -thank him for his kindness. - -"I doubt if she would," he replied curtly; "anyhow I won't risk it." - -Perhaps he exercised a wise discretion. Marjory herself was inclined -to think so, in view of the old woman's general attitude towards the -world. - -"Pickin' rowan berries, was he," she echoed wrathfully, turning as she -so often did when angry to the broader Scotch of her youth; "they're -the deil's ain beads for young folk--aye! I mind it was so in the -beginning!" Her restless claw-like fingers busied themselves over the -coverlid, and her restless eyes followed Marjory, who was attending to -the sprained foot, which to say sooth was not a very serious matter. -"And Mr. Paul hefted the wean, and wouldna' come in bye to say a word -to the auld wife. That was real kind, or maybe it wasn't; but there! -he never brocht luck to my hoose, an' he wouldn't raise a finger to -do't. It's the way o' the warld, the way o' the warld." - -"That is not fair, Peggy," retorted the girl, roused as she always was -by injustice. "The laird was speaking of you only the other day. He is -much annoyed at your having been allowed to go on the roll, and -said----" - -The old pauper's hands stopped their uncanny fingerings, and every -line of the old face hardened. - -"If I choose to be on the pairish, I'll be on the pairish. It's better -than Mr. Paul's charity, an' ye may just tell him sae frae old Peggy -Duncan. I may be wrang, I may be richt, an' Him above only kens hoo it -is, but I was no born on his land, and I'm no his poor." - -"All the kinder of him to offer help," persisted Marjory. "And you -have no right, just because you are in an evil temper, to speak as if -he had done you some wrong." - -"Wha says he did?--not I! D'ye think I soud be lyin' here wi' him oot -ben if he had. Na! Na! Half deid as they are, my auld fingers wad be -at his bonnie fause face." The very vigour of her own voice seemed to -choke her, and she fell into a fit of coughing, then lay back -exhausted into a more Christian frame of mind. "God guid us, Miss -Marjory," she gasped, "but I'm jest an awfu' limmer whiles. If I was -to be nippit awa' this nicht I ken fine whaur I'd wauken." - -"And quite right, too," replied her visitor, severely, recognising the -half-apologetic tenor of the last remark, and, seizing the opportunity -for a bit of her mind before old Peggy, with some sidelong sally, -should escape deftly from the difficulty, after her wont. - -"Aye, aye! The tongue is an unruly member, and yet I bridle it whiles -for fear o' findin' myself in the same mansion wi' the pairish -officer. Eh! yon's an awfu' man, Miss Marjory, for sweerin', and I -just couldna' thole him. So, if ye like, ye may give old Peggy -Duncan's thanks to the laird, when you see him, for bringing the -laddie hame. Maybe it was kind o' him." - -"It was kind of him, very kind," said the girl, stoutly, feeling dimly -pleased to hear herself say so, and know that there could be no -mistake about that. And yet she felt vexed when she found him waiting -for her on the road when she came out into the darkening dusk. - -"I thought it was the proper thing to do," he replied, to her little -stiff expression of regret that he should have troubled himself so -far. - -"What was the proper thing?" she asked captiously. "I am quite -accustomed to walking home in the dark." - -"Proper to act up to your opinion of me, and be self-sacrificing, -perhaps." He paused, then said, suddenly, "Don't let us quarrel, Miss -Carmichael; it is such a lovely evening." - -True a thousand-fold! True beyond measure! The light had left -everything, save the sky and the sea as they walked on side by side -silently. - -"How's the patient?" he said, at last, reverting somewhat to the old, -airy, half-bantering tone. - -"Well; thanks to you. If he had walked home he might have been laid up -for days." - -"I did as little as I could, I assure you." - -"On the contrary, you did more than was necessary. Paul told me how -you comforted him, and sang songs all the way to cheer him up." - -She would not allow him this denial of his own virtues, or accept his -estimate of himself. - -"That was to cheer myself up, and forget my dislike to carrying a -dirty little boy, I expect. The study of one's own motives, Miss -Carmichael----" - -He got no further, for she turned to him with a quick gesture of -pained denial. "Don't--please don't. Why should you slander yourself?" - -Something in her tone roused a response in him for a moment, but the -next he had smothered it in a sort of reckless desire to shock this -girl with the intelligent, trustful eyes--to force her from her belief -in him. - -"Slander," he echoed; "there is no slander, I assure you. What do you -know about my life? Would it help you to understand my complicated -state of mind about that boy, for instance, if I told you that I was -once madly in love with his mother, and that I still think her the -most beautiful woman I ever saw?" - -He had not intended this confidence; yet now he had given it, he did -not regret the impulse, nor did he wonder at it, since the thought of -that past idyll had been interfering so much with the present one -during the afternoon, that he felt inclined to get rid of both once -and for all. - -"I have always heard she was very beautiful," replied Marjory, slowly; -"but, of course, I did not know----" - -He burst into a hard laugh. "That I fell in love with her! Really, -Miss Carmichael, you are most disconcertingly cool!" - -"I was going to say," she put in, unmoved, "that I did not know she -was the sort of person----" - -"I would fall in love with? Indeed! Perhaps, as you appear to have -formed some sort of estimate as to the qualities likely to attract me, -you might give me a hint or two. It might help me in the selection of -a wife." He hardly knew what he was saying, for his temper had got the -better of him; indeed, he did not care for the moment what he said, -save that it should be something that would put an end to this -confidence of hers. But he had reckoned without her absolute -unconsciousness; what is more, without her fearlessness and high -spirit. - -"I said nothing about a wife," she replied quietly. "Why should I? You -were talking of love, and I knew that you had made up your mind to -marry for money." - -"So I have; what then?" - -"Nothing, except this--that since you can set love aside so easily, I -fail to see what effect the memory of a past one could have on your -present life--that is all." - -He looked at her in the growing darkness, wishing that he could see -her face more clearly; wishing still more keenly that he could see -straight into her mind and satisfy himself that this calm indifference -was simply cold-bloodedness. But what if it was something more? If -here, at last, he had found that of which most men dream at times; the -refuge from themselves. And when he spoke again his voice had changed -its tone, though the bitterness remained in the words. - -"You make no allowance, then, for the power of a sentiment, especially -when it is morbid and unhealthy. And yet such things mean more to most -of us than right or wrong; because they are more human." - -There was a pause; then she turned to him with a smile, which he felt, -more than saw. - -"I am afraid I don't understand what you mean." - -"Perhaps it is as well you do not," he replied; and changed the -subject. - -But from that day their mutual attitude towards each other altered, -perhaps unconsciously. To tell the truth, the remembrance of the St. -Christopher rose up between her and Paul in his less admirable -impersonations. All the more so, perhaps, because of his strange, -impulsive confidence regarding his love for the boy's mother. He must -have been quite a boy himself at the time, she thought; no older than -she was now, and boys were so much younger than girls for their age. -She felt vaguely sorry for that young Paul and his fruitless love; for -Marjory, like most girls who have been much in contact with the poor, -accepted the facts of life calmly, looking at them straight in the -face, and calling them by their names fairly, ere she passed them by. -And so no doubt of that past to which Paul had alluded so frankly ever -crossed her mind. She felt, almost unconsciously, that he would not -have spoken about it to her had there been any cause for such -suspicion. So the only effect of his attempt to shock her was to bring -into stronger relief her confidence in his gentlemanly instincts. And -Paul, seeing this, metaphorically took off his shoes before the holy -ground which she prepared for him, even while he fretted against the -necessity imposed upon him by that better part of his nature, which, -in environments like these, would have its say. And then, even as he -discussed the matter with himself cynically, telling himself at one -and the same time that she was not human enough to see, and that it -would be cowardly to open her eyes, there would come with a rush a -fierce resentment at all reason. This was holiday time, and it would -soon be over for him. A week or two more and Gleneira would be full of -London ways and London talk; it would be time enough then to remember -the world, the flesh, and the devil. - - - - - CHAPTER IX. - - -There was some excuse for his refusal to face a struggle, for in the -sunshiny days which followed, Nature herself held high holiday, and -the most prosaic might well have found it impossible to avoid falling -in with her gracious mood. The heather-flush was beginning to creep -over the curves of moor, the rowan berries ripened under the sun's -kiss, the juicy _guienne_ cherries purpled the children's mouths, and -the oat fields hid their poverty in a cloak of golden marigold. Down -in the shady nooks the stately foxgloves still lingered, while on the -sunniest spots the bracken was gathering the sun-gold into its -delicate tracery against the coming gloom of winter. Such times come -rarely; times when it is possible to forget the world of toil and -trouble, of sin, sorrow, and shame, which lies beyond the circle of -the everlasting hills; times when one is content to let life slip -past, without counting its pulse-beat; times when one seems to enter -in spirit with that divine rest, because the whole world seems good in -our eyes. - -Paul, dulled as he was by world-tarnish, felt the charm; Marjory, -fresh from her sober youth, yielded to it gladly. Will Cameron, with -the hay safe housed and harvest secure in the future, said the weather -was too good for farming, and gave himself a holiday, and even Mr. -Gillespie, free from inspection anxieties, and rejoicing in the -Bishop's praise, fell back for a while on college sermons, and studied -future ones in stones and running brooks. Only Mrs. Cameron, despising -the heat, bustled from kitchen to store-room, from store-room to -dairy, indignant over the irregular meals, and the still more -irregular milk. It was enough, she said, to turn that of human -kindness sour to have charge of five Ayrshires and two Jerseys in such -weather, with an English cook coming, or a Frenchman maybe--the laird -was equal to that iniquity--who would use crocks on crocks of powdered -butter. She knew them! graceless, godless creatures, and Will, instead -of wandering like a tinkler about the place, should be at the markets -buying pigs, to eat up the sinful waste of good victuals which would -begin ere long at the Big House. It was very well of William to smile, -and for the laird to say he didn't mind; but what would Lady George -say to the cook? And how did William expect to supply the Big House as -it should be supplied, when every crofter body was asking one and -eightpence a pound for butter she wouldn't look at? And it all -trysted, every pound of it, to the English folk over at the Forest, -who were coming down like a flight of locusts, devouring the land with -pipers and bad whiskey, and a set of idle, pasty-faced, meat-eating -English maids, ruining the country side with bad examples! There would -have to be a judgment, nothing less, when Sheenach--barefooted -Sheenach from the blackest hut on the property--Marjory would -mind it, seeing that she held it to be a disgrace to a Christian -landholder--set her up for new-fangled notions indeed!--had actually -spoken to her, Mrs. Cameron, about beer-money! The kitchen girl over -at the Forest, forsooth, got it, and three shillings a week for -washings. Heard one ever the like! a barefoot lass that had not spent -three shillings on washings since she was born, and would have to look -to it for white robes in the future. And Mistress Mackenzie at the -ferry house saying calmly that her prices would be doubled from the -10th August. - -"It is too true, mother," Will would say consolingly. "I'd like to see -the Commission have its way, and destroy the Forests altogether, if -only to teach the people what it would mean. But there! parcel post is -only twopence a pound, and we can get butter from Devonshire. They pay -high rents there, you know, so they can afford to sell produce -cheaper." But even this paradox would not soothe the old lady's ire, -and the three idlers would escape from the butter-problem into the -wilderness of beauty beyond the fat pastures which fed the dairy; in -so doing, no doubt, following the example of the offending English -folk, who do not care to trouble their holiday with thoughts of the -dishonesty and greed they foster and encourage. - -Many a tramp had these three over hill and dale. Sometimes climbing -the boulder-strewn heights whence sea and land showed like a map; more -often lingering by the river lazily, as it made its way through the -grassy uplands in a series of foamy leaps and oily pauses. For here -the sea-trout were to be beguiled by patience; if not by that, then by -the red-tailed fly which Will used with the consummate skill of the -real pot-fisher. Paul, on the other hand, beset by lingering -prejudice, would lounge on the bank intermittently, offering the rod -to Marjory in order to bring him luck; while she, engaged in -collecting a perfect herbarium, would deprecate her own past skill in -the Long Pool. - -"And the admirable underhand cast was a chance also?" he retorted -drily. "Really, Miss Carmichael, my modesty is catching." - -Marjory laughed. "Oh, no! I learnt that from Will. I never could make -out whither he went on Sundays, till one day I came upon him in that -little strip of pasture in the middle of the larch plantation, -flicking at dandelions with his ten-foot rod. Then he confessed that -it was his usual occupation of a Sabbath afternoon, because it was so -deadly dull with nothing to do at home. So after that I flicked, too. -We used to do it against each other for hours, didn't we, Will?" - -"Ten for a dandie, twenty for a daisy, fifty for a bumble-bee," -murmured Will from under his tilted hat, as he lay on the grass. - -"An instance of the deceit which the irrational worship of the Sabbath -is apt to produce," remarked the Reverend James Gillespie, whose -conscience invariably assailed him when he had not made a professional -remark for some time. - -"It is so refreshing to hear you accuse Miss Carmichael," said Paul, -gravely. "Deceit is a mortal sin, isn't it, Mr. Gillespie?" - -The Reverend James hesitated. He looked sorely out of place amid the -wilderness in his black garments, with Paul in his loose Indian suits, -and Will guiltless of coat and waistcoat. - -"Deceit, cheating--whoever doth wickedly, etc.--generally comes under -common theft--non-bailable," murmured the tilted hat softly; for Will, -in his youth, had studied law. - -"I congratulate you, Miss Carmichael," said Paul, still gravely, "on -having attained the position of a real criminal. I have a sneaking -admiration for them." - -"Why?" - -"Because they have done--what I have been afraid to do!" - -So the day would slip by in idle talk and idler work, until the -lengthening shadows warned them they were far from home, and Will -would grow restless over the prospect of dinner _versus_ the tea, with -which he had more than once been put off on occasions of gross -irregularity. While Paul would boast of his freedom from all control, -or offer to stand in the breach by begging a meal at the Lodge; since -even Mrs. Cameron's tongue softened when it spoke to the laird, and a -vein of humour ran through her blame. - -"It's clean reediklous, Gleneira," she would say. "Here it is gone -ten, and supper was bidden at eight. An' if you expec' me, a Christian -woman, to tell Kursty that _my_ son is even as them who mocked Elijah, -or that it was I that made a mistake, you're just wrong. An' a' for a -wheen trouties, that's no good for kipper or for anything but to -cocker yourselves up wi' at breakfast, instead of being contented with -good porridge, as your fathers were. But there! we ken find that Esau -sold his birthright for a mess o' pottage." - -"And I don't wonder at it," Paul would reply gravely; "if he was half -so hungry as I am. How much was it, Cameron, that the hook-and-eye man -offered me for Gleneira? A man must eat, you know." - -Whereupon the old lady would remark that, as she at least knew her -duty, his father's son should never lack bread in her house, and so -bustle away good-humouredly to hurry on supper. The unpunctuality was -not, however, always their fault; and on one occasion followed on an -incident which had a curious effect in still further softening -Marjory's judgment on handsome, idle, kindly Paul, and introducing -that vein of pity, which, in women of her type, seems an almost -necessary ingredient of affection. It may be only a triviality, the -half-humorous despair of a buttonless shirt, the possibility of dirty -tablecloths, or it may go further into uncared-for sickness and -loneliness, but the thought of personal discomfort to a man whom she -likes is always grievous to women who have not been educated out of -their housewifely instincts. - -It came about in this wise. There was a certain Loch of the Fairies -which, despite its great beauty, Marjory had seldom seen, for this -reason. It lay hidden in the highest corries of the deer forest, -accessible only by the burn watering the sheltered glen which, from -time immemorial, had been the sanctuary; and not even for Marjory -would old John Macpherson disturb his deer, or allow them to be -disturbed. But Paul thought differently when he found that the girl's -face brightened at the idea of an excursion thither; for, to him, the -nearest pleasure was invariably the best. - -"As well be hung for a sheep as a lamb," he said, with a laugh. "We -will start early and make a day of it. And I'll ask Gillespie to come. -He is always telling cock-and-bull stories about the big fish there, -so we will set him to catch one. I never did." - -And Will Cameron agreed also, saying he would take the opportunity to -meet the forest keeper on the march, and settle the position of a new -fence to keep the hinds from straying. Only old John shook his head, -with mutterings regarding future sport and old traditions. - -"As if _that_ were not worth all the sport in the world," said Paul, -almost exultantly, as, climbing the last bracken-set knoll, and -leaving the last Scotch fir hanging over a wild leap of the burn, they -filed past a sheer bluff, and saw in front of them a long, narrow, -almost level glen, through which the stream slid in alternate reaches -and foaming falls. On either side almost inaccessible cliffs; in front -of them, cutting the blue sky clearly, a serrated wall of rock closing -up the valley. Great sharp-edged fragments from the heights above lay -strewn among the sweeping stretches of heather, whence a brood of -grouse rose, blundering to the anxious cackle of the hen. - -"There they are," said Will, from force of habit in a whisper, "up on -the higher pasture. I thought they would be; so we shan't disturb them -a bit if we keep to the burn." - -Marjory, shading her eyes from the sun, stood looking on one of the -prettiest sights in the world; a herd of red deer dotted over a hill -slope, or seen outlined against the horizon line. Paul, from sheer -habit also, had slipped to the ground, and had his glass on them. -"Splendid royal to the left, Cameron--wonder if we shall get him this -year--and, by George, there's the old crooked horn! I remember, Miss -Carmichael, trying to put a bullet into him--well, we won't say how -many years ago." - -"What a slaughterhouse a man's memory must be," remarked Marjory, with -her head in the air. - -"Not in this case, at any rate," retorted Paul. "Sometimes I am -merciful--or miss; which answers the purpose quite as well." As he -spoke the memory of Jeanie Duncan rose quite causelessly to his mind, -and he started to his feet impatiently; for somehow little Paul's -existence had taken the bloom off his self-complacency in regard to -that episode. - -"Now for the Pixie's loch," he cried gaily. "The ladies have it all -their own way there in destruction, if tales be true. I wonder which -of us three unfortunate males she will choose as her victim to-day?" - -Marjory, looking down as they crested the last boulder-strewn rise on -the almost black and oily sheet of water in the crater-like cup of the -corrie, felt that she did not wonder at the legends which had gathered -round the spot. The very perfection of its loneliness, its beauty, -marked it as a thing apart from the more familiar charm of the world -around it. There seemed scarce foothold for a goat on those pillared -cliffs which sank sheer into the dark water, and the streak or two of -snow lingering still in a northern recess marked, she felt sure, some -deep crevasse hidden from sight by the innocent-looking mantle of -white. Nor could one judge of the depth of the lake by the jagged -points of rocks which rose here and there from the surface of the -water, for, as she stood, she leant against a fragment of some earlier -world, which looked as if it must have fallen from the sky, since the -vacant place left by such a huge avalanche must have remained visible -for ever in the rocks above. So those out yonder might go down and -down, forming vast caves where the Pixie might hold her court of -drowned, dead men. She turned to look at Paul suddenly, -apprehensively; perhaps because, even in her innocence, she recognised -instinctively that there, with all its gifts, with all its charm, lay -the nature to which the syren's song is irresistible. But he, stopping -on the brink to dip his hand into the water, was looking back at her -with a laugh. - -"By Jove!" he said, "isn't it cold? Enough to give anyone the -shivers." - -As he spoke, far out on the glassy glint of water came a speck of -stronger light, widening to a circle, widening, widening ever, in -softening ripples. - -"There! I told you so!" cried the Reverend James, excitedly; "a -five-pounder at least!" After which, naturally, there was no time for -sentiment, no time for anything but an unconfessed race as to which of -the three should have his fly on the water first. Marjory, left to her -own devices, wandered as far as she could round the level edge, which -to the south lay between the lake and the cliff, until she came to the -moss-clad moraine, through which the water found its way to new life -in the first long leap of the burn below; for the loch itself was fed -by unseen springs. She could hear the stream beneath her feet tinkling -musically, and gurgling softly, as if laughing at something it had -left behind, or something it was going to meet; and the sound -oppressed her vaguely. Here, in an angle of sand, stood a half-ruined -boat-house, and within it a boat painted gaily, yet with an air of -disuse about it which made Marjory go inside and look at it more -closely. It seemed sound enough, and yet, as she wandered on, she -hoped that the fishers might not be tempted to use it out on those -unknown depths. Then, coming on a great bank of dewberries, she sank -down into the yielding heather and gave herself up to enjoyment, -finally stretching herself at long length on the springy softness, and -watching the lake through her half-closed eyelids. Suddenly, with a -smile, she began to sing, and then as suddenly ceased. Cliffs could -give back an echo, certainly, but not so clear an one as the tenor -tone which followed close on that first phrase of the "Lorelei." An -instant after Paul's figure showed round a rock below, busily engaged -with a swishing trout rod. - - - "Die schönste Mädchen sitzet - Dort oben wunderbar." - - -An echo, indeed! and Marjory sat up among the dewberries, feeling -indignant. - -"Captain Macleod," she called aggressively, "have you caught -anything?" - -He turned, as if he had been unaware of her presence, and raised his -cap. "It is not a question of my catching anything, Miss Carmichael, -but of my being caught. There is a syren about somewhere; I heard her -just now; did you?" - -"I generally hear myself when I am singing," she replied coldly. -"Where is Will?" - -"Will," replied Paul, cheerfully, "is swearing round the corner. He -has just had a splendid rise, and his hook drew. No further -description necessary." - -She laughed, and Captain Macleod went on in the easy familiar tone -which had taken the sting out of so many other remarks which, to -Marjory's unsophisticated ears, had savoured of impertinence. - -"If we neither of us get another this round, we are going to start -over the hills for the fence. I want to see it myself. You will find a -splendid place for tea about a quarter of a mile down below the fall. -Heaps of sticks--bits of the primeval forest washed out of the -moss--so you will manage nicely; besides Gillespie will be here." - -It was just such a careless, brotherly speech as Will might have made, -and Marjory appreciated it. Besides the thought of an hour or two, -absolutely to herself, in those solitudes had an indescribable charm; -indescribable because, to those who know it not of themselves, words -are useless, and those who do need them not. For her, with a stainless -past and a hopeful future, it was bliss unalloyed to wander down the -burn-side, resting here and there, watching the ring-ouzel skim from -shelter, or an oak-eggar moth settle lazily on a moss-cushion. And -yet, as she sate perched on a rock far down the valley above a deeper -pool than usual, she amused herself by singing the "Lorelei" from -beginning to end, secure from unwelcome echoes. So back on her traces -to the baskets which had been hidden in the fern, and the preparations -for tea. The relics of the primeval forest burnt bravely aided by some -juniper branches, the kettle was filled, boiled, and set securely on a -stony hob; and then, free from cares, Marjory chose out a springy nest -among the short heather and curled herself round lazily to watch the -sky line where before long two figures should come striding into -sight, dark against the growing gold of the westering sun. Blissful -indeed; extremely comfortable also. - -When she woke Paul Macleod was calling her by name, and she started up -in a hurry. "I came on as fast as I could lest you should be -wearying," he said, and his face showed he spoke the truth. "It was -further than we thought for. Where's Gillespie? He can't be fishing -still, surely. I didn't see him on the shore as I came past." - -Marjory, confused as she was by sudden awakening, remembered one -thing, and one thing only--the boat--the old rotten-looking boat. - -"You didn't see him--and he hasn't been here! Oh! Captain Macleod, I -do hope nothing has happened--the boat----" - -"Nonsense!" replied Paul, decisively, "nothing can have happened. -Still, it's late--you have been asleep some time, I expect. Perhaps he -has missed you, and gone home." - -"He could not miss the fire," she said quickly, "and he cannot swim. -If he has taken the boat, and if----" - -"There is no use imagining evil," put in Paul, drily; "as you are -anxious I will go----" - -"I will come with you," she said eagerly; "if I put some more wood on -the fire----" - -"It will be ready for us when we return," remarked Paul, cheerfully, -"and Gillespie will want his tea. I expect he is in to the big trout -or----" he paused before her anxious face and told her again that -nothing could have happened. She surely did not believe in pixies? -Still, he grew graver when a look at the boat-house proved it to be -empty, and his first shout brought no answer, except a confused, -resounding echo. - -"If he had gone beyond that bluff into the inaccessible part, which he -is likely to have done with the boat--he might not hear. Come on--and -don't imagine the worst. If, when we can see all the water----" - -He paused, and said no more, as, with her following fast at his heels, -he hurried up the brae which hid the further reach of the lake. So, -being a step or two ahead, and several inches taller than she was, a -view halloo, followed by a laugh, was her first intimation that the -search had come to an end. The next instant she had joined the laugh, -for a more ridiculous sight than the Reverend James Gillespie -presented as he stood up, in full clerical costume, on an uneven rock -some two feet square, in the very middle of the loch, could scarcely -be imagined. The cause, however, was clear in the half-sunk, -water-logged boat, jammed on a jagged rock, which was just visible -above the water close by. - -"Have you been there long?" called Paul, recovering himself. - -"All the afternoon," came back in hoarse and distinctly cross tones. -"I shouted till I could shout no more. I thought you had all gone -home!" - -"Gone to sleep," remarked Paul, aside, as he sate down and began -deliberately to unlace his boots. "Now, Miss Carmichael, if you will -look after the tea, I'll rescue the shipwrecked mariner, and bring him -to be comforted." - -Marjory, eyeing the stretch of black water nervously, suggested he had -better wait for Will to turn up; but Paul laughed. "I'm relieved to -find you have some anxiety left for me--yet it is really absurd. I -could swim ten times the distance ten times over; besides, I'll bring -him back with the oars if that will satisfy you?" - -She felt that it ought, yet as she turned to leave him, the keen pang -at her heart surprised her, and not even his gay call of reassurance, -"Two teas, please, hot, in ten minutes," given, she knew, from such -kindly motives, availed to drive away a sudden thought of that -gracious face--drowned--dead--drowned. Such irrational fears, when -they come at all, come overwhelmingly; since the mind, imaginative -enough even to admit them, is their natural prey. Yet this very -imagination of her own was in itself startling to the girl, who caught -herself wishing she had not sung the "Lorelei," with a sort of -surprised pain at her own fancifulness. It was absurd, ridiculous, and -yet the sight of Will's loose-limbed figure coming to meet her, -brought distinct relief as she bade him go on and help Captain -Macleod. Even so, as she blew at the fire and made the tea, the -thought would come that a man who could not swim would be of no -possible use if--if--if---- So, in the midst of her imaginings, came -at last the sight of three figures striding down the brae, talking and -laughing; at least, two of them were so engaged, the Reverend James -having scarcely recovered his temper, and being, in addition, almost -quite inaudible from his previous efforts to make himself heard. - -"The pixie wouldn't have him, said he wouldn't suit the place," said -Paul, gravely, when, with the aid of several cups of tea, the victim -had finished his tale of the big trout, which had deliberately dragged -him on to a jag, knocked a hole in the bottom of the rotten old boat, -and left him helpless, taking advantage--and this seemed the greatest -offence--of the confusion consequent on the man[oe]uvre, to swim away -with ten yards of good trout line and an excellent cast. At least, -this was Will's view of the situation, the Reverend James attempting -hoarsely to give greater prominence to the saving of his own life, -while Paul gave a graphic description of their procession down the -loch to the landing-place, with the clerical costume packed out of -harm's way in the fishing-basket which was swung to the butt end of -the rod, and Marjory indignantly disclaimed the slumber of the Seven -Sleepers, declaring that the shouting must have gone on when she had -been down the burn. So, chattering and laughing, the tea things were -packed up, and they started homewards. - -"Let us have a race down the level," said Paul, suddenly; "that water -was cold as ice." - -Five minutes after, when Marjory caught him up, as he lingered a -little behind the two others, who were just disappearing behind the -bluff at the entrance to the sanctuary, she was startled at his face. - -"Ague," he said, in answer to her look. "That is the worst of India. I -told you the water was cold enough to give anyone the shivers." He -tried to laugh it off, but he was blue and pinched, his teeth were -chattering, and with every step the effort to stand steady became more -apparent. The sight of his helplessness made the girl forget -everything but her womanly instinct to give comfort. - -"You had far better sit down for a while," she said, eagerly. "I can -easily light a fire, and we have the kettle. Some hot whiskey and -water----" But Paul was actually beyond refusal; he sate down weakly, -utterly knocked over for the time, and unable to do anything but -mutter, between the chatterings of his teeth, that it would not last -long--that it would be all right when the hot fit began--that she had -better go on and leave him. To all of which Marjory replied, in -businesslike fashion, by bringing him a great bundle of bracken as a -pillow, spreading her waterproof over him, and piling it over with -more fern, till he smiled faintly, and chattered something about there -being no necessity for covering him up with leaves--he was not dead -yet. Then the fire had to be lit, the kettle boiled, a jorum of hot -toddy brewed, a stone warmed and set to hands and feet. - -"Now, if you lie still for half an hour," she said magisterially, "I -expect you will be much better when I come back." And he was hot--as -fire, of course, and shaky still, but minus the cramps, and very -apologetic for the delay. - -"You couldn't possibly help it," she interrupted quickly. "You -looked--you looked----" and then something seemed to rise up in her -throat and keep her silent. But it was just this look of utter -helplessness which remained in her mind, bringing with it always a -tender compassion; and as the remembrance of him with little Paul on -his shoulder served to soften her towards his atrocious sentiments, so -that of his sudden physical collapse served to lessen the sort of -resentment she had hitherto felt to the charm of his great good looks. -She could not have explained how either of these facts came about; she -was not even aware that it was so, and yet it did make a difference in -her attitude towards him. A pity for his weakness, for his faults and -failings, came to take the place of condemnation. - -So the days passed, until one evening as they trudged home from an -unsuccessful raid on the river, Mr. Gillespie remarked that the -herring were in at Craignish, and the mackerel often came at the back -of the herring, so, maybe, it would be worth while to have a try at -them. - -"Better than the river, anyhow," grumbled Will, who, even with the -red-tailed fly, felt the horrid weight of an empty creel on his -shoulders. - -Paul looked at Marjory. It had come to that in most things by this -time, and as often as not, as now, no words were necessary. "Then I -will tell John Macpherson to have the boat ready to-morrow, for it is -my last day--of leisure, I mean. My sister comes on Saturday, my -guests follow on Monday, and after that--the deluge, I suppose." - -"I should not wonder," remarked Will, gravely; "the midges were awful -to-day." - -Both Paul and Marjory laughed; they could not help it, despite their -vague regret that holiday time was over. - - - - - CHAPTER X. - - -Paul's last day was one of those never-to-be-forgotten days, when the -mist lies in light wreaths below the mountain tops, which rise clear -and sharp against an intense blue sky; when masses of white cloud hang -in mid-air, bringing with each new moment some fresh beauty, born of -shadow, to sea and shore; when a cool breeze blows unevenly, every now -and again darkening the water to a purple, and cresting the waves with -foam-streaks edged with turquoise. - -"None too soon," said Paul, briefly, as the "Tubhaneer" (so called -from her washing-tub-like build) cast off her moorings, and stood out -for the middle of the loch. "I told you it would be the deluge after -to-day, Miss Carmichael. We shall have rain to-morrow." - -Will nodded his head. - -"Oh, don't talk of to-morrow!" said Marjory, quickly; "to-day is -enough, surely." - -Paul, from amid-ships, applauded softly, and she attempted a frown, -which ended feebly in a smile. And wherefore not? Sufficient, indeed, -unto that day was the pleasure thereof. The red-brown sail drew -bravely, the long line lay curled up forward, the oyster dredger -rested athwart, the rifles were with Paul amid-ships, the lithe rods -swept out astern behind Marjory as she leant lightly over the tiller, -her eyes upon the quivering sail; for it needed every inch she could -gain to avoid a tack, even though the current of the outgoing tide was -aiding them to slip through the Narrowest to the open sea beyond. - -"Where will the white rock be?" she asked of Donald Post, who, being -learned in banks and baits, would often set his wife to carry the bag -while he was off and away after the sea fishing. He was now opening -mussels with a crunching sound, regular as a machine. - -'"Deed an' she will be right ahead of us whatever," he replied, -without a pause. - -"There will be plenty of water, I suppose?" - -'"Deed she will no be havin' much on her, anyhow." - -"Then how shall I steer?" - -"Just as she is, Miss Marjory, just as she is; she will be doing fine, -I'm thinking." - -"A miss is as good as a mile," murmured Paul, engaged in stretching -his long length comfortably over some ballast kegs. "Can you swim?" - -Marjory nodded. "Then save me, please; I really am not inclined to -exert myself." - -"So it appears," remarked Will Cameron, in an injured tone. He and the -Reverend James were forward, busy over the tangled lengths of the long -line, and the necessity for restraining his tongue before the cloth -was telling even on the former's easy temper; for a long line in a -tangle is quite indescribable in Parliamentary language. - -"Keep her in a bit, Marjory. We must anchor over the fishing-house -bank for a while, and get bait for this--this _thing_." - -"Then I shall have to tack." - -"Tack, indeed! If you don't like it, I'll steer and you can tackle -this--this _thing_. Look out, Donald!--two trees and the white stone." - -Round went the tiller. "Now, John!" said the girl; the sail came down -with a clatter, the way slackened, the anchor, poised in Donald's -watchful hands, splashed overboard, and the "Tubhaneer" drew up to it -with her mast, and the two trees, and the white stone in a line. - -"Well done, Miss Marjory; that was well done, whatever," rose Donald's -voice softly, between renewed crunching; and two minor splashes -following close on each other told that the Parson and Will had their -hand-lines down. Then came a silence, broken only by the fitful gurgle -of the water against the "Tubhaneer" as she swung round to the tide, -and that monotonous crunch, crunch of the mussel-knife. - -"John Roy, he wass takin' five whitin's from the bank last week," rose -Donald's voice once more, quite causelessly. "It wass a bit of himself -he was catching them with. It iss nothin' the whitin's iss liking so -much as a bit of himself." - -Then silence again, his hearers being too much accustomed to the -intricacies of Donald's style to be startled by this novel fact in -natural history. So, amid the stillness, a sudden jerk of the Reverend -James's right hand, a pause of intense expectation--to judge by the -rapt look on his comely face--then disappointment from bow to stern, -and a general slackness. - -"It will just be ain o' they pickers," mused Donald, recovering from -his momentary idleness; "or maybe a sooker. It iss the pickers and -sookers in this place that just beats all. Oo-aye! If it wass not a -picker, it will be a sooker." - -"What is the difference between a picker and a sucker, Donald?" asked -Marjory, severely practical. - -"'Deed, then, Miss Marjory, and it iss not any difference there will -be between them at all. It is a sooker that will not be caring a tamn -for the hook, and it is the picker that will not be caring a tamn -either." - -"Ahem!" interrupted Mr. Gillespie, with reproachful glance at Donald's -unconscious back; "I believe, Miss Marjory, that pickers or suckers is -really only the local name for young codlings, lythe, or cuddies. In -fact, for all young fish." - -"She is not them at all," retorted Donald, scornfully. "It iss sookers -and pickers, and not young fish they will be, and it iss not a local -name, whatever." The last came with such a glance of sovereign -contempt for the offender, that Paul, from his ballast kegs, smiled up -at Marjory, who smiled back at him. - -"Got him at last! and a good one too!" sang out Will, ending the -discussion by a new topic of all-absorbing interest, which held the -boat's crew in suspense till the rasping rub of the line over the side -and the drip of water falling back on water ceased in a disgusted -exclamation from the captor of a small flounder, hooked foul. - -"Little deevil," murmured John Macpherson, in such a self-communing -tone, that the Reverend James felt the observation must pass. - -"It iss pulling like that they are," commented Donald, affably. "John -Roy he was fishin' at the ferry-house, and thinkin' it wass a -_skatach_ he got, and cryin' on me for the gaff he wass, but it was -two flukies he was hookin' by their tails." - -Marjory looked as if she were inclined to dispute the fact, then -joined in the dreamful silence, which, with spasmodic awakenings as -fish after fish came over the side, lasted until there was enough -bait, and Will gave the word to move on. Then the anchor came up laden -with a root of oarweed, in which strange shells and starfish lay -entangled; so it was handed aft for Marjory to see. - -"It is squeakin' like a mice yon beast will be," said Donald, pointing -to a sea-urchin. "Aye! an' bitin' most tarrible he is." - -"That is quite impossible," interrupted the girl, cutting short -various other facts which trembled on Donald's lips. "They couldn't -bite if they tried." - -"Then it is squeakin' like a mice they are, whatever," he retorted -doggedly; "for John Roy wass tellin' it to me." John Roy being -Donald's Mrs. Harris, the subject admitted of no further discussion, -and the ensuing pause was broken by a sudden question from Paul. - -"Do you ever find niggerheads about here now? I remember when I was a -boy in petticoats----" - -He took the tiny cowrie of dazzling whiteness she handed him by way of -answer, and said no more. How many years, he wondered, was it since he -had last thought of niggerheads? Truly the world was a strange place, -and a man's brain stranger still. - -And now the long line, duly baited for skate and haddock, was being -paid out and left drifting, moored to floats which seemed to dance -away on the waves, as the "Tubhaneer" with sail full spread made for -the last, low, sunlit point, and so, entering the Linnhe Loch, headed -straight for the blue Kingairloch Hills. To the left lay Lismore, a -glimmering strip of green and gold amid the shining sea; behind was -Port Appin, with its heather-crested bluff, and spidery-black pier; -before them the serrated line of Ardnamurchan, and beyond, faint in -the distance, the headland of Mull jutting into a glint of the -Atlantic. To the right rose Shuna with its swelling grassy slopes and -cross-signed pebble shores, like a fairy island in the summer sea. So -further afield Appin House, set in fir knolls, Ardgour lighthouse -glimmering to the left, and beyond, all the hills rising clear and -cloudless to the peak of Ben Nevis. - -On Ami's bay a cluster of boats in shore told that the herring were -in. - -"They never come to Loch Eira now," remarked Will, idly. "It is funny, -but they don't." - -"It will not be funny at all, sir," expostulated Donald. "It wass -comin' they were every year, sure's I sit here, but it wass old John -Mackenzie he wass going after them on the Sabbath, and it wass not -coming any more after that they were." - -"And that is a fact, of course?" asked Will, gravely. - -"It will not be a fact at all, sir," echoed Donald, "but it was old -John himself wass tellin' it to me." - -"I believe it to be quite true, Mr. Cameron," put in the Reverend -James; "indeed I remember the Bishop commenting upon the circumstance -in a sermon. He brought it in most beautifully, and so conclusively." - -"It wass a burnin' shame of the old _bodach_, whatever," grumbled John -Macpherson. "Ay! Ay! a dirty trick, whatever." - -Marjory, watching the sea-pyots wheel and veer against the blue of the -distant hills, smiled to herself. The mere thought of the Bishop in -his lawn sleeves seemed unreal out there in the sunshine. Everything -was unreal save the boat skimming with a little hiss through the -water. - -"There's a steamer rounding the point below Lismore," said Will. "What -will she be, I wonder?" - -"She will be the salt ship from Glasgow for the harrin'," replied -Donald, after prolonged deliberation. "That iss what she will be, an' -ferry welcome. I mind when the harrin' were in Glen Etive, and the -salt ship she wass not comin' at all, the people wass diggin' holes in -the peat, and fillin' them with the harrin'. It wass not keepin' ferry -well, but it was eating them were. A terrible year for sickness it -wass, though the harrin' was that plenty, they wass takin' them in -buckets." - -"'Deed an' it was a dirty trick of that old _bodachs_ to be driving -them away," grumbled Macpherson, "a dirty trick--Gorsh me!--yon's a -seal--quick, Mr. Paul!" - -There was a sudden, still stir in the crew, and all eyes turned to -where a smooth brown head slipped oilily through the water. Marjory -held her breath half-shrinkingly, yet said no word. Not even when Paul -whispered "Ready, Cameron?" and, heralded by a little flash and puff, -the simultaneous report of the rifles frightened the sea-pyots into -screaming flight. The head disappeared as the bullets went ricocheting -over the water in soft _ping-pings_. - -"Too high," said one voice, mournfully. - -"Yes! but the direction was good." - -These remarks, which in constant substance but varying form follow -most unsuccessful shots, appeared satisfactory to the speakers; for -Paul retired to the thwarts again, and Will resumed his pipe, while -Macpherson looked pensively through one of the rifles to see if it had -leaded, and the general excitement died down. - -"It is curious," remarked Marjory, disdainfully relieved, and -speaking, as it were, to the circumambient air, "how even a remote -prospect of killing something will rouse a man's love of destruction." - -Paul, leaning one arm on the thwart, looked up at her solemnly. - -"True--too true. We are destructive, or rather, accurately speaking, -we should like to be destructive--only we aren't. That was a bad miss -of mine. But if we like to destroy, you women love to annex. Witness -that pile of seaweed and shells beside you. You don't really want it, -and ten to one when it comes to the bother of carrying it home, you -will leave it behind you." - -"Pardon me," remarked the girl, "you shall carry it for me." - -"A foregone conclusion, if you wish it, of course; but in that case -you will simply add my services to your possessions. And in like -manner you will dispense with them when I cease to be amusing. Woman -all over!" - -"Thanks, Gleneira!" laughed Will. "It does me good to hear Marjory -kept in order. She bullies me awfully about shooting seals, and I -fully expected her to sneeze or cough. She generally does." - -"I knew you wouldn't hit," retorted Marjory, scornfully, "and it -pleased you." - -"'Pleased 'er and didn't 'urt me,' as the navvy said when his wife -beat him," put in Paul. "By Jove! Miss Carmichael, if I had known what -you thought, I would have put a bullet----" - -"Hist!" cried Marjory, holding up her hand. There, within a stone's -throw, was the smooth brown head, with large, liquid, confiding eyes -turned towards the boat. Not a ripple, not a sound, showed that it was -in motion, and yet it slipped past rapidly. - -"Gorsh me! but the beast's tame," whispered John, unable to contain -himself in the inaction; but the whisper might as well have been a -clap of thunder, for the round head sank noiselessly into the water, -leaving scarcely a ripple behind it. - -"Why didn't you shoot, Captain Macleod?" asked Marjory, with an odd -little tremor in her voice, at which she herself was dimly surprised; -"you might have hit that time, for it couldn't have been more than -fifteen yards off." - -"I never thought of it," he replied quietly; "the beast looked so -jolly." - -"It looked quite as jolly when it was far away, no doubt." - -"But I couldn't see it. And if we discuss that point I shall find it -as much out of my range as the seal was. So give me a good mark for -refraining when I did see its jolliness." - -"Besides, it would have been no good trying. It would have been down -like a shot if we had stirred a finger," said Will, philosophically. - -Paul Macleod sighed. "There goes my last claim to saintship. You are a -perfect devil's advocate, Cameron." - -"But, really, Miss Marjory," put in the Reverend James, who had, as -usual, been left far behind in the quick interchange of thought, "I do -not see why you should object to shooting a seal. Man is permitted by -a merciful Creator to destroy animal life----" - -"In order to preserve his own, and even then it seems a pity," -interrupted the girl, eagerly. "Oh, I daresay, Captain Macleod, the -feeling isn't strong enough to make me turn vegetarian, but it _is_ -wanton cruelty to kill a poor seal which is of no use to anyone!" - -"There you go!" grumbled Will. "Why! I wanted its paws awfully for -tobacco pouches--mine is quite worn out." - -"Your remark, Cameron, is childish and unreasonable," replied Paul, -from his lounge. "You cannot expect Miss Carmichael's tolerance of -humanity to extend to tobacco pouches. Let us be thankful it concedes -mutton chops." - -"A seal is a ferry clever beast, whatever," put in Donald. "It wass -John Roy wass walking on the rocks at Craignish, and he wass seeing a -big seal, and heavin' stones at it, and--gorsh me!--but it wass takin' -the stones and fro'ing them back at John. And, tamn me! but the -creature wass a better shot than John--oo--aye! a far better shot -whatever." - -"And that is a fact, Donald?" asked Will, solemnly. - -"Not a fack at all, sir; but John Roy he wass tellin' it to me." - -"Not so clever as the Kashmir bear, Donald?" put in Paul. "When it has -to cross a stream in flood it carries a big boulder on its head to -keep itself steady." - -"An' is that a fack, sir," asked Donald, readily. - -"The people were telling it to me, anyhow!" - -"Then they were big liars whatever," said Donald, with such an -inimitable air of shocked conviction that a general shout of laughter -rose on the sunny air. - -Oh, bright, glad day! Oh, careless, foolish talk! Oh, deep abiding -sense of peace and good-will in all that sea-girt mountain world which -rose around them, havening their little boat! Could it be that there -was trouble, or toil, or tears, yonder where the mist floated so -tenderly, or there, where cottage and castle, meadow and moor, wheat -and tares were blended into one purple glory? There were not many such -days in life, so let us cherish the mere memory of them! - -The mackerel, it is true, were not to be beguiled, but what matter? -The boat skimmed over the blue water; two red-brown sails stood out to -the West or East. - -"No use trying any more," said Will at last, with a shake of the head -over Paul's placid repose; for lunch had come to fill up the measure -of content, and the laird was back among the ballast with a large -basket of strawberries. "I think, Donald, we might try the big lythe -off Shuna." - -"The tide will no be answerable awhile, sir, but there will be no -excuse for the _bedach ruachs_ at the rocks; no excuse at all." - -"Let us hope the fish will have a sense of duty," murmured Paul from -the strawberries; "cold-blooded creatures generally have." - -They anchored out of the tide race in a backwater of the current, and -Marjory, looking over the side, could see far down into the green -depth where pale, pulsating Medusas came floating by, and every now -and again a flash of light told of a passing fish. - -"Too much tide," began Paul, eyeing the set of the lines from his -retreat, when four mighty and coincident strikes silenced his wisdom -for a while. But only for a while, since amid the rasp and rub of wet -lines against the side came Will's voice despondently. - -"I'm in to some of you others." - -"So am I--and I----" echoed Marjory and the Reverend James. Only Donald -Post whispered softly, "It is the deevil is on mine whatever," and -Paul, without stirring hand and foot, suggested the mainland of -Scotland. But it was neither. The lines passed to the stern produced -conjointly a codling, which after swallowing two baits had tried at a -third, and so hooked itself foul in the fourth. - -"There's an object lesson for you, Miss Carmichael," said Paul, -teasingly. "How about your theory of the cruel hook and the poor -fish?" - -"It is not feeling a tamn, fish is," commented Donald, calmly -disgorging the baits. "It was fishin' for _bodachs_ old John Boy was, -and he was catchin' her foul by the eye, and the eye she come out. But -John Roy wass leavin' it on the hook and the _bodach_ was comin' again -an' takin' his own eye." - -"And there is a fact for you," continued Paul. - -"No! No! sir," protested Donald, with a twinkle in his eye; "it will -no be a fack whatever, but John Roy he wass tellin' it to me." Whereat -there was laughter again. - -So, as the day drew down, they landed on Shuna to boil the kettle for -tea with driftwood gathered from the shore, and wonder idly as the -flames leapt up to shrivel the lowermost leaves of the rowan tree by -the spring, whence the wreckage which burnt so bravely had come; for -storm and stress seemed far from their world. - -Then, while the boatmen took their turn at the scones and cake, the -jam and toast, they climbed the grassy slopes, and, sitting down by -the old tower, watched the sunset idly; for all things, even pleasure, -seem idle on such days as these. The clouds had pricked westwards, as -if to aid the Atlantic in a coming storm, but below their heavy purple -masses lay a strip of greeny gold sky, into which the sun was just -sinking from a higher belt of crimson-tinted bars. - -"No Green Ray for us to-night," said Marjory, with a smile. - -Paul raised his eyebrows. "No Green Ray on this or any other night, in -my candid opinion." - -The Reverend James looked puzzled. "I have often heard you mention -this Green Ray, Miss Marjory, but I am not quite sure to what you -allude." - -"To a fiction of Jules Verne's, that is all," put in Paul, quickly. - -"Nothing of the sort; people have seen it," corrected the girl, -eagerly. - -"Say they have seen it," murmured Paul, obstinately, and Marjory -frowned. - -"I will explain it to you, Mr. Gillespie," she went on, with assertion -in her voice. "It is a green ray of light which shoots through the -sea, just as the topmost curve of the sun touches the water. I watch -for it often. I intend to watch for it till I see it, as others have -done." - -"And what good will it do to you when you have seen it?" asked Paul. -They were speaking to each other, despite the pretence of general -conversation; but it was so often. - -"I haven't the least idea," she answered airily; "for all that, I look -forward to seeing it as a great event in my life." - -"Great events are dangerous; like some very valuable medicines, -uncertain in their effects. Birth, for instance--you may be born a -fool or a wise man. Marriage--a chance of the die--so I'm told. -Death." He pointed dramatically upwards and downwards with a whimsical -look on his anxious, gracious face. - -"I deny it, I deny it altogether," cried the girl, forgetting herself -and him in her eagerness. "You are either in existence before birth, -or you are not. In the one case you must remain yourself, in the other -you, being nonexistent, cannot suffer chance or change. It is the same -with death. If there is no _you_ to survive, death itself ceases to be -since you are non-existent. If there is, you must remain yourself." - -"Surely, my dear Miss Marjory," said the Reverend James, breaking in -on the girl's half-questioning appeal, "we are to be changed in the -twinkling of an eye?" - -"And marriage, Miss Carmichael?" put in Paul, quietly, passing by the -last remark as if it, too, had been non-existent. "You left out -marriage in your philosophy." - -Her face fell, yet softened. - -"I do not know; it is like the Green Ray, something to dream about." - -"To dream about! Ah! that sort of marriage is, I own, beyond the -vision of ordinary humanity." - -"But indeed there is nothing scientifically impossible in the Green -Ray. You have only to get the angle of refraction equal to the----" - -"Spare me, please. If I have to swallow romance I prefer it -undisguised. Even as a boy I refused powders in jam." - -"Wish I had," grumbled Will, knocking the ashes out of his pipe. "I -have never been able to eat black-currant jelly in consequence. And it -is awfully nice in itself. Come, Marjory, we ought to be going." - -"It is very hard to get rid of acquired tastes," muttered Paul, in an -undertone, as he rose, and quite familiarly held out his hand to help -Marjory to her feet also. "For instance, it will be difficult to -forget the flavour of the past fortnight." - -"Why should you forget it?" They were standing apart from the others, -who were looking eastward to see if the boatmen were ready. - -"Because the pleasure of it has been demoralising." - -"I don't believe in the demoralising effect of pleasure." - -"Perhaps not. You are one of the virtuously constituted whose pleasure -consists in behaving nicely. Mine doesn't." - -Her hand went out in an impulsive gesture of denial. - -"Why should you say that? You are not----" - -"How can you know what I am?" he began bitterly, yet indifferently; -his eyes, not upon her, but fixed far on the distant horizon, as if -arraigning some unseen power which had made him what he was. Then he -paused abruptly, and infinite surprise drove everything else from his -face. - -"Look!" he cried. - -"Look?