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- float: left; - margin-right: 1em } - -.align-right { clear: right; - float: right; - margin-left: 1em } - -.align-center { margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto } - -div.shrinkwrap { display: table; } - -/* SECTIONS */ - -body { margin: 5% 10% 5% 10% } - -/* compact list items containing just one p */ -li p.pfirst { margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0 } - -.first { margin-top: 0 !important; - text-indent: 0 !important } -.last { margin-bottom: 0 !important } - -span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 1 } -img.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.5em 0 0; max-width: 25% } -span.dropspan { font-variant: small-caps } - -.no-page-break { page-break-before: avoid !important } - -/* PAGINATION */ - -.pageno { position: absolute; right: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.pageno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.lineno { position: absolute; left: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.lineno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.toc-pageref { float: right } - -@media screen { - .coverpage, .frontispiece, .titlepage, .verso, .dedication, .plainpage - { margin: 10% 0; } - - div.clearpage, div.cleardoublepage - { margin: 10% 0; border: none; border-top: 1px solid gray; } - - .vfill { margin: 5% 10% } -} - -@media print { - div.clearpage { page-break-before: always; padding-top: 10% } - div.cleardoublepage { page-break-before: right; padding-top: 10% } - - .vfill { margin-top: 20% } - h2.title { margin-top: 20% } -} - -/* DIV */ -pre { font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.9em; white-space: pre-wrap } - -</style> -<title>STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON! (VOLUME I)</title> -<meta name="PG.Rights" content="Public Domain" /> -<meta name="PG.Title" content="Stand Fast, Craig-Royston! (Volume I)" /> -<meta name="PG.Producer" content="Al Haines" /> -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<meta name="DC.Creator" content="William Black" /> -<meta name="DC.Created" content="1890" /> -<meta name="PG.Id" content="42729" /> -<meta name="PG.Released" content="2013-05-17" /> -<meta name="DC.Language" content="en" /> -<meta name="DC.Title" content="Stand Fast, Craig-Royston! (Volume I)" /> - -<link href="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" rel="schema.DCTERMS" /> -<link href="http://id.loc.gov/vocabulary/relators" rel="schema.MARCREL" /> -<meta content="Stand Fast, Craig-Royston! (Volume I)" name="DCTERMS.title" /> -<meta content="craig1.rst" name="DCTERMS.source" /> -<meta content="en" scheme="DCTERMS.RFC4646" name="DCTERMS.language" /> -<meta content="2013-05-18T03:04:58.068879+00:00" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.modified" /> -<meta content="Project Gutenberg" name="DCTERMS.publisher" /> -<meta content="Public Domain in the USA." name="DCTERMS.rights" /> -<link href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/42729" rel="DCTERMS.isFormatOf" /> -<meta content="William Black" name="DCTERMS.creator" /> -<meta content="2013-05-17" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.created" /> -<meta content="width=device-width" name="viewport" /> -<meta content="EpubMaker 0.3.20a7 by Marcello Perathoner <webmaster@gutenberg.org>" name="generator" /> -</head> -<body> -<div class="document" id="stand-fast-craig-royston-volume-i"> -<h1 class="center document-title level-1 pfirst title"><span class="x-large">STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON! (VOLUME I)</span></h1> - -<!-- this is the default PG-RST stylesheet --> -<!-- figure and image styles for non-image formats --> -<!-- default transition --> -<!-- default attribution --> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="clearpage"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="align-None container language-en pgheader" id="pg-header" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>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 </span><a class="reference internal" href="#project-gutenberg-license">Project Gutenberg License</a><span> -included with this eBook or online at -</span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license">http://www.gutenberg.org/license</a><span>.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<div class="align-None container" id="pg-machine-header"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>Title: Stand Fast, Craig-Royston! (Volume I) -<br /> -<br />Author: William Black -<br /> -<br />Release Date: May 17, 2013 [EBook #42729] -<br /> -<br />Language: English -<br /> -<br />Character set encoding: UTF-8</span></p> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-start-line"><span>*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON! (VOLUME I)</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-produced-by"><span>Produced by Al Haines.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span></span></p> -</div> -<div class="align-None container titlepage"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="x-large">STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON!</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="large">A Novel</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">BY</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="large">WILLIAM BLACK,</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">AUTHOR OF -<br />"A DAUGHTER OF HETH," "MACLEOD OF DARE," ETC.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics medium">IN THREE VOLUMES.</em><span class="medium"> -<br />VOL. I.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">LONDON: -<br />SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON, LIMITED -<br />St. Dunstan's House -<br />FETTER LANE, FLEET STREET, E.C. -<br />1890.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">[</span><em class="italics small">All rights reserved.</em><span class="small">]</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container verso"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">LONDON: -<br />PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, -<br />STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">CONTENTS OF VOL. I.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">CHAPTER</span></p> -<ol class="upperroman simple"> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#the-wanderers">The Wanderers</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#neighbours">Neighbours</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#an-approach">An Approach</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#stalled-ox-and-a-dinner-of-herbs">Stalled Ox and a Dinner of Herbs</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#qu-mon-coeur-en-mariage">Qu' mon Coeur en Mariage</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#fairy-land">Fairy Land</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#claire-fontaine">Claire Fontaine</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#an-alarm">An Alarm</a></p> -</li> -</ol> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-wanderers"><span class="x-large">STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON!</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">CHAPTER I.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">THE WANDERERS.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>On a certain sunny afternoon in May, when all the -world and his wife were walking or driving in -Piccadilly, two figures appeared there who clearly -did not belong to the fashionable crowd. Indeed, -so unusual was their aspect that many a swift -glance, shot from carefully impassive faces, made -furtive scrutiny of them as they passed. One of -the strangers was an old man who might have been -a venerable Scandinavian scald come to life again—a -man thick-set and broad-shouldered, with features -at once aquiline and massive, and with flowing hair -and beard almost silver-white. From under his -deeply lined forehead and shaggy eyebrows -gleamed a pair of eyes that were alert and -confident as with the audacity of youth; and the heavy -white moustache and beard did not quite conceal -the cheerful firmness of the mouth. For the rest, -he wore above his ordinary attire a plaid of -shepherd's tartan, the ends loosely thrown over his -shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By his side there walked a young girl of about -seventeen, whose singular, if somewhat pensive and -delicate beauty, could not but have struck any -passer-by who happened to catch sight of her. But -she rarely raised her eyes from the pavement. -What was obvious to every one was, first of all, the -elegance of her walk—which was merely the -natural expression of a perfectly moulded form; -and then the glory of her hair, which hung free and -unrestrained down her back, and no doubt added -to the youthfulness of her look. As to the colour -of those splendid masses—well, it was neither -flaxen, nor golden, nor brown, nor golden-brown, -but apparently a mixture of all these shades, -altering in tone here and there according to sunshine -or shadow, but always showing a soft and graduated -sheen rather than any definite lustre. Her face, as -has been said, was mostly downcast; and one could -only see that the refined and sensitive features -were pale; also that there was a touch of sun-tan -over her complexion, that spoke of travel. But -when, by inadvertence, or by some forced -overcoming of her native diffidence, she did raise her -eyes, there flashed a revelation upon the world; for -these blue-grey deeps seemed to hold light; a -mild-shining light, timid, mysterious, appealing -almost; the unconsciousness of childhood no longer -there, the self-possession of womanhood not yet -come: then those beautiful, limpid, pathetic eyes, -thus tremblingly glancing out for a second, would -be withdrawn, and again the dark lashes would veil -the mystic, deep-shining wells. This was Maisrie -Bethune; the old man beside her was her grandfather.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The young girl seemed rather to linger behind as -her companion went up the steps towards a certain -door and rang the bell; and her eyes were still -downcast as she followed him across the hall and -into an ante-room. When the footman came back -with the message that his lordship was disengaged -and would see Mr. Bethune, and when he was about -to show the way upstairs, the girl hung back, and -said, with almost a piteous look—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will stay here, grandfather."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not at all," the old man answered, impatiently. -"Not at all. Come along!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There were two persons in this large and lofty -room on the first floor; but just as the visitors -arrived at the landing, one of these withdrew and -went and stood at a front window, where he could -look down into the street. The other—a youngish-looking -man, with clear eyes and a pleasant smile—remained -to receive his guests; and if he could not -help a little glance of surprise—perhaps at the -unusual costume of his chief visitor, or perhaps -because he had not expected the young lady—there -was at all events nothing but good-nature in his face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My granddaughter, Maisrie, Lord Musselburgh," -the old man said, by way of introduction, or -explanation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The young nobleman begged her to be seated; -she merely thanked him, and moved away a little -distance, to a table on which were some illustrated -books; so that the two men were left free to talk -as they chose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well now, that seems a very admirable project -of yours, Mr. Bethune," Lord Musselburgh said, in -his frank and off-hand way. "There's plenty of -Scotch blood in my own veins, as you know; and I -am glad of any good turn that can be done to poor -old Scotland. I see you are not ashamed of the -national garb."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You remember what was said on a famous -occasion," the old man made answer, speaking -methodically and emphatically, and with a strong -northern accent, "and I will own that I hoped your -lordship's heart would 'warm to the tartan.' For -it is a considerable undertaking, after all. The men -are scattered; and their verses are scattered; but, -scattered or no scattered, there is everywhere and -always in them the same sentiment—the sentiment -of loyalty and gratitude and admiration for the land -of the hills and the glens. And surely, as your -lordship says, it is doing a good turn to poor old -Scotland to show the world that wherever her sons -may be—in Canada, in Florida, out on the plains, -or along the Californian coast—they do not forget -the mother that bore them—no, but that they are -proud of her, and think always of her, and regard -her with an undying affection and devotion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was warming to his work. There was a vibration -in his voice, as he proceeded to repeat the -lines—</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"From the lone shieling on the misty island,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Mountains divide them and a world of seas;</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>But still their hearts are true, their hearts are Highland,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>And they in dreams behold the Hebrides."</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Is that by one of your Scotch-American -friends?" Lord Musselburgh asked, with a smile; -for he was looking curiously, and not without a -certain sympathetic interest, at this old man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not know, your lordship; at the moment I -could not tell you," was the answer. "But this I -do know, that a man may be none the less a good -Canadian or American citizen because of his love -for the heather hills that nourished his infancy, and -inspired his earliest imagination. He does not -complain of the country that has given him shelter, -nor of the people who have welcomed him and made -him one of themselves. He only says with -Crichton's emigrant shepherd—</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"'Wae's me that fate us twa has twined'</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>—'twined' is severed: perhaps your lordship is not -so familiar with the dialect—</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"'Wae's me that fate us twa has twined;</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>And I serve strangers ower the sea;</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Their hearts are leal, their words are kind,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>But, lass, it isna hame to me!'</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Good men they are and true," he went on, in the -same exalted strain; "valued and respected citizens—none -more so; but cut their hearts open, and you -will find </span><em class="italics">Scotland</em><span> written in every fibre. It is -through no ingratitude to their adopted country -that a spray of white heather, a few bluebells, a -gowan or two, anything sent across the seas to them -to remind them of the land of their birth, will bring -hot tears to their eyes. As one of them has written—</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>'What memories dear of that cot ye recall,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Though now there remains neither rooftree nor wall!</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Alack-a-day! lintel and threshold are gone,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>While cold 'neath the weeds lies the hallowed hearthstone!</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>'Twas a straw-roofed cottage, but love abode there,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>And peace and contentment aye breathed in its air;</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>With songs from the mother, and legends from sire,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>How blithe were we all round the cheery peat-fire!</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>—Caledonia's blue-bells, O bonnie blue-bells!'"</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"You have an excellent memory," Lord Musselburgh -said, good-naturedly. "Those patriotic -effusions seem to have impressed you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That was written by the Bard of Amulree, your -lordship," continued the garrulous old man; "and -a truer Scotchman does not breathe, though America -has been his home nearly all his life. And there -is many another, both in Canada and the United -States. They may be in happier circumstances -than they would have been in the old country; -they may have plenty of friends around them: but -still their hearts turn back to</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>'Where I've watched the gloamin' close</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>The long bright summer days;</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>And doubted not that fairies dwelt</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>On Cathkin's bonnie braes;</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Auld Ruglin Brig and Cathkin braes</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>And Clyde's meandering streams,</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Ye shall be subject of my lays</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>As ye are of my dreams.'</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Nor are they ashamed of their Scottish way of -speech—ye may observe, my lord, that I've kept a -twang of it myself, even among all my wanderings; -and loth would I be to lose it. But I'm wearying -your lordship," the old man said, in a suddenly -altered tone. "I would just say that a collection -of what the Scotch poets in America have written -ought to be interesting to Scotchmen everywhere, -and perhaps to others as well; for patriotism is a -virtue that commands respect. I beg your pardon -for encroaching on your lordship's time——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, that's nothing," Lord Musselburgh said, -easily; "but we must not keep the young lady -waiting." He glanced in the direction of the girl -who was standing by the table. She was turning -over the leaves of a book. Then he resumed the -conversation—but in a much lower key.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I quite understand, Mr. Bethune," he said, so -that she should not overhear, "what you wrote to -me—that the bringing out of such a volume will -require time, and expense. And—and you must -allow me to join in, in the only way I can. Now -what sum——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He hesitated. Mr. Bethune said—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Whatever your lordship pleases."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The young man went into the front portion of -the long apartment (where his friend was still -discreetly standing behind the window curtains) and -opened a despatch-box and sat down. He drew out -a cheque for £50, enclosed it in an envelope, and, -coming back, slipped it into the old man's hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope that will help; and I shall be glad to -hear of the progress of the work."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thank your lordship," Mr. Bethune said, -without any obsequiousness, or profusion of gratitude.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then he turned to his granddaughter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Maisrie!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl came away at once. She bowed to -Lord Musselburgh in passing, without lifting her -eyes. He, however, put out his hand, and said -"Good-bye!" Nay, more than that, although he -had previously rang the bell, he accompanied -them both downstairs, and stood at the door while -a four-wheeled cab was being called for them. -Then, when they had left, he returned to the room -above, and called lightly to his friend who was -still standing at the window:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ready, Vin? Come along, then! Did you -hear the old man and his poetry?—a harmless -old maniac, I think. Well, let's be off to Victoria; -we'll get down to the Bungalow in time for a -good hour's lawn-tennis before dinner."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile old George Bethune and his granddaughter -were being driven away eastward in the -cab; and he was chatting gaily to her, with the air -of one who had been successful in some enterprise. -He had doffed his Scotch plaid; and, what is more, -he had also abandoned the Scotch accent in which -he had addressed 'his loardship.' It was to be a -great book, this collection of Scotch-American -poetry. It would enable him to pay a well-deserved -compliment to many an old friend of his -in Toronto, in Montreal, in New York. He was -warm in his praises of this young Lord Musselburgh; -and predicted a great future for him. -Then he put his head out of the window and bade -the driver stop—opposite the door of a -wine-merchant's office.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Grandfather," said the girl, "may I wait for -you in the cab?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly not," he answered with decision. "I -wish you to see men and things as part of your -education. Live and learn, Maisrie—every moment -of your life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Leaving the Scotch plaid in the cab, he crossed -the pavement and went into the office, she meekly -following. The wine-merchant was sent for, and -presently he made his appearance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good afternoon, Mr. Glover," old George -Bethune said, with something of an air of quiet -patronage, "I wish to order some claret from you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The tall, bald, bland-looking person whom he -addressed did not seem to receive this news with -any joy; but the young lady was there, and he -was bound to be courteous; so he asked -Mr. Bethune to be kind enough to step into the -back-premises where he could put some samples before -him. Maisrie was for remaining where she stood; -but her grandfather bade her come along; so she -also went with them into the back portion of the -establishment, where she was accommodated with -a chair. At this table there were no illustrated -books to which she could turn; there were only -bottles, glasses, corkscrews, and a plateful of -wine-biscuits; so that she kept her eyes fixed on the -floor—and was forced to listen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Claret, Mr. Glover," said the old man, with -a certain sententiousness and assumption of -importance that he had not displayed in speaking to -Lord Musselburgh, "claret was in former days the -national drink of Scotland—owing to the close -alliance with France, as you know—and the old -Scotch families naturally preserve the tradition. -So that you can hardly wonder if to one of the -name of Bethune a sound claret is scarcely so much -a luxury as a necessity. Why, sir, my ancestor, -Maximilien de Bethune, duc de Sully, had the -finest vineyards in the whole of France; and it was -his privilege to furnish the royal table——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope he got paid," the bland wine-merchant -said, with a bit of a laugh; but happening to -glance towards the young girl sitting there, and -perceiving that the pale and beautiful face had -suddenly grown surcharged with colour, he, -instantly, and with the greatest embarrassment, -proceeded to stumble on—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, of course," he said, hastily: "a great -honour—naturally—the royal table—a great honour -indeed—I quite understand—the duc de Sully, did -you say?—oh, yes—a great statesman——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The greatest financier France has ever possessed," -the old man said, grandly. "Though he was by -profession a soldier, when he came to tackle the -finances of the country, he paid off two hundred -millions of livres—the whole of the king's debts, in -fact—and filled the royal treasury. It is something -to bear his name, surely; I confess I am proud of -it; but our family goes far further back than the -duc de Sully and the sixteenth century. Why, -sir," he continued, in his stately manner, "when the -royal Stewarts were known only by their office—</span><em class="italics">Dapifer</em><span> -or </span><em class="italics">Seneschallus</em><span> they were called—the -Beatons and Bethunes could boast of their -territorial designation. In 1434, when Magister John -Seneschallus, Provost of Methven, was appointed -one of the Lords Auditors, it was Alexander de -Beaton who administered the oath to him—the -same Alexander de Beaton who, some two years -thereafter, accompanied Margaret of Scotland to -France, on her marriage with the Dauphin. Yes, -sir, I confess I am proud to bear the name; and -perhaps it is the more excusable that it is about -the last of our possessions they have left us. -Balloray——" He paused for a second. "Do you -see that child?" he said, pointing with a trembling -forefinger to his granddaughter. "If there were -any right or justice, there sits the heiress of -Balloray."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was a famous lawsuit in its time," the -wine-merchant observed—but not looking in Maisrie's -direction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It killed my father, and made me a wanderer on -the face of the earth," the old man said; and then -he raised his head bravely. "Well, no matter; -they cannot rob me of my name; and I am -Bethune of Balloray—whoever has the wide lands."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now perhaps there still dwelt in the breast of -the suave-looking wine-merchant some remorse of -conscience over the remark that had caused this -pale and sensitive-looking young creature to flush -with conscious shame; at all events he had quite -abandoned the somewhat grudging coldness with -which he had first received his customer; and when -various samples of claret had been brought from -the cellar and placed on the table, it was the more -expensive that he frankly and fully recommended. -Nay, he was almost pressing. And again he called -to his assistant, and bade him fetch a particular -bottle of champagne; and when that was opened, -he himself poured out a glass and offered it to the -young lady, with a biscuit or two, and seemed -concerned and distressed when she thanked him and -declined. The end of this interview was that old -George Bethune ordered a considerable quantity of -claret; and carried away with him, for immediate -use, a case of twelve bottles, which was put into the -four-wheeled cab.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Park Street, Mayfair, occupies a prominent -position in the fashionable quarter of London; but -from it, at intervals, run one or two smaller -thoroughfares—sometimes ending in stables—the dwellings -in which are of a quite modest and unpretentious -appearance. It was to one of these smaller -thoroughfares that George Bethune and his -granddaughter now drove; and when they had entered -the quiet little house, and ascended to the first -floor, they found that dinner was laid on the table, -for the evening was now well advanced. When they -were ready, the frugal banquet was also ready; and -the old man, seated at the head of the table, with -Maisrie on his right, soon grew eloquent about the -virtues of the bottle of claret which he had just -opened. The girl—who did not take any wine—seemed -hardly to hear. She was more thoughtful -even than usual—perhaps, indeed, there was a trace -of sadness in the delicate, pensive features. When -the fresh-coloured servant-lass brought in the -things, and happened to remain in the room for a -second or two, Maisrie made some pretence of -answering her grandfather; then, when they were -left alone again, she relapsed into silence, and let -him ramble on as he pleased. And he was in a -satisfied and garrulous mood. The evening was fine -and warm—the window behind them they had left -open. He approved of the lodging-house cookery; -he emphatically praised the claret, with the -conviction of one who knew. Dinner, in fact, was half -way over before the girl, looking up with her -beautiful, clear, limpid eyes—beautiful although -they were so strangely wistful—ventured to say -anything.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Grandfather," she asked, with obvious hesitation, -"did—did Lord Musselburgh—give you—something -towards the publication of that book?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, yes, yes, yes, certainly," the old man said, -with much cheerfulness. "Certainly. Something -substantial too. Why not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The hot blood was in her face again—and her -eyes downcast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Grandfather," she said, in the same low voice, -"when will you set about writing the book?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, well," he made answer, evasively, but with -perfect good humour, "it is a matter to be thought -over. Indeed, I heard in New York of a similar -volume being got together; but I may be first in -the field after all. There is no immediate hurry. -A thing of that kind must be thought over and -considered. And indeed, my dear, I cannot go back -to America at present; for my first and foremost -intention is that you should begin to learn -something of your native country. You must become -familiar with the hills and the moorlands, with the -roaring mountain-torrents, and the lonely islands -amid the grey seas. For of what account is the -accident of your birth? Omaha cannot claim you. -There is Scotch blood in your veins, Maisrie—the -oldest in the land; and you must see Dunfermline -town, where the King sate 'drinking the blood-red -wine'; and you must see Stirling Castle, and -Edinburgh, and Holyrood, and Melrose Abbey. -Nebraska has no claim over you—you, a Bethune of -Balloray. And you have some Highland blood in -your veins too, my dear; for if the Grants who -intermarried with the Bethunes were not of the -northern Grants whose proud motto is 'Stand fast, -Craigellachie!' none the less is Craig-Royston wild -and Highland enough, as I hope to show you some -day. And Lowland or Highland, Maisrie, you must -wear the snood when you go north; a young Scotch -lass should wear the snood; yes, yes, the bit of blue -ribbon will look well in your hair. Melrose," he -rambled on, as he filled his glass again, "and -Maxwellton Braes; Yarrow's Banks; and fair Kirkconnel -Lea: a storied country: romance, pathos, tragic and -deathless music conjured up at every footstep. -Instead of the St. Lawrence, you shall have the -murmur of the Tweed: instead of Brooklyn—the -song-haunted shores of Colonsay! But there is one -place that with my will you shall never visit—no, -not while there are strangers and aliens there. You -may wander all over Scotland—north, south, east, -and west—but never, never while I am alive, must -you ask to see 'the bonny mill-dams o' Balloray.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She knew what he meant; she did not speak. -But presently—perhaps to draw away his thoughts -from that terrible law-suit which had had such -disastrous consequences for him and his—she said—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope, grandfather, you won't think of remaining -in this country on my account. Perhaps it is -better to read about those beautiful places, and to -dream about them, than to see them—you remember -'Yarrow Unvisited.' And indeed, grandfather, if -you are collecting materials for that book, why -should we not go back at once? It would be -dreadful if—if—the other volume were to come out -first—and you indebted to Lord Musselburgh, or -any one else; but if yours were written and -published—if you could show them you had done what -you undertook to do, then it would be all perfectly -right. For you know, grandfather," she continued, -in a gently persuasive and winning voice, "no one -could do it as well as you! Who else has such a -knowledge of Scotland and Scottish literature, or -such a sympathy with Scottish music and poetry? -And then your personal acquaintance with many of -those writers—who used to welcome you as one of -themselves—who else could have that? You could -do it better than any one, grandfather; and you -have always said you would like to do something -for the sake of Scotland; and here is the very thing -ready to your hand. Some other time, grandfather," -she pleaded, with those beautiful clear eyes turned -beseechingly upon him, "some other time you will -take me to all those beautiful places. It is not as -if I had come back home; I have hardly ever had -a home anywhere; I am as well content in -Montreal or Toronto as anywhere else. And then you -could get all the assistance you might need over -there—you could go to your various friends in the -newspaper offices, and they would give you information."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes; well, well," he said, peevishly; "I -am not a literary hack, to be driven, Maisrie. I -must have my own time. I made no promise. -There, now, get me my pipe; and bring your -violin; and play some of those Scotch airs. Yes, -yes; you can get at the feeling of them; and that -comes to you through your blood, Maisrie—no -matter where you happen to be born."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Twilight had fallen. At the open window, with -a long clay pipe, as yet unlit, in his fingers, old -George Bethune sate and stared out into the -semi-darkness, where all was quiet now, for the carriages -from the neighbouring mews had long ago been -driven away to dinner-parties and operas and -theatres. And in the silence, in the dusky part -of the room, there arose a low sound, a -tender-breathing sound of most exquisite pathos, that -seemed to say, as well as any instrument might say—</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"I'm wearin' awa', Jean,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, Jean,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>I'm wearin' awa',</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>To the land o' the leal;</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>There's nae sorrow there, Jean,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>There's neither cauld nor care, Jean,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>The day's aye fair</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>In the land o' the leal."</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Most tenderly she played, and slowly; and with -an absolute simplicity of tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's Scotch blood in your veins, Maisrie—Scotch -blood," he said, approvingly, as the -low-vibrating notes ceased.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then again in the darkness another plaintive -wail arose—it was the Flowers o' the Forest this -time—and here the old man joined in, singing in a -sort of undertone, and with a sufficiently -sympathetic voice:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"I've heard the liltin' at our yowe-milkin',</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Lasses a-liltin, before the dawn o' day;</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>But now there's a moanin' on ilka green loanin';</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>The Flowers o' the Forest are a' wede away.</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>* * * * *</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>"We hear nae mair liltin' at our yowe-milkin',</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Women and bairns are dowie and wae;</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Sighin' and moanin', on ilka green loanin'—</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>The Flowers o' the Forest are a' wede away."</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Yes, yes," he said, as he rose and came away -from the window, "it is the Scotch blood that -tingles, it is the Scotch heart that throbs. 'Yestreen, -when to the trembling strings, the dance gaed -through the lichted ha'——' Who but a Scotchman -could have written that? Well, now, Maisrie, -we'll have the gas; and you can get out the spirits; -and we'll try some of the livelier airs. There's -plenty of them, too, as befits a daring and energetic -people—a nation of fighters. They were not always -bewailing their losses in the field." And therewith -the old man, pacing up and down before the empty -fire-place, began to sing, with upright head and -gallant voice—</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"London's bonnie woods and braes,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>I maun leave them a', lassie;</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Wha can thole when Britain's faes</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Would gie Briton law, lassie?</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Wha would shun the field o' danger?</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Wha to fame would live a stranger?</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Now when freedom bids avenge her,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Wha would shun her ca', lassie?"</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Maisrie Bethune had laid aside her violin; but -she did not light the gas. She stood there, in the -semi-darkness, in the middle of the room, timidly -regarding her grandfather, and yet apparently -afraid to speak. At last she managed to say—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Grandfather—you will not be angry—?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's this, now?" he said, wheeling round -and staring at her, for the peculiarity of her tone -had caught his ear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Grandfather," she continued, in almost piteous -embarrassment. "I—I wish to say something to -you—I have been thinking about it for a long -while back—and yet afraid you mightn't -understand—you might be angry—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, well, what is it?" he said, impatiently. -"What are you dissatisfied with? I don't see that -you've much to complain of, or I either. We don't -live a life of grandeur; nor is there much -excitement about it; but it is fairly comfortable. I -consider we are very well off."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We are too well off, grandfather," she said, sadly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He started at this, and stared at her again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Grandfather," she said, in the same pathetic -voice, "don't you see that I am no longer a child? -I am a woman. And I am doing nothing. Why -did you give me so careful an education if I am not -to use it? I wish to earn something—I—I wish -to keep you and me, grandfather—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The stammering sentences ceased: he replied -slowly, and perhaps a trifle coldly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why did I have you carefully educated? Well, -I should have thought you might have guessed—might -have understood. But I will tell you. I -have given you what education was possible in our -circumstances in order to fit you for the station -which some day you may be called upon to fill. -And if not, if it is fated that injustice and iniquity -are to be in our case perpetual, at all events you -must be worthy of the name you bear. But it was -not as an implement of trade," he continued, more -warmly, "that I gave you such education as was -possible in our wandering lives. What do you -want to do? Teach music? And you would -use your trained hand and ear—and your trained -soul, which is of more importance still—to drum -mechanical rudiments into the brats of some -bourgeois household? A fit employment for a -Bethune of Balloray!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She seemed bewildered—and agonised.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Grandfather, I must speak! I must speak! -You may be angry or not—but—but I am no longer -a child—I can see how we are situated—and—and -if it is pride that causes me to speak, remember who -it is that has taught me to think of our name. -Grandfather, let us begin a new life! I can -work—I am old enough to work—I would slave my -fingers to the bone for you! Grandfather, why -should you accept assistance from any one?—from -Lord Musselburgh or any one? No, I do not -blame you—I have always thought that everything -you did was right—and kind and good; but I cannot -be a child any longer—I must say what I think and -feel. Grandfather——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But here the incoherent appeal broke down; she -fell on her knees before him, and clasped her hands -over her face; and in the dark the old man—stern -and immovable—could hear the sound of her violent -sobbing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will work—oh, I will work night and day, -grandfather," she continued, wildly, "if only you -will take my money and not from any one else! I -will go on the stage—I will turn dressmaker—I -will go anywhere or do anything—and work hard -and hard—if only you will consent! There would -not be so much sacrifice, grandfather—a little, not -much—and don't you think we should be all the -happier? I have spoken at last, grandfather—you -will forgive me! I could not keep silent any -longer. It has been weighing on my heart—and -now—now you are going to say yes, grandfather—and -to-morrow—to-morrow we begin differently. -We are so much alone—let us live for each other—let -us be independent of every one! Now you are -going to say yes, grandfather—and indeed, indeed -I will work for both of us, oh, so gladly!——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you finished?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She rose, and would have seized his hand to -enforce her appeal, but he withdrew a step, and -motioned her to be seated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am glad of this opportunity," he said, in a -formal and measured fashion. "You say you have -become a woman; and it is natural you should begin -and think for yourself; hitherto I have treated you -as a child, and you have obeyed and believed -implicitly. As for your immediate wish, I may say -at once that is impossible. There is no kind of work -for which you are fitted—even if I were prepared to -live on your earnings, which I am not. The stage? -What could you do on the stage! Do you think an -actress is made at a moment's notice? Or a -dress-maker either? How could you turn dressmaker -to-morrow?—because you can hem handkerchiefs? -And as for making use of your education, do you -know of the thousands of girls whose French and -Italian and music are as good as yours, and who can -barely gain their food by teaching?——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He altered his tone; and spoke more proudly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But what I say is this, that you do not -understand, you have not yet understood, my position. -When George Bethune condescends to accept -assistance, as you call it, he receives no favour, he -confers an honour. I know my rights, and stand on -them; yes, and I know my wrongs—and how trifling -the compensations ever likely to be set against them. -You spoke of Lord Musselburgh; but Lord -Musselburgh—a mushroom peer—the representative of a -family dragged from nothingness by James VI.—Lord -Musselburgh knew better than you—well he -knew—that he was honouring himself in receiving -into his house a Bethune of Balloray. And as for -his granting me assistance, that was his privilege, -his opportunity, his duty. Should not I have done -the like, and gladly, if our positions had been -reversed? </span><em class="italics">Noblesse oblige</em><span>. I belong to his -order—and to a family older by centuries than his. If -there was a favour conferred to-day at Musselburgh -House, it was not on my shoulders that it fell."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He spoke haughtily, and yet without anger; and -there was a ring of sincerity in his tones that could -not be mistaken. The girl sate silent and abashed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said he, in the same proud fashion; -"during all my troubles, and they have been more -numerous than you know or need ever know, I have -never cowered, or whimpered, or abased myself -before any living being. I have held my head up. -My conscience is clear towards all men. 'Stand -fast, Craig-Royston!' it has been with me—and -shall be!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He went to the window and shut it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, light the gas, Maisrie; and let us talk -about something else. What I say is this, that if -anyone, recognising the injustice that I and mine -have suffered, should feel it due to himself, due to -humanity, to make some little reparation, why, that -is as between man and man—that ought to be -considered his privilege; and I take no shame. I -ask for no compassion. The years that I can hope -for now must be few; but they shall be as those -that have gone before. I abase myself before no -one. I hold my head erect. I look the world in -the face; and ask which of us has the greater cause -to complain of the other. 'Stand fast, -Craig-Royston!'—that has been my motto; and so, thank -God, it shall be to the end!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Maisrie lit the gas, and attended to her -grandfather's other wants—in a mechanical sort of way. -But she did not take up the violin again. There -was a strangely absent look on the pale and beautiful -and pensive face.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="neighbours"><span class="large">CHAPTER II.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">NEIGHBOURS.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The young man whom Lord Musselburgh had -hailed came into the middle of the room. He was -a handsome and well-made young fellow of about -three or four-and-twenty, with finely-cut and -intelligent features, and clear grey eyes that had a -curiously straightforward and uncompromising look -in them, albeit his manner was modest enough. At -the present moment, however, he seemed somewhat -perturbed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who were those two?" he said, quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Didn't you listen while the old gentleman was -declaiming away?" Lord Musselburgh made -answer. "An enthusiastic Scot, if ever there was -one! I suppose you never heard of the great -Bethune lawsuit?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But the other—the girl?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"His granddaughter, I think he said."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She is the most beautiful human creature I -ever beheld!" the young man exclaimed, rather -breathlessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His friend looked at him—and laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's not like you, Vin. Take care. The -Hope of the Liberal Party enmeshed at -four-and-twenty—that wouldn't do! Pretty—oh, yes, she -was pretty enough, but shy: I hardly saw anything -of her. I dare say her pretty face will have to be -her fortune; I suspect the poor old gentleman is -not overburdened with worldly possessions. He -has his name, however; he seems proud enough -of that; and I shouldn't wonder if it had made -friends for him abroad. They seem to have travelled -a good deal."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>While he was speaking his companion had -mechanically lifted from the table the card which -old George Bethune had sent up. The address -in Mayfair was pencilled on it. And mechanically -the young man laid down the card again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, come along, Vin—let's get to Victoria."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, if you don't mind, Musselburgh," said the -other, with downcast eyes, and something of -embarrassment, "I would rather—not go down to the -Bungalow to-night. Some other time—it is so -good of you to be always asking me down——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear fellow," the young nobleman said, -looking at his friend curiously, "what is the matter -with you? Are you in a dream? Are you asleep? -Haven't I told you that —— is coming down by -a late train to-night; and isn't all the world -envying you that the great man should make such a -protégé and favourite of you? Indeed you must -come down; you can't afford to lose such a chance. -We will sit up for him; and you'll talk to him during -supper; and you'll listen to him for hours after -if he is in the humour for monologues. Then -to-morrow morning you'll take him away bird's-nesting—he -is as eager for any new diversion as a school-boy; -and you'll have him all to yourself; and one -of these days, before you know where you are, he'll -hand you a Junior Lordship. Or is it the -Under-Secretaryship at the Home Office you're waiting -for? You know, we're all anxious to see how the -new experiment will come off. The young man -unspoiled by Oxford or Cambridge—untainted by -landlord sentiment—trained for public life on first -principles: one wants to see how all this will work -in practice. And we never dictate—oh, no, we -never dictate to the constituencies; but when the -public notice from time to time in the newspapers -that Mr. Vincent Harris was included in ——'s -dinner-party on the previous evening, then they -think; and perhaps they wonder when that lucky -young gentleman is going to take his seat in the -House of Commons. So really, my dear Vin, you -can't afford to throw away this chance of having -—— all to yourself. I suppose he quite -understands that you are not infected with any of your -father's Socialistic theories? Of course it's all -very well for an enormously rich man like your -father to play with Communism—it must be an -exciting sort of amusement—like stroking a tiger's -tail, and wondering what will happen in -consequence; but you must keep clear of that kind -of thing, my boy. Now, come along——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, thank you, Musselburgh," the young man -said, in the same embarrassed fashion, "but if -you'll excuse me—I'd rather stay in town to-night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, very well," the other said, good-naturedly, -"I shall be up in a day or two again. By the way, -the Four-in-Hand Club turns out on Saturday. -Shall I give you a lift—and we'll go down to -Hurlingham for the polo? Mrs. Ellison is coming."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, thanks—awfully good of you—I shall be -delighted," the young man murmured; and a few -seconds thereafter the two friends had separated, -Lord Musselburgh driving off in a hansom to -Victoria-station.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This young Vincent Harris who now walked away -along Piccadilly towards Hyde Park was in a sort -of waking trance. He saw nothing of the people -passing by him, nor of the carriages, nor of the -crowd assembled at the corner of the Row, expecting -the Princess. He saw a pale and pathetic face, a -dimly-outlined figure standing by a table, a chastened -splendour of girlish hair, an attitude of meekness -and diffidence. Once only had he caught a glimpse -of the beautiful, clear, blue-grey eyes—when she -came in at the door, looking startled almost; but -surely a man is not stricken blind and dumb by -a single glance from a girl's wondering or enquiring -eyes? Love at first sight?—he would have -dismissed the suggestion with anger, as an -impertinence, a profanation. It was not love at all: -it was a strange kind of interest and sympathy she -had inspired—compassionate almost, and yet more -reverent than pitiful. There appeared to be some -mysterious and subtle appeal in her very youth: -why should one so young be so solitary, so timid, -sheltering herself, as it were, from the common -gaze? Why that touch of pathos about a mouth -that was surely meant to smile?—why the lowered -eyelashes?—was it because she knew she was alone -in this great wilderness of strangers, in this teeming -town? And he felt in his heart that this was not -the place for her at all. She ought to have been -away in sunny meadows golden with buttercups, -with the laughter of young children echoing around -her, with the wide air fragrant with the new-mown -hay, with thrushes and blackbirds piping clear from -amidst the hawthorn boughs. Who had -imprisoned this beautiful child, and made a white -slave of her, and brought her into this great -roaring market of the world? And was there no -one to help?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But it was all a perplexity to him; even as was -this indefinable concern and anxiety about one to -whom he had never even spoken a word. What -was there in that pensive beauty that should so -strangely trouble him? She had made no appeal -to him; their eyes could scarcely be said to have -met, even in that brief moment; her cruel fate, the -tyranny of her surroundings, her pathetic resignation, -were all part and parcel of a distracted reverie, -that seemed to tear his heart asunder with fears, -and indignation, and vows of succour. And -then—somehow—amidst this chaos and bewilderment—his -one desire was that she should know he wished -to be her friend—that some day—oh, some wild -white day of joy!—he should be permitted to take -her hand and say "Do not be so sad! You are not -so much alone. Let me be by your side for a little -while—until you speak—until you tell me what I -can do—until you say 'Yes, I take you for my -friend!'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had wandered away from the fashionable -crowd—pacing aimlessly along the unfrequented -roadways of the Park, and little recking of the -true cause of the unrest that reigned in his bosom. -For one thing, speculations about love or marriage -had so far concerned him but slightly; these things -were too remote; his aspirations and ambitions were -of another sort. Then again he was familiar with -feminine society. While other lads were at college, -their thoughts intent on cricket, or boating, or golf, -he had been kept at home with masters and teachers -to fit him for the practical career which had been -designed for him; and part of the curriculum was -that he should mix freely with his kind, and get to -know what people of our own day were thinking, not -what people of two thousand years ago had been -thinking. One consequence of this was that 'Vin' -Harris, as he was universally called, if he did not -know everything, appeared to know everybody; and -of course he was acquainted with scores on scores -of pretty girls—whom he liked to look at when, for -example, they wore a smart lawn tennis costume, -and who interested him most perhaps when they -were saucy; and also he was acquainted with a -considerable number of young married ladies, who were -inclined to pet him, for he was good-natured, and -easy-mannered, and it may be just a little careless -of their favour. But as for falling seriously in love -(if there were such a thing) or perplexing himself -with dreams of marriage—that was far from his -scheme of life. His morning companions were -Spencer, Bain, John Mill, Delolme, Hallam, -Freeman, and the like; during the day he was busy with -questions relating to food supply, to the influence of -climate on character, the effect of religious creeds -on mental development, the protection and -cultivation of new industries, and so forth; then in the -evening he was down at the House of Commons a -good deal, especially when any well-known orator -was expected to speak; and again he went to all -kinds of social festivities, particularly when these -were of a political cast, or likely to be attended by -political people. For Vin Harris was known to be -a young man of great promise and prospects; he -was received everywhere; and granted a consideration -by his elders which was hardly justified by his -years. That he remained unspoiled—and even -modest in a degree unusual at his age—may be put -down to his credit, or more strictly to the fortunate -accident of his temperament and disposition.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>How long he walked, and whither he walked, on -this particular evening, he hardly knew; but as -daylight waned he found himself in Oxford-street, -and over there was Park-street. Well enough he -remembered the address pencilled on the visiting-card; -and yet he was timorous about seeking it out; -he passed and went on—came back again—glanced -nervously down the long thoroughfare—and then -resumed his aimless stroll, slowly and reluctantly. -To these indecisions and hesitations there came the -inevitable climax: with eyes lowered, but yet -seeming to see everything around him and far -ahead of him, he went down Park-street until he -came to the smaller thoroughfare named on the -card; and there, with still greater shamefacedness, -he paused and ventured to look at the house that he -guessed to be the abode of the old man and his -granddaughter. Well, it was a sufficiently humble -dwelling; but it was neat and clean; and in the -little balcony outside the first floor were a number -of pots of flowers—lobelias, ox-eye daisies, and -musk. The window was open, but he could hear -nothing. He glanced up and down the small street. -By this time the carriages had all been driven away -to dinner-party and theatre; a perfect silence -prevailed everywhere; there was not a single -passer-by. It was a quiet corner, a restful haven, these -two lonely creatures had found, after their varied -buffetings about the world. And to this young -man, who had just come away from the roar of -Oxford-street and its surging stream of human life, -there seemed something singularly fascinating and -soothing in the stillness. He began to think that -he, too, would like to escape into this retreat. They -would not object to a solitary companion?—to a -neighbour who would be content to see them, from -the other side of the way, at the window now and -again, or perhaps to say "Good morning!" or -"Good evening!" as they passed him on the -pavement? He could bring his books; here would be -ample opportunity for study; there were far too -many distractions and interruptions at his father's -house. And then—after weeks and weeks of -patient waiting—then perhaps—some still -evening—he might be invited to cross over? In the -hushed little parlour he would take his -seat—and—oh! the wonder and enhancement of it—be -privileged to sit and listen, and hear what the wanderers, -at rest at last, had to say of the far and outer world -they had left behind them. He did not know what -she was called; but he thought of several names; -and each one grew beautiful—became possessed of a -curious interest—when he guessed that it might be -hers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly the silence sprung into life; some one -seemed to speak to him; and then he knew that -it was a violin—being played in that very room. -He glanced up towards the open window; he could -just make out that the old man was sitting there, -within the shadow; therefore it must be the girl -herself who was playing, in the recess of the -chamber. And in a sort of dream he stood and -listened to the plaintive melody—hardly -breathing—haunted by the feeling that he was intruding on -some sacred privacy. Then, when the beautiful, -pathetic notes ceased, he noiselessly withdrew with -bowed head. She had been speaking to him, but -he was bewildered; he hardly could tell what that -trembling, infinitely sad voice had said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He walked quickly now; for in place of those -vague anticipations and reveries, a more definite -purpose was forming in his brain; and there was -a certain joyousness in the prospect. The very -next morning he would come up to this little -thoroughfare, and see if he could secure lodgings for -himself, perhaps opposite the house where the old -man and his granddaughter lived. It was time he -was devoting himself more vigorously to study; -there were too many people calling at the big -mansion in Grosvenor Place; the frivolities of the -fashionable world were too seductive. But in the -seclusion of that quiet little quarter he could give -himself up to his books; and he would know that -he had neighbours; he might get a glimpse of -them from time to time; that would lighten his -toil. Then when Mary Bethune—he had come -to the conclusion that Mary was her name, and -had made not such a bad guess, after all—when -Mary Bethune played one of those pathetic Scotch -airs, he would have a better right to listen; he -would contentedly put down Seaman's "Progress -of Nations," and go to the open window, and sit -there, till the violin had ceased to speak. It was a -most excellent scheme; he convinced himself that -it would work right well—because it was based on -common sense.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When he arrived at the great house in Grosvenor -Place, he went at once into the dining-room, and -found, though not to his surprise, that dinner was -just about over. There were only three persons -seated at the long table, which was sumptuously -furnished with fruit, flowers, and silver. At the -bead was Vin Harris's father, Mr. Harland Harris, -a stout, square-set, somewhat bourgeois-looking man, -with a stiff, pedantic, and pompous manner, who -nevertheless showed his scorn of conventionalities -by wearing a suit of grey tweed; on his right sate -his sister-in-law, Mrs. Ellison, a remarkably pretty -young widow, tall and elegant of figure, with wavy -brown hair, shrewd blue eyes, and a most charming -smile that she could use with effect; the third -member of the group being Mr. Ogden, the great -electioneerer of the north, a big and heavy man, -with Yorkshire-looking shoulders, a bald head, and -small, piggish eyes set in a wide extent of face. -Mr. Ogden was resplendent in evening dress, if -his shining shirt-front was somewhat billowy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's this now?" said the pretty Mrs. Ellison -to the young man, as he came and pulled in a chair -and sate down by her. "Haven't you had any -dinner?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good little children come in with dessert," said -he, as he carelessly helped himself to some olives -and a glass of claret. "It's too hot to eat -food—unusual for May, isn't it? Besides I had a late -luncheon with Lord Musselburgh."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lord Musselburgh?" put in Mr. Ogden. "I -wonder when his lordship is going to tell us what -he means to be—an owner of racehorses, or a -yachtsman, or a statesman? It seems to me he can't -make up his own mind; and the public don't know -whether to take him seriously or not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lord Musselburgh," said Vincent, firing up in -defence of his friend, "is an English gentleman, -who thinks he ought to support English institutions:—and -I dare say that is why he does not find -saving grace in the caucus."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Perhaps there was more rudeness than point in -this remark; but Mrs. Ellison's eyes laughed—decorously -and unobserved. She said aloud—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For my part, I consider Lord Musselburgh a -very admirable young man: he has offered me the -box-seat on his coach at the next Meet of the -Four-in-Hand Club."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And are you going, aunt?" her nephew asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, certainly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rather rash of Musselburgh, isn't it?" he -observed, in a casual sort of way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What attention is he likely to pay to his team, -if you are sitting beside him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"None of your impertinence, sir," said she (but -she was pleased all the same). "Boys must not -say such things to their grandmothers."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now the advent of Master Vin was opportune; -for Mr. Harris, finding that his sister-in-law had -now some one of like mind to talk to, left those -two frivolous persons alone, and addressed himself -exclusively to his bulky friend from the north. -And his discourse took the form of pointing out -what were the practical and definite aims that -Socialism had to place before itself. As to general -principles, all thinking men were agreed. Every -one who had remarked the signs of the times knew -that the next great movement in modern life must -be the emancipation of the wage-slave. The -tyranny of the capitalist—worse than any tyranny -that existed under the feudal system—must be -cribbed and confined: too long had he gorged -himself with the fruits of the labours of his -fellow-creatures. The most despicable of tyrants, he; -not only robbing and plundering the hapless beings -at his mercy, but debasing their lives, depriving -them of their individualism, of the self-respect -which was the birthright of the humblest -handicraftsman of the middle ages, and making of them -mere machines for the purpose of filling his pockets -with useless and inordinate wealth. What was to -be done, then?—what were the immediate steps to -be taken in order to alter this system of monstrous -and abominable plunder. It was all very well to -make processions to Père Lachaise, and wave red -flags, and wax eloquent over the graves of the -Communists; but there was wanted something more -than talk, something more than a tribute to the -memory of the martyrs, something actual to engage -our own efforts, if the poor man was not to be for -ever ground to the dust, himself and his starving -family, by the relentless plutocrat and his convenient -freedom of contract. Let the State, then—that -engine of oppression which had been invented by -the rich—now see whether it could not do something -for all classes under its care: let it consider -the proletariat as well as the unscrupulous landlords -and the sordid and selfish bourgeoisie. Already it -was working the Telegraphs, the Post Office, the -Parcels Post, the Dockyards, and Savings Banks; -and if it regulated the wages it paid by the -wage-rate of the outside market, that was because it -followed the wicked old system of unequal distribution -of profit that was soon to be destroyed. That -would speedily be amended. What further, then? -The land for the people, first of all. As clear as -daylight was the right of the people to the land: -let the State assume possession, and manage it—its -mines and minerals, its agriculture, its public -grounds and parks—for the benefit of all, not for -the profit of a pampered few. The State must buy -and own the railways, must establish Communal -centres of distribution for the purchase and -exchange of goods, must establish systems of credit, -must break down monopoly everywhere, and the -iron power of commercialism that was crushing the -life out of the masses of the population. The State -must organise production, so that each man shall -do his share of work demanded by the community, -and no more——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But here Mrs. Ellison, who had doubtless heard or -read all this before, turned away altogether. She -asked her nephew to give her some more strawberries.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I say, Vin," she remarked, incidentally, "what -very beautiful dessert-plates these are. I don't -remember them. Where did you get them?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought you would admire them," said he. -"They are my father's own design."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really! I call them very handsome—and so -quaint and unusual. He must tell me where I -can get some of them: when I go back to Brighton -I should like to take a few with me for my small -establishment."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you can't, aunt," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because my father had the moulds broken."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at him for a moment and then -sniggered—yes, sniggered, but discreetly, so that -the two perfervid politicians should not see.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is pretty well," she observed in an -undertone, "for a Socialist and Communist—to have the -moulds broken so that nobody else should have any!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Presently she said, in the same undertone—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm going to catch your eye in a minute, Vin. -Are you coming upstairs to the drawing-room with me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, of course, aunt," said he, instantly. "Get -up now, and let's be off."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She rose: so did her brother-in-law. Mr. Ogden -remained in his chair—perhaps through inattention, -or perhaps he was bewildered by the consciousness -that he ought to make, as a relic of his ancient -worship of </span><em class="italics">laissez faire</em><span>, some protest against this -wholesale intervention of the State. Then Vincent -opened the door for the tall and bright-eyed young -widow; and he and she passed out and went upstairs -together.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When they entered the spacious and richly-furnished -room, the atmosphere of which was heavy -with the scent of flowers, Mrs. Ellison seated herself -in a low lounging-chair, while her nephew stood -some little way off, his hands behind his back, his -eyes absently staring into a rose-shaded lamp as if -he could see pictures there. When she spoke, no -doubt he heard; but he did not answer or interrupt: -he allowed her to ramble on. And she was in a -talkative and vivacious mood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm going to the Drawing Room to-morrow, -Vin," said she, "to present Louie Drexel; and if you -were kind and civil you would come down to -St. James's Park and find out our brougham and talk -to us while we are waiting. I do so want you to -get to know Miss Drexel well; it would be worth -your while, I can tell you. You see, those American -girls have such excellent good sense. This evening, -before you came in, your father was treating us to -a dissertation on the iniquity of riches—or rather -the absurdity of people revelling in wealth, and at -the same time professing to be Christians. He -asked—and I'm sure I couldn't answer him—how -a Bishop can reconcile his enjoyment of £10,000 a -year with Christ's plain injunction, 'Sell all that -thou hast and distribute unto the poor.' And while -I was listening to the sermon, I was thinking of you, -Vin. I don't know how far you have accepted your -father's theories—which he himself takes precious -good care not to put into practice. But some -day—for young men are so impulsive and wilful and -uncertain—you might suddenly take it into your head -to do some wild thing of that kind; and then don't -you see how well it would be for you to be married -to a sensible American girl; for if you were to sell -all that you have and give to the poor, she would -make pretty certain you didn't sell all that she -had—so long as the Married Women's Property Act -was in force. There's no mad Quixotism about a -girl like that—level-headed, isn't that what they -call it over there? Then think what a help such a -wife as that would be to you in public life. Think -of an election, for example—why, Louie Drexel -could talk the voters out of their five senses—bamboozle -the women, and laugh the men into good -humour. I wonder you didn't pick up one of those -bright American girls when you were over in the -States: I suppose you were too busy examining the -political machine, and the machinists. But I'm glad -you didn't; I couldn't trust you; and I'm going to -do it for you myself. You are my boy: I'm going -to provide for you. And I haven't fixed on Louie -Drexel yet; but at the same time you might come -down to-morrow to St. James's Park and talk to her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He withdrew his eyes from the crimson lamp, and -came and took a chair near her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am thinking of making a little change in my -arrangements," said he. "There is too much -distraction here; especially at this time of the year, -when everybody's in town. I am going to take -rooms elsewhere."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, ho!" exclaimed the pretty young widow, -with a smile. "Is that it? The restraint of home -has been found too much at last—we must have -freedom, and wine-parties, and cards? Well, who -can wonder at it? I warned your father years ago -of the folly of not sending you to college; you -would have had all that over by this time, like other -young men; but no, the future Champion of the -Proletariat was not to have his mind contaminated -by the sons of squires. Well, and where have the -princely apartments been chosen? In Piccadilly, of -course—yellow satin and golden goblets."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are quite mistaken, aunt," he said, simply. -"The rooms I hope to get to-morrow are in a -quiet little street that I dare say you never heard -of: if you saw it, you might probably call it shimmy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, is that it?" she said again, for her brain -was nimble and swift in the construction of theories. -"Then you are really going to put some of your -father's principles into practice, and to consort with -the masses? I've often wondered when he was -going to begin himself. You know how he declares -it to be monstrous that there should be people of -your own race, and colour, and religion, whom you -would hesitate to ask to sit down at the same table -as yourself; but I have not heard him as yet invite -Jack the crossing-sweeper or Tom from the -stable-yard to come in and dine with him. And if they -came in without an invitation, taking him at his -word, as it were, I'm afraid their reception wouldn't -be warm—yes, it would be remarkably warm—they'd -be thrown out of the front-door in a couple of seconds. -So you are going slumming, is that it? You want -to understand the great heart of the people—before -you lead them on to anarchy and universal plunder?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aunt," said he, with a smile, "you mustn't say -such things to me; you mustn't pour reactionary -poison into my young mind. No; I am going to -retire into that quiet little corner of London simply -to get on with my books; and as I shan't let -anybody know where it is, I can't be disturbed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you mean to live there altogether?" she -asked, glancing quickly at him. "Shall you sleep -there?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no. I shall come home here each evening."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To dinner? But it is no use asking you that; -for you never seem to care where you dine, or -whether you dine at all. Have you told your -father of this scheme?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, not yet," he made answer; and he could -say nothing further just then, for at this moment -Harland Harris and his guest came upstairs from the -dining-room, and Mr. Ogden proceeded to engage -the young widow in ponderous conversation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As good luck would have it, when Vincent -went up next morning to the little thoroughfare -leading from Park-street, he found exactly the -rooms he wanted, and engaged them there and then, -paying a fortnight's rent in advance in order to -calm the good landlady's mind, for he had not a -scrap of luggage with him. The sitting-room was -all he really required, to be sure; but he did not -wish to be disturbed by having the adjoining -bedroom occupied; so he took that too, money not -being of much consequence to this young man. -And then, when the landlady left, he sate down to -look at his new possessions. The apartments must -have looked poorly furnished to eyes familiar with -the splendour of Grosvenor Place; but at all events -they seemed clean. Cheap German lithographs -adorned the walls; the fireplace was gay with strips -of pink paper. But when he approached the -window—which he did stealthily—there was more to -interest him: the opposite two windows, behind the -balcony filled with flowers, were both open: at any -moment a figure might appear there—perhaps -looking out absently and vaguely with those -beautiful and wistful eyes. Or perchance he might hear -the tender strains of the unseen violin? He -remained there for some time, rather breathless and -nervous, until he recollected that he had come -hither for the purposes of study; and then he -thought he would go away down to Grosvenor Place -and seek out such books and writing-materials as -he might want, and bring them along forthwith.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He went downstairs and was just about to step -outside when he caught sight of something across -the way which caused him instantly to shrink back -and shelter himself within the shadow of the -door—his heart beating quickly. He had nearly been -face-to-face with the pensive-eyed young girl, for -she had come forth from the opposite house, and -was waiting for her grandfather to follow. He -remained concealed—fearful of being seen, and yet -scarcely knowing why. Then, when he heard the -door on the other side shut, and when he had allowed -them a few seconds' grace, he stepped forth from -his hiding, and saw that they were just turning the -corner into Park-street.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Why this perturbation that caused his hands to -tremble, that caused his eyeballs to throb, as he -looked and looked, and yet hardly dared to look? -He was doing no harm—he was thinking no harm. -These thoroughfares were open to all; the May -morning was warm and fine and clear; why should -not he take his way to Hyde Park as well as another? -Even in furtively watching whither they went—in -keeping a certain distance between them and -him—there was no sort of sacrilege or outrage. If they -had turned and confronted him, they could not have -recognised him: it was almost impossible they -could have observed the young man who was half -concealed by the curtains of the room in -Musselburgh House. And yet—yet—there was some kind -of tremulous wonder in his being so near her—in -his being allowed, without let or hindrance, to gaze -upon the long-flowing masses of hair, that caught -a sheen of light here and there, and stirred with the -stirring of the wind. And then the simple grace -and ease of her carriage: she held her head more -erect in these quiet thoroughfares; sometimes she -turned a little to address the old man, and then her -refined and sensitive profile became visible, and also -the mysterious charm of the long and drooping -lashes. He noticed that she never looked at any -passer-by; but she did not seem so sad on this fresh -morning; she was talking a good deal—and -cheerfully, as he hoped. He wished for more sunlight—that -the day might brighten all around her—that -the warm airs might be sweet with the blossoms of -the opening summer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For now they were nearing Hyde Park; and away -before them stretched the pale blue vistas of -atmosphere under the wide-swaying branches of the -maples. They crossed to Grosvenor Gate; they -left the dull roar of Park Lane behind them; they -passed beneath the trees; and emerged upon the -open breadths of verdure, intersected by pale pink -roads. Though summer had come prematurely, -this was almost an April-like day: there was a -south-west wind blowing, and flattening the feathery -grasses; there were shafts of misty sunlight striking -here and there; while a confusion of clouds, purple -and grey and silver, floated heavily through the -surcharged sky. The newly-shorn sheep were quite -white—for London. A smart young maidservant -idly shoving a perambulator had a glory of Spring -flowers in her bonnet. The mild air blowing about -brought grateful odours—was it from the green-sward -all around, or from the more distant masses -of hawthorn white and red?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old man, marching with uplifted head, and -sometimes swinging the stick that he carried, was -singing aloud in the gaiety of his heart, though -Vincent, carefully keeping at a certain distance, -could not make out either the words or the air. -The young girl, on the other hand, was simply -looking at the various objects, animate and -inanimate, around her—at the birds picking up straws or -shreds of wool for the building of their nests, at the -wind shivering through the grey spikelets of the -grass, at the ever-changing conformation of the -clouds, at the swaying of the branches of the trees; -while from time to time there came floating over -from Knightsbridge the sound of a military band. -No, she did not appear so sad as she had done the -day before; and there was something cheerful, too, -about her costume—about the simple dress of dark -blue-and-white-striped linen and the sailor's hat of -cream-white with a dark blue band. Mary, he made -sure her name was—Mary Bethune. Only a name -to him; nothing more: a strange, indefinable, -immeasurable distance lay between them; not for -him was it to draw near to her, to breathe the same -air with her, to listen to the low tones of her voice, -to wait for the uplifting of the mysteriously shaded -eyes. And as for fancies become more wildly -audacious?—what would be the joy of any human -being who should be allowed to touch—with -trembling fingertips—with reverent and almost -reluctant fingertips—the soft splendour of that -shining and beautiful hair?