--what?--where?" - -"Look!" His hand was on hers now, and its trembling touch seemed to -give her sight. - -It was a new heaven and a new earth! For, on the outermost edge of the -world, the last beam of light from the sunken sun shot through the -waves, flooding sky, and sea, and shore, with a green light, soft and -pellucid as the heart of an emerald. But only for an instant. The next -he had loosed her hand and the light was gone. - -"What are you staring at so, Miss Carmichael?" His mocking tone jarred -her through and through. She looked at him in sheer bewilderment. - -"The--the Green Ray!" - -"The Green Ray!" he echoed, in the same tones. "I say, Cameron! Here -is your cousin declaring she has seen the Green Ray. Did you see -anything?" - -"Only the seal you were watching out on the rocks yonder," called -Will. "Splendid shot, wasn't it?" - -"The Green Ray!" echoed the Reverend James, bustling up. "Dear me, how -interesting, and I missed it, somehow. What was it like, Miss -Marjory?" - -The girl stood with her clear, cold eyes fixed on Paul's face. "I -scarcely know. You had better ask Captain Macleod. If I saw anything, -he saw it also; and saw it first!" - -"But you have such a much more vivid imagination than I," he replied -easily, "that what would be to me merely an unusually beautiful -effect, might be to you a miracle. It is simply a question of -temperament, and mine is severely practical. In fact, Cameron, if we -are to get home to-night, it's time we were going." - -"By George!" said Will, when, with a general scramble, they had stowed -everything on board, "it's later than I thought, the tide has turned, -and the wind is almost down. We must take the sweeps, I am afraid." - -"All right," said Paul. "Hand us over an oar." - -He was a different man; the lazy content was gone, and he gave a -stroke from a straight back which made Donald gasp between his -efforts--"Gorsh me! but he is a fine rower, is the laird!" - -But there was silence--the silence of hard work--for the most part, as -they toiled home with wind and tide against them. Yet the scene was -beautiful as ever in the growing moonlight. - -"We are not more than a mile from the house here, Marjory," said Will, -as they rounded a point below the Narrowest; "but it will take us a -good hour to get her to the boat-house, and I can't leave her here; -it's spring tides, and the painter's not long enough. But I'll land -you on that rock, and the laird will see you home. Mother will be -getting anxious." - -"I would rather stay," she was beginning, when Paul cut her short. - -"Back water, bow; pull, Donald. Luff her a bit. Miss Carmichael, -please. That will do." They were alongside the little jetty of rock, -and he was out. "Your hand, please, the seaweed is awfully slippery. -Donald, pass up those shells, will you, they are in my handkerchief. -All right, Cameron. Give way." - -It had all passed so quickly, and this masterful activity of Paul's -was so surprising, that Marjory, rather to her own surprise, found -herself following close on his heels as he forced a way for her -through the dense thickets of bracken, or held back a briar from the -path in silence. Yet the silence did not seem oppressive; it suited -her own confusion, her own vague pleasure and pain. She had seen the -Green Ray, but she had seen it through Paul Macleod's eyes. Yes; -whether he would or not, they had seen it hand in hand. He might deny -it, but the fact remained. He was one of those who could see it! - -And Paul, as he walked on, felt that the silence intensified his clear -pleasure and clearer pain. For there was no vagueness in _his_ -emotions. It was not the first time that the touch of a woman's hand -had thrilled him through and through, as Marjory's had done as they -looked out over the sunset sea; but it was the first time that such a -thrill had not moved him to look upon the woman's face! And they had -stood still, hand in hand, like a couple of children, staring at the -Green Ray! What a fool he had been! What did it mean save something at -which he had always scoffed, at which he meant always to scoff! And -then the Green Ray? Was his brain softening that he should see visions -and dream dreams? He, Paul Macleod, who loved and forgot all, save his -own physical comfort. As everyone did in the end. And yet it was a -familiar pleasure to be in love again honestly, a pleasure to feel his -heart beating, to know that the girl he fancied was there beside him -in the moonlight, that he could tell her of his heart-beats if he -chose. But he did not choose. Love of that sort came and went! Did he -not know it? Did he not know his own nature, and was not that enough? -And yet, when they reached the high road a sudden desire to make her -also understand it, made him say, abruptly: - -"When do you begin work? In London, isn't it?" - -"Yes; in November." - -"And you are really going to waste life in a dull, dirty school, -teaching vulgar little boys and girls." - -"I shall teach them not to be vulgar." - -He shrugged his shoulders. "You cannot fight against Nature, Miss -Carmichael; as we are born, we remain. You will only kill yourself in -your efforts at regeneration." - -"I think not. I am very strong to begin with, and then I hate rusting -in idleness." - -"Rust may be better than tarnish. When I think of you here in this -paradise--a fool's paradise, perhaps--and of what you must encounter -there, it seems preposterous for you to mix yourself up. But you do -not understand; you never will." He had forgotten his new outlook in -the old resentment at her unconsciousness. - -"Understand what? I can understand most things if I try." - -"Can you? I doubt it. You cannot understand me, for instance, but that -is beside the question. The only comfort is that real life will -disgust you. Then you will return to the home you should never have -left." - -"I have no home--you know that." - -"You can make one by marrying, as other girls do." - -"I am not like other girls, thank you----" - -"Do you think I can't see that?" he broke out quite passionately. -"Should I be talking to you as I am if you were--why, I can't even -speak to you of what some of them are. It is because you are not as -other girls----" - -"Then you wish me to behave as they do. You are scarcely logical." Her -tone was as ice, and, chilling his passion, sent him back to his -cynicism. - -"Logic and love do not generally run in double harness, Miss -Carmichael; but if you prefer the former, I am quite prepared to stick -to it. Someone wants a wife, someone wants a home. It is a mere case -of barter. What can be more natural, sensible----" - -"And degrading." - -"Pardon me, not always. I will take my own case if you will allow me. -We have touched on it often before. Let us speak frankly now. I need -money, not for myself alone; for the property. You have hinted a -thousand times that I am a bad landlord; so I am. How can I help it -without money?" - -"You could be a better landlord than you are." - -"If I chose to live on porridge and milk; but I don't choose, and I -don't choose to sell. I prefer to stick to champagne and devilled -bones, and give up another personal pleasure instead. And you say it -is degrading." - -"I said nothing of the sort. I spoke of myself. It would degrade me. I -do not presume to speak of you." - -"But you think it all the same." - -"And if I do, what is that to you?" she cried suddenly, in hot anger. -"I do condemn you, if you will have the truth. I think you will -deliberately turn your back on the best part of life if you marry for -mere comfort--and, what is more, that you will regret it." - -"Possibly. I regret most things after a time. Let us wait and see -whether you or I find the greatest happiness in life. Only we are not -likely to agree even there, for we shall not see the world in the same -light." - -"Unless High Heaven vouchsafes us another Green Ray," she said coldly. - -The allusion aroused all his own vexation with himself, all his -impatience at her influence over him. They were passing the short cut -leading to the Lodge, and he paused. - -"I don't think I need intrude on Mrs. Cameron tonight," he said. -"Good-bye, Miss Carmichael." Then suddenly he turned with a smile of -infinite grace. "Let us shake hands over it to show there is no -ill-feeling. It is my last holiday, remember; and, according to -you, I am going into penal servitude for life. But I'll chance my -ticket-of-leave. I am generally fairly virtuous when I have enough to -eat and drink. And we have had a good time, haven't we?" - -"Very," said Marjory. And though he tried hard to get up another -thrill as their hands met, he failed utterly. He might have been -saying good-bye to his grandmother for all the emotion it roused in -him; and as he strode home he scarcely knew if the fact were -disconcerting or satisfactory. The latter, in so far that it proved -his feeling for Marjory must be of a placid, sentimental form, to -which he was unaccustomed. What else could it be in such surroundings, -and with a girl who hadn't a notion what love meant? - -And Marjory, as she crossed the few yards between her and Mrs. -Cameron's comments, felt vexed that she was not more angry with the -culprit. But once again the thought of the St. Christopher, and of -Paul's blue, chattering lips, when he had the chills at the Pixie's -Lake, came to soften her and make her forget all but admiration and -pity. - - - - - CHAPTER XI. - - -Rain! Rain! Rain! One drop chasing the other down the window-pane like -boys upon a slide. Beyond them a swaying network of branches rising -out of the grey mist-curtain veiling the landscape, and every now and -again a wild whirl of wind from the southwest, bringing with it a -fiercer patter on the pane. Those who know the West coast of Scotland -in the mood with which in nine cases out of ten it welcomes the -Sassenach, will need no further description of the general depression -and discomfort in Gleneira House a week after Paul had said good-bye -to Marjory at the short cut. For he had been right, the deluge had -come; and even Mrs. Cameron, going her rounds through byre and barn in -pattens, with petticoats high kilted to her knees, shook her head, -declaring that if it were not for the promise she would misdoubt that -the long-prophesied judgment had overtaken this evil generation. And -she had lived in the Glen for fifty years. - -Poor Lady George, who had arrived at Gleneira wet, chilled, -uncomfortable, yet still prepared to play her rôle of hostess to -perfection, fell a victim to a cold, which, as she complained, put it -out of her power to give a good rendering to the part. Since it was -manifestly impossible to receive her visitors, arriving in their -turn wet, chilled, uncomfortable, with anything like the optimism -required, for protestations that Highland rain did no harm, and hot -whiskey-and-water did good, were valueless, when you sneezed three -times during your remark. If she could only have gone to bed for one -day, there would have been some chance for her; but that was -impossible, since nowadays one couldn't have a good old-fashioned cold -in one's head without the risk of breaking up one's party from fear of -influenza! So she went about in a very smart, short, tweed costume, -with gaiters, and affected a sort of forced indifference even when the -cook, imported at fabulous wages, gave up her place on the third day, -saying she could not live in a shower bath, and was not accustomed to -a Zoölogical Gardens in the larder; when the upper housemaid gave -warning because hot water was not laid on to the top of the house, and -the kitchenmaid refused to make the porridge for the half-dozen -Highland lassies, who did all the work, on the ground that no -self-respecting girl would encourage others in such barbarous habits. -But all this, thank heaven! was on the other side of the swing door; -still, though the guests could scarcely give warning, matters were not -much brighter in, what servants call, collectively, the dining-room. -Breakfast was a godsend, for a judicious admixture of scones and jams, -and a little dexterous manipulation of the time at which people were -expected to come down, made it last till eleven at the earliest. And -then the hall was a providence. Large, and low, and comfortable, with -a blazing fire, and two doors, where the ladies could linger and talk -bravely of going out. Looking like it, also, in tweeds even shorter -and nattier than Lady George's, yet for all that succumbing after a -time to the impossibility of holding up an umbrella in such a gale of -wind, joined to gentle doubts as to whether a waterproof was -waterproof. Then there was lunch. But it was after lunch, when people -had manifestly over-eaten themselves, that the real strain of the day -began. So that the Reverend James Gillespie, coming to call, despite -the pouring rain, as in duty bound, was delighted with the warmth of -his reception, and Lady George, making the most of the pleasing -novelty, reverted unconsciously to a part suitable to the occasion. - -"Dear me!" she said plaintively; "this is very distressing! Imagine, -my dear Mrs. Woodward! Mr. Gillespie assures me that there is no -church in the Glen, only a schoolhouse. Paul, dear, how came you never -to mention this, you bad boy?" - -Paul, who, after sending the most enthusiastic men forth on what he -knew must be a fruitless quest after grouse, was devoting himself to -the ladies, and in consequence felt unutterably bored, as he always -did when on duty, turned on his sister captiously: - -"I thought you would have remembered the fact. I did, and you are -older than I am. Why, you used always to cry--just like Blazes -does--if my mother wouldn't let you open the picture papers during -service." - -Lady George bridled up. It was so thoughtless of Paul, bringing all -the disagreeables in life into one sentence; and reminiscences of that -sort were so unnecessary, for everyone knew that even the best -childhood could not stand the light of adult memory. - -"But surely there was a talk, even then, of a more suitable building. -I suppose it fell through. High time, is it not, dear Mrs. Woodward, -for our absentee landlord to repair his neglect?" - -"The farm-steadings have first claim to repair, I'm afraid, Blanche," -returned Paul, refusing his part. "The church will have to stand over -as a luxury." - -Lady George, even in her indignation, hastened to cover the -imprudence, for the Woodwards were distinctly high. - -"Not a bit of it, Paul! We will all set to work at once, Mr. -Gillespie, and see what can be done--won't we, dear Mrs. Woodward?" - -"I would suggest writing to the Bishop as the first step," said the -Reverend James, modestly. - -"And then a fancy fair," continued Lady George. - -"Delightful! a fancy fair, by all means," echoed an elderly -schoolfellow of Blanche's, who had been invited on the express -understanding that she was to do the flowers and second all -suggestions. - -"I trust you will have nothing of the kind, Blanche," put in Paul, -with unusual irritation. "I hate charitable pocket-picking. I beg your -pardon for the crude expression, Miss Woodward, but I have some -excuse. On one occasion in India I was set on by every lady in the -station, with the result that I found twenty-five penwipers of sorts -in my pocket when I got home." - -"Twenty-five, that was a large number," said Alice, stifling a yawn. -"What did you do with them?" - -"Put them away in lavender as keepsakes, of course." - -"My dear Paul," put in his sister, hurriedly, recognising his unsafe -mood. "We do things differently in England. We do not set on young -men; we do not have----" - -"A superfluity of penwipers," interrupted her brother, becoming -utterly exasperated; but as he looked out of the window he saw -something which made him sit down again beside Alice Woodward, and -devote himself to her amusement. Yet it was a sight which with most -men would have had exactly the opposite effect, for it was a glimpse -of a well-known figure battling with the wind and the rain along the -ferry road. But Paul Macleod had made up his mind; besides, rather to -his own surprise, the past few days had brought him very little of the -restless desire to be with Marjory, which he had expected from his -previous experiences in love. It was evidently a sentimental attack, -unreal, fanciful, Arcadian, like the episode in which it had arisen. -And yet a remark of his sister's at afternoon tea set him suddenly in -arms. - -"Mr. Gillespie told me there was a girl staying at the Camerons', -Paul, who was a sort of governess, or going to be one. And I -thought--if she hadn't a dreadful accent, or anything of that sort, -you know, of having her in the mornings for the children." - -"Miss Carmichael, Blanche," he broke in, at a white heat, "is a very -charming girl, and I was going to ask you to call upon her, as soon as -the weather allowed of it. I have seen a good deal of her during the -last few weeks, and should like you to know her." - -Really, in his present mood, Paul was almost as bad as a dynamite -bomb, or a high-pressure boiler in the back kitchen! Still, mindful of -her sisterly devotion, Lady George covered his indiscretion -gracefully. - -"Oh, she is that sort of person, is she? I must have misunderstood Mr. -Gillespie, and I will call at once, for it is so pleasant, isn't it, -Alice dear, for girls to have companions." - -And yet, as she spoke, she told herself that this was an explanation -of her brother's patience in solitude, and that it would be far safer, -considering what Paul was, to keep an eye on this possible flirtation. -Meanwhile, the offender felt a kind of shock at the possibilities her -easy acquiescence opened up. He had been telling himself, with a -certain satisfaction, that the idyll was over, leaving both him and -her little the worse for it; and now, apparently, he was to have an -opportunity of comparing the girl he fancied, and the girl he meant to -marry, side by side. It was scarcely a pleasing prospect, and the -knowledge of this made him once more return to his set purpose of -fostering some kind of sentiment towards Alice Woodward. But the fates -were against him. Lord George, coming in wet, but lively, from a -constitutional, began enthusiastically, between his drainings of the -teapot, in search of something to drink, on the charms of a girl he -had met on the road. "A real Highland girl," continued the amiable -idiot, regardless of his wife's storm signals, "with a lot of jolly -curly hair: not exactly pretty, you know, but fresh as a daisy, bright -as a bee. I couldn't help thinking, you know, how much better you -would all feel, Blanche, if you went out for a blow instead of -sticking at home." - -"We should not come into the drawing-room with dirty boots if we did, -should we, Alice dear? Just look at him, Mrs. Woodward! He isn't fit -for ladies' society, is he?" - -Lord George gave a hasty glance at his boots, swallowed his tepid -washings of the teapot with a muttered apology, and retired, leaving -his wife to breathe freely. - -"That must be Miss Carmichael, I suppose," she remarked easily. "I am -beginning to be quite anxious to see this paragon, Paul." - -"Nothing easier," replied her brother, shortly; "if you will be ready -at three to-morrow afternoon, I'll take you over and introduce you." - -Positively she felt relieved when, with some excuse about seeing -whether the sportsmen had returned, he left the drawing-room. It was -like being on the brink of a volcano when he was there, and yet, poor, -dear old fellow, he behaved very sweetly. - -She said as much to him, being clever enough to take his real -affection for her into consideration, during a brief quarter of an -hour's respite from duty which she managed in his business-room before -dinner. - -"I wish _I_ had a snuggery like this, Paul," she said, plaintively -shaking her head over his long length spread out on one side of the -fire, and Lord George's on the other, "but women always bear the brunt -of everything. If the barometer would go up I could manage; but it -_will_ go down, and though I've taken away the one from the hall, -Major Tombs has an aneroid in his room, and _will_ speak about it. And -Ricketts--I have had her for five years, George, you remember--gave me -warning to-day. It seems Jessie took advantage of the fire in -Ricketts's room to dry one of Paul's wet suits, and Ricketts thought -it was a burglar. She went into hysterics first, and now says she -never was so insulted in her life." - -Paul laughed. "Would it do any good if I apologised?" - -"Wish it had been mine," grumbled Lord George. "This is my last coat -but one, and the sleeves of it are damp. I can't think why the dickens -the women can't turn 'em inside out." - -"Oh! of course, it's the women again, George, but the footman wants to -know if he is expected to grease boots, and I don't know what to say. -Someone used to grease them, I remember----" - -"Oh! if it comes to that," said Paul, hotly, "I'll grease 'em myself. -Why should you bother, Blanche?" - -"Now that is _so_ like a man! Someone must bother; and really servants -are so troublesome about boots, though I must own one would think you -men were centipedes; there are fifty pairs in the laundry at present. -And Mrs. Woodward says her husband has smoked too many cigars and -drunk too much whiskey and soda. As if it were my fault." Poor Lady -George spoke quite tearfully. - -"Well, I offered to take him out, but he said his waterproof wasn't -waterproof. What the dickens does a man mean by coming to the West -Highlands without a waterproof? One doesn't expect anything else in a -woman, of course, but a man!" - -Lady George dried her eyes disconsolately. "Oh! it is no use, George, -importing the antagonism of sex into the matter. It is bad enough -without that. If we only had a billiard-room I could manage. Do you -know I think it quite criminal to build a house in the country without -one." - -"There are the Kindergarten toys, my dear," suggested her husband; -"the children seem to have tired of them." - -"Oh, don't try to be funny, please!" retorted his wife; "that would be -the last straw. And nurse says it is because they cannot get out that -they are so cross. Just when I was counting on them, too, as a -distraction." - -"Well, Blazes was that effectually this morning," replied her husband, -with an air of conviction; "he howled straight on end for two hours, -and when I went into the nursery to see what was up, I found the poor -little beggar sobbing over some grievance or another." - -Lady George flushed up. "It was only because he couldn't come down -with the others--I really can't have him; he is so unreasonable, and -Mrs. Woodward doesn't believe in my system." - -"Never mind, my dear Blanche," said her brother, consolingly. "It -seems to answer nicely with good children, and children ought to be -good, you know. And the barometer is going up, it really is." - -"For wind, I suppose," replied his sister, tragically. Apparently it -was for wind; at any rate, Will Cameron coming up to see the laird on -business next day observed casually that this must be about the end of -it; an optimistic remark which has a certain definite significance in -a land of gales. Even the sportsmen were driven to the cold comfort of -examining the action of each other's weapons with veiled contempt, -discussing the respective merits of each other's accoutrements, from -cartridge cases to leggings, and trying to forget that the wild -weather was making the birds still wilder than they had been already. -It appeared to have the same effect upon humanity. Sam Woodward, who -had been a thorn in poor Lady George's side from the beginning, fell -out with the only man who could tolerate him, and thereafter told his -sister it was a beastly hole, and that he meant to make the _mater_ -give him some oof, when he would cut and run to some place where -they weren't so beastly stuck up. Mr. Woodward, senior, after -roaming about disconsolately waiting for the post, was only -appeased by Lady George's suggestion that he would be doing yeoman's -service to the cause of civilisation if he composed a letter to the -Postmaster-General, calling attention to the disgraceful irregularity -in her Majesty's mails to Gleneira; whereupon he retired into the -library and wasted several sheets of foolscap. - -It was on the children, however, that the weather had the most -disastrous effect; so much so that Lord George, returning in the -afternoon from a blow with Paul--whose patience had given way over a -point-blank refusal on the under footman's part to stop another hour -if he was not allowed a fire in his room before dinner--found his wife -in the nursery standing helplessly before Blazes, who, in his flannel -nightgown, was seated stolidly on the floor. Adam and Eve, meanwhile, -were eyeing the scene from their beds, where, however, they had a -liberal supply of toys. - -"Oh, George!" she cried appealingly, "he has such a hard, hard heart; -and I am sure he must get it from your side of the family, so _do_ you -think you could do anything with him?" - -"Put him to bed like the others," suggested his father, weakly, -showing signs, at the same time, of beating a retreat, but pausing at -the sight of his wife's face, which, to tell the truth, was not far -from tears. - -"So I have, but he gets out again, and nurse can't hold him in all the -time. Besides, it was Mrs. Woodward's fault for being so disagreeable -about my system; but the children were naughty, poor dears; only, of -course, Adam and Eve went to bed when they were told--you see, they -are _reasonable_, and knew that if they _did_ they would be allowed to -come down again to dessert--and then they didn't really mind going to -bed to please me, the little dears. But Blasius actually slapped Mrs. -Woodward's face, and then she said he ought to be whipped. So we had -quite a discussion about it, and, in the heat of the moment, I told -Blasius he must stop in bed till he said he was sorry. And now I can't -make him stop in bed or say a word. He just sits and smiles." - -Here their mother's tone became so unlike smiles that Adam and Eve, -from their little beds, begged their ducksom mummie not to cry, even -though Blazes was the baddest little boy _they_ had ever seen. - -"If he won't say it, you can't make him," remarked Lord George aside, -with conviction. "If I were you I'd chance it." - -"But I can't. You see, I told Mrs. Woodward I could manage my own -children, and so I've made quite a point of it with Blasius. I can't -give in." - -Lord George, who was in the Foreign Office, and great on diplomatic -relations, whistled softly. "Always a mistake to claim when you can't -coerce--or retaliate." Then he added, as if a thought had struck him, -"Look here! has he had his tea? No! then hand him over to me; I'll put -him in the little room by the business room. Nobody will hear him -there even if he does howl, and as he gets hungry he will cave in, I -expect. At any rate, he can't get out of bed there, and I don't think -he can like it." - -But for some unexplained reason, possibly original sin, Blasius -elected to be quite cheerful over the transfer. He informed the nurse, -as she put on his dressing-gown, that he was going to "'moke with -daddy," and when he reached the little bare room, which was almost a -closet, he tucked the same dressing-gown round his little legs very -carefully as he plumped down on the floor. - -"Blazeth's goin' to stay here a long, long time," he said, -confidently. "Dood-night, daddy dear." - -In fact, he was so quiet that more than once his father, smoking in -the next room, got up to open the door softly and peer in to see if by -chance any evil could have befallen the small rebel; only to retire -finally, quite discomforted by the superior remark that "when -Blazeth's horry Blazeth's 'll let daddy know." To retire and meditate -upon the mysterious problem of fatherhood, and that duty to the soul -which, somehow or another, you have beckoned out of the unknown. In -nine times out of ten, thoughtlessly, to suit your own pleasure; in -ninety-nine times out of a hundred to bring it up to suit your own -convenience, to minister to your amusement, to justify your theories. - -Lady George, coming in with the falling twilight, when the duties of -afternoon tea were over in the drawing-room, found her husband, minus -a cigar, brooding over the fire. - -"I've done it, Blanche," he said defiantly. - -"Done what?" - -"Beaten him. I knew I should some day." - -His wife gave quite a sharp little cry. "Oh, George! and I trusted -you. I trusted you so entirely, because you knew it was wrong. And now -it can never be undone--never! You have ruined everything--all the -confidence, and the love--Oh! George, how could you?" - -The man's face was a study, but it was one which few women could -understand, for there is something in a righteous disregard of -weakness which seems brutal to most of them; for to them justice, like -everything else, is an emotion. - -"The little beggar bit me," he began, rather sheepishly, and then -suddenly he laughed. "He was awfully quiet, you know, and I thought he -was really getting hungry; so I went in, and by Jove! Blanche, he had -eaten nearly a whole dog biscuit! Paul keeps them there, you know, for -the puppy. Well, I felt he had me on the hip as it were, and if it -hadn't been for your face, I'd have given in--like a fool. So I sate -down and talked to him--like--like a father. And then he suddenly -slipped off my knee like an eel, and bit me on the calf. Got tired, I -suppose, and upon my soul, I don't wonder--we had been at it for -hours, remember. And then--I don't think I lost my temper, Blanche--I -don't, indeed; but it seemed to come home to me that it was he or I--a -sort of good fight, you know. So I told him that I wasn't going to be -bothered by him any more. He had had his fun, and must pay for it, as -he would have to do till the day of his death. And then I gave him a -regular spanking--yes! I did--and he deserved it." - -There was the oddest mixture of remorse, defiance, pain, and pride in -her husband's honest face, but Lady George could see nothing, think of -nothing, save the overthrow of her system, her belief. - -"I wonder you aren't ashamed of yourself!" she cried, quite -passionately. "It isn't as if he could reason about it as you can--it -isn't as if he understood--it is brute force to him, nothing more----" - -"That's just it, you see," protested the culprit, feebly, "if he -_could_ reason." - -"And now the memory must be between you two always, and it isn't as it -used to be in the old barbarous days. Parents nowadays care for -something more than the old tyranny. We have a respect for our -children as for human beings like ourselves. And now you will never -be--or at least you _ought_ never to be able to look him in the face -again! Just think what it means, George!" Blanche, as she stood there -with disclaiming hands and eloquent voice, felt herself no mean -exponent of the new order of things, and rose to the occasion. "If he -had been a man, you dared not have beaten him, so it was mean, brutal, -unworthy. How can you expect the child to forget it? Would you, if you -were in his place? No! He will never forget it, and the memory must -come between you----" - -"Blazeth's horry." - -A round, full, almost manly voice, and a round, broad face, seamed -with tears, yet strangely cheerful withal, as if, the bolt having -fallen, the sky was clear once more. - -Blanche dropped to her knees, and, secure in her own conscience, held -out her arms to the little advancing figure, but the child steered -past them. It was fact, and fact alone, which impressed the sturdy -brain, which day by day was gathering up its store of experience -against the hand-to-hand fight with life, which, please God, would -come by and bye--the life which was no Kindergarten game, the life of -strange, unknown dangers, against which the only weapon is the sheer -steel of self-control. And this was a little foretaste of the fight in -which daddy had won; daddy, who could do nothing but clasp the little -figure close to his heart as it climbed to his knee, and then walk -away with it to the window to hide his own tears. - -His wife, standing where Blasius had passed her by, could see those -two round, red heads, so strangely like each other, though the one had -a shock of rough hair and the other was beginning to grow bald. And -she could hear that round full voice with a ring of concern in it. - -"Blazeth's horry he hurt daddy such a lot. And daddy hurt Blazeths -awful; but he's a dood boy now. And oh, daddy! I don't fink them -bickeys is half as nice as daddy's--and Blazeths would like one, -becauth he's a dood boy." - -The storm was over. The sky was clear, and Lord George, as he carried -his youngest born pick-a-back upstairs to the nursery, felt that there -was a stronger tie between them than there had ever been before; a -strange new tie between him and the little soul he had beckoned out of -the unknown--the little soul to whom in future "Daddy says not" would -represent that whole concentrated force of law and order from which it -was at present sheltered, but which by and bye would be its only -teacher. And yet, when brought face to face with his wife's arguments, -he, being of the dumb kind, could only say: - -"You see, my dear, Blazes is _not_ a Kindergarten child, now is he?" - - - - - CHAPTER XII. - - -And still it rained! - -"Paul, this is awful," mourned poor Lady George, on the eighth -morning. "The post hasn't come at all for two days, and it is -positively heartrending to see poor Mr. Woodward trying to read -Monday's share-list for the third time. Then the beef hasn't come -either, and their maid won't eat any other meat. Hot roast twice a -day, and cold for lunch. All the servants have given warning, and I -don't believe the Woodwards will stand it." - -"Let them give warning, too," broke in her brother, hotly; then seeing -his sister's face, went on after his wont, consolingly. "Don't bother, -please, I'm not worth it. Besides, if Miss Woodward is going to do me -the honour of marrying Gleneira, it is as well that she should learn -to stand a little damp." - -"A little damp! Besides, she will have time to learn afterwards--women -always do after they are married--till then, they really have a right -to be amused. Can't you suggest something to cheer us up? I'm at my -wits' end. Even the book-box has gone astray, and it is so hard to -make conversation when you don't see the society papers." - -"Shall I black my face or stand on my head and sing a comic song? I've -done both in my salad days." - -"Oh, don't be unkind, Paul, when I have taken so much trouble!" - -"You have, indeed," he echoed, walking to the window moodily, feeling -at once irritated and annoyed. Personally he would have found no -difficulty in amusing himself with Marjory, whom he had not seen for a -week, so close at hand. And suddenly the thought of someone else who -had had the knack of making time pass pleasantly occurred to him. -"I'll tell you what I'll do, Blanche, I'll wire to Mrs. Vane to come -at once. I expected to hear two days ago if she was to be with us this -week or next; but she would come anywhere to do a kindness, and she -would keep us alive--rain or no rain." - -"It would be too late," returned his sister, dejectedly. "To do any -good she should be here to-day. I will not be responsible for another -hour--another minute of this detestable climate." She spoke quite -tragically, but her brother was staring out of the window with all his -eyes. - -"By all that's impossible! Yes, it is. Hooray, Blanche! There she is." - -"Who! What!" - -"Violet! Violet Vane in Macniven's machine. How on earth----" He was -out of the door full of excitement, followed by his sister, who was -heard giving tragic orders for hot baths and blankets. - -"She must be half drowned," said Mrs. Woodward, hastening from her -room at the sound of wheels to join the little circle crowding round -the window to watch the arrival. "She will go to bed at once, of -course." - -"And have something warm," said one voice. - -"More likely inflammation of the lungs. I remember----" suggested -another. - -"Bronchitis, at least--poor thing--poor thing----" put in a third. - -To which Cassandra chorus came the sound of a musical laugh and a -perfect ripple of chatter, as Paul, with a new cheerfulness in his -face, ushered in the daintiest little figure, which, as he held the -door open, looked back at him to finish the recital of her adventures -with words, "It was such fun." - -"My dear Mrs. Vane," cried Lady George, "you must be dead!" - -"Only with laughing, I assure you. I am not a bit wet, thanks. I got -them to lend me a tarpaulin jacket and a sou'-wester. But Captain -Macleod tells me I was not expected--I am so sorry, but really I did -write." - -"The post is shamefully irregular," put in Mr. Woodward, majestically; -"it did not come yesterday, and I have no doubt it will not come -to-day." - -"But it has! I brought it. Peter Macniven--that was my -driver--proposed I should give it a lift, and Donald Post said it -would save time if I took out the Gleneira letters myself. So I did. -They are in my bag downstairs, Paul--quite a large bundle for Mr. -Woodward; and all the picture papers, and a packet of chocolates from -Fuller's. And, oh! by the way, Lady George, there was a basket of beef -and a box of books lying for you at the Oban pier, so I took the -liberty of bringing them along." - -"My dear--my dear Mrs. Vane!" - -Lady George positively could say no more. Here was a guest, indeed. It -was as if a glint of sunshine had come into the house; so that after a -time the young man with a big head, whom Lady George had invited -because he could recite poetry to the young ladies, and who had for -the last few days been elaborating a sonnet on suicide, went hurriedly -out of the room to commit to paper the opening lines of a lyric, "To a -sea breeze sweeping away a storm." It was the same with everyone in -the house, and even the maids bustled to get her room in order, and -the butler, after laying an extra place at the dinner-table, remarked -in the housekeeper's room that now, perhaps, the dining-room would -have conversation that was worth listening to. - -Only Paul, remembering her ways of old, and that, spirits or no -spirits, the long journey must have fatigued one who was past the -first untiringness of youth, urged her to rest; but with a little -familiar nod of comprehension she set the very idea aside with scorn. -Thereby, to say sooth, starting fair with him by arousing once more -that tender admiration for pluck which, despite asseverations to the -contrary, most men have for courage and fire in a woman. Paul Macleod, -at any rate, felt it keenly when she came, plumaged like some delicate -butterfly, into the drawing-room before dinner, causing Mr. Woodward -to put down the share-list without a sigh, and Sam, who had been -laying down the law loudly, to become bashfully silent. And then when, -in consequence of her being the Honourable Mrs. Vane by virtue of a -most dishonourable husband, Paul took her down to dinner, how -different that dinner was! He recognised it gratefully; recognised the -readiness of her smile, the art which her bright eyes had of making -people believe in themselves and feel that they, too, had something to -say worth the saying. The art, in short, of the hostess, which Lady -George, with all her cleverness, had not; for the simple reason that -she thought too much about the effect she was producing. And Violet -Vane's worst enemies might call her artificial, but they could never -have called her self-conscious or selfish. While, as for the -artificiality, a woman must needs be that who is deadly weary, and who -has given herself bright eyes and a ready tongue by means of chloric -ether. Violet had to slip away for another dose ere she could face -what to her was the dreariest, deadliest hour of the day--the time -when the ladies wait patiently for the men to come up from the wine -and the cigars; for she was frankly, unblushingly, a man's woman, and -would confess as much to anyone with a smile. And wherefore not? She -had lived among them all her life. She had no babies to discuss, had -no experience of English housekeeping, and felt no sympathy with -woman's rights or wrongs; for the simple reason that she herself had -never felt the least disqualification of sex. She was _bonne camarade_ -in every fibre of her mind and body; yet withal a thorough little -lady. - -"Paul, my friend," she said, as he made his way straight to her sofa, -where, with wide, bright eyes, she had been taking sights for future -steering, "you can have five minutes by the clock, and then monsieur -will be on duty again. Will he not? Yes! no doubt five minutes is -short; it will not suffice to tell me all you have to tell, will it? -But I would rather leave it for to-morrow. For I am tired, Paul, so -tired, and I don't want to be cross." - -Something in her voice touched him. "Of course, you are tired. I know -that. But when was our dear lady ever cross?" - -The old familiar title, given in the remote Indian station to the -dainty little woman who had made life so pleasant to so many, came to -his lips naturally, and the scent of the jasmine she wore carried him -back to the days when it had seemed an integral part of consciousness; -since life was divided into delirium-haunted forgetfulness and -confused awakenings to the familiar perfume. And those are things a -man never forgets. She laughed, though the words sent a throb to her -heart. - -"Cross?" she echoed; "I am always cross when people are dull. And you -are dull to-night, Paul. Why?" - -Those bright eyes were full of meaning, and he hesitated over the -remark that he had been waiting for the sunshine of her presence. She -laughed again, this time with an odd little ring in it. "My dear Paul, -you should not need sunshine nowadays." There was no mistaking her -intent, and he winced visibly. - -"I always said you had antennae, Violet," he replied, with a flush; -"but how on earth have you found that out already?" - -She paused for a moment, and a mad desire to quote a proverb about -thieves came over her. So it was true, then! True, and she--she was -too late! She set her teeth firmly over her own pain. "Does it -generally need such great acumen to discover when Paul Macleod is in -love, _mon ami?_" - -The sarcasm struck home, and he rose, feeling the position untenable. -"Come and sing," he said; "it is years since I heard you." - -She shook her head. "It will not do, Paul; not even though it is five -years six months seventeen days and a few hours or so since we sang -'La ci darem' together. The five minutes is not up yet, so sit down, -please, and tell me who these people are whom you want to amuse. Or, -stay! I will catalogue them, and then you can correct my mistakes. -Your sister? How handsome she is, yet not in the least like you. Lord -George? A perfect angel, with a twinkle in his eye. He is to be my -best friend. Your Miss Woodward? Alice is a pretty name, Paul; and her -hair shall be of what colour it shall please God. Am I right, -Benedict? Papa Woodward? Have a care, Paul! he studies the share-list -too much; so have it in Government securities. Mamma Woodward? What -her daughter will be at that age; it is such an advantage to a man, -Paul, to see exactly what his future will be. Master Woodward? No! I -will leave you to describe him." - -Paul winced again. "You are very clever, Violet--suppose you pass on -to the others----" - -"I told you I was evil-tempered. Then there is the young man who -wrote a sonnet to somebody's eyebrow--probably mine--between the soup -and fish. Two young ladies colourless--your sister is clever, too, -Paul--and a couple of men to match. Finally the Moth." - -"Who?" - -"Miss Jones, or is she Miss Smith? I met her in Devonshire with -another school friend. She was Watteau then--cream and roses. I met -her, too, on a yacht--anchors and lanyards. And here, like Lady -George, she is _moyen-âge_." - -"But why the Moth?" - -"Because she takes her colour from what she preys upon; and she frets -my garment! That is all, except the lady who bicycles and thinks -Gleneira too hilly, and the man who takes photographs." - -"My dear Violet!" laughed Paul; "you are a witch." - -"Pardon me! I am an ass--all ears. And Bertie, Palmer, and Gordon come -next week. I'm glad of that; one can't make bricks without mud. Straw -requires the baser clay." - -"Straw! that is hardly complimentary to your sex!" - -"Pardon me again! the highest duty of a woman is to please man, and he -is proverbially tickled by a straw. So now for the neighbours." - -"None." - -Violet Vane's eyebrows went up in derision. "There is no Sahara in -Lorneshire, and you have been here for three weeks--or is it a month?" - -"To be accurate, a month and four days." - -"Dear me! what a long time it takes to put up curtains." - -"Very. I am sure those five minutes are over, Violet. Won't you come -and sing for us?" - -"How--how dreadfully dull you must have been, Paul!" - -"Dreadfully. Blanche! will you try and persuade Mrs. Vane to sing to -us--she is obdurate with me." - -Lady George, delighted at her brother's virtue in seeking to break up -a _tęte-a-tęte_, was urgent in her appeals, and Mrs. Vane passed to -the piano, airily. - -"There is music here," cried Lord George, officiously producing a book -from the canterbury. Mrs. Vane took it with a gracious smile. - -"Bach! Corelli! This is yours, I suppose, Miss Woodward?" - -"No! I don't play," replied Alice, and Mrs. Vane turned instantly to -the flyleaf. - -"There are no songs in that book," remarked Paul, black as thunder, -laying his hands on the volume. "Not that it matters--for Mrs. Vane -used not to need music----" - -"Nor does she now," retorted the little lady, laughing, as she sate -down, saying as she did so, in an undertone, "Does Marjory Carmichael -play Bach well, Paul? I hope so; he is dreadful when murdered." - -The reply, if reply there came, was lost in her sudden burst into one -of those French _chansons_ in which laughter and tears are so closely -interwoven that the mixture is apt to confuse the insular -understanding. Her singing was, like herself, bright, gracious, -fluent, with the rare perfection of training which conceals art. - -"She reminds me of Piccolomini," said Mr. Woodward, in pompous -delight, feeling himself the better for the remark, after the fashion -of men who are no longer afraid of being considered old. "A most -charming little person altogether. Who is she?" - -"The widow of an Honourable--a Colonel--one of the Wentworths, I -suppose," replied Lady George, yielding to the reflected glory of a -successful guest. "She was very kind to Paul when he was ill in India, -and we are all very fond of her. A most desirable friend for him to -have." - -"Most desirable!" echoed Mr. Woodward; and Blanche felt that she had -been wise, since no one could tell how Paul would behave with a woman -of that sort. She might have felt still more doubtful if she had seen -the desirable friend after she reached the seclusion of her own room, -sitting dry-eyed and haggard before the looking-glass, as if to read -the ravages of time in each faintly-growing wrinkle. - -"I have been a fool!" she said, half aloud, as she rose; "but it may -not be too late. I thought at first he was in love with that girl; but -it is not she. Oh, why! Why didn't I tell him I was rich now, instead -of waiting like a romantic idiot to see if he could still care for me? -Care for me! As if any man wouldn't care for a woman such as I, if she -chose to let him care. Well! I must sleep now; I can't afford to look -older than I am." So she opened her dressing-case, took out a bottle -of chloral, measured herself out a full dose, and half an hour -afterwards was sleeping peacefully, like a child. - -When she woke the sun was streaming in at the open window--for she was -one of those to whom the close atmosphere of English houses is -unendurable--and she curled herself round comfortably in her bed to -consider the new aspect of affairs before rising to face them. In a -way she was to be pitied, for in sending Paul Macleod to Kashmir, in -order to buy a silk carpet, she had really touched the highest point -of self-abnegation of which she was capable. She had done it to save -him; for what? For this colourless girl who would never understand his -odd mixture of sentimentality and worldliness? No! not for that. Even -as a friend she could not stand by and see him ruin his prospects of -happiness in that fashion. Had she not hesitated herself in those old -days, when, by simply leaving a man who disgraced her every hour and -moment of his life, she could, after a brief period, no doubt of -horrible humiliation, have married Paul herself? She had hesitated -because of his future, for nothing else; and was she to stand by and -see him ruin it for no just cause, since she was wealthy enough now -for all his wants? There was a sufficiency of high moral tone in this -view of the question to serve her purpose, which she strengthened by -telling herself that if she had found Paul properly devoted to his -heiress, she would once more have sacrificed herself. All is fair, -says the proverb, in love and war; but Mrs. Vane felt much was fair -because it was not love, and came down to breakfast determined to see -what could be done. For Paul's sake first, of course, and then?--for -the present Mrs. Vane decided to leave that alone. - -Despite the sunshine, the menkind came down slackly, grumbling at a -real shooting day being just "nippet awa by the Sawbath." Obedient, -nevertheless, to the order for church parade at the schoolhouse, -which, being of modest dimensions, overflowed after a time into the -road, where the latest comers contented themselves with sitting on the -turf-capped dyke beneath the chestnut tree, where they could just hear -the swell of the responses, and join in the hymns if they chose. Mrs. -Vane, standing during the _Venite_ beside Paul, could see these -outdoor worshippers, and rather envied them, being at heart a thorough -little Bohemian. Yet the interior interested her quick brain also, and -she watched Lady George with furtive amusement, as the course of -service brought to that lady a dim suspicion that she had lost her -place. For, despite Mr. Gillespie's suggestion of a second and English -"diet" for the visitors, Blanche had preferred to bring them to the -Gaelic; moved thereto by a vague feeling that it gave, as it were, a -_cachet_ to the laird of Gleneira, with whose importance she was -anxious to impress the Woodwards. The effect, however, was somewhat -disastrous, since Alice looked shocked and surprised, Sam laughed, and -Mrs. Woodward, after a frantic effort to follow the Psalms, gave up -the struggle. Mr. Woodward had--Blanche felt fortunately--remained at -home, for he was of the stern, uncompromising section of British -laymen who only attend service on high days, and have, in consequence, -strong opinions as to the necessity of the Athanasian Creed to the -stability of the English Church. Paul, tall and listless, looked so -persistently towards one dark corner, that at last Mrs. Vane's -watchful eyes, following his, discovered an attraction in the girl -playing the harmonium. And then it struck her that the voluntary had -been a bit of Corelli! Yet that was not the sort of face to make Paul -stare, as he undoubtedly was staring. She looked up at him quickly, -and with a real shock recognised something in his expression which she -had not expected, something which roused her to a sudden flame. It was -almost a relief when Donald Post, stealing in on tiptoe noisily, -caused a general stir, followed by an all-pervading smell of -sealing-wax from the other dark corner, which showed that Mr. McColl -was sealing up the bag; Lady George's face the while being an -unsuccessful attempt to combine horror and unconsciousness, while her -husband's, much to her annoyance, openly reflected the children's -unabashed interest. It was a greater relief still, when the sermon -came to an end, the letters were handed round, and, with joyful barks, -the collies rushed out, followed by the quality. All but Mrs. Vane, -who stood listening to a fugue of Bach's with a little fine smile on -her face. Inaction was over, and she must survey this new difficulty -without delay. - -"Don't wait," she said to Paul, lightly; "I love Bach, and Miss -Carmichael plays charmingly." - -He said a bad word under his breath as he passed out, and yet for the -life of him he could not be angry with her. She saw through him, of -course; right through to the very worst part of him, and yet she was -his friend. When he joined the gathering outside Lady George was -already shaking hands benignly with all and sundry, whispering between -whiles to Mrs. Woodward that it was a Highland custom, and so much -more conducive to proper relations between landlord and tenant than -the English standoffishness. In fact, she was in her element, in a new -part of great capabilities. Paul, on the other hand, merely nodded and -smiled; but his great personal beauty, his reputation as a soldier and -a sportsman, went further towards popularity among both the men and -the women than all his sister's condescension. And still the Bach -fugue went on, being, in truth, susceptible of many repeats and _da -capos_, while Marjory, over the music desk, gave annoyed glances at -the dainty little figure at the door. During the past week of Paul's -absence, the charm of his personality had faded, leaving behind it the -memory that he was hardly of her world; that even if he had been, he -was hardly the sort of man with whom she could have sympathy. And yet, -with the sight of him, had come back the old excuses, the old -conviction that he slandered himself. It did not make her feel any the -more kindly towards the world which held him back from his better -self; towards women, for instance, like this one at the door. - -"Are you not coming, Violet? The others have gone on." - -Paul's voice had a note of warning in it, but she never heeded his -thunderings like others did, and in that lay the secret of her power -over him. - -"I am waiting for you to introduce me to Miss Carmichael," she said -calmly; "then we can walk home together. I want to ask her where she -learned to play Bach." - -A transparent prevarication, but one it was impossible to set aside; -nor, to tell truth, did Paul wish to set it aside. The temptation -presented to him by this little Eve in a Paris costume, was far too -welcome for that; so welcome that the very excess of his own fierce -desire to yield to it made him silent, while Mrs. Vane set herself -deliberately to pierce through the girl's shield of stiff politeness. -Not a difficult task with one so quick to respond to the least touch -of sympathy; besides, Mrs. Vane in her girlhood had lived in the great -world of music, among people who were to Marjory as prophets and -kings. So she was soon deep in eager inquiry, and positively felt -impatient as, when they were passing old Peggy's cottage, little Paul -started up from the brackens with a quick message that his grannie -would like to see Miss Marjory, if she could spare time. - -"What a pretty little fellow," remarked Mrs. Vane. "Is Paul a common -name about here? or is it a compliment to the laird?" She asked the -question carelessly, and was genuinely surprised at the look it -brought to the elder Paul's face. - -"It is certainly not out of compliment to me, so I presume it is a -common name--since you gave no other alternative." This was a manifest -loss of temper on his part, not to be justified so far as she could -see; therefore, in her opinion, a thing to be decently covered at the -time, however much it might mean when considered. So she remarked -that, common or not, it was a name she liked. And then she said -good-bye charmingly, warning Miss Carmichael that she must expect to -be disturbed for more Bach; and so drifted on daintily. - -"She is quite delightful, your Miss Carmichael," she began, -negligently, after a pause. - -Paul, who, after a handshake with Marjory, had rejoined her, looking -better pleased with himself, decided on adopting her mood. - -"Very; though I fail to see why you should use the possessive pronoun. -She would not thank you, believe me." - -"Because you discovered her, that is all. She is charming. Like -Brynhild, brave and bold." - -"Cruel and cold." - -"Nonsense. Men like you, my friend, of the earth earthy, are alarmed -by the glistening circle of fire. Few have the courage to leap it and -wake the heart within. Gudrun, duly decked in diamonds and given away -by her father in St. George's, Hanover-square, is more in your line. -Better so, for Sigurd is a double-faced scoundrel, and Brynhild's -heart is too good to break." Her voice grew serious, a little bitter -smile came to her face; for Violet had a heart of her own. - -"I quite agree with you." - -The jest was gone both from his mind and hers, and she changed the -subject adroitly, certain of one thing, that here was a weapon ready -to her hand. Love _versus_ Greed-of-Gold! Really, that method of -putting it sounded quite pretty. And then suddenly a fierce pang of -jealousy shot through her as she thought of the look she had caught -unawares on Paul's face. Alice Woodward would never rouse such a look -as that--never! Would it not be better to leave things as they were? -But, then, why should they not be turned to something better? If, -somehow, they could be manipulated so as to disgust him both with mere -money and mere affection, it would be better for all concerned. For -him, above all, since he could neither live without love or money; and -she could give him both. - -As they talked commonplaces during the remainder of the walk, Paul -felt more contented than he had done for a week, even while he was -asking himself captiously why this should be so. To see the girl you -like, and say not a single word to her ear alone, to shake hands with -her and feel no desire to prolong the touch, to look in her face and -see nothing that was not clear and cold in her eyes, was not, could -not, be comforting. Clearly his feeling for her was not to be classed -as a passion. And yet how glad he had been to see her. How contented -he had been to walk beside her, and what a sense of _bien-ętre_ her -presence gave him. And it was distinctly satisfactory to find it so -little disturbing. Then, recognising the fact that he was becoming -absent in the effort to remember the exact look on her face as she -shook hands with him, he set the thought of her from him angrily. He -would not be the sport of a mere sentimental fancy, unworthy of a man -who had the courage to face his own manhood. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII. - - -The next morning Paul, smoking his usual cigar of proprietorship about -the stables and dog kennels, saw Mrs. Vane coming with a pretty little -air of hesitation along one of the shrubbery paths. - -"_Ben trovato!_ Who would have thought of finding you here?" she cried -gaily, just as if she had not been watching to catch him from her -window for the last ten minutes. "I have missed my way to the Lodge; -show it to me, please." - -He looked into her clever, charming face, understanding perfectly what -she was at, and yet the _finesse_ did not irritate him as it would -have done in another woman. Besides, in this instance, she was just a -little too clever, as he meant to prove to her. - -"By all means," he replied coolly; "I was just going there myself to -apologise to Mrs. Cameron for my sister's negligence, but really the -weather has been so bad." - -Mrs. Vane shot an amused glance at her tall companion. So Paul meant -to ride the high horse, that poorest of all defences against a quick -wit; like that of lance against bayonet, dignified and circumambient, -but quite ineffectual. - -"But I am not going to see Mrs. Cameron," she retorted frankly; "I am -going to see if Miss Carmichael will be kind and play Bach to me; it -is a long time since I heard him played so well. You used to be fond -of him, too, in the old days, Paul. Don't you remember how you used to -lie on the sofa after that fever and declare that a wife's first duty -was to be able to play to her husband? But girls--at least, most -girls--don't care to play nowadays unless they are professionals. And -if they are professionals they don't care to be wives--not even to a -Highland laird." - -"In regard to the present musician," replied Paul, beginning to -dismount, "I am sure no such scheme of self-sacrifice ever entered her -head. Miss Carmichael is charming, I admit; but she has a mission in -life, and it is not to regulate me. That, I think, is a fair and full -statement of the truth, except that before I came here she used to -practise occasionally on the piano at the Big House, and, I presume, -left her music there by mistake." - -Mrs. Vane stopped in an attitude of tragic despair. "There! I have -gone and forgotten it after all, and that was my excuse for going so -soon. You see, your sister said it had better be taken back at once, -as none of the girls in the house played, and so it wouldn't be -wanted." - -Paul bit his lip at the double thrust. "Perhaps it is as well you -_have_ forgotten it," he said angrily; "Miss Carmichael will, no -doubt, be able to use it herself some day soon." - -"That will be delightful," replied Mrs. Vane, with a sudden cessation -of attack. - -Five minutes after, rather to his own surprise, Paul Macleod found -himself talking to Marjory as he might have talked to any other girl -of his acquaintance, and wondering how he could have been such a fool -as to imagine himself to be in love with her. After all, he told -himself, his first theory had been right, and the ridiculously -unconventional familiarity of the past idyll was mainly responsible -for the mawkish sentimentality which had attacked him of late, but -which, thank heaven! was now over. How could it be otherwise with a -girl like Marjory--a perfect iceberg of primness and propriety? - -His sense of security, joined to a certain unconfessed resentment at -her apparent indifference as to whether he came or not, drove him into -more effusive apologies on his sister's behalf than he would otherwise -have made, and brought down on him a remark from Mrs. Cameron that -"Indeed and in truth Marjory would no be going to make strangers of -the laird and his sister, and he so kind, in and out o' the house for -weeks, just like a bairn of her own." Whereat Mrs. Vane, stifling a -desire to laugh at Paul's evident confusion, came to the rescue with a -well-timed diversion about some of the household troubles which had -been occupying Lady George. - -'"Deed!" said Mrs. Cameron, after listening sympathetically, "I can -well believe it! But the warld will come to an end soon, that's one -comfort. You see, it'll just no be possible' for Providence to put up -wi' it much longer, for it's a' I can do to have patience wi' my small -corner of the vineyard, an' that, praise be, is no sae bad as it might -be, seeing that I can hand my ain wi' most folk." - -"But Providence can do that also, surely, Mrs. Cameron?" laughed Paul. - -"Maybe, an' maybe not. I grant ye it comes quits at the hinder end, -what wi' worms that die not, an' fires that be not quenched. But it's -a weary long time to blow at the flames o' wrath, and wadna suit me -that's aye for havin' it out and done wi'. Lord sakes! life wad no be -worth havin' if I had to write down a' the servant lassies cantrip's -in a big bookie against term day, an' keep my tongue on them -meanwhiles. And it is little the hussies would care if I did, for they -wad ken find I'd just forgive them when the day of reckoning came, an' -forgiveness just beats all for spoiling folk." - -"It's lucky for some of us," put in Mrs. Vane, with a laugh, "that -Providence isn't of your way of thinking." - -"'Deed, I am not as sure of that neither. Folk would think twice o' -breaking the law if it waant for the grips they have on mercy. It is -just, you see, in the nature o' man to stand by his luck if the odds -are even; but if he knows he'll get paicks he will just keep the body -in subjection. It is the same in all things. Just look at the -difference in the manners o' folks nowadays! Not half so good as in -the old times when they had to stand sponsor for each word with a -pistol shot. Why, I mind, Gleneira, your grandfather calling out -Glenrannooh for passing him on the kirk steps without a reverence!" - -"I didn't know you were so bloodthirsty," remarked Paul; "and though I -quite agree with you, theoretically, I must be careful, since you -evidently don't believe in apologies." - -"Apologies," echoed Mrs. Cameron, scornfully. "No! no! Gleneira. -They're fine healin' balm to the sinner, but I'll have none coming -between me and my rights. There was James Gillespie telling little -Sandy McColl to go an' apologise to wee Peter Rankin for pulling his -hair, instead o' just giving the laddie a good skelping, and daring -him to do it again. So the bairns just bided their time and had it out -in a natural way, and you never saw such sichts they were. I'm no -saying folk should not be repentant o' their sins, but they should -just take the consequences along wi' the forgiveness." - -"Or follow my example and take neither," suggested the laird. - -Mrs. Cameron looked at him sharply, then shook her head. "Havers! that -is what no mortal man can do, least of all, you, Gleneira, with your -soft heart." - -"Soft heart!" echoed Paul, derisively. "It is only that towards you, -Mrs. Cameron; to the world in general it is hard as adamant. Don't you -agree with me, Miss Carmichael?" - -"Hard enough to ensure your peace of mind, I hope," she replied -quietly. - -Violet Vane's bright eyes were on them both, and she gave an odd -little laugh. "I wonder if it is! I should like to vivisect you and -find out, Captain Macleod; only the process of seeing the 'wheels go -wound,' as Toddie says in 'Helen's Babies,' might end in stopping them -altogether. Perhaps it would be as well--for other people's hearts." - -"The heart is no easily damaged, anyway," put in Mrs. Cameron, with -the air of one who knows. "Folks like to think it is, but it is -maistly the stomach that goes wrang. I've seen a heap o' broken hearts -in my time cured wi' camomile tea; it's just grand for the digestion." - -"I shall order Peter Macpherson to lay down a large bed at once," -began Paul, gravely. - -"For the sake of your victims, I suppose," interrupted Mrs. Vane. -"Commend me to Captain Macleod, Mrs. Cameron, for shameless conceit." - -"Pardon me," put in Paul, "for my own." He gave a glance at Marjory, -who was standing apart with a little fine smile of contempt on her -face, but she took no notice of him. To tell truth she scarcely knew -why she felt scornful, and, when they had gone, she sate down in -defiance of her promise to her books again, telling herself that Paul -by himself, willing to fall in with her life, was quite a different -being from Paul expecting her to be friends with his friends--people -whose dresses fitted them like a glove, and who looked charming. Yes, -that was the right word!--charming from the sole of their feet to the -crown of their heads. As if she had anything in common with such -people!--or, for the matter of that, with Paul, himself--she, whose -fate it was to work, and who liked that fate? Yet almost before -Captain Macleod and his companion had reached home after the _détour_ -he begged for round the garden, Marjory had thrown down her book in a -temper at her own stupidity, run upstairs for her hat, and was off for -a wild, solitary scramble over the hills. - -Paul and his companion, meanwhile, strolling idly through the vineries -and hothouses, she with dainty dress, draped gingerly from fear of -stain, and vivid, whimsical face, diving like a honey-sucker at the -perfumed flowers, were enjoying themselves thoroughly in their own -way; so that the former, coming out at last from an atmosphere of -stephanotis and tropical heat to face the bright, sharp air of a -Highland glen, gave a little shiver, and told himself inconsequently -that Violet was the most charming companion in the world. And so she -was, being blessed with the infallible range-finder called tact; for -half the misunderstandings of life come from people either blazing -away at a bird that is out of shot, or blowing one to pieces,--that is -to say, from a failure to appreciate distance and the fact that, -though our best friend may be, so to speak, well within range over -night, that is no reason why we should reach him with the same sight -the next morning. In most of us feeling, tastes, dislikes, fluctuate -with every hour; nay, more, the individual, as a whole, hovers like -the needle of a barometer on either side of change, so that the more -sensitive of us are conscious of the difference in ourselves at -different times in the day, and it becomes possible for us to be -certain that we might do that at ten o'clock at night which we could -not do at ten o'clock in the day. Yet, despite this undoubted fact, -most of us resent the change of position in regard to our outlook in -life which it entails, the change of key which strict harmony -requires. Mrs. Vane, however, was not one of the many, and, as a rule, -when she played a dissonant note she did it out of malice -aforethought; as she did now when, looking back at the garden with its -low espaliers and broad walks bordered by old-fashioned flowers, she -paused to say sweetly, "It is a charming place, Paul; you ought to be -very happy here with her." - -He frowned as he held the door open for his companion to pass through; -but he was beginning to remember that she used the bayonet deftly, and -came to close quarters at once. - -"The personal pronoun, third person singular, feminine gender, -accusative case, is rather too vague to interest me, I'm afraid. Can't -you suggest something more concrete?" - -She laughed as she pointed gaily to an upper path which, after a time, -would merge into theirs. "See! yonder are the young ladies, going -home, as we should be also, since you will be wanted. Don't let me -keep you, please. They will walk faster than I do, and I am used to -being left behind to fend for myself." - -"Not by me," he replied, with a certain self-complacency, "and you -never will be, I trust. I should be a brute indeed were I to forget -all your kindness." - -"_Dieu mercie_," she flashed out, in sudden, uncontrollable -resentment, "how I hate gratitude! It takes half the flavour out of -life. I often think I should have been happier if I had not been so -kind to people." - -"I have no doubt you made _them_ much happier, if that is any -consolation to you." - -"Not in the slightest." Then as suddenly her irritation passed, and -she looked up at him with a whimsical smile. "Paul," she said, "I -believe Miss Carmichael used to set you copies--or is it Miss -Woodward? anyhow, you are detestably didactic to-day; so it is just as -well the others are joining us, or you would be telling me that 'Evil -communications corrupt good manners.'" - -"The process is pleasant, anyhow," he replied, in one of those moments -of recognition which come to us, even with familiar friends, as some -quality or charm strikes us afresh; "and you couldn't corrupt my good -temper, for you always put me into one, somehow. I believe you use -arts and spells." - -She shrugged her shoulders gaily. "Burn me as a witch, by all means! -You can afford it since the next fairly good-looking woman you meet -will have exactly the same consolatory power. As you said, the -personal pronoun, feminine gender, third person singular, has a wide -application for Paul Macleod. Ah! Miss Woodward, what lovely ferns! We -have just been going round the houses, and there is a hibiscus out -which you ought to see. It put me in mind of India; you sent the seed -home from our garden, I think, didn't you, Captain Macleod? We might -go back and look at it now, and return by the beach, mightn't we? It -is no longer, and far prettier." - -The result of which easy, deft manipulation of a chance meeting being -that, ere the memory of his pleasant stroll with her had passed from -Paul's somewhat vagrant mind, he was performing the same pilgrimage -again under different guidance. Now, Alice Woodward was always counted -a most agreeable girl in her world, and Paul, as in duty bound, laid -himself out to please; yet all the time they were chatting amicably -about Shakespeare and the musical glasses he was conscious of an -effort, and of a desire to know what the other girls who were lagging -behind with Violet could be laughing at so gaily. - -"That is the hibiscus," he said, stopping abruptly before the flower -which, with its creamy petals and crimson heart, had ten minutes -before carried him back to another hemisphere, another life--a -pleasant, younger life, with more possibilities of passion in it than -the present one. - -"It is very pretty," replied Alice, blandly, rather absently. "The -colours are lovely. I really think colours improve every year. Do you -remember at Constantinople, Captain Macleod, everyone agreed that -there was a decided advance on Venice? In that ballet before the -procession, you know, they really were exquisite." - -Paul assented cheerfully, even though he felt such memories were as -water after wine to Mrs. Vane's appeal to the past. "It used to grow -by the well. Ah, Paul! how young you were on those days, and how you -used to enjoy life." - -That was true; and yet a well-cooked dinner and roomy stalls at a -first-class _spectacle_ brought solid comfort more suitable to the -coming years; besides, Violet had always had the knack of taking the -colour out of other women, and while adapting herself more readily to -her surroundings than most, never lost a peculiar piquant charm of her -own which did not clash with her environment. Yet, as they strolled -home by the beach, it occurred to him that they were all, himself -included, out of touch with the glorious world of sea and sky and -mountain in which they stood. And Mrs. Vane agreed, or, at any rate, -was quick enough to read his thought, for as the girls trooped up the -stairs finishing a discussion on the relative merits of two balls, she -lingered in the hall to say quizzically: - -"Is her name Virginia, Paul? and do you fancy a desert island? That -comes of having so much of the natural Adam left in you." - -"Oh, dear me! what has Blasius been doing now?" asked Lady George, -plaintively, overhearing the last words as she came out of the morning -room. At the same moment, as if in answer, the sturdy stump -intermingled with bumps which usually marked Blazes' rapid descent -from the nursery regions, was heard as a sort of running accompaniment -to a steady stream of violent objurgations delivered with immense -zest, in his round, full voice: "_Haud up! Ger' out, ye brute! Stiddy, -yer deevil! Stiddy yer!_" - -"Nurse!" cried poor Blanche, aghast, to the stately figure, descending -behind the stumbling, bumping, yet swift offender, "what does this -mean? Where has Master Blasius picked up----" - -"Oh! if it comes to picking up, milady, that's easy sayin'. Master -Blazes told me last night 'is bath was 'devilish 'ot,' and when I -spoke to him serious told me it was the Capting." - -"Really, Paul, I think you might be more careful," began his sister, -aggrievedly, when he interrupted her. - -"I'm not responsible for _that_, anyhow! What on earth is he up to -now?" For Blasius, having reached the bottom of the stairs, had, so to -speak, fallen tooth and nail on the sheepskin rug, which he was -bestriding with vehement kicks and upbraidings, as he clutched on to -the wool wildly-- - -"_Ger' up, ye deevil! Haud still, ye dommed brute!_" - -"It is through Mary's young man as she's took up with bein' a -shepherd, milady," said nurse, swooping down on the child. "An' -through her never 'aving seen sheep shore, that's what it is." - -Paul burst into a guffaw of laughter. "Old Angus! I swear to you, -Violet, it's the living image of old Angus. What a mimic the child -is!" - -"Do be quiet, Paul!" said his sister, hastily. "How can I---- Nurse, -tell Mary that I am much displeased, and that if I hear of her -watching the shepherd again----" - -"I 'ave told her, milady," retorted the nurse, with as much dignity as -kicks and strugglings left to her, "and there an't no fear. Master -Blazes'll forget it sharp enough when he don't 'ear it. It is the -things 'as he do 'ear, constant"--a backward glance at Paul from the -turn of the stair emphasised the reproach. - -"It is really very distressing," mourned Lady George, turning in grave -regret to Mrs. Vane, and then, seeing unqualified amusement in that -lady's face, yielding a little to her own sense of humour. "But he -really did it splendidly, though where the child gets the talent from, -I don't know. But fancy, Paul, if Mrs. Woodward had been here! I -should have died of shame, for she spent half an hour yesterday in -lecturing me. 'Dear Lady George,' she said, 'you mean well, and of -course the younger generation are always right.' Now, what are you all -laughing at?" - -"At you and your son, my dear," replied Paul. "That was Mrs. Woodward -to the life! So cheer up, Blanche. He will make his fortune on the -stage--or as a sheep farmer." And so full of smiles over the -recollection of the small sturdy figure struggling with the woolly -mat, he went off, feeling that in one way or another the morning had -passed pleasantly enough. Rationally also, without any attempt at -Arcadia. That danger was over, and incidentally he owed Mrs. Vane -another debt of gratitude for having driven him into calling at the -Lodge, and so discovering that Marjory, seen in ordinary society, was -not nearly so distracting a person as she had been when earth, and -air, and water had seemed to conspire in suggesting a new world of -dreams, where love was something very different to what it was in real -life. - -But Paul Macleod was not the only one of the party who felt satisfied -with the morning's work. Mrs. Vane, as she idled away an hour or two -in her room--one of her country-house maxims being that the less -people saw of you between meals the better--told herself that there -was time yet to stave off the immediate danger with Alice Woodward. -That was the one thing to be attained somehow--how, she did not care. -Paul had been flirting with Marjory, of course. Deny what he would, -the look she had surprised on his face on the Sunday did not come -there for nothing; besides, the girl herself had been too cold, too -distant, for absolute indifference. That farce of everything being -over for ever was easily played in absence, but was apt to break down -at a renewal of intimacy. It would be well to try if it would, at any -rate; and under any circumstances Paul was not likely to settle -matters with Alice until the party was on the eve of breaking up; -since it was always more convenient in these matters to have a way of -escape if you were refused. - -Mrs. Woodward was of the same opinion, and said so to her husband -when, on laying his night-capped head on the conjugal pillow that -evening, he began to sound her as to the prospects of escape from the -dilatory posts, which, to tell truth, afforded him daily occupation. -For on the stroke of eleven he could fuss round, watch in hand, -counting the minutes of delay, and, after Donald had come and gone, -there was always that letter to the _Times_, exposing the iniquity of -whiskey bottles and pounds of tea in Her Majesty's mail bag, to be -composed against Lord George's return from the hill to the -smoking-room, when it had to be read aloud, amended, discussed, and -finally set aside till the next day. Then Donald would be later than -ever, and Mr. Woodward, tempted by the thought of detailing still more -horrible delinquencies, would withhold his letter for further -amendment. - -"I suppose it is all right, mamma," he began cautiously. "At least, I -noticed that the young people seemed to be--er--getting on to-day." - -"Quite right," yawned the partner of his joys and sorrows. "How lucky -it was that Jack had to go to Riga about that tallow business." - -Even in the dark, with his head in night-cap, Mr. Woodward's paternal -dignity bristled. - -"Lucky! You speak, my dear, as if he had had claims, and I deny----" - -"You can deny what you please, Mr. Woodward. I think it was lucky, for -now he need know nothing of the engagement till he returns." - -"Perhaps. My dear, by the way, have you any idea when the engagement -is likely to--ahem--er--come off?" - -Mrs. Woodward yawned once, twice. This was a detail scarcely -sufficient to warrant her being kept awake. "I can't say--not till we -are going to leave, I should think. That sort of thing breaks up a -party dreadfully. Why?" - -Mr. Woodward sighed. "Only the posts really are so irregular. As I -said in my letter of to-day----" - -But this was too much for anyone's patience. "You can tell me -to-morrow, my dear," said the wife of his bosom, firmly. "I shouldn't -wonder if it were later than ever, for Lady George told me it was fair -day, or fast day, or something of that sort in Oban." - -Mr. Woodward gave a groan, and turned over to compose a still more -scathing report of the Gleneira mail. - -About the same time Blanche Temple, who, on her husband's late arrival -from the smoking-room, was found by him in dressing-gown and slippers -over the fire, reading a novel, and enjoying the only free time, she -said, a Highland hostess could hope for, was telling her lord and -master much the same tale. The young people were getting on, Paul was -really behaving charmingly, and little Mrs. Vane, contrary to her -expectations, seemed quite inclined to throw them together, so that -the future seemed clear. And Alice Woodward, had she been awake, would -doubtless have added her voice to the general satisfaction, for it was -distinctly pleasant to see the other girls' evident admiration of -Paul's good looks, and to hear their raptures over the beauty of -Gleneira. For a few months in autumn it would certainly be pleasant to -play the part Lady George was playing now, and for the rest of the -year there would be Constantinople, and civilisation generally. - -But the very next day at dinner something occurred to disturb one -person's peace, for Paul, as Mrs. Vane used to say, was a bad landlord -even to himself. His mind was not well fenced, and the gates, which -should have barred vagrant thoughts from intrusion, were as often as -not wide open or sadly out of repair. And this interruption was -trivial, being only a remark in his sister's clear, high-pitched -voice: - -"Mr. Gillespie was here again about that bazaar, and I believe, Paul, -he is in love with that Miss Carmichael of yours. At least, he talked -of her in a way--it would be most suitable, of course, and I really -think we ought to encourage it. It would give us old fogies something -to amuse us, wouldn't it, Mrs. Woodward?" - -"I disapprove of matchmaking on principle, Lady George," replied that -lady, severely; "but this, as you say, appears very suitable indeed. -She is a governess, or something of that sort of thing, I believe, and -they generally make admirable wives for poor clergymen. Understand -Sunday-schools, and don't expect to be taken about everywhere." - -"What an admirable wife for any poor man," put in a subaltern from -Paul's regiment, who had been asked down to make the sexes even; a -nice, fair-haired lad, given as yet to blushing over his own successes -in society. "If you will introduce me, Lady George, I might cut out -the curate." - -"He isn't the curate," said his hostess, smiling. "By the way, Paul, -what are they in Scotland?" - -"Dissenting ministers!" retorted her brother, sullenly, angry with -her, and with himself; the one for inflicting, the other for feeling, -this sudden pain. Blanche's face was a study in outraged dignity. - -"My dear Paul!" she began, and then paused, speechless. - -"He is very good-looking, I think," said the echo diligently, "and I -hear----" - -"What is that?" put in Lord George from afar. "Miss Carmichael and the -parson! Pooh! she is far too good for that blatant young----" - -"George!" exclaimed his better half, this time with authority, "pray -remember that he is our clergyman--our parish clergyman." - -"We are not likely to forget his pretensions to that position, -Blanche, considering how often he comes here," put in Paul, at a white -heat over what he told himself was an unwarrantable liberty with a -young lady's name, and feeling as if he could rend the whole company; -especially the unsuspecting subaltern. - -"What a refreshing thing it is," came Mrs. Vane's half-jesting voice, -"to find the sexes have so high an opinion of each other! Go where you -will, Lady George, the news of an engagement makes nine-tenths of the -men swear she is too good for him, and all the women say he is too -good for her. Touching tributes; but what gender is truth?" - -"Masculine, of course!" put in her next-door neighbour, who prided -himself on being smart. "That dissentient tenth proves discrimination -the unanimity prejudice." - -"Pardon me, it may only mean that men mix their prejudices as they do -their wines, while we women are consistent and prefer simplicity." - -"I can hardly be expected at the present moment to say that I do," -retorted her companion. - -"I shall remember that against you," laughed the little lady. -"Meanwhile I agree with the men. The young lady is too good for any of -you; she is charming." - -"Give me first introduction, please," pleaded the subaltern. "I always -like people who are too good for me." - -"That explains the universality of your affections, I suppose, Mr. -Palmer," remarked Mrs. Vane, demurely. - -"But really, Paul," said his sister, returning to the subject with -injured persistency when the laugh had subsided. "I cannot see why Mr. -Gillespie should not pay his pastoral visits if he chooses; besides we -had to discuss the church." - -"Then I trust the service won't be a repetition of the last one," -replied her brother, still woefully out of temper; "I, for one, will -refuse to go if it is. You agree with me, don't you, Miss Woodward?" - -She smiled at him placidly. "Well! it was rather funny, wasn't it?" - -"Funny!" echoed Sam Woodward. "I'll tell you what, it was the rummiest -go!" and he was proceeding to detail the whole to the new arrival whom -he had taken down to dinner, when Lady George, with a withering glance -in his direction, proceeded in a higher key. - -"The new church, I mean, Paul. We have arranged it all delightfully -while you horrid men have been killing birds. Alice is making a -subscription book with a Gothic window on the outside--illuminated, -you know--and a little appeal on the first page. It is to have an -initial letter, is it not, dear? Then by and bye, next year, perhaps, -when London isn't quite empty, Mrs. Woodward has promised her house -for a Highland fair--tartan things, and snoods--and--and----" - -"Queighs," suggested her husband, demurely, but she scorned the -interruption. "And spinning chairs." - -"Spinning chairs?" echoed Mr. Woodward, who, hearing for the first -time that his house was to be made use of, felt bound to show some -interest in the matter. - -"Yes! those things with very little seat, no back, and a lot of -carving. All the stall-keepers are to be dressed out of Scott's novels -and Mr. St. Clare is going to write--what was it, Mr. St. Clare?" - -"A rondelet," muttered the poet, gloomily, looking up from the -chocolate creams with which he was trying to make life worth living. - -"Of course! a rondelet--that is the thing with very few words and a -great many rhymes, isn't it? And of course you, Paul, will wear the -kilt--local colour is everything." - -"My dear girl," cried Paul, too aghast for ill-humour. "I haven't worn -the kilt for years--pray consider----" - -"The local colour of your knees," put in Lord George, brutally. "Never -mind, old man, a bottle of patent bronzine, like Blanche uses for her -slippers----" - -"George!" cried his wife, rising with an awful dignity. "Shall we go -into the drawing-room, Mrs. Woodward?" - -"It was only his knees, my dear," protested the discomforted nobleman -in a whisper as she swept past him. "Hang it all! if a man mayn't -mention his brother-in-law's knees or his wife's slippers." - -But she was out of hearing, so he sate down in his chair again and -poured himself out a bumper of port viciously. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV. - - -While the Big House was going on its way from cellar to attic, as if -it had been within the sound of Bow Bells instead of in a remote -Highland glen, Marjory for the first time in her life felt time heavy -on her hands; a thing not to be tolerated for an instant by a young -person of her views and prospects. She told herself that if this was -the result of her holiday, the sooner she set to work and forgot that -pleasant, idle time the better. For it had been pleasant, and Paul -Macleod had been kind. But what of that? His ways were not her -ways--his thoughts were not her thoughts; and then suddenly would come -the memory of that short instant on Isle Shuna when they had stood -hand in hand watching the Green Ray. Or was that only another result -of idleness?--that she should be growing fanciful. Paul himself had -denied seeing it, and after all, despite his kindness, he was the last -person to have sympathy with her ideals; yet such sympathy was the -only thing which could make her care for him or his society. She told -herself all this, over and over again, until she believed it; for -Marjory had not yet learnt to differentiate her head from her heart. -Many women never learn the art, and though some, no doubt, find the -difficulty lies in discovering their heads, a far greater number stop -short at a calm affection in the catalogue of their emotions. - -Still, for some reason or another, as yet inexplicable to the girl -herself, the melodious carol of a blackbird singing his heart out in a -cherry tree sent a pain to her own. It seemed to fill the world with -unrest, even though the house lay still as the grave; for Mrs. Cameron -and the lassies were away at the milking. She covered her ears to shut -out the sound and bent closer to her book, until suddenly she found -herself blindfolded by a pair of strong, slender, supple hands--hands -that could not be mistaken for an instant. - -"Tom!" she cried. "Oh, Tom! is it you?" - -"Tom it is," said a voice with a pleasant intonation scarcely foreign, -and yet assuredly not wholly English. "_E' bene!_ Mademoiselle -Grands-serieux! So this is the way you hold high holiday?" - -He pointed to the open book, then, as she clung delighted to his arm, -put on an air of simulated disgust, perhaps to conceal the keen joy -which her welcome afforded him. - -"Conic sections again, and I wandering round 'permiskus' calling for -some of my relations to kill the fatted calf!" - -"The prodigal didn't come 'permiskus.' He wired ahead and they saw him -from afar." - -"Then he didn't get an unexpected holiday, come express from Paris to -Oban, and then walk thirty miles over the hills because he had missed -the mail cart and was a fool----" - -"But why a fool?" - -"Why? Because the bosom of my family was absorbed in conic sections! -And if that reason won't do, you really must wait until I have had -some veal--for to tell truth I'm ravenous--mostly for drinks!" - -He watched her as she flew off, singing as she went like any blackbird -out of sheer lightness of heart, and asked himself if this were not -enough? If he were bound to wait for something more? For Dr. Tom -Kennedy was not a man to require much time for such thoughts, -especially when he had been thinking of Marjory and his welcome all -that trudge of thirty miles over bog and heather. But the answer came -slowly, for he was quite as much in the dark on the vexed question of -Love and Marriage as most people, and the little Blind Boy with the -bow and arrows was as yet a part of his Pantheon. And yet there was -temptation enough to set mere romance aside, when, after anticipating -his every want, and fussing over him after the manner of a hen with a -solitary chicken, Marjory drew a low stool beside his chair, and, with -her elbows resting on her knees and her radiant face supported on her -hands, looked over him, as it were, in sheer content. - -"You don't know how nice it is to have you back," she said, suddenly -stretching out one hand to him--a favourite gesture of hers when -eager. He took it in both of his, bent over it, and kissed it. - -"'Tis worth the parting, child, to come back--to this." - -She laughed merrily. "You have such pretty manners, Tom! I expect you -learnt them from grandpapa the Marquis and the _haute noblesse_. And -then in Paris, I suppose----" - -His heart contracted, but he interrupted her gaily. "I decline to be -scheduled in that fashion. My manners are my own, thank Heaven! in -spite of Galton on heredity. Oh! Marjory, my dear! what a relief it is -to get away from it all--from the eternal hunt for something that -escapes you--from the first chapter of Genesis to the Book of -Revelation; and now that I come to think of it, there is something new -about you--what is it?" - -She shook her head hastily. "Nothing. You said that last time, I -believe--people always look different. You have got greyer." - -He rubbed his close-cropped head disconsolately. "Have I?--well, I -can't help it. I'm getting old." - -"Nonsense! And I won't have you say you are glad to get away from -work--from the best work in the world! How can you tire of the only -thing worth anything, and of the search for truth?" - -"Because I'm forty-three--more than double your age. By the way, there -was a man I know who married a girl of sixteen when he was thirty-two. -And when he saw it down on the register it struck him all of a heap -that when she was forty he would be eighty. Matrimony, apparently, -isn't good for arithmetic--nor for the matter of that, arithmetic for -matrimony!" - -"What silly stories you have, Tom," laughed the girl, "and in other -ways you really are so sensible." - -He rose suddenly and went to the window--a small, slight man, with a -keen brown face--and then, as if in excuse for the move, he picked a -spray or two of white jasmine and stuck them in his buttonhole. Then -he turned to her with a smile. "I should have been a deal more -sensible if people hadn't taught me things when I was young. Original -sin isn't in it with education. Come, Marjory! let us go and find my -cousin--or there will be a row in the house." - -"I like that!" retorted the girl, taking possession of his arm; "as if -anyone in the place dare say a word against you. Why, she told Dr. -Macrea the other day that she didn't intend to die till she could have -you to attend her!" Whereat they both laughed. - -But, in truth, there was much laughter and general good-will at the -Lodge that evening, when Dr. Kennedy insisted on Mrs. Cameron bringing -her knitting to the garden bench, while he and Marjory and Will -strolled about among the flowers, or stood talking here and there as -the fancy took them. - -"Why do you always wear jasmine, Tom?" asked the girl, idly bending to -catch a closer whiff of the buttonhole. "I suppose _she_ used to give -it to you." - -"What she?" - -"The one _she_ of a man's life, of course." - -"Fabulous creature! If they come at all, they come in crowds. Yes! now -I think of it, I fancy you are right. I was twelve, and she a -distracting young flirt of six. Her name was Pauline. I remember it, -because she was the last!----" - -"Oh, Tom! how can you!" - -"Fact; for twenty years after that the responsibilities of searching -for truth prevented my thinking of fictions." - -"And after that?" - -"My dear Marjory, no history is ever written up to date. Even in your -beloved school-primers the last years of Her Gracious Majesty's reign -are glozed over by generalities. You see it is never safe to hazard an -opinion till events have proved it to be right. And then decent -reserve over the immediate past saves a lot of worry. I should hate to -confess that I had told a lie yesterday, though I might own up -placidly to one seven years ago. Yes! seven years should be close time -for confession. A man renews his vile body in that period, and can -take credit for having changed his morals also." - -"But it is more than seven years since you were thirty-two." - -"You have a head for arithmetic, my dear, not for--the other thing; -and it is possible that I am still only in the second volume of my -fiction." - -"You mean in love. What a delightfully funny idea!" - -"Mrs. Cameron!" cried the doctor, "do you see anything comic in the -spectacle of Methuselah wishing to get married; for I don't. I think -it is melancholy in the extreme." - -In truth he did think so, for though, when he was away, his own -sentimentality seemed sufficient for them both, the first look at -Marjory's face always told him that, if the received theories were -true, there was something yet to come before he had any right--in a -way any desire--to ask Marjory to be his wife. If they were true! -There lay the problem which he found so much difficulty in solving. -Like most men of his profession, he was almost over familiar with the -material side of the question, and, being naturally of delicate fibre, -an instinctive revolt made him exaggerate the part which romance was -to play in the purification of passion. To marry when you loved each -other was one thing; for one to love, and both to remain friends, was -another! And between these two ideals he hesitated; for Dr. Kennedy's -power lay not so much in strength as in a certain fineness of -perception and delicacy of touch. And yet at times a doubt -lingered--the doubt which had made him fall foul of the things he had -been taught in his youth. But even through this there ran a vein of -protest against the lack of colour which a more prosaic, more -material, and yet less animal view of the relations which ought to -exist between a man and woman would involve. For he was sentimental to -a degree, and told himself that the very fact of his age made it more -than ever necessary that his wife should be inspired to do her duty by -something more than mere affection. That is to say, once more, if -current theories were true! He came back to this point again and -again, unable to settle it to his own satisfaction, and finding his -chief comfort in the fact that Marjory had, hitherto, never shown the -least sign of loving anyone. If that were to continue in the future, -he could imagine the doubts and difficulties disappearing altogether; -but for this time was required, time for her to understand her own -nature. His knowledge, his experience of life, the position in which -he stood towards her, all combined to make him hyper-sensitive lest in -any way he should wrong her innocence and ignorance. Besides, he -himself would have been bitterly dissatisfied with the position. That -was the solid truth, which went further than anything else in making -him stand aloof; though, no doubt, he would have denied the fact -strenuously, since to men of his stamp a sentimental grief is better -than no sentiment at all. Yet the grief sate on him lightly because of -its very sentimentality, and because--though this again he would -strenuously have denied--in his heart of hearts he felt that it was -largely of his own making, and that one part of his nature was -satisfied and to spare. In these days, when the happiness of the -individual is both aim and end, it is curious to see how persistently -one form of happiness is ignored; the happiness which indubitably -comes from doing what you would _not_ wish to do, unless you conceived -it to be your duty. And yet the very people who deny the possibility -of this content are the first to point out that, when all is said and -done, a man can only do what he wishes to do. - -So that when, on the next morning, Dr. Kennedy, who had listened to -the tale of what had been going on and what was going on in the Big -House with a certain foreboding, came to Marjory and urged her to -accompany him on a visit there in the afternoon, he did so with the -distinct intention of feeling the self-complacency of duty performed. -And Marjory, in her turn, thus brought face to face with the very -reasonable proposition, found it hard to make an excuse that did not -rouse her own indignation by being over serious. After all, why should -she not comply with Captain Macleod's urgent invitations? There was -nothing to be afraid of. Nevertheless, when she appeared, clothed in -white raiment with her best gloves on, she had so solemn and sedate an -air that the doctor felt aghast at his own act. - -"Don't look so like Iphigenia, my dear," he said; "or let us give it -up." - -"Certainly not. If it's the right thing to do, it has got to be done; -but I do feel like a sacrificial lamb. You don't, of course; but then -you are accustomed to society, a great deal of society, and I'm not. -Do you know, Tom, I have scarcely ever seen more than three or four -people of my own rank together in my life, and I positively don't know -any girls." - -"Time you did," he replied stoutly. - -"But I doubt if I have any manners," she protested. - -He had, at any rate; and new as the experience of the large party -gathered in the big drawing-room was to her, she found immediate -confidence in the perception that her companion would stand the test -of any society; indeed, as she sate talking to Alice Woodward, she -could not help noticing with a certain amused pride Lady George's -frigid politeness give way to interested endeavours to find out who -this most unusually well-bred specimen of a country doctor could be; -for Paul was not there to aid his sister's ignorance. - -But by and bye Mrs. Vane came in and made her way straight to Marjory -with pretty little words of welcome, yet with the Anglo-Indian lady's -reminiscent interest at the sight of a real live man at afternoon tea. - -"Who is he?" she asked; "did he come with you?" - -"He is my guardian--Dr. Kennedy." - -"Kennedy! not the famous Dr. Kennedy--Tom Kennedy of Paris?" And -before Marjory could get beyond the first syllable of acquiescence, -Mrs. Vane had crossed the room and was standing opposite Lady George. - -"I would ask you to introduce me to Dr. Kennedy," she said, "but it -would be of no use, for while he has made a name for himself since I -knew him, I have lost mine. So I will only ask him if he remembers the -jasmine bush at the Château Saumarez?" - -There was an instant's bewilderment, and then Tommy Kennedy, who had -risen at her first word, took a step forward and both his hands went -out gladly. - -"Pauline!" - -"Just so--and you are Alphonse! What a small place the world is after -all! To think of finding you at Gleneira. Lady George, you were -talking of theatricals this morning, and the idea fell through because -no one--not even your brother--would do the _jeune premier_ with me. -He is found! Dr. Kennedy is one of the best amateur actors in Paris." - -"The past tense, if you please, my dear lady," protested the doctor. -"Consider my grey hairs." - -"That is a remark which should not have been made, for we are -contemporaries. He was my first--no! one of my first loves, Lady -George. We used to give each other sweeties over the garden wall when -his grandmother, the Marquise de Brisson, was not looking; but the -jasmine bush, Alphonse, was at your uncle's, Prince Rosignacs's. Why! -you have a bit in your buttonhole now, and I----" She pointed to the -spray fastened into the laces of her tea-gown. - -"_Ce soir ma robe en est tout embaumée_." - -"_Respires-en moi l'adorant souvenir_," quoted Dr. Kennedy, looking at -the lapel of his coat tenderly; and Marjory, standing a little apart, -a mute spectator of the scene, felt a sudden sense of loneliness. He, -too, was at home in this idle, careless life, and she was the only one -who was out of it. It came upon her by surprise, for though she had -known and been proud of the fact that her guardian belonged by virtue -of his mother's birth to the best of French society, she had had no -actual experience of him in the part of a man of the world. But he was -that, and of a good world, too, she recognised frankly as she sate -listening to the now animated conversation about people she had never -heard of, things she had never seen, and at the same time trying to be -agreeable to the girls who, dutiously, had taken her in hand. She felt -that it was a duty, and a sort of indifferent resentment possessed -her, even when Lady George hoped she would accompany Dr. Kennedy, who -had kindly promised to dine with them next day and talk over the now -possible theatricals. Yet, rather to his surprise, she accepted -without even a look at his face, and made quite a polite little speech -about hoping to see more of the girls; and so, with a certain -independent grace, passed out into the hall, leaving him detained for -a moment by some last remark. She could hear Mrs. Vane's light laugh, -his voice, and then another laugh, as she stood waiting beside the -deferential butler, and all involuntarily her lip curled. - -"Miss Carmichael! How glad I am!" It was Paul, newly in from -the moor, looking his best, as a handsome man does, in his rough -shooting-clothes. He had a tuft of white heather and stag-horn moss in -one hand, and with a sudden impulse he held it out gaily to her. -"Tit-for-tat! you welcomed me here--though I never thanked you for so -doing, did I? It is my turn now." - -He had meant the offering for Violet Vane or Alice Woodward, whichever -he met first, but now it seemed as if fate had sent it for Marjory and -for no one else. He felt as if it were so, he looked as if it were so, -and for the first time in her life Marjory felt an odd little thrill -run through her veins. - -"Thank you," she said soberly. "Yes! I did give it to you; so now we -are quits--I mean," she corrected hastily, "that--that we are on the -same footing." - -There was quite a tremor in her voice, too, as, seeing Dr. Kennedy -beside her, she turned to him quickly. "This is Captain Macleod, -Tom;--he has been very kind to me." - -In nine cases out of ten Paul Macleod on being introduced to a man -belonging to a girl in Marjory's position, and, as it were, having a -claim on her, would have been studiously, frigidly courteous, and no -more; and so might have once and for all chilled Marjory's sudden -confidence and relief in finding an old friend in her new environment; -but it is difficult for an emotional man to be cold, when a sudden -glow of content makes him feel absurdly happy. Consequently he went -out of his way to be frank and kindly in expressing his pleasure at -making the acquaintance of one of whom Miss Carmichael had so often -spoken. - -"In terms of reprobation, no doubt," replied Dr. Kennedy, lightly; "a -guardian is a disagreeable appendage, though I try to be as little of -a nuisance as I can." - -"So do I," retorted Paul, with a smile; "but Miss Carmichael is so -dreadfully hard to please." - -As Dr. Kennedy's keen brown eyes took in the figure before him, he -told himself that the girl must be hard indeed to please if she could -find fault with it. - -"That is the handsomest man I've seen for a long time," he said as -they walked home. "What is he like inside?" - -Marjory paused with her head on one side, considering. "Oh! nice in a -way--the way of the world, I suppose, and I thought him nicer than -ever to-day; being in his own house agrees with him. Oh, Tom! how I -wish you hadn't accepted that invitation to dinner!" - -Yet when she returned from the Big House, she had a little flush on -her cheek, and when Dr. Kennedy challenged her to tell truth in answer -to Mrs. Cameron's inquiry as to how she got on, she answered with a -laugh and a nod: "Why not--it was rather interesting; quite an -evolutionary process. Before I went I was protoplasmic--all in a -jelly. Then at dinner we were all amoebic--digestive apparatus and -nothing else. Afterwards, with the ladies, I felt like a worm, or a -fish out of water. Then I wanted to have wings like a bird and fly -away, but I couldn't, for the quadrumana appeared from the -dining-room, and we all became apes!" - -"What is the lassie talking about?" put in Mrs. Cameron, with a toss -of her head. "Can you no answer a straight question wi' a straight -answer? What then, I say, what then?" - -"Yes! what then, Marjory?" asked Tom Kennedy, quickly; he knew the -answer, and yet he wanted to hear it from her lips, because it would -satisfy him that so far he had been right. - -"And then--why then I suppose I became a girl--at any rate I enjoyed -it. They were all so kind, and Mrs. Vane--I suppose in your world, -Tom, there are heaps of women like that?" - -"Not many so charming," he answered heartily. In truth it had been -very pleasant meeting her again after so many years; for a man, even -when he is in love, or supposes himself to be in love, with one woman, -is never proof against the pleasure of being made much of by another. -And Dr. Kennedy, with a quaint simplicity and wisdom, was perfectly -aware of his own reputation as one of the boldest adventurers in new -fields of discovery, and told himself that people made much of him for -their own sake, and because he carried his restless energy with him -into society as well as into his work. For energy is, as a rule, a -godsend to _fin-de-sičcle_ men and women. So the conceit of it slipped -off him like water from a duck's back, leaving him free to take his -world as he found it. - -But Marjory felt once more the little chill of regret for the things -she had not known in his life. - -"There is one thing I forget to ask you," she said quickly. "Your name -is not Alphonse, is it?" - -"No! But she thought Tom unromantic, and so I promised to change my -name if she changed hers." - -"Men don't generally do as much as that," grumbled Will. "So they are -going to have theatricals, are they? That means that all the horses -will be dead lame, and the laird will be wanting more." - -"How on earth do you make that out?" asked Dr. Kennedy. - -"Women," said Will, laconically. "Something will always be wanted in a -hurry, the telegraph station is ten miles off, and women seem to think -a horse can change its legs when it comes home." - -There was some truth in his remark during the next ten days. Gleneira -House lived in a continual bustle which gave no time for thought, -save, perhaps, to Mrs. Vane, who, busy as she was, found time to -congratulate herself so far on the success of her plans; for Marjory -and Paul had perforce to meet constantly, and more than once something -occurred to encourage her belief that there was material for mischief -ready to her hand if it was needed. - -But other material came to light also, or so it seemed to her cynical -experience; and the clue to it came one day when she and Marjory, who -had grown keen, as was only natural, over the novelty of amusement, -were searching through an old portfolio of Paul's sketches for hints -likely to be of use for a drop scene. - -It was nothing more than the portrait of a girl with a bunch of red -rowans held up to her cheek. - -"That is very well done, Paul," said Mrs. Vane, holding it up for him -to see, as he stood a little way off. "Who was the beautiful model?" - -He came over to her hastily. "Oh! no one you know; and it isn't really -worth looking at. A wretched caricature--I did not know it was there." - -Something in his voice roused the amused malice which always lurked -behind Mrs. Vane's treatment of Paul's foibles. - -"I disagree with you; look, Miss Carmichael! Don't you think that -quite the best thing we have seen of Captain Macleod's doing?" - -"It is a lovely face," said the girl, "and it reminds me of someone----" -Then she looked up in sudden interest. "Surely it is Paul--little -Paul, I mean, Peggy Duncan's grandson; perhaps----" She stopped -abruptly, remembering the big Paul's confession, and blushed, she -scarcely knew why. Then, feeling vexed with herself for doing so, put -down the sketch, and taking up another, made some trivial remark about -its being very pretty. But Mrs. Vane had not done with the sketch. -"That Highland type of face----" she began. - -"There is no need to theorise over the likeness in this case," -interrupted Paul, seeing through her, as he nearly always did. "It was -little Paul's mother; and as I think I told you once, Miss Carmichael, -the most beautiful woman I ever saw. That is why I call it a -caricature, Mrs. Vane." - -The anger in his voice was not to be mistaken, and Marjory, as he -moved away to resume his _tęte-a-tęte_ with Alice Woodward, was left -with an uncomfortable feeling that she had somehow betrayed a secret, -though her common, sense resented the imputation. But Mrs. Vane looked -after his retreating figure with one of her fine smiles. So the memory -of this particular most-beautiful-woman-in-the-world--there must have -been a good many of them in Paul Macleod's life--was not pleasant to -him. Wherefore? The question came quite idly, and passed from her mind -without an answer. Marjory, on the other hand, took hers--as to -whether she was to blame or not--seriously to heart. So much so, that -when she had speech with Paul alone, which occurred naturally enough -when he brought her a cup of tea, as she sate stitching away for dear -life at some ridiculous theatrical property near the window, so as to -get the full advantage of the waning light, she reverted to the -subject at once. - -"Don't," he interrupted hurriedly, almost before she had begun. -"Please don't; I would so much rather you said nothing more about it." - -"But I don't understand." - -"Thank heaven you don't," he replied. - -"Why should you say that?" she cried reproachfully. "I cannot see why -I should not, if I can. I am not a fool----" - -"Marjory!" interrupted Dr. Kennedy, coming forward, "little Paul -Duncan has just come round from the Lodge with a message that his -grannie wants to see you. We might go round that way; it is getting -late as it is." - -"There's no hurry," put in Paul. "I will tell them to give the boy a -piece, and he can wait till Miss Carmichael has finished giving me -absolution." - -"That is the wrong way about, surely?" she said. - -"It is the usual way between a man and a woman," replied Paul, "and -will be to the end of the chapter, I'm afraid." - -Half an hour afterwards Mrs. Vane, who had come out into the hall with -some parting instructions to Marjory, stood looking down with the -others at little Paul Duncan, who, weary of waiting, had cuddled -himself round on the doorstep and fallen into the heavy sleep of -childhood. "He looks very delicate," said Violet, kindly stooping over -him as he lay with one hand tucked into the back of his neck in rather -an unusual posture; and then suddenly she looked up at the big Paul, -for the trick had taken her back to the old days when she had watched -his sleep with jealous care, lest her patient should be disturbed; and -how often had she not wondered why he chose so uncomfortable a -position? - -Impossible! and yet there was a likeness. The name, too, and his -evident dislike to the mention of the boy's mother! It must mean -something--what? The thought left her pale, so that Paul, turning back -with her when those two had gone, noticed it, telling her that she was -overworking herself. - -"Of course I am overworking," she retorted, with a strange mixture of -self-pity, blame, and fierce resentment. "I always do. Is it my fault -if I do things quicker than other people? Is it my fault if I see -things more clearly? You think I am always managing, managing; and so -I am. How can I help it when, everything keeps coming into my mind, -and no one thinks or cares?" - -"My dear Violet! You have been overworking, indeed. You must take it -easier, or we shall be having you laid up----" - -"And then what would Paul Macleod do?" she went on, with a reckless -laugh. "No! I won't make myself so disagreeable as all that--if I can -help it, Paul; but how can one help being disagreeable at times when -one is wise--wise and old? Oh, Paul, how old I am!" - -"I don't see it," he answered, with an amused smile. - -"You! you never see anything," she began; then suddenly returned to -her own light, half-jesting manner. "No! that is not true; you see -most things, but you are too young to understand me. Dreadfully young -for your age, Paul, so it is lucky there are so many of us to look -after you." - -When she went upstairs to dress for dinner she sate down before the -looking-glass and stared at herself with a sort of repugnance. Yes! -she was old, hatefully old, in mind, in knowledge of the world, in -experience. That thought which had flashed through her brain at the -sight of little Paul lying asleep on the doorstep was not a nice -thought. Yet could she help its flashing? and, if there was anything -in the thought, might not the knowledge strengthen her hand in the -coming fight? For a fortnight's daily experience of Alice Woodward's -calm attractions had raised Mrs. Vane's opposition to her marriage -with Paul to virtuous horror. No true friend, she told herself, would -hesitate to throw every difficulty in the way of so disastrous a -connection. At the same time she felt almost afraid to reach out after -this new weapon, lest it might prove too heavy for those delicate -hands of hers, accustomed for the most part to leading reins. It was -one thing to goad