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>George Bethune and his granddaughter made -their way down to the Serpentine, and took their -places on a bench there, while the old man proceeded -to draw from his pocket a newspaper, which he -leisurely began to read. The girl had nothing to -do but sit placidly there and look around her—at -the shimmering stretch of water, at the small boys -sailing their mimic yachts, at the quacking ducks -and yelping dogs, at the ever-rustling and murmuring -trees. Vincent Harris had now dared to draw -a little nearer; but still he felt that she was worlds -and worlds away. How many yards were there -between him and her?—not yards at all, but -infinities of space! They were strangers to each -other; no spoken word was possible between them; -they might go through to the end of life with this -impalpable barrier for ever dividing them. And yet -it seemed a sort of miraculous thing that he was -allowed to come so close—that he could almost tell -the individual threads of that soft-shining hair. -Then, more than once, too, he had caught a glimpse -of her raised eyes, as she turned to address her -grandfather; and that was a startling and -bewildering experience. It was not their mere beauty; -though, to be sure, their clear and limpid deeps -seemed all the more clear and limpid because of the -touch of sun-tan on her complexion; it was rather -that they were full of all ineffable things—simplicity, -submission, gratitude, affection, and even, as he -rejoiced to think, some measure of mild enjoyment. -For the moment there was little of that pensive and -resigned look that had struck him in the figure -standing with bowed head at Lord Musselburgh's -table. She appeared to be pleased with the various -life around her and its little incidents; she regarded -the sailing of the miniature yachts with interest. -When a brace of duck went whirring by overhead, -she followed their flight until they were lost to view; -she watched two small urchins furtively fishing for -minnows, with an eye on the distant park-keeper. -There was a universal rustling of leaves in the -silence; and sometimes, when the wind blew straight -across, the music of the military band became more -distinct.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>How long they remained there, the young man -did not know; it was a golden morning, and all too -brief. But when at last they did rise to go he was -very nearly caught; for instead of returning by the -way they had come, they struck westward; and he -suddenly saw with alarm that there was no time for -him to get behind one of the elms. All he could -do was to turn aside, and lower his eyes. They -passed within a few yards of him; he could -distinctly hear the old man singing, with a fine -note of bravado in his voice, "The standard on the -braes o' Mar, is up and streaming rarely"; then, -when he was sure they were some way off, he made -bold to raise his eyes again. Had she taken any -notice of him? He hoped not. He did not wish -her to think him a spy; he did not wish to be -known to her at all. He should be her constant -neighbour, her companion almost, without any -consciousness on her part. And again and again he -marvelled that the landlady in the little thoroughfare -should have given him those treasures of -rooms—should have put such happiness within his -reach—for so trivial a sum. Seventeen shillings a -week!—when each moment would be a diamond, -and each evening hour a string of diamonds!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But nevertheless there were his studies to be -thought of; so now he walked away down to -Grosvenor Place, gathered his books together, and -took them up in a hansom to his newly-acquired -lodgings. That afternoon he did loyally stick to -his work—or tried to do so, though, in fact, his ears -were alert for any sound coming from the other side -of the way. He had left his window open; one of -the windows of the opposite house was also left open. -Occasionally he would lay down Draper's Civil War -in America, and get up and stretch his legs, and -from a convenient shelter send a swift glance of -scrutiny across the street. There was no sign. -Perhaps they had gone out again, shopping, or -visiting, or, as likely as not, to look at the people -riding and driving in the Park. He returned to -Draper, and to President Jackson's Proclamation—but -with less of interest: his annotations became -fewer. He was listening as well as reading.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then all of a sudden there flashed into his brain -a suggestion—a suggestion that had little to do with -Clay's Compromise, or the project to arrest -Mr. Calhoun. On the previous evening it had seemed -to him as though the unseen violinist were speaking -to him: why, then, should he not answer, in the -same language? There could be no offence in -that—no impertinence: it would be merely one vague -voice responding to the other, the unknown -communicating in this fleshless and bloodless way with -the unknown. And now he was abundantly grateful -to his aunt for having insisted on his including -music among his various studies and accomplishments: -a use had come for his slight proficiency at -last: most modern languages he knew, but he had -never expected to be called upon to speak in this -one. And yet what more simple, as between -neighbours? He was not thrusting his society on any -one; he was invading no privacy; he was demanding -no concession of friendship or even acquaintance. -But at least the dreadful gulf of silence would be -bridged over by this mystic means.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was nearly six o'clock; London was busy when -he went out on this hot evening. He walked along -to a music-publisher's place in Regent-street; and -hired a piano on the express stipulation that it was -to be in his rooms within one hour. Then, as he -had only had a biscuit for lunch, and wished to -leave himself untrammelled later on, he turned into -a restaurant, and dined there, simply enough, and -had a cigarette and a look at the evening papers. -Thereafter he strolled back to his lodgings, and took -to his book, though his thoughts were inclined to -wander now and again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Twilight had fallen; but he did not light the gas. -Once, for a brief second or two, he had quietly run -his fingers over the keys of the piano, to learn if it -was tolerably in tune; then the room relapsed into -silence again. And was there to be silence on the -other side as well? He waited and listened, and -waited and listened, in vain. Perhaps, while he was -idling away his time in the Regent-street restaurant, -they had come out from the house and gone off to -some theatre. The street was so still now that he -could almost have heard any one speaking in that -room on the other side; but there was no sound.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then his heart leapt and his brain grew giddy. -Here was that low-breathing and vibrating wail -again:—and was she alone now?—in the gathering -darkness? He recognised the air; it was "Auld -Robin Gray;" but never before had he known that -it was so beautiful and so ineffably sad as well. -Slowly she played and simply; it was almost like -a human voice; only that the trembling strings had -a penetrating note of their own. And when she -ceased, it seemed to him that it would be profanation -to break in upon the hushed and sacred stillness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And yet was he not to answer her, in the only -speech that could not offend? Was he to act the -coward, when there offered a chance of his -establishing some subtle link with, her, of sending a -message, of declaring his presence in this surely -unobtrusive fashion? Quickly he sat down to the -piano; and, in rather a nervous and anxious fashion, -began. He was not a brilliant performer—anything -but that; but he had a light touch and a sensitive -ear; and he played with feeling and grace. It was -"Kathleen Mavourneen"—and a sort of appeal in -its way, did she but remember the words. He -played the melody over only once, slowly and as -sympathetically as he could; then he rose and -retired from the piano; and stood in the darkness, -listening.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alas! there was no response. What had he -done? He waited, wondering; but all was still -in the little street. It was as if some bird, some -mellow-throated thrush or nightingale, had been -warbling to itself in the dim security of the -leaves, and been suddenly startled and silenced -by an alien sound, not knowing what that might -portend.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="an-approach"><span class="large">CHAPTER III.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">AN APPROACH.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>There was a knock at the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come in!" called out old George Bethune.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There appeared a middle-aged man, of medium -height, who looked like a butler out of employment; -he was pale and flabby of face, with nervous eyes -expressive of a sort of imbecile amiability.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, Hobson!" said Mr. Bethune, in his lofty -manner. "Well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The landlady's husband came forward in the -humblest possible fashion; and his big, prominent, -vacuous eyes seemed to be asking for a little -consideration and goodwill.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg your pardon, sir," said he, in the most -deplorable of Cockney accents, "I 'umbly beg your -pardon for making so bold; but knowing as you -was so fond of everything Scotch, I took the liberty -of bringing you a sample of something very special—a -friend of mine, sir, recommended it—and then says -I to him, 'Lor bless ye, I don't know nothing about -Highland whiskey; but there's a gentleman in our -'ouse who is sure to be a judge, and if I can persuade -him to try it, he'll be able to say if it's the real sort.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right, Hobson," said George Bethune, in his -grand way. "Some other time I will see what it is -like."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you, sir, thank you!" said the -ex-butler, with earnest gratitude; and he went and -placed the bottle on the sideboard. Then he came -back, and hesitatingly took out an envelope from -his pocket. "And if I might ask another favour, -sir. You see, sir, in this 'ot weather people won't -go to the theatres; and they're not doing much; -and my brother-in-law, the theatrical agent, he's -glad to get the places filled up, to make a show, sir, -as you might say. And I've got two dress-circle -seats, if you and the young lady was thinking of -going to the theatre to-morrow night. It's a great -favour, sir, as my brother-in-law said to me as he -was a-giving me the tickets and arsking me to get -'em used."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He lied; for there was no brother-in-law and no -theatrical agent in the case. He himself had that -very afternoon honestly and straightforwardly -purchased the tickets at the box-office, as he had -done on more than one occasion before, out of -the money allowed him for personal expenses by -his wife; so that he had to look forward to a -severe curtailment of his gin and tobacco for weeks -to come.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks—thanks!" said George Bethune, as he -lit his long clay pipe. "I will see what my -granddaughter says when she comes in—unless you -would like to use the tickets yourself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, sir, begging your pardon, sir," was the -instant rejoinder. "When I 'ave a evening out I -go to the Oxbridge music-'all—perhaps it's vanity, -sir—but when Charley Coldstream gets a hangcore, -I do like to hear some on 'em call out, 'Says -Wolseley, says he!' Ah, sir, that was the proudest -moment of my life when I see Charley Coldstream -come on the stage and begin to sing verse after -verse, and the people cheering; and I owed it all -to you, sir; it was you, sir, as advised me to send it -to him——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A catching refrain—a catching refrain," said -the old gentleman, encouragingly. "Just fitted to -get hold of the public ear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, sir," said Hobson, with a fatuous little -chuckle of delight, "this werry afternoon, as I was -coming down Park-street, I 'eard a butcher's boy -a-singing it—I did indeed, sir—as clear as could be -I 'eard the words,</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>'Says Wolseley, says he,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>To Arabi,</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>You can fight other chaps, but you can't fight me.'</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>—every word I 'eard. But would you believe it, -sir, when I was in the Oxbridge music-'all I could -'ardly listen, I was so frightened, and my ears -a-buzzin, and me 'ardly able to breathe. Lor, sir, -that was a experience! Nobody looked at me, -and that was a mercy—I couldn't ha' stood it. -Even the chairman, as was not more than six -yards from me, 'e didn't know who I was, and not -being acquainted with him, I couldn't offer him -somethink, which I should have considered it a -proud honour so to do on sich an occasion. And -if I might make so bold, sir——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was fumbling in his breast-pocket.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What—more verses?" said Mr. Bethune, good-naturedly. -"Well, let's see them. But take a seat, -man, take a seat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rather timidly he drew a chair in to the table; -and then he said with appealing eyes:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But wouldn't you allow me, sir, to fetch you a -little drop of the whiskey—I assure you it's the best!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, very well—very well; but bring two -tumblers; single drinking is slow work."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In a few seconds those two curiously-assorted -companions—the one massive and strong-built, -impressive in manner, measured and emphatic of -speech, the other feeble and fawning, at once eager -and vacuous, his face ever ready to break into a -maudlin smile—were seated in confabulation -together, with some sheets of scribbled paper between.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And if you will excuse my being so bold, sir," -continued Hobson, with great humility, "but I -'ave been reading the little volume of Scotch -songs you lent me, and—and——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Trying your hand at that, too?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only a verse, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Bethune took up the scrap of paper; and -read aloud:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"O leese me on the toddy,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>the toddy,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>the toddy,</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>O leese me on the toddy,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>We'll hae a willie-waught!"</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Well, yes," he said, with rather a doubtful air, -"you've got the phrases all right—except the -willie-waught, and that is a common error. To -tell you the truth, my friend, there is no such -thing as a willie-waught. </span><em class="italics">Waught</em><span> is a hearty -drink; a richt gude-willie waught is a drink with -right good will. </span><em class="italics">Willie-waught</em><span> is nothing—a -misconception—a printer's blunder. However, phrases -do not count for much. Scotch phrases do not -make Scotch song. It is not the provincial dialect—it -is the breathing spirit that is the life"—and -therewith he repeated, in a proud manner, as if to -crush this poor anxious poet by the comparison,</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"I see her in the dewy flower,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Sae lovely, sweet, and fair;</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>I hear her voice in ilka bird</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Wi' music charm the air;</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>There's not a bonnie flower that springs</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>By fountain, shaw, or green,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Nor yet a bonnie bird that sings</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>But minds me o' my Jean."</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Beg pardon, sir—Miss Bethune?" said Hobson, -enquiringly; for he evidently thought these lines -were of the old gentleman's own composition. And -then, as he received no answer, for Mr. Bethune -had turned to his pipe, he resumed, "Ah, I see, sir, -I 'ave not been successful. Too ambitious—too -ambitious. It was you yourself, sir, as advised me -to write about what I knew; and—and in fact, sir, -what I see is that there is nothing like patriotism. -Lor, sir, you should see them young fellers at the -Oxbridge—they're as brave as lions—especially -when they've 'ad a glass. Talk about the French! -The French ain't in it, when we've got our spirit -up. We can stand a lot, sir, yes, we can; but don't -let them push us too far. Not </span><em class="italics">too</em><span> far. It will be -a bad day for them when they do. An Englishman -ain't given to boasting; but he's a terror when his -back's up—and a Scotchman too, sir, I beg your -pardon—I did not mean anything—I intended to -include the Scotchman too, I assure you, sir. -There's a little thing here, sir," he continued -modestly, "that I should like to read to you, if I -may make so bold. I thought of sending it to -Mr. Coldstream—I'm sure it would take—for there's -some fight in the Englishman yet—and in the -Scotchman too, sir," he instantly added.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A patriotic poem?—Well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thus encouraged the pleased poet moistened his -lips with the whiskey and water he had brought for -himself and began—</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Where's the man would turn and fly?</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Where's the man afraid to die?</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">It isn't you, it isn't I.</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">No, my lads, no, no!</em><span>"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Then his voice had a more valiant ring in it still:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Who will lead us to the fray?</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Who will sweep the foe away?</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Who will win the glorious day?</em></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Of England's chivalry?</em><span>"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It is true he said, "Oo will sweep the foe awye?" -but these little peculiarities were lost in the fervour -of his enthusiasm.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Roberts—Graham—Buller—Wood—</em><span>"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>He paused after each name as if listening for the -thunderous cheering of the imaginary audience.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"And many another 'most as good:</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>They're the men to shed their blood</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>For their country!"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Then there was a touch of pathos:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Fare thee well, love, and adieu!</em><span>"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>But that was immediately dismissed:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Fiercer thoughts I have than you;</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">We will drive the dastard crew</em></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Into slavery!</em><span>"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>And then he stretched forth his right arm, and -declaimed in loud and portentous tones—</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"</span><em class="italics">See the bloody tented-field;</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Look the foe—they yield!—they yield!</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Hurrah! hurrah! our glory's sealed!</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Three cheers for victory!</em><span>"</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Suddenly his face blanched. For at this moment -the door opened: a tall woman appeared—with -astonishment and indignation only too legible in -her angular features.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hobson!" she exclaimed; and at this awful -sound the bold warrior seemed to collapse into a -limp rag. "I am surprised—I am </span><em class="italics">indeed</em><span> surprised! -Really, sir, how can you encourage him in such -impudence? Seated at your own table and drinking -too, I declare," she went on, as she lifted up the -deserted tumbler—for her bellicose husband had -hastily picked up his MSS. and vanished from the -room. "Really, sir, such familiarity!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In the republic of letters, my good Mrs. Hobson," -said Mr. Bethune with a smile, "all men are -equal. I have been much interested in some of -your husband's writings."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, sir, don't put sich things in his 'ead!" she -said, as she proceeded to lay the cloth for dinner. -"He's a fool, and that's bad enough; but if so -be as you put things in his 'ead, and he giving -of hisself airs, it'll be hawful! What good he is to -anybody, I don't know. He won't clean a winder -or black a boot even."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How can you expect it?" George Bethune said, -in perfect good humour. "Manual labour would -be a degradation. Men of genius ought to be -supported by the State."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In the workus, I suppose," she said, sharply—but -here Maisrie Bethune came upstairs and into -the room, carrying some parcels in her hand, and -instantly the landlady's face changed its expression, -and became as amiable and smiling as the gaunt -features would allow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At dinner the old man told his granddaughter -that he had procured (he did not say how) places at -the —— Theatre for the following evening, and -seemed to be pleased about this little break in their -quiet lives.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But why did you go to such expense, -grandfather?" Maisrie said. "You know I am quite -happy enough in spending the evening at home -with you. And every day now I ask myself when -I am to begin copying the poems—for the volume, -you know. You have sent for them to America, -haven't you? But really you have such a wonderful -memory, grandfather, I believe you could repeat -them all—and I could write them down—and let -the printers have them. I was so glad when you -let me help you with the book you published in -Montreal; and you know my writing is clear -enough; you remember what the foreman printer -said? Don't you think we could begin to-night, -grandfather? It pleases you to repeat those -beautiful verses—you are so fond of them—and proud of -them because they are written by Scotchmen—and -I am sure it would be a delight to me to write -them out for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, yes," he said, fretfully, "but not -to-night. You're always in such a hurry, Maisrie." And -then he added, in a gentler way, "Well, it is -a wonderful blessing, a good memory. I never -want for a companion, when I've a Scotch air or a -Scotch song humming through my brain. On the -darkest and wettest day, here in this big city, what -have you to do but think of</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>'The broom, the yellow, yellow broom,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>The broom o' the Cowdenknowes,'</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>and at once you have before you golden banks, and -meadows, and June skies, and all else is forgotten. -Indeed, lass, Scotland has become for me such a -storehouse of beautiful things—in imagination—that -I am almost afraid to return to it, in case -the reality might disappoint me. No, no, it -could not disappoint me: I treasure every inch -of the sacred soil: but sometimes I wonder if you -will recognise the magic and witchery of hill and -glen. As for me, there is naught else I fear now; -there are no human ties I shall have to take up -again; I shall not have to mourn the 'Bourocks o' -Bargeny.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is that, grandfather?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you had been brought up in Scotland, Maisrie, -you would know what the bigging o' bourocks -is among children—play-houses in the sand. -But sometimes the word is applied to huts or -cottages, as it is in the title of Hugh Ainslie's -poem. That poem is one that I shall be proud to -give a place to in my collection," he continued, -with an air of importance. "Hugh Ainslie is no -more with us; but his countrymen, whether in -America or at home, are not likely to forget the -'Bourocks o' Bargeny.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can you remember it, grandfather?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can I not?" said he; and therewith he repeated -the lines, never faltering once for a phrase—</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"I left ye, Jeanie, blooming fair</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>'Mang the bourocks o' Bargeny;</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>I've found ye on the banks o' Ayr,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>But sair ye're altered, Jeanie.</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>I left ye like the wanton lamb</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>That plays 'mang Hadyed's heather;</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>I've found ye noo a sober dame—</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>A wife and eke a mither.</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>I left ye 'mang the leaves sae green</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>In rustic weed befittin';</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>I've found ye buskit like a queen,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>In painted chaumer sittin'.</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Ye're fairer, statelier, I can see,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Ye're wiser, nae doubt, Jeanie;</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>But oh! I'd rather met wi' thee</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>'Mang the bourocks of Bargeny!"</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"It's very sad, grandfather," she said, wistfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The way of the world—the way of the world," -said he; and observing that she had finished and -was waiting for him, he forthwith rose and went to -the mantelpiece for his pipe. "There's many a -true story of that kind. Well, Maisrie, you'll just -get your violin, and we'll have the 'Broom o' the -Cowdenknowes?'" And while she went to fetch -the violin, and as he cut his tobacco, he sang in a -quavering voice—</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"O the broom, the bonnie, bonnie broom,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>The broom o' the Cowdenknowes,</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>I wish I were at hame again</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Where the broom sae sweetly grows!"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>And then he went to the window, to smoke his pipe -in peace and quiet, while Maisrie, seated further -back in the shadow of the room, played for him the -well-known air. Did she guess—and fear—that -she might have an audience of more than one? At -all events her doubts were soon resolved: when she -had ceased, and after a second or so of silence, -there came another sound into the prevailing -hush—it was one of the Songs without Words, and it -was being played with considerable delicacy and -charm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hallo," said Mr. Bethune, when he heard the -first low-rippling notes, "have we a musical -neighbour now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, grandfather," Maisrie replied, rather -timidly. "Last night, when you were out, some -one played."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, a music-mistress, I dare say. Poor thing—perhaps -all alone—and wishing to be friendly in -this sort of fashion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They listened without further speech until the -last notes had gradually died away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, Maisrie, it is your turn!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, grandfather!" she said, hastily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It would be like answering—to a stranger."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And are we not all strangers?" he said, gently. -"I think it is a very pretty idea, if that is what is -meant. We'll soon see. Come, Maisrie; something -more than the plashing of a southern fountain—something -with northern fire in it. Why not -'Helen of Kirkconnell'?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl was very obedient; she took up her -violin; and presently she was playing that strangely -simple air that nevertheless is about as proud and -passionate and piteous as the tragic story to which -it is wedded. Perhaps the stranger over there did -not know the ballad; but George Bethune knew -it only too well; and his voice almost broke into -a sob as he said, when she had finished—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, Maisrie, it was no music-master taught you -that; it was born in your nature. Sometimes I -wonder if a capacity for intense sympathy means an -equal capacity for suffering; it is sad if it should be -so; a thick skin would be wholesomer—as far as I -have seen the world; and few have seen more of it. -Well, what has our neighbour to say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Their unseen companion on the other side of the -little thoroughfare responded with a waltz of -Chopin's—a mysterious, elusive sort of a thing, -that seemed to fade away into the dark rather than -to cease. Maisrie appeared disinclined to continue -this </span><em class="italics">do ut des</em><span> programme; but her grandfather -overruled her; and named the airs for her to play, one -by one, in alternation with those coming from the -open window opposite. At last she said she was -tired. It was time for the gas to be lit, and the hot -water brought up for her grandfather's toddy. So -she closed the window and pulled down the blind; -lit up the room; rang the bell for the hot water; -and then placidly sate down to her knitting, whilst -her grandfather, brewing himself an unmistakable -gude-willie waught, and lighting another pipe, -proceeded to entertain her with a rambling -disquisition upon the world at large, but especially -upon his own travels and experiences therein, his -philosophical theories, and his reminiscences of the -Scotch countryside ballads of his youth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That mystic and enigmatic conversation with -their neighbour over the way was not continued on -the following evening, for the old man and his -granddaughter went to the theatre; but on the -next night again it was resumed; and thereafter, -on almost every evening, the two windows -replied to each other, as the twilight deepened into -dusk. And Maisrie was less reluctant now—she -almost took this little concert </span><em class="italics">à deux</em><span> as a matter of -course. For one thing, the stranger, whoever he or -she might be, did not seem in any way anxious to -push the acquaintance any further; no one ever -appeared at that open window; nor had she ever -encountered any one coming out as she stood on the -doorstep waiting for her grandfather. As for him, -he still maintained that the new occupant of those -rooms must be a woman—perhaps some shy -creature, willing to think that she had friendly -neighbours, and yet afraid to show herself. Besides, the -music that came in response to Maisrie's Scotch airs -was hardly what a man would have chosen. The -stranger over there seemed chiefly fond of -Mendelssohn, Chopin, and Mozart; though occasionally -there was an excursion into the </span><em class="italics">Volkslieder</em><span> domain—"</span><em class="italics">Zu -Strassburg auf der Schanz</em><span>," "</span><em class="italics">Es ritten drei -Reiter zum Thore hinaus</em><span>," "</span><em class="italics">Von meinetn Bergli muss -i scheiden</em><span>," or something of that kind; whereas, -if it had been a man who occupied those rooms, -surely they would have heard—during the day, for -example—a fine bold ditty like "Simon the -Cellarer," "The Bay of Biscay," or "The Friar of -Orders Gray," with a strident voice outroaring the -accompaniment? Maisrie answered nothing to -these arguments; but in spite of herself, when she -had to cross the room for something or other, her -eyes would seek that mysteriously vacant window, -with however rapid and circumspect a glance. And -always in vain. Moreover, the piano was never -touched during the day: the stranger invariably -waited for the twilight before seeking to resume -that subtle link of communication.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Of course this state of things could not go on for -ever—unless the person over there possessed the -gift of invisibility. One morning as Maisrie and her -grandfather were going out as usual for a stroll in -the Park, she went downstairs first, and along the -lobby, and opened the door, to wait for him. At -the very same instant the door opposite was opened, -and there, suddenly presented to her view, was a -young man. He was looking straight across; she -was looking straight across; their eyes met without -the slightest chance of equivocation or denial; and -each knew that this was recognition. They regarded -each other but for a swift second; but as plainly as -possible he had said to her "Do you guess? Are -you angry? No, do not be angry!"—and then his -glance was averted; he shut the door behind him; -and slowly proceeded on his way. Was she -surprised? No. Perhaps she was startled by the -unexpectedness of the meeting; perhaps her heart -was beating a little more quickly than usual; but a -profound instinct had already told her that it was -no woman who had spoken to her in those dusky -twilights, evening after evening. A woman would -not have wrapped herself up in that mysterious -secrecy. A woman who wished to make friends -with her neighbours over the way would have come -to the window, would have smiled, would have made -some excuse for calling. Maisrie did not ostensibly -look after the young man—but she could see him -all the same, until he turned the corner. She was -vaguely troubled. The brief glance she had met -had in it a kind of appeal. And she wished to say -in return that she was not offended; that, being -strangers, they must remain strangers; but that she -had not taken his boldness ill. She wished to -say—she did not know what. Then her grandfather came -down; and they went away together; but she -uttered not a syllable as to what had just occurred. -It was all a bewilderment to her—that left her a -little breathless when she tried to think of it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That night, when the customary time arrived, she -refused to take up her violin; and when her -grandfather remonstrated, she had no definite excuse. -She hesitated and stammered—said they had not -played chess for ever so long—or would he rather -have a game of draughts?—anything but the violin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you forgetting your good-natured neighbour -over there?" her grandfather asked. "It will be -quite a disappointment for her. Poor thing, it -appears to be the only society she has; we never -hear a sound otherwise; there seems to be no one -ever come to talk to her during the day, or we -should hear a voice now and again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, but, grandfather," said Maisrie, who seemed -much embarrassed, "don't you think it a little -imprudent to—to encourage this kind of—of -answering each other—without knowing who the -other person is?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, what can be more harmless!" he -protested, cheerfully, and then he went on: "More -harmless than music?—nothing, nothing! Song is -the solace of human life; in joy it is the natural -expression of our happiness—in times of trouble it -refreshes the heart with thoughts of other and -brighter days. A light heart—a heart that can -sing to itself—that is the thing to carry you -through life, Maisrie!" And he himself, as he -crossed the room to fetch a box of matches, was -trolling gaily, with a fine bravura execution—</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Fu' loud the wind blows frae the ferry;</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>The ship rides by the Berwick Law,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>And I maun leave my bonnie Mary."</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Maisrie was not to be moved; but she appeared -down-hearted a little. As time went on the silence -in the little street seemed somehow to accuse her; -she knew she was responsible. She was playing -draughts with her grandfather, in a perfunctory sort -of way. She remembered that glance of appeal—she -could not forget it—and this had been her -answer. Then all of a sudden her hand that -hovered over the board trembled, and she had -almost dropped the piece that was in her fingers: -for there had sprang into the stillness a half-hushed -sound—it was an air she knew well enough—she -could almost recognise the words—</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Nachtigall, ich hör' dich singen;</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">S'Herz thut mir im Leibe springen,</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Komm nur bald und sag mir's wohl,</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Wie ich mich verhalten soll.</em><span>"</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Her grandfather stopped the game to listen; and -when the soft-toned melody had ceased, he said——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There, now, Maisrie, that is an invitation: you -must answer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, grandfather," she said, almost in -distress. "I would rather not—you don't know—you -must find out something about—about whoever it is -that plays. I am sure it will be better. Of course -it is quite harmless, as you say—oh, yes, quite -harmless—but I should like you to get to know -first—quite harmless, of course—but I am -frightened—about a stranger—not frightened, of -course—but—don't ask me, grandfather!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Well, it was not of much concern to him; and as -he was winning all along the line, he willingly -returned to the game. It had grown so dark, -however, that Maisrie had to go and light the -gas—having drawn down the blinds first, as was her -invariable habit. When she came back to the -table she seemed to breathe more freely; though -she was thoughtful and pre-occupied—not with the -game. The music on the other side of the way -was not resumed that evening, as far as they could -hear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Several days passed; and each evening now was -silent. Maisrie saw nothing more of the young -man; indeed, she studiously refrained from glancing -across to the other side of the street—except when -she was going out, and wanted to make sure there -was no one there. But something was now about -to happen that entirely altered this disposition of -affairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One morning George Bethune and his granddaughter -had gone for their accustomed stroll in -Hyde Park, and in course of time had taken their -places on a bench near the Serpentine, while the -old man had pulled out a newspaper and began to -read it. The day was sultry, despite an occasional -stirring of wind; and Maisrie sitting there, and -having nothing to do but look at the water, and the -trees, and the sky, observed that all the world -around them was gradually growing darker. In the -south, especially, the heavens were of a curious -metallic hue—a livid grey, as it were; while across -that hung two horizontal belts of deepest purple -that remained motionless, while other and lighter -tags of vapour were inter-twisting with each other -or melting away into nothingness. Those two clouds -were not of the usual cloud-form at all—they were -rather like two enormous torpedoes lying one above -the other; and there was a sombre deadness of hue -about them that looked ominous. Suddenly, as she -was thus vaguely regarding those long purple -swathes, there ran across them—springing vertically -upwards—a quivering line of yellow flame—so thin -it was, it appeared like a thread of golden wire—and -when that had vanished, there was a second or -two of silence, followed by a dull, low, rumbling -noise that seemed to come from a considerable -distance. She was not much alarmed. There were -no signs of a terrific thunderstorm; probably a few -more flashes would serve to loosen and disperse -those lowering clouds, and allow the day to clear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was at this moment that a young man came -up and addressed Mr. Bethune—with a certain -courteous hesitation, and yet in frank and ingenuous -tones.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg your pardon, sir," said he, "but may I -claim the privilege of a neighbour to offer you this -umbrella—I'm afraid there's a shower coming—and -the young lady may get wet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a pleasant voice; George Bethune looked -up well-disposed towards the stranger, whoever he -might be. And the face of the young man was -also prepossessing; it was something more than -handsome; it was intelligent and refined; and the -honest and straightforward eyes had a certain -confidence in them, as if they were not used to having -their friendly advances repulsed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thank you—I thank you," said George -Bethune, with much dignity. "I had not observed. -But you will want the umbrella for yourself—we -can get shelter under one of the trees."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would that be wise, sir, in a thunderstorm?" -said the young man. "Oh, no, let me give you -the umbrella—I don't mind a shower—and it won't -be more than that, I fancy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>George Bethune accepted the proffered courtesy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here, Maisrie, since this young gentleman is so -kind; you'd better be prepared. A neighbour did -you say, sir?" he continued.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A very near neighbour," answered the young -man, with a smile, and he seated himself by the -side of Mr. Bethune without more ado. "I have -often thought of speaking to you, and asking to be -allowed to make your acquaintance; for you seem -to have very few visitors—you will pardon my -curiosity—while I have none at all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, really, really," the old man said, somewhat -vaguely; perhaps he was wondering how so faultlessly -attired a young gentleman (his patent-leather -boots, for example, were of the most approved -pattern) should have chosen lodgings in so -humble a thoroughfare.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a very quiet little corner, is it not?" the -young man said—almost as if answering that -unspoken question. "That is why it suits me so well; -I can get on with my books without interruption. -The street is so small that it isn't worth an -organ-grinder's while to waste time in it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Music is a sad thing for interrupting study; I -know that," the old gentleman observed. "By the -way, I hope we do not disturb you—my granddaughter -plays the violin sometimes—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I could listen to that kind of music all day -long," was the response. "I never heard such -violin-playing—most beautiful!—most beautiful!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you are not far away from us?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Right opposite," was the straightforward answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>George Bethune glanced at the young man with -a look of quiet amusement; he was thinking of -the pale music-mistress—the solitary widow of his -imagination.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you—you also play a little in the evenings -sometimes?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope you didn't think it rude, sir," the young -man said, humbly. "I thought it permissible, as -between neighbours."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, they were pretty little concerts," said -George Bethune, good-naturedly. "Very pretty -little concerts. I don't know why they were -stopped. I suppose Maisrie had some fancy about -them—my granddaughter Maisrie—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a kind of introduction. The young man, -modestly veiling the quick flash of delight in his -eyes at this unexpected happiness, respectfully -bowed. Maisrie, with her beautiful pale face -suffused with unusual colour, made some brief -inclination also; then she seemed to retire again -from this conversation—though she could not but -overhear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My name is Harris," the young man said, as -though these confidences were all as a matter of -course between neighbours. "It isn't a very -distinguished name; but one has to take what is given -one. It is not of much consequence."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not so sure about that," the older man -rejoined, somewhat sententiously. "A good name -is a good thing; it is an honour not to be purchased. -It may be the only one of your possessions remaining -to you; but of that they cannot rob you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, of course, of course," Vincent said, quickly, -for he perceived the mistake he had made. "An -old historic name is certainly something to be -proud of. By the way, sir, did your family -originally take their name from Bethon on the -Sarthe or from Bethune in the Department of Calais?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bethune—Bethune," said the old man, who -appeared to be pleased by this question, which -spoke of previous enquiries; and then he added, -with a lofty air: "The Duc de Sully, Marquis de -Rosny, Sovereign Prince of Enrichemont and -Boisbel, Grand Master of the Artillery and Marshal of -France, was Maximilien de Bethune—Maximilien -de Bethune."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, really," said the young man, who seemed -much impressed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The name," continued old George Bethune, in -the same oracular vein, "was often spelt Beaton and -Beton—especially in Scotland—as everybody knows. -Whether James, Archbishop of Glasgow, and his -nephew David, Archbishop of St. Andrews, had any -immediate relationship with France—beyond that -David was consecrated Bishop of Mirepoix when he -was negotiating the marriage of James V. at the -French Court—I cannot at the moment precisely -say; but of this there can be no doubt, that from -Bethune in the north came the original territorial -designation of the family, not from Bethon in the -west. Maximilien de Bethune—Bethune in the -Department of the Straits of Calais."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh really," the young man said again, quite humbly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now by this time it had become manifest that -there was to be no thunderstorm at all. There had -been a few more of those quivering strokes of yellow -fire (that dwelt longer on the retina than in the -clouds) accompanied by some distant mutterings -and rumblings; and at one point it seemed as if the -dreaded shower were coming on; but all passed off -gradually and quietly; the sky slowly brightened; -a pale sunshine began here and there to touch the -greensward and the shivering elms. This young -man had no excuse for remaining here; but he -seemed to forget; he was so busy talking—and -talking in a very pleased and half-excited fashion, -with an occasional glance across at the young lady.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Grandfather," said Maisrie Bethune, presently, -handing him the umbrella as a sort of hint.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But even when Vincent received his property back, -he appeared to take no heed. He had observed -that the newspaper lying on the old man's knee -was the </span><em class="italics">Toronto Globe</em><span>; he drew attention to the -circumstance; and now all his conversation was of -Queen's Park, Lake Ontario, of King Street, Queen -Street, Church Street, of the Exhibition Grounds, of -Park Island, and Block House Bay, and the Royal -Canadian Yacht Club. So he had been there too? -Oh, yes, he had been all over Canada and America. -He was as familiar with Idaho as with Brooklyn. -He had fished in the Adirondacks and shot mountain -sheep in the Rockies.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have been to Omaha, then?" the old man asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, of course."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For my granddaughter here," he continued, with -a smile, "is an Omaha girl."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, indeed," said Vincent, rather breathlessly, -and again he ventured to look across to Maisrie -Bethune and her downcast eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, but only by the accident of birth," said -George Bethune, instantly, as if he must needs -guard against any misapprehension. "Every drop -of blood in her veins is Scotch—and of a right good -quality too. Well, you have heard—you have -heard. Do you think any one could understand -those old Scotch airs who was not herself Scotch in -heart and soul?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I never heard anything so beautiful," the young -man answered, in an undertone; indeed, he seemed -hardly capable of talking about her, any more than -he could fix his eyes steadily on her face. His -forced glances were timorous and fugitive. There -was something sacred—that kept him at a distance. -It was enough to be conscious that she was there; -his only prayer was that she should remain; that -he and she should be together, if a little way apart, -looking at the same skies and water and trees, -breathing the same air, hearkening to the same -sounds. So he kept on talking to the old man, in -rather a nervous and eager fashion, fearful all the -time that either of them should propose to go.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And thus it came about that Vincent Harris -seemed to have a good deal to say for himself; he -appeared to forget that he was speaking to two -strangers; rather he was chatting with two -neighbours, whom he wished to be his friends. And the -old man, in his self-sufficient and dignified way, was -quite content to encourage this new acquaintance. -His conversation was something to pass the time -withal; he was modest, well-mannered, intelligent; -there was an air of distinction about him that -showed good up-bringing as well as some decision -of character. No doubt he was of a wealthy family, -or he could not have spent so much of his time in -travel; by accident he had mentioned one or two -well-known people as though he were in the habit -of familiarly meeting with them; from some -passing hint as to the nature of his studies, Mr. Bethune -gathered that this pleasant-spoken, pleasant-smiling -neighbour was destined for a public career. There -was even something interesting, to one who had -grown old and callous of the world's shows, in -noting the bright enthusiasm of the young man, the -clear light in his eyes, the general air of strength -and ease and courage that sate lightly on him, as -befitting one who was in the very May-morn of his -youth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But at last, for shame's sake, Vincent had himself -to rise and break up this all too-attractive -companionship. He said, with great humility:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am sure I ought to apologise to Miss Bethune -for having taken up so much of your time. Rather -an unwarrantable intrusion; but I don't think there -is any chance of the rain coming now—and—and—so -I will say good-bye."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-bye—glad to have made your acquaintance," -said old George Bethune, with a grave -courtesy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Maisrie made him a little bow—for he was -looking at her rather supplicatingly—as he raised -his hat and withdrew. Their eyes had met once -more: she could not well have avoided that. And -of course she saw him as he walked away southward, -across the bridge, until he disappeared.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A very agreeable young man, that," said Mr. Bethune, -with decision, as he rose to his feet and -intimated to his granddaughter that they had better -set forth again. "Frank in manner, gentle, -courteous, intelligent, too—very different from most of -the young men of the day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His granddaughter was silent as she walked by -his side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What—don't you think so, Maisrie?" he said, -with a touch of impatience, for he was used to her -assent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think," she answered, a little proudly, "that -he showed a good deal of confidence in coming to -speak to you without knowing you; and as for his -playing those airs in the evening, and in such a -way—well, I don't like to use the word -impertinence—but still——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was surprised; perhaps a trifle vexed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Impertinence? Nonsense! Nonsense! Frankness -and neighbourliness—that was all; no intrusion, -none: a more modest young man I have never -met. And as for his coming up to speak to me, -why, bless my life, that merely shows the humanizing -effects of travel. It is like people meeting at -a table d'hôte; and what is the world but a big -table d'hôte, where you speak with your neighbour -for a little while, and go your way, and forget him? -Confidence?—impertinence?—nonsense! He was -natural, unaffected, outspoken, as a young man -should be: in fact, I found myself on such friendly -terms with him that I forgot to thank him for the -little service he did us—did you, I should say. -Bashfulness, Maisrie," he continued, in his more -sententious manner, "bashfulness and stiffness are -among the worst characteristics of the untravelled -and untaught. Who are we—whatever may be our -lineage and pride of birth—that we should fence -ourselves round with a palisade of suspicion or -disdain?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And thus he went on; but he met with no -response. And he did not like it; he grew all the -more emphatic about this young man; and even -hinted that women were curiously perverse creatures, -who evinced no toleration, or sympathy, or good -nature in their judgment of their fellow beings. -What was her objection? To his appearance?—he -was remarkably good-looking, and refined in aspect, -without a trace of effeminacy. To his manner?—he -was almost humble in his anxiety to please. To -his talk?—but he had shown himself most bright, -good-humoured, alert, and well-informed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He had no right to come up and speak to you, -grandfather," was all she would say, and that with -a quite unusual firmness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the evening, after dinner, when the time came -at which Maisrie was accustomed to take up her -violin, there was obviously a little embarrassment. -But George Bethune tried to break through that by -a forced display of geniality.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, now, Maisrie," said he, in a gay fashion, -"our neighbour over the way was straightforward -enough to come up and offer us his hand; and we -must return the compliment. One good turn -deserves another. Get your violin, and play -something: he will understand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Grandfather, how can you ask me?" she said, -almost indignantly; and there was that in the tone -of her voice that forbade him to press her further.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But perhaps the universal stillness that prevailed -thereafter conveyed some kind of reproach to her; -or perhaps her heart softened a little; at all events -she presently said, in rather a low voice, and with a -diffident manner—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Grandfather, if you—if you really think the -young gentleman wished to be kind and obliging—and—and -if you would like to show him some little -politeness in return—couldn't you step across the -way—and—and see him, and talk to him for a few -minutes? Perhaps he would be glad of that, if he -is quite alone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A capital idea, Maisrie," the old man said, -rising at once. "A capital idea." And then he -added, with an air of lofty complacency and -condescension, as he selected a couple of volumes from -a heap of books on the sideboard: "Perhaps I -might as well take over the </span><em class="italics">Mémoires</em><span> with me; it -is not at all unlikely he may wish to know -something further about Maximilien de Bethune. I am -not surprised—not at all surprised—that a young -man called Harris should perceive that there is -something in the grandeur of an old historical name."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="stalled-ox-and-a-dinner-of-herbs"><span class="large">CHAPTER IV.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">STALLED OX AND A DINNER OF HERBS.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>But on this particular evening, as it happened, -Vincent had promised to dine at home; for his -aunt was returning to Brighton on the following -day; and there was to be a little farewell banquet -given in her honour. Of course aunt and nephew -sate together; Mrs. Ellison had arranged that; -knowing that at these semi-political dinner-parties -the company was frequently a trifle mixed, she took -care that on one side at least she should have a -pleasant neighbour. And indeed when the guests -had taken their places—there were about thirty in -all—the table presented a pretty sight. From end -to end it was a mass of flowers; at intervals there -were pyramids of ice, draped with roses, blush-red -and yellow; but the candles in the tall candelabra -were not lit—the softly-tinted globes of the electric -light shed a sufficient and diffused lustre. It was a -sumptuous entertainment; and yet there prevailed -an air of elegance and refinement. When soup was -served, it was not the aldermanic turtle, but a clear -golden fluid with gems of crimson and green; and -it was handed round in silver dishes. No one thought -of a thick soup on this hot June night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As soon as the hum of conversation became -general, the tall and handsome young widow turned -to her companion—who was only a year or two her -junior, by the way—and with her demure and -mischievous eyes grown full of meaning she said—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Vin, what has happened to you to-day?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean, aunt?" he answered, with -some surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Something has happened to you to-day," she -went on, confidently. "You can't hoodwink me. -Why have you been so radiant, so complaisant, -this afternoon—why are you here, for example—when -you haven't shown up at this dinner-table for -weeks past?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you going away to-morrow, aunt!" he -exclaimed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No use, Vin. All of a sudden you want to be -magnanimous to the whole human race; your -amiability becomes almost burdensome; your -eyes are full of pride and joy; and you think you -can hide the transformation from me! Well, then, -I will tell you, since you won't tell me: to-day you -were introduced to her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was startled—and no wonder: had his aunt, -by some extraordinary chance, witnessed that -interview in Hyde Park? Mrs. Ellison's shrewd, -quick eyes noticed his alarm, and laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The story is as clear as noonday," she continued, -in the same undertone. "You come home every -night between nine and ten. Why? Because she -is an actress, playing in the first piece only; and -of course the theatre loses its attraction for you the -moment she has left. Now, my dear Vin, that is -not the kind of thing for you at all! You'd better -stop it—even although you have experienced the -wild joy of being introduced to her. What do you -know about her? You have been investing her -with all the charming qualities of her stage -heroines; you haven't learnt yet that she is a little -slatternly in her dress, that her tastes in eating and -drinking are rather coarse, that her tastes in -literature and art aren't any—worse still, that she -is already provided with a husband, a lounger about -Strand public-houses, only too ready to accept your -patronage and the price of a glass of gin—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was immensely relieved.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you're all wrong, aunt!" he said, cheerfully. -"I haven't been inside a theatre for six months!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You haven't?" she said, glancing at him with a -kind of amused suspicion. "You are really playing -the good boy with Parliamentary reports and blue -books? A very admirable diligence. Other young -men would be strolling in the Park, in this hot -weather." And then all of a sudden she asked: -"What subject were you studying to-day, Vin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thompson's Distribution of Wealth," he made -answer, with equal promptitude.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh. What does he say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't want to know, aunt!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I do: I'm used to hearing all sorts of -theories at this table—though I seldom see them -put in practice."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Well, he on his side was glad enough to get away -from that other and dangerous topic; and whether -or not he believed in her innocent desire for -knowledge, he began to discourse on the possibility of -universal human happiness being reached by a -voluntary equality in the distribution of the products -of labour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Voluntary, do you see, aunt?—that is the very -essence of the scheme," he rambled on, while she -appeared to be listening gravely. "Thompson will -have nothing to do with force; he himself points -out that if you once bring in force to redress the -inequalities of wealth, you leave it open for every -succeeding majority to employ the same means, so -that industry would be annihilated: the capitalists -would not lend, the workers would not work. No, -it is all to be done by mutual consent. Those who -have wealth at present are not to be disturbed; -what they have amassed is but a trifle compared -with what the millions can produce; and it is this -product of universal co-operation that is to constitute -the real wealth of the world. Well, I suppose it is -only a dream," he proceeded. "On the other hand, -take my father's way of looking at it. He is all for -State interference; the State is to appropriate -everything and manage everything; and to keep on -managing it, I suppose, or else things would revert -to their former condition. That's where the trouble -comes in, of course. The moment you allow -anything like freedom of contract, how can you prevent -the former condition of affairs coming into existence -again? You know, after all, aunt, there is generally -a reason for the institutions and social arrangements -of any country; they don't spring out of nothing; -they grow, and their growth is a necessity—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Vincent Harris," said the young widow, -solemnly, "I perceive the seeds of a rabid Toryism -beginning to sprout in your young mind. Wouldn't -your father say that the reason for the monstrous -condition of affairs now existing—I don't consider -them monstrous; not I; I'm pretty well content, -thank you—but wouldn't he say the reason was -simply the ignorance of the people who produce and -the unscrupulous greed of the other people who -take the lion's share of the profits? Of course he -would; and so he wants to educate the producer; -and protect him by the State; and see that he isn't -swindled. Go to; thou art Didymus, and an -unbeliever; I suspect Lord Musselburgh has been -corrupting you. Tell me," she said, irrelevantly, -"who is the woman with the black curls—I did -not catch her name when she was introduced to me—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was delighted that she showed no sign of -returning to that awkward topic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Goodness gracious me, aunt," said he, glancing -in the direction indicated, where sat an elderly -lady, thin and gaunt and pale, with large lustrous -black eyes, and black hair clone up in the fashion -of a generation ago, "do you mean to say you don't -know Madame Mikucsek?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who is Madame—What-is-it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You never even heard of her!" he exclaimed, -in affected astonishment. "Madame Mikucsek—the -discoverer of the Mystery of the East—the -Prophetess of the New Religion—who has her -followers and disciples all over the world—from -Syria to the Himalayas—from New York to -Sacramento. Really, aunt, you surprise me: you -will be saying next you never heard of </span><em class="italics">Bô</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is Bô—or who is he?" she demanded, -impatiently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Bô</em><span>," he repeated, as if he were too puzzled by -her appalling ignorance to be able to explain, "why, -</span><em class="italics">Bô</em><span>—</span><em class="italics">Bô</em><span> is the equivalent of the Chinese </span><em class="italics">Tá</em><span>. It is -the principle of life; it is the beginning and the -end of all things; it is the condition of the soul—and -yet not quite the condition of the soul, for the -soul can live outside </span><em class="italics">Bô</em><span> until the miracle of -initiation happens. Then the soul is received into -</span><em class="italics">Bô</em><span>, and finds that the present is non-existent, and -that only the past and the future exist, the future -being really the past, when once the soul has -entered </span><em class="italics">Bô</em><span>—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Vin, I believe you are making a fool of me," the -pretty Mrs. Ellison said, severely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I assure you, aunt," he said, with eyes -innocent of guile, "it is the great discovery of the -age—the great discovery of all time—the Sacred—the -Ineffable. When you enter into </span><em class="italics">Bô</em><span> you lose -your individuality—or rather, you never had any -individuality—for individuality was a confusion of -thought, a product of the present, and the present, -as I have explained to you, my dear aunt, ceases -to exist when you have entered </span><em class="italics">Bô</em><span>. Did I tell you -that </span><em class="italics">Bô</em><span> is sentient? Yes, but yet not a being; -though there are manifestations, mysterious and -ecstatic; and the disciples write to each other on -the first day of each month, and tell each other -what trances they have been in, and what -spiritual joy they have received. These reports -are sent to Madame Mikucsek; and they are -published in a journal that circulates among the -initiated; but the phraseology is hieratic, the outside -world could make nothing of it. As for her, she -is not expected to reveal anything—what she -experiences transcends human speech, and even -human thought—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I saw the woman mopping up gravy with a piece -of bread," said Mrs. Ellison, with frowning eyebrows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Bô</em><span>," continued the young man, very seriously, -"as far as I have been able to make it out, consists -of a vast sphere; elliptical, however: the zenith -containing all human aspiration, the base consisting -of forgotten evil. When you once enter this magic -circle, you are lost, you are transformed, you are -here and yet not here; to be does not signify to be -but not to be; and not to be is the highest good -except not to have been. </span><em class="italics">Bô</em><span>, when once you have -received the consecration, and bathed in the light, -and perceived the altitudes and the essential deeps -and cognisances—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ought to be written Bosh," said she, briefly. -"I will not hear any more of that nonsense. And -I believe you are only humbugging me: Madame -What's-her-name looks more like the widow of a -French Communist. Now listen to me, Vin, for I -am going away to-morrow. I am glad I was -mistaken about the actress; but take care; don't -get into scrapes. I shan't be happy till I see you -married. Ordinarily a man should not marry until -he is thirty or five-and-thirty—if he is five-and-forty -so much the better—but even at five-and-thirty, -he may have acquired a little judgment; he may -be able to tell how much honesty there is in the -extreme amiability and unselfishness and simplicity -that a young woman can assume, or whether she is -likely to turn out an ill-conditioned, cross-grained, -and sulking brute. Oh, you needn't laugh: it's no -laughing matter, as you'll find out, my young -friend. But you—you are different; you are no -schoolboy; you've seen the world—too much of it, -for you've learnt disrespect for your elders, and try -to bamboozle them with accounts of sham systems -of philosophy or religion or whatever it is. I say -you ought to marry young; but not an elderly -woman, as many a young man does, for money or -position. Good gracious, no! You'll have plenty -of money; your father isn't just yet going to sell -this silver dinner-service—which I detest, for it -always looks more greasy than china, and besides -you feel as if you were scoring it with the edge -of your knife all the time—I say he isn't going to -sell his silver and distribute unto the poor just yet. -As for position, you've got to make that for -yourself: would you owe it to your wife? Very well," -proceeded his pretty monitress, in her easy and -prattling fashion; "come down to Brighton for -a week or two. I will ask the Drexel girls; you -will have them all to yourself, to pick and choose -from, but Louie is my favourite. You have no idea -how delightful Brighton is in June—the inland -drives are perfect, so cool and shaded with trees, -when you know where to go, that is. If you come -down I'll make up a party and take you all to Ascot: -Mrs. Bourke has offered me her house for the -week—isn't that good-natured, when she could easily -have let it?—and I have to telegraph yes or no -to-morrow. I hadn't intended going myself; but if -you say you will come down, I will accept; and -I know I can get the Drexel girls."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is so kind of you, aunt; so very kind," he -said; "but I really can't get away. You know I -don't care much about racing—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But Louie Drexel isn't racing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm very sorry, but you must excuse me, aunt," -he said contritely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh—distribution of wealth—supply and -demand—sugar-bounties and blue-books—is that it? -Well, well, what the young men of the present day -are coming to—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She could say no more; for at this moment her -neighbour, an elderly and learned gentleman from -Oxford, addressed her. He had not hitherto uttered -a word, having paid strict attention to every dish -and every wine (albeit he was a lean and -famished-looking person); but now he remarked that the -evenings were hot for the middle of June. He -spoke of the danger of having recourse to iced -fluids. Then he went on to compare the bathing -of the Greeks and Romans with the ablutions of -the English—until he was offered strawberries, -whereupon, having helped himself largely, he fell -into a business-like silence again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When at length the ladies had gone upstairs, -Lord Musselburgh came and took the seat just -vacated by Mrs. Ellison.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have a commission from your father, Vin," -said he. "I am to persuade you of the sweet -reasonableness of his project—that you should for -a time become the private secretary of Mr. Ogden."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The private secretary of a man who hasn't an -</span><em class="italics">h</em><span>!" retorted Master Vin, with scorn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What has that to do with it?" the young -nobleman said, coolly. "No. After all, there is -something in what your father says. He believes that -the next great political and social movement will -be the emancipation of the wage-earner—the -securing to the producer his fair share of the products -of his labour. If that is so, it will be a big thing. -It will be years before it comes off, no doubt; but -then there will be a great wave of public opinion; -and if you are prepared—if you are there—if you -are identified with this tremendous social revolution, -why, that magnificent wave will peacefully and -calmly lift you into the Cabinet. I think that's -about his notion. Very well. If you are willing to -take up this work, how could you begin better than -by becoming private secretary to Josiah Ogden? -There you would come into direct touch with the -masses; you would get to know at first hand what -they are thinking of, what they are hoping -for; subsequently, you could speak with authority. -Then there's another thing, Vin. If you want to -become a figure in public life in England, if you -want to build a splendid monument for yourself, -you should begin at the base. Capture the -multitude; be as red-hot a Radical as they can desire; -and they won't mind what you do afterwards. You -may accept office; you may be petted by Royalty; -but they will rather like it—they will look on it -as a compliment paid to one of themselves. And -that is where Ogden would come in. He, too, is one -of themselves—though he has his hired brougham -when he comes to town, and his big dinners at -the Menagerie Club. What have you got to do -with his </span><em class="italics">h</em><span>'s? If I want to back a horse, or order -a pair of boots, or have my hair cut, what does it -matter to me whether the man has an </span><em class="italics">h</em><span>, or a -superfluity of </span><em class="italics">h</em><span>'s? You make him useful to you; you -get what you want; isn't that enough?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, it is not," Vincent rejoined—but -respectfully, for he never forgot that Lord -Musselburgh was his senior by very nearly five years. -"You see, you don't go into partnership with your -hairdresser, and you don't put your name over the -bootmaker's shop. And I shouldn't learn much -from Mr. Ogden, for I don't believe in his machine-made -politics—everything to be done by committees, -and resolutions, and majorities. I expect to find him -starting a Society for the Suppression of Punch and -Judy Shows, so that the infantile mind of England -may not be corrupted by exhibitions of brutality."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is a very able man, let me tell you that," -said Musselburgh, with decision. "And a capital -speaker—a slogger, of course, but that is wanted -for big crowds. And sometimes he turns out a neat -thing. Did you notice what he said at Sheffield the -other day—telling the working men not to be too -grateful for rich men's charities—for recreation -grounds, drinking fountains, and the like? What -he said was this—'When the capitalist has robbed -Peter, it is easy for him to salve his conscience by -throwing a crust to Paul'—not bad. I think you -might do worse, Vin, than become Ogden's private -secretary. Pretty hard work, of course; but the -modern young man, in politics, is supposed to be -thoroughly in earnest: if he isn't he will have to -reckon with the evening papers, for they don't like -to be trifled with."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The subject was not a grateful one, apparently; -Vincent changed it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you remember," he said, with some little -diffidence, "that—that I was in your house one -afternoon a few weeks ago when an old gentleman -called—and—and his granddaughter—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The perfervid old Scotchman—yes!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How did you come to know him?" the young -man asked, with downcast eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hardly recollect. Let me see. I think he -first of all wrote to me, enclosing a note of -introduction he had brought from a friend of mine in -New York—a brother Scot. Then, as you saw, he -called, and told me something further about a book -he is going to bring out; and I gave him some -little assistance—I don't think he is above -accepting a few sovereigns from any one to help him on -his way through the world."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vin Harris flushed hotly—and he raised his head -and looked his friend straight in the face as he put -the next question.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But—but he is a gentleman!—his name—his -family—even his bearing—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, yes, I suppose so," Lord Musselburgh -said, lightly. "Poor old fellow, I was glad to lend -him a helping hand. I think his enthusiasm, his -patriotism, was genuine; and it is a thing you don't -often meet with nowadays."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—but—but—-" Vincent said, with a good -deal of embarrassment, and yet with some touch of -half-indignant remonstrance, "the money you gave -him—that was to aid him in bringing out the book, -wasn't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly, certainly!" the other made answer—he -did not happen to notice the expression on -his friend's face. "Something about Scotland—Scotch -poetry—I think when he wrote he said -something about a dedication, but that is an honour -I hardly covet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In any case," observed the young man, "you -have no right to say he would accept money -from—from anyone—from a stranger."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then Lord Musselburgh did look up—struck by -something in his companion's tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did I say that? I'm sure I don't know. Of -course it was on account of the book that I ventured -to give him some little help—oh, yes, certainly—I -should not have ventured otherwise. If he had -been offended, I dare say he would have said so; -but I fancy the old gentleman has had to overcome -his pride before now. He seems to have led a -curious, wandering life. By the way, Vin, weren't -you very much impressed by the young lady—I -remember your saying something—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fortunately there was no need for Vincent to -answer this question; for now there began a general -movement on the part of the remaining guests to -go upstairs to the drawing-room; and in this little -bit of a bustle he escaped from further cross-examination.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When at the end of the evening all the people -had gone away, and when Harland Harris had shut -himself up in his study to finish his correspondence—for -he was going down the next morning to a -Congress of Co-operative Societies at -Ipswich—Mrs. Ellison and her nephew found themselves alone in -the drawing-room; and the fair young widow must -needs return to the subject she had been discoursing -upon at dinner—namely, that this young man, in -order to guard against pitfalls and embroilments, -should get married forthwith.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You seem anxious that I should marry," said he, -bluntly; "why don't you get married yourself?