and guide people into the right path, another to -split open their heads with a sledgehammer. Though how this could be -such a lethal weapon she could not see, since she knew enough of Paul -Macleod to doubt if he would have had the hardihood to mention Jeanie -Duncan to Marjory if there had been anything between them in the past. -And yet? So she stood before possibilities, shivering on the brink, -and finally telling herself there would be time enough to think of -such things if less heroic measures failed. It was a mistake to touch -pitch needlessly; at the same time it was as well to make sure there -was pitch in the pot. So the next day saw her, on some airy pretence -of getting old Peggy to knit stockings, sitting beside the old pauper -and bringing to bear on her ailments and wrongs all the gay -cheerfulness and sympathy which Paul declared always put him in a good -humour. - - - - - CHAPTER XV. - - -Apparently it had the same effect on Peggy Duncan, for the next -Saturday when, as usual, her ancient schoolfellow and crony, Janet, -came to give the hovel that weekly redding up which was beyond little -Paul's ability, the old lady lay in her bed discoursing at length on -the "bit thing just made up o' fal-lals that sits in the auld chair as -if 't belonged to her, and chirrups awa like the lady's o' heaven's -hen. A sicht guid for sair e'en, no like what the house was maistly -acquaint wi'--just puir, ill-fa'ured warlocks." - -Whereupon Janet Faa tossed her head, and muttered in an undertone that -Peggy might speak for herself; she was no warlock whatever. But she -went on with her work, patiently, being accustomed to such sly hits -and finding the description of Mrs. Vane's dresses and the puckles o' -tea that appeared from her pocket far more interesting than the old -lady's usual snappishness. But then, under any circumstances, Peggy's -tongue would have been softened by the knowledge that help was more -than ever necessary that day, since visitors were expected to tea. So -the old woman watched the preparations with wrathful eyes, and did not -even quarrel with the polish of the two silver spoons, which, usually -secreted with her other treasures in the bottom drawer of the bureau, -now graced the clean tablecloth. To tell truth, however, fault-finding -would have had no practical effect, since Janet never took the -slightest notice of it, beyond remarking every now and again: "Whist, -woman! whist! It is no breath you will be having to crack with the -doctor." - -On the other hand, wee Paulie, who contributed his share by timidly -presenting a mug full of early rowan-berries and heather for the -middle of the table, was sternly bidden to take away the ugly trash, -and solemnly warned against the sin of mistaking weeds for flowers, -and thus setting himself up to be a judge instead of abiding by the -will of Providence. The rebuke, however, did not seem to touch the -child, who, with many previous memories of Miss Marjory's liking for -the said "ugly trash," set the posy aside on a shelf at the back of -the bed, and so beyond the reach of his grandmother's eyes. - -"If Towpie wad lay anither egg," said the old lady at last, surveying -the _tout ensemble_ with a smile struggling with the frown which was -necessary to keep Janet Faa in subjection, "it wad nae be sae bad; but -I misdoot the silly thing is for clucking." - -"But it is two eggs there are, Peggy, woman, and the shentlemans is -never for eatin' but one egg," protested Janet, who occasionally -helped at the Big House, and was great, in consequence, on the ways -and customs of the quality. - -Peggy sniffed. "That may be your way o' thinkin', it's no mine. Ye -soudna press on a guest what ye're no able to tak' yoursel'. And I'd -no cook it, ye ken--I'd just offer it up to show there was ane--Lord -sakes! wha's yon at the door, an' me wi' my bald head. Quick, Janet, -woman, my mutch, and pit it straight, woman! I'll no have it cockit -over an ear as if I were tipsy." - -"It will only be the master," said little Paul, coming from the door. -"He will be having a letter for you he says with a penny to pay." - -"Then bid him tak' it back and pay himsel' if he's carin' for it. I'm -no. There's no letters for me that I'm carin' to have, and I'll just -no be fashed wi' them when there is company comin'--Hoot awa' wi' the -man comin' pryin', pryin', and me puttin' on my mutch for him." - -"But, Mistress Duncan," came in remonstrant tones from the door. - -"Oh! you're there are ye. Weel! I'm obleeged to ye, sir, for comin' -sae far oot o' ye're road. An' I must pit ye to the trouble o' takin' -it back again, and tellin' them as sent it that Peggy Duncan is on the -pairish an' hasna a penny to spare for their trash." - -Mr. McColl, standing outside, looked longingly at the blue envelope, -with the seal of a well-known firm of Writers-to-the-Signet upon it, -and hesitated. Was it worth paying a penny on the chance of being the -first to spread news? A momentous question, which left a tremble in -his voice as he called again. "But there will be naethin' to pay, -Mistress Duncan. Here! Paulie, my man, rin with it to your grannie. -And it will be Scriven an' Plead's name on the anvelope, and they will -be the foremost Writers-to-the-Signet in Glasgow, whatever." - -"They may be Writers to onybody else," retorted Peggy, taking the -bulky letter, however, and nodding to Mr. McColl, who had seized the -opportunity of slipping in so far. "But I dinna ken what right they -have to be Writers to me." - -The master put in a deft suggestion. "Then ye can see inside, Mistress -Duncan. If you are carin' for't I could be readin' it to you before I -was goin' on. I'm no in a hurry." - -Peggy's black eyes glittered with sheer malice as she tucked the -envelope away under her pillow, and lay back on it defiantly. - -"An' I'm no in a hurry, either, Mr. McColl, an' I would be asking you -to have a sup tea, but that I'm expectin' the quality; sae gude day to -ye, and mony thanks for your kindness." - -And yet when poor Mr. McColl had retired discomfited, bemoaning the -loss of his penny, and Janet Faa, having done her part of the -business, had left the kettle in charge of little Paul, who sate -outside watching for the first glimpse of Miss Marjory, the old woman -brought out the envelope again and looked at it wistfully. Perhaps the -thoughts of the long years, during which she had waited in vain for -some word of the husband who had deserted her, came back to her; yet -as she muttered to herself--as she did often when alone--it was not -that thought which came uppermost. - -"Aye! aye! it's a fine thing the readin' o' writin'. If it were aboot -the lassie now; and me promising never to speir, never to let ony -other body know! I canna break my word, an' me sae near the Judgment. -It is no as if I were a Papist, like Janet, puir body, that can just -awa' an' get absolution, ye ken. I maun carry my sins wi' me, and it -will be ill eneuch flyin' wi' what I've got." - -"May I come in, Mrs. Duncan?" said a clear voice, breaking in on the -old woman's preoccupation. As a matter of fact, however, the -permission was scarcely needed, for Violet Vane was already in the -room, close to the bed, her eyes on the letter; yet her first words -made it appear as if her attention had been given to something else. - -"Ah! you are expecting visitors, and I shall be in the way." - -"Naethin' o' the sort, ma'am," replied Peggy, hastily, as usual on the -lookout for a grievance. "I'm no sae sair put to it yet but that I can -spare a cup o' tea for them that takes the trouble to come and see the -auld wife." - -"And a very good cup of tea, too," put in Mrs. Vane. "What you gave me -the other day was delicious. I only meant that strangers may not be -welcome when friends are talking secrets." - -"I've nae friends and nae secrets," retorted the old woman, looking up -quickly. - -"Then you are lucky," continued her visitor, lightly. "Friends are -often troublesome, especially over secrets; nine times out of ten you -daren't ask their advice for fear of their knowing too much." - -"Ye'll no be askin' mony folks' advice, I'm thinking," said Peggy, -shrewdly. "Ye've plenty brains; eneuch for yoursel' and ithers to the -bargain." - -Mrs. Vane laughed. "Perhaps; but other folks' brains are better than -one's own sometimes. When I am in a difficulty I go to someone who is -as near a perfect stranger to me as possible and ask for advice. I -needn't take it, you know--Gracious! what is that?" That was a -clamorous cackling at the foot of the bed, and the stately march -therefrom of Towpie, the hen, triumphant over the laying of an egg in -her favourite nest. - -"Oh ye o' little faith!" cried Peggy; "and me misca'ing the puir -beastie! It's a special Providence, aye, aye. He neither slumbers nor -sleeps, ye ken. And you will no be goin' to stop at Gleneira long, I'm -thinking." The question followed fast on the quotation as if there was -some connection in the old woman's mind between them. - -"I leave it very soon, I'm sorry to say, as I think it the loveliest -place in the world; and it is sad to know that I shall not see it -again." - -The envelope had come put of its hiding-place again during this -speech, and Peggy was turning it over and over as if to attract -attention to it; but she failed, and had to resort to more direct -methods. - -"I canna think why they pit sic'can a big seal to a letter. Will there -be something on it that shoudna be broken?" - -"Not that I can see," replied Mrs. Vane, taking it up carelessly. -"Only the name, 'Scriven and Plead'--lawyers, Peggy--for there below -is W. S. Glasgow. It is what people call a lawyer's letter, I expect." - -"An' what will that be about?" - -"Heaps of things. I couldn't say without reading it; shall I?" But -Peggy's claw-like hand shot forth in quick negation. - -"I'll no be troubling you. I thocht, maybe, ye micht hae had -experience o' such things." - -"So I have, Peggy. Sometimes they are wills, and sometimes they are -money." - -"Aye!" interrupted the old woman, with a sinister chuckle, "but when -they're written to bit pauper bodies like me?" - -"Then they are generally questions," replied Mrs. Vane, and though she -spoke easily she was conscious of a certain agitation of mind. -"Agreeable or disagreeable. Something to help a lawyer in tracing -somebody, or finding out some secret." - -Peggy lay back on her pillows with a sort of groan. "'Tis only the -pain, ma'am," she explained, then paused awhile; "I was thinkin' maybe -'twas that. An' if you coudna answer them, what then?" - -"Nothing; they can't make you; only it is impossible to tell if you -can or cannot till you know the questions." - -"But if I canna know them without breaking a covenant? I might just -let the letter bide, maybe?" - -Mrs. Vane hesitated an instant to run over the pros and cons hastily. -There was some secret, that was evident, and though the letter might -not be concerned with it, on the other hand it might. Peggy was -disinclined to trust it to her on the instant, but might think better -of it by and bye; anyhow, the first thing to ensure was that no one -else should have the chance. - -"In that case, of course, you should, as you say, let it be. If it is -really important they will write again, and then it would be worth -while considering the matter. In the meanwhile, as a perfect stranger, -I should advise your setting it aside." - -Peggy looked at her admiringly. "It's a fine thing to hae deceesion o' -character, and me just fashing myself about it." - -"Shall I put it away for you in a safe place?" asked her visitor, as -the old lady proceeded to put the letter back under the pillow. - -"It's safe eneuch there," she retorted sardonically. "I'll no move -till they lift me to my coffin, an' that will no be far, for it's to -stand on the table whaur the tea is setten oot. I've planned it a' ye -see wi' Janet, and there's twa bottles o' gude whiskey wi' the deid -claes in the bottom drawer. Ye canna expec' sinfu' man tae sit wi' a -corp without spirits." - -Despite the humour of the thought, which at another time would have -outweighed the grimness, Mrs. Vane shivered. It seemed to her as if -old Peggy were a corp already in that dim box bed, where she lay so -still, only her angry eyes and twitching fingers showing sign of life. -It was a relief to hear the grumbling voice again. - -"Weel, yon's settled, thanks to you, an' I'll no be kep' lingerin' in -the deid thraw about papers that, for a' I ken, wad be as weel in the -fire. O, ma'am! ye dinna ken what it feels like to think o' bein' -called to the Throne, an' no bein' able to stir for the weight o' yer -sins. For a broken word is as heavy as lead ye ken." - -"Why should you talk of being called, Peggy," protested Mrs. Vane, -uneasily. "You are no worse than you were." But here in her -nervousness she forgot her tact, and the old woman was in arms at -once. "Maybe ye ken better nor me, ma'am, that's only tholing the pain -alone in the night watches." - -"Then you should get some of the neighbours to sit up." - -"Neebors!" interrupted Peggy, with an eldritch laugh. "They'll have -eneuch to do in settin' up wi' my corp; sae let them sleep on now an' -take _their_ rest." - -Mrs. Vane shivered again, and, a sudden distaste to the whole business -coming over her, made an excuse to escape; yet when, almost at the -threshold, she met Marjory and Dr. Kennedy on their way to Peggy's -entertainment, she paused with the lightest of laughs to tell them -that the old woman was in one of her worst moods, and would make their -hair stand on end. For her part she had had her fill of horrors, and -intended to shock Mrs. Woodward by asking for a spoonful of brandy in -her tea! It was a relief to joke over it for the time, even though in -her heart she knew that she would have a _mauvais quart d'heure_ -sooner or later; most likely later, when the time came for sleep and -she would have to seek the aid of that bottle of chloral--for Mrs. -Vane's mind was fragile as her body, and could not stand any great -strain. She could handle the reins deftly, and drive her team gaily -along the turnpike road, but she had never driven across country. So -it was a further relief to meet the butler in the hall carrying a -fresh teapot of tea into the drawing-room, while the footman followed -decorously bearing eight cups on a tray. Lady Hooker, the former -functionary replied, in answer to her inquiries, had driven over from -the Forest to see her ladyship in a _châr-a-banc_, with seven other -ladies, some children, and a piper playing on the box. He added the -last item in tones of tolerant contempt, born of a dispute downstairs -as to whether the musician should have his tea in the housekeeper's -room or the servants' hall; the womenkind, dazzled by his gorgeous -array, favouring the former, the menkind the latter, on the ground -that fine feathers did not make fine birds, and that without them he -was only Roderick the gillie's brother and a "hignorant 'ighland -beast" to boot. - -Lady George's face relaxed even at the sight of another woman, seeing -that that other was Mrs. Vane; for as she said afterwards, "It is -nearly twenty miles, you know, and a bad road, so the horses were -bound to have an hour's rest, and it requires a dreadful expenditure -of tissue to make tea last an hour; yet, if you don't, you have to put -on your boots in a hurry and begin the conservatories and the garden, -which no one wants to see in the least. Really, in the country, it -would be a charity to have a room where people could wait until the -horses came round, or rather, till the coachman got tired of flirting -with the maids, for in the end it comes to that, you know." - -To tell truth, there was cause for Lady George's welcome of -reinforcements, for, despite the fact that the hall positively reeked -of mackintoshes, the drawing-room was redolent of the shower-proof -mantles worn by a bevy of ladies of the type so common on Mr. -McBrayne's steamers; ladies whose conception of the Highlands and -islands might be likened to a volume of Scott bound in waterproof! - -"We brought our sandwiches for lunch with us," explained one in reply -to Mrs. Vane's commonplace about the long drive; "and dear Lady Hooker -said we might rely on Highland hospitality for tea; and really it was -exquisite, a dream of beauty, and so interesting, too! Dear Lady -Hooker says that a portion of Waverley was really written in this -neighbourhood." - -"I hope they were not the opening ones, then," remarked Mrs. Vane, -carelessly. "They always make me inclined to agree for the time with -the man who said it was a pity Sir Walter wrote in such small print." - -A perfectly bovine silence fell on her group, broken, however, by a -determined voice from over the way: - -"I agree with you absolutely, at least, as absolutely as the -limitations of human life allow. There is a lack of spiritual insight -in Sir Walter, a want of emotional instinct, an almost brutal content -with things as they are. His style is doubtless good, but personally I -confess to being unable to appreciate it fully. Even on a second -reading I find the story distracts my mind." - -The speaker was a slim, rather elegant-looking girl, with an odd -mixture of eagerness and stolidity on her face. - -"She writes a great deal," said Mrs. Vane's next-door neighbour in an -undertone of gratification, as if she gained a certain distinction by -being of the same party. - -"Only a hundred brace!" came Lady Hooker's voice, compassionately. -"That's very poor, scarcely worth writing for--but then, you don't -rent the place, of course; that makes the difference. Sir Joseph -doesn't go in for grouse, of course; he is a deer man. But we couldn't -get on under five hundred brace for the table, we really couldn't. -Cooks are so extravagant. You will hardly believe it, Lady Temple, but -my Glasgow beef bill last week was over nine pounds, and we had three -sheep besides, and--how many deer was it, Miss Jones? Six? Yes, six -deer." - -"That seems enough even for Noah's Ark or a menagerie," said Mrs. -Vane, sympathetically, and Lady George gave her a grateful smile. - -"But then, of course, the servants won't touch venison," went -on Lady Hooker, contentedly; "though really it makes very fair -clear soup--it does, indeed. Even Sir Joseph does not object; and -he is so particular. When we had the Marquis of Steyne's place in -Ross-shire----" - -"Ah! there are the children," said Lady George, with a sigh of relief. -"I thought, Lady Hooker, that my little boy and girl--oh, nurse! I did -not intend Master Blasius----" - -But nurse apparently had other views--possibly that of hearing the -pipes downstairs--for she feigned not to hear, and set Blazes down on -his feet with that final "jug" behind to his smock frock which is the -usual parting admonition to behave nicely. - -"Eve, my darling! Adam, my love! go and shake hands' with your little -visitors," said Lady George, keeping an apprehensive eye on Blazes, -who, with his legs very far apart, was clacking the whip he had -brought down with him, and making extraordinary cluckings in the roof -of his mouth, like a whole bevy of broody hens, in which occupation, -what with his close-cropped hair and white smock, he looked a carter -to the life. "Really, nurse!" she continued nervously; "I think, -perhaps, it would be better. He is so much younger than the others, -you see, Lady Hooker." - -But nurse was not to be put off with this subterfuge, and as she -happened to be keeping company with the carrier, she felt outraged by -the palpable suspicion. "Indeed, your ladyship," she said, in an -indignant whisper, "it is only the man as drives the ferry cart, and -'e is most respectable!" - -So it appeared, for beyond the usual "_ger'up_" Blasius' vocabulary -was, if anything, too endearing. So much so, that Lady George -suggested that since the children had had their tea, she thought it -would be nice for them to play on the lawn. She would ring for the -nursemaid to keep an eye on them, not that it would be necessary, -since she could trust darling Adam and Eve not to get into mischief -anywhere--out of Paradise. But here a difficulty presented itself. One -little girl, a very pretty child dressed in white serge and fur, -refused to go, and stood burying her face in the window curtain, and -digging the toe of one shoe into the carpet after the manner of -children who have made up their minds to give trouble. - -"She isn't my girl," came Lady Hooker's loud voice. "Sir Joseph -wouldn't tolerate that sort of thing, he is so particular. When we had -the Duke's place in Sutherland----" - -"Cressida, my sweet!" said the authoress, plaintively; "if you can -possibly wish to go, do wish; it would be so much more convenient for -dear little mother. I never coerce her, on principle, Lady George--she -is the only tie I have to life." - -"Separated from her husband," put in Mrs. Vane's next-door neighbour, -in the same self-complacent whisper. "It is quite the proper thing -when you write, you know." - -"That is what Lady George says also," broke in Mrs. Woodward, a little -spitefully. "And I tell her that children were made to obey their -parents----" - -"Should be made to obey them, you mean, dear Mrs. Woodward," -interrupted her hostess, rising to the bait; "but, as I say, it -depends upon experience. You may have found it necessary with--with -yours, but mine----" - -"And mine also!" broke in the lady who wrote, enthusiastically. -"Cressida's mind is so beautiful in its intense naturalness, so -delicate in texture. It is the instinctive shyness of a sensitive -organism which----" She started, and turned round, for a loud, full, -yet childish voice rose confidently above her words. - -"Blazeth' goin' to kiss the little gurl, then she won't be flighted, -but come along o' Blazeths." - -And she did, hand in hand, admiringly, while he cracked his whip and -cried, "_Ger'rup!_" to amuse her. - -"And he can do old Angus awful well, too," whispered Eve to her -companion, as they passed out of the door. "We'll get him to do it by -the burn when Mary isn't looking. Mary doesn't like it, you know, -because her young man is a shepherd, too; but he really is quite a -genteel young fellar, and kept company with the under 'rouse last year -at the Forest--that's your place, isn't it?" - -"It's a deal bigger than this," remarked the other. "And we have deers -and grouses." - -So the game of brag--which children play more naďvely than their -elders--began, while the authoress was explaining at length how it -came about that Cressida had consented to Blasius's methods of -persuasion. - -"I don't think you need distress yourself," remarked Mrs. Vane, with -an odd little smile; "Blazes is really a remarkable boy; he invariably -goes down straight to first principles, and that is a deadly method of -argument--especially with our sex." - -"Sex!" echoed the authoress, scenting the foe. "I deny the right of -man----" - -"Lady George!" said Mrs. Vane, hastily, "perhaps some of these ladies -might like to see the conservatories. I have on my boots." - -Blanche gave her another glance of heartfelt gratitude, and as she saw -her bear off a large contingent, told herself that she was worth three -of Alice Woodward, who was only equal to the bread and butter! And -Paul was anything but bread and butter! The thought, as such vagrant -ones have a trick of doing, begged for more consideration as she sate -turning a polite ear and tongue to the task of amusing the authoress, -who had remained behind; Mrs. Woodward meanwhile appearing deeply -interested in a certain place the Hookers had had in Perthshire, where -the gillies expected champagne and _pâti de foie gras_ for their ball -supper. And she was fast approaching that condition of mind in which -the only thing which prevents our owning up that we are out of our -depth is the conviction that we know quite as much of what we are -talking about as the other party to the conversation, when the sudden -reappearance of the garden contingent bearing two bundles wrapped in -waterproofs supplied an all too efficient distraction. - -For the waterproofs being set on the ground disclosed the coy Cressida -and Blasius, both dripping, and inconceivably smeared with tar; but -both to all appearance in the highest of spirits. - -Poor Lady George stood up tragically. - -"Yes!" replied Mrs. Vane, striving to be grave. "They are bad -children--all bad children," she added, turning to the group of elder -ones behind. - -"Oh, but we wasn't there!" came in a chorus, led by Adam and Eve, "we -wasn't, really. It's all his fault." - -"Don't! Don't come near me, child!" cried the devoted mother, hastily -retreating from the embrace of her only tie to life. "Cressida! -What--what have you been doing?" - -"Oh mummie! it was bewful. First he washted me, and then I washted -him, an' then we washted each other, didn't we, Blazes? and we said, -Haud up--ye----" - -"The child is dripping!" interrupted Lady George, hastily. "I will -ring for nurse. Oh! Blasius, how could you think of such a thing?" - -Mrs. Vane pointed slily to the furred white pelisse. "It is rather -tempting," she said, aside; but Blanche was not to be mollified. - -"And Mary? Where was Mary?" - -"Mary's dancing the Highland fling with James in the boot hole," -blabbed Eve, readily. "An' we wanted to dance too, but nursie was -there, an' so we comed away." - -"But where did you go? What were you doing? How came you not to see? -you two whom I can generally trust," persisted Lady George, growing -tearful from vexation, yet feeling vaguely that it all arose from -people bringing a piper with them when they came to call--a piper who -disorganised the household and introduced Highland flings into the -boot hole! "I insist, children, on hearing what you were all doing." - -There was a dead silence, until for the first time Blazes lifted up -his loud, mellow voice, as he stood disregarded by a chair smearing -his tarry hands stolidly over its cover in a vain effort to amend -matters before nurse appeared. - -"They was flicking piggy wif a pin, and piggy was 'quealin' louder nor -Blazeths." - -And even Lady George--when the _châr-a-banc_ had driven off, piper and -mackintoshes and all, with Cressida kissing her still tarry hands to a -struggling figure in Mary's arms at the nursery window--was forced to -admit that Blazes generally went straight to the point; and that after -all it had helped to pass the time. And as for Mary, she declared that -her ladyship might say what she liked about 'orseplay, an' lendin' -'erself to savage an' indignified dances in a boot 'ole, but 'ighland -flings wasn't in it--for a stetch in yer side an' no 'airpins to speak -of--with Master Blazes when you 'ad to 'old 'im and 'e didn't meant to -be 'eld. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI. - - -For the next few days after the visit to old Peggy, which convinced -her that some secret lay in the old woman's keeping, Mrs. Vane -refrained from any attempt to interfere with Providence. To begin -with, she felt vaguely that the Scotch marriage laws were dangerous, -and the very fact that she knew enough of Paul to be sure that this -was not likely to be a mere vulgar entanglement, made her hesitate -before her own suspicions. On the other hand, this possibility of a -new string to her bow inclined her to slack off the other; the more so -because here again she was beginning to be afraid of her own weapon. -She had always recognised that, but for her interference, Paul would -have held to that discretion which is the better part of valour, have -seen no more of Marjory, and forgotten her; also, that the girl -herself had been quite as ready to dismiss this strange, if alluring, -figure from her thoughts, as belonging to a society--nay! to a -world--in which she had no part. But now? Mrs. Vane, as she watched -the easy familiarity which had of necessity recommenced between them, -as she noted the girl's quick, healthy response to the thousand and -one new thoughts and ways of this new life, could not help wondering -if the awakening to new pleasures might not rouse into action a new -set of emotions and instincts. For Marjory, as for Paul, there was -also danger; to her from the unfamiliarity, to him from the very -familiarity of the environment, which threw him back on past -experience, and rendered it well-nigh impossible for him to forget his -own nature, and dream himself in Arcadia. And then Dr. Kennedy's -appearance had complicated matters for Mrs. Vane, who, kindly to all, -had a weak spot in her heart for the friend of her earliest youth. It -did not take long for her sharp eyes to pierce through his pretence of -mere guardianship, and it gave her quite a pang to think of giving him -one. Yet here she comforted herself by the palpable jealousy which -Marjory showed towards those youthful days; a jealousy she did not -scruple to stimulate, for Mrs. Vane, with all her _finesse_, -occasionally made a mistake, and in the present instance did not -realise that in thus, as it were, emphasising a hitherto unknown side -of Dr. Kennedy's life she was adding to the strangeness of the -environment in which Marjory found herself; and at the same time -suggesting that it was no new thing to the one person to whose opinion -she was inclined to defer. So that, instead of helping her old friend -by the time-honoured device of exciting jealousy as a prelude to love, -Mrs. Vane, in reality, made it easier for the girl to drift from her -moorings. - -"You are very kind to your ward," said the little lady one day, -feeling impelled to give comfort as she noticed Dr. Kennedy's eyes -following Marjory rather wistfully. "But virtue has its own reward. Do -not pretend you don't understand, _Monsieur le Docteur!_ for you do. -And I will give you my opinion--when she has seen a little more of the -world she will see what _it_ has seen already--that there are not many -men in it like Dr. Tom Kennedy." - -"She will see exactly what she chooses to see, _Madame!_" he replied, -with one of his little foreign bows, which, to Marjory, seemed to -reveal him in a new and worldly light. - -"Exactly," retorted the little lady; "and being of the Truth will -choose the Truth." And then suddenly her mood changed, and she laid -her hand close to his on the table as if to attract his attention to -her quick emotion. "Ah, _mon ami_, I envy you! you can afford to wait -for Paradise, and I have had mine. At least, I feel as if I had eaten -my apple and been turned out into the cold, for there hasn't been much -happiness in my life." - -He looked at her with 'grave pity, noting with the eye of one -accustomed to the work the thousand and one little signs of wear and -tear in the clever, mobile face. - -"You have put plenty into other people's lives, anyhow," he said, in -kindly, if cold, comfort; and his words were true. With all her faults -Mrs. Vane had given more to the world than she had ever taken from it. - -Marjory, watching the little scene from afar, felt something of this, -as she told herself it was quite natural that Tom should enjoy the -companionship of his old friend. Who, in fact, would not enjoy talking -to so brilliant and charming a woman? at least, in this new world, -which could not somehow be cleft in two by a straight line dividing -right from wrong, darkness from light. - -Yet, though she acknowledged this, she was as far as ever from -understanding it, and as ready as ever to disdain anything which -bordered on sentiment; on that unknown ground of Love or Passion. - -Dr. Kennedy, repeating to her his part of _jeune premier_ in the -little play which was to precede some tableaux, realised her lack of -change in this respect with mingled gratification and regret. - -"I must keep my own counsel," he recited, in the even yet jerky tone -sacred to the learning of parts, "em--and not let her suspect the deep -attachment she has inspired--inspired--inspired. Now, don't tell me, -please; I know what comes next. Yes! I do, Mademoiselle! In nine cases -out of ten a proposal! So there! Well, where were we? Ah! 'But, soft' -(depends greatly on the stage floor, my dear sir). 'But, soft! she -comes!' Go on, Marjory. 'Enter Blanche--she comes,' is your cue." - -"'Tis he! Henri!' Oh! Tom, do let us skip all that bosh!" - -Dr. Kennedy put down the hazel root he was whittling into a shepherd's -crook and looked at her in feigned surprise. "Bosh! Why, I intend to -work this up until I draw tears from every eye." - -"Not from mine, Tom," smiled Marjory; "that sort of thing always makes -me laugh." - -They were lounging under the beech tree which grew close to the burn -at the bottom of the garden, and the dappled sunshine and shade from -the green canopy overhead made the green draperies outlining the fine -curves of Marjory's slender figure seem like a dress of leaves. -Leaning forward on the grass, her chin resting on her hands, her curly -head thrown back half-defiantly to look him in the face, she reminded -Dr. Kennedy of Rosalind; yet it was of another heroine that he spoke. - -"Poor Juliet! I suppose she ought not to have survived to the -nineteenth century!" - -Marjory's eyebrows puckered themselves in doubt. "I don't mean that; -perhaps I don't know what I mean; but Juliet loved Romeo, and -these"--she nodded at the little book between her elbows in careless -contempt--"they--they--Tom! you must allow there is too much of--of -that sort of thing." - -He went on whittling for a moment; it was the first time he had ever -touched on the subject with Marjory, and he felt at once curious and -constrained. - -"I am afraid that sort of thing--as you call it--will not reduce -itself to please you; it is part, and perhaps a necessary part, of -life," he said shortly. - -"A part!" returned the girl, eagerly. "Not all? Now, in the novels and -these plays one hears of little else. It is all hero and heroine; -work, ambition, failure, success, are nowhere. It is very -uninteresting--don't you think so?" - -Dr. Kennedy's face was a study in humour and gravity. - -"Upon my word, I don't know, my child! But most people think otherwise -at some time of life. And you are a little hard, surely; you should -remember that after all the love-season is generally the crisis of -life's fever. Put it another way; the touchstone by which we can test -the lovers' ideal;" he paused till his innate doubt made him add: "At -least it should be so, though I'm afraid it isn't--not always." - -She looked at him, and a troubled expression came to her eyes. "I -suppose not," she said absently; "that has always been a puzzle to me. -To love, and yet not to approve, seems to me a contradiction in -terms." The chips flew faster from the knot Dr. Kennedy was smoothing. - -"You talk as if love were reducible to logic, but it isn't." Then -the impossibility of a mutual understanding made him add more gently: -"It isn't a thing you can reason about. It comes and goes as it -chooses--not as you choose. That is the difficulty." - -"Difficulty," echoed Marjory, raising herself with a belligerent -air to clasp her hands about her knees and subside again into a -half-dreamy defiance as she sate looking out over the burn to the -sunlit point stretching into the blue loch. "It is manifestly unfair -if it is so; only I don't think it is. Else how is it possible to hold -love sacred? How is it possible to believe in it?" - -"I am afraid it will be believed in to the end of the chapter all the -same," replied her hearer, with a smile. "And it isn't so unfair when -all is said and done, since 'a love that is tender and true and strong -crowneth the life of the giver.'" - -She turned on him sharply. "Where does that come from? Some extremely -sentimental---- Why, Tom! I believe you wrote that--now did you? Come! -own up!" - -"I might have guessed it wouldn't pass muster with a young person who -has taken honours in English literature and knows the Elizabethan -poets by heart," he replied gravely. "Yes! Marjory, I am responsible -for that particular version of a time-honoured, crusted old sentiment. -I wrote it in delirium, or something like it--if that is any excuse." - -She edged closer to him in girlish eagerness. "This is quite -delightful. I never knew you wrote rhymes. I do, and burn them; but -_you!_ Come, tell me the rest at once." - -"Perhaps I burn them, too." - -"Oh! but that is only pretence, you know, just to keep oneself in -subjection. One remembers them all the same. I do. So now, once, -twice, thrice!" - -He gave an odd little grimace. "It was last year when I had fever," he -began apologetically. - -"In Paris?" - -"No! They had sent me to the country, and there was a stream and some -reeds. I could see them as I lay in bed, and so---- Now, mind, if once -I begin to swear I won't leave off under half-a-crown!" - -"I wouldn't mind giving three shillings if it were worth it; so go on, -Tom, why should you be bashful?" - -"Because I was delirious when I wrote it, of course," he replied; yet -there was a real tremor in his voice, as he began:-- - - - "Where the river's golden sheen floats by - The plumes of the tall reeds touch the sky, - Like arrows from out a quiver. - But one bends over to reach the stream, - Dreaming of naught but the golden gleam, - Weary for love of the river. - - "'Oh, river! river! thou flowest fast; - Yet leave me one kiss as thou goest past-- - One kiss, to be mine for ever!' - She bent her head to the shining flood; - On swept the river in careless mood, - Mocking her poor endeavour. - - "'Oh, river! river! give back to me - Some token of all I have given to thee, - To show thou art my lover!' - But the only answer to her prayer - Was the shade of her own love mirrored there, - With the reeds that grew above her. - - "The proud reeds chid her, yet still she sighed, - Wondering such love could be so denied; - While ever towards the ocean, - Dreaming deep dreams of that future free, - The river swept on to the unknown sea, - Careless of her devotion. - - "A bird flew down when the sun set red, - To sing his hymn from the reed's bowed head - To God, the All-good Giver. - Bowed by the weight of the singing bird, - At long, long last the waters stirred, - As the reed's plume touched the river. - - "'Oh! glad and sweet,' sang the bird, 'is Life, - And Death is sweet, bringing Peace to Strife, - But Love is God's best treasure. - It cometh best when it comes unsought, - It giveth all, and it asketh naught, - For true love hath no measure,' - - "The bird flew home when its song had ceased. - The reed, from its one dear kiss released, - Shall give another never; - But a silver crown of dewdrops shone, - Telling of true love given, not won, - In the reed's bright plume for ever. - - "Go forth, my song! so that all may learn - Love, like the reed's, needeth no return, - Save the baptism of the river. - Though the heart be sad, and the way be long, - A love that is tender, and true, and strong, - Crowneth the life of the giver." - - -Dr. Kennedy recited well; the tremor of his voice had soon passed, and -with it, apparently, all sense of the personal application of the -verses; for as he sate, still whittling away at the hazel root, his -keen brown face wore a half-humorous and half-puzzled look, and after -a decent pause he gave an odd sort of laugh. - -"It sounds pretty," he said; "but upon my word I don't know quite what -I meant, and I am almost certain it was not love, not what is -generally understood by love." - -Marjory looked at him judgmatically. "Nonsense! Of course it was love, -and what is more, Tom, I think you must have been in love when you -wrote it. Now confess, were you not?" - -Once again the temptation to say "Yes! with you," rose uppermost; only -to meet with the old revulsion of feeling, born of the knowledge of -things hidden from her, and please God! always to be so hidden. In -love! Great heavens, no! if that were love. And yet, how could he -answer for her nature as well as his own? For a nature which his -practised eye told him was full of vitality, full of possibilities; -and young, ah! so young as yet in its knowledge of itself. If he told -her that he loved her and asked her to marry him, the chances were ten -to one that she would say "Yes." And yet the conviction that it was so -brought him no content, but only something of tender reluctance for -her, of vague contempt for himself. - -"In love!" he echoed. "I was in a delirium if you meant that, or near -it. Temperature a hundred and five point two, and Abbeville--he was -nursing me--good luck to him!--had just confessed there was not much -chance; as if I hadn't known that for days!" - -"And you never told me," she said, after a pause. - -"No; I didn't want to bother you, and----" He looked up to see her -face white, and his manner changed. "Don't, child! it's past and -over--besides I have a knack of pulling through--I am sorry I -mentioned it, now." - -"What is it?" she asked, in a constrained voice. "I should like to -know, if I may?" - -"My dear! of course you may. Pyćmia; the knife slipped, that was all. -The veriest scratch. What a fool I was to mention it!" - -"Don't say that," she flashed out suddenly. "Don't you know that I -like to hear everything--everything----" She paused, and her quick -resentment seemed to die down before a keener thought, and she sate -silent for a while. "I can scarcely think what it would have meant to -me," she went on, half to herself, before she turned her face to him -again. "I should have been quite alone in the world then, you know, -Tom." - -"Until you made a home of your own, perhaps," he replied quietly, -being, like most men of his temperament, somewhat given to -self-torture. - -"Perhaps; but it would never be the same," she said, as quietly. "It -would never seem to be the haven of rest that the thought of your -goodness is to me now. Do you know, Tom, that I always hearten myself -up by saying that if I am tired I can always ask you to let me rest, -and you would, wouldn't you?" As she spoke she stretched out her hand -towards him in her favourite gesture of appeal, and both of his, -leaving their work, had reached to it eagerly and clasped it close. - -"Marjory!" he said, a surge of sheer happiness flooding heart and -brain with unalloyed content. "Promise me that always--and--and I am -satisfied." - -"Promise what?" she asked, smiling through the sudden tears which -brightened her eyes. "That I will come home to rest if I am tired? Of -course I shall. What is the use of having you, Tom, the best, the -kindest, if I don't make use of you? And I will. I'll come home fast -enough, you'll see, if----" She paused to give a wise shake of her -head, and then, clasping the hand he had released over the other which -lay upon her knee, she looked out absently over the running water at -her feet. - -"I wonder how I shall like it?" she continued. "I wonder if it will be -what I have fancied it?" - -"Probably not," replied her companion, with a quick dread at his -heart. For how could it be so? What could this girl's imagining have -to do with that world which he knew so well: so well that the finer -tissue in him rebelled against the teaching which his very profession -forced him to accept as true, at any rate for the majority of men and -women. "Probably not," he repeated more quietly, "though that is just -the sort of thing it is impossible to predict of a girl who has been -brought up as you have. So it must be settled by experience." - -Half an hour afterwards Paul Macleod, coming over to the Lodge on the -pretence of giving notice of an afternoon rehearsal, found them still -busy over the loves and woes of Henri and Blanche. In fact, Dr. -Kennedy was on his knees disclaiming his part passionately; whereat -the newcomer frowned. First at the sight, secondly at his own dislike -to it. - -"I have been trying to teach Miss Carmichael how to refuse an aspirant -firmly, yet sympathetically," said the doctor, coolly, rising to his -feet and putting the handkerchief he had spread on the ground into his -pocket; "but she finds a difficulty, apparently, in keeping her -countenance. It is a mistake, Marjory. Half the unhappy marriages in -the world come from the difficulty which the untutored mind has in -saying 'No' with decent courtesy. It is so much easier to say 'Yes,' -since that requires no diplomacy. If I had daughters I should always -impress on them that the eleventh commandment does not consist in -'Thou shalt not refuse.'" - -"I shouldn't have thought it necessary to impress that on the girls of -the present day," remarked Paul, rather hastily, and Marjory flushed -up at once. - -"It is never safe to generalise from a single experience, Captain -Macleod," she retorted, "and yours may have been exceptionally -fortunate--hitherto." - -"Perhaps it has--hitherto," he replied, and, after delivering his -message, went off in a huff. Yet he felt himself more on a plane with -Marjory than he had ever done before, slightly to his discomfiture; -for this atmosphere of quick give and take, this suspicion of jealous -anger, was familiar to him, and he could not mistake its -possibilities. So he devoted himself more than usual to his duty, and -though, of course, he made up his tiff a trifle sentimentally with -Marjory, he chose to be rather lordly over her relations with Dr. -Kennedy, and even went so far as to mention to his sister that he -suspected her _protégé_, Mr. Gillespie, was forestalled. - -"My dear Paul!" said Lady George, distractedly, "I really don't care -at the present moment who marries who. I might be in a better world -for that matter, if I weren't in Purgatory." - -"Wherefore?" asked Paul, kindly. - -"Oh! the supper, and the servants, and the general civility," replied -Blanche, who was in reality enjoying the bustle, but, at the same -time, liked to pose as a victim. "Really, in these out-of-the-way -places one has to be a virtuous woman, and bring one's food from afar; -and then there is always Blasius. I suppose it is the name, as you -say, George, but, really, I don't believe that child _can_ do what is -right." - -"Nonsense, my dear," retorted her spouse, who ever since he undertook -to interpret the laws of nature to his youngest born had been a trifle -jealous of his pupil's reputation. "Blasius won the Derby in '73. What -has the child been doing now?" - -"Oh! nothing much; only he wouldn't eat his dinner just now because it -was only an egg, and the others had mutton. He really is too young to -have meat every day; so, as I was busy, I told nurse to put him to -bed, and he is sitting up in it making the most unearthly noises, as -if the whole farmyard were in the top landing. Listen! you can hear -him down here." - -There could be no doubt of it, and as they stood in the hall, looking -up involuntarily, a perfect babel of cluckings and cacklings, crowings -and quackings, seemed to come down the stairs with Mary, the -nursemaid, who was bearing the dirty dishes from the nursery dinner; -among them Blazes' despised egg. - -"The worst of it is," went on Lady George, in her high, plaintive -voice, "you never really know what the child means. Why, for instance, -should he cackle, as if he had laid an egg himself?" - -'"Um!" grumbled her husband. "More to the purpose why he refused his -dinner? Here, let me look at that tray, will you? By Jove, Blanche!" -he went on, holding out the egg-cup excitedly, "it's bad--no child -could be expected to eat that--what a fool!" - -He was half-way up the stairs impetuously when his wife begged him to -be discreet, and wait for her. - -"It is just what I said," she confided to Paul, who followed full of -laughter. "You never can tell what he means till afterwards; now, of -course, I can guess that--that----" She paused, feeling that words -were unnecessary before the spectacle of Blasius, standing beside the -round, white pillow of his cot, and cackling vehemently. But Lord -George was too angry for amusement, and after an elaborate apology to -Blazes for the mistake, handed him over to the nurse with a sharp -order to re-dress him and take more care in future, which enabled that -functionary to veil her real regret under a show of indignation until -Blasius, who was sitting on her knee, and could presumably see more of -the truths than others, said consolingly: - -"Never mind, nursie! Cocky eat his own egg next time." Whereupon, she -burst into tears and hugged him for a darling, and a treasure, and the -one comfort of her life. - -"I don't think his meaning was obscure that time, Blanche," said her -husband, as they went downstairs. "If Cocky had committed the -indiscretion of laying a bad egg, why then--God bless the boy, he is a -little trump!" - -"And has a wisdom beyond his years," added Paul, rather cynically; -"for he lays the blame where it should be given--on the Creator." - -"My dear Paul! what a dreadful thing to say; please remember he is -your god-son." - -"Well, if he doesn't hear it from me he will from others, my dear -girl," replied her brother, with a shrug of the shoulders. "It is the -teaching of to-day. We are none of us responsible beings." - -"And upon my soul," growled Lord George, "I'm inclined to agree with -it in one sense--think of that fool of a nurse!--you should dismiss -her, Blanche." - -"But, my dear Paul," persisted Lady George, disregarding her husband's -suggestion, "the question of heredity does not exclude the forces of -education. We can be altered----" - -"I've heard you say a dozen times, Blanche, that an altered body is -never satisfactory, even with the best of dressmakers," interrupted -Paul, as he turned off to the smoking-room. "So why should you think -it would answer with a soul?" - -"There is something the matter with Paul," remarked his sister, who -disliked above all things to have the logical sequence of her own -theories flung in her face; "but that is only to be expected. When one -is busy troubles come crowding in on every side. However, I have -written to Lady Hooker, and begged her as a personal favour not to -bring the piper to-morrow night; for, though I have warned the -servants about Highland flings, you cannot expect people to overcome -their natural instincts nowadays, and of course we shall be enjoying -ourselves, in a way, upstairs." - -"I hope so," assented her husband, gloomily; "and I suppose, my dear, -I shall get my towel-horse back when it is all over." - -"Now, George! isn't that like a man?" cried his wife, triumphantly, -as if appealing to him for verification of a new and interesting -fact about himself. "As if you didn't know that tableaux in the -drawing-room and towel-horses in the bedrooms were quite incompatible -when scenery is required--especially rustic scenery. And Mrs. Vane -requires so many rocks! You may be thankful it wasn't _boulders_, for -then the pillows would have gone, and what would you have said to -that?" - -Lord George said nothing, but as he followed his brother-in-law's -example and turned off to the smoking-room, some connection of ideas -made him hum to himself:-- - - - "Out of my stony grief Bethels I'll raise." - - -"Really, George!" called his wife, indignantly; "you and Paul are -_impayable_. It is a wonder Adam and Eve are so good." - - - - - CHAPTER XVII. - - -Private theatricals as a rule need no description, but these in the -barn at Gleneira House merit at least so much attention, in that, -for the major part of the audience, they were the first attempt at -play-acting it had ever seen; since even in the British Isles culture -and civilisation have not harried the glens which are hidden away in -the hearts of the hills. To tell truth, not a few of the audience came -doubtfully with a fear lest they might be backsliders; but, as luck -would have it, the Free Church section, being in process of choosing a -new minister, felt it could afford, for once, to test the iniquity of -the stage by actual experience. Besides, if the laird led the way, -there were still sufficient of the clan to follow him even to the jaws -of hell. So they came and waited for the curtain to rise, with a -quaint trepidation lest they should really enjoy themselves, and so -give place to the devil. - -But there was someone else besides the "_unco guid_" who felt vaguely -as if it would have been better she had not been there, as if she -wished that both the immediate past and the present had never come to -pass. And that was Marjory, as she stood at the far corner by the -door, whence she could escape easily when she was wanted behind the -scenes. Perhaps her face showed something of this, for Paul Macleod, -pausing beside her for a moment, said in a low tone: - -"I've seen Mrs. Vane act in 'Her Bitterest Foe' before, and she alone -would carry it off. Then Bertie is splendid at the heavy parts, and -Dr. Kennedy, by all accounts, is almost professional. There is no -fear, I'm sure." - -She turned to him quickly. "Do I look nervous? I think I am, chiefly -from the novelty. It is the first play I've ever seen, remember." - -He knew that, and yet the idea struck him again with a certain regret -for her and for himself. For her that she should see one at all, for -himself that he should have seen so many. "After all," he parodied -lightly, "it is better sometimes never to have lived than to have -lived it all! There goes the prompter's bell, so keep your eyes open, -Miss Carmichael." - -There was no need for the advice, since the first look filled the girl -with astonishment at the almost ridiculous reality which the glare of -the footlights gave to the shreds and patches of scenery she had -helped to put together. No wonder, therefore, if Mrs. Vane, in her -simple black dress, looked the _ingenue_ to perfection, and Major -Bertie's honest English face had quite a German cut about it. And how -well they acted! The ring of rough tenderness in the General's voice -was all that could be desired, while Mrs. Vane was faultlessly simple -and girlish. It could scarcely, Marjory told herself, be better; and -oh, how dreadful--how unbearable it would be if Tom fell below that -high standard! Another minute and his cue would come; so much she -knew, and a really hot regret rose up in her that she had not insisted -on invading the privacy of the rehearsals; then she would have known -what to expect. Yet what could he do with such a part? A part which -had always sounded to her so unreal, so unlike the man himself, so -unlike---- Then who was this hasty, hot-headed, imperious, impetuous -boy who burst upon the stage? She gave quite a little gasp of dismay, -and then forgot everything save that figure kneeling at its mistress's -feet, and pouring out its love, its grief, its remorse. - -"Bravo!" said Paul, under his breath, then added, in a different tone, -"You see there is no need to be nervous--he does it _con amore_." - -A sudden jealousy had leapt up in him at the thought that Marjory -might listen to such wooing, and as he moved away to the vacant place -left for him by Alice Woodward, he told himself, with resentful -cynicism, that it was not the first time Dr. Kennedy had played the -lover's part, and that even Marjory should be satisfied by the -plaudits which were sure to follow. - -But she was not thinking of applause. She was too startled, too dazed -to think at all, for something new and hitherto undreamt of in her was -responding passionately to the passionate appeal to which she -listened, and her clasp on the chair behind which she stood slackened -in relief as the kiss of forgiveness was given. Oh, that was right! -Who, loving the man, would not forgive? Who could help it in such -case? And this--yes! this was love! - -It seemed to her as if the play passed in a moment, and yet that it -had stolen the reality from all the rest of her life; nor did she -realise who the actors were until, amid the applause with which the -curtain came down, she heard two familiar voices from the row of -chairs in front of her. - -"Bravo! Bravissimo!" said one. "That was well done. He has my -compliments." - -"And mine," quoth the other, solemnly jocose. "But to think of it? Oh, -Thomas, my lad, _quod medicorum est promettant medice_, but this is no -healing o' hearts, man! Eh! Father Macdonald, but we will have at the -learned impostor; we will!" - -"_Amor al cor gentil ralto s'apprende_," put in the gentler voice, in -the same jocose strain; and then they both laughed. - -Marjory stepped back involuntarily as if to avoid hearing more; but -she had heard enough, for there, as she raised her eyes, stood Dr. -Kennedy and Mrs. Vane, bowing their acknowledgments of the recall. The -old life had come back again, but with a strange new thrill in it -which made her heart beat, yet left her dazed and weary. - -"If I could always act with Tom Kennedy," said Mrs. Vane, jubilant -over the success, when Marjory went behind the scenes to aid in the -coming tableaux, "I should make my fortune. He is the only amateur I -ever saw who knows how to make love!" - -"He did it very well," assented Marjory, coldly. She felt glad that he -was too busy with the scenery for her to have speech with him; she -would not have known what to say--for she had liked it--she had -understood--and yet!---- It was bad enough to listen for a moment to -Paul's approval when he came round, escorting Alice Woodward, who was -wanted for the statue in "Winter's Tale." - -"You should be satisfied," he said with intent. "Personally I never -saw it better done, on--or off the stage." - -But then a look at the girl's face drove him back quick as thought to -the old Arcadian days when they had been so friendly. - -"I wish the whole business were over," he said sharply. "It's an awful -nuisance, and you will all be dead tired to-morrow." - -"But Lord George will have his towel-horse again!" she answered, -lightly turning to a current jest as a shelter from the sense of his -thoughtfulness for her. "And there are but three more tableaux." - -"Three," he echoed; "there are only two on the programme." - -"But the other is Mrs. Vane's _bon-bouche_ to the house party. She -said they deserved a surprise; but I believe she would just as soon -let it slide--for she is very tired, Captain Macleod. Only it would be -hard on Mr. Gillespie, who is full of his part; besides it really -should be the prettiest of all--Mrs. Vane took so much trouble over -it." - -"Are you in it--and Dr. Kennedy?" he asked quickly. - -"No, only I--and Mr. Gillespie, of course. You see it was for the -house party." - -And Paul, as he went off to do host, wondered angrily what Violet -could mean; she always meant something--at least that was his -experience of her. The wonder lingered as he sate decorously between -Mrs. Woodward and Lady Hooker in the front row, listening between the -scenes to the account the latter gave of some tableaux she had got up -when they rented the Marquis of Tweedie's place in Peebleshire, and -whispering to the former, when the curtain rose finally on Alice as -Joan of Arc at the stake, that he hoped it was the last time her -daughter would suffer martyrdom in his house. For Paul invariably said -the right thing, if it paid him to do so, no matter what his real -feelings were at the moment; at the present time they were somewhat -mixed; the preponderant one being irritation at the whole round world. - -And now, that being the last tableau on the programme, the guests were -manifestly becoming filled with uneasy wonder as to whether they were -expected to make the move or not, when the tinkle of the bell warned -them of something more, and after a minute's pause the lights went out -suddenly. Then from the darkness came Wagner's "March of the Gods to -Walhalla," and the curtain, rising slowly, showed a scene which well -deserved the murmur of recognition which ran round the more critical -part of the audience. - -"Shouldn't have thought towel-horses could have done it--but she is a -deuced clever little soul," murmured Lord George to his neighbour, and -in truth, considering the resources at Mrs. Vane's command, the effect -was well-nigh marvellous. In the distance lay a stretch of sea and sky -lit by the light of a dying sunset which gained an almost real -radiance from the darkness of the foreground, where, with its back to -the audience, its foot upon the brink, a mailed figure, sword in hand, -bent, as if meditating a leap over the shadowy gulf which lay between -it and a low platform of rock overhanging the misty blue depths of the -distant sea. And on the rock, her silver helmet laid aside, her head -pillowed on her white arm, slept a warrior-maiden with her face turned -to the sunsetting. She was clad in soft, filmy, white draperies, but -the corselet of silver she wore above them rose and fell evenly with -her calm breathing; while round about her--so close that it seemed to -touch her wavy hair and silver, wing-shod feet--flickered and flamed a -mystic circle of fire. - -"What is it? What is it meant to be?" came eagerly from many of the -audience. And Paul knew--knew all too well--but he sate silent, -crushing down his anger at the skill of the thrust. - -"What is it?" echoed Alice Woodward, who, with an opera cloak thrown -over her last costume, had returned to her rôle of spectator. "Why, -Brynhild, of course, mamma! The Nibelungen, you know--we heard that -German tenor in it, if you remember. Mrs. Vane has staged it -beautifully, hasn't she, Captain Macleod; and how well the dress suits -Miss Carmichael's style. That is Mr. Gillespie, of course; he looks -taller in armour. You know, mamma, it is a sort of allegory. Sigurd -has to leap----" She paused abruptly to look at her companion. He had -started to his feet, and a quick cry of "Take care! Take care!" rose -from various parts of the house, for a breath of wind, coming from -some opening door, had bent the flames perilously near to those filmy -draperies. - -"Look out, Gillespie! for God's sake look out!" he shouted; but the -mailed figure, failing to understand, turned to the audience, and the -next instant Paul, tearing off his coat the while, had leapt over the -footlights, and scattering the circle in his hurry was on his knees -beside Marjory crushing out the fire which had caught her dress. The -heated spirit spilt on the floor blazed up fiercely, almost hiding -those two, and rousing a shriek of dismay from the ladies. - -"Down with the curtain and keep the draught out!" shouted Paul; "and -run back the carpet some of you. Lie still a moment, please--it is -beyond you." - -As a matter of fact the sudden burst of flame was nearer to the mailed -figure, who, being penned in between it and the falling curtain, chose -the footlights and landed in Mrs. Woodward's arms a second before Dr. -Kennedy's voice rang out reassuringly to say it was all right. - -"You might bring a blanket, Kennedy," said Paul, still with his arms -round Marjory. "If you will excuse me a moment longer, Miss -Carmichael, it will be wiser--muslin is so apt to flare. Tell me if I -am hurting you." - -Perhaps he did not mean--being a gentleman in most ways--to lower his -voice in the least, and yet he did lower it. He could scarcely help -himself with that touch thrilling through him, and at the sound of the -tenderness in his own tones something in him seemed to cast itself -loose from all anchorage and, spreading white wings over the tempest -of emotion that arose in him, to bear him swiftly to a haven of -perfect content. - -"I'm not hurt at all," she said; yet she looked at his face so close -to hers with startled eyes, and gave a little shiver; then went on -hastily. "But you--your shirt sleeve is all burnt--it is smouldering -still. Tom! come quick! No! No!--not for me. There was a spark still, -Captain Macleod--I saw it----" - -"It is out now at any rate--be still for one more second, please. -Thanks, Kennedy--just slip it under while I lift. So--a perfect -roly-poly! That is well over!" - -He spoke lightly again, but he had grown very pale, and much to his -annoyance found himself in the doctor's hands for a scorch on his arm. -However, as his sister said plaintively, that and the unfortunate -break-up of Lord George's lamented towel-horse in the hurry was the -only mischief done. It might have been much worse, and though of -course it was really quite a lovely tableau--for which Mrs. Vane -deserved the highest praise--still it was a dangerous experiment. It -generally was dangerous to play with fire, remarked Paul, impatiently, -and had not his sister better make some diversion among the guests, or -they would be leaving with a sense of judgment on their souls. A reel -or two would hearten them up, while a glass of whiskey, and some weak -negus for the ladies before they went away, would finish the business. -Of course there was no piper, but Miss Carmichael could play "The -de'il amang them" to perfection, and would do that much to help -Gleneira, he felt sure. - -There is no greater test of the quality of a man's fibre than the way -in which he stands the goad of mental pain. Paul Macleod, smarting -under the sting which the certain knowledge that he loved Marjory -Carmichael as he had never loved any woman before and yet that she was -beyond his reach brought to him, showed this indubitably. All his -reckless self-will, all his wild resentment against controlling -circumstance, rose up in him, and only the fact that he had no -possible opportunity of so doing, prevented him from then and there -making his proposal to Alice Woodward. This may seem a strange -sequence to the discovery that you love another woman, but it was just -this discovery which set him in arms against himself. For this love -was a new emotion--a love which suited the girl with her clear eyes--a -love such as he had hitherto scouted as a dream fit only for -passionless, sexless idealists. - -And the result of this deliberate choice of lower levels was in its -way stranger still. For Alice Woodward, whose emotion under any -circumstances could never have risen to a higher point than calm -affection, felt more content than she had ever done over the future, -and actually lingered in her mother's room--a most unusual event in -that reserved family--to remark that Gleneira was really delightful in -the fine weather when the house was full of people. - -"Captain Macleod showed immense presence of mind, too," assented Mrs. -Woodward, contributing her quota to the general satisfaction. - -"Very!" admitted Alice, colouring a little, "and he behaved so nicely -afterwards. In such good spirits, you know, though of course he must -have been in pain." - -So they retired to bed, well content with the state of affairs. Not so -Mrs. Vane, who, long after the others were asleep, sate waiting for a -well-known footstep to pass her door, on its way to the laird's own -room, which lay, quaintly apart from the others, with a little further -flight of stairs all to itself. And none came, though from below she -heard the voices of the menkind dispersing when their smoke was over, -and from above Lord George's stealthy tread as he passed the nursery. -And yet she had made up her mind that she must say a word to -Paul--must make certain of the truth--before she slept. She had not -been deceived; he was angry with her. Nay, worse! he was unhappy, yet -in a mood to make that unhappiness permanent. That must be prevented -somehow; so after a time she stole out into the passages, dark save -for the master's light--that light which has brought home the pang of -widowhood to so many a woman's heart, as she pauses on her way -upstairs to put it out. If she knew anything of Paul's nature, he -would not be in the smoking-room; once the necessity for restraint was -over, he would have taken the earliest opportunity of escaping from -the eyes of others. The business-room most likely, where he was secure -from most interruptions; but not from hers, though as he started to -his feet as she came in, he looked as though he had expected -otherwise. - -"I waited for you upstairs," she said boldly, "for I must speak to you -to-night"--then she paused, startled; for she had expected anger, and -Paul had sunk wearily into his chair again, resting his head on his -hand. - -"Can't you let me be--surely you have done mischief enough already?" -he said; and then he turned to look at her, and think, even in his -resentment, that she had always liked him, always been good to him. "I -don't understand why you brought this about--not the accident, of -course; that no one could have foreseen, but all the other part. For -you did bring it about. Why? Do you want me to marry----_her?_ You -know you don't. Then why should you have schemed to give me pain?" - -He spoke with a concentrated bitterness which told her that his -patience was far spent. When she had left her room to seek him she had -been prepared to speak the truth, if need be, to a certain extent, but -now her quick wit showed her that she must risk all. - -"No!" she answered quietly. "I do not wish you to marry Marjory -Carmichael; but neither do I wish you to marry that iceberg of a -girl, and be miserable. Let me have my say, Paul, for the sake of old -times. She does not love you, my poor Paul--I doubt if she can love -anything--and you do not love her, you do not even admire her. But you -did love the other, and when I saw you pretending that you did not, I -said to myself, 'He shall know the difference.'" - -"That is a kind of knowledge a man can generally find out for -himself," broke in Paul, cynically. "But, still, I don't see--what -possible use?----" He paused, and turned from her again to his old -attitude. - -"What use!" she echoed, laying her hand on his shoulder. "Listen! and -I will tell you the truth--tell it you utterly. You are very dear to -me, Paul, and come what may I am your friend. Do you think, then, that -I could stand by and see you bring misery into your life needlessly; -quite needlessly, for you could do better for yourself than that. Long -ago, Paul, so long ago that the folly of it is over for you, and so I -can speak of it--you loved me; and I----" she paused, but went on -steadily. "I loved you--don't start, my friend, it is true; see! to -your face I say it is true. I loved you. But I kept the secret then, -Paul, for the sake of your future, as I tell it now for the sake of -your future, so that you may believe that I am a friend indeed; for a -woman will not stand by and see another woman sacrifice the happiness -of a man for whom she once sacrificed her own. That is why I say you -must not marry Alice Woodward--you must not, Paul! Give her up!" - -"And, then?" - -Her eyes met his unflinchingly. - -"Yes, Paul! think what you like; I do not care. As for that, I should -make you a better wife than Alice Woodward, for there would be the -memory of a past love between us, at any rate--a fair, honest love." -He had risen from his chair, and stood looking down on the brave, -spirited little figure before him with irrepressible admiration. What -pluck, what address she had! How skilfully she had steered her way -through dangers that would have wrecked another woman's self-esteem! -And with the memory of the past surging up in him he could not deny -her right to speak. - -"I am no fool, Paul," she went on, holding up her hand to check some -half-hesitating words upon his lips. "I know what I say. I know, too, -what most men would say if a woman spoke to them as I have spoken to -you to-night. Well! I risk all that. I never lacked courage in your -cause, Paul, and if I gave up my love in those old passionate days for -your sake, do you think I would let its shadow come between you and -happiness? You are marrying the girl for her money. Well, others have -money also. I have it now, if it comes to that. I do not ask you to -marry me, Paul," she added, with a sudden, hard little laugh. "I have -not needed Leap Year in my calendar of life, but I do ask you to -think. There are rich girls whom you might love." - -"That is so like a woman! Have you forgotten your own handiwork -already? You would have me forget now that I am in love, but I shall -never forget." - -"Never is a long word," she answered, resuming her ordinary manner, -"and you forget so easily, my poor Paul!" - -"You have no right to say that, Violet," he broke in, hotly. "Have I -forgotten you? Have I forgotten your kindness? Do you think I would -let any other soul alive speak to me as you have done to-night?" - -She swept him a swift, gracious little curtsey. "_Dieu mercie, -Monsieur!_" she laughed, "the temptation would be too great, I -suppose? But I will tell you, if you like, why you have not forgotten. -Because I have kept myself _en evidence_; that is why. You say that I -see clearly, my friend. It is true. I see so clearly that the glamour -goes even from my own actions. You are the captive of my bow and -spear, Paul, but you would have escaped if you could. And Alice -Woodward cannot spin webs as I do; she will never be able to keep you, -and then----? Good-night." She held out her hand suddenly, but Paul -stood irresolute. - -"You are clear sighted, indeed. God knows you read me like a book -sometimes." He hesitated, then went on hurriedly, "I wonder if--if -Miss Carmichael----" - -Violet Vane shook her head with a smile. "That is the kind of -knowledge a man can generally find out for himself, my friend! -Personally, I think she will marry Tom Kennedy if she is left alone." - -"Thank you. You certainly have courage, Violet." - -"The courage of a surgeon who sees the knife is kindest in the end. I -have told you that you would be miserable with the woman you do not -love. I now tell you that you would not be happy with the woman you do -love." - -"And why?" - -"Because you have not the making of an archangel in you; that is why. -Do you think you have, Paul?" She stood for a moment at the door to -look up at him, as if she were making quite an ordinary remark. "But -there is the earth in the middle between the heavens above and the -waters beneath. Don't forget that, _my friend_." - -When she had left him he lit another cigar out of sheer inability to -think of doing anything more decided, anything which in any way -affected his future, even to the extent of taking a night's repose; -that feeling of uncertainty being largely a result of sheer surprise -that he should have allowed Violet Vane's man[oe]uvring to pass -unreproved. And this, in its turn, convinced him, as nothing else -would have done, that she understood him as no one else could do. - -And she? When he, coming up to his room, turned out the lamp on the -stair, he left the house in darkness, save for the candle he carried. -Yet Mrs. Vane was not even undressed. She was face down on her bed -trying to forget everything; above all, that old Peggy Duncan -possessed a secret which might--which might---- - -For her own reference to the past had brought that other past back -upon her, and, as she buried her hot face in the pillow, she told -herself that she had not, after all, spoken the truth. She had said -that his happiness was her motive, when it was her own. And wherefore -not? - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII. - - -Marjory sate at the window pretending to be busy over laces and -ribbons, but in reality watching Dr. Kennedy's deft hands lit up by -the shaft of light from his microscope lamp, as, with the aid of a -tiny pair of tweezers, and a watchmaker's glass fixed in one eye, he -laid out the almost invisible film of some sea plant on a slide. For -they, that is to say, Marjory, Will, and the doctor, had spent the day -after the theatricals in dredging for oysters, as a relief to what the -latter called fishing for men; and something interesting had come up -in the dredger, which had to be set up despite the waning light. He -looked more natural when so employed, and yet, despite the grizzling -hair and the thin brown face, she seemed to trace in him as she had -never done before a hint of that figure on last night's stage, which -had opened her eyes to love in its passion, its unreason. And with -this fancy came the remembrance of Paul Macleod's swift resource, his -kindness, his courage. And both memories confused her, making her feel -as if the old landmarks had been removed, and she could not be certain -even of those she knew intimately; as if a man's ideals might yield no -clue to his actions. For Tom must surely have felt that storm and -stress before he could portray it so vividly? And then, even if this -were not so, his vast experience of things which she had been -accustomed to despise remained inexplicable. - -"I had no idea that you were so frivolous, Tom," she said suddenly, -laying down even her pretence of work. - -He wheeled round in his chair instantly, and let the glass fall from -his eye. "Are you aware that that is a very odd remark to make to a -man who believes he has found a new infusorian which may revolutionise -all our theories, especially when it is made by a young lady who is -busy, or ought to be busy, over her first ball-dress." - -"Ought I?" She smiled back a little wearily. "I'm afraid I'm a bad -pupil, Tom. I was just wishing Lady George could have postponed it -till you had gone." - -He gave a little grimace. "Thank you, my dear, I daresay it would be -pleasanter,----" - -"Don't tease, Tom. You know what I mean, perfectly; it interrupts the -holiday." - -"Which is perilously near its close, by the way. I have to go back -next Thursday." - -"Yes, I know. But don't talk of it; let us enjoy it while it lasts!" - -He turned back to his work again hurriedly. "Now, that is what I -should call truly frivolous. So be it. However, _Vogue la galčre!_ It -is a very easy philosophy, at any rate." - -They were silent again for a space, and then she began again. "What I -meant was, that you must have seen so much of the world; and then you -are so interested in it. Last night," she hesitated a little, "it -struck me, Tom, that for all I knew, you might have--have seen -something like it when you were through the Franco-Prussian war, for -instance. You--you were quite a boy then, weren't you?" - -"A baby, so to speak. I remember nearly fainting over the first wound -I saw. Yes, Marjory, I've seen such romantic young fools many a time. -I see a good deal of that sort of thing necessarily in my profession. -It is human nature." - -"I suppose so," she said curtly. "Well, I suppose I ought to go and -dress. Oh, Tom! why couldn't Lady George have put it off, and why -won't you let me stay at home?" - -"Because, when, after infinite toil, you have caught a netful of -mankind for theatricals, you naturally choose the next day for a -dance. And because a girl ought to go to a ball. How can she tell her -_metier_ if she only keeps to one? Besides, it is your holiday." - -"I shan't like it a bit, and I shall feel dowdy in this thing." -She held up a white stuff gown, with the oddest mixture of -self-complacency and disdain. "Of course, it will do quite well, and -it would have been recklessly extravagant of me to get another, seeing -that I shan't want evening dresses at a Board School; but I shall be a -dowdy all the same." - -"I doubt it," remarked her guardian, busy adjusting his screws. "Now, -you really ought to go and dress, my dear. In my time girls----" - -"In your time!" she flashed out. "Why? Why, you are quite up to date, -Tom, and I--I am hopelessly _arriérée_, especially in my dress! Oh, -dear f I suppose I must----" - -A minute afterwards she came flying down the stairs, followed by Mrs. -Cameron, who had evidently been on the watch for the occasion in -Marjory's room, and was determined not to lose the scene downstairs. -It was rather a pretty one, though the first words were distinctly -sordid. - -"Oh, Tom! what did it cost?" - -"Now, that really is the rudest question! I'm surprised at you," -returned Dr. Kennedy, trying to jest, though something in the girl's -face told him she was not far from tears. - -"But it is dreadful," she began. - -"Naethin' o' the sort," broke in Mrs. Cameron, breathlessly. "Just -don't belie the nature God gave to you. It's just beautiful, and the -doctor and me has been agog these three days lest it should not come -in time, for it is ill getting things to Gleneira from Paris." - -"Paris!" echoed Marjory. "Yes, I thought it looked like Paris! How -foolish of you, Tom!" - -"And so that is all the thanks you're giving him. Wait, my lass, till -you're as auld as I am, with no a soul in the wide world caring a -bawbee if you're clad in sackcloth and ashes, and then see if ye -woudna like to be made a lily o' the field. Just arrayed in glory -wi'out a toil or a spin." - -"Quite right, Mrs. Cameron," put in Dr. Kennedy, with a laugh. "She -will have plenty of toiling and spinning by and bye; why shouldn't she -be a flower and do credit to us all for one evening?" - -She looked at him from head to foot. "A flower for you to wear in your -buttonhole, apparently. Tom, are all men alike?" - -"I am human, at any rate," he said quietly. - -"Oh, come away, come away!" cried Mrs. Cameron, impatiently. "Come and -put it on, like a good lassie, and don't be chopping logic. It's time -enough to be an angel when you've done being a girl, and you'll have -more chance o' bein' one if ye make the best o' your gifts in this -world, I can tell you. So come away, my dear, there may be a stitch or -two a-wantin', and the time is none too long." - -But Marjory stood her ground even after the old lady had bustled -upstairs again, and she looked so serious that Dr. Kennedy was driven -into suggesting that if she preferred it, she might wear her old gown. - -"It is not that," she said slowly. "It is beautiful. I could see that, -at a glance; but--Tom, did Mrs. Vane choose it?" - -His laugh had a certain content in it. "My dear child, I prefer people -to be dressed as I like, and I am generally supposed to have good -taste." - -"Very, I should say," she remarked, with a curious accent of regret in -her voice. - -But the fact was indubitable. When she came down again in a shimmer of -silver and white, set cunningly with frosted rowan berries showing a -glint of scarlet here and there, she knew so well that her dress was -perfect, that from a new bashfulness she turned the tables on him -swiftly. - -"Tom," she cried, "I declare you have waxed the ends of your -moustache!" - -"And if I had been in Italy, I should have curled my hair, too," he -replied imperturbably. "It is not a crime." - -"And that coat! It is not your ordinary one." - -"It is not. The one I use here--since you are so particular--is a -dress jacket; the correct thing, I assure you, for a shooting lodge. -But I have the misfortune to be honorary surgeon to a potentate -somewhere, who insists on brass buttons on state occasions, so I don't -happen to have the intermediate affair. Besides, there are to be -lord-lieutenants and generals hanging round this evening from the Oban -gathering. If that is satisfactory to your highness, we should be -going." - -"And that red thing in your buttonhole?" she persisted, going close up -to him and touching the bit of ribbon with dainty curious finger. "It -is the Legion of Honour, I suppose." - -"It is called so; you look as if that were a crime also." - -"I did not know you had it, that was all," she said. And then, Will, -coming in full of fuss because his very occasional white tie had not -been folded properly in the wash, changed the _venue_ by declaring -that fine feathers make fine birds, and that he was half ashamed to -belong to them. - -"Naethin' o' the sort, Will," snapped Mrs. Cameron. "It's the fine -birds that grows the fine feathers, as ye'd see ony day o' the week if -ye went to my hen yard." - -"And it is always the male bird which attends most to personal -appearance," remarked Marjory, sedately. Yet, despite her pretended -disdain, as they passed down the drawing-room corridor at Gleneira -House, she paused involuntarily to look for a second at what she saw -reflected in a pier glass at the end. - -"We do look nice, Tom," she said, with a faint laugh; "but I feel like -the old woman. I'm sure it isn't I. Now, you look as if you were born -to it." - -He had not the heart to tell her that she looked it also, so took -refuge in claiming his right of the first waltz. - -"But I can't dance. You seem to forget, Tom, that I have never even -seen a waltz danced." - -His face fell. "What an ass I am, when I could have taught you in half -an hour. But you would pick it up in the first turn; let us try, at -any rate." - -"Please don't ask me," she began. "I don't want to dance. In fact, I -didn't tell you--on purpose." - -"That was unkind," he replied, and this plain statement of his -unvarnished opinion making the girl see her silence in the same light, -she added, hastily, "I will dance later on, if it will please you." - -He laid his hand on hers as it rested on his arm and looked at her -with a kindly smile. "That is right! It always gives me pleasure when -Mademoiselle Grauds-serieux unbends a little. I want you to enjoy -yourself to-night. Why not? You are young, happy, and will probably -be--pardon my incurable frivolity--the best-dressed girl in the room. -But there is our hostess, and after that I had better go and find a -partner. It is a duty at the beginning of a ball. Shall we say number -four or six for ours?" - -"Oh, six, please; something may have happened by that time." - -She felt, to tell the truth, as if something must be going to happen, -as she sate watching the scene from the quiet corner where Dr. Kennedy -left her. The lights, the music, the buzz of conversation seemed to go -to her head, and the sight of him skimming past like a swallow made -her suddenly regret her refusal. It seemed easy and pleasant. Yes; it -must be pleasant, and there were four more dances to sit out before -her chance came. - -"Is it one of the mortal sins, Miss Carmichael?" came Paul's voice -behind her. He had seen her enter with Dr. Kennedy, and, aided by Mrs. -Vane's one-syllabled verdict "Worth," had guessed the history of the -dress. And there he was looking very handsome, his arm still in a -sling so as to give him a pretext for laziness if he chose, and -meaning mischief out of sheer contrariety. - -"I can't dance," she answered, flushing a little, "but I am going to -try number six with Tom. I am almost sorry now I didn't say four; I -think I should like it." - -"Try four with me," he answered, seating himself beside her. - -"But it will hurt your arm," she began. - -"If it does we can sit down again; but I don't think it will. I find I -can generally do what I want to do without serious injury either to my -mind or my body." And then he added in a lower tone, "I should not ask -you if I was incapable; but if you would rather not trust me I must -submit." - -"But Tom--Dr. Kennedy----" she began, doubtfully. - -"Is dancing number four with Mrs. Vane. I heard them settle it just -now." - -Why this information should have influenced her decision is not clear, -since she was perfectly prepared to see them dance not once but many -times together; yet it did, as Paul had guessed it would. Still, when -he had gone to play the part of host elsewhere, she began to regret -her promise, and the sight of him returning with the first bars of -number four to claim her made her attempt escape by pleading the risk -to his scorched arm. "It was surely," she said, "rash to have removed -the sling." - -"I am always rash," he replied. "Come! you owe me some reward, and I -am quite capable of taking care of you." - -His words brought back the remembrance of the night before, and sent a -thrill through her; the next instant it seemed to her that she was -alone with him again, despite the whirl of dancers around them. Alone -with him, and a bunch of red rowans which, for the first time, she -noticed he wore in his buttonhole, and to which he began drawing her -attention at once. - -"We wear the same badge once more, you see, Miss Carmichael," he said -fluently. "It must be your welcome to a new world, as the white -heather was to me. Only, as usual, I am natural, and you are -artificially iced. Which is best? Well, if you will defend your -position, I will defend mine; for we must agree to differ since I -cannot freeze, and I sometimes wonder if you can thaw. Perhaps if I -had let you burn a little longer last night I might have found out and -been happy. I almost wish I had, only then--only then," he repeated in -a louder tone of triumph, "I shouldn't have had the pleasure of taking -you a whole turn round the room without your remembering that it _was_ -your first turn--No! don't stop just because you do remember; another -turn will finish your lesson." - -"That was very clever of you!" laughed Marjory, as they went on, she -gaining confidence at every step. - -"I think it was," he replied; but he did not add that his art had -extended to exchanging the bouquet he had originally worn for some -rowan berries filched from the decorations. - -But Mrs. Vane, who had been more or less responsible for the discarded -jasmine, noticed it at once, and her voice was hard as she remarked to -her partner, "Your pupil has preferred another professor, Dr. Kennedy; -the patient instead of the physician. It is really very foolish of -Paul, with his arm." - -Tom Kennedy felt glad of the possibility of ignoring the first part of -her remark, for he was conscious of bitter disappointment, not to say -vexation. "He is not likely to hurt; it was the merest scorch." And -then his obstinacy made him add, as much for his own edification as -for hers, "She is lucky to begin so well; a tall man can steer better -as a rule." - -Mrs. Vane smiled. "That is overdone, my friend; there is not a better -steerer in the room than you are." - -"How can you tell; you need no guidance?" he began, when she stopped -him peremptorily. - -"Don't, please; if you knew how sick of it I am. It comes, I know, as -part of the business with the lights, and the music, and the coffee, -and the ices; but you and I are such old friends." There was rather a -crush at the moment, and her partner being too busy to speak, she had -the conversation to herself for the time, and went on evenly, "How -well they dance! and her dress is simply perfection. I must get you to -choose mine. Yes! they look a charming couple; for he is wonderfully -handsome--handsomer than when he was younger--don't you think so?" - -"I never met him before this summer," replied her victim; and, to -change the subject, added, "but I knew his brother Alick in Paris. -Very like him, but not so fine a fellow--rather--well! he got into a -very fast set, and that accounts for a great deal." - -Mrs. Vane looked up in sudden interest. "Ah! I had almost forgotten. -Of course, he had a brother who died." - -"Yes! quite suddenly. By all accounts none too soon for the estates. -He had half ruined them." - -"And so the present laird has to marry money, if he will. But you -never can count on Paul Macleod doing the wise thing. A pretty face, a -dress from Worth's, a---- Is that the end? Then I should like a cup of -coffee, if you please." - -And as they passed down the corridor she passed to other subjects, -leaving that barb to rankle. She was not often so cruel, but, to tell -truth, she was really angry with Paul, and told herself there was no -use in trying to keep him out of mischief. Doubtless, she had so far -startled him by her plain speaking as to prevent him from bringing -matters to a crisis with Alice; but here, at the slightest -provocation, he was flirting outrageously with Marjory, and -looking---- - -"A message for you, sir," said the butler, coming up to Dr. Kennedy, -as they were about to return to the ball-room. "A little boy, sir, to -say a Mrs. Duncan is ill, and wants to see you." - -"Little Paul!" cried Mrs. Vane; "poor old woman! I am sorry. Where is -he, Grierson? In the housekeeper's room? Then don't let us disturb -you; I'll show Dr. Kennedy the way." - -"Why should you trouble?" he began. - -"'Tis no trouble, my friend, and you may need something to take with -you." - -"I may need nothing," he answered. "I was round seeing her, as you -know, a few days ago; and she might die at any moment; her heart is -almost worn out." - -Mrs. Vane's gave a sudden throb. What if she died, and carried the -secret with her, just when it was most needed? The thought became -insistent as she listened to the boy's frightened tale of how his -grandmother had looked so strange, and bidden him seek Dr. Kennedy, -and then seemed to fall asleep. - -"You had better keep the lad here awhile," said the latter, in an -undertone. "He has been delayed by not knowing where to find me, and, -without stimulants at hand, a fainting fit might pass into death." He -turned to ask for some brandy, and was off into the still moonlit -night hastily. - -She stood looking after him for a moment, and then made her way back -to the ball-room mechanically. Another waltz had begun, and she -hastily scanned the dancers for Paul's figure, but neither he nor -Marjory were to be seen. Without an instant's hesitation she went to -the conservatory, and found--what she knew she would find. - -"Excuse my interrupting you," she said, "but I have a message from Dr. -Kennedy for Miss Carmichael. He has been called away for half an hour, -but will be back then; and he hopes, my dear," she laid her hand on -Marjory's arm affectionately, "that you will be ready for number ten. -Meanwhile, Paul, you ought either to continue the lesson, or find Miss -Carmichael another tutor. Ah! Major Bertie, have you found me! and I -have turned the heel of my slipper and must go and put on another -pair, but perhaps Miss Carmichael will console you." - -She waited till they had moved out of sight, and then turned to Paul, -almost passionately: - -"And you--you are engaged for this dance, I presume?" - -"You presume a little too far, my dear Violet," he replied -dangerously. "I am a helpless cripple, and I cannot run in harness, -no matter how skilful the whip may be. If you are going back to the -ball-room may I give you my one arm?" - -"No, thanks. I shall stay here." - -Never in their lives before had they come so near a quarrel, and, even -though Mrs. Vane was wise enough to see the provocation which her own -loss of temper had given him, the fact decided her. The change of -slippers included other alterations in her toilette, and five minutes -afterwards she was following Dr. Kennedy to Peggy Duncan's cottage. -The walk was nothing on that warm September night, and the excuse of a -desire to help sufficiently reasonable, her kindness in such ways -being proverbial. Many a deathbed had been cheered by her cheerful -aid, and yet, nerved as she was by experience, she shrank back at the -sight which met her eyes as she lifted the latch of the cottage and -entered. For the deep box bed, whereon old Peggy had passed so many -years, had been inconvenient, and Dr. Kennedy had lifted her to the -table, where she lay unconscious, looking like death itself, in the -limp, powerless sinking into the pillow of her grey head. The old -woman's dreary prophecy came back to Mrs. Vane, though this was not -certain death, as yet; since, with his back towards her, his warm -hands clasping those cold ones, his face bent on the watch for some -sign of life, stood Dr. Kennedy, trying the last resource of -artificial respiration. There is nothing in the whole range of -experience more absorbing, more pathetic than this struggle of the -living for the dying, whether it be for the new-born babe doubtful of -existence, or, as here, for an old worn-out heart. And if it is so, -even among a crowd of eager helpers, what was it here in the little -circle of dim light hedged in by darkness? Those two alone, so -strangely contrasted. It had been a sharp, fierce transition, even to -his experience, from, the ball-room full of lights and laughter; for -Tom Kennedy was not of those whom use hardens. He was one of those to -whom ever-widening vision discloses no clear horizon of dogmatic -belief or unbelief, but a further distance fading away into the great, -inconceivable, infinite mystery between which and him lay Life--Life, -whose champion he was, whose colours he wore unflinchingly, counting -neither its evil or its good. Life--nothing else. It is a queer -mistress, taken so, but an absorbing one, and he scarcely slackened -the rhythmic sweep of his arms even in his surprise at the figure -which, after a moment's pause, stepped forward. - -"You ought not to have come--it's no place for you; you had better go -back and send me help; though I fear it is no use," he said -authoritatively. For answer she slid her hands under the blanket he -had thrown over the old woman's limbs, and began to rub them with a -regularity matching his own. - -"They would not help so well as I." - -"You have done it before then?" - -"Often--once all night long in cholera--a great friend--he died at -dawn." Yet the memory which had brought tears many a time failed to -touch her now, for her mind was intent on something else. - -"Was she unconscious when you came?" she asked. - -"Not quite. There were some letters on her mind, and after she had -given them to me she went off--one often finds it so." - -Then they were given! and she was too late! Yet stay! where could they -be--in his coat, of course, which he had taken off and thrown aside on -a chair for the sake of greater ease. Doubtless in the coat, for he -must have had it on at first, when the old woman was still conscious. - -"Perhaps hot water," she suggested, looking towards the kettle -swinging over the dying embers, but he shook his head, and she stayed -where she was. Ah! that was surely a change--a greyer tinge on the -worn, wrinkled old face, the faintest suspicion of a greater rest in -the slack limbs. - -Dr. Kennedy paused, still holding the hands in his, and bent closer. - -In the great silence, Mrs. Vane seemed to hear her heart beating at -the thought--not of rest, but unrest; for something would have to be -done soon, if done at all. Nay! done now, for with a half-impatient -sigh the doctor gave up the struggle, folded the old hands upon the -old breast, and walked away to stand for a moment or two looking -moodily into the dull fire. - -"It is always a disappointment," he said, turning to her again, and -mechanically going over to the dresser, where in the interval, -calculating on habit, she had set a bowl of water and a towel. And she -calculated rightly. As with his back towards her he washed his hands, -hers were in the pocket of his coat, and two packets of letters lay on -the floor behind the chair, as if they had slipped out, before she -went forward, coat in hand. - -"Thanks!" he said, still in the meshes of habit; but then he paused, -and for an instant her heart was in her mouth, even though she had her -excuse ready should he discover the absence of the letters. It was -only, however, a remembrance of her which came to him. - -"I must call someone," he said; "and you should go home at once. It -was good of you to come." - -"Yes! you had better call someone. I will stay till you return--I -would rather." - -"You are not afraid?--Ah! I forgot you had lived your life in India. I -shall not be more than ten minutes if I go up the hill to the -shepherd's; that will be the quickest." - -"Do not hurry on my account," she replied, quietly beginning to pile -some fresh peats on the fire. The doctor, as he turned for a last -look, his hand on the latch, told himself she was a plucky little soul -indeed; and yet, had he known it, her heart was melting within her at -the deed she was about to do, and her only strength lay in the thought -that it was for Paul's sake; for herself she would scorn such -meanness. - -The candle flickering to an end gave her little time, however, for -consideration, and almost as the door closed the letters were in her -hands. One long, blue, red-sealed, intact, as she remembered it, the -other an open envelope yellow with age, tied round with thread, and -containing several papers. Her wits were quick, and even as she -looked, the certainty came to her that if the blue letter asked -questions the other might answer them; besides there was no necessity -for breaking a seal; she shrank from that as yet. Even now her hand -shook, so that as she drew out the contents of the smaller envelope, -something fell from it to the ground. She stooped to pick it up just -as the candle flared up in the socket, and by the sudden blaze of -light she saw on the fallen paper a signature, and a line or two of -print. - -Great heavens! a marriage certificate--Ronald Alister Macleod! Who was -he?--Paul's brother, of course. - -These thoughts flashing through her brain did not prevent her -starting, as the flickering light seemed to give a semblance of -movement to Peggy's folded hands. The next instant she was in -darkness, still holding the letters, and she knelt hastily to coax a -flame from the peats, for time was passing, and she must know--must -read. Then, in swift suggestion, came the thought of substituting -another packet; Dr. Kennedy would be none the wiser, and that would -give her time. There must be other letters or papers at hand if she -could find them. Oh for a light!--and yet people deemed such deeds to -be deeds of darkness!---- - -As if in answer to her thought, a tongue of bluish flame leapt through -the warmed peats, and by its light she found herself fumbling at the -old bureau. For it was, as it always is at such times, as if fate were -driving her against her will. Even as she acted, she felt that she had -not meant to act thus--to search and pry! The old woman's cherished -shroud, folded and frilled, made her shut one drawer hastily. And that -was a step--a step surely, and yet not an atom of paper was to be seen -anywhere! Ah! there was an old Bible on the shelf with blank pages. -She had torn some out, and slipped them into the envelope none too -soon, for Dr. Kennedy was at the door, breathless with running. - -"I hurried all I could," he said; "for I felt I ought not to have left -you--it was not fair. But they are coming, and then I will take you -home." The words seemed to bring a remembrance, for he paused and -began to feel in his pocket. - -"What is it?" she asked, with a catch in her voice. - -"The letters. I had them, certainly----" - -"Perhaps they dropped--ah! here they are on the floor." - -"Thanks." Then he paused, looking curiously at them. "I wonder why I -fancied this one was tied with thread?" - -Even in her anxiety she could not resist a smile at the keenness of -the man; and how dull _she_ had been, for there on the dresser stood -two candles in brass candlesticks. If she had only noticed them she -would have had time--would not, perhaps, have had this terror at her -heart. - -"It may have been tied," she said coolly; "and something may have -dropped out when it fell. I'll light the candles and see." Then as she -came forward with them in her hand, the deadly anxiety in her would -brook no delay, and she asked, "Do you miss anything?" - -"I do not know--I have not the least notion what it was supposed -to contain; but this seems only to be an entry of births, -marriages----Great heavens! are you ill?" For Mrs. Vane, who had -stooped down on pretence of searching the floor, but in reality to -hide her intense relief, was standing as if petrified, her face white -as death. - -"Nothing," she gasped, with an attempt at composure--"the strain, I -suppose--it is foolish." - -More than foolish, she told herself. It was perfectly insensate of her -not to have remembered the custom of entering such items in the family -Bible; and now she might unwittingly have given away the information -she was attempting to conceal. If so, it would be better for her to -know at once. - -"Such registers contain many secrets," she began, when a look of -curiosity in Dr. Kennedy's eyes made her pause. - -"Secrets," he echoed; "why should there be any? though there is one in -a way," he added, holding out the paper to her. It was the last entry -to which he pointed, and it ran thus: "Jeanie Duncan, born 17th April, -18--; married----; died 20th August, 18--." "A sad blank that," he -continued, adding, after a pause: "Perhaps the other letter may be -more important." - -Perhaps it might be, and Mrs. Vane, as she waited, felt her breath -coming fast and short. It seemed an eternity of time until once more -he held something out for her to read, and turning silently to where -the dead woman lay, drew the sheet tenderly over the worn face. "The -irony of fate, indeed," he murmured as she read:-- - - -"Dear Madam,--We have to advise you of the death of our esteemed -client, Mr. John Duncan, of Melbourne, Australia, and to inform you -that under his will you, as his widow, come into property amounting to -close on Ł100,000." - - -Mrs. Vane's hand holding the letter fell to her side, and Dr. -Kennedy's voice said gravely: - -"Strange, isn't it, that the letter was never opened? All that money, -and a pauper's death----" - -The voice was his, but it might have been the accusing angel's for the -effect it had on Violet Vane. She gave one step forward, her arms -outstretched as if for pity, and with a little cry sank to her knees. -Her head was pillowed on the old woman's breast when Dr. Kennedy, -catching her as she fell, found that she had fainted, and -anathematised himself as a consummate ass for taking her at her own -estimation. Plucky as she was, the contrast had been too sharp. Life -and Death--Poverty and Riches. The whole gamut of harmonies and -discords lay in these words. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX. - - -Mrs. Vane being one of those heaven-sent pivots or jewels, without -which the wheels of society are apt to come to a standstill, it was -only natural that her sudden collapse, joined to the general -depression which invariably follows on a country house entertainment, -should have reduced the inmates of Gleneira to a condition of blank -discontent. To tell truth, a large proportion of them had reasonable -cause for a vague uneasiness, if not for actual discomfort, though -Lady George wrinkled her high, white forehead in tragic perplexity -over some of the resulting phenomena. - -"Of course," she said at lunch, "I was quite prepared that the cook -should give warning. They always do when they have worked hard, and, -really, the supper left nothing to be desired; besides, it is an empty -form when we are all going away next week. But why the housemaid -should want a new set of brushes _to-day_, when she knows I have to -send to Glasgow for them; and why Ean, the boy--such a good-looking -boy, too--who cleans the boots, should demand an immediate rise in -wages, I cannot think." - -"What's enough for one ain't enough for two," broke in Eve from her -sago pudding, with an indescribable twang and a semi-sentimental air. -"Mary's going to marry him; he asked her in the boot hole when the -piper was playing the 'Blue Bells of Scotland' in the kitching. The -thought of her 'ighland laddie bein' gone was too much for her -feelinks, so she accepted him, and he gave her a kiss." - -"Eve!" cried her mother, in horrified accents, "don't say such -things." - -"But it's true, ducksie mummie," retorted the young lady, unabashed. -"Mary said so. We heard her telling nurse, didn't we, Adam?" - -"Yes, we did, Evie; and nursie said----" - -"Paul!" cried Lady George, in desperation, "you might give the -children some of that trifle before you; it won't hurt them once in a -way. And I really think it was too bad of the Hookers to bring the -piper to the ball, after my making such a point of his not coming to -the play. I call it most unneighbourly." - -"My dear Blanche," protested Paul, "what is the use of being a rich -Highland proprietor if you don't have a piper, and what is the use of -having a piper if he mayn't play at functions? You agree with me, -don't you, Miss Woodward?" - -Alice, looking dainty in the elaborate simplicity of a Paris -_batiste_, agreed with a smile, as she had learnt to do as a matter of -course whenever he chose to make these little appeals for sympathy, -with their underlying suggestion of a common future. He was really -very handsome and charming; everything a girl could desire in a -husband. - -"It is all very well for you to talk of functions," continued his -sister, in aggrieved tones, "but the question is, what is a function? -Marriages, of course, and, I suppose, funerals; but that reminds me. -We really must have that projected picnic to the old burying-ground -this week. I want Mr. Woodward to see it, and he was talking of London -this morning." - -The end of the sentence was prompted by that desire of the hostess to -see her team of guests working fairly together for their own good, -which Lady George felt to be a part of her duty, and the guest thus -challenged had not opened his mouth since he sate down, except to fill -it with cold beef and pickles, which he swallowed gloomily, like a man -who, having missed his connection, is trying to while away the time -before the next train in the refreshment room. - -"You are very kind," he said, in sepulchral tones, "but the -method in which Her Majesty's mails are delivered--or rather not -delivered, in this place, renders it necessary that I should -return at once. Just before lunch I received a letter which, I give -you my honour, had been mislaid in the post-bag--a most important -letter--a--a most---- However, as I was to have told you after lunch, -I--I feel it my duty--but, of course, this--er--will not make any -change in--in plans." - -He glanced comprehensively at his daughter, and Paul Macleod, seated -at the bottom of the table, felt as if the guard had come into the -refreshment room and said, "Time up, gentleman!" The closing scene of -the comedy was close at hand, and though he was quite prepared for it, -he still objected to the _force majeure_ which compelled him to go -through with it; just as he objected to that other restraint which the -knowledge of his absurd feeling for Marjory brought with it. The whole -position irritated him to the last degree, and in one and the same -breath he told himself that he wished the business were over, and that -it had never begun. And yet, when he and Alice, in strolling round the -garden together, found themselves among the orange blossoms, he grew -quite sentimental. The heavy perfume and, artificial atmosphere seemed -to suit the growth of his physical content. Then, courteous by nature -to all women, he had already felt that this girl had a stronger claim -on his consideration than others, and this feeling produced just that -calm, continual attention which suited her lack of sentiment. There -was nothing in it to disturb her placidity or shake the quiet -conviction that in deciding on Gleneira and its owner she was -distinctly doing her duty by everybody, herself included. For Jack had -apparently acquiesced in her decision; at least, he wrote quite -cheerfully from Riga. So she listened contentedly to the covert -lovemaking which long experience had made so easy to Paul Macleod, -provided his companion had a decent share of good looks. In fact, one -of his chief causes of irritation in regard to Marjory was that he -never had the slightest desire to flirt with her. - -Meanwhile Mrs. Vane remained in her room by Dr. Kennedy's orders, who, -to tell truth, was rather surprised to find how severe a shock her -nervous system had sustained. When, in consequence of a little note -saying that if he would so far forego his holiday as to take her for a -patient, she would far rather see an old friend than a strange doctor, -he had gone over to see her, he had found her far worse than he had -expected. The truth being that she was in a fever of excitement to -know whether he suspected anything, and to hear all the particulars of -this strange bequest to poor old Peggy. If she had only known what the -long blue envelope had contained, she would not have advised the delay -in opening it, which had led to the poor old soul dying a pauper's -death, dying with bitter thoughts in her heart of the world she was -leaving. Mrs. Vane would have liked to tell so much to the doctor as a -sort of salve to her conscience, but she did not dare to do this. -There was a certain packet of letters locked away in her dressing-case -which forbade her risking the least inquiry. Yet she could not refrain -from asking if any other papers had been found which--which threw any -light---- - -Dr. Kennedy, noting the nervous intertwining of her fingers, made a -mental note of bromide for the prescription he intended writing, and -then set himself quietly to tell her all he knew, just as if he were -exhibiting another sedative. The somewhat romantic aspects of the case -had evidently excited her imagination, and it would do her good to -talk over it soberly. - -"Then there were no other papers, after all," she said, with a sigh of -relief. "You seemed surprised at the time, I remember, but now you are -satisfied." - -"I must be--no one could have taken them, and I certainly did not drop -anything from my pocket when I went to fetch help, for I have been -over the ground this morning. Besides, she only gave me two -things--the envelope and something else. I certainly thought it was a -bundle of letters, but I must have been mistaken." - -"But there was no entry in the register, was there, which would -account for old Peggy's anxiety that you should have it?" persisted -Mrs. Vane, with a little hurry in her breath. - -"None. Except that she had something on her mind always, I feel sure, -regarding that unfortunate daughter of hers. She never behaved -naturally to little Paul; and now, of course, it is doubtful if he -will get the money. I must see the lawyers about it as I go through -Edinburgh. If old Peggy had only lived to make a will----" - -Mrs. Vane rose from her pillow and looked him full in the face, with a -startled expression. - -"You mean she would have had the power to leave it to him." - -"Yes, apparently she would have, to judge by the will. You had better -lie down again, Mrs. Vane! So--quite flat, please." - -He chose out the smelling salts unerringly, as if he knew all -about such things, from the bevy of silver-topped bottles on the -dressing-table, and when he saw her colour returning, went back with -the same certainty, apparently, of finding sal volatile or red -lavender. - -"Chloral!" he said, turning to her quickly as he smelt at a bottle. -"You mustn't take that, Mrs. Vane. I forbid it, and I expect you to -obey orders." - -A touch of her own airy, charming wilfulness showed on her face as she -looked at him while he stood dropping something into a glass for her -to take. "I won't--not while you are here." - -"Nor when I am gone, I hope. It isn't worth it--Pauline." - -She gave him an odd look, then buried her face in the pillow and began -to sob. Inarticulate, hysterical sobbing about Pauline--or was it -Paul? Dr. Kennedy could not be sure. - -"She is utterly upset; a case of complete nervous prostration," he -said, as he was leaving, in answer to Captain Macleod's eager -inquiries. "I don't wonder, for she works herself to death to make -things pleasant for everybody. Don't let them worry her by going to -sit with her, and that sort of thing. She is best alone. Or, if you -could spare ten minutes or so this afternoon--I've told her to get up -for a little change--she would like it, I know. She is very fond of -you." - -"We are such old friends," put in Paul, quickly. "And she has sate up -with _me_ often enough, God knows. I shouldn't be alive but for her. -Of course, I will go." - -"Talk of old times, then. It will make her forget the present, and -that will be good for her." - -So Paul went up with the afternoon tea tray and a bunch of jasmine, -which he had been down to the garden to gather, and talked about old -times in his softest voice, while Mrs. Vane sate and listened in the -big chair by the window. And she cheered up so much under the -treatment, that he sent the maid down for another plate of bread and -butter. - -It was very pleasant, but whether, as the unconscious suggester of the -entertainment had said, it was good for her, was another matter, -though, in a way, it relieved her nervous strain by making her more -certain of what she was going to do. Of one thing there could be no -doubt--the man who sate and talked to her, who forestalled her every -want, must not suffer. Paul must be saved, somehow, and so, for the -present, no one must know of that marriage certificate hidden in her -dressing-case, which would, if it were genuine, give Gleneira to Peggy -Duncan's grandson. Perhaps, after all, he would get his father's -money, and if so, a hundred thousand pounds would be enough for -anyone. Why should he rob Paul--her handsome, kindly Paul--of his -birthright? Of course, in one way that would make matters smooth for -her, since his engagement would certainly come to an end if he ceased -to be a Highland proprietor. The Woodwards would, in that case, never -hear of its being fulfilled. But it would give him such pain, and she -was not selfish enough to gain her own pleasure at such a price, if it -could be avoided. She was Paul's friend, his true friend, and she -would take the responsibility of concealing this thing for the -present; for ever, if need be. And then she gave up thinking, and took -to dreaming of what life would be if they two lived at Gleneira. They -would not be dull; men were never dull with her. He had not been dull -that afternoon when they had sate and talked. Ah! how pleasant it had -been, and surely to gain such content, both for him and for her, it -was allowable to conceal those letters for a time--only for a time? - -And while they were talking upstairs, Lady George had been -entertaining a solitary visitor in the drawing-room, the rest of the -party having gone out to take luncheon to the shooters on the hill. -This was the Reverend James Gillespie--who had come with a