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, thank you!" she replied, with -promptitude. "I know when I have had—" Apparently -she was on the point of saying that she knew when -she had had enough; but that would not have -been complimentary to the memory of the deceased; -so she abruptly broke off—and then resumed. "It -isn't necessary for me to make any further -experiments in life; but for you, with such a splendid -future before you, it is a necessity. As for me, I -mean to let well alone. And it is well—very well. -I do believe, Vin, that I am the only woman on this -earth—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What?" he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"—who is really contented. I am too happy. -Sometimes I'm afraid; it seems as if I had no right -to it. Why, when I come downstairs in the -morning, and draw an easy-chair to the open -windows—especially when there is a breeze coming off the sea, -and the sun-blinds are out, and the balcony nicely -shaded, you know—I mean at home, in Brunswick -Terrace—well, when I take up the newspaper and -begin to read about what's going on—as if it was -all some kind of a distant thing—I feel so satisfied -with the quiet and the coolness and the sea-air that -I am bound to do a little kindness to somebody, and -so I turn to the columns where appeals are made -for charity. I don't care what it is; I'm so well -content that I must give something to somebody—distressed -Irish widows, sailors' libraries, days in the -country, anything. I dare say I sometimes give -money where I shouldn't; but how am I to know?—and -at any rate it pleases me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But why shouldn't you be happy, aunt?" said -the young man. "You are so good-humoured, -and so kind, and so nice to look at, that it is -no wonder you are such a favourite, with men -especially."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes," she said, frankly. "Men are always -nice to you—except the one you happen to marry; -and I'm not going to spoil the situation. At present -they're all sweetness, and that suits me: I'm not -going to give any one of them the chance of -showing himself an ungrateful brute. When I come -downstairs at Brighton, I like to see only one cup -on the breakfast-table, and to feel that I have the -whole room to myself. Selfish?—then you can -make amends by sending something to the Children's -Hospital or the People's Palace or something -of that kind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you know, aunt," he observed, gravely, -"what Mr. Ogden says of you? He says that, -having robbed Peter, you try to salve your conscience -by throwing a crust to Paul."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When did I rob Peter?—what Peter?" she -said, indignantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are a capitalist—you have more than your -own share—you possess what you do not work -for—therefore you are a robber and a plunderer. I am -sorry for you, aunt; but Mr. Ogden has pronounced -your doom—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Ogden——!" she said, with angry brows—and -then she stopped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, aunt?" he said, encouragingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, nothing. But I tell you this, Vin. You -were talking of the proper distribution of wealth. -Well, when you come to marry, and if I approve of -the girl, I mean to distribute a little of my -plunder—of my ill-gotten gains—in that direction: she -shan't come empty-handed. That is, if I approve of -her, you understand. And the best thing you can -do is to alter your mind and come down to Brighton -for a week or two; and I'll send for the Drexel girls -and perhaps one or two more. If you can't just at -present, you may later on. Now I'm going off to -my room; and I'll say good-bye as well as -good-night; for I don't suppose I shall see you in the -morning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-night, then, and good-bye, aunt!" said -he, as he held her hand for a second; and that -was the last that he saw of her for some considerable time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a great change was about to take place in -this young man's position and circumstances, in his -interests, and ambitions, and trembling hopes. He -was about to enter wonderland—that so many have -entered, stealthily and almost fearing—that so many -remember, and perhaps would fain forget. Do any -remain in that mystic and rose-hued region? Some, -at least, have never even approached it; for its -portals are not easily discoverable, are not discoverable -at all, indeed, except by the twin torches of -imagination and abolition of self.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When he went up to his chambers the next -morning he was surprised to find a card lying on -the table; he had not expected a visitor in this -secluded retreat. And when he glanced at the -name, he was still more perturbed. What an -opportunity he had missed! Perhaps Mr. Bethune -had brought an informal little invitation for -him—the first overture of friendliness? He might have -spent the evening in the hushed, small parlour over -the way, with those violin strains vibrating through -the dusk; or, with the lights ablaze, he might have -sate and listened to the old man's tales of travel, -while Maisrie Bethune would be sitting at her -needle-work, but looking up from time to time—each -glance a world's wonder! And what had he -had in exchange?—a vapid dinner-party; some talk -about socialism; an invitation that he should -descend into the catacombs of North of England -politics and labour mole-like there to no apparent -end; finally, a promise that if he would only marry -the young lady of Mrs. Ellison's choice—presumably -one of her American friends—his bride should have -some additional dowry to recommend her. What -were all those distant schemes, and even the brilliant -future that everybody seemed to prophesy for him, -to the bewildering possibilities that were almost -within his reach? He went to the window. The -pots of musk, and lobelia, and ox-eye daisies, in the -little balcony over there, and also the Virginia -creeper intertwisting its sprays through the iron -bars, seemed fresh: no doubt she had sprinkled -them with water before leaving with her grandfather. -And had they gone to Hyde Park as usual? He -was sorely tempted to go in search; but something -told him this might provoke suspicions; so he -resolutely hauled in a chair to the table and set to -work with his books and annotations—though -sometimes there came before his eyes a nebulous vision, -as of a sheet of silver-grey water and a shimmering -of elms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the afternoon he went out and bought a -clothes-brush, a couple of hair-brushes, some scented -soap, and other toilet requisites—of which he had -not hitherto known the need in these chambers; -and about five o'clock or a little thereafter, having -carefully removed the last speck from his coat-sleeve, -he crossed the way, and rather timidly knocked at -the door. It was opened by the landlady's daughter, -who appeared at once surprised and pleased on -finding who this visitor was.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is Mr. Bethune at home?" he demanded—with -some vaguely uncomfortable feeling that this -damsel's eyes looked too friendly. She seemed -to understand everything—to have been expecting him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"May I go upstairs?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He gave no name; but she did not hesitate for -a moment. She led the way upstairs; she tapped -lightly; and in answer to Mr. Bethune's loud -"Come in!" she opened the door, and said—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The young gentleman, sir,"—a form of announcement -that might have struck Vincent as peculiar if -he had not been much too occupied to notice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, how do you do—how do you do?" old -George Bethune (who was alone) called out, and -he pushed aside his book and came forward with -extended hand. "Nothing like being neighbourly; -solitary units in the great sea of London life have -naturally some interest in each other: you would -gather that I looked in on you last night—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said the young man, as he took the -proffered chair. "I am very sorry I happened to -be out—I had to dine at home last evening—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At home?" repeated Mr. Bethune, looking for -the moment just a trifle puzzled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes," said his visitor, rather nervously. -"Perhaps I didn't explain. I don't </span><em class="italics">live</em><span> over there, -you know. I only have the rooms for purposes of -study; the place is so quiet I can get on better than -at home; there are no interruptions—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Except a little violin-playing?" the old man -suggested, good-naturedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish there were more of that, sir," Vincent -observed, respectfully. "That was only in the -evenings; and I used to wait for it, to tell you the -truth, as a kind of unintentional reward after my -day's work. But of late I have heard nothing; I -hope that Miss Bethune was not offended that -I ventured to—to open my piano at the same time—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, not at all—I can hardly think so," her -grandfather said, airily. "She also has been busy -with her books of late—it is Dante, I believe, at -present—and as I insist on her always reading aloud, -whatever the language is, she goes upstairs to her -own room; so that I haven't seen much of her in the -evenings. Now may I offer you a cigar?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, thank you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Or a glass of claret?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, thanks."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then tell me what your studies are, that we -may become better acquainted."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Vincent was about to do that when the door -behind him opened. Instinctively he rose and -turned. The next instant Maisrie Bethune was -before him—looking taller, he thought, than he had, -in Hyde Park, imagined her to be. She saluted him -gravely and without embarrassment; perhaps she -had been told of his arrival; it was he who was, for -the moment, somewhat confused, and anxious to -apologise and explain. But, curiously enough, that -was only a passing phase. When once he had -realised that she also was in the room—not paying -much attention, perhaps, but listening when she -chose, as she attended to some flowers she had -brought for the central table—all his embarrassment -fled, and his natural buoyancy and confidence came -to his aid. She, on her side, seemed to consider -that she was of no account; that she was not called -upon to interfere in this conversation between her -grandfather and his guest. When she had finished -with the flowers, she went to the open window, and -took her seat, opening out some needlework she -had carried thither. The young man could see she -had beautiful hands—rather long, perhaps, but -exquisitely formed: another wonder! But the truly -extraordinary thing—the enchantment—was that -here he was in the same room with her, likely to -become her friend, and already privileged to speak -so that she could hear!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For of course he was aware that he had an -audience of two; and very well he talked, in his -half-excited mood. There was no more timidity; -there was a gay self-assertion—a desire to excel and -shine; sometimes he laughed, and his laugh was -musical. He had skillfully drawn from the old man -a confession of political faith (of course he was a -Conservative, as became one of the Bethunes of -Balloray), so all chance of collision was avoided on -that point; and indeed Vin Harris was ready to -have sworn that black was white, so eager was he to -make an impression, on this his first, and wondrous -visit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The time went by all too quickly; but the young -man had become intoxicated by this unexpected joy; -instead of getting up and apologising, and taking his -hat, and going away, he boldly threw out the -suggestion that these three—these solitary units in -the great sea of London life, as George Bethune had -called them—should determine to spend the evening -together. He did not seem to be aware of the -audacity of his proposal; he was carrying everything -before him in a high-handed fashion; the touch of -colour that rose to Maisrie Bethune's cheek—what -of that? Oh, yes, maiden shyness, no doubt; but -of little consequence; here were the golden -moments—here the golden opportunity: why should -they separate?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You see," said he, "I don't care to inconvenience -our people at home by my uncertain hours; and so -of late I have taken to dining at a restaurant, just -when I felt inclined; and I have got to know -something of the different places. I think we might go -out for a little stroll, as the evening will be cooler -now, and wander on until we see a quiet and -snug-looking corner. There is something in freedom of -choice; and you may catch sight of a bay window, -or of a recess with flowers in it, and a bit of a -fountain that tempts the eye—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you say, Maisrie?" the old gentleman -inquired.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You go, grandfather," the girl replied at once, -but without raising her head. "It will be a -pleasant change for you. I would rather remain -at home."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, but I should never have proposed such a -thing," Vincent interposed, hastily, "if it meant -that Miss Bethune was to be left here alone, -certainly not! I—I decline to be a party to any -such arrangement—oh, I could not think of such a -thing!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'd better come, Maisrie," said the old man, -with some air of authority.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, grandfather," she said, obediently; -and straightway she rose and left the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Master Vin's heart beat high; here were wonders -upon wonders; in a short space he would be walking -along the pavements of London town with Maisrie -Bethune by his side (or practically so) and thereafter -he and she would be seated at the same table, -almost within touch of each other. Would the wide -world get to hear of this marvellous thing? Would -the men and women whom they encountered in -Oxford-street observe and conjecture, and perhaps -pass on with some faint vision of that beautiful and -pensive face imprinted on their memory? By what -magic freak of fortune had he came to be so favoured? -Those people in Oxford-street were all strangers to -her, and would remain strangers; he alone would be -admitted to the sacred privacies of her companionship -and society; but a few minutes more, and he -would be instructing himself in her little ways and -preferences, each one a happy secret to be kept -wholly to himself. But the entranced young man -was hardly prepared for what now followed. When -the door opened again, and Maisrie Bethune -reappeared (her eyes were averted from him, and there -was a self-conscious tinge of colour in her pale and -thoughtful face) she seemed to have undergone some -sudden transformation. The youthful look lent to -her appearance by the long and loose-flowing locks -and by her plain dress of blue and white linen had -gone; and here was a young lady apparently about -twenty, tall, self-possessed (notwithstanding that -tinge of colour) and grave in manner. A miracle -had been wrought!—and yet she had only plaited -up her hair, tying it with a bit of blue ribbon, and -donned a simple costume of cream-coloured cashmere. -She was putting on her gloves now; and he thought -that long hands were by far the most beautiful of any.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Well, it was all a bewilderment—this walking along -the London streets under the pale saffron of the -evening sky, listening to the old man's emphatic -monologue, but far more intent on warning Miss -Bethune of the approach of a cab, when she was -about to cross this or the other thoroughfare. -Once he touched her arm in his anxiety to check -her; he had not intended to do so; and it was -he who was thunderstruck and ashamed; she did -not appear to have noticed. And then again he -was afraid lest she should be tired before they -reached the particular restaurant he had in mind; -to which old George Bethune replied that his -granddaughter did not know what fatigue was; he -and she could walk for a whole day, strolling -through the parks or along the streets, with absolute -ease and comfort, as became vagrants and world-wanderers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Though I am not so sure it is altogether good -for Maisrie here," he continued. "It may be that -that has kept her thin—she is too thin for a young -lass. She is all spirit; she has no more body than -a daddy long-legs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vincent instantly offered to call a cab—which -they refused; but he was not beset by wild alarms; -he knew that, however slight she might be, the -natural grace and elegance of her carriage could -only be the outcome of a symmetrical form in -conjunction with elastic health. That conclusion -he had arrived at in the Park; but now he noticed -another thing—that, as she walked, the slightly-swaying -arms had the elbow well in to the waist, -and the wrist turned out, and that quite obviously -without set purpose. It was a pretty movement; -but it was more than merely graceful; it was one -mark of a well-balanced figure, even as was her -confident step. For her step could be confident -enough, and the set of her head proud enough—if -she mostly kept her eyes to the ground.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was an Italian restaurant they entered at last; -and Vincent was so fortunate as to find a -recess-compartment, which he knew of, vacant. They -were practically dining in a private room; but all -the same they could when they chose glance out -upon the large saloon, with its little white tables, -and its various groups of olive-complexioned or -English-complexioned guests. The young man -assumed the management of this small festivity -from the outset. He ordered a flask of Chianti for -Mr. Bethune and himself; and then he would have -got something lighter—some sparkling beverage—for -the young lady, but that she told him that she -drank no wine. Why, he said to himself, he might -have known!—</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>'for in her veins</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Ran blood as pure and cool as summer rains.'</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>And as this modest little repast went on, perhaps -Vincent was comparing it with the banquet of the -night before. Ah, there had been no enhancement, -no enthralling ecstacy and delight, about that -entertainment, sumptuous as it was. Here was -some food—he hardly looked at it—he did not -know what it was, and did not care—which would -have to be paid for at the rate of 3/6 per head; -but as compared with this frugal festivity, the -splendours of the preceding evening—the masses of -roses, the pyramids of ice, the silver candelabra, -and all the rest—shrank into insignificance. 'Here -there was a nameless glamour filling all the air; -a palpitation of hope, and a curious dumb sense of -gratitude as if for favours unexpected and -undeserved; all the coming years of his life seemed -to be shining there in her eyes—so that he hardly -dared to look, so full of fear, and yet of a breathless -joy and wonder, was the revelation, when she -happened to glance towards him. And on her side, -she appeared to be a little less reserved and distant -than she had hitherto been. She seemed grateful -for the trouble the young man had taken on behalf -of her grandfather and herself; sometimes, when -in his eager talk he said something that interested -her, she raised her head, with a smile in her eyes. -A wonderful banquet, truly, though not so imposing -as that of the previous night. He learned that she -was immensely fond of propelling a gondola (the -forward oar only; she wanted another oar astern -to steer) and here was another amazingly interesting -fact, to be for ever and ever remembered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As for the old man (for the world was not created -solely for young folk) he was at once gay and -oracular.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"These little breaks and diversions," he was -saying, as he stirred his coffee—the time of -cigarettes having now arrived, "are useful things—useful -things; an affair of the moment, truly; but -the wise man makes of the passing moment as -much as he possibly can. Why, the real curse of -modern life—the ineradicable disease—is the habit -of continually looking before and after. We none -of us think enough of the present moment; we are -anxiously speculating as to the future; or, what is -worse still, fretting over the memory of past injuries -and past mistakes. That is where the uneducated, -the unimaginative, have their consolation; we -are not half so happy and content as the stolid -ploughman or the phlegmatic bricklayer who thinks -only of the present heat, or the present cold, or, -at furthest, of the next pint of beer, and of the -prospect of getting to bed, with the knowledge that -he will sleep sound. The actual and immediate -things before them are the things that interest -them; not the unknown future, or the useless past. -But I have schooled myself, thanks in a great -measure to Horace—and my granddaughter knows -her Horace too—and I think I keep as stout a heart -as most. </span><em class="italics">Dum loquimur</em><span>, of course, </span><em class="italics">fugerit invida -ætas</em><span>; but even while I know that the night presses -down upon me, and the shadowy fathers, and the -empty halls of Pluto, I put the knowledge away -from me; I am content with the present moment; -I am more than content, for example, with this very -excellent cigarette—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would you allow me to send you a few boxes?" -interposed Vincent, at once and eagerly. "I think -the cork mouthpiece is a great improvement. I -know where they are to be got. May I send you -some?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thank you; but they are not much in my -way," the old man said, with a certain loftiness -of demeanour. "As I was remarking, the time has -gone by for unavailing regrets over what has been -done to me and mine. I think I may say that -throughout we have shown a bold front. '</span><em class="italics">Stand -fast, Craig-Royston!</em><span>' has not been our watchword for -nothing. And as for the future—why, 'to the -gods belongs to-morrow!' The anticipation of evil -will not remove it: the recalling of bygone injuries -provides no compensation. 'The present moment -is our ain; the neist we never saw;' and so, as we -have had a pleasant evening so far, I think we may -as well get away home again; and, Maisrie, you -will get out your violin, and we'll have some Scotch -songs, and my young friend and I will taste just a -drop of Scotch whisky; and if there's any better -combination than that in the world, I do not know -of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But here a very awkward incident occurred. Old -George Bethune, in his grand manner, called to the -waiter to bring the bill. Now Vincent had -intended to steal out and arrange this little matter -without allowing the young lady to have any -cognisance of it; but of course the waiter, when -summoned, came up to the table, and proceeded to -pencil out the account.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think, sir," put in the young man, modestly, -"you'd better let me have that. It was my proposal, -you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, very well," said Mr. Bethune, carelessly; -and as carelessly he handed over the slip of paper -he had just taken from the waiter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the quick look of pain and humiliation that -swept over the girl's face stabbed the young man to -the heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Grandfather!" she said, with a burning flush.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, well," her grandfather said, petulantly; -"I have just discovered that I have left my purse -behind. Some other time—it is all the same—it -is immaterial—the next time will be my -turn—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here is my purse, grandfather," she said; and -she turned with an air of quiet firmness to her -younger neighbour, and merely said "If you -please!" He was too bewildered to refuse: there -was something in her manner that compelled him -to accede without a word of protest. She pushed -her purse and the slip of paper across the table to -her grandfather; and then she rose, and turned to -seek her sun-shade, which Vincent forthwith -brought to her. The curious mingling of simplicity -and dignity with which she had interposed -impressed him strangely: perhaps she was not so -much of a school-girl as she had seemed when he -first saw her walking through Hyde Park? Then -the three of them left the restaurant together; and -quietly made their way home through the gathering -twilight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But he would not go in when they arrived at -their door, though the old man again put Scotch -music and Scotch whisky before him as an inducement. -Perhaps he dreaded to outstay his welcome. -He bade them both good-night; and Maisrie Bethune, -as she parted from him, was so kind as to say -"Thank you so much!" with the briefest, timid -glance of her all-too-eloquent eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He went across to his own rooms—merely for -form's sake. He did not light the gas when he -got upstairs. He carefully shut the window; then -he sate down to the piano; and very gently and -quietly he played a graceful little air. It was -"</span><em class="italics">Dormez, dormez, ma belle!</em><span>"; and it was a kind of -farewell message for the night; but he had made -sure that she should not hear.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="qu-mon-coeur-en-mariage"><span class="large">CHAPTER V.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">QU' MON COEUR EN MARIAGE.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>When Maisrie Bethune and her grandfather -returned home after the little dinner at the restaurant -she went upstairs to her own room, while he -proceeded to summon the landlady's husband from -the lower deeps. Forthwith the pallid-faced and -nervous-eyed Hobson appeared; and he seemed to -be more obsequious than ever towards the great -man who had deigned to patronise his humble -literary efforts, and had even got some of his verses -printed in the Edinburgh </span><em class="italics">Weekly Chronicle</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very hot evening, sir—yes, sir—would you like -me to go and fetch you a little hice, sir?" said he, -in his eager desire to please. "No trouble, sir, if -agreeable to you—remarkably 'ot for June, -sir—theatres doing nothing, sir—only the ballet: you -see, sir, the young ladies have so little on that they -look cool and airy-like, and I suppose, sir, that's -why the ballet is so popular—yes, sir, my brother-in-law, -the theatrical agent—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look here, Hobson," Mr. Bethune observed, as -if he had not heard a word, "you have no doubt -noticed a young gentleman who occupies rooms over -the way?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, sir—a very handsome young man," he -answered—or rather, what he actually did say was -"a werry ensome young men."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have just made his acquaintance." Mr. Bethune -continued, in his lofty fashion, "and naturally I -should like to know something more of him, though -I could not be guilty of the rudeness of asking him -questions about himself. For example, I should be -glad to know where he lives—he only uses those -rooms during the day, you understand; and I -presume that would be a simple thing for you to -ascertain—discreetly, I mean, discreetly—without any -impertinent intrusion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, sir," said Hobson, his dull face lighting -up with pleasure at the notion of being able to do -his patron a service. "Yes, yes, sir; I can find -out; what more simple?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this very moment there was the sound of a -door being shut on the opposite side of the street. -Hobson stepped to the open window; and instantly -withdrew his head again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He has just gone out, sir—I will follow him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But discreetly, Hobson, discreetly," was the old -gentleman's final injunction, as his humble and -zealous emissary departed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Maisrie Bethune came downstairs again, -she was in her ordinary dress of striped linen; and -she seemed pleased with the evening's adventure; -and was more talkative than usual.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It will be very pleasant for you, grandfather," -said she, "to have so intelligent and interesting -a neighbour—don't you think so? For though he -is young, he seems to know everything, and to have -been everywhere; and I am sure, you and he, -grandfather, found plenty of things to talk about. -I have just been wondering whether it is possible he -could have come to Toronto while we were living -there. Wouldn't that have been strange? Perhaps -we have passed him while we were walking along -King-street; perhaps he may have come round the -corner by the Bank of Montreal when we were going -into Yonge-street—and not a yard between us! -But no," she continued, musingly, "I hardly -imagine it could have been. I think I should have -noticed him, and remembered. Don't you think -you would have noticed him, grandfather? He is -not like any one else—I mean he is not the kind of -person you would pass in the street without -remarking—I don't think you would forget. Oh, yes, I am -very glad for your sake, grandfather, that you have -made his acquaintance; and I hope you will -become good friends—although he is young. You -want some one to talk to—and not that dreadful -Hobson—I can't bear your talking to Hobson, -grandfather—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am no respecter of persons, Maisrie," said the -old man, pompously, "so long as people know their -place, and keep it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But that is just the worst of Hobson, grandfather!" -she exclaimed. "His fawning and cringing -is so despicable. He is not a man at all. And -you should tell him the truth about those verses -of his, grandfather: I can't imagine how you see -anything in them—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There have been worse—there have been worse," -said Mr. Bethune, with a magnanimous toleration. -"And on the two occasions on which I got the -</span><em class="italics">Chronicle</em><span> to let him see himself in print, the -gratitude of the poor creature was quite pathetic. A -little act of kindness is never thrown away, Maisrie, -my dear. So now you'll just get out your violin, -and for a little while we will cross the Border, and -forget that we are here in the heart of this stifling -London."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Maisrie begged to be excused. She said she -was rather tired, and was going back to her own -room very soon. And indeed, when she had brought -her grandfather his accustomed hot water, and -sugar, and spirits, and generally made everything -comfortable for him, she kissed him and bade him -good night and went away upstairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was not to go to bed, however. Having lit -the gas, she proceeded to hunt among her books -until she discovered a little album entitled "Views -of Toronto;" and having spread that open on -her dressing-table, she drew in a chair, and, with -her elbows resting on the table, and her head -between her hands, began to pore over those -pictures of the long thoroughfares and the pavements -and the public buildings. She seemed to find the -rather ill-executed lithographs interesting—so -interesting that we may leave her there with her eyes -fixed intently on the brown pages.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile Hobson had fulfilled his mission, and -returned with the address of the house into which -he had seen the young man disappear; and not -only that, but he volunteered to gain any further -information that Mr. Bethune might wish; it would -be easy for him, he said, to make the acquaintance -of one of the menservants in Grosvenor Place.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not at all—not at all!" the old man made -response, with an affectation of indifference. "I have -no wish to pry. Indeed, I cannot say that I have -any particular curiosity in the matter. And you -need not mention to any one that I know even as -much as that. I cannot recall now what made me -ask—a momentary impulse—nothing of any -consequence—for in truth it matters little to me where -the young man lives. Well, good-night, Hobson—and -thank you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-night, sir," said Hobson, with his eyes -dwelling lingeringly on the hot water and whisky. -But he received no invitation (for old George -Bethune was more amenable to his granddaughter's -remonstrances than he himself was aware) and so, -with another effusive "</span><em class="italics">Good</em><span>-night!" the landlady's -husband humbly withdrew.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sometimes, after Maisrie had gone to bed, or, at -least, retired to her own room, her grandfather -would wander away out in the streets by himself. -The night air was cool; there were fewer passers-by -to impede his aimless peregrinations; sheltered by -the dark and the dull lamp-light, he could lift up -his voice and sing "London's bonnie woods and -braes," or "Cam' ye by Athol," or "There's nae -Covenant now, lassie," when he happened to be in -the mood, as he generally was. And on this -particular evening he sallied forth; but the straight-forward -direction of his steps showed that he had an -objective point. He went along Oxford-street, and -down Regent-street; and eventually, by way of -Garrick-street, Covent Garden, and the Strand, -reached Fleet-street, where he stopped at a -building almost wholly consisting of offices of country -newspapers. At this time of the night the place -was at its busiest—a hive of industry: messengers -coming and going, the operators assiduous at the -special wires, the London correspondents constructing -their letters out of the latest news, with a -little imagination thrown in here and there to lend -colour. Old George Bethune ascended to the first -floor, passed into the premises owned by the -Edinburgh </span><em class="italics">Chronicle</em><span> (</span><em class="italics">Daily</em><span> and </span><em class="italics">Weekly</em><span>) and was -admitted to an inner room, where he found -Mr. Courtnay Fox. Now Mr. Fox—a heavy and -somewhat ungainly person, who rolled from side to side -as he crossed the room, and whose small blue eyes -twinkled behind his spectacles with a sort of easy -and ready sarcasm—did not like being interrupted; -but, on the other hand, Mr. Bethune was a friend, -or at least a favoured acquaintance, of the chief -proprietor of the </span><em class="italics">Chronicle</em><span>, and the London -correspondent was therefore bound to be civil; so he -asked the old man what he could do for him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you have anything for the </span><em class="italics">Weekly</em><span>," he -observed, "you'd much better send it on direct to -Edinburgh, instead of sending it down here. That -will save one postage—a point which I should have -thought would occur to a Scotch mind," he added, -with a bit of a half-concealed grin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are always girding at Scotland, Mr. Fox," -George Bethune said, good-naturedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I? Oh, not I. I'm sure no one admires the -virtues of economy and frugality more than I do. -That is why I am pretty certain Shakespeare must -have lived in Scotland—I don't mean 'The rain it -raineth every day'—but 'a tanner will last you -nine year.' Now how could he have learned that -money could be made to go so far but by -observation of the Scotch?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know this," said the old man, with some -dignity, "that few have seen so much of the world -as I have, in various countries and climes; and the -most generous and hospitable people—generous and -hospitable to the point of extravagance—I have -ever met with have invariably been the Scotch. It -may suit you to revile the country from which you -get your living—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I meant nothing so serious, I assure you," -the ponderous journalist said at once. "Come, tell -me what I can do for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should like to look at the Post Office -Directory first, if I may."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtnay Fox waddled across the room and -returned with the heavy volume: Mr. Bethune turned -to the street and number that had been furnished -him by his spy, and discovered that the name -given was Harland Harris—no doubt Vincent -Harris's father.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, yes," the old man said. "Now I can tell -you what I want; and I am certain I have come -to the right place for information. For while you -revile my countrymen, Mr. Fox, because you don't -know them, I wonder whom amongst your own -countrymen—who have any position at all—you -don't know?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This was an adroit piece of flattery: for it was a -foible of the fat correspondent to affect that he -knew everybody—and knew no good of anybody.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course the man I mean may be a nobody—or -a nonentity—and a very respectable person as -well," continued Mr. Bethune, "but his son, whose -acquaintance I have made, talks as if his name were -familiar to the public. Mr. Harland Harris—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Harland Harris!" the journalist exclaimed—but -with much complacency, for he might have -been found wanting. "Don't you know Harland -Harris?—or, at least, haven't you heard of him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have lived much out of England," the old man -said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you want me to tell you who and what -Harland Harris is? Is that it? Well, then, I -will. To begin with," proceeded Mr. Courtnay Fox, -with a baleful light in his small twinkling eyes, -"he is a solemn and portentous ass—a pedantic -prig—a combination of a drill sergeant and a -schoolmaster, with the self-sufficiency of—of—I -don't know what. He is an enormously wealthy -man—who preaches the Divine Beauty of Poverty; -a socialist—who would abolish the income-tax, and -have all taxation indirect; a Communist—who can -eat only off gold plate. This sham Jean Jacques -would not only abandon his children, he would let -the whole human race go to the mischief, as long -as you left him on a pinnacle, with a M.S. lecture -in his hand. Harland Harris! Do you want to -know any more? Well, I will tell you this, that -long ago his vanity would have inflated and burst -him only that he was defeated in his candidature -for the Lord Rectorship of Edinburgh University—and -that let out a little of the gas. But even now -his inconsistencies are colossal—almost a madness; -I think he must be drunk with a sense of his own -superiority, as George Sand says—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He does not seem to have made a very favourable -impression on you," said Mr. Bethune slowly -and thoughtfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did he ever on any human being?" the other -retorted. "Not any one that ever I heard of!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And his son—do you know anything of him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Courtnay Fox was not likely to admit that -he knew nothing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," said he, scornfully, "the </span><em class="italics">enfant gâté</em><span> of the -political world. —— has made a pet of him; and -so people imagine there is something in him. Of -course he'll talk for a few years about universal -brotherhood and the advancement of humanity and -that kind of stuff; and then, when he succeeds to -his father's money, he'll make a bid for a peerage, -or else marry a widowed and withered Countess, -and subside into a solid, substantial, beef-headed -bulwark of the Tory party. That's the way they -all go!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I'm very much obliged," said old George -Bethune, rising. "And sorry to have interrupted -you. Good-night—and thanks."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-night," said the journalist, curtly, as he -turned to his desk again, and its litter of reports -and telegrams.