strict -attention to those trivialities of etiquette, which the Bishop had -often assured him should be a distinguishing mark of those set up to -teach the people--to inquire for the ladies after their fatigues. Now, -Lady George _was_ fatigued, hence, indeed, the fact that she had -remained at home; and there is no doubt that she said, "Bother the -man!" when first informed that the Reverend James was in the -drawing-room. Then the love of posing came to her rescue. Here she -was, alone, wearied out, unable to go forth and enjoy herself. What an -opportunity for patient unselfishness! Besides, it was tea-time; she -could have the children down and provoke that ardent admiration of her -system which the Reverend James extended to everything at Gleneira. - -"Tell nurse to let Miss Eve and Master Adam have tea with me," she -said, as she swept downstairs. "I expect Master Blasius has not been a -good boy; in fact, I am sure he hasn't, but he can have jam in the -nursery. He will like that just as well." - -Unfortunately, it is never safe for a grown-up to predicate the -thoughts of a child. Perhaps, because something may strike the opening -mind as novel, or desirable, which the mature one has tried and found -wanting. Be that as it may, ten minutes after Adam and Eve had left -the nursery spick and span, hand-in-hand, Blazes was captured for the -fifth time on his way down the stairs in that curious succession of -bumps and slides, which was his favourite method of progression. And -the look of determination on his round, broad, good-natured face was -not in the least shaken by nurse's vehement upbraidings. - -"There ain't no use talkin' to 'im when he's like that," she said, -aside to Mary; "and he ain't a bit cross or naughty--look at 'im -smilin' be'ind my back--but my tea I must 'ave in peace an' quiet. So -into bed 'e goes, tucked up without 'is nighty, an' a bit of sugar to -suck. The joke of it'll keep 'im quiet a bit." - -Apparently, it did, for he lay in the night nursery chuckling to -himself, that "Blazeths wath a pore 'ickle beggar boy wif no thoes or -'tockings, an' no thirt to hith back," until nurse, sympathising with -the sentimental Mary, forgot to be vigilant. - -Meanwhile, Adam, in his green plush Vandyck suit, and Eve in a smock -to match, were seated, with decorously still tan legs, at the -tea-table, eating thin bread-and-butter daintily. - -"It is most gratifying," the Reverend James was remarking, in his most -professional manner, "to--to see such good children as yours, Lady -George. It is a lesson in the art of education." - -"It is most gratifying to hear one's parish priest say so, Mr. -Gillespie," she replied, with meek dignity; "but, as you know, I make -it a study. I devote myself to them. I feel that one cannot too soon -recognise the sanctity, the individuality of the soul, the human -rights which these little ones share equally with us. Equally, did I -say? Nay, in fuller measure, since they are nearer Heaven than we -are--since they are pure and innocent, with better rights than ours to -happiness." - -The Reverend James cleared his throat. There was a flavour of -unorthodoxy about the latter part of these remarks which, in the -present position of spiritual authority to which Lady George had -exalted him, he could scarcely pass over. - -"It is a fallen humanity we must not forget, my dear lady," he began; -"these children----" - -Lady George's maternal pride flashed up; besides she was beginning to -get a little tired of the Reverend James. - -"I see very few signs of fallen humanity about mine," she interrupted. - -"But, my dear lady, you must remember also that your children have -privileges--they are baptized and regenerate--they are not in a state -of nature--Good Heavens, my dear lady! what is the matter?" - -The Gorgon's stony stare was genial in comparison with poor Blanche's -look of petrification. - -"Blasius!" she cried, starting to her feet, "go away! go away at -once." - -But Blasius had no such intention. He advanced with a confidential nod -to his mother, a perfect picture of sturdy, healthy, naked babyhood; -beautiful in its curves and dimples. - -"Blazeth's a pore 'ickle beggar boy wif no thoes or 'tockings -or---- Oh, mummie! that tickles awful!" - -The mellow chant ended abruptly, for Lady George had dashed at him -with an Algerian antimacassar, and now held him in her arms, trying -hard to be grave. She might have succeeded but for the Reverend -James's face of bland concern. That finished her, and she gave up the -struggle in a peal of laughter, in which her companion tried to join -feebly. - -"Bring Master Blasius' flannel dressing-gown, please," she said, when -nurse, full of explanations and excuses, flew in in a flurry; "that -and the antimacassar will keep him warm, and he can have his tea with -me." - -This incident, however, made it quite impossible for her to continue -the rôle she had been playing before. How could she? with Blasius -huddled up on her lap, eating bread and jam between his attempts to -count his bare toes; an arithmetical problem which he insisted on -solving, despite her efforts with the antimacassar. Not that the -necessity for change mattered, since she had a variety of other parts -to fall back upon, and so, being slightly bored by the Reverend -James's failure to respond, and evident disposition to remain -the spiritual director, she assumed that of Great Lady and -Helper-in-General to her world. In which character, she gave it as her -opinion that all parish clergymen should be married--if only in order -to make them understand children, and grasp the true bearings of the -education question. - -Whereat he blushed violently, and five minutes afterwards had confided -his hopes regarding Marjory to his hostess's sympathising ears. -Nothing could be more suitable, she told him; in fact, the idea had -occurred to her before, and she had no doubt that he would bring his -suit to a successful issue. Only, as a woman of the world who had seen -more of life than he had, she would advise a little boldness, a trifle -more self-assertion. His position, she said, was really an excellent -one on the whole, and she need hardly say that both she and her -brother would welcome Mrs. Gillespie as one of themselves. - -So, with a complete reversal of their mutual positions, they parted, -and the Reverend James as he walked home, full of blushes and budding -hopes, told himself that since Lady George agreed with the Bishop it -was time he bestirred himself. The picnic at the old burying-ground -would afford him an excellent opportunity of proposing, and if he made -up his mind definitely on that point, it would make him less nervous. - -So when he reached home he went to the calendar of the daily lesson, -which hung by his bed, and ticked off the five days remaining to him, -just as schoolboys tick off their holidays. Five days--and then--yes! -then he would ask Marjory to marry him. - - - - - CHAPTER XX. - - -A morning in late September on a Highland loch. How good it is to be -there! The centre just rippled with crisp waves, while shorewards the -rocks show mirrored clearly in the smooth water, each bunch of russet -bracken or tuft of yellow bent almost more brilliant in the reflection -than the reality. The hills free from haze, standing like sentinels, -solid and firm; the wild cherry leaves aping the scarlet of the rowan -berries, the birch trees beginning to drop their golden bribe into the -still, emerald laps of the mossy hollows, as if seeking to buy the -secret of perpetual summer. - -A scene where it is meet to put off the travel-stained shoes which -have borne our feet along the trivial round, the common tasks of life, -and go back to the bare feet of simple pleasure. The pleasure of -children on the seashore, of young lambs in a blossoming meadow. - -Yet there was an air of conscious effort, a virtuous look of duty on -many of the faces which assembled at the boat-house in order to be -ferried over to the other side of the loch, whence the ascent to the -old burying-ground was to be made. - -The shadow of coming separation lay upon most of the party; on none -more than Tom Kennedy, who had filched a few extra hours of Marjory's -companionship from the Great Enemy by scorning the mail cart in favour -of a solitary walk over the crest of Ben Morven to the nearest coach, -the place settled on for the picnic being so far on his way. And she, -though all unconscious of the keen pain at his heart, felt vaguely -that she would miss the touch of his kind hand, the sound of his kind -voice more than ever now, now that it seemed the only thing remaining -of the old calm confidence. Lady George was a prey to a thousand -cares, beginning with the lunch and culminating in the certainty that -some one of the three children--whom her husband had insisted on -bringing--would be drowned; just at the last, too, when she had -brought them safely through all the dangers of Gleneira, for they and -their nurse were to start by the early boat next morning. But the day -was indeed to be a fateful one, for was not this Paul's last chance of -speaking to Alice? and did not Mrs. Woodward, for all her conspicuous -calm, show to the watchful eye that she also was aware of the fact? -Paul himself showed nothing; but, then, he was always exasperatingly -cool when a little touch of excitement would, on the whole, be -pleasing. - -But of all the faces that of the Reverend James Gillespie displayed -the sense of duty most clearly, and what Paul lacked in animation he -made up for in sheer restlessness, since the time had come when he -must carry out his intention and ask Marjory Carmichael to marry him. -If only because it would be advisable to set up house at the November -term, when they would have a chance of furnishing cheaply and of -getting a good servant. So he wandered about in a fuss, alternately -trying to make an opportunity, and then flying from it, until Paul, -always observant, began to wonder what was up, and then, chancing upon -one of the bashful lover's bolder attempts, swore under his breath at -the fellow's impudence. Tom Kennedy was a gentleman, and Marjory, with -her iceberg of a heart would be happy enough in his keeping by and -bye; but this rampant, red-faced fool! And then he laughed, thinking -suddenly, causelessly, of a certain little face, looking very winsome -despite its weariness, which would have laughed too; for Mrs. Vane had -somehow failed to rally from the shock of old Peggy's death with her -usual elasticity, and was still in her room visible only to a favoured -few, Paul amongst the number. Only that morning she had looked at him -with her pretty, quizzical eyes and met his offer to escort her so far -on her southward journey with the remark that by that time he would no -longer be his own master. - -And it was true. Before he rowed across the loch again his future -would be settled, he would be Alice Woodward's Highland proprietor. - -"Your left, please, Miss Carmichael," he said, giving stroke with a -longer swing; "there is a nice, comfortable landing-place just beyond -the white stone, and I hate getting my feet wet, even in helping -ladies to keep theirs dry." - -"But we shall miss----" began Marjory. - -"Do as you're bid, my dear," put in Will Cameron, resignedly, from the -bow; "haven't you learnt by this time that the laird knows where he -wants to steer and sticks to it? After all, it saves a lot of trouble -to others." - -"Right you are!" assented Paul, gaily; "your left, please; not so much -as that; thank you! I've no desire to find the sunken rocks." - -The words were light, and a boat-load of people were listening to -them; yet Marjory, guiding the tiller ropes, felt that they were -spoken for her ear alone; that she and Paul were face to face, as they -so often were before his future, and the fact annoyed her. Yet, as -they stepped out on the little causeway of rock jutting forward like a -peer, the waves blab, blabbing upon its sides, reminded her of the -evening when she had sate listening to them and Paul had come along -the shore behind her, like another St. Christopher, bearing the burden -of the world's immortality--its childhood. - -"Tom," she said, in a low voice, turning to him in swift appeal, why -she knew not, "let us get away from all this; we might go along the -point and look for clams, as we used to do. Remember, it is the last I -shall see of you; so don't talk about manners and being wanted; don't -think of what other people think." - -She spoke petulantly, but there were sudden tears in her eyes. Yet as -they moved off together neither of then realised that a fateful moment -had come and gone; that the trivial words covered an unconscious -revolt of one side of her woman's nature against the other, and that -if, instead of hunting clams like a couple of children, he had taken -her hand and told her the truth of love and marriage, as he had seen -it in life, she would have turned instinctively from the world's -apotheosis of passion, and so have found a compass to guide her out of -danger; but Tom Kennedy, being conscious that he himself was once more -under the glamour which had come and gone many times already even in -his sober life, could not find it in his heart to decry it utterly. So -they stalked clams instead, advancing on tiptoe over the wet sand with -eyes alert for every sign of an air-hole, and then pouncing like a cat -on a mouse to seize the collapsing tube before it sank down, down, -into the depths of gravel where even finger nails could not follow it. -And to them, as they laughed and hunted, came the Reverend James, -restless as ever, yet showing to advantage in a sport which he had -practised from his barefoot childhood. - -It was good to see his fair, florid face come up red with smug triumph -from each dive as he added another clam to the heap, until Marjory -forgot everything else in emulation, and Tom Kennedy, smiling at her -eagerness, sate down to a cigarette beside Lord George, who, engaged -in the same business, was watching the children paddle in the -shallows. - -A silent, yet sympathetic audience were these two men of middle age, -smiling to themselves over the gay voices and childish sallies. Over -Eve's eleventh ineffectual attempt to swallow an oyster which would -have been successful if Adam hadn't made her laugh; over Marjory's -indignant claim to a clam, which, during the dispute, disappeared for -ever. Smiling, too, over Blasius' solemn face as he informed daddy -that there was a "big crawly wild beast down there wif wobbly legs, -and Blazeths wanted daddy's hand. Blazeths wathn't afwaid, but he -wanted daddy's hand." - -The incoming tide was drowning the round brown heads of the boulders -out on the far point, as those two red ones, so curiously alike, bent -over the "wild beast wif wobbly legs," which Adam and Eve, with -wide-eyed superiority, said was nothing but a crab, a tiny crab! A -heron, driven from its last inch of seaweed, flapped slowly across the -bay, its trailing feet almost touching the water, and the sea-pyots -circled screaming round the invaders of their happy hunting-ground. In -the bend of the bay beneath a clump of alders showed a cluster of gay -dresses busy about a tablecloth, and above them, in wooded curves -merging into sheer slopes of rock and bent, rose Ben Morven. Half-way -up, right in the open, a single holly tree, like a black shadow, -marking the turn to the old burying-ground. Lord George came back from -the wild beast with a sober face, and eyes still watching that little -red head, bent now over a stick with which the wobbly legs were being -boldly prodded to a walk. - -"Queer start, children--aren't they?" he remarked confidentially, as -he lit another cigarette. "I never thought of it before I married, -give you my word. I suppose men don't--more's the pity." He gave a -glance at his companion's face, and went on with more assurance: "You -see no one ever talks of the paternal instinct; the women are supposed -to have it all their own way, in the maternal business, and it's a -shame, for a man needs that sort of thing more than they do. A woman -can't be done out of her motherhood, but a man loses everything except -a passing pleasure if he doesn't keep straight. Look at that boy, -Kennedy! He is the very moral of me, and I had to whack him the other -day. Well, I assure you, that I felt for the first time in my life -that I was immortal--that I had a stake in time and eternity. Why -don't they teach us this when we are young? Why don't they say -something about it in the marriage service, instead of letting a -couple of young fools undertake responsibilities for which they are -not fit?" - -Tom Kennedy shook his head. "Because we are not brave enough to face -our own instincts and call a spade a spade. I served a few years in -India once, and Hindooism is, I think, the only religion which sets -personal feelings aside utterly; and there the idea has been overlaid -with a horrible sensuality. Though on the whole it is not more -sickening than our artificial sentiment. But it's a weary subject. -Everyone talks of it, and yet no one cares to go back to the -beginning; to give up the romance----" - -His eyes wandered to Marjory, and he was silent. It was true. When all -was said and done he craved for it. - -"Well," remarked Lord George, judgmatically, after a pause, "there is -something wrong, somewhere. Take my own case. I married, as most -fellows do, to please myself, without a thought of the consequences. -And though, of course, some romance is necessary to make a man give up -his club and undertake the responsibility of a boy like Blazes--Good -Lord! and I promised his mother to keep him out of mischief!" - -The last words being evoked by the sight of his youngest born prone on -his back kicking madly in six inches of water, with the crab attached -to his big toe. - -"I wanted it to come a walk wif Blazeths," he wailed pathetically; -"and it bited Blazeths instead, with a wobbly leg." - -"I knew how it would be, George," said his wife, with patient dignity, -when the culprits appeared before her. "But you are so self-confident. -You are always undertaking responsibilities for which Nature has not -fitted you. Give him to nurse, and cut the cucumber, do--there's a -good boy." - -Lord George shot a queer glance at Dr. Kennedy, and did as he was bid; -as most people did when Blanche put on her superior manner. - -"And, Dr. Kennedy," she continued, "I want you to do something for me. -The Hookers have brought--no! I don't mean the piper, George, though -they have brought him--not that it matters so much, for I have told -John Macpherson to keep him in the 'Tubhaneer,' which is anchored in -the stream, so he can do no harm, and the pipes will sound nice over -the water--No, Dr. Kennedy, it is a German professor, very -distinguished, but none of the Hooker party speak German. George will, -of course, take him in tow by and bye, being in the Foreign Office; -but just now, I thought--if you would not mind. Thanks, so much! it -always looks well to have more than one linguist. At present, I have -sent him to admire the view with Major Bertie, who says 'wunderschön' -at intervals; but that can't last long, you know." - -"My dear Blanche, you are as good as a play!" protested her husband, -convulsed with laughter, at her unconscious mimicry, and even Dr. -Kennedy found it hard to keep his countenance over her innocent -surprise. Yet he was in no mood for amusement, and his face showed it -when, lunch being over, he drew out his watch, and looked meaningly to -Marjory. - -"Is it time?" she asked, with a sudden sinking of the heart. - -"Quite time," echoed Paul, coolly, from his place by Alice Woodward; -"that is to say, if we are to be back to tea. It is a longer pull than -it looks. Now, good people! who is for the burying-ground? You are -coming, of course, Miss Woodward; I want you to see all the beauties -of Gleneira, and the view is splendid." - -The Reverend James, who had made up his mind that the descent, when -Marjory should have lost her natural escort, would be the very time -for his purpose, stood up manfully, and Major Bertie, under orders for -the time being to the athletic daughter of a neighbouring laird, -followed suit; but the rest, for the most part, declined what they -stigmatised as a gruesome invitation. The pull was not only long but -stiff, especially after lunch, and the view from below, enhanced by -idleness and a quiet cigar, good enough for them. - -So it was a small single file which, led by Paul, and brought up by -John Macpherson with the whiskey flask in case of accidents, toiled up -through the fern brakes, till half-way up the hill they struck the -path, and paused for breath beside a spring roughly set in masonry. -Beside it lay a pile of broken broomsticks, one of which Alice -Woodward took up, intending to use it as a staff. - -"It will be the staves they are using to carry the coffins," remarked -old John, cheerfully, as he wiped his forehead with his coat sleeve; -"it is breaking them they are when they come down, at the wishing -well; and the lassies will come with them to wish for a jo---- Ay! ay! -it will be what they were using for old Peggy that the leddy will be -choosing, for it's new whatever." - -Alice dropped the stick with a little shiver of disgust, and Paul -moved on impatiently, while John, in reply to a query from the Major, -went on from behind in garrulous tones, "Ou, ay! it is a job, -whatever, but it's most the auld bodies like Peggy that's wantin' to -come to the auld place, and they're fine and light; all but the old -_bodach_, Angus MacKinnon, and by 'sunder he will be a job when his -turn comes, for he's as big as a stirk. Ay! ay! as big as a stirk, -whatever." - -"There! is not that worth the climb?" cried Paul, with a ring of real -pleasure in his voice which Marjory remembered so well on many a -similar occasion, as they reached the twin holly trees--sacred to an -older cult than that which had prompted the selection of a burial site -whence Iona might sometimes be seen--and sank down upon the short -thyme-set turf to admire the view. - -"We are in luck!" cried Marjory, breathlessly. "Look! yonder is Iona." - -Out on the verge, between the golden sea and the golden sky, lay a -faint purple cloud no bigger than a man's hand. - -"But why Iona?" asked Alice Woodward. "I mean why did they want to be -buried in sight of it?" - -"As a perpetual witness to their faith when they could no longer -profess it, I suppose," said Tom Kennedy. "I like the idea." - -"Would be rather difficult to carry out in Kensal Green, I should -say," put in Paul, lightly. "It wouldn't do to bury by belief -nowadays." - -"But, surely," protested the Reverend James, "the Church custom of -burying towards the east is strictly enforced in all English -cemeteries." He might as well have kept silence as far as those -three--who by chance were sitting together--were concerned, for their -thoughts were far ahead of him. - -"I don't know," replied Dr. Kennedy, absently, "I think a broad -division would suffice. Those who hope--not necessarily for themselves -personally--and those who don't. And most of us, who care to think at -all, look 'sunward,' as Myers says, 'through the mist, and speak to -each other softly of a hope.'" - -"A mistake," broke in Paul's clearer voice. "It is better to thank -with brief thanksgiving 'Whatever gods there be, that no life lives -for ever----'" - -"Finish the quotation, please," put in Marjory, quickly. "'That e'en -the weariest river winds somewhere safe to sea.' What more can anyone -want?" She stretched her hand, as she spoke, to the glitter and gleam -on the far horizon, and then turned with a smile to her companions. -"And this is the sunniest spot in the whole glen--the first to -get the light, and the last to lose it. I couldn't wish for a better -resting-place." - -"I should prefer the society of a cemetery," remarked Paul; "one's -tombstone would not be so detestably conspicuous as it would be up -here. Imagine it--Macleod of Gleneira, etc., etc.!" - -"Why should you have a tombstone at all?" asked the girl, lightly. "I -hate them; horrid, unsatisfactory things, full of texts that have -nothing to do with you, yourself." - -"Well," put in Major Bertie, who had just returned from a tour of -inspection, "there's an epitaph up there, which, as the Americans say, -wraps round everything, and makes discontent impossible--'To John -Stewart, his ancestors and descendants.' That ought to satisfy you, -Miss Carmichael; or you might compose your own curious derangement, -like a fellow I knew in the regiment--classical sort of chap. He used -to write the most touching things, and weep over them profusely. Got -blown up in the Arsenal one day, and didn't need any of them. It's a -fact, Macleod. Before your time. So, if you have a fancy that way, -Miss Carmichael----" - -"I'll note it in my will," she replied evasively; then, hearing a low -voice beside her quoting the lines beginning, "He is beyond the shadow -of night," she turned to Paul in quick surprise. - -"I have the knack of reading your thoughts, you see, though I don't -share them," he said quietly, adding in a lower tone: "And now, -Kennedy, I hurry no man's cattle, but if you are to catch that coach -you should be going, especially if Miss Carmichael is to see you to -the top of the ridge." - -The inexpressible charm, which was his by nature, born of a gracious -remembrance of other folk's interest, was on him as he spoke, and -contrasted sharply with the lack of it in the Reverend James -Gillespie, who jumped to his feet in a moment in a desperate resolve. - -"If you like, Miss Marjory, I will go so far, and escort you back." - -Paul looked at him distastefully from head to foot, and Dr. Kennedy -frowned, and set the suggestion aside decisively. "Thanks, Gillespie, -but I have some business to talk over with my ward. Good-bye, Macleod, -and thanks--for many kindnesses." - -"Good-bye, and--and good luck! Miss Woodward, if you don't mind, I -think we ought to be starting tea-wards. The downward path is easy, -but there are plenty of beauties to admire on the way. I am always too -much out of breath to do so on the upward path. Excelsior is not my -motto." - -Yet as they paused at the first turn he looked back towards the two -figures cresting the rise, and remarked easily to his companion that -Miss Carmichael was quite a picture on the hillside, and walked like a -shepherd. And then, as easily, he proposed taking a _détour_ through a -nut wood, and so by a path he knew back to the beach. - -"Alice would like a cup of tea, please; she is rather tired," he said -to his sister, when they arrived there, and Lady George gave a little -gasp of relief. "Oh, Paul! I'm so glad! What a dear boy you are!" - -And about the same time Tom Kennedy and Marjory Carmichael stood side -by side on a neck of land connecting one range of hills with another. -The bog myrtle, crushed under their feet, sent an aromatic, -invigorating scent into the air. The fresh cool sea breeze, which had -gathered a heather perfume in its passage over the windswept moor, -blew in their faces, and a golden mist cloud, growing above the rising -shadow of the little valley on either side of them, shut out the world -below. The only sign of life, save those two standing hand in hand, -being a stone-chat twittering on a boulder, and a group of scared -sheep, waiting with backward turned heads for the next movement to -send them with a headlong rush and a clatter of stones into the mists -below. - -But none came. For those two stood silent for a time. - -"Oh, Tom!" she said at last; "was there ever anyone so good, so kind -as you are?" - -He paused a moment, looking into her tearful eyes, and something of -the earth earthy, seemed to slip from him, leaving him a clearer -vision. - -"You shall answer that question for yourself, some day, my friend," he -said. "A year hence--two years--three years. What does it matter? -_Auf-wieder-sehn!_" - -"_Auf-wieder-sehn!_" - -The echo of her own reply came back to her from the mist as she stood, -after he had gone, looking into the valley. - -_Auf-wieder-sehn!_ Yes!--to such a tie as that there could be no other -parting. - - - - - CHAPTER XXI. - - -The Reverend James Gillespie had a certain coarse fibre in him, which -made it only natural that the snub direct he had received from Dr. -Kennedy should make him more determined than he had been before -on a _tęte-a-tęte_ with Marjory. Consequently, much to her disgust, -she found him solemnly waiting for her on a tombstone in the old -burying-ground. The spectacle was an irritating one. - -"Why didn't you go down with the others?" she asked crossly. "You know -quite well I didn't need--anyone." A certain politeness prevented her -employing the personal pronoun. Not that her lover would have cared, -since he came of a class in which a certain amount of shrewishness in -the wooed is not only considered correct, but, to a certain extent, -propitious. And, although he had a veneer of polish on those points -which had come into friction with his new world, love-making was not -one of them. There he was, simply the cottier's son, full of inherited -tradition in regard to rural coquetry. A fact which, at the outset, -put Marjory at a disadvantage, since he refused to take the -uncompromising hint, which she gave as soon as it dawned upon her what -his purpose really was. And yet she could hardly refuse the man before -he had asked her the momentous question. So it was with concentrated -mixture of sheer wrath and intense amusement that she suddenly found -him, as they paused by the wishing-well, on his knees before her -declaiming his passion in set terms. The disposition to box his ears -vanished in almost hysterical laughter, until the blank surprise on -his face recalled her to the fact that the man was, at any rate, -paying her the highest tribute in his power, and had a right to be -heard. But not in that ridiculous position! - -"You had better get up, Mr. Gillespie," she said peremptorily; "the -ground is quite damp, and I can hear what you have to say much better -when you are standing." - -The facts were undeniable but the prosaic interruption had checked the -flow of Mr. Gillespie's eloquence, and he stood red and stuttering -until Marjory's slender stock of patience was exhausted, and she -interrupted him, loftily: - -"I suppose you meant just now to ask me to be your wife? If that was -so----" - -Her tone roused his temper. "Such was my intention," he interrupted -sulkily. "I thought I spoke pretty plainly, and I fancy you must have -been prepared for it." - -Prepared! prepared for this!--this outrage on her girlish dreams. For -it was her first proposal. What right had this man to thrust himself -into her holy of holies and smirch the romance--the beauty of it all? -It is the feeling with which many a girl listens for the first time to -a lover. - -"Prepared!" she echoed. "Are you mad? The very idea is preposterous!" - -His face was a study. "The Bishop," he began, "and Lady George didn't -seem to--to think----" - -"Then I am to understand that you have consulted them?" she asked, in -supreme anger; but his sense of duty came to his aid and made him -bold. - -"The Bishop, of course. Apart from his spiritual authority, he has -claims upon me which I should be indeed ungrateful to ignore, and--and -it meant much to be sure of your welcome." - -The real good feeling underlying the stilted words went straight to -Marjory's sense of justice, and made her, metaphorically, pass the -Bishop. Besides, this little discussion had, as it were, taken the -personal flavour from the point at issue and left her contemptuously -tolerant, as she had been many and many a time over the Reverend -James's views of life. - -"And Lady George," she asked, categorically, magisterially; "has she -also claims to be consulted?" - -He coughed. "I rather think she broached the subject. She--she saw I -loved you." And here the man himself broke through the clerical -coating. "For I do love you. It isn't preposterous. I would do my best -to make you a good husband, and--and you could teach the school -children anything you liked." - -"The Bishop wouldn't approve of that," she replied impatiently, yet in -kinder tones. "Oh! Mr. Gillespie, it only shows how little you -understand--how little you know. You would never have dreamed of such -a thing, you and the Bishop, if you had had the least conception of -what I really am. Perhaps I had no right to call it preposterous, but -it is impossible, utterly impossible, and he ought to have seen it." - -This slur on his patron's acumen roused the young man's doggedness. "I -do not see why it should be either preposterous or impossible, unless -you love someone else." - -Then she turned and rent him, a whole torrent of indignant regret and -dislike seeming to loosen her tongue. "Love! Oh! don't dare to mention -the word. You don't understand it--it is profanation--I don't know -anything about it myself, but _this_ must be wrong. Ah! Mr. Gillespie, -for goodness sake let us talk about something else!" - -"Then I am to understand that you refuse," he began. - -"Refuse! of course I refuse." She felt she would have liked to go down -among the whole posse of people--Paul Macleod among the number, for -all she knew--who had deemed such a thing possible, and cry: "Listen! -I have refused him, do you hear? I hate him, and you, too." But the -next moment the very thought of coming amongst them, with him, as if -of her own free will, seemed to her unbearable, and she stopped short -in the headlong course downwards, which she had begun. - -"I suppose you couldn't help it," she said, with a catch in her -breath, "and it is very kind of you, of course, and I am obliged and -all that; but if you wouldn't mind leaving me I should prefer it. I -don't want any tea, thanks; all I want is to get home." - -"I--I am sorry," he stammered, utterly taken aback. - -"Oh, don't be sorry!" she interrupted; "it has nothing to do with you, -I assure you. Only it is so strange at first. Good-bye." - -She was off at a dignified walk, with her head in the air, in an -opposite direction before he had recovered from his mingled surprise -and consternation at the effect his proposal had had on her. At any -rate, she had not been indifferent, and this thought bringing a -certain consolation with it, he made his way down to the picnic party, -and was soon recovering his equanimity over scones and jam. - -Marjory, on the other hand, felt her indignation grow as she hurried -along, regardless of briars and brakes, to the shore beyond the -Narrowest, where, out of sight of the others, she might hope to find a -boat which would ferry her across the loch. - -She found one, but hardly what she desired, since, as she made her way -through the alder brakes to a projecting rock, she saw the "Tubhaneer" -lying close in, with Paul Macleod and Alice Woodward in the stern, -while her brother and two of the children were lolling about in the -bows. They had been amusing themselves by tacking lazily about in the -slack water. - -She would have beaten a quick retreat had not Paul's eye been quicker -and a swift turn of the rudder shown her that she was observed. - -"Oh, don't trouble," she called, "I only want to get across, and I'll -find one of the rowing boats about, I expect." - -"They are above," he called back; "the tide is running out fast now, -so I sent them to the upper bay. Just step on the further rock, if you -can, and I'll run her up to it for a second." - -There was something in the easy familiarity and decision of his manner -which always soothed her into reasonable compliance, and the next -minute she found herself apologising to Alice Woodward as the bellying -sail slanted them across the loch. - -"Oh, Alice won't mind," said Paul, cheerfully; "she likes sailing, -don't you, Alice?" - -Marjory looked at them, as they looked at each other, and was silent. - -So that was settled. And that again was Love. Love and Marriage! What -a ghastly farce it was when you came close to it! - -"I'm sorry Kennedy has gone," remarked Paul, with his eyes on her -face; "he is one of the best fellows I ever met. We shall have to -tack, Sam; the tide is too strong." - -Even so; the uncertain breeze failing ere they reached the slack -water, they missed the landing-stage by a few yards and drifted into -the shallow, seaweedy bay below. But Paul was over the side, knee-deep -among the boulders, ere Marjory could expostulate. "Steady her a bit, -Sam, you can get a grip on that oarweed. Now then, Miss Carmichael, if -you please; I'm a duffer at steering, but I can lift you across -easily, if you'll allow me--thanks." - -She would have preferred to wade but for the opposition it would have -provoked, and when, after a few slippery strides, he set her down on -the shingle, turned to go with the briefest of acknowledgments. - -"Wait a bit, please," he said, quietly. "Alice, I must see Miss -Carmichael past the gate. MacInnes' bull is loose, and he isn't always -quite canny. I'll be back in a minute. Keep the helm in, Sam, and -don't let her drift; the current runs like a mill race round the -point." - -They were already well over the soft, sea-pink set turf; Marjory -walking fast, with heightened colour. - -"There is really no need for you to keep Miss Woodward waiting," she -said impatiently. "I am quite accustomed to take care of myself." - -"Alice will not mind." - -Alice! Was he so eager for her to realise the new position that he -must needs enforce the knowledge of it upon her in this fashion? - -"I am glad Miss Woodward does not mind. I should." - -"I am perfectly aware of that--you have not her philosophic -acquiescence in the inevitable. It is a pity, for you fret yourself -needlessly over people--who are not worth it." - -Was he not worth it? The thought made her walk faster, until a sudden -cry from behind made her companion pause and look back hastily. - -"Good God! they'll be on the rocks," he cried, as, without an -instant's delay, he dashed across the sward down to the shore, -followed closely by Marjory, whose heart throbbed with sudden fear as -she realised what had occurred. The boat which they had left safely in -the backwater a minute before, was now racing down the stream with -sails full set. How this had occurred was another question, which -could not then be answered. Possibly Sam, proud of his new seamanship, -had proposed a sail. Anyhow, there they were in the stream, and even -without knowledge of that sunken shelf of rock half a mile further -down the curve, over which the water rushed in a fall at this time of -the tide, the young man sufficiently grasped the danger of the -situation to be doing his best to lower the sail again. But the rope -had kinked in the pulley, and the sudden discovery that he had -forgotten to re-ship the rudder--which Paul had removed in order to -bring the boat closer into shore--completed his consternation, -rendering him absolutely helpless. All this Captain Macleod took in as -he ran, and ere Marjory had reached him he had kicked off his boots -and flung coat and waistcoat aside to free himself for the sharp, -short struggle with the racing tide, in which lay his only chance of -reaching the boat. Then he waded breast high in the slack water, and -bided his time. It needed quick thought and quicker decision to seize -the exact moment when, by one supreme effort, he could hope to -succeed; and yet Marjory, watching with held breath, felt a wild rush -of exultation, not of fear, as with one splendid stroke he shot far -into the current. Swimming has always an effortless look, and the -sweeping stream, carrying him down, remorselessly aided the illusion, -so that not even Marjory, with her knowledge of the tide, guessed how -nearly Paul Macleod's strength was spent as his hand touched the -gunwale. But touch it he did, and the next moment, with Sam's help, he -was aboard and busy at the sail, while Alice Woodward, deeming the -danger over, began to cry helplessly, and even Marjory breathed again. -Only for a moment, however; the next, though the sail was down, she -realised that the boat was still in the current, and that Paul was -vainly trying to tear up a thwart. The rudder! the rudder must have -gone adrift in Sam's clumsy efforts to ship it! - -Then they were no better off than before--nay, worse! since they were -nearer those unseen rocks, and he--_he_ was in danger now. - -What was to be done? The thought was agonising as, scarcely knowing -why, she kept abreast of the drifting boat, stumbling over the -boulders, slipping on the seaweed, unable to see, to think, to do -anything save listen to the ominously rising roar of the water which -just beyond the turn fell in a regular cascade over that black jagged -shelf of rock. - -Ah, those helpless children! and Paul! She must do something--try to -do something. And then on a sudden it came to her, as such things do -come, as if they had all been settled beforehand clear and connected. -At the last spit of land, not fifty yards above the fall, a streak of -sand bank, capped by a pile of boulders, jutted out. If she could -cross the dip and reach them! The herons used to sit there till well -on to half-tide, and once she and Will had found oysters. The trivial -thoughts came, as they will come in times of stress, flashing through -the brain without obscuring it. Even as she thought them, her mind was -busy over the one certainty, that somehow she must give help! By -cutting across the next grassy curve she would be there in time. They -might think she was deserting them. What then? If she could succeed -even so far, _he_ would know that it was not so--_he_ would understand -that she meant to be nearer--nearer. - -He did; and a great glow of pride in her pluck came to him, when, as -the boat swept round the curve, he saw her floundering, half swimming -towards the boulders, and at the sight bent quickly for a coil of -rope. But she had not thought of that--her one impulse having been to -get nearer. - -And now she is as far as she can go. Sheer at her feet, sliding among -the stones, is the stream--below her is the roar and rush of the fall, -save to her left, where it shelves to an eddy--above her is the boat -drifting, drifting, more slowly now, for the shelf of rock backs the -water a little. Then for the first time she realises what is to be -done, for there is Paul at the bows with the coil poised in his hand. - -Of course! that was it! that was it! - -She dug her heels into the crevices of the boulders as she stood -knee-deep among them, and kept her eyes upon his face. - -"Now!" - -As the cry left her lips, something like a black snake shot out -through the air and flung itself across her breast, stinging and -almost blinding her with pain; but there was no time for pain--no -time! To seize it, bend it round the nearest boulder, and so twice -round her waist with a loop through across her arm, took all her -thoughts, all her strength, till, with a slow rasping noise of the wet -rope slipping on stone, the strain began and the knot grew tight. -Tight.--tighter--then a slip--then tighter again. - -Pain--yes, it was pain. My God! what pain. Ah! another slip. But -Paul--was that a knife he had in his hand? No! No! that should never -be; there should be no more slipping even if she drowned for it. With -more of sheer obstinacy than courage she flung herself sideways in the -water among the rocks. So, with her whole body wedged in behind the -two boulders, there could be no more slipping. There could be nothing -more but life or death for both of them. - -And it was life. Paul Macleod, standing knife in hand, ready to cut -the rope, felt the claim of her pluck to fair play, and paused. She -should do this thing if she could! And even as the decision came to -him, came also the knowledge that she had done it, as, with a sidelong -sway the boat brought up and drifted into slacker water. - -Five minutes after he was untying the knot and binding his wet -handkerchief round her bruised arm. - -"Salt water," he said, a trifle unsteadily, "is the best thing in the -world for bruises, and you are more bruised than hurt, I fancy. No! -Blanche," for Alice Woodward's shrieks had by that time attracted -plenty of help, and the boats had come over in hot haste from the -other side; "don't fuss over Miss Carmichael with sal volatile and -salts. She doesn't need it. But we are both wet through, and if she is -wise she will walk home with me at once. It is better than waiting for -the carriage." - -"Yes, please," she replied, catching eagerly at the chance of escape -from the general excitement and gratitude. "Indeed, I would rather, -Lady George; I am not a bit hurt, only, as your brother says, wet -through, so I had better get home at once." - -They started off together at a brisk pace, but silently, until as they -topped the nearest rise, the chill evening wind striking through her -wet garments, made her shiver. Then he held out his hand to her -suddenly, with a smile. - -"Come! let us run. It will take off the stiffness and keep us both -warm." So hand in hand, like a couple of children, they ran through -the autumn woods, startling the roe deer from the oak coverts, and the -sea-gulls from the little sheltered bays. Hand in hand, while the -shadows darkened and the gold in the west faded to grey. Warm, human -hand in hand, confident, content in their companionship, and seeking -nothing more than that confidence, that content. - -"I don't think you'll take cold," said Paul, with the blood tingling -in his veins, and his breath coming fast. - -"I don't think I shall," she laughed. - - - - - CHAPTER XXII. - - -But the remembrance of that thoughtless run through the darkening -woods seemed incredible--to the girl, at least--when next morning her -companion in it came down, as in duty bound, to inquire after the -result of her wetting, for he was palpably conventional and -commonplace. Partly because Lady George accompanied him, eager to -renew her protestations of gratitude, and partly because it was his -way whenever he had made any special departure from the ordinary line -of conduct, which he laid down for himself. This evident artificiality -had the effect of producing the same sort of unreality in Marjory, so -that the only straightforward part of the interview came from Lord -George, who, with an odd little quake in his voice, thanked her for -the fact that Blazes was at the present moment rehearsing the scene in -the nursery. - -"You should see the little beggar," he said. "'Pon my word he doesn't -seem to have missed a single detail. Has Sam to the life, and we have -been obliged to forbid Alice's screams; they were heard all over the -house." - -"And what does he say was his own part in the business?" asked -Marjory. "All I remember is a face--very like yours, Lord George--with -great wide eyes, while Eve and Adam were hiding theirs." - -Lord George gave another odd little sound between a laugh and a sob. -"He says he sate still and swore, like Uncle Paul!" - -"I'm afraid I did, Miss Carmichael," confessed the culprit, with a -flash of the old manner; "but really, the tangle that young idiot had -got things into, and stramash----" He turned to the window with a -frown, and looked out. "You are the heroine of the hour, I see," he -added cynically. "There is the Manse machine, with your two devoted -admirers in it, come to congratulate you. Blanche, if you have induced -Miss Carmichael to dine with us to-night--our last night--we had -better quit the court. By the way, Mrs. Vane desired me to say, Miss -Carmichael, that she did not intend to leave Gleneira without seeing -you again; so, as she is not well enough to come to the Lodge, you may -be induced to take pity on her." - -The covert implication that some such inducement was necessary to -overcome her reluctance, stung the girl's pride, without her -recognising the cause of it, and she accepted the invitation -hurriedly, telling herself she was glad it was the last, and that -after to-morrow she could return to the old peaceful days. The thought -made her turn with a quick expansion of face and manner to the two old -men who advanced to meet them, as she accompanied Lady George to the -garden-gate. Two old men almost tremulous with pride and delight. - -"_Tanto fortior tanto felicior!_" cried the little Father, his fresh, -round face beaming with sheer content. - -"So, so, young lady! we have heard the story," put in the minister, -full of courtly bows, in which those suggestions of a shapely calf had -a fair field. "True is it that _Fortis cadere, cedere non potest_. Ah, -Lady George! I have to express my great thankfulness that a dreadful -bereavement has been spared you, under Providence, by our dear young -friend's courage; or, rather, by her wisdom, since, without the quick -thought, the former would have been useless. In this case, to -paraphrase the saying, _tam Minerva quam Marte_, as even a soldier -must allow." - -"You will not find me backward, sir, in acknowledging either Miss -Carmichael's wisdom or her courage," replied Paul, thus challenged; -but his tone had that suggestion of a hidden meaning in it, to which -Lady George objected, and rightly, as bad form; so she covered it by a -remark upon the beauty of a boy, who stood holding open the gate. - -"He is a little like that crayon portrait of you when you were a boy, -Paul," she added cheerfully. - -"He is old Peggy's grandson," replied Marjory, "and as he has been -left to Dr. Kennedy's care, I am to look after him. He will be my -first pupil." - -"Then the likeness will soon disappear," said Paul, in a low voice, as -he passed out. - -"Perhaps he will be not the worse of that," retorted Marjory, in the -same tone. - -"I don't know. Men who are brought up by women are generally prigs." - -"And women who have been brought up by men?" she asked sharply, not -thinking of herself or her past. - -"Are brave," he said quietly. - -Brave! So he thought that of her. The one word was worth all the rest. -And as she went up the path again with Father Macdonald on her right -hand and Mr. Wilson on her left, all their fine phrases seemed -forgotten in that simple acknowledgment. She would remember that -always, even when the old peaceful days came back, as they would on -the morrow. There was only the dinner at the Big House between her and -that desirable consummation; but that was an ordeal without Tom, who -was at home anywhere. - -To tell truth, it would have been an ordeal to one less reluctant than -Marjory; for a general air of uncertainty, like that of amateur -theatricals when the prompter is best man, pervaded the party. Mrs. -Woodward called her host by his Christian name with a manifest effort -of memory, and when Sam ventured on a like familiarity with Blanche, -her face betrayed her real feelings. Indeed, she took a private -opportunity of confiding to Lord George her relief that it was only a -one-night part, as she could not stand it much longer. - -"Yet you condemn poor Paul to a life-long connection with that young -bounder. Upon my soul! you women are queer creatures;" and the -perversity of the feminine nature appeared to absorb him for the rest -of the evening. Even Mrs. Vane, who ventured down to dinner for the -first time, could make nothing of the ghastly function, so she retired -immediately afterwards on plea of being tired, chiefly because she -wished to have an opportunity of seeing Marjory alone, which she -secured by bidding her in a whisper be sure and come to her room after -she had said good-bye to everyone else. - -Her departure reduced the drawing-room to flat despair. - -"It is the sadness of farewell," remarked Miss Smith, part of whose -contract was that she was to remain to the last and see nothing was -forgotten; not even a decent show of sentiment. - -"Parting is such sweet sorrow," murmured the Major under his -moustache. He was the most cheerful of the party, since his flirtation -had resulted in another week's grouse shooting with his charmer's -father. - -"Mr. St. Clare has written such a sweet thing called 'Good-bye,'" -continued the Moth, appealing to the Poet. "He might recite it to -cheer us up." - -"I wonder how many poets there are who haven't written a piece on that -subject," put in Paul, hastily, as Mr. St. Clare gave a preliminary -cough, "and yet it will supply tons of agony to generations still -unborn." - -"There are forty songs of that name," remarked Alice, practically. "I -wanted one for a friend, and the music man told me so." - -Then the remembrance of that friend, a certain young fellow with a -pleasant baritone voice, busy over tallow at Riga, gave her quite a -pang of regret. - -"Mostly trash, too," assented the Major; "Tosti's is the best, but -even there one is all battered to pieces before the end." - -"That is true," put in Marjory, eagerly. "You see, the poet begins by -fine-drawing the agony, the composer follows suit, and the singer -carries out the distortion. So in the third verse there is nothing for -it but to 'kill the coo.'" - -"I haven't heard 'Auld Robin Gray' for twenty years," murmured Lord -George. "No one sings anything but German nowadays. German or comic -operas." - -"Miss Carmichael sings Scotch songs; I've heard her," said Paul from -the skein of silk he was holding for Alice Woodward. - -"Oh, do!" cried the Moth. "Something touching." - -"Somethin' to cheer us up, you mean," put in Sam; "somethin' with a -chorus, you know." - -"Something old-fashioned," protested Lord George. - -"Something appropriate to the occasion," suggested his wife. - -"Something Miss Carmichael approves of," came from the skein of silk. - -The girl stood by the piano for an instant, looking at them all with a -touch of fine scorn in her face. - -"I will do my best," she said at last, with a laugh. The next instant, -with a crash of chords, her clear, fresh, young voice rang through the -room in that gayest and saddest of songs:-- - - - "A weary lot is thine, fair maid, - A weary lot is thine; - To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, - And press the rue for wine. - A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, - A feather of the blue, - A doublet of the Lincoln green, - No more of me you knew, - My love, - No more of me you knew." - - -Paul's hands turning the skeins paused, his eyes were on the girl's -face as, with a mixture of recklessness and regret, she went on-- - - - "The morn is merry June, I trow, - The rose is budding fain, - But she shall bloom in winter snow - Ere we two meet again! - He turned his charger as he spake - Upon the river shore, - Said 'Adieu for evermore, - My love, - And adieu for evermore.'" - - -"What a heartless, unromantic, roving wretch!" remarked Lady George, -in the pause which followed the refrain. "I hope he was jilted after -all by the heiress; there generally is an heiress in these cases." -Then, becoming aware of the possible indiscretion of her words, she -looked at her brother hurriedly. - -"In that case he married and lived happily ever afterwards; at least, -that is what I should have done in his case. And I don't think he was -so heartless, after all. He told the truth. It isn't as if he had -sneaked away without saying good-bye." - -Marjory rose from the piano with a little shrug of her shoulders. - -"I must say good-night, at any rate, Lady George, and sneak up to see -Mrs. Vane; for it is getting late, and you have all to be up so -early." - -Paul, standing at the door holding it open for her to pass through, -was the last of the group to whom she had to give the conventional -farewell. - -"Good-bye," she said, feeling above her real regret a relief that this -was the end. - -"_Auf-wieder-sehn_," he replied. That was what Tom had said. As she -ran upstairs to Mrs. Vane's room she was telling herself passionately -that she did not want to see Captain Macleod again--that she would -rather he went out of her life altogether, and cease to make her -wonder at his changeful moods. - -"_Entrez_," said the soft voice to her knock, and the next moment she -felt herself in an atmosphere in which she had never been before. The -semi-darkness of the pink-shaded light, the littered dressing-table, -the soft perfume, the thousand and one evidences of an almost sensuous -ease were to her absolutely novel. And the small figure, nestling in -the armchair, so dainty in its laces and little velvet-shod feet. All -that meant something she had never grasped before, something which -attracted and yet repelled her. - -"How pretty it is," she said, in sudden impulse, as her fingers -stroked one of the soft folds almost caressingly. Mrs. Vane's hand -went out swiftly, and drew hers closer. - -"Don't, child! That does for me, not for you. So this is good-bye. You -are not sorry?" Her eyes scanned the girl's closely, and then she -smiled. "If you are, you will get over it soon. That is the best of -work. I often wish I had some--to make me forget myself." - -"But you do work--you work harder than anyone I know, in a way. Why, -to-night we were quite dull; so dull without you! Everyone missed you; -and yet----" - -"And yet? out with it, little one!" - -"I was wondering if it was worth it?" - -"Yes! if you have a craze to be admired, as I have. But I didn't ask -you to come here in order to talk about myself. You would not -understand me if I did. Pray Heaven you never may. So you have said -good-bye to them all, and you are not sorry! That is well. Now, let me -wish you good luck, and give you a word of advice." - -"Twenty, if you like." - -"Make the most of that luck--and _Alphonse_." - -"You mean Dr. Kennedy?" asked the girl, stiffly. - -"Dr. Kennedy. There are not many like him in this world." - -"I doubt if there are any. At least, I have not met them," she -replied, with a quick flush of impatience. - -"I am glad to hear you say that. Good-bye, my dear, and forget us all -as soon as you can." - -"I shall remember your kindness--for you have been kind--all of you. -Good-bye." - -When the door had closed, Mrs. Vane leant back in her chair with a -sigh of relief. That was over then, and, so far as she could judge, -without harm to the girl. And now--now she could face the other -problem. Perhaps there need be no harm there, either, but she must -think--she must think. So in the softness, and the dimness, and the -luxury, her face grew more anxious, more weary, until the memory of -Marjory's words came back to her. - -Was it worth it all? Whether it was worth it or not did not matter; -the plotting and planning had become a second nature to her--she must -think--she must think! - -And Marjory, passing out into the calm cool of the night, gave a sigh -of relief also. It was over; that strange life, so different from the -future one which lay before her. Was she sorry? Yes! a little. No one -could know Paul Macleod and not feel a regret at the thought of his -future. Yet she was glad it was over despite that queer sort of numb -pain at her heart at the thought of his unfailing kindness to her. And -now she would never see him again, never---- A red star showed low -down behind a turn in the rhododendrons, and a moment after Paul's -voice said easily, as he threw away his cigar: - -"You have not been long." - -So it was not over! That was her first thought, and then came a quick -flutter at her heart. Over! was not it rather just beginning for -this--_this_ was new. Her pride rose in arms against it instantly. - -"I did not expect--" she began almost haughtily. - -"Did you not? That was rather foolish of you. You expected me to let -you walk home alone; but I think I know my duties; as a host, at any -rate." - -It was true. He did know them. There could not be two opinions as to -his considerate courtesy to all. She admitted the fact to herself -gladly, telling herself that it was quite natural he should see her -home, though the possibility of his doing so had not occurred to her. -Hitherto, of course, Tom had been with her; to-night she was alone. It -was the usual thing; yet not usual, surely, that they should be -walking fast through the darkness without a word, just as if they had -quarrelled. What was there to quarrel about? Nothing. Not his -engagement certainly, though he might think so if she kept silent on a -fact which no one had attempted to conceal. Hitherto she had had no -opportunity of alluding to it, but now there was no excuse. The merest -acquaintance would be expected to take such an opportunity of wishing -him good luck, unless--unless some personal motive prevented it. And -there was none. How could there be? since Paul was surely welcome to -do as he liked. - -Yet, for a time, the crunch of the gravel beneath their feet as they -walked on in silence was the only sound upon the cool night air. But -the glimmering white of the Lodge gate nerved her to the effort. - -"I want to congratulate you, Captain Macleod," she began, when he -interrupted her quickly. - -"Hush! If there cannot be truth, don't let there be falsehood between -us." - -It was as if a thunderbolt had fallen, piercing her ignorance. She -stopped short, her pulses bounding to that strange new thrill in his -voice which seemed to make her forget her surprise, her indignation. -She had to steady her own tones ere she could reply. - -"There has been no falsehood on my part." - -"Has there not? Then there shall be none on mine. Marjory! I love you! -Nay! you shall listen----" His outstretched arm barred her quick -movement of disdain. "I shall not keep you long, but you must hear the -truth. I've loved you from the beginning--I love you now--I feel as if -I should love you always----" - -She stood there as if she had been turned to stone, listening, -listening, like a child to some fairy tale; and in the darkness a look -that had never been there before crept to her clear eyes, and a quiver -to her mouth. - -"Yes! I love you; not only as most men count love, so that the -touch of your hand thrills me, and the thought of your kisses is as -heaven---- Don't shrink from the truth--you must face it sometime--why -not now? It is so, and God knows it is no new thing to me. But this is -new--that you are my soul--if I have one--Marjory! Marjory! Why have -you made me feel like this?