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Next morning, when they were about to set forth -on their accustomed stroll, Maisrie paused at the -door for a second, and said—with a very curious -hesitation, and a face grown rose-red—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Grandfather, what shall I tell Mrs. Hobson you -would like for dinner?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not notice her confusion; he answered, -carelessly—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, never mind just now. Later on we will -see. Food is not of much importance in this hot -weather."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thereafter she was silent for some considerable -time. It was not until they had got down to the -Serpentine, and when he was about to take out his -newspaper, that she ventured again to address him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Grandfather," she said, timidly, "do you -think—Mr. Harris—expects us—expects that we should -dine together again this evening? He did ask if -we had no engagement—and—and perhaps he may -imagine there is some understanding—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Maisrie," the old man made answer, with -a playful irony, "if your way of it is to be carried -out, the arrangement wouldn't last very long. I -don't suppose our little income could comfortably -support three for any great space of time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, but, grandfather," she said, persuasively, -"you know it was but right you should pay; we -were two, and he only one; of course, if we were to -dine together again—and he wished it to be his -turn—you might divide—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think, Maisrie," said he, somewhat sententiously, -"it would be better for you to leave our -small financial affairs in my hands. These things -are well understood as between men; it is easy to -make an arrangement. Especially easy if you are -the only son of a very wealthy man—what are a -few shillings or a few sovereigns one way or the -other to him? And I wish you to remember that -a young lady's purse is not usually produced at a -restaurant."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am sorry if I did anything wrong, grandfather," -she said humbly; "but—but I thought—before a -stranger—or almost a stranger—it was a pity you -had forgotten—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had opened the newspaper, so that the subject -was dismissed; and Maisrie was left to her absent -dreams and reveries.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All that day there came no message from the -other side of the street; and likewise the afternoon -wore away in silence; while Maisrie, whatever she -hoped or feared, had not again asked her -grandfather what arrangements he proposed for the -evening. About six o'clock, however, there came a rap -at the door below. Maisrie was in her room -upstairs. Her grandfather was seated at the little -table in the parlour, drawing out in water-colour -a coat of arms; and he had already finished the -Bethune part of it—that is to say, the first and -fourth quarters of the shield were argent, with a -fesse between three mascles, or; and likewise he -had surmounted it with the crest—an otter's head, -erased, ppr.; but as the second and third quarters -were still vacant it was impossible to say with which -other family he proposed to claim alliance. At this -moment Vincent made his appearance at the door, -looking very cheerful and good-humoured, and -modest withal; and he came into the room as if -he already felt quite at home there.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have taken a little liberty," said he, "with -regard to this evening. I understood that you and -Miss Bethune had no engagement, and might think -of going to that same restaurant again; but then I -thought you might prefer a change; and so I have -ordered dinner at the——" And he named a -well-known hotel in the neighbourhood of Burlington -Gardens.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you have ordered dinner?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir," said Vincent, respectfully; and then -seeing there was no objection, he went on with a -gayer air: "It does seem absurd that when people -want to meet each other, and to talk, and get -thoroughly acquainted, they must needs sit down -and eat together; but there is some sense in it too; -for of course we have all of us our different -occupations during the day; and dinner-time is the time at -which we all find ourselves free, so that the meeting -is easily arranged. I hope Miss Bethune wasn't -fatigued after her long walk of last evening—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, no," said her grandfather, rising and -going to the door. "I must call and tell her we are -going out by and bye—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, but of course she is coming too!" the -young man said quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If she likes—if she likes. I myself should -prefer it. I will ask her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And on this occasion also, when she came -downstairs, Maisrie Bethune appeared in that simple -dress of cream-coloured cashmere; and again he -was struck by the alteration in her aspect; she was -no longer the shy and timid schoolgirl he had at -first imagined her to be, but a young woman, of -quite sufficient self-possession, tall, and elegant of -bearing, and with more than a touch of graceful -dignity in her manner. This time she smiled as -she gave him her hand for a moment; and then -she turned away; always she seemed to assume -that this newly-found relationship existed only as -between her grandfather and the young man, that -she was outside of it, and only to be called in as an -adjunct, now and again when it happened to suit -them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nevertheless, as they by-and-bye walked away -down to Burlington Gardens, she was much more -animated and talkative than he had before seen -her; and he observed, too, that her grandfather -paid heed to her opinions. Nay, she addressed the -younger of her two companions also, occasionally; -and now she was not afraid to let a smile dwell in -her eyes, when she chanced to turn to him. He -was bewildered by it all; it was more, far more, -than he dared have hoped for; in fact he was the -last person in the world to suspect that his own -bearing—the buoyant unconscious audacity, the -winning frankness, as well as a certain youthful -modesty—was at the root of the mystery of this -sudden friendship. For one thing, he had told -them a good deal about himself and his -circumstances, during that morning in Hyde Park and -during the previous afternoon and evening; and -there was something in the position of these three -folk, now brought together after wide wanderings -through the world, that seemed to invite confidence -and intimacy. Then old George Bethune had an -excellent fund of good-fellowship, so long as the -present moment was an enjoyable one.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And, as it turned out, this evening proved to -be one of those enjoyable moments. The small -festivity to which Vincent had invited his new -acquaintances was not in the least the haphazard -affair he had half-intimated it to be; he had -arranged it with care; they found themselves in a -pretty room, with plenty of flowers on the table; -while the little banquet itself was far more -elaborate, both as regards food and wine, than there was -any call for. The old gentleman did not protest; -anything that happened—so long as it was -pleasant—was welcome to him; and he declared the -claret to be as excellent as any he had met with for -years back. He could not understand why their -youthful host would not join him (as if it were likely -that Vincent was going to drink wine, now that he -discovered that Maisrie Bethune drank only water!) -but he had all the more for himself; and he waxed -eloquent and enthusiastic on his favourite theme.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why sir," said he, with a kind of proud -elation in his tone, "I myself heard Henry Ward -Beecher pronounce these words in the City Hall of -Glasgow—'I have been reared in a country whose -history is brief. So vast is it, that one might travel -night and day for all the week, and yet scarcely -touch historic ground. Its history is yet to be -written; it is yet to be acted. But I come to this -land, which, though small, is as full of memories as -the heaven is full of stars, and almost as bright. -There is not the most insignificant piece of water -that does not make my heart thrill with some story -of heroism, or some remembered poem; for not -only has Scotland had the good fortune to have men -who knew how to make heroic history, but she has -reared those bards who have known how to sing -their deeds. And every steep and every valley, and -almost every single league on which my feet have -trod, have made me feel as if I were walking in a -dream. I never expected to find my eyes overflow -with tears of gladness that I have been permitted, -in the prime of life, to look upon this beloved -land.' Well spoken—nobly spoken! When I take my -granddaughter here to visit her native country—for -to that country she belongs, in all the essentials of -blood and tradition and descent—I hope she will be -in a similarly receptive mood; and will see, not -the bare hills, not the lonely islands, not the -desolate moors, but a land filled with the magic of -association, and consecrated by the love and -devotion of a thousand song-writers, known and unknown. -I will say with Johnson 'That man is little to be -envied whose patriotism would not gain force upon -the plain of Bannockburn, or whose piety would not -grow warmer among the ruins of Iona'—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not Bannockburn: Marathon, wasn't it, -grandfather?" said Maisrie, in her gentle way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, well," he said, not heeding the interruption. -"'Almost every single league,' said Ward -Beecher; and that is true. I could make a -pilgrimage throughout the length and breadth of -Scotland, guided by the finger of Scottish song. -Indeed, I have often thought I should like, if the -years were spared to me, to collect materials for a -volume—a splendid and magnificent volume—on -the Scotland of the Scotch songs and ballads. The -words and the music are already there; and I would -have the pencil add its charm; so that Scotland, in -her noblest and fairest aspects, might be placed -before the stranger, and might be welcomed once -again by her own sons. I would have the lonely -Braes o' Balwhidder, and Rob Roy's grave in the -little churchyard on the hillside; I would have -Tannahill's Arranteenie—that is on Loch Long side, -I think; and the Bonnie House o' Airlie:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>'It fell on a day, a bonnie summer's day,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>When the corn grew green and fairly,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>That the great Argyle, wi' a' his men,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Cam' to plunder the bonnie house o' Airlie.'</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Then the Vale of Yarrow—well, perhaps that would -have to be a figure subject—the grief-stricken -maiden bending over the body of her slain lover—</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>'Pale though thou art, yet best, yet best beloved,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>O could my warmth to life restore thee!—</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Ye'd lie all night between my breasts;</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>No youth lay ever there before thee.'</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>And Colonsay—Leyden's Colonsay—the haunted -island that mourns like a sea-shell—</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>'And ever as the year returns,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>The charm-bound sailors know the day;</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>For sadly still the mermaid mourns</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>The lovely chief of Colonsay.'</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Gala Water—" the old man continued, in a sort of -exalted rhapsody; and his eyes were absent, as if he -were beholding a succession of visions. "Hunting -Tower—Craigie-burn Wood—the solitude sought -out by Bessie Bell and her girl companion when -they fled from the plague—Ettrick Banks—the -bush aboon Traquair—in short, an endless series! -And where the pencil may fail, imagination must -come in—</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>'I see—but not by sight alone,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Loved Yarrow, have I won thee;</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>A ray of fancy still survives—</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Her sunshine plays upon thee!'</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It would be something to do for the sake of 'puir -auld Scotland;' and think what an enchanted -wandering that would be for both Maisrie and -myself. Tweed and Teviot—the silver Forth—the -stately Clyde: well, perhaps she would be better -pleased to gather a flower or two—a lucken-gowan -or a speedwell—on 'the bonnie banks o' Ayr.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, grandfather," Maisrie Bethune interposed, -"before you can begin such a book, or even think -of it, you know there is something else to be -done."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose it would be an expensive volume to -bring out?" Vincent suggested inquiringly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, yes," the old man said—and now he -had relinquished that rhapsodical strain, and had -assumed his usual dignified, not to say grandiose, -demeanour. "The drawings must be done by the -first artists; they must not fall below the poetic -pitch of the old ballads and the still older airs. It -would be an expensive book to bring out, no doubt; -but then it would be a noble undertaking; it would -be a sumptuous and valuable work. I should think, -now," he went on, reflectively, "that there ought to -be a large paper edition—and perhaps five guineas -would not be too much to charge—quarto, I -mean—quarto—and five guineas for such a handsome -volume mightn't be too much—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Five guineas?" repeated Vincent. "Well, sir, -if you choose to bring out the book by subscription, -I will undertake to get you fifty subscribers -for that edition." And then he added recklessly, -"A hundred—I will assure you a hundred subscribers!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Mr. Harris," said Maisrie, and she addressed -herself in a more direct manner than she had ever -yet done to the young man. "It is not to be -thought of. My grandfather has work to do that he -must finish before entertaining any other schemes. -It would be simply wasting time to begin and -arrange about another book."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He felt himself silenced and humbled, he hardly -knew why. Had she construed his proffered -assistance into an offer of charity, and resented it -accordingly? But he could find no trace of offended -pride in the refined and gentle features when next -he ventured to look at her. She had said her say; -and that was enough. And her grandfather seemed -to know she was in the right; nothing further was -mentioned about the new proposal—at least at this -particular time. Dessert had come; and the -business of choosing from among those abundant -fruits made a kind of break.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When at length they were about to depart, there -was no confusion about the bill, for Vincent -intimated to the old man that he had already arranged -about that; and Mr. Bethune seemed satisfied, -while Maisrie had passed on in front and did not -hear. She was very light-hearted and talkative as -they walked away home. Her protest against the -proposed publication, if it showed a little firmness -at the time, had left no pained feeling behind it; -she was now as blithe as a bird; to Vincent she -seemed to shed a radiance around her, as if she -were some supernatural being, as she passed through -those twilight streets. Once she said something in -French—in Canadian French—to her grandfather; -and the young man thought that never in all his -life had he heard anything so sweet and fascinating -as the soft and blurred sound of the </span><em class="italics">r</em><span>'s. He was -to hear a little more of that Canadian French on -this evening. When they reached their lodgings, -the old gentleman again asked his young friend to -come in for a little while; the temptation was too -great; he yielded; and followed them up into the -dusky small parlour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now we will have a serious smoke," said George -Bethune, with decision, as he took down his long -clay pipe. "A cigarette after dinner is a mere -frivolity. Maisrie, lass, bring over that box of -cigars for Mr. Harris."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Mr. Harris firmly declined to smoke, even as -he had declined to take any wine: what was he -going to sacrifice next as a subtle tribute to -the exalted character of this young creature? -Maisrie Bethune seemed hardly to understand, and -was a little surprised; but now she had to go away -upstairs, to lay aside her things: so the two men -were left alone, to chat about the affairs of the day -until her return.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When she came down again, her grandfather said—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sing something, Maisrie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know I can't sing, grandfather, but I never -refuse you, for it is not of any use," said she, -contentedly, as she took the violin out of its case. -"But Mr. Harris has had enough of Scotch songs -this evening. I must try something else. And -perhaps you may have heard the air in Canada," she -added, addressing the young man from out of the -partial darkness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And now what was this new enchantment she was -about to disclose and practise? In plain truth, she -had very little voice; but he did not notice that; -it was the curiously naive, and simple, and sincere -expression of tone that thrilled through his heart, -as she proceeded to recite rather than to sing the -well-known "</span><em class="italics">C' était une frégate,</em><span>" the violin aiding -her with its low and plaintive notes:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">C' était une frégate</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">(Mon joli coeur de rose)</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Dans la mer a touché</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">(Joli coeur d' un rosier).</em></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>And here again were those softly slurred </span><em class="italics">r</em><span>'s—not -sharply trilled, as in the English fashion—but -gentle and half-concealed, as it were. The simple -story proceeded—</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Y avait une demoiselle</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">(Mon joli coeur de rose)</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Su' l' bord d' la mer pleurait,</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">(Joli coeur d' un rosier).</em></div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">—Dites-moi donc, la belle,</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">(Mon joli coeur de rose)</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Qu' a' vous à tant pleurer?</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">(Joli coeur d' un rosier).</em></div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">—Je pleur; mon anneau d' or,</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">(Mon joli coeur de rose)</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Dans la mer est tombé,</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">(Joli coeur d' un rosier).</em></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Then he asks the weeping damsel what she would -give to any one who would find for her her ring of -gold that has fallen into the sea.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">—Je suis trop pauvre fille,</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">(Mon joli coeur de rose),</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Je ne puis rien donner,</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">(Joli coeur d' un rosier).</em></div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Qu' mon coeur en mariage</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">(Mon joli coeur de rose)</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Pour mon anneau doré</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">(Joli coeur d' un rosier).</em></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>But the young man sitting there in the twilight -hardly heard further than that. The phrase '</span><em class="italics">qu' -mon coeur en mariage</em><span>' had something more beautiful -in it than even the soft sound of the </span><em class="italics">r</em><span>'s as she -pronounced them; it dwelt in his heart with a -mysterious charm; even as she went on to tell how the -bold gallant who dived for the ring of gold was -drowned, what he still seemed to hear was "</span><em class="italics">Je ne -puis rien donner, qu' mon coeur en mariage;</em><span>" and -when she had finished, and there was silence, he -did not speak; there was a kind of bewilderment -in the tones of her voice; and he could not offer -her commonplace thanks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now I am going to light the gas," she said, -cheerfully, as she laid aside her violin, "and, -grandfather, you can challenge Mr. Harris to a game of -chess, or draughts, or dominoes, whichever he likes -best, so that I may get to my work, for it cannot -always be playtime."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And so it was that, when the gas had been lit, she -returned to her own corner and to her needlework, -while her grandfather and Vincent took to -dominoes, the old man having his hot water and whisky -brought to him to accompany his second pipe. -Dominoes is a mechanical game; you can play well -enough even if there is the refrain of a song -ringing through your memory; the young man did not -care who won; and, indeed, he had quite forgotten -who was the victor as he shortly thereafter made his -way south through the lamp-lit streets, with his -lips half-trying to re-pronounce that strangely -fascinating phrase, "</span><em class="italics">qu' mon coeur en mariage—qu' -mon coeur en mariage</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Well, this was but the beginning of a series of -evenings, until it came to be understood that these -three dined together each night, subsequently -returning to old George Bethune's rooms, for a little -music or dominoes before parting. Vincent assumed -the management of these modest little merry-makings; -varied the scene of them as much as -possible; and so arranged matters that no financial -question came up to ask for Maisrie Bethune's -interference. It is true, she sometimes seemed -inclined to remain at home, so as to leave the two -men greater freedom, perhaps; but he would not -hear of that; and his ever increasing intimacy now -lent him a franker authority. He was high-handed -in his ways: she smiled, and yielded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At last there came a proposition that was -somewhat startling in its boldness. Cunningly he -deferred bringing it forward until the very end of the -evening, for then he knew that the old gentleman -would be more inclined to welcome any gay and -audacious scheme, without particularly weighing -pros and cons. Accordingly having chosen his -opportunity, he informed them that he had been -offered the use of a house-boat during the Henley -week (which was literally true: he had been offered -it—for the sum of £30) and said that he had a great -mind to accept if only he could persuade Mr. Bethune -and his granddaughter to go down as his guests.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I understood you to say," he continued, without -giving either of them time to reply, "that you had -never seen Henley at the regatta-time. But it is -a thing you ought to see—it is the prettiest sight -in England—it is perfectly unique—there is nothing -else like it in the world. And then they make -those house-boats so comfortable; it is simply a -small floating home; or, on the other hand, you -can sit outside, and be in the very midst of all the -fun. There is no scramble—no crowd—no hustling—so -far as we are concerned; and we shall have -our own cook and steward. If you do not care to -stay the whole week, we could go down on Tuesday -afternoon—the races begin on Wednesday—and -remain for the illuminations and fireworks on Friday -night. It would be awfully good-natured of you -both; of course I could not think of going down -and occupying a house-boat by myself. Now what -do you say, Miss Bethune?—I appeal first to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, what do you say, Maisrie?" the old man -said, seeing that his granddaughter hesitated; and -then he added with a condescending smile: "A -question of dress, is it? I have heard that the -costumes at Henley are rather extravagant."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I assure you, no," the young man protested -(he would have sworn that the sky was pea-green -if that would have helped.) "They are quite -simple summer dresses—light in colour, of course—oh, -yes—but quite plain and simple: who would -take gorgeous gowns to go boating?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, very well," Mr. Bethune said, with -an easy good-nature. "I will answer for both -Maisrie and myself: we shall be delighted. Let -us know the conditions; let us know what may be -expected of us; we are old travellers and ready for -anything. And don't you be over particular about -your preparations, my young friend; we can rough -it; and indeed I'm afraid of late we've been falling -into somewhat too luxurious ways. Not that I am -an anchorite; no—God forbid; if the present -moment commends itself, I welcome it; I see no -wisdom in schooling one's self to bear hardships -that may not arise. Yes, I have heard of Henley—the -Thames in July—the brilliant company—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is awfully kind of you," said Vincent, rising, -and preparing to go. "I am sure you won't regret -it; it is the very prettiest thing in England. And -to-morrow night I will let you know all the arrangements."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Full of joy was the heart of this young man as -he strode away down to Grosvenor Place; and -reckless and extravagant were the projects crowding -in upon his brain as to how he should play the part -of host. For one thing, he had the wherewithal; -apart from the allowance given him by his father, -an uncle had died leaving him a considerable sum; -while his own personal habits were of the most -inexpensive kind; so that he had plenty of -money—too much money—to spend when any whim -entered his head. And now, for the first time, old -George Bethune and the fair Maisrie were to be -openly and ostensibly his guests; and what was he -not going to do in the way of entertaining them? -If only he could make sure that Maisrie's cream-coloured -costume would go well with calceolarias?—then -with masses of calceolarias that house-boat -would be smothered from stem to stern!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nor did the knowledge that Mrs. Ellison would -very likely be at Henley trouble him one bit. He -was not ashamed of this recently-formed friendship; -no; rather he was ready to proclaim it to all the -world. Supposing Mrs. Ellison, shrewd-eyed as she -was, were to come and inspect them, where could -she find two more interesting human beings—the -old man with his splendid nerve and proud spirit; -amidst all his misfortunes, and in his old age, too, -still holding his head erect; firm and unyielding as -his own Craig-Royston:—the young girl with her -pensive and mysterious beauty, her clear-shining, -timid eyes, her maidenly dignity, her patience with -the old man, and persuasive and affectionate -guidance? Ashamed of this friendship?—he was more -inclined to parade it, to boast of it; he would have -scorned himself otherwise. Of course (as he could -not hide from himself) Mrs. Ellison might be -inclined to speculate upon ulterior motives, and might -begin to ask what was to come of all this warmth -of friendship and constant association. But any -future possibilities Vincent put away even from -himself; they were all too wild and strange as yet; -he was content with the fascination he found in -these pleasant little merry-makings, in the more -intimate companionship of the small parlour, in -listening, there or elsewhere and always, to Maisrie -Bethune's voice. And perhaps it was only the -sweetness of that voice, and the softly murmured -</span><em class="italics">r</em><span>'s, that had vibrated through his heart when she -sang "</span><em class="italics">Je ne puis rien donner, qu' mon coeur en -mariage?</em><span>" What other charm could lie in so -simple a phrase? At all events, he thought he -would ask Maisrie to take her violin down to -Henley with her, just in case Mrs. Ellison should -some evening pay a visit to the </span><em class="italics">White Rose</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="fairy-land"><span class="large">CHAPTER VI.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">FAIRY LAND.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was a soft summer night, cool and fragrant after -the heat of the long July day; and here, under an -awning in the stern of the house-boat </span><em class="italics">White Rose</em><span>, -were George Bethune, his granddaughter Maisrie, -and Vincent Harris, looking out upon the magic -scene that stretched away from them on each hand -up and down the river. All the dusk was on fire -with illuminations; the doors and windows of the -house-boats sent forth a dull golden glow; there -were coloured lamps, crimson, blue, and orange; -there were strings of Chinese lanterns that scarcely -moved in the faint stirring of wind; and now and -again an electric launch would go by—stealthily -and silently—with brilliant festoons of fierce white -lights causing it to look like some gigantic and -amazing insect irradiating the dark. The smooth -surface of the stream quivered with reflections; here -and there a rowing boat glided along, with a cool -plash of oars; a gondola came into view and slowly -vanished—the white-clad gondolier visionary as a -ghost. Everywhere there was a scent of flowers; -and on board this particular house-boat there was -but the one prevailing perfume; for the sole -decoration of the saloon consisted of deep crimson -roses—a heavy splendour against the white and -gold walls. From some neighbouring craft came -the tinkle of a banjo; there was a distant hum of -conversation; the unseen reeds and waterlilies could -be imagined to be whispering in the silence. Among -the further woods and meadows there was an -occasional moving light; no doubt the campers-out -were preparing to pitch their tents.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Talkative of Prating-row is hardly wanted -here to-night," old George Bethune was saying, -unmindful of his own garrulous habits. "Music is -better. What is that they are singing over there, -Maisrie?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'The Canadian Boat Song,' grandfather."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, of course: I thought it was familiar. -And very pretty it sounds, coming across the -water—though I do not know whether the air is modern -or old. What I am certain of," he continued, raising -his voice slightly as he usually did when he was -about to discourse, "is that the finest national airs -are ancient beyond the imagination of man to -conceive. No matter when words may have been -tacked on to them; the original melodies, warlike, -or pathetic, or joyous, were the voice of millions of -generations that passed away leaving us only these -expressions of what they had felt. And if one could -only re-translate them!—if one could put back into -speech all the human suffering that found expression -in such an air as 'The Last Rose of Summer,' -wouldn't that electrify the world? I wonder how -many millions of generations must have suffered -and wept and remembered ere that piteous cry could -have been uttered; and when I come to Tom Moore's -wretched trivialities—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Grandfather," interposed Maisrie Bethune, -quickly (for there were certain subjects that angered -him beyond endurance) "you must not forget to -show Mr. Harris that old play you found—with the -Scotch airs, I mean—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, that is curious," said the old man, yielding -innocently. "Curious, is it not, that long before -either Burns or Scott was born, a Scotchman named -Mitchell should have collected over fifty of the -best-known Scotch airs, and printed them, with -words of his own; and that he should have chosen -for the scene of his play the Borders of the -Highlands, so as to contrast the manners and customs of -the Highland chieftains and their fierce clansmen -with those of the Lowland lairds and the soldiery -sent to keep the peace between them. The </span><em class="italics">Highland -Fair</em><span> was produced at Drury Lane about 1730, if I -remember aright; but I cannot gather whether -Ewen and Colin, and Alaster and Kenneth, -impressed the Londoners much. To me the book is -valuable because of the airs—though I could wish -for the original songs instead of Mitchell's—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Here Maisrie, seeing that her grandfather was -started on a safer subject, quietly rose; and at -the first pause she said—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see some of them are putting out their lights, -and that is a hint for me to be off. I suppose we -shall be wakened early enough to-morrow morning -by the boats going by. Good-night, Mr. Harris! -Good-night, grandfather!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shook hands with both, and kissed her -grandfather; then she passed into the glow of that -wonderful rose-palace, and made her way along to the -ladies' cabin, into which she disappeared. Vincent -now lit a cigar—the first during this day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But when old George Bethune resumed his monologue, -it was neither Highland clans nor Lowland -songs that concerned him; it was something that -proved to be a good deal more interesting to his -patient listener. It was of Maisrie's youth that he -spoke, and that in a far more simple and natural way -than was his wont. There were no genealogical -vauntings, no exalted visions of what she should be when -she came in for her rights; there were reminiscences -of her earlier years, and of his and her wanderings -together; and there was throughout a certain -wistfulness in his tone. For once he talked without -striving for effect, without trying oratorically to -convince himself; and it is to be imagined how entirely -Vincent was engrossed by this simple recital. Not -that there was any consecutive narrative. The -young man could only vaguely gather that Maisrie's -father had been a railway-engineer; that he had -married a young Scotch lady in Baltimore before -going out west; that Maisrie had been born in -Omaha; that shortly thereafter her mother died; -then came the collapse of certain speculations her -father had been led into, so that the widower, -broken in heart and fortune, soon followed his young -wife, leaving their child to the care of her only -surviving relative. Whether there were some -remains of the shattered fortune, or whether friends -subscribed to make up a small fund for them, it -appeared that the old man and his granddaughter -were not quite penniless; for he took credit to -himself that he had spent nearly all their little -income, arising from this unspecified source, on -Maisrie's education.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish to have her fitted for any sphere to -which she might be called," he went on, in a -musing kind of way. "And I hope I have -succeeded. She has had the best masters I could -afford; and something of her teaching I have taken -upon myself. But, after all, that is not of the -greatest importance. She has seen the world—far -more than most of her years; and she has not been -spoiled by the contact. I could have wished her, -perhaps, to have had more of the companionship of -her own sex; but that was not often practicable, in -our wandering life. However, she has an intuitive -sympathy that stands for much; and if in society—which -is not much in our way—she might show -herself shy and reserved, well, I, for one, should not -complain: that seems to me more to be coveted -than confidence and self-assertion. As for outward -manner she has never wanted any school-mistress -other than her own natural tact and her own -refinement of feeling; she is a gentlewoman at heart; -rudeness, coarseness, presumption would be -impossible to her—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The merest stranger can see that," Vincent -ventured to say, in rather a low voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And thus so far we have come through the -world together," the old man continued, in the same -meditative mood. "What I have done I have done -for the best. Perhaps I may have erred: what -could I tell about the uprearing of a young girl? -And it may be that what she is now she is in spite -of what I have done for her and with her—who -knows such mysteries? As for the future, perhaps -it is better not to look to it. She is alone; she is -sensitive; the world is hard."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know many who would like to be her friends," -the young man said, breathlessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sometimes," old George Bethune continued, -slowly and thoughtfully, "I wonder whether I have -done my best. I may have built on false hopes—and -taught her to do the same. I see young -women better equipped for the battle of the world, -if it is to come to that. Perhaps I have been selfish -too; perhaps I have avoided looking to the time -when she and I must in the natural course of things -be separated. We have been always together; as -one, I might say; the same sunlight has shone on -us, we have met the same storms, and not much -caring, so long as we were the one with the other. -But then—the years that can be granted me now -are but few; and she has no kinsman to whom she -can go, even to glean in the fields and ask for a -pitcher of water. And when I think of her—alone—among -strangers—my Maisrie—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His voice choked—but only for a moment. He -suddenly sprang to his feet, and flung his arms -in the air, as if he would free himself from this -intolerable burden of despondency and doubt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why," said he, in accents of scornful impatience, -"have I gone mad, or what pestilent thing is this! -</span><em class="italics">Sursum corda</em><span>! We have faced the world together, -she and I, and no one has ever yet found us -downhearted. 'We've aye been provided for, and sae -will we yet': I do not mean as regards the common -necessities of life—for these are but of small -account—but the deeper necessities of sympathy -and hope and confidence. Stand fast, -Craig-Royston!