--why would you never see me as I really -am?--why would you always believe me better than I was?" - -His passionate questioning seemed to pass her by. She stood silent -till, in the darkness, he seized her hands and drew her closer to him, -peering into her face as if to read the answer there. - -"For pity's sake don't look so kind, so sweet," he burst out -vehemently, for even in the faint starlight he could see something of -her eyes. "Tell me how vile I am--then I could go--then I could leave -you! Listen to me, Marjory--" his voice grew calmer, and a sort of -bitter entreaty came to its passionate anger--"I know quite well--I am -certain that my only chance of living what you hold to be a worthy -life lies with you, and yet I have renounced it--I do renounce it -without a shadow of remorse. Is not that enough? You are my better -self, my one hope of redemption, yet still I say, Adieu, my love, -adieu, for evermore!" - -And then the half-seen softness of her face seemed to madden him. -"Before God you _shall_ see me as I am. You _shall_ understand." - -His arms clasped her close, his reckless, passionate kiss was on her -lips, and then---- - -Then he stood as it were before the tribunal which he had -invoked--that tribunal of perfect knowledge, of blinding truth, in -which alone lies the terror of judgment. - -"Marjory!" The whisper could scarcely be heard. "Marjory! is it true? -My God! is it true that you love me?" He still held her, but with a -touch which had changed utterly, and his tone was almost pitiful in -its appeal. "Marjory! why--why did I not know? Why did you hide -yourself from me?" - -"I did not know myself," she answered, and her voice had a -ring of pain in it; "how could I know? But it would have made no -difference--no difference to you." - -The keenest reproach could not have hit him so hard as this -instinctive defence of her own ignorance, her own innocence; it -pierced the armour of his worldliness and went straight to that part -of his nature which, even at his worst, held fast to life in a sort of -veiled self-contempt. - -"You are right; it would have made no difference, no difference to -such as I am." Then in the darkness he was at her feet kissing the hem -of her garment. - -"Adieu, my love; adieu for evermore!" - -The next instant the sound of his retreating footsteps broke the -stillness, and she was alone. - -Alone, with a smile upon her face--a smile of infinite tenderness for -his manhood and for her own new-found womanhood, which tingled in each -vein and seemed to fill the whole world with the cry, "He loves me! he -loves me!" - -So this was Love. This unreasoning joy, this absorbing desire to hap -and to hold, to let all else slip by and be forgotten as nothing -worth; to live for oneself alone--oneself, since he and she were -one--one only! - -Yes; she loved him like that. And he? The memory of his voice, the -clasp of his hand, the touch of his lips came back to her in a rush, -dazing and bewildering her utterly, so that she stretched her arms -into the night and whispered into the darkness: "Paul, come back! you -must come back and tell me what it means. Paul! Paul!" - -But he was gone; and then the pity of it, the shame that he had left -her came home to her, not for herself, but for him, and with a little -short, sharp cry, such as will come with sudden physical pain, she -turned on her way tearless, composed, half stunned by her own emotion. - -When she had undressed she blew out the candle, and, kneeling by the -window, pressed her forehead against the cool glass while she gazed -unseeingly into the night. - -So this was Love!--the Love which the poets called divine--the Love to -which she had looked forward all her life. What did it mean? What was -it, this feeling which had come to her unbidden, unrecognised? For now -with opened eyes she understood that it had been there almost from the -beginning; that it had been the cause of all her moods and his. The -curious attraction and repulsion, the unrest, the desire to influence -him. Ought she to have known this sooner? Perhaps; and yet, how could -she when neither her own nature or her education had given her a hint -of this thing? The Love she had dreamed of had been a thing of the -mind, of conscious choice, and this was not. No! best to tell the -truth--it was not! - -As she knelt there, alone in her ignorance, not so much of evil as of -the realities of life, she could yet see that this unreasoning -attraction--though with her it could not but be indissolubly mixed up -with something higher, something nobler than itself; something which -craved a like nobility in its object--was yet in its very essence of -the earth earthy. - -Without that something what was it? - -She was clear sighted was this girl, whose reasoning powers had been -trained to be truthful; so she did not attempt to deny that Paul -Macleod was not her ideal of what a man should be. That her whole soul -went out in one desire that he should be so, and in a tender longing -to help him, to comfort and console him, did not alter the fact. That -desire, that longing, was apart from this bewildering emotion which -filled the world with the cry, "He loves me! He loves me!" She loved -him as he was; not as he ought to be. - -As he was! And then her eyes seemed to come back from the darkness and -find a light as she remembered those words of his: "It is not only as -if I loved you as men count love." - -Then he, too, understood--he, too, was torn in twain. A sense of -companionship seemed to come to her; she rose from her knees and crept -to bed. And as she lay awake the slow tears fell on her pillow. So -this was Love! this bitter pain, this keener joy; but underneath his -stress of passion, and her fainter reflection of it, lay something -which might bring peace if he would let it, and the thought of this -made her whisper softly:-- - -"Paul, I love you. Come back to me, Paul, and we will forget our -love." - -But up at the Big House he was cursing his own folly in yielding to -the temptation of seeing Marjory home. Yet what had come over him? He, -who for the most part behaved with some regard to gentlemanly -instincts. What had he done? The memory of it, seen by the light of -his knowledge of evil, filled him with shame. Well! that finished it. -When she had time to think she would never forgive him. She would -understand, and that look would fade from her face--that look -which---- But she was right! Even if he had seen it before, it would -have made no difference; he would have gone on his way all the same. -Why had he ever seen it to give him needless pain, and be a miserable -memory? The only thing was to forget it--to forget, not the love which -thrilled him--that, Heaven knows, could be easily forgotten--but that -other! Yes! he must forget it. That was the only thing to be done now. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII. - - -Luckily, perhaps, for his determination to forget, a variety of causes -combined to give Paul Macleod breathing space before he had, as it -were, to take up the burden of his engagement with Alice Woodward. To -begin with, he had to pay a visit on the way south, and the delights -of really good partridge shooting are of a distinctly soothing nature. -There is something fat and calm and comfortable about the stubbles -and turnip fields which makes one think kindly of county magistrates -and quarter sessions, of growing stout, and laying down bins of port -wine. A very different affair this from cresting the brow of a -heather-covered hill, with a wild wind from the west scattering the -coveys like bunches of brown feathers, while the next brae rises -purple before you, and another--and another--and another! Up and up, -with a strain and an effort, yet with the pulse of life beating its -strongest. - -Then, when the North mail finally set him down at Euston, the -Woodwards had gone to Brighton; and there was that going on in the -artistic little house in Brutonstreet, which would have made it unkind -for him to leave town and follow them, even if his own inclination had -not been to stay and see what the days brought forth. For Blasius was -ill, dangerously ill, and Lord George was a piteous sight as he -wandered aimlessly down to the Foreign Office, and, after a vain -effort to remain at work, wandered home again with the eager question -on his lips, "Is there any change?" - -But there was none. The child, after the manner of his sturdy kind, -took the disease as hardly as it could be taken, and then fought -against it as gamely. So the little life hung in the balance, till -there came a day when the pretence of the Foreign Office was set -aside, and Lord George sate in the nursery with his little son in his -arms, an unconscious burden in the red flannel dressing-gown, which -somehow seemed connected with so much of Blazes' short life. Blanche, -almost worn out, stood by the open window holding Paul's hand--Paul, -who was always so sympathetic, so kindly when one was in trouble. So -they waited to see whether the child would choose life or death; while -outside the people were picking their way gingerly through the mingled -sunshine and shade of a thunder shower. It was so silent that you -could hear the clock on the stairs ticking above the faint patter on -the window-pane, almost hear the splash of the slow tear-drop which -trickled down Lord George's cheek, and fell on Blazes' closed hand. -And then, suddenly, a pair of languid eyes opened, and the little -voice, mellow still, despite its weakness, said quietly: - -"Ith's waining. Blazeth wants a wumberwella." - -In the days following, if Blazes had wanted the moon, Lord George -would have entered into diplomatic relations with the man in it, -regarding a cession of territory; but the child, according to the -doctors, wanted sea air more than anything else. So, naturally enough, -they all migrated to Brighton, and, though he did not realise it, the -general sense of relief and contentment pervading the whole party did -much to make Paul Macleod feel the shackles bearable. Then Mrs. -Woodward and Alice were at one of the big hotels, the Temples were in -lodgings, while he, himself, had rooms at a golfing club, to which he -belonged; an arrangement which gave everyone a certain freedom. -Finally, as Paul discovered on the very first day, Alice showed much -more to advantage on the parade, or riding over the downs, or putting -on the green, than she had ever done at Gleneira. - -"Oh, yes!" she said gaily, "I am a regular cockney at heart. I love -the pavements, and I hate uncivilised ways. I know when Blanche told -me she had to see the sheep cut up at Gleneira, I made a mental note -that I wouldn't. I couldn't, for I hate the sight of raw meat." - -"You bear the butchers' shops with tolerable equanimity," returned her -lover, who hardly liked her constant allusions to Highland barbarism; -"as a matter of fact, raw meat intrudes itself more on your notice in -town than it ever does in the country." - -"Perhaps; but then the sheep with the flowery pattern down their backs -don't look like sheep, and as for the beef, why, you can't connect the -joints with any part of the animal. At least, I can't, and I don't -believe you can, either. Now what part of the beast is an aitchbone?" - -Paul set the question aside by proposing a canter, and by the time -that was over he was quite ready to be sentimental; for Alice looked -well on horseback in a sort of willowy, graceful fashion, which made -the pastime seem superabundantly feminine. - -Still, the subject had a knack of cropping up again and again; and -once, when she had excused herself for some aspersion by saying, -good-naturedly, that it was a mere matter of association, and that she -was of the cat kind, liking those things to which she was accustomed, -he had taken her up short by saying she would have to get accustomed -to Gleneira. - -"Shall I?" she asked. "Somehow, I don't think we shall live there very -much. It is nice enough for six weeks' shooting; but, even then, the -damp spotted some of my dresses." - -"You are getting plenty of new ones at any rate," retorted Paul, for -the room was littered with _chiffons_. - -She raised her pretty eyebrows. "Oh, these are only patterns. I always -send for them when I'm away from town. It is almost as good as -shopping. But I don't mean to buy much now. I shall wait for the -winter sales. They are such fun, and I like getting my money's -worth--though, of course, father gives me as much as I want. Still, a -bargain is a bargain, isn't it?" - -Paul acquiesced, but the conversation rankled in his mind. To begin -with, it gave him an insight into a certain _bourgeoise_ strain in the -young lady's nature, and though he told himself that nothing else was -to be expected from Mr. Woodward's daughter--who derived her chief -charm from the fact that her father _had_ made bargains and got his -money's worth--that did not make its presence any more desirable. And -then he could not escape the reflection that _he_ was a bargain, and -that the whole family into which he was marrying would make a point of -having their money's worth. - -He would have realised this still more clearly if he could have seen -one of the daily letters which Mrs. Woodward, with praiseworthy -regularity, wrote to her lord and master in London, for it is a sort -of shibboleth of the married state that those in it should write to -each other every day whether they have anything to say or not. - -"Alice," she wrote, "is so sensible and seems quite content. At one -time I feared a slight entanglement with Jack, but Lady George has -been most kind and taken her to all the best places, which is, of -course, what we have a right to expect. By the way, there is an Irish -member here--O'Flanagin, or something like that--and he declares the -Land League will spread to the West Highlands. So you must be sure and -tie up the money securely, as it does not seem quite a safe -investment." - -Mr. Woodward, on receiving this missive, swore audibly, asserting that -the devil might take him if he knew of any investment which could be -called safe in the present unsettled state of the markets! For his -visit to Gleneira, where, as he angrily put it, telegrams came -occasionally and the post never--had somehow been the beginning of one -of those streaks of real ill-luck which defy the speculator. The -result being that Mr. Woodward generally left his office in the city -poorer by some thousands than he had entered it in the morning, and -though he knew his own fortune to be beyond the risk of actual -poverty, it altered his outlook upon life, and threatened his credit -as a successful financier. - -Nor did it threaten his alone; there were uncomfortable rumours of -disaster in the air, which, in course of time, came to Lady George's -ears. - -"I do hope Mr. Woodward is not mixed up in it," she said to Paul, as -she sate working bilious-looking sunflowers on a faded bit of stuff -for the Highland bazaar; "but he was a little _distrait_ when he came -down last Sunday, and he didn't eat any dinner to speak of--we dined -with them, you remember." - -"Perhaps I gave him too good a lunch at the club," replied her -brother, jocosely; "besides, he wouldn't let a few losses spoil his -appetite. He is well secured, and then he could always fall back on -his share in the soap-boiling business." - -"I was not thinking of him, Paul, I was thinking of you. You could not -boil soap." - -The fact was indubitable, and though her brother laughed, he felt -vaguely that there were two sides to a bargain, and when his sister -began on the subject again, he met her hints with a frown. - -"I am perfectly aware," he said, "that Patagonians are dangerous, and -Mr. Woodward knows it as well as I do." - -"But he was nicked--that is how that city man I met at dinner last -night put it--he was nicked in Atalantas also." - -"If you had asked me, Blanche, instead of inquiring from strangers, as -you seem to have done," interrupted her brother, with great heat, "I -could have told you he was nicked, as you choose to call it, -heavily--very heavily. He has been unlucky of late. He admits it." - -"Good heavens, Paul! what are you going to do?" - -"Nothing. He is quite capable of managing his own affairs." - -"Don't pretend to be stupid, Paul! I mean your engagement." - -"What has business to do with that?" he asked, quickly taking the high -hand; but Lady George was his match there. - -"Everything, unless you have fallen in love with her." - -Home thrusts of this sort are, however, unwise, since they rouse the -meanest antagonist to resistance. - -"Have it so if you will. I am quite ready to admit that love has -nothing to do with business. Honour has. I am engaged to Miss -Woodward, and that is enough for me." - -Lady George shrugged her shoulders. There was a manly dogmatism about -his manner which was simply unbearable. - -"My dear boy," she said, "if a man begins to talk about honour it is -time for a woman to beat a retreat. Since you have such strict notions -on the subject, I presume you have explained to Mr. Woodward the exact -state of affairs at Gleneira? The estate overburdened, and not a penny -of ready money to be had except by sale." - -"I really can't discuss the subject with you, Blanche. Women never -understand a man's code of honour on these points; and they never -understand business." - -She crushed down an obvious retort in favour of peace, for she was -genuinely alarmed. So much so, that the moment she returned to town -she went to see Mrs. Vane, thinking it more than likely that Paul -might have confided something to her. She was just the sort of little -woman in whom men did confide, and Paul was perfectly silly about her, -though, of course, she was a very charming little woman. - -Now, Mrs. Vane had heard the rumours of Mr. Woodward's losses before, -and heard them with a glad heart, since the possibility of having to -use those letters which were locked up in her dressing-case weighed -upon her. But she had not heard them from Paul; had not seen him, in -fact, as she had only returned from the country two days before, and -had since been ill with fever. - -Nevertheless, the very next afternoon, in obedience to a little note -left at his club, Paul walked into her flower-decked drawing-room and -gave an exclamation of surprise and concern at the white face and -figure on the sofa. - -"You have been ill," he said quickly; "why didn't you let me know -before?" - -"Only a go of fever; and I've danced all night long--some of the -dances with you, Paul--when I had a worse bout, and no one found me -out. Let me make you a cup of tea." - -"Please not. I'll take one. Yes! I remember; that was our regimental -ball, and there were so few ladies; you never spared yourself, Violet, -never knew how to take care of yourself." - -"Perhaps not. I must pay someone to do it, I suppose, like other old -women; for all my friends are deserting me. Two married last month, -and I hear from Mrs. Woodward that your wedding-day is fixed." - -"I was not aware of it," he replied, with a frown; "but if it were, I -fail to see why I should desert--my friends." - -Mrs. Vane laughed. "My dear Paul! you are something of a man of the -world; did you ever know of anyone like you keeping up a friendship -with anybody like me after his marriage? I mean out of the pages of a -French novel. Certainly not; and I am quite resigned to the prospect. -I suffered the blow in a minor degree when you left India. Besides, I -should not anyhow see much of you if you lived at Gleneira; and you -will have to do so, won't you, till Mr. Woodward recovers himself?" - -Paul stirred his tea moodily. "So you have heard, too," he said -distastefully. - -"Everybody has heard, of course. Such things are a godsend at this -time of the year. Lady Dorset was quite pathetic over your bad luck -yesterday, but I told her no one would think the _worse_ of you or -Miss Woodward if you were to think _better_ of it, since poverty--even -comparative poverty--would suit neither of you." - -The spirited pose of her head, as she spoke, the bold challenge of her -tone, were admirable. - -"You said that! Would you have me break my word because my promised -wife had a few pounds less than I expected?" - -She laughed again. "How lofty you are, Paul! You caught that trick -from Marjory Carmichael. By the way, I heard from her to-day--she -comes up to town soon." - -"So I believe." His heart gave a throb at the sound of her name, but -he would not confess it, even to himself. "Excuse me if I hark back to -the other subject. I should like to hear what you have to say on it. -Women have such curious notions of honour, at least, Blanche----" - -"So Lady George has been taking you to task, has she? That was very -unwise of her. For my part I have no opinion. I never liked the -engagement, as you know; I like it still less now, when, if tales be -true, Mr. Woodward will not be able to make his daughter so handsome -an allowance as--as you expected. But they may not be true." - -"There is no reason why I should not tell you that they are true. The -allowance will be about a quarter of what was intended. Mr. Woodward -spoke to me to-day about it, hinting that it might make a difference; -but, of course, I cut him short." - -"Of course." There was a fine smile for an instant on her face ere she -went on. "Still, he was right, it does make a difference." - -"Undoubtedly it makes a difference," echoed Paul, testily. "No one -knows that better than I do. But that is no reason why I should back -out of my word. We shall have to vegetate at Gleneira, I suppose, or -live in a villa somewhere----" - -"My poor Paul, how funny you are!" she interrupted, taking up a letter -which had been lying beside her, and giving it a little flourish. -"That is just what you could have done--with someone else! So you will -do for a girl you do not love, what you would not do for one--but it -is really too funny! One half of you being unable to exist without -love, the other without money, you cut the Gordian knot by -experimenting on life without either! Now, I should have tried to -secure both--you might have managed that, I think." She paused a -moment, and then went on. "As it is, my friend is not unwilling to -play the hero, to a limited extent, because it soothes him and makes -him feel less mercenary. Ah! my dear Paul, I understand. Only, might -it not be more heroic and less mercenary to give Miss Woodward a -chance of something more to her taste than a villa somewhere?--plus, -of course, the heroic husband! She may not like heroics; some of us -don't. You must be prepared for that." - -The gentle raillery of her tone had a touch of seriousness in it which -seemed to throw a new light on his view of the subject. - -"You mean that it is likely----" - -"Yes. I think it extremely likely that the Woodwards would rather -break it off." - -"But why?" he asked, angrily rising to pace the room; "my prospects -have not changed." - -"'They twain shall be one flesh,'" quoted Mrs. Vane, lightly. "And do -you really think so much of your heroism, that--unaided by love, -remember--you will fancy it will compensate Alice Woodward, who -loves the pavement, for the damp and dulness of Gleneira? I remember, -Paul"--her voice grew a trifle unsteady--"having to decide a similar -question, once. To decide whether I could compensate the man I loved -for something--well, for something which was not more dear to him than -civilisation is to this young lady, and, though I loved him, I knew I -could not." - -"And--and were you right?" he asked with a sudden interest. - -"Of course I was right. He recovered the loss of me rapidly, and yet I -am not unattractive--what is more, I am generally considered good -company, which I defy anyone to be if he careers up and down the room -like a Polar bear. Please sit down and let me make you a nice cup of -tea. The last, I am sure, must have been horrid. You don't know how to -take care of yourself a bit, Paul, but _you_ are lucky. _You_ will get -plenty of people to pay for the privilege of doing so." - -He told himself that she talked a great deal of nonsense at times, but -that she did it, as she did everything else, with infinite verve and -grace. Blanche, who had not said half as much, had made him angry; and -here he was seated beside Violet's sofa, enjoying his tea, and feeling -that sense of _bien ętre_ which he always felt in her company. - -Yet even she might have failed in producing this for once, if he could -have overheard a conversation which was going on over another cup of -tea in Queen's Gardens, where Mrs. Woodward, with a real frown on her -usually placid face, was listening to her husband's account of his -interview with Paul that morning. - -"Very honourable, no doubt, but exceedingly unsatisfactory," she -remarked, with asperity. "I must say that I think you failed." - -"Did you wish me to give the man his _congé_, my dear?" interrupted -her spouse, irritably. "If so, you should have told me so distinctly, -but if it comes to that I can write and dismiss him." - -"You have such a crude way of putting things, James, and though I -don't presume to understand business affairs I must own it seems -inexplicable how these difficulties have come about. And Alice is so -accustomed to civilisation, and Jack is coming back from Riga next -week, so it does seem to me a flying in the face of Providence." - -Mr. Woodward looked at her in impatient amaze. "Good heavens! Maria, -what do you mean? Who or what is flying in the face of Providence?" - -"Everyone! Everything! It seems as if he had been away on purpose, so -that there should be no fuss. And they have always been so fond of -each other. Alice would be miserable if she had to think about money; -so why should she be sacrificed to Captain Macleod's notions of -honour----" - -"My dear!----" - -"Yes, James! Sacrificed! You say you told him plainly the state of the -case, and he----" - -"Behaved as a gentleman would. Expressed sorrow at my losses, but gave -me to understand that it would make no difference to him." - -"And to Alice? He never gave a thought to her, I suppose; but you men -are all alike--selfish to the core." - -"Really, my dear," protested Mr. Woodward, roused by this general -attack. - -"Well, _you_ are selfish. Are you not sitting there calmly proposing -to sacrifice Alice to an adventurer--a principled adventurer if you -like, though that is a miserable attempt to--what was it you used to -call guaranteed stock?" - -"A disastrous attempt to combine safety and speculation," suggested -her husband, meekly. - -"Just so! and this is a disastrous attempt to combine common sense and -romance. But I will not have Alice sacrificed. I will speak to the man -myself." - -"You shall do nothing of the sort, my dear. If necessary, I can do it; -but there is no hurry." - -"It must be settled before next week, unless you want a fuss; I tell -you that." - -"It shall be settled; but I must talk to Alice first. It is surely -possible she may be in love with the man?" - -Mrs. Woodward shook her head wisely. - -"But why, in heaven's name, Maria? He is handsome--gentlemanly--well -born. Why should she not love him?" - -"Because she is in love with Jack." - -"God bless my soul!" - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV. - - -When Paul Macleod left Mrs. Vane's drawing-room that afternoon she -told herself that she could, for once, afford to sit with folded hands -and let the world go its own way for a time. Everything seemed working -for her, so there was no need for her to work for herself. The -question of those letters could very well wait for a time. For all she -knew to the contrary, the lawyers might have similar proof of little -Paul's legitimacy; if they had not, why they ought to have. Unless, -indeed, that marriage certificate had nothing to do with the boy at -all. That in itself was conceivable with such a woman as Jeanie Duncan -must have been. Anyhow, for the present, the child was in comfortable -circumstances, since Dr. Kennedy had taken him in charge, and, as -Marjory mentioned in her letter, he was to come to London and become a -scholar at her school. The first thing was to see this foolish, -ridiculous engagement broken off, and then if the big Paul were wise, -and realised that both love and money were at his command, it might be -possible to tell him the truth. But under no other circumstances, -since none could console him as she could for the loss of Gleneira. -Therefore, for the sake of everybody concerned, the best thing that -could happen was that she should be Paul's wife. A great tenderness -showed in her face at the very thought. "Poor Paul," she said half -aloud; "he would be quite happy with me, quite content, and I, oh! -surely I deserve something after all these years? I am getting tired -of doing everything for people I do not care about, as I have done all -my life long." - -And it was true. In all the trivial details of life she was as -thoroughly unselfish a woman as ever stepped, ready at a moment's -notice to weary herself out for the sake of making the world more -pleasant to others. - -So those letters should remain locked up, perhaps for ever. In sober -truth she could scarcely imagine herself using them. Their -melodramatic force was so unlike the gentle spiriting by which she -usually effected her object; and though she could never recall the -night of poor old Peggy's death without a shudder, her sound common -sense told her that after all in advising the old woman not to open -the lawyer's letter, she had done so in ignorance. She had acted, as -she thought, for the best, and everybody was liable to make mistakes. - -So much for the one party to the interview; the other, once the spell -of Mrs. Vane's personality was removed, felt vaguely that matters were -becoming uncomfortable. It had never occurred to him before that _he_ -ran the chance of being jilted, and the bare idea filled him with -indignation; and yet he saw the justice of Mrs. Vane's remarks. He was -not a good match for a girl who wished for nothing better than to -remain in that state of social comfort to which it had pleased -Providence to call her. But, if this were so, it would be better to -save his dignity by broaching the possibility himself. Anything was -better than being dismissed like a footman. He was never long in -deciding a question of this sort, yet, quick as he was, he found -himself not a moment too soon, for when he walked round to see Mr. -Woodward next morning, before that gentleman went down to office, he -found him in the act of writing a note asking him to call. - -"The fact is, Macleod," said the elder man, a little nervously, "I -wanted to continue our talk about your engagement to my daughter." - -Paul flushed up, but took the bull by the horns without a moment's -hesitation. - -"I came for that purpose, sir. It has occurred to me that I have -somewhat overlooked Miss Woodward's side of the question, and I shall -be infinitely obliged if you would treat me with perfect frankness in -regard to what you, no doubt, know better than I." - -The dignity of this speech soothed him, and he awaited the reply with -tolerable equanimity. - -"Very straightforward--very straightforward on your part, Macleod," -said the man of business, approvingly. "One can scarcely be too -careful in regard--er--in regard to such contracts; and your remark -makes me regret more than ever--my--my duty. For you really have been -all that is--all our fancy painted you, I may say. But that does not -alter the fact that I am now a comparatively poor man. Of course, I -may, I very probably shall, recoup. At the same time it is not the -sort of security for--for--marriage settlements and trustees; you -understand me, of course. Now, what we have to face is this: Do you -think my daughter is suited to be the wife of a poor man--even a -possibly poor man? I don't. And, then, would she be content if she had -to live most of the year at Gleneira, away from society and--and -telegraph posts--I mean posts and telegraphs? It's a pretty -place, Macleod, and an interesting place--with--with a sort -of--er--_respectability_ about it, but it is a devilish bit out of the -way." - -"Perhaps; but I would do my best to make your daughter forget that," -said Paul, gloomily; the sense of being weighed in the balance and -found wanting--he, Paul Macleod, whom so many women had fancied--was -exquisitely painful. - -Mr. Woodward blew his nose elaborately. "Just so; of course, of -course! Very right and proper; very much so, indeed; only, my dear -Macleod, marriage, after all, is a speculation, and I don't like to -see my girl putting her capital into a concern which hasn't even a -good prospectus. How many shareholders would even my name produce, if -all we could say of a new railway was that, though the chances -were dead against traffic, we would do our best to ensure it? Of -course--er--if you were violently attached to each other one might -allow something for the--er--the good-will of the business. Under -those circumstances, I am led to believe--though I know nothing about -it myself--that young people are content to live--er--on a -ridiculously small income. My own impression is, however, that Alice -is not that sort of girl; but, of course, I may be mistaken." - -"In that case," put in Paul, loftily, "it would be best to refer to -Alice herself." - -"Exactly what we--I mean--er--decidedly. You two can settle it for -yourselves. Her mother and I have no wish to interfere unnecessarily. -That, I think you will own, is fair dealing, though, of course, as a -business man I have felt it my duty to warn her against risking what -is virtually her all in a concern which, to put it briefly, has an -unpromising prospectus. And, if you will allow me, I will give you the -same advice." - -There was a pompous warmth in his shake of the hand, but as he -accompanied his visitor to the door his tone changed to a confidential -whisper: - -"You see it isn't as if it were a limited liability, but the Lord only -knows how many children you might have." - -Paul, as he made his way to the little boudoir where Alice frittered -away so much of her time over _chiffons_ and picture papers, felt that -he was being pursued by a Nemesis of his own creating. He had entered -into this engagement by the light of reason, in obedience to the -dictates of sound common sense, and it seemed likely that he would be -driven from it by the same means. He found her, for a wonder, busy -with needle and thread, and though the subject of it was only the -stitching of tinsel round some remarkably large velvet leaves pasted -on satin, it gave her a more solid air than she usually had. That, and -a brighter flush upon her cheek, told him that he was expected, and -forewarned him of her decision. Indeed, he felt that words were really -unnecessary, and that he might just as well have turned round and gone -downstairs again, leaving her white fingers busy with the gold thread. -But there was a certain strain of savagery in Paul Macleod, as there -is in most men when their dignity is touched, and he resolved to go -through with it. - -"I have just seen your father," he began, "and now I have come to -you." - -She might have been excused for turning a little pale and letting her -work drop, for his tone was not reassuring. He saw her dread of a -scene, and gave a faint laugh. - -"There is no need to be afraid, Alice. I have never made myself -disagreeable to you yet, and I am not likely to begin now, when I have -come to ask you plainly whether you could be happy with me? Could -you?" - -She clasped and unclasped her hands quite nervously. "I am ready to -try--if you like--if you think I ought to." - -"That has nothing to do with it. Put me out of the question, please. -Of course, it is always painful for a man to know that a woman does -not care for him sufficiently----" - -"It is not that," she broke in hurriedly. "I would not have promised -if I had not liked you--it is the dulness, and the poverty. I have -never been accustomed to it, and I might not be contented, and then -how could I be a good wife if I were not happy? It is not as if there -would be distractions, but there would be none, and I don't like the -country as some girls do--Marjory Carmichael, for instance." - -He looked at her sharply, but her eyes met his without any hidden -meaning in them. - -"She would not be dull, but I should, and then how could I cheer you -up? For you need cheering at Gleneira--you know you do." - -The truth irritated him. "From which I infer that you would rather be -free. Well! you have only to take me or leave me," he said curtly. - -She caught in her breath, and, as usual, the display of temper made -her piteous. "Don't be angry, Paul! There is nothing to be angry -about. If you wish it, I will try; but we can always be friends, and -if it is wiser to part, then it is wiser." - -"That is for you to decide. I am at your orders." He stood there -looking very handsome, and she gave a sigh of indecision, though a -certain resentment at being, as it were, thrust into the breach, came -to her aid. - -"Do you think it wiser?" he repeated. - -"How can I tell? All I want to do is my duty, and I am afraid----" - -"If you are afraid, that is enough," he said, losing patience. -"Good-bye, Alice; if you had decided otherwise I would have tried to -be a good husband to you." - -A faint flush came to her cheek. "And I would have tried to be a good -wife; but----" - -"Well?" - -"Don't you think that with you trying to be a good husband -and I trying to be a good wife, life would have been a little -dreary--sometimes?" - -The curse of home truths seemed in the air, and Paul felt he had no -answer ready, and yet he liked her the better for the first touch of -sarcasm he had ever heard from her lips. It reminded him of Mrs. Vane. - -As he shook hands with her, the servant entering announced Mr. John -Woodward, and Paul, going downstairs, met a big, florid young man -coming up with a gardenia in his buttonhole, and a parcel tied with -gold thread in his hands. It was a box of Paris chocolates which Jack -had purchased on his way from Riga. The two scowled at each other as -they passed, after the manner of Englishmen who have never been -introduced, and Paul, as he put on his hat, felt a sudden insane -desire to go up again, and tell Alice that he had changed his mind. -And yet, as he walked aimlessly through the Park, and so northward -into the streets beyond, the certainty that life had been changed in -the twinkling of an eye came slowly to him, and as it did he scarcely -knew whither to turn for a little solid self-esteem. Of late he had -been nurturing his own magnanimity, and, as Mrs. Vane had told him to -his face, the fact that Alice Woodward's fortune was for the time -diminished, and in the future uncertain, had not been without its -consolation. It prevented him from feeling that people knew, to a -fraction, what price he had put upon himself. And now, though he was, -as it were, a "genuine reduction," he had been rejected! Rejected! the -thought was intolerable. Even the memory of Marjory, and the look in -her eyes which he had seen that last night, brought him cold comfort, -for he told himself that, even if he had wished to do so, he could -never go to her and say he had been jilted; yet he would not tell her -a lie. - -But he did not want to seek consolation from Marjory; after all, it -had only been the old story of a passing fancy fostered by romantic -surroundings. Since he had left Gleneira he had scarcely thought of -her, and for himself would have been quite content to fulfil his -engagement. Therein, to tell truth, lay the whole sting of the -position. - -So he wandered on until he found himself in Regent's Park, and then, -with that idle distaste to some decisive action which a return -clubwards would necessitate, in the Zoölogical Gardens. It was years -since he had been there of a morning without a band and a crowd. Years -since he had brought papers of nuts and biscuits, and given them to -the bears. But now he was free--yes! that was one comfort! he was free -to do as he liked, so he watched the Polar bear--which made him smile -at the recollection of Mrs. Vane's sally--and found a certain dreamy -pleasure in strolling round by the antelopes and recognising beasts -the like of which he had shot in strange climes. There is always some -satisfaction to be got from bygone prowess in sport, and, as he -finally found himself leaning over the railings of a tank where a pair -of dippers were bobbing about, he had in a measure forgotten the -present in the past. - -So, as he watched the birds indifferently, a sleek round head slid -suddenly, oilily from the water, and a pair of wistful brown eyes -looked into his. - -The card affixed to the railings only bore the legend: - - - "_Phoca vitulina_; - or, Common Seal." - - -Yet no magician's wand could have been more powerful in -transformation--say, rather translation--than the sight of the -creature so designated was to Paul Macleod. In the twinkling of an eye -the London haze--that condensed essence of millions of men, women, and -children, struggling confusedly for breath--had passed from him, and -he was in a new heaven and a new earth. A boat was rocking idly on the -summer sea, the blue clouds were sailing overhead, the world, its ways -and works, were beyond the rampart of encircling hills, while a girl, -with clear bright eyes, leant against the rudder. - -"Why didn't you shoot, Captain Macleod?" He could hear the odd little -tremor in her voice, as she gave the challenge, and feel the dim -surprise of his own answer: "I never thought of it!" - -Then, with a rush, the one side of his nature challenged the other. -Why--why had he done these things? Why had he given up paradise? Had -he not been happy? In very truth, had he even thought of the world and -its ways, of himself and his instincts, when he was beside her? Yet, -what a return had he not made to this girl who had taught him to -forget these things. Had he not in a way taught her to know them? Had -he not roused in her something, blameless enough, God knows! in its -way, beautiful enough, though of the earth earthy, compared to that -other strange comradeship, in which there seemed no possibility of -passion, no sense of sex. In truth, he had taught her to love him as -women and men will love to the end of all things. Taught her, and left -her to face it alone--as he had left Jeanie Duncan long years ago. - -The unbidden remembrance brought a new shame with it for that old -offence, even while it intensified the sudden remorse he felt for the -present one; since Jeanie, in all her sweet maidenhood, had never -seemed so hedged about from evil as this Brynhild, whose very -womanhood had been hidden beneath her glittering armour of mail. That -he should have thought these things showed the strain of romance, the -touch of mysticism, which was in him by right of his race, and though, -as ever, he chafed against these things, he could not escape from -them, or from the self-contempt which took possession of him. Ever -since the night when he had said good-bye, as he had boasted, to the -best part of him, there had been something to prevent his realising -the extent of his degradation. First, the relief of certainty, -bringing with it a very real content; then, the anxiety for the child, -bringing out all the kindliness of his nature--finally, the knowledge -that he was not, after all, so mercenary. But now he was defenceless -against his own worldliness, against the memory of his wanton insult -to Marjory--for it was an insult, nothing less. - -As he wandered moodily back into the town, back to face his world and -its comments, it seemed to him as if there were not a rag anywhere -wherewith to cover his wounded self-esteem. One thing he could do: he -could go down and ask Marjory to marry him. He owed her so much. She -would refuse him, of course, since she was not the sort to care for -other folks' rejections; and he knew, by long experience, how keenly -such love as he had seen in her eyes resented neglect, how quick it -was in changing to repulsion if the pride were outraged. - -Yes! he would go down to Gleneira and regain some of his belief in -himself by giving Marjory her revenge. Then he would go abroad and -shoot lions, or do something of that sort. Everyone would know he had -been jilted, so he might as well play the part to the bitter end, and -behave as a man ought to behave who has had a disappointment. - -Meanwhile he might as well go and see Violet, and congratulate her on -her acumen. He might even go so far as to tell her that, taking her -words to heart, he was about to propose poverty to the girl he loved, -as he had proposed it to the girl he had not loved. She, of course, -not knowing of that wanton insult, would not understand how idle a -proposition it would be; but she liked to be thought clever--liked to -be at the bottom of everything. - -So he was not exactly in an amiable or easily managed mood as he -followed the servant upstairs at Mrs. Vane's house. And, as luck would -have it, he came at a time when she herself was too disturbed to have -the cool head and steady nerve necessary to steer him into the haven -where she would have him. Yet it was a trifling thing which had upset -her: merely the certainty that little Paul Duncan would not get a -penny of his grandmother's money. There it was in black and white, set -down in the wills and bequests column of the _Illustrated London -News_. Now, the difference between keeping a boy with a hundred -thousand pounds from possibly inheriting some acres of heavily -mortgaged bog and heather, and keeping a nameless, penniless waif from -a name and some hundreds a year was palpable. She was no hardened -criminal, and for the first time she found herself really facing the -question: "Am I to do this thing, or am I not to do it?" - -Should she put those letters in the fire and say no more about them, -or should she tell the truth? - -Though she knew its contents almost by heart, she took the slender -packet out once more and looked doubtfully at the marriage -certificate. - -"Captain Macleod," said the servant at the door, for Paul was a -privileged visitor, with the _entrée_ at all times to Mrs. Vane's -little sitting-room. She had barely time to thrust the paper under a -book ere he was beside her. - -"How you startled me!" she said, with a nervous laugh, as she took his -hand. "I did not expect you to-day; you were here yesterday." - -"I came to inquire for your fever," he replied a trifle coldly. "You -have it again, I see--and feel. You should be in bed as it is." - -He wheeled the armchair to the fire, brought a cushion from the sofa, -and waited, holding it in his hand to settle it comfortably for her as -she sate down. - -She gave an odd little sort of choke. - -"What a coddle you are, Paul! There is nothing really the matter with -me. I grow old, that is all; I grow old." It was not a good beginning -for an interview in which she would need all her self-control, all her -common sense; and had the letter been within reach at that moment it -would have received scant justice at her hands, for nothing in the -wide world seemed worth consideration save this man with his kind ways -and soft voice. He, at any rate, must not suffer. - - - - - CHAPTER XXV. - - -The room was growing dusk. That pleasant duskiness which obliterates -corners and seems to concentrate comfort on the flame-lit circle by -the fire. - -"What a good nurse you are, Paul," she said, with an effort after her -usual airiness. "The woman you marry will be lucky." - -"I'm glad someone thinks so," he remarked briefly, "for there does not -seem to be much competition----" - -"Paul!" she interrupted, with a sudden flutter at her heart. "Do you -mean----" - -"Yes! you were right, as usual, if that is any comfort to you. I have -got my dismissal. Does that satisfy you?" - -She looked at him frankly. "It does. You do not like it, of course, -but I cannot be sorry. She was never good enough for you, even when -she was rich, and when she was poor----" - -"Don't let us discuss it, please. The thing is over; and what with -those who are too good and those who are not good enough I seem to -have made a muddle of it. By the way, I suppose Miss Carmichael is -still at Gleneira?" - -"Certainly--but--but why? I fail to see the connection." It was not -true; she saw it clearly enough, and her voice showed it. - -"Only because I am going down there to-morrow." - -"To burn your wings again?--that is foolish!" - -"I have no wings to burn; but I am going to ask her to marry me--to -face the villa with me, as you put it." - -Mrs. Vane started from her pillow with fear, surprise, dislike in -every feature. - -"Are you mad, Paul? The girl does not care for you; I'm certain of -that. Then she is half engaged, I believe, to Alphonse--Dr. Kennedy, I -mean. Her letter is full of him; you can see it if you like." - -"I have no doubt of it; he is a far more admirable person than I am. I -fully expect she will refuse me, but I mean to ask her all the same." - -"But why? Since you have told me so much you may as well tell me all. -Why?" - -"Because I choose, and because I like following your good advice." - -"My advice?" she echoed; "my advice? That is too much." Then -recognising the fact that no good would follow on direct opposition, -she tacked skilfully. "If you choose, I suppose you will do it, though -I cannot for the life of me see why you should put yourself to -needless pain, for it must be pain, since you were certainly in love -with her at Gleneira----" - -"I believe I was," he interrupted, "but I'll risk the pain." - -"No doubt," she answered bitterly; "self-inflicted pain is always -bearable. But for the girl--why not consider her comfort? It is always -a disagreeable thing to refuse, and a man who forces a girl into that -position without due cause is----" - -"Is what?" - -"A presumptuous cad, my dear Paul." - -"Thank you! You are clever, Violet, and your conclusions are generally -right; but in this case you argue without knowledge of the premises." - -"I know that Paul Macleod never did and never will come under that -category," she replied readily, "and that is enough for me." - -"If it were true, but it is not." He had not meant to tell her the -truth, but a certain contrariety led him on. "I used not to be one, -perhaps; but I was one to her. That last night, after I was engaged to -Alice, I told her that I loved her." - -A little fine smile showed on Mrs. Vane's face. "Well, it was not fair -on Alice, but it was very like Paul. Only why repeat the mistake?" - -"You do not understand. I was half mad, I think, at leaving her--and -at her unconsciousness. And then--and then, I kissed her." - -"Really? That was very naughty, of course; but still more like Paul." - -He winced, as if she had struck him. "Don't laugh, Violet, as if it -were the old story; it isn't." - -His tone struck a chill of fear to her heart, yet she still kept up -her amused serenity. "Is it not? Yet she is surely not the first girl -you have kissed without a 'by your leave.'" - -He was silent, and then to her infinite surprise, as he sate leaning -forward looking into the fire, covered his face with his hands as if -to shut out an unwelcome sight. - -"You don't understand," he said, in a low voice. "She hadn't a -reproach--she--I can see the look in her eyes still." - -There was another silence, and then Mrs. Vane's voice came with an -indescribable chill in it: - -"You mean that she loved you, or you think she did." - -"I am sure of it. She did not deny it. Violet! she is the first woman, -I verily believe, who has loved me truly, and I repaid her by insult." - -A dangerous rush of sheer anger came to send tact and prudence to the -wind for the time. "You say that! The only woman! Then I say, Paul, -that you insult others by your doubts--others who have loved you -longer. Paul!" She was very close upon the verge, when she pulled -herself up short, and gave a little laugh. "You cannot think her love -very deep if you say she will refuse you. But what reason have you to -think she will? Because you kissed her? That is absurd, and you know -it. I believe you wish her to accept you." - -"Do I?" he asked wearily; "for the life of me I scarcely know; but I -mean to ask her. I must. Surely you can see that; you generally -understand me." - -"I do understand you, Paul; better perhaps than you understand -yourself. That is why I tell you not to go down to Gleneira. You are -_tęte montée_ now. You are not yourself. Look the matter in the face! -Supposing she were to accept you; what then?" - -He paused a moment. "I should marry her, I suppose--but she won't. I -am not the sort of fellow she could marry." His voice had the -tenderest ring in it, but his head was turned away. To see it she -leant forward closer to him, almost on her knees, and the firelight -lit up her eager, appealing face. - -"Paul, don't deceive yourself with doubts. You love her more than -ever, and if, as you say, she loves you, the result is a foregone -conclusion, if you meet. It is a future of poverty, and, oh, how you -will regret it! Don't go, Paul, I beg of you; I beseech you--I am an -old friend, my dear." - -As she laid her flashing jewelled hands on his shoulder, his went up -mechanically and drew them down. So holding them in his, he looked -into her face kindly. "You are, indeed--but I must go--I have no -choice." - -His soft, caressing touch made her risk all, and her breath came fast -in swift denial. "No choice! That is not true! You said but now, no -one had loved you truly but this girl. Think, Paul, did not I? You -know I did. Was it for my own sake that I gave you up--that I sent you -away? You know it was not. I am not of the sort on whom the world -turns its back. I would have faced it gladly. It was for you. Because -you loved your profession--because--but you know it all! Even when I -was free, but poor, I would not claim you. Will Marjory do as much for -you? Will she say, 'I love you, but I will not injure you by marrying -you'? I think not. But I should not injure you now--I am rich, I am -rich, and I love you." - -Once before she had told him so plainly, but it had then been with an -easy self-control, suggesting the idea but withholding its inception. -Now she was pleading as if for life. - -"You are very good," he muttered, feeling the truth of what she said. - -"Yes!" she echoed, with a tinge of bitterness at her lack of power to -move him more. "How good you will never know. I have stood between you -and more evil than you dream of; and now I ask you to stay with me, -Paul, not because I love you, but because you are always happy with -me, because you will be safe with me--with me--only with me." - -That was true also; he was always happy with her. But safe? - -"I do not understand," he said. "Why should I be safer with you? I -know of no danger." Then he clasped her hands tighter, looking into -her face curiously. "What is it, Violet? Is there danger? You -speak---- By Heaven! there is something, Violet! What is it?" - -She drew from him quickly, realising her own imprudence, for she was -not prepared for any decisive step. "Nothing, Paul--nothing to speak -of," she said, rising to her feet with a hasty laugh, but her voice -shook, her hands were trembling. "Since you will not listen, go to -Marjory; she can protect you as well as I can." - -"I don't care to hide behind any woman," he said sternly. "Not even -behind you. What is it? You are not the kind of woman to say that sort -of thing unless you meant it. What danger do you know that I do not?" - -Even to hear his questioning roused her to a sense of what the -knowledge would mean to him, and the instinct of defence overcame even -her pride. "Am I not the sort of woman? All women are alike when they -are jealous. Can't you see it, Paul--can't you understand? or will you -force me to say it all over again? I know nothing, positively nothing, -to prevent your marrying Marjory. Go down to Gleneira if you will." - -He shook his head. "Don't prevaricate, Violet. I had rather you lied -to me, but for pity's sake do neither. Be my friend and tell me the -truth." - -For an instant his gentleness overcame her fence. "I cannot, Paul--I -cannot," she almost wailed; then remembering herself, she went on, -"How can I, when there is nothing to tell?" - -"I will not leave the room till I know," was his reply. "There _is_ -something, and you shall tell me. You will not; then I must find out -for myself--there was a letter in your hand. Let me go, Violet! I -don't want to hurt you, but I must and will have that letter, -unless---- No! I cannot trust you for the truth. I must see that -letter for myself." - -She knew enough of him to recognise that now his imperious temper was -roused, her only chance lay in an appeal to his affection. - -"Listen, Paul! I have done so much for you. Pay me back now--only this -little thing. I don't want you to see that letter--you have no right -to see it." - -He shook his head, and she flung the hands she had been detaining from -her with a cry. - -"You do not trust me! You do not trust me! That is hard after all -these years." - -"No! I cannot trust you, dear; you are too good to me," he said -gently, as he walked over to the table. - -The dusk had grown into dark, and he passed on to the window, in hopes -of sufficient light to decipher the letter he held; failing that he -came back to the fire. - -"Don't strain your eyes over it," she said bitterly, as she leant--as -if tired out--against the mantelpiece, watching him sombrely. "I -strained mine over it once--needlessly. I will ring for lights, and -you can surely wait for so much, now you have got your own way." - -So they waited in silence, standing side by side before the fire, till -the servant had set the shaded lamp on the table, and drawn the window -curtains carefully, methodically. Then he glanced at the -superscription, and pointing to it, said, "Why did you read it?" for -across the first blank page was scrawled legibly, "Not to be read by -anyone till Paul Macleod of Gleneira is dead." - -"Because I chose--the reason why _you_ read it, I suppose." - -The old admiration for her spirit which, even now, did not hesitate to -meet him boldly on his own ground, rose in him as, instinctively, he -turned to the signature for some further light to guide him in reading -the closely written sheets. Then his eye caught a name at the bottom -of a page where the writing merged from ink to a faint pencil. - -"Jeanie Duncan!" he exclaimed, half aloud; "what can she have to do -with me?" The instant after he turned to Mrs. Vane, as those who are -puzzled turn to those who are better informed. "Janet Macleod! did she -marry a Macleod after all?" - -"She married your brother Alick, and the boy is their son. Now you -know the worst--and _I_ have told you it--_I_, who would not hurt you -for the world." - -"She married---- Then little Paul?" He stood as if unable to grasp the -meaning of his own words. - -"Sit down, dear, and read it, since you have chosen to read. There is -no hurry. You know the worst," she said gently. - -So with a sort of dazed incredulity he read on in silence: - - -"Paul Macleod! yes! Paul! you shall read this some day; some day soon. -I am revenged. You were ashamed of me, and now I am the laird of -Gleneira's wife. Yet I did not mean to be revenged till he came, like -a fool, and put it into my head. I was getting tired of the life, -too--of the hard, thankless life. It was by chance I fell in with him -in Paris. I went there with someone and stayed on; so he could not -guess that I was Jeanie Duncan, whom he had never seen. And I hated -him because he was your brother; so he grew mad after me, and promised -marriage. Then the thought came--I, whom the laird's Jock did not -think good enough to love or marry, will take the laird himself, and -flaunt it over them all. So we were married, and then, before I had -time to settle anything, he died--died of drink, Paul! - -"Well! I hated him, so I did not care. I hated him for being so like -you, and caring for me when you did not---- - -"And now, if it is a boy, I will have my revenge--my just revenge--and -turn you out of the old place. But I wait, because, if it is a girl, -you will not care, and I will not have you jeer because my revenge has -failed. I pray day and night that it may be a boy, and lest I should -die, I write all about it, and put my marriage lines with the letter. -Then my son can come, and turn you out. I did not seek revenge, -remember. It came into my hand, and it is just. You know that it is -just! - - "Jeanie Duncan. - -"P.S.