—'this rock shall fly, from its firm base -as soon as I!' Well, my young friend," he -continued, quite cheerfully and bravely, "you have -seen me in a mood that is not common with me: -you will say nothing about it—to her, especially. -She puts her trust in me; and so far, I think, I -have not failed her. I have said to her 'Come the -three corners of the world in arms, and we shall -shock them'; ill fortune buffets uselessly against -'man's unconquerable mind.' She knows the race -she comes of, and the motto of that race: -Craig-Royston holds its front! Well, well, now, let me -thank you for this beautiful evening; and on her -behalf too; she is at the time when the mind -should be stored with pleasant memories. Perhaps -I have been over-communicative, and made you -the victim of idle fears; but there will be no more -of that; to-morrow you shall find me in my right -mind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He held out his hand. The young man did not -know what to say—there was so much to say! He -could only make offer of some further little -hospitalities, which Mr. Bethune declined; then the -steward was summoned, to put out the lamps and -make other preparations, so that the </span><em class="italics">White Rose</em><span> -should fold its petals together, for the slumber of -the night. And presently a profound peace reigned -from stem to stern; and the last plashing of the -oars outside had died away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But it was not to sleep that Vincent devoted the -early hours of this night and morning. His mind -was tossed this way and that by all kinds of moods -and projects, the former piteous and the latter -wildly impracticable. He had never before fully -realised how curiously solitary was the lot of these -two wanderers, how strange was their isolation, how -uncertain was their future. And while the old -man's courage and bold front provoked his admiration, -he could not help looking at the other side of -the shield: what was to become of her, when her -only protector was taken from her? He knew that -they were none too well off, those two; and what -would she do when left alone? But if on the very -next day he were to go to Mrs. Ellison and borrow -£10,000 from her, which he would have mysteriously -conveyed to old George Bethune? He could repay -the money, partly by the sacrifice of his own small -fortune, and partly by the assigning over of the -paternal allowance; while he could go away to -Birmingham, or Sheffield, or wherever the place -was, and earn his living by becoming Mr. Ogden's -private secretary. They need never know from -whom this bounty came, and it would render them -secure from all the assaults of fortune. Away up -there in the Black Country he would think of -them; and it would lighten the wearisome toil of -the desk if he could imagine that Maisrie Bethune -had left the roar and squalor of London, and was -perhaps wandering through these very Thames-side -meadows, or floating in some white-garnitured boat, -under the shade of the willows. There would be -rest for the pilgrims at last, after their -world-buffetings. And so he lay and dreamed and pitied -and planned, until in the window of the small -state-room there appeared the first blue-gray of the -dawn, about which time he finally fell asleep.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But next morning all was briskness and activity -around them—flags flying, coloured awnings being -stretched, pale swirls of smoke rising from the -stove-pipes, the pic-nickers in the meadows lighting their -spirit-lamps for the breakfast tea. The sun was -shining brightly, but there was a cool breeze to -temper the heat; the surface of the stream was -stirred into silver; the willows and rushes were -shivering and swaying; a scent of new-mown hay -was in the air. Already there were plenty of craft -afloat, on business or on pleasure bent; early visits -being paid, or masses of flowers, ferns, and palms -being brought along for purchasers. Maisrie was -the first to be up and out; then old George Bethune -could be heard gaily singing in his state-room, as -an accompaniment to his toilet—</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Hey, Jonnie Cope, are ye waukin yet,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>And are your drums a-beatin yet,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>If ye were waukin, I would wait</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>To meet Jonnie Cope in the morning?"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Finally when Vincent, with many apologies for -being late, made his appearance outside, he found -the old man comfortably seated in the stern-sheets, -under the pink and white awning, reading a -newspaper he had procured somewhere, while Maisrie -was on the upper-deck of the house-boat watering -the flowers with a can that she had got from the -steward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And indeed to this young man it appeared a -truly wonderful thing that these three, some little -while thereafter, in the cool twilight of the saloon, -should be seated at breakfast together; they seemed -to form a little family by themselves, isolated and -remote from the rest of the world. They forgot the -crowded Thames outside and the crowded meadows; -here there was quiet, and a charming companionship; -a band that was playing somewhere was so distant -as to be hardly audible. Then the saloon itself was -charming; for though the boat was named the -</span><em class="italics">White Rose</em><span>, there was a good deal of pale pink -in its decorations: the flutings and cornice were -pink where they were not gold, and pink were -the muslin curtains drawn round the small windows; -while the profusion of deep crimson roses all round -the long room, and the masses of grapes and -pineapples on the breakfast-table made up a picture -almost typical of summer, in the height of its -luxuriance and shaded coolness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This seems very nice," said the young host, -"even supposing there were no river and no racing. -I don't see why a caravan like this shouldn't be put -on wheels and taken away through the country. -There is an idea for you, Mr. Bethune, when you -set out on your pilgrimage through Scotland; -wouldn't a moveable house of this kind be the very -thing for Miss Bethune and you?—you could set it -afloat if you wanted to go down a river, or put it -on a lorry when you wanted to take the road."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm afraid all this luxury would be out of place -in 'Caledonia, stern and wild,'" the old man said. -"No, no; these things are for the gay south. When -Maisrie and I seek out the misty solitudes of the -north, and the graves of Renwick and Cargill, it -will be on foot; and if we bring away with us some -little trifle to remind us of Logan's streams and -Ettrick's shaws, it will be a simple thing—a -bluebell or a bit of yellow broom. I have been thinking -that perhaps this autumn we might begin—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, grandfather," Maisrie interposed at once. -"That is impossible. You know you have the -American volume to do first. What a pity it would -be," she went on, with an insidious and persuasive -gentleness which the young man had seen her adopt -before in humouring her grandfather, "if some one -else were to bring out a book on the same subject -before you. You know no one understands it so -thoroughly as you do, grandfather: and with your -extraordinary memory you can say exactly what -you require; so that you could send over and get -the materials you want without any trouble."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, very well," the old man said, curtly. -"But we need not talk business at such a time as -this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now there was attached to the </span><em class="italics">White Rose</em><span> a -rowing boat; and a very elegant rowing-boat it -was, too, of varnished pine; and by and bye Vincent -proposed to his two guests that they should get -into the stern-sheets, and he would take a short -pair of sculls, and pull them up to the bridge, to -show them the other house-boats, and the people, -and the fun of the fair generally.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But wouldn't you take the longer oars," said -Maisrie, looking down into the shapely gig, "and -let me have one?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, would you like that?" he said, with pleasure -in his eyes. "Yes, by all means, if you care to row. -It is a light boat though it's long; you won't find -it hard pulling. By the way, I hunted about -everywhere to get a gondola for you, and I couldn't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But who told you I had ever tried an oar in -a gondola?" she asked, with a smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, you yourself: was I likely to forget it?" -he said reproachfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And oh! wasn't he a proud young man when he -saw this rare and radiant creature—clad all in -white she was, save for a bunch of yellow king-cups -in her white sailor hat, and a belt of dull gold satin -at her waist—when he saw her step down into the -boat, and take her place, and put out the stroke oar -with her prettily shaped hands. Her grandfather -was already in the stern-sheets, in possession of the -tiller-ropes. When they moved off into mid-stream, -it was very gently, for the river was already -beginning to swarm; and he observed that she -pulled as one accustomed to pulling, and with ease; -while, as he was responsible for keeping time, they -had nothing to be ashamed of as they slowly moved -up the course. Indeed, they were only paddling; -sometimes they had to call a halt altogether, when -there was a confusion; and this not unwelcome -leisure they devoted to an observation of the various -crews—girls in the lightest of summer costumes, -young men in violent blazers—or to a covert -inspection of the other house-boats, with their -parterres and festoons of flowers, their huge Japanese -sun-shades and tinted awnings, and the brilliant -groups of laughing and chatting visitors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Mr. Harris, do look—isn't that a pretty -one!" Maisrie exclaimed, in an undertone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He glanced in the direction indicated, and there -beheld a very handsome house-boat, all of rich-hued -mahogany, its chief decoration being flowerboxes in -blue tiles filled with marguerites. At the same -instant he found that a pair of eyes were fixed on -him—eyes that were familiar—and the next moment -he knew that Mrs. Ellison, from the upper deck of -that mahogany house-boat, was regarding him and -his companions with an intense curiosity. But so -swift was her scrutiny, and so impassive her face, -that ere he could guess at the result of her -investigation she had made him a formal little bow -and turned away to talk to her friends. Of course, -with one hand on the oar he raised his hat with the -other: but the effect of this sudden recognition was -to leave him rather breathless and bewildered. It -is true, he had half expected her to be there; but -all the same he was not quite prepared; and—and -he was wondering what she was thinking now. -However, the officials were beginning to clear the -course for the first race; so the gig was run in -behind one of the tall white poles; and there the -small party of three remained until the rival crews -had gone swiftly by, when it was permitted them to -return to the </span><em class="italics">White Rose</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After luncheon he said he would leave his guests -to themselves for a little while, as he wished to pay -a visit to a friend he had seen on one of the other -house-boats; then he jumped into the gig, made his -way along to the </span><em class="italics">Villeggiatura</em><span>, got on board, went -up the steps, and found himself among a crowd of -people. Mrs. Ellison, noticing him, discreetly left -the group she was with, and came to him, taking -him in a measure apart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait a moment, Vin," she said, regarding the -young man. "If you wish it—if you prefer it—I -have seen nothing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean, aunt!" he said, with some -haughty inclination to anger. "Why should I seek -any concealment? I want you to come along that -I may introduce to you two friends of mine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Instinctively she seemed to draw back a -little—almost as if she were afraid.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, thanks, Vin. No, thanks. Please leave -me out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?" he demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The pretty young widow was embarrassed and -troubled; for she knew the fiery nature of young -men; and did not want to provoke any quarrel by -an unguarded expression.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well—it is simply this, you know—they are -strangers—I mean—I suppose that neither your -father nor any of the family have met them—they -seemed somehow like strangers—unusual -looking—and—and I shouldn't like to be the first. -Leave me out, there's a good boy!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?" he demanded again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So she was driven to confession.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, look here, Vin; I may be wrong; but -aren't these new friends somehow connected with -your being so much away from home of late—with -your being in those lodgings? Was it there you -made their acquaintance?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you want to know, I saw them first at Lord -Musselburgh's," said he with an amazing audacity; -for although the statement was literally true, it was -entirely misleading.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And apparently it staggered the pleasant-eyed -young widow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, at Lord Musselburgh's?" said she, with a -distinct (but cautious) change of manner. "Oh, -really. Lord Musselburgh's. But why should you -want to introduce me to them, Vin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because," said he, "they have never met any -member of our family: and as you are the most -goodnatured and the prettiest, I want to produce a -favourable impression at the outset."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed and was not displeased.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There are some other qualities that seem to -characterise our family—impudence for one," she -observed. "Well, come along, then, Vin: where -are your friends?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In a house-boat down there—the </span><em class="italics">White Rose</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The </span><em class="italics">White Rose</em><span>? I noticed it yesterday—very -pretty—whose is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mine for the present; I rented it for the week," -he replied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who are the other members of your party?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"None—only those two."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But here she paused at the top of the steps; -and said in an undertone—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really, Vin, this is too much! You, a young -man entertaining those two—and no lady -chaperon—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned and looked at her, with straight eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, it's quite right," she said, hastily. "It's -quite right, of course—but—but so much </span><em class="italics">en -évidence</em><span>—so prominent—people might talk—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I never try to hinder people from talking," said -he, with a certain scorn. "And if they busy -themselves with my small affairs, they are welcome -to ring their discoveries from the tops of the -steeples. I did not ask anybody's permission when -I invited two friends of mine, who had never been -to Henley before, to be my guests during the -regatta-week."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course not, of course not," she said, gently; -"but you are doing it in such a marked way—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, come, aunt," said he, "it isn't like you -to niggle about nothing. You are not a prude; -you have too much goodnature—and too much -common sense. And I don't want you to go on -board the </span><em class="italics">White Rose</em><span> with any kind of prejudice in -your mind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They could not get away just then, however, -for the course was being cleared for the next race; -so they lingered there until they saw, far away on -the open river, two small objects like water-insects, -with slender quick-moving legs, coming rapidly -along. The dull murmur of the crowd became -a roar as the boats drew nearer. Then the needle-like -craft shot by, almost neck and neck; and loud -were the shouts that cheered this one or that; -while straining eyes followed them along to the -goal. The sudden wave of enthusiasm almost -immediately subsided; the surface of the river was -again being crowded by the boats that had been -confined behind the white poles; and now Vincent -got his fair companion down into the gig and, -with some little difficulty and delay, rowed her -along to the </span><em class="italics">White Rose</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was very anxious as he conducted her on -board; but he affected a splendid carelessness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Bethune," said he, "let me introduce you -to my aunt, Mrs. Ellison—Miss Bethune, -Mrs. Ellison: now come away inside, and we'll get some -tea or strawberries or something—racing isn't -everything at Henley—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It isn't anything at all, as far as I have seen," -said Mrs. Ellison, goodhumouredly, as she followed -her nephew into the saloon. "Well, this is very -pretty—very pretty indeed—one of the simplest -and prettiest—so cool-looking. I hear this is your -first visit to Henley," she continued addressing the -old man, when they had taken their seats: -Vincent meanwhile, bustling about to get wine and -biscuits and fruit, for the steward had gone -ashore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is," said he, "and I am glad that my -granddaughter has seen it in such favourable -circumstances. Although she has travelled much, I doubt -whether she has ever seen anything more charming, -more perfect in its kind. We missed the Student's -Serenade at Naples last year; but that would have -been entirely different, no doubt; this is a vast -water picnic, among English meadows, at the -fairest time of the year, and with such a brilliancy -of colour that the eye is delighted in every -direction."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was self-possessed enough (whatever their -eagerly solicitous young host may have been); and -he went on, in a somewhat lofty and sententious -fashion, to describe certain of the great public -festivals and spectacles he had witnessed in various -parts of the world. Mrs. Ellison was apparently -listening, as she ate a strawberry or two; but in -reality she was covertly observing the young girl -(who sate somewhat apart) and taking note of every -line and lineament of her features, and even every -detail of her dress. Vincent brought Mr. Bethune -a tumbler of claret with a lump of ice in it; he -drained a deep draught; and resumed his story -of pageants. Maisrie was silent, her eyes averted: -the young man asked himself whether the beautiful -profile, the fine nostrils, the sensitive mouth, would -not plead for favour, even though she did not speak. -It seemed a thousand pities that her grandfather -should be in this garrulous mood. Why did not -Mrs. Ellison turn to the girl direct?—he felt sure -there would be an instant sympathy between those -two, if only Maisrie would appeal with her wonderful, -true eyes. What on earth did anyone want to -know about the resplendent appearance of the -White Cuirassiers of the Prussian Guard, as they -rode into Prague a week or two after the battle of -Königgrätz, with their dusty and swarthy faces and -their copper-hued breastplates lit up by the -westering sun?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But, on the other hand, Mrs. Ellison was not -displeased by this one-sided conversation; quite -the contrary; she wanted to know all about these -strange people with whom her nephew had taken -up; and the more the old man talked the better -she resented the intervention of a race which -Master Vin dragged them all away to see; and -as soon as it was over—they were now seated in the -stern-sheets of the boat—she turned to Mr. Bethune -with a question.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I understand," she said, in a casual sort of way, -"that you know Lord Musselburgh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this Maisrie looked up startled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes," said her grandfather, in his serene -and stately fashion. "Oh, yes. A most promising -young man—a young man who will make his mark. -Perhaps he is riding too many hobbies; and yet it -might not be prudent to interfere and advise; a -young man in his position is apt to be hot-headed—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mrs. Ellison," interposed Maisrie, "we are only -slightly acquainted with Lord Musselburgh—very -slightly indeed. The fact is, he was kind enough -to interest himself in a book, that my grandfather -hopes to bring out shortly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ob, really," said the pretty widow with a most -charming smile (perhaps she was glad of this -opportunity of talking to the young lady herself) -"and may I ask—pardon my curiosity—what the -subject is."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a collection of poems written by -Scotchmen living in America and Canada," answered -Maisrie, quite simply. "My grandfather made the -acquaintance of several of them, and heard of -others; and he thought that a volume of extracts, -with a few short biographical notices, might be -interesting to the Scotch people over here. For it is -about Scotland that they mostly write, I think, and -of their recollections—perhaps that is only natural."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And when may we expect it?" was the next question.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Maisrie turned to her grandfather.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, well," the old man made answer, with an -air of magnificent unconcern, "that is difficult to -say. The book is not of such great importance; it -may have to stand aside for a time. For one thing, -I should most likely have to return to the other -side to collect materials; whereas, while we are -here in the old country, there are so many -opportunities for research in other and perhaps more -valuable directions, that it would be a thousand -pities to neglect them. For example, now," he -continued, seeing that Mrs. Ellison listened meekly, -"I have undertaken to write for my friend -Carmichael of the </span><em class="italics">Edinburgh Chronicle</em><span> a series of -papers on a branch of our own family that attained -to great distinction in the Western Isles during the -reign of the Scotch Jameses—the learned Beatons -of Islay and Mull."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, indeed," said Mrs. Ellison, affecting much -interest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," resumed old George Bethune, with much -dignified complacency, "it will be a singular history -if ever I find time to trace it out. The whole of -that family seem to have been regarded with a kind -of superstitious reverence; all their sayings were -preserved; and even now, when a proverb is quoted -in the Western Isles, they add, 'as the sage of -Mull said' or 'as the sage of Islay said.' For -</span><em class="italics">ullahm</em><span>, I may inform you, Mrs.—Mrs.—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ellison," she said, kindly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mrs. Ellison—I beg your pardon—my hearing -is not what it was. </span><em class="italics">Ullahm</em><span>, in the Gaelic tongue -means at once a Doctor of Medicine and a wise -man—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They distinguish between the terms in -English," put in Vincent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"—and doctors most of them appear to have -been," continued the old man, quite oblivious of -interruption: indeed he seemed to be reading -something out of his memory, rather than addressing -particularly any one of his audience. "A certain -Hector Beaton, indeed, got a considerable grant in -Islay for having cured one of the Jameses when all -the Edinburgh Faculty had failed; and I myself -have seen in the island of Iona the tombstone of -the last of the Mull doctors of the name, who -died so late as 1657. </span><em class="italics">Hic jacet Johannes Betonus -Maclenorum familiæ Medicus</em><span>: no doubt there must -be some mention of those Beatons in the archives -of the various families of Maclean in Mull. Then I -daresay I could get a drawing of the tombstone—though -I can remember the inscription well enough. -The coat of arms, too, has the three mascles of the -Bethunes—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of the Bethunes?—then you are of the same -family?" said Mrs. Ellison, this time with a little -genuine curiosity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the interruption had the effect of rousing -him from his historical reverie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I would rather say," he observed, with some -stiffness, "that they were originally of our family. -The Norman de Bethune would easily be changed -into the Scotch Beaton."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then there was Mary Beaton, of the Queen's -Maries," Mrs. Ellison suggested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But at this the old man frowned: he did not -wish any fictitious characters brought into these -authentic annals.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An idle tale—a popular rhyme," said he. -"There is no real foundation for the story of Mary -Hamilton that ever I could get hold of. Of course -there may have been a Mary Beaton at Queen -Mary's court—what more likely?—and Mary -Beaton would come trippingly to the popular -tongue in conjunction with Mary Seton; but that -is all. It is with real people, and important people, -I shall have to deal when I get to the Advocates -Library in Edinburgh."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, certainly—of course—I quite understand," -she said, humbly. And then she rose. -"Well, I must be getting back to my friends, Vin, -or they will think I have slipped over the side and -been drowned."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But won't you stay to dinner, aunt?" said he. -"I wish you would!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, thanks, I really couldn't," she answered -with a sudden earnestness that became more -intelligible to him afterwards. "I couldn't run away -from my hosts like that." Then she turned to -Mr. Bethune and his granddaughter. "By the way," -she said, "Lord Musselburgh is coming down -to-morrow—merely for the day—and he will be -on board the </span><em class="italics">Villeggiatura</em><span>. Would you all of -you like to come along and have a look over -the boat; or shall I send him to pay you a visit -here?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was Maisrie who replied—with perfect self-composure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Our acquaintance with Lord Musselburgh is so -very slight, Mrs. Ellison," said she, "that it would -hardly be worth while making either proposal. I -doubt whether he would even remember our names."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Whereupon the young widow bade good-bye to -Maisrie with a pretty little smile; the old -gentleman bowed to her with much dignity; and then she -took her seat in the stern of the gig, while her -nephew put out the sculls. When they were well -out of hearing, Mrs. Ellison said—with a curious -look in her eyes of perplexity and half-frightened -amusement—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Vin, who is that old man?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, you saw, aunt," he made answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ob, yes, I saw. I saw. But I am none the -wiser. I could not make him out at all. Sometimes -I thought he was a self-conceited old donkey, -who was simply gabbling at random; and again he -seemed really to believe what he was saying, about -his connection with those Beatons and de Bethunes -and the Scotch kings. But there's something -behind it all, Vin; I tell you there is; and I can't -make it out. There's something mysterious about him—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's nothing mysterious at all!" he exclaimed, -impatiently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But who is he, then?" she persisted. "What -is he? Where is his family? Where are his relatives?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't think he has any, if it comes to that, -except his granddaughter," her nephew replied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What does he do, then? How does he exist?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was beginning to resent this cross-examination; -but yet he said civilly enough—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not in the habit of making inquiries about -the income of everyone I meet; but I understand -they have some small sum of money between -them—not much: and then he has published books; and -he writes for the </span><em class="italics">Edinburgh Weekly Chronicle</em><span>. Is -that enough?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where does he live?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In Mayfair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't believe a word of it!" she said, and she -even ventured to laugh in a half-embarrassed way. -"I believe he dwells in a cave—he is a troglodyte—he -comes out at dusk—and wanders about with a -lantern and a pickaxe. Really, when I looked at -his shaggy eyebrows, and his piercing eyes, and his -venerable beard, I thought he must be some Druid -come to life again—or perhaps one of those -mythical island-doctors surviving from the -fourteenth century—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At all events, aunt," Vincent said, with an -ominous distinctness of tone, "his age and what he -has come through might procure for him a little -respect. It isn't like you to jeer and jibe simply -because a man is old—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear boy, I am not jibing and jeering!" -she protested. "I tell you I am puzzled. There's -something about that old man I can't make out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How could you expect to understand anybody—in -half-an-hour's talk at Henley Regatta!" he said, -indignantly. "I gave you the opportunity of -getting to know them both, if only you had come along -this evening, and spent some time with them. I -am not aware that either of them wants to conceal -anything. They are not ashamed of their poverty. -Perhaps the old man talks too much: you, at least, -pretended to find what he said interesting. And as -for the girl, no doubt she was silent: she isn't used -to be stared at and examined by critical and -unsympathetic eyes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The young widow elevated her brows: here was -something unexpected!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Vin Harris," she said, solemnly, "are you -quarrelling with me because—because I am not -glamoured? Is it as bad as that? If so, then I -am extremely glad I did not accept your invitation -for this evening. I am compromised far enough -already—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean by compromised?" he demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But just at this moment she had to call to him -to look out, for they had almost arrived at the -</span><em class="italics">Villeggiatura</em><span>. He glanced over his shoulder, pulled -a stroke with his right oar, shipped the other, and -then, having gripped the stern of the house-boat, -he affixed the painter of the gig, and, letting her -back fall into the stream, returned to the thwart he -had occupied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish to ask you, aunt," said he, in a sufficiently -stiff and formal tone, "how you consider you -have been compromised through meeting any friends -of mine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," said she, half inclined to laugh, yet a little -bit afraid too, "don't ask me. It isn't as serious as -that—I mean, I didn't think you would take it -seriously. No doubt it's all right, Vin, your choosing -your own friends; and I have nothing to say against -them; only I would rather you left me out, if you -don't mind. You see, I don't know your intentions—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Supposing I have none?" he demanded again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, no one can say what may happen," the -young widow persisted; "and I should not like to -be appealed to—Now, now, Vin, don't be so -passionate!—have I said a single word against your -new friends? Not one. I only confess that I'm a -selfish and comfort-loving woman, and I don't wish -to be drawn into any family strife. There may be -no family strife? Very well; so much the better. -But my having no further acquaintance with -Mr. Bethune and Miss Bethune—my having no -knowledge of them whatever, for it practically comes to -that—cannot injure them; and leaves me free from -responsibility. Now don't quarrel with me, Vin; -for I will not allow it; I have been talking common -sense to you—but I suppose that is what no man of -twenty-five understands."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He hauled up the gig to the stern of the house-boat, -as an intimation that she could step on board -when she chose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There," said she, as she gave him her hand in -parting, "I see I have offended you; but what I -have said has been for your sake as well as mine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Well, he was vexed, disappointed, and a little -inclined to be angry. But all that darkness fled -from his spirit—he forgot all about Mrs. Ellison's -friendly monitions—he had no care for any -speculations as to the future—when he was back again in -the </span><em class="italics">White Rose</em><span>, sitting by Maisrie Bethune, he and -she together looking abroad on the gay crowd, and -the boats, and the trembling willows, and the -slow-moving skies now growing warmer with the -afternoon sun. Then, when the last of the races was -over, came dinner; and as twilight stole over the -river and the meadows, the illuminations began, the -rows of coloured lanterns showing one after the -other, like so many fire-flies in the dusk. Of course -they were sitting outside now—on this placid -summer night—in fairyland.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="claire-fontaine"><span class="large">CHAPTER VII.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">CLAIRE FONTAINE.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>But something far more strange and wonderful -happened to him the next morning; and that was -his first </span><em class="italics">tête-à-tête</em><span> conversation with Maisrie Bethune. -It was quite unexpected, and even unsought; nay, -when he stepped outside and found that she was -alone on deck, he would have shrank back, had that -been possible, rather than break in upon her -solitude. For even here at Henley, during the -regatta-time, which may be regarded as the High Festival -of Joyance and Flirtation, there was no thought of -pretty and insidious love-making in this young -man's head or heart. There was something -mysteriously remote and reserved about this isolated -young creature, whose very beauty was of a strangely -pensive and wistful kind. Even the gentle -self-possession and the wisdom beyond her years she -showed at times seemed to him a pathetic sort of -thing; he had a fancy that during her childhood -she never had had the chance of playing with young -children.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But it was too late to retreat; and indeed she -welcomed him with a pleasant smile as she bade -him good morning. It was he who was embarrassed. -He talked to her about the common things -surrounding them, while anxiously casting about for -something better fitting such a rare opportunity. -And at last he said—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I am sure your grandfather and I get on -very well. And I have been wondering whether, -when you and he make that pilgrimage through -Scotland, he would let me accompany you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In her beautiful and child-like eyes there was -a swift flash of joy that made his heart leap, so -direct and outspoken an expression it was of her -gladness to think of such a thing; but instantly -she had altered her look, and a faint flush of colour -had overspread her face—the pale wild-rose had -grown pink.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your way of travelling and ours are so different," -the said, gently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, but," said he, with eagerness, "you don't -understand how the idea of a long wandering on -foot has fascinated me: why, that would be the -whole charm of it! You don't know me at all yet. -You think I care for the kind of thing that prevails -here—that I can't get on without pine-apples and -chairs with gilt backs? Why—but I don't want -to talk about myself at all: if you would let me -come with you on that pilgrimage you would find -out a little. And what an opportunity it will be, -to go with your grandfather: history, poetry, and -romance all brought together: Scotland will be a -wonderful country for you before you have done -with it. And—and—you see—I have gone on -pedestrian excursions before—I have a pretty broad -back—I can carry things. You might engage me -as porter; for even when you send your luggage -on, there will be a few odds and ends to fill a -knapsack with; and I can tramp like any gaberlunzie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled a little, and then said more seriously—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am glad to have the chance of speaking to -you about that scheme of my grandfather's; because, -Mr. Harris, you must try to dissuade him from it as -much as possible."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dissuade him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said she, quietly. "You must have seen -how completely my grandfather lives in a world -of imagination, and how one thing captivates him -after another, especially if it is connected with -Scotland and Scottish song. And I have no doubt -he would write a beautiful book about such a tour -as that; for who knows more about all the places -and the legends and ballads? It would be a -pleasure for me too—I have dreamed of it many a time. -But it is impossible for the present; and it will be -a kindness to me, Mr. Harris, if you will not -encourage him in it. For the fact is," she continued, -with a little embarrassment, "my grandfather has -undertaken to write something else—and—and he -is under personal obligations about it—and he must -not be allowed to forget them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, I quite understand," Vincent said. -"I have heard of that volume about the Scotch -poets in America. Well, you know what your -grandfather says, that he would have to go to the -other side to collect materials; while, being here -in this country just now, he might as well take you -to those scenes and places that would make up -another book, to be written subsequently. -However, I have no doubt you are right. The -possibility of my going along with you two on such an -excursion has been a wonderful thing for me to -speculate on; but whatever you wish, that is enough. -I am against the Scotch trip now, so far as I have -any right to speak."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was looking at him enquiringly, and yet -diffidently, as if she were asking herself how far -she might confide in him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps you have not noticed it, Mr. Harris," -she added, still regarding him, "but my -grandfather has a strange faculty for making himself -believe things. I daresay, if he only planned the -American book, he could convince himself that he -had written it, and so got rid of those—those -obligations. Well, you will help me, will you -not?—for I am anxious to see it done; and he may say -I am too young and too ignorant to give advice—as -I am—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why," said Vincent, almost indignantly, "do -you think I cannot see how you guide and lead -him always, and with such a tact and wisdom and -gentleness as I never beheld anywhere!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Maisrie flashed downright red this time; but she -sought to conceal her confusion by saying quickly—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then again you must not misunderstand me, -Mr. Harris; you must not think I am saying -anything against my grandfather; I am only telling -you of one little peculiarity he has. Saying -anything against him!