--Look in the photograph shops in Paris for 'La Belle Écossaise,' -if you wish to know what I was like when _he_ married me." - - -Paul, reading methodically, paused for a second, passed his hand -across his forehead as if to clear his mind, and then went on to a -fainter pencil scrawl: - - -"Well! I have waited, Paul! It is a boy--so like you, Paul! I lie and -think--for they say I am dying, and so it cannot hurt now--that he -_is_ your son, and that we were married in the old days. But it is all -a lie! He is _his_ son, and I will have my revenge! If only I could -remember anything but the old days, Paul! Ah! surely when people love -as we did---- No! I do not understand. Only, the boy is so like you. I -lie and think, and I feel he must never turn you out. Never! never! -Only, if you die, then the boy must have his rights, for he is your -son. - - "Janet Macleod. - -"P.S.--Mother will keep this; she has come to see me die, so it will -be quite safe. She does not know I am married, and I have written -outside that no one is to read it till you are dead. Ah, Paul! I wish -you could have seen it. Forgive me, Paul--forgive me that he is not -your son!" - - -A greyness had come to the handsome face, and, as he folded up the -letter methodically, his hands trembled. - -"How long?" he asked; and it seemed almost as if he could not finish -the sentence. - -"Since the night of old Peggy's death. I suspected something, so I -stole it." - -"You suspected!" he interrupted quickly. "What could you suspect?" -Then he laughed bitterly. "I suppose you suspected I was the boy's -father, and thought the knowledge would be useful. If I had been it -would have been better." His hand holding the letter came down heavily -on the mantelpiece as he rose in sudden passion. "My God! what a -devilish revenge!" - -She gave a quick catch in her breath. She had been silent till now, -but now it was time to begin--time to make him think. - -"You forget that she repented--that she gave up her revenge. That is -why I said nothing, Paul. I am a woman, too, and I know how she -repented. I did not dare to speak--to disobey her dying wish; who has -a right to do that, Paul?--no one." - -"But the boy," he murmured, "the boy." - -"The boy will not suffer. If you die he will have his rights, as his -mother wished. If he were really your son he would not have Gleneira -till then, and you can look after him. It is not as if he were in -want, dear." - -He sate listening, listening to that soft, persuasive voice, which had -such a knack of following his every thought, and yet of leading them. - -"I had no right to steal the letters, of course," it went on a little -louder, "but I am not sorry; for others might not have understood, and -so the poor thing's repentance would have come to naught. Now, no one -knows but you and I. You who loved her, I who pity her; because I love -you, Paul, as she loved you." - -She came a step closer with wide-open, serious eyes, and touched him -on the breast with her slender white hand. The faint perfume of -jasmine which always lingered round her stole in on his senses -familiarly, taking him back to many a past pleasure and kindness -associated with it, and, half unconsciously, his empty hand clasped -hers; and so they stood looking, not at each other, but into the fire. - -"So it is easy to fulfil her wish--her dying wish. You did her a -wrong, Paul, in the old days, and you owe her reparation. She did not -wish you to read the letter, remember; but that can be as if it had -not been. Give it to me, dear! I would have burnt it before, as she -would have wished it burnt, but I wanted you to know for certain what -she had wished." - -Her small, white hand was on his, the paper rustled and seemed to slip -from his hold while he stood, as if mesmerised, looking into the fire. -It was all true--every word of it true. - -"Give it to me, Paul. You are thinking of the boy; but we could bring -him up, you and I, if you would have it so. Paul! This is my reward at -last! I can do this for you, now that I am rich." - -But still his fingers resisted faintly, and there was a pause, a long -pause. Then the hand which lay in his seemed to slacken, to lie in his -like a dead hand, and her voice came with a sob in its softness: - -"Paul! do this for me, and I will ask no more. Paul! let me save -you--save you and Marjory!" - -It was her last plea. She had kept it back till now, hoping against -hope, and, as she made it, she touched the highest point of -self-forgetfulness it is possible for a woman to reach. But in -touching it she struck a false note in the syren's song, and Paul -Macleod's hand closed like a vice over his one tie to an honest -life--the letter. - -The name had roused him. "Marjory!" he echoed absently. Then he turned -and looked at his companion compassionately, yet decisively. "You mean -to be kind, Violet, but you don't understand," he said quietly; then -raised her little slack hand, stooped to kiss it, and left her so, -standing by the fire alone. She had played for her love boldly, -skilfully, and she had lost. She had tried to save Paul for his own -sake, and she had failed. Yet even so, the innate courage of the woman -faced the facts without a tear, without a complaint. - -"It is my own fault," she said, half aloud. "I ought to have burnt the -letter long ago, but I was not meant for that sort of thing. My heart -is too soft." Then she smiled a little bitterly. It was at the -remembrance of Paul Macleod's assertion, "You do not understand!" If -she did not understand him, who could? - - - - - CHAPTER XXVI. - - -Nearly a month had gone by since Marjory Carmichael had whispered to -the darkness, "Come back to me, Paul, and we will forget our love." -The sudden awakening to the realities, not only of life but of her own -nature, caused by his reckless avowal of love, had passed, as all -awakenings must, into calm acquiescence in the commonplace facts of -consciousness. There was no denying of the truth possible to her clear -sight, and as she sate on the last day of October, on the last day of -holiday before she and little Paul set off together to make -acquaintance with a new world, she laid down her pen in the middle of -a sentence in the letter she was writing to Tom Kennedy, and looked -out over the stormy whitecrested waves of the loch set in its rampart -of grey, snow-powdered, mist-shrouded hills, and wondered how she -could have been so blind for so long. Blind to half the great problems -of life! And then, with a smile, infinitely sweeter than it used to be -because infinitely stronger, she took up a letter which lay beside -her, and leaning back in her chair began to read it over again, just -as she had re-read a letter down by the river side three months -before, on the day when her holiday began--on the day when she had -first seen Paul Macleod. - -But it was a very different letter from the one Dr. Kennedy had sent -her then; for all unconsciously the girl, in the first bewilderment of -her awakening, had stretched out her hands to him, as it were, for -help, and he had given her what he could, smiling a trifle bitterly as -he wrote to think how little that was. "You ask me to tell you the -truth," she read, "but how can I when I do not know it myself? If I -had, the world might have been different--for us both. Only this -seems clear, that friendship is a bigger thing than love, unless -they both grow from the same root, and then--I fancy, Mademoiselle -Grands-serieux, that the botanists ought to characterise the product -as a sport! It is rare enough--God knows! I have sate for hours over -the puzzle, trying to get at the bottom of myself, only to come back -to the old paradox that Love is not worth calling Love unless it is -something which is not Love. And that is no solution. Pure and simple, -unveiled of mist and sentiment, it is all too easy of explanation. It -is ever-present, and must be so--it seems--till the end of all things. -Then there is--shall we call it the transcendental form conceivable -only to those who recognise some innate, or almost innate, sense of -order or beauty in mankind. That too, given this premise, is easy. I -believe I understand it. I am sure you do. It is the hybrid of these -two held up to our admiration, and believed in by the majority of -cultivated people, which beats me altogether. Look round you, dear, -and think for yourself. A man and a woman have mental sympathy with -each other. What has that to do with marriage? A man and a woman are -married. What has that to do with mental sympathy? The two things are -not incompatibles. Heaven forbid! But have friendship and what the -world calls love any real connection, and what part have they to play -in marriage? That sounds like a conundrum, and perhaps it is as well, -since we were getting too serious, and that is a fatal mistake when -there is no answer to the riddle. But there is a sacrilegious little -story, my dear, regarding the reasons for not enforcing celibacy on -the clergy, which is not altogether irrelevant to our subject. Luther, -I believe, is responsible for declaring that marriage is a -'discipline' not to be surpassed in spiritual efficacy; a discipline -before which hair shirts and flagellations are sensual indulgence. -N.B.--Was Luther any relation of the Cornish man who said, 'Women was -like pilchards; when 'ums bad 'ms bad, and when 'ms good they is but -middlin'?' I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle G.S., but one must -laugh--if one is not to cry. What if love were the mutual attraction -of certain elements, which combined and neutralised in the children, -would go to form a more useful compound of humanity? Would not this go -further towards raising our instincts out of the mire than all the -romance in the world? And then it would account, of course--since -chemicals are apt to evolve heat in combining--for a good deal of -friction in the married state, which in its turn must polish the -sufferers! But as this theory canonises Mrs. Caudle, and makes -wife-beating a virtue, perhaps we had better change the subject by -saying, as we said at the beginning--friendship is a bigger thing than -love, and so pass on to the lives we have to lead, love or no love." - -So with kindly thought, and a plentiful humour irradiating every page, -he went on to tell her of his work, of stirring scenes in that -hand-to-hand fight with Death, the great enemy of Love, in which he -lived. A tender, charming letter, such as his were always. Letters -which none know how to write save those who, despising the control of -time and space, have learnt to lean over the edge of the world, and -claim a part in some far-off life. Letters which, without one word of -sentiment from beginning to end, leave both the writer's and reader's -hearts full of a great kindliness and peace. - -They set Marjory a thinking, as they were meant to do, and the result -was good, since her clear common sense never failed her. Yet side by -side with that common sense existed a certain fanciful idealism, which -took the place of the former in matters beyond the limits of plain -reason. And this, as she read, made her pause to wonder if Tom could -be right, and the calm content which came to her from him, so -different from the unrest which the mere thought of Paul produced, -meant that they were too nearly akin to need neutralisation. Then she -laid down the letter and took up the pen again, striving unconsciously -to imitate his playful touch. - -"No, Tom!" she wrote; "I am not growing morbid. I am not, as you call -it, trying to measure my world with home-made imitations of the -imperial quart; still, I do wish I knew what the cubit was! Then I -would add it to my stature and rise superior--perhaps. If I had known -what I know now when my holiday began would it have made any -difference? If I had had a mother, if I had been brought up with other -girls, should I have gone on as I did, using a wrong terminology? I -will tell you something, Tom. What I thought was love in those old -days is just what I feel for you, dear. Perhaps I might have thought -so all my life if I had not met him. And now, if I meet him again, -Tom, what will happen? I sit down before the proposition; but it is -not to be solved like a problem in Euclid, because I have discovered -that my heart and my brain are quite separate, and I used to think -they were both a part of me. Don't tell me, please, that I am wrong. -Perhaps I am physiologically. I know all about that horrid little -V-shaped spot in the _medulla oblongata_, isn't it, where a pin-point -will stop Tears and Laughter, Love and Friendship for ever. What then? -Does it make it easier to understand why the heart beats, to know that -we can stop its beating? I wish I knew! I wish I knew! I don't want it -to beat, but it will. Oh! what a mercy it is that we two do not love -each other!" - -She laid down the pen as a knock came to the door. - -"A strange shentlemen to see Miss Carmichael," said the new servant -who had replaced the peccant Kirsty discovered--direful offence--in -putting a dirty skimmer into the milk. - -Now, in the country a "strange gentleman" generally resolves itself -into the piano-tuner, so Marjory bade him be shown up with a certain -calm impatience at the necessity for explaining that his services -would not be wanted; then, the thread of her thoughts broken rudely, -she sate waiting, her eyes fixed absently on the words, "that we two -do not love each other!" - -She looked up from them to see Paul Macleod standing at the door. He -had come back to her! - -Five minutes before she had asked, almost passionately, of her friend -what she would do in such case. Now there was but one answer. - -"Paul!" Her outstretched hand sought his, as he stood tall and -straight trying to master his emotion, to preserve the calm to which -he had schooled himself through the long journey which had ended -here--here, where he might once have found rest; here, where all, save -such self-respect as apology might leave him, was lost for ever. - -"Paul--Oh! how tired you look--how cold your hands are! Come, -dear--come and warm yourself; you must be perished!" - -He did not speak, perhaps because the hoar frost of pride which had -chilled his eyes melted before the radiance of hers; and hoar frost is -but water after all. So she drew him to the fire, and then, still -holding one hand as if loth to lose touch of it, knelt on one knee to -stir the peats to a brighter blaze. - -"I'm so glad you have come back," she said, with a little tremble in -her voice; "so glad!" And then she looked up suddenly into the face -above her, surprised at the almost painful strength of his grip. For -Paul Macleod's composure was almost gone, and he was struggling hard -for self-control. What she saw kept her silent; but she bent towards -him till her soft, warm cheek touched his hand caressingly. The -action, with its tale of tender solicitude, its boundless sympathy, -was too much for him. He drew in his breath hard, and resting his arm -on the mantelpiece turned from her to hide his face upon it, and so -escape the pity in her eyes. - -And he had dreamed of something so different! Of something coldly -just, reasonably reproachful! Without a word she had guessed, had -_known_, that he must be free to come, because he _had_ come back. - -"What is it, dear?" she asked softly, as she stood beside him. "Are -you afraid that I am angry? Are you afraid that I care--about _that?_ -Paul! I do not choose to care--I will not. Look at me, and you will -see if that is not the truth!" - -What he saw was a face soft with the passion he knew so well--the -passion which lies so perilously close to self--which claims so much, -and resents so easily. But it was radiant also, as with a white flame -of cleansing fire, pitiless in its purity. - -"What is it to me?" she went on, her voice ringing clearer. "What is -it to any woman unless she stoops to care? Oh! I understand now, -Paul--I understand things of which I never even dreamed before; things -which have been in your life--things which might have been in mine, -perhaps--God knows!--if I had been in your place. But they are no more -to me than this--a grief, a regret, because they are a stain upon your -past, as all wrong must be. They are no more to me than that, because -I do not choose to count them more!" - -So, with a smile in her eyes, and a quiver of pain on her lips, she -raised her face to his and kissed him. - -Thus neither humiliation nor forgiveness was allowed a part in this -woman's reading of the Divine Comedy. Perhaps she was wrong, and yet -no scorn, no righteous indignation, could have made Paul Macleod feel -more acutely the gulf which lay between his past and hers. Between -their futures also. They might be friends, but from that pure Love of -hers he was for ever outcast, though she might not know it--though he -might spend his life in trying to conceal the fact that he lived on a -lower plane than she did. Why! the past was with him _now_, even at -the touch of her lips. He loved her, as he had loved so often before. - -"Marjory!" he cried passionately, "I don't deserve it, but I can't -miss it--if you will put up with me?" - -She drew herself away, and looked at him with a half-tender, -half-mocking expression. - -"Put up with you? What else is there to be done now that you have come -back to me?" - -What else, indeed! She was right; it was he who had taken the -responsibility, he who defied natural consequences in this dreaming of -something beyond and above his past. He was not hardened enough to be -blind to this, and the thought showed on his face. - -"Come," she said consolingly, "sit down and tell me all about it--why -you came back, I mean; I know why you went away." - -If she did, he felt that she was wiser than he, since, sitting so -beside her, sure of her sympathy, her confidence, it seemed incredible -that he should have fled from this sure haven of his own free will. He -told her all, it seemed to him without a pang; told her of his -dismissal, of the change in his prospects. Yet, when he put Jeanie -Duncan's letter into her hands, and walked away to the window while -she read it, he felt more of a cur than he had ever done in all his -life before. What would the girl say? What could she say but that it -served him right? If she dismissed him also, and told him that she did -not care to exchange her love for his, would not that serve him right -also! - -And so, as he stood frowning moodily at the growing glint of sunshine -far out in the West driving the mists in dense masses up the Glen, her -voice came to him as she laid down the letter with a sigh: - -"I am glad she called him Paul." - -He turned quickly to her in a sort of incredulous amaze! Was that all -she had to say? A sort of chill crept over him, even though he found -himself at her feet, with her hands in his, kissing them softly as he -told her, with a break in his voice, that she was too good--too good -for any man. The thought brought him a certain consolation, as she -went on, evidently with the desire of taking all sting from his -memories--to speak of the strange coincidence of little Paul's -devotion to her, and of her liking for the lovable little lad. Surely, -if Gleneira had to go, he would far rather it went to him than to some -stranger, who would care nothing for her and her ways. - -"Why?" she said, a trifle tearfully; "he has been so much with me -lately, since old Peggy died, that I felt quite lost without him when -he went yesterday for a farewell visit up the Glen to the Macintoshes. -The boys were his great playmates. So you see, Paul, it will not -matter so much, for he will live with us, of course, and it is a long, -long time before he comes of age. And even then I don't believe he -will turn you out of house and home altogether. We will teach him -better things than that! Won't we?" - -In truth, spoken of in her calm, clear voice, and with her wise eyes -on his, and that sweet convincing "we" in her phrases, the prospect -did not seem so hopeless. Yet he caught himself wishing that she had -not taken his renunciation quite so much as a matter of course; -wishing that she appreciated his victory over temptation more keenly. -Yet, how could she, when he had not told her that part of the -business, or how near he had been to purchasing peace with dishonour -by destroying Jeanie Duncan's letter and the marriage certificate it -contained. But there were many things in his past, he told himself, -with a sigh, of which it was better she should continue to know -nothing; for her own sake, not for his. He could scarcely fear her -blame, and it would have been a certain comfort to, as it were, bring -her closer to him by confession. But Paul Macleod was too much of a -gentleman for that kind of self-indulgence, and he was realising for -the first time in his life the supreme impotence of repentance either -in the past or the future. Had he not, even at the time, repented him -of the evil in regard to Jeanie Duncan; yet had not a Nemesis grown -out of his very repentance? - -"Come with me part of the way back, dear," he said, when the necessity -for writing business letters broke through even his desire to linger -within touch of her kind hand. "I can't bear somehow to lose sight of -you for an instant, but I must go--there are the lawyers--and Dr. -Kennedy." - -"I can tell Tom if you like," replied Marjory. "I write to him most -days." - -Something rose up in her hearer and cursed Tom, though the next moment -he was reviling himself. That sort of thing would have to be put away -for ever when he was Marjory's husband. - -"You will have to marry me as soon as you can," he said, with what to -her seemed great irrelevance. - -"I will marry you as soon as you like, Paul; you know that," she -replied cheerfully. - -Yes! so far was easy; but afterwards? How would she ever put up with -him? Yet the question was once more forgotten in the charm of the -present. - -It was the end of a soft day, and the summitless mountains looked -purple and green under the mist wreaths which every now and again -seemed to descend to fill the valley and leave sparkling drops of dew -on the little curls below Marjory's cap, while the river ran roaring -beside them, making a kind of droning accompaniment to the shriller -drip from the trees upon the stones. Then the fine rain would cease, -the birds begin to twitter, rustling the damp leaves, and sending a -faster shower on the path; while from the West a gleaming blade of -light would sever the mists, and give a glimpse of a new heaven and a -new earth, where the sun was setting peacefully. - -As she walked along beside him, her face seemed to hold the sunshine, -his the mist, and once, in the middle of some talk over the future, he -paused to hark back to the past. - -"If we could begin it all over again from the day I first met you on -the river, I think I might have a better chance--at least, I would not -play the fool so utterly--at least, my memories of _you_ would be free -from pain--and I should have left undone the things that I have done." - -"Why should you say that?" she asked. "Is it not enough that what you -did made me love you?" - -"Your godfathers and godmothers should have christened you -Barnabasina," he replied, with an effort after his old, light manner, -"for you are verily a daughter of consolation, Marjory; but even you -cannot take the sting out of some things. If I could have the past -over again! Nothing short of that will satisfy me." - -Her quick, bright face grew brighter. - -"Then you shall have it, dear, as far as I'm concerned. Yes! you -shall! It will be pleasant for me, too. Don't laugh at my fancy, for I -like fancies sometimes; they help one along the dead level bits of the -road. I'll say 'good-bye' here, Paul, here in the very spot where you -said good-bye before--do you think I could forget it? And then -to-morrow----" she hesitated in her very eagerness. - -"Yes, to-morrow, Marjory?" he echoed. - -"To-morrow you shall meet me at the old place on the river--you -remember it, of course, and we shall begin all over again--all over -again from the very beginning, to the very end. I remember them all, -Paul; everything, I believe, that you ever said--everything, at any -rate, that you ever said which I disliked. Is that unkind? And so when -the time comes for those bits you shall not say them--we will cut them -out of the past." - -"It will be Hamlet with the Prince left out," he said, falling in with -her playful mood. - -"Not a bit of it! Besides if it were I should not mind. It was never -the prince I liked, but Paul--the real Paul." - -"I wonder which one that is," he replied quickly, yet with a smile; -for her radiant face would not be cheated of its due. - -"We shall see to-morrow--good-bye, Paul." - -He shook his head. - -"No! No! Marjory. Neither that, nor adieu, any more. Till -to-morrow--_Auf-wieder-sehn_, my love! _Auf-wieder-sehn_." - - - - - CHAPTER XXVII. - - -The beginning of a new day, a new life! - -That, perhaps, should have been Marjory's first thought when, drawing -up the blind, she stood in the early dawn at the window looking out on -a world white with hoar frost. But it was not; for her eyes fell upon -a bunch of late rowans still adorning the tree, which stood so close -that, on windy nights, the berries would tap against the panes like -some ghostly visitant claiming admittance. They also were veiled -in a silvery tracery, and so the trivial remembrance of a certain -ball-dress came uppermost, instead of any sober reflection. As a -matter of fact, the larger half of existence can be excellently -executed on a penny whistle. - -What a very good imitation those berries had been which Tom had sent -from Paris; and how unlikely it was, since she and Paul were both -poor, that she would have so magnificent a garment again. It would not -be wanted, that was one comfort, if they lived quietly at Gleneira, -which, of course, they must do, unless Paul were to try and get back -to active service again. She must talk that over with him--that and -many another thing--when they began life again down by the river side. - -"It's ill singing the mavis' song but in the mavis' time," quoted Mrs. -Cameron, with a wise shake of the head, when Marjory came whistling -down the stairs to breakfast. "And half-past eight o' the clock on a -chill November morn in a white world is no the time for anything save -a sup o' hot porridge." - -"I wasn't singing the mavis' song," she laughed; "it was the lark's, -and they always begin early." And her clear voice broke gaily into the -phrase, "And Ph[oe]bus 'gins to rise." - -"Then it's ill singing on an empty stomach," persisted the old lady; -"and ill manners, too, to be sae blithe when ye are leaving us. What's -up wi' you, lassie?" - -Marjory gave her a queer look. "Everything! it's going to be a fine -day for one thing." - -"Wha kens? That's no a thing ye can say at half-past eight o' the -clock. Sing you the 'Flowers of the Forest,' my bairn; that's more o' -the truth in this world." - -Her old, faded voice quavered over the first line, "I've seen the -morning, wi' gold the hills adorning," and Marjory's clear, young one -took up the song cheerfully, "And loud tempest storming before the mid -o' day." Then she paused mischievously. "That's a foolish version, -though; the old one is better: 'I've heard the lilting at our yowe -milking, Lassies a' lilting before the dawn o' day.' And dawn is -before half-past eight o' the clock, even in November." - -Mrs. Cameron looked at her somewhat mollified, beating time with her -mittened fingers to the familiar rhythm. - -"Weel! weel! One way or the t'ither it's the bonniest song ever sung -in this world, and I mind, when I was a lassie, thinkin' that my -jo--he wasna John, my dear,--sang it like the angels out o' heaven. -But there! commend me to a lassie that's in love wi' the most -ordinair' o' men for a blaspheemous sacrileegous creature, if he's -weel favoured, and that's the truth. There isn't one o' the cardinal -virtues, but she'll dig up--maybe from some ither decent man's kale -yard and plant it amang his weeds wi' a light heart. Aye! and watter -it wi' tears too when she finds it no thrivin'. It's the way o' women, -and she's happier when she gives up the gairdening and sets to rear -bairns instead." - -"I wish Will could hear you admit that children are a comfort," -laughed Marjory, from her porridge. - -"And what's hindering him but sloth?" asked the old lady, rushing -eagerly to an old battle ground. "But there! was it not predicted as -the end o' a' things. Just a great Darkness as o' Night, and that is -what folks is coming to nowadays. It just beats me to roust the -hussies from their beds before six. And it's no from them bein' -hirelings a'together, for it's the same with the cottages. Where the -peat smoke used to go up wi' the mist wreaths at the earliest blink, -there's naething but an empty lum. Aye! and a cauld hearth! Not even a -gathering peat to keep the warmth o' home aboot the place. But there! -what could ye expec' wi' such names as they give the matches--Lucifers -and Damnstickers." - -"My dear mother!" exclaimed Will, in horrified accents, as he lounged -in lazily. - -"I'm no swearing, William," she retorted, with great dignity. "Tho' -maybe I hae a claim to be angry an' sin not, wi' a farmer son that -comes down to his breaking o' bread when the beasts have begun to chew -the cud." - -"My dear mother!" quoth Will, good-naturedly. "You look after the -beasts, and my corn is all carried." - -"Weel! weel! When I'm carried to me grave ye'll find the difference, -even if ye get a wife. Aye, aye! I ken fine what she'll be like--just -one o' the sort wi' a hump somewhere. I kenna whaur the fashion'll put -it then, since 'of that hour knoweth no man,' but it will be -somewheres, an' her hair will be as if a clucking hen had bin scrapin' -in't." - -"I deny it; I deny it," laughed Will; "when I marry, I shall marry a -girl just like Marjory. Only she shall not be quite so tall, or so -clever, and shall be thinner, and less opinionated--more of my sort, -and----" - -"And her hair shall be of a different colour," laughed Marjory, in her -turn; "I'm glad I don't leave you heartbroken--or anyone else, -either," she added, half to herself. - -And as she passed through her little sitting-room, before starting on -her rendezvous with Paul, she paused for an instant before her letter -to Tom Kennedy, which still lay unfinished, as she had left it, and -looked down again on those last words. They were true still, and with -a sudden impulse she took up the pen to say so. - -"Tom!" she wrote, "the problem is solved! Paul has come back to me, -and we are going to begin a new life together. Yet, I stretch out my -hands to you, dear, as I did before, and say 'Friendship is a bigger -thing than love!'" - -Then she went gaily through the garden to pick a late carnation for -Paul's buttonhole, and as she picked it she sang the "Flowers o' the -Forest." - - - "I've seen Tweed's silver streams, - Glittering in the sunny beams, - Grow drumly and dark as he row'd on his way." - - -The tune, with its haunting cadences, lingered in her mind, and more -than once fell from her lips, when with a light heart she faced the -ups and downs of the white road as it crept round the loch to where -the bridge, spanning the river, would enable her to strike across the -moss-hags to the alder-fringed bank above. And Paul would be on the -other side as he had been before. But he should not jump this time, -for that was one of the things she did not like; those things which -she was going to take out of his life and hers. The very thought, -indeed, of the risk of a slip made her shiver as she paused for a -moment on the bridge, and saw the yellow-brown flood, swollen with the -night's rain, rushing against the piers. - -"Drumly and dark!" Drumly it was, yet scarcely dark. It ran too fast -for that, and up yonder, where she was to meet Paul, it would be a -mass of foam with yellow lights in it. A sort of syllabub of a river -pouring over the curved edge of the rock heavily. Not like water at -all, but like some drugged draught; falling not with a roar or a rush, -but with slow, deafening boom. The waters of Lethe might fall so, she -fancied. Well! Paul should run no risk of them to-day, for she was -before her time, and would be there to warn him. So thinking, she -clambered down to the water's edge, and seating herself on the only -level slab of rock, which projected slightly over the boiling pool -below, she faced the downward course of the river, certain thus of -seeing the first glimpse of her lover's tall figure above the bracken -which crested the almost perpendicular rocks on the other side. - -"I've seen this morning." It was a most distracting tune! All the more -so because the words would follow Mrs. Cameron's sentimental lead, -instead of keeping to the old lament with the lilt of battle and -sudden death in it. - - - "The flowers o' the forest that fought aye the foremost, - The prime o' our land are cauld in the clay." - - -That was why they played it as a Dead March in the Highland regiments. -If Paul decided not to retire, it might be played at his funeral some -day. At Paul's funeral! The very thought seemed impossible; and yet -the girl's heart throbbed more with pride than fear. "That fought aye -the foremost." Yes! if she were a soldier's wife that was what a -soldier should do, even if she had to sit "drearie, lamenting her -dearie." - -It was too bad, she told herself, for the tune to haunt her so, since -Paul would be coming soon now, and when they had first met her head -had not been full of the "Flowers of the Forest" and such things; she -had been reading one of Tom's letters. How foolish of her not to have -brought one to complete the illusion! unless, indeed, there were, by -chance, one in her pocket. Yes! a scrap of one, old enough to rouse -her curiosity and engross her attention as she smoothed it out and -began to read. - -"To be disappointed in love! The phrase is arbitrarily bound up with -the state of celibacy. Wherefore, my dear Marjory? wherefore? If love, -as we once agreed, I think, is the touchstone of life, then marriage -appears to me to be the continual essay of love, where, alas! the gold -does not often reach the standard for hall marking; therefore it is -conceivably better to be continually in love and not to marry. I don't -know how it is, Mademoiselle Grands-serieux, but my philosophy -invariably ends in paradoxes of doubtful propriety--now, doesn't it?" - -She looked up smiling, then rose to her feet quickly, for there was a -rustle behind her. Paul might have been there ahead of her after all, -and have gone up to look at the river. Yes! there was someone at the -head of the fall, where the solitary rowan tree leant above the -alder-bushes, for the branches swayed. - -"Paul!" she cried across the boom of the river, "is that you? Come -down a bit; I'm here!" - -"I'm coming, Miss Marjory, I'm coming," answered a childish voice; -"but it is the berries I'm getting for you first. It is the last I -will be getting you in Gleneira, I'm thinking, and they're real -beauties, whatever." - -Great heavens! how reckless of the boy! yet, was not recklessness in -the blood? There he was, clinging to an overhanging branch; any -instant he might fall, and---- "Paul!" she cried quickly, -peremptorily; "come down at once. I don't want them." - -She saw his bright, flushed face through the sparse yellowing leaves, -close to the bunch of red berries, clutched by the little brown hand. -So like that picture of his mother--so like--so like Paul, too!--her -Paul. Ah, God in heaven! - -The child had slipped. "Hold tight, Paul! Hold tight!" - -Vain cry! Almost before it was uttered the seething foam with the -sunny glints in it had stifled his swift scream. - -Marjory made no sound. White, desperate, she leant over the slippery -edge of the shelf, clutched at something that seethed upwards for a -second, lost her balance, and was gone--in silence. The heavy foam -closed over her like a snow-drift with the sun on it, and all the help -the bravest heart could have given was the hope that unconsciousness -might come quickly through some kindly rock, and not in the slow agony -of suffocation. - -It was all over in a minute, for Nature knows her own mind when she is -in the tragic mood. She allows no time for unavailing tears. When, not -a minute afterwards, Paul Macleod's cry of "Marjory! Marjory!" with -its ring of glad certainty, echoed over the pool, there was not a sign -to show that she would ever give answer to his call again. - -"Marjory! Marjory! Marjory!" - -Pitiful appeal, though he knew it not, not even when a vague wonder at -her tardiness clouded the careless joy which had come to him with this -dawn of a new day, a new life. For the night seemed to have stolen his -fears as fit companions for its shadows, and left him nothing but his -hopes. - -"Marjory! Marjory! Marjory!" - -Is there anything in the wide world so terrible as the slow dread -which comes as the minutes pass unavailingly by?--as the certainty -that something has gone amiss seems to grow from the very passion of -protestation against the possibility?--and then, when fear has gone, -and unknown grief is the companion of the fruitless search, in which a -wild hope will spring up sometimes to intensify the pain? Of such -things all men may surely pray that fancy, and not memory, may speak. - -It was Tom Kennedy's letter--lighter than the love which had penned -it--that gave the first clue, and the hope went out from Paul -Macleod's face for ever when his quick eye found it like a foam bubble -in a backwater near the ford. - -"It will be in the Long Pool we must be looking," whispered the rough, -tender voices to each other, but Paul heard. Paul knew, Paul -understood what would come--if not that night, then the next day--or -the next. - -But Fate was merciful, and did not prolong the agony. - -"Don't look, laird! Oh, my dear! you that I carried in my arms as a -laddie--don't look," sobbed old Macpherson, as, with the first streak -of the following dawn, the men who had been working all the night long -bent over the oil-strewn, torch-lit depth through which the grapnel -came up, slowly, heavily. - -But Paul was no coward. He had looked death steadily in the face many -and many a time. - -"Stand back, John!" he said quietly. "I'll lift her in." - -And as he held her there in his arms while they drifted down stream a -space to a shelving grassy bank, he bent over her calm face, and -thanked "whatever gods there be," passionately, for the gift of that -sharp cut just showing beneath the damp curls through which some -friendly rock had brought a quick end to life. As he looked up again, -the dawn was out-paling the stars, and the birds in the alder-bushes -were stirring into song. - -"What day is it?" he asked, drearily, of old John; and that sudden -forgetfulness was the only sign he showed at the time of the terrible -shock he had sustained. Yet none who noticed it could ever forget the -look which came to his face, when, guided by the clue given by the -child's cap still clenched in the girl's hand, a further search ended -in the discovery of little Paul's body, and Marjory's lover realised -that she must have lost her life in the effort to save his namesake. -Indeed, in after years, old John, telling the tale, would often say -that he never went in such fear of seeing murder done as when Mr. -Gillespie had suggested the touching propriety of burying the brave -girl and her little friend side by side. He had even taken the bunch -of rowan berries found in the boy's fingers from the girl's breast, -where they had laid them, as no doubt they had been intended to lie, -saying, in a sort of fury, that nothing of the child's should come -near her. But beyond that he made no sign. - -And old John said true. Paul Macleod came back courteous and calm -among the many mourners who climbed one sunny afternoon to that sunny -spot on the southern slope of the hill, where Marjory had said the -light lingered longest. James Gillespie, his fair, florid face gaining -a dignity from his office, leading the way bareheaded, in his white -surplice, through the dead bracken and over the heathery slopes, while -his voice steadied itself over the words of consolation and hope. Tom -Kennedy, and Will, the laird, and Mr. Wilson--who, old as he was, -would not be gainsaid--carrying their dear dead, resting at times upon -some lichen-covered rock, or aided by other hands, tenderly, -sorrowfully, willing as theirs, falling for a time a step behind. All, -save Paul, who, setting even old John's offer of help aside, kept his -clasp tight upon the tough ash staff until, as they passed the -wishing-well on their downward way, he broke it across his knee -fiercely and flung the pieces on the dismal little pile. And then it -was that Father Macdonald, who, with sad, serene eyes, and softly -moving lips, had followed at a little distance, pleaded with the Great -Judge for another soul needing mercy. - -And Paul came back courteous and calm also from that smaller, drearier -procession, which laid the new-found heir among his forbears in the -stone vault belonging to the Macleods, far over by Ardmore point, in -the old kirk-yard. Dr. Kennedy, knowing all the circumstances, would -fain have spared the empty honour to the dead boy, but all his -arguments in favour of silence were unavailing. So old Peggy's little -grandson rested under a broad, silver plate, proclaiming him to be the -only son of Ronald Alister Macleod, of Gleneira, and Janet Duncan, his -wife. The sleet showers were slanting bitterly; and the outgoing tide, -buffeting with the westerly wind, almost swamped the little white -coffin as it lay in the bottom of the "Tubhaneer," while Paul sate -steering for the point steadily, as if he were not chilled through to -the marrow of both body and soul. - -It was the drenching he got, no doubt, as he stood alone, as chief -mourner, on the bare, wind-swept point, that made him look so ghastly. -He said so, at any rate, when Dr. Kennedy, noting his appearance with -professional eyes, recommended him to go to bed. It was Indian ague, -he said, nothing more; he was subject to it; had, in fact, had several -similar attacks at Gleneira. - -So he retired, courteously, calmly as ever, to the Big House, where he -set aside all offers of companionship. And there, Dr. Kennedy, with -that look on Paul Macleod's handsome face haunting his professional -soul, sought him next morning on pretence of saying goodbye. But by -that time Paul was past anything save that odd, rhythmical tossing -from side to side of the restless head, which comes when the brain is -conscious of nothing but the fever raging in it. - -Lord George came down at once, gentle as any woman, and surprised to -hear the long tale Dr. Kennedy had to tell, for Paul had only written -of the sad accident. And Lady George followed, with two plain, black -dresses and a little assortment of highly starched linen collars and -cuffs in her portmanteaux, ready at all points to take up the rôle of -nurse; though why a woman should nurse better in handcuffs, which -prevent all natural play of the wrist, and why a patient should be -supposed to like the dangling of starched cap-strings in his face, is -another matter. - -And still the head tossed restlessly, and the parched lips went on -muttering, muttering. At the first, of many things faintly articulate; -many things, and of many places; then, by degrees, centring round one -time, one scene; finally emerging into a monotonous whisper-- - -"Violet! Violet! Violet!" - -"I think we had better telegraph for Mrs. Vane," said Dr. Kennedy, -looking grave; "his mind has gone back to that time when she nursed -him through something similar. It is often so in brain cases, and we -cannot afford to lose a chance of saving him--sane. That previous -attack lessens the chance terribly." - -She came, of course, without an instant's delay, as she would have -come to anyone who needed her extraordinary tact and care; and Dr. -Kennedy gave a sigh of relief when, stealing in for a look about dawn -on the next day, he found her seated on a stool beside the low camp -bed, one hand laid lightly on the sick man's breast, the other as -lightly keeping the ice bag on his forehead, while he lay still, quite -still. - -"I used to do it before," she whispered, "and it seems to soothe -him--do you think it foolish?" - -For Dr. Kennedy, with a smile, had looked round the room, wondering at -the woman's quick touch which had transformed it. A night-light -flickered from the floor in one corner, the curtains had gone and the -bed was shifted to the centre, so that the mingled light of waning -night and dawning day fell sideways on the patient, and he could have -seen--if he could have seen at all--the door set wide open to the long -corridor to which some of Peter Macpherson's orange trees, the scarlet -hibiscus, and a few hot-house plants gave the look of a verandah. A -faint scent from them filled the air, and the large, empty room, -almost devoid of furniture, had lost its snug English comfort -altogether. - -"Foolish?" he echoed, going to the window, and looking out, absently. -"Who can say? The brain knows its own secrets. He seems to have -responded to the suggestion, and, for all we can tell, is ten years -younger to-day than he was yesterday." - -"I wish he were! I wish he were." The whisper came so passionately, -that Dr. Kennedy turned and looked at her curiously, sadly. - -"He is no worse, surely," she asked, rising softly, her hands seeming -to melt away, as it were, leaving the sick man unconscious of their -going. "Surely he is not worse?" - -"No! I was only thinking it might be better for us all if his memory -stopped where it is now--if he could forget." - -She clasped her hands together tightly. "If he could!--if only he -could forget--I would not care how much I remembered." - - - - - EPILOGUE. - - -It was once more autumn. The rowans were as red, the heather as -purple, as it had been in the year when Jeanie Duncan had sate for her -portrait and Marjory Carmichael had taken her holiday; as red, as -purple, as both will be until-- - - - "The slow sea rise and the sheer cliff crumble, - Till terrace and meadow the deep gulfs drink, - Till the strength of the waves of the high tides humble - The fields that lessen, the rocks that shrink." - - -For Nature is supremely indifferent whether she gives birth to fools -or knaves, or whether the Great Reaper fills his sheaf with wheat or -tares. - -The evening shadows were lengthening in the Glen, and from the little -school-house by the horse-chestnut tree the cadence of children's -voices rose and fell over the stirring measure of a processional hymn. - -"Not so fast! not so fast! who told you to gallop it like that?" cried -a smartly dressed young woman at the harmonium; a young lady with that -curious resemblance to a commonplace book, which the profession of -teaching brings to all but clever faces. - -"Miss Marjory was saying it should be gay-like," murmured a rebellious -voice among the elder scholars; the younger pausing with awed glances -at the only authority they had known. - -"Then she was wrong," retorted the Reverend James Gillespie's owner. -"It should be stately and solemn as befits a--a hymn. Don't you agree -with me, James?" - -"Perfectly, perfectly. The Bishop agrees also." His face beamed -unalloyed content; for he had read "dust to dust, ashes to ashes," -over many a coffin since his voice broke down one November morning -some years ago, and the memory of one funeral scarcely troubles him -more than another; each and all have a place in that growing sense of -his sacerdotal position, which makes him greatly regret that in those -earlier days he did not wear a biretta when exercising his priestly -function in committing his flock to their graves. - -And the evening shadows were lengthening also along the white road -that curves and crests the points and bays of the loch. A glint of -light where Paul had stood like St. Christopher, a deeper shadow where -Marjory had sate listening to the blabbing of the waves. Light and -shadow mingled in the woods, through which they had run hand in hand, -though with every moment the sunset glow left some golden birch or -scarlet cherry; and down among the tall, silver firs by the house a -faint white mist was beginning to rise over the trim lawns. - -"It is growing chill, Paul!" said an anxious voice. - -"To be continued in our next, Blazes; your aunt is inexorable!" The -tone was gracious as ever, but thinner, as Paul Macleod rose from his -lounge chair. - -"But, Uncle Paul! How many runs did you make?" cried Blasius, eagerly. -It had been his first term at Harrow, and this tale he had been -hearing of past prowess in cricket was too interesting to be thus left -pointless. - -"How many? I forget. Perhaps your aunt will remember----" - -A little spasm of pain passed over Violet's face. "How lazy you are, -Paul! You will end by remembering nothing." - -"Why should I remember when you do it so much better than I? It was a -good lot, Blasius, and I recollect being awfully proud at the time. -But these things slip by, somehow. When you are as old as I am----" - -"You really ought to go in, Paul!" came that warning voice, with a -studied patience in it. "This is not the Riviera, remember." - -"No, worse luck! I suppose it is the proper thing to come down here, -but it is an awful bore in some ways. Ah! there's George, back from -the hill--well, he likes it, that is one comfort." - -Blanche stood at the jasmine-covered porch to welcome her husband, for -the advancing years had, as is so often the case, decided her final -selection of a part in favour of the devoted wife--the fact being that -she was becoming a trifle too matronly for most of the others, while -the growing independence of the children stood in the way of a -satisfactory rendering of the maternal one. - -"Taking him in? That is right," she said approvingly, to her -sister-in-law, as Paul, on his wife's arm, paused to look at the birds -old John's son was laying out on the step. Old John himself, sturdy on -his legs as ever, but mindful of the dignity due to head keeperdom, -standing by. And then, not to be outdone, she turned to her husband. -"George! you ought not to dawdle about in wet feet. Please go in, too, -and change." - -"Wet? My dear, the moors are as dry as a bone. Aren't they, John?" - -"As dry as they will have been these fifty years, whatever," replied -the old man. "As dry as they would be that summer, Gleneira, when you -and----" - -"Do come in, Paul!" came the anxious voice, again. "Look, how the mist -is rising----" - -"By Jove! that's a fine young bird!" interrupted Paul, inconsequently, -with a flash of his old interest. "By the way, Violet, you might tell -the cook not to roast them to cinders as she did last night, and, -while I remember it, I wish you'd speak to Cunningham about that -horse----" - -"Really, Paul!" said his sister; "I think you might give the grooms -their orders yourself." - -He smiled kindly, and laid his other hand upon his wife's, as together -they went slowly to the smoking-room. - -"I am afraid I give you a lot of trouble," he said apologetically, as -he held the door open for her to pass through--"but I have such a -wretched memory, and you are so kind." - -"Don't say that, Paul! don't say that; what does it matter? I am quite -happy if you are." - -She watched his face curiously, eagerly, almost passionately; but she -saw nothing save that easy, kindly smile. - -Had her wish been fulfilled? and had he left memory behind in the -Valley of the Shadow, where he had left so much of the old Paul? She -could scarcely tell, for he never spoke of that one summer, but lived -his life as if it had not been. - - - * * * * * - - -But the light was lingering still on that steep slope, whence the -purple cloud of Iona could be seen lying like an amethyst on the -golden shield of the sea--for the sky was hung with blood-red pennants -as if the hosts of heaven were going forth to war. - -And Tom Kennedy looked out over sea and sky from the gravestone which -told that Marjory Carmichael died in attempting to save the life of -Paul Macleod. There was a bunch of red rowans on the green grass. He -brings one every year when, his brief holiday over, he climbs over the -hill--as he did on the last day he saw her--on his way back to the -work-a-day world, and that hand-to-hand fight with Death in others -which will cease with his own. - -His eyes are troubled, for it comes back to him every year as he sits -there that he might have saved her--if he had known. - -Known what? A smile comes to his face as he takes out an old letter -and reads the last words she ever wrote to him, "Yet I stretch out my -hands to you and say, again and again, Friendship is a bigger thing -than Love!" - -The mists are rising even there as he turns to breast the hill, the -cloud wreaths sweep solemnly in from the sea in stately curves, and as -he pauses on the summit for a last look downwards, lo! there is -nothing at all in earth, or sea, or sky, save himself and a grey, -encircling mist. Love and Friendship, Life and Death, Sunshine and -Shade! Where are they? - - - - THE END. - - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Red Rowans, by Flora Annie Steel - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RED ROWANS *** - -***** This file should be named 40141-8.txt or 40141-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/1/4/40141/ - -Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by -Google Books (New York Public Library) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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