—I think I could not well do -that; for he has been goodness itself to me since -ever I can remember anything. There is nothing -he would not sacrifice for my sake; sometimes it is -almost painful to me to see an old man, who should -be the petted one and the cared for, so ready to -give up his own wants and wishes, to please a mere -girl who is worthy of no consideration whatever. -And consideration is not the word for what I have -received from my grandfather always and always; -and if I could forget all he has done for me and -been to me—if I could be so ungrateful as to forget -all those years of affection and sympathy and -constant kindness—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She never finished the sentence. He fancied her -eyes were moist as she turned her head away; -anyhow he dared not break in upon the silence; these -confidences had been sacred things. And indeed -there was no opportunity for further speech on this -subject; for presently old George Bethune made -his appearance, radiant, buoyant, high-spirited, with -a sonorous stanza from Tannahill to greet the -awakening of the new day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now no sooner had Lord Musselburgh arrived on -board the </span><em class="italics">Villeggiatura</em><span> on the same morning than -Mrs. Ellison went to him and told him all her story, -which very much surprised him, and also concerned -him not a little, for it seemed as though he was in -a measure responsible for what had happened to -Vincent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear Mrs. Ellison," said he, "I can assure -you of one thing: it is quite true that your nephew -was in the room when Mr. Bethune and his -granddaughter called on me, but I am positively certain -that there was no introduction and that he did not -speak a single word to them there. How he got to -know them I cannot imagine; nor how they could -have become so intimate that he should ask them -to be his guests down here at Henley. And his sole -guests, you say?—Yes, I admit, it looks queer. I -hope to goodness there is no kind of entanglement—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," said Mrs. Ellison, in sudden alarm; "don't -imagine anything from what I have told you I -There may be nothing in it: he as good as declared -there was nothing in it: and he is so fiery and -sensitive—on this one point—why, that is the most -serious feature of it all! He looks you straight in -the face, and dares you to suspect anything. But -really—really—to have those two companions—and -no others—on a house-boat at Henley: it is a -challenge to the world!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Looks rather like it," said Lord Musselburgh; -and then he added: "Of course you know that Vin -has always been a Quixotic kind of chap—doing -impossible things if he thought them right—and all -that sort of thing. But it's very awkward just at -this moment. There must be some powerful -attraction, of one kind or another, to have made him -give himself over so completely to these new -friends; for he has not been near me of late; and -yet here I have in my pocket a letter that concerns -him very closely, if only he would pay attention to -it. I don't mind telling you, Mrs. Ellison, for you -are discretion itself—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think you may trust me, Lord Musselburgh," -she said, with a smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, then," said he, lowering his voice. -"I hear that there will be a vacancy at -Mendover—certainly at the next General Election, but more -probably much sooner: old Gosford has become -such a confirmed hypochondriac that he will hardly -leave his room; and his constituents are grumbling -as much as they dare—for he has got money, you -know, and the public park he gave them wants -further laying out, and statues, and things. Very -well; now I have in my pocket a darkly discreet -letter from the Committee of the Mendover Liberal -Association asking me to go down and deliver an -address at their next meeting, and hinting that if I -could bring with me an acceptable candidate—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He paused, and for a second a cynical but -perfectly good-humoured laugh appeared in his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear Mrs. Ellison," said he, "I am deeply -grateful. I thought you might express some -astonishment at my being consulted in so important -an affair. But the fact is, I, also, am expected to -do something for that park; and perhaps this -invitation was only a little hint to remind me of my -local responsibilities. However, that is how the -case stands; and I had thought of taking your -nephew down with me—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A vacancy at Mendover," said Mrs. Ellison, in -awe-struck tones, "where you are simply -everybody! Oh, Lord Musselburgh, what a chance for -Vin!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And then, you know," continued the young peer, -"I want to bring him out as a Tory Democrat, for -that is a fine, bewildering sort of thing, that -provokes curiosity: you call yourself a Tory and can -be as revolutionary as you like, so that you capture -votes all round. Why, I've got Vin's programme -all ready for him in my pocket: a graduated -income-tax, free education, leasehold enfranchisement, -compulsory insurance, anything and everything -you like except disestablishment—disestablishment -won't work at Mendover. Now, you see, -Mrs. Ellison, if I could get Vin properly coached, -he has all the natural fervour that unhappily I lack; -and after I had made my few little jokes which -they kindly take for a speech, I could produce him -and say 'Here, now, is the young politician of the -new generation; here's your coming man; this is -the kind of member the next quarter-of-a-century -must return to the House of Commons.' But if -there is any Delilah in the way—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Ellison crimsoned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Lord Musselburgh," she said. "No. You -need have no fear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>However, she seemed perturbed—perhaps in her -anxiety that her nephew should not miss this great -opportunity. Presently she said—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me, what do you know of this old man?—I -can't make him out at all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I? I know nothing, or next to nothing," he said, -lightly, as he gazed abroad on the busy river. "I -remember Vin asking me the same question—I -suppose out of curiosity about the girl. My -recollection of her is that she was extremely -pretty—refined-looking—lady-like, in fact—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She is, indeed," said Mrs. Ellison, with decision, -"and that is what makes the situation all the more -dangerous—assuming, of course, that there is any -ground for one's natural suspicions. No, Vin is the -last man in the world to be captured by any vulgar -adventuress; he is at once too fastidious and too -proud. But then, you see, he is well known to be -the son of a very wealthy man; and there might be -a design—" She hesitated for a moment: then she -said, half impatiently: "Lord Musselburgh, tell me -how you came to know this old man: he could not -have sprung out of the earth all of a sudden."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He told her, as briefly as might be.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That was all?" she repeated, eyeing him shrewdly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are sure?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean? That is really all I -know of the old gentleman: isn't that what you -asked?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But was that the whole of the interview, if I -may be so impertinent as to inquire?" she -demanded again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ob, yes, it was," Lord Musselburgh said; and -then he added, indifferently: "Of course I -subscribed something towards the publication of a book -he mentioned—he had written to me before about -the project."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, there was money?" she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A slight tinge on Lord Musselburgh's forehead -showed that he had not intended to make this -admission.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, nothing—a trifle—it is usual when a book -is coming out by subscription."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Ellison sate silent for a little while: there -was plenty going on on the river to interest her -companion. Then by-and-bye she said slowly—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I had intended to keep clear of these new -friends of Vin's. I thought it would be more -prudent for me to know nothing. It is true, I was -introduced to them yesterday afternoon; but I -wished that to be all; I thought I would rather -withdraw; and let things take their course. But -I don't know that that would be honest and right. -Vin is a young man with many fine and noble -qualities—perhaps a little too fine and noble for the -ordinary work-a-day world; and I think he ought to -have the benefit of my sadly-earned experience and -callous nature—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lord Musselburgh laughed: he did not take her -too seriously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is my own boy," she continued, "I would do -anything for him. And I'm not going to let him -be entrapped—if that is what all this means. I -know he is very angry with me just now; probably -he would not speak to me if he were to meet me -this minute; but that won't prevent my speaking -to him. I'm going to put my pride in my pocket, -Lord Musselburgh. I'm going to find out something -more about this picturesque old gentleman, who -talks so grandly about the Beatons, and the de -Bethunes, and their coats of arms, and who accepts -a £10 note—or perhaps only a £5 note?—on account -of a book that is not yet published. And if there is -any sort of scheme on foot for getting hold of the -son of so notoriously wealthy a man as Harland -Harris, then I want to make a little inquiry. -Yesterday Vin indignantly complained that I was -prejudiced, and that I had no right to form any -opinion about those friends of his because I would -not go along and dine with him and them last -evening. Very well, I will go to him, and make up -the quarrel, and ask him to repeat the invitation for -this evening—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For this evening?" repeated Lord Musselburgh, -in tones of deep disappointment. "You don't mean -you are going to leave all your friends here and go -and dine somewhere else?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I can procure an invitation. It is my duty. -I'm not going to let my boy be made a fool of, even -if I have to sacrifice a little of my own personal -comfort."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, that's all very well," said Lord Musselburgh, -gloomily, "but I did not bargain for your going -away like that on the only evening I shall be here. -If I had known—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was on the point of saying he would not have -come down: but that would have been too bold -an avowal. He suddenly hit upon another happy -suggestion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You said that Vin had only those two on board -with him? Well, if he asks you to dine with him, -won't he ask me too?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Ellison laughed, and shook her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no. Another stranger would put them on -their guard. I must manage my Private Investigation -all by myself. But you need not look so -disconsolate. There are some really nice people -here, as you'll find out by-and-bye; and the Drexel -girls are driving over from Great Marlow—they are -Americans, so you will be properly appreciated: -they will try their best to make you happy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How late shall you stay on board Vin's boat?" -he asked, heedless of these smaller attractions.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall be back here by ten—perhaps by half-past nine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that a promise?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, it is—ten at latest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Otherwise I should go back to town in the -afternoon," said he, frankly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What nonsense!" the young widow exclaimed -(but she did not seem resentful). "Well, now, I -must go along to the </span><em class="italics">White Rose</em><span>, and make my -peace, and angle for an invitation; and then, if I -get it, I must concoct my excuses for Mrs. Lawrence. -Anyhow I shall be on board the </span><em class="italics">Villeggiatura</em><span> all the -afternoon; and then I hope to have the pleasure of -introducing you to Louie Drexel—that is the young -lady I have designed for Vin, when he has shaken -off those adventurers and come to his right mind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Almost immediately thereafter Mrs. Ellison had -secured a boatman to pull her along to the </span><em class="italics">White -Rose</em><span>; and as she drew near, she perceived that -Maisrie Bethune was alone in the stern of the -house-boat, standing upright on the steering-thwart, and -with both hands holding a pair of field-glasses to -her eyes—an unconscious attitude that showed the -graceful figure of the girl to the best advantage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The observant visitor could also remark that her -costume was simplicity itself: a blouse of white -soft stuff, with wide sleeves and tight cuffs; a belt -of white silk round her waist; and a skirt of blue -serge. She wore no head-covering; and her -neatly-braided hair caught several soft-shining hues from -the sun—not a wonder and glory of hair, perhaps, -(as Vin Harris would have deemed it) but very -attractive all the same to the feminine eye, and -somehow suggestive of girlhood, and making for -sympathy. And then, when a "Good-morning!" -brought round a startled face and a proud, clear -look that was nothing abashed or ashamed, -Mrs. Ellison's conscience smote her that she had made -use of the word adventuress, and bade her wait -and see.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-morning!" Maisrie Bethune answered; -and there came a touch of colour to the fine and -sensitive features as she knew that the young -matron was regarding her with a continuation of -the curiosity of the preceding afternoon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have the gentlemen deserted you? Are you -all alone?" Mrs. Ellison said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no; they are inside," was the response. -"Would you like to see Mr. Harris? Shall I call him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you would be so kind!"—and therewith -Maisrie disappeared into the saloon, and did not -return.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was Vincent that came out—with terrible -things written on his brow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't look at me like that, Vincent Harris!" -Mrs. Ellison exclaimed, half-laughing and -half-annoyed. "What have I done? It is you who are -so hasty and inconsiderate. But I've come to make -it all up with you; and to ask you to ask me to -dine with you to-night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, thank you, aunt," he said, civilly enough. -"You are very kind; but the fact is you would -come with a prejudice; and so you'd better not -come at all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Well, she had to be circumspect; for not only -was her own boatman behind her, but there was a -possibility of some stray sentence penetrating into -the saloon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come," she said, in a sort of undertone, to him; -and she had a pretty, coaxing, goodnatured way -with her when she chose, "I am not going to allow -you to quarrel with me, Vin; and I bring a flag of -truce; and honourable proposals. I saw you were -offended with me last evening; and perhaps I was -a little selfish in refusing your invitation; but you -see I confess the error of my ways, for here I am -begging you to ask me again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, if you put it that way, aunt—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, I don't put it that way!" she said. -"Not if you speak like that. Come, be amiable! -I've just been talking to Lord Musselburgh—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And, of course, you crammed all your wild -ideas into his head!" he exclaimed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Whoever heard of poor me having ideas!" she -said, with a winning good-humour to which he -could not but yield. "It isn't for me to have ideas; -but I may have prejudices; and I'm going to leave -them, all on board the </span><em class="italics">Villeggiatura</em><span> this evening, if -you say yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course I say yes—when you are like yourself, -aunt," he responded at once, "and I shall be very -glad indeed. And what is more," said he, in a still -lower tone, "when you have really met—certain -people—and when you have to confess that you -have been unjust, I don't mean to triumph over -you. Not a bit. If you have done any injustice, -you know yourself how to make it up—to them. -Now that's all right and settled: and I'm really -glad you're coming. Seven o'clock; and the dress -you've got on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, but, mind you," said she, "you don't seem -to appreciate my goodness in humbling myself so -as to pacify your honourable worship. Do you know -what I shall have to do besides? How am I to -explain to the Lawrences my running away from -their party? And here is Lord Musselburgh come -down; and the Drexel girls are expected; so you -see what I am doing for you, Vin—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're always good to me, aunt—when you choose -to be reasonable and exercise your common-sense—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Common-sense!" she retorted, with a malicious -laugh in her eyes. Then she said, quite seriously: -"Very well, Vin: seven o'clock: that is an excellent -hour, leaving us all a nice long evening; for I must -get back to the </span><em class="italics">Villeggiatura</em><span> early."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And so that was all well and amicably settled. -But Master Vin, though young in years, had not -tumbled about the world for nothing; and a little -reflection convinced him that his pretty aunt's -change of purpose—her abandonment of her resolve -to remain discreetly aloof—had not been prompted -solely, if at all, by her wish to have that little -misunderstanding between him and her removed. -That could have been done at any time; a few -words of apology and appeal, and there an end. -This humble seeking for an invitation which she -had definitely refused the day before meant more -than that; it meant that she had resolved to find -out something further about these strangers. Very -well, then, she was welcome: at the same time he -was resolved to receive this second visit not as he -had received the first. He was no longer anxious -about the impression these two friends of his might -produce on this the first of his relatives to meet -them. She might form any opinion she chose: he -was indifferent. Nay, he would stand by them on -every point; and justify them; and defy criticism. -If he had dared he would have gone to Maisrie and -said: "My aunt is coming to dinner to-night; but -I will not allow you to submit yourself to any ordeal -of inspection. You shall dress as you like, as -carelessly or as neatly as you like; you shall wear your -hair hanging down your back or braided up, without -any thought of her; you shall be as silent as you -wish—and leave her, if she chooses, to call you -stupid, or shy, or sulky, or anything else." And -he would have gone to the old man and said: -"Talk as much and as long as ever you have a -mind; you cannot babble o' green fields too -discursively for me; I, at all events, am sufficiently -interested in your claims of proud lineage, in your -enthusiasm about Scotland and Scottish song, in -your reminiscences of many lands. Be as -self-complacent and pompous as you please; fear -nothing; fear criticism least of all." And perhaps, -in like manner, he would have addressed Mrs. Ellison -herself: "My dear aunt, it is not they who -are on their trial, it is you. It is you who have -to show whether you have the courage of honest -judgment, or are the mere slave of social custom -and forms." For perhaps he, too, had imbibed a -little of the "Stand Fast, Craig Royston!" spirit? -Bravado may be catching—especially where an -innocent and interesting young creature of eighteen -or so is in danger of being exposed to some deadly -approach.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Of course this carelessly defiant attitude did not -prevent his being secretly pleased when, as seven -o'clock drew near, he perceived that Maisrie Bethune -had arranged herself in an extremely pretty, if -clearly inexpensive, costume; and also he was in no -wise chagrined to find that Mrs. Ellison, on her -arrival, appeared to be in a very amiable mood. -There was no need to ask her "O come ye in peace -here, or come ye in war?": her manner was most -bland; in particular she was adroitly flattering -and fascinating towards old George Bethune, who -accepted these little attentions from the charming -widow with a grave and consequential dignity. The -young host refused to sit at the head of the table; -he had the places arranged two and two—Mrs. Ellison, -of course, as the greater stranger and the -elder woman, on his right, and Maisrie opposite to -him. During the general dinner-talk, which was -mostly about the crowd, and the races, and the -dresses, Mrs. Ellison casually informed her nephew -that she had that afternoon won two bets, and also -discovered that she and Lord Musselburgh were to -meet at the same house in Scotland the coming -autumn: perhaps this was the explanation of her -extreme and obvious good humour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And if any deep and sinister design underlay this -excessive amiability on her part, it was successfully -concealed; meantime all was pleasantness and -peace; and the old gentleman, encouraged by her -artless confidences, spoke more freely and frankly -about the circumstances of himself and his -granddaughter than was his wont.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see some of the papers are indignant about -what they call the vulgar display of wealth at -Henley regatta," the young widow was saying, in a very -unconcerned and easy fashion; "but I wish those -gentlemen would remember that there is such a -thing as imputation of motives, and that imputing -motives is a common resource of envy. If I have a -house-boat, and try to make it as pretty as ever I can, -both inside and out, why should that be considered -display of wealth—display of any sort? I like nice -things and comfortable things around me; I don't -mind confessing it; I am a selfish woman—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There are some who know better, aunt," her -nephew interposed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Young gentleman," said she, promptly, "your -evidence isn't worth anything, for you have expectations. -And I am not to be flattered. I admit that -I am a selfish and comfort-loving woman; and I -like to see pretty things around me, and an -abundance of them; and if I can only have these at the -cost of being charged with ostentation and display, -very well, I will pay the price. If it comes to that, -I never saw anything beautiful or desirable in -poverty. Poverty is not beautiful; never was, never -is, never will be beautiful; it is base and squalid -and sordid; it demeans men's minds, and stunts -their bodies. I dare say poverty is an excellent -discipline—for the rich, if they would only submit -to a six mouths' dose of it now and again; but it is -not a discipline at all for the poor; it is a curse; it -is the most cruel and baleful thing in the world, -destroying self-respect, destroying hope, ambition, -everything. Oh, I know the heresy I'm talking. -There's Master Vin's papa: he is never done preaching -the divine attributes of poverty; and I have no -doubt there are a good many others who would be -content to fall down and worship </span><em class="italics">la bonne déesse de -la pauvreté</em><span>—on £30,000 a year!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Master Vin sniggered: he was aware that this -was not the only direction in which the principles of -the philosopher of Grosvenor Place were somewhat -inconsistent with his practice. However, it was -old George Bethune who now spoke—as one having -experience.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I quite agree," said he to Mrs. Ellison. "I can -conceive of nothing more demoralising to the nature -of man or woman than harsh and hopeless poverty, -a slavery from which there is no prospect of escape. -My granddaughter and I have known what it is to be -poor; we know it now; but in our case every day -brings possibilities—we breathe a wider air, -knowing that at any moment news may come. Then -fancy plays her part; and imagination can brighten -the next day for us, if the present be dark enough. -Hopeless poverty—that is the terrible thing; the -weary toil leading to nothing; perhaps the -unfortunate wretch sinking deeper and deeper into the -Slough of Despond. Maisrie and I have met with -trials; but we have borne them with a stout heart; -and perhaps we have been cheered—at least I know -I have been—by some distant prospect of the -Bonnie Mill-dams o' Balloray, and a happier future -for us both."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Balloray?" she repeated, inquiringly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Balloray, in Fife. Perhaps you have never -heard of the Balloray law-suit, and I will not inflict -any history of it upon you at present," he continued, -with lofty complaisance. "I was merely saying -that poverty is not so hard to bear when there are -brighter possibilities always before you. If, in our -case, we are barred in law by the Statute of -Limitations, there is no Statute of Limitations in the -chapter of accidents. And some remarkable -instances have occurred. I remember one in which a -father, two sons, and a daughter were all drowned -at once by the sinking of a ship, and the property -went bodily over to the younger branch of the -family, who had been penniless for years. It is -the unexpected that happens, according to the -saying; and so we move from day to day towards -fresh possibilities; and who can tell what morning -may not bring us a summons to make straight for -the Kingdom of Fife? Not for myself do I care; I -am too old now; it is for my granddaughter here; -and I should pass happily away and contented if I -could leave her in sole and undisputed possession of -the ancient lands of the Bethunes of Balloray."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What pang was this that shot through Vincent's -heart? He suddenly saw Maisrie removed from -him—a great heiress—unapproachable—guarded by -this old man with his unconquerable pride of -lineage and birth. </span><em class="italics">She</em><span> might not forget old -friends; but </span><em class="italics">he</em><span>? The Harris family had plenty -of money; but they had nothing to add to the -fesse between three mascles, </span><em class="italics">or</em><span>, and the otter's -head; nor had any of their ancestors, so far as was -known, accompanied Margaret of Scotland on her -marriage with the Dauphin of France, or taken -arms along with the great Maximilien de Bethune, -duc de Sully. In imagination the young man saw -himself a lonely pedestrian in Fifeshire, regarding -from a distance a vast baronial building set amid -black Scotch firs and lighter larches, and not daring -even to draw near the great gate with the otter's head -in stone over the archway. He saw the horses being -brought round to the front entrance—a beautiful -white Arab and a sturdy cob: the hall door opens—the -heiress of Balloray descends the wide stone steps—she -is assisted to mount, and pats that beautiful -white creature on the neck. And will she presently -come cantering by—her long hair flowing to the -winds, as fair as it used to be in the olden days -when the shifting lights and mists of Hyde Park -gave it ever-varying hues? Can he steal aside -somewhere?—he has no desire to claim -recognition! She has forgotten the time when, in the -humble lodgings she used to sing "</span><em class="italics">Je ne puis rien -donner, qu' mon coeur en mariage</em><span>"; she has wide -domains now; and wears an ancient historic name. -And so she goes along the white highway, and -under the swaying boughs of the beeches, until she -is lost in a confusion of green and gold...</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And in the meantime," said Mrs. Ellison (Vincent -started: had that bewildering and far-reaching -vision been revealed to him all in one brief, -breathless second?) "in the meantime, Mr. Bethune, you -must derive a great deal of comfort and solace from -your literary labours."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My literary labours," said the old man, slowly -and absently, "I am sorry to say, are mostly -perfunctory and mechanical. They occupy attention -and pass the time, however; and that is much. -Perhaps I have written one or two small things -which may survive me for a year or two; but if that -should be so, it will be owing, not to any merit of -their own, but to the patriotism of my countrymen. -Nay, I have much to be thankful for,", he continued, -in the same resigned fashion. "I have been spared -much. If I had been a famous author in my younger -days, I should now be reading the things I had -written then with the knowledge that I was their -only reader. I should be thinking of my -contemporaries and saying 'At one time people spoke of -me as now they are speaking of you.' It is a kind -of sad thing for a man to outlive his fame; for the -public is a fickle-minded creature, and must have -new distractions; but now I cannot complain of -being forgotten, for I never did anything deserving -of being remembered."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Grandfather," said Maisrie, "surely it is unfair -of you to talk like that! Think of the many friends -you have made through your writings."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Scotch friends, Maisrie, Scotch friends," he said. -"I admit that. The Scotch are not among the -forgetful ones of the earth. If you want to be made -much of," he said, turning to Mrs. Ellison, "if you -want to be regarded with a constant affection and -gratitude, and to have your writings remembered -and repeated, by the lasses at the kirn, by the -ploughman in the field, by gentle and simple alike, -then you must contrive to be born in Scotland. -The Scottish heart beats warm, and is constant. If -there is a bit of heather or a blue-bell placed on my -grave, it will be by the hand of a kindly Scot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dinner over, they went out and sate in the cool -twilight and had coffee, while the steward was -clearing away within. Mrs. Ellison, faithful to her -promise to Lord Musselburgh, said she had not long -to stay; but her nephew, having a certain scheme -in his mind, would not let her go just yet; and by -and bye, when the saloon had been lit up, he asked -her, in a casual kind of fashion, whether before she -went she would not like to hear Miss Bethune sing something.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I should like it of all things!" she replied -instantly, with a reckless disregard of truth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Maisrie glanced at her grandfather.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, certainly—why not?" said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then," said their young host, "I propose we go -in to the saloon again; it will be quieter." For -there was still a plash of oars on the river, and an -echoing call of voices in the meadows beyond.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When they had returned into the saloon, Maisrie -took up her violin; and Mrs. Ellison bravely -endeavoured to assume an air of interested -expectancy. The fact was she disliked the whole -proceeding; here would be some mere exhibition of -a schoolgirl's showy accomplishments; she would -have to say nice things; and she hated telling -lies—when nothing was to be gained. Maisrie made -some little apology; but said that perhaps -Mrs. Ellison had not heard the </span><em class="italics">Claire Fontaine</em><span>, which is -a favourite song of the Canadians. Then she drew -her bow across the strings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vincent need not have been so anxious. Hardly -had Maisrie begun with</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"</span><em class="italics">A la claire fontaine,</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">M'en allant promener—</em><span>"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>than Mrs. Ellison's air of forced attention instantly -vanished; she seemed surprised; she listened in a -wondering kind of way to the low, clear tones of -the girl's voice that were so curiously sincere and -penetrating and simple. Not a schoolgirl's showing -off, this; but a kind of speech, that reached the -heart.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Sur la plus haute branche</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Le rossignol chantait.</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Chante, rossignol, chante,</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Toi qui as le coeur gai.</em></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Lui ya longtemps que je t'aime,</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Jamais je ne t'oublierai.</em><span>"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Did she notice the soft dwelling on the </span><em class="italics">r</em><span>'s, Vincent -asked himself; and had she ever heard anything so -strangely fascinating? Then the simple pathos of -the story—if there was any story—</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Chante, rossignol, chante,</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Toi qui as le coeur gai;</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Tu as le coeur à rire,</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Moi je l'ai-t-à pleurer.</em></div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Tu as le coeur à rire,</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Moi j'e l'ai-t-à pleurer:</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">J'ai perdu ma maîtresse</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Sans l'avoir mérité.</em></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Lui ya longtemps que je t'aime,</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Jamais je ne l'oublierai.</em><span>"</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"That is enough," said Maisrie, with a smile, -and she laid the violin in her lap. "It is too long. -You never hear it sung altogether in Canada—only -a verse here and there—or perhaps merely -the refrain—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But is there more?—oh, please sing the rest of -it—it is delightful—so quaint, and simple, and -charming!" Mrs. Ellison exclaimed; and Master -Vin was a proud and glad young man; he knew -that Maisrie had all unaided struck home.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl took up her violin again, and resumed:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"</span><em class="italics">J'ai perdu ma maîtresse</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Sans l'avoir mérité.</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Pour un bouquet de roses</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Que je lui refusai.</em></div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Pour un bouquet de roses</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Que je lui refusai.</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Je voudrais que la rose</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Fût encore au rosier.</em></div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Je voudrais que la rose</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Fût encore au rosier,</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Et moi et ma maîtresse</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Dans les mem's amitiés.</em></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Lui ya longtemps que je t'aime,</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Jamais je ne t'oublierai!</em><span>"</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Well, when the singing, if it could be called -singing, was over, Mrs. Ellison made the usual little -compliments, which nobody minded one way or the -other. But presently she had to leave; and while -she was being rowed up the river by her nephew she -was silent. When they reached the </span><em class="italics">Villeggiatura</em><span> -(the people were all outside, amid the confused light -of the lanterns in the dusk) she said to him, in a low -voice, as she bade him good-bye—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Vin, let me whisper something to you—a -confession. </span><em class="italics">Claire Fontaine</em><span> has done for me. That -girl is a good girl. She is all right, any way."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="an-alarm"><span class="large">CHAPTER VIII.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">AN ALARM.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>On a certain still, clear, moonlight night a -dog-cart containing two young men was being driven -away from the little town of Mendover, out into the -wide, white, silent country. The driver was Lord -Musselburgh, and he seemed in high spirits, talking -to his companion almost continuously, while he -kept the stout little cob going at a rattling pace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am more pleased than I can tell you," he was -saying. "Quite a triumph! Why, you took to it -as a duck takes to water. Of course there's -something in having a responsive audience; and you -can always get a noble band of patriots to cheer -your proposal for a progressive income-tax when -not one in ten of them has any income-tax to pay. -I'm afraid they weren't quite so enthusiastic about -your scheme of compulsory insurance; indeed they -seemed a little disappointed and offended; the -Champion of the Proletariat was playing it a little -low down on them; but a heavily increasing -income-tax—oh, yes, that was splendid!—they saw -the Rothschilds caught at last, and had visions of a -land in which there shall be no more poor-rates or -police-rates, perhaps not even water-rates or -gas-rates. But it was your confounded coolness that -surprised me—no beating about the bush—walking -straight into it—and without preparation, too—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I knew what I had to say," Vincent interposed, -with a becoming modesty, "and it seemed simple -enough to say it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, and so it is—when you have acquired the -knack of forgetting yourself," said the young -nobleman, oracularly. "And that appears to have come -naturally to you, my boy. However, this is why I -am so particularly pleased with your successful -first appearance," Lord Musselburgh proceeded, as -the dog-cart went bowling along the silent, white -highway, between the black hedges. "I am about -to unfold to you a great idea, Vin—perhaps -prematurely, but you will be discreet. The project is -mine; but I want help to carry it through; you -and I must work together; and years and years -hence we shill be recognised as the Great Twin -Brethren, who saved the falling fortunes of -England."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Was he in jest or earnest? Vincent, knowing -his friend's sub-cynical habit of speech, listened -without interposing a word.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We shall earn for ourselves a deathless renown, -at very little cost—to us; it's the other people who -will have to pay, and we shall have all the glory. -Now what I propose is briefly this: I propose to -give all those good folk who profess a warm regard -for their native country a chance of showing what -their patriotism is worth. I don't want them to -fight; there isn't any fighting going on at present -to speak of; and in any case the rich old -merchants, and maiden ladies, and portly bishops, -and ponderous judges—well, they'd make an -awkward squad to drill; but I mean to give them an -opportunity of testifying to their affection for the -land of their birth; and you, my blazing young -Tory-Democrat, if you can speak as freely as you -spoke to-night, you must carry the fiery torch north, -south, east, and west—till you've secured -Westminster Abbey for both of us, or at least a tablet -in St. Paul's. Then look what a subject for your -eloquence you have—the guarding of England from -any possible combination of her foes—the -island-citadel made impregnable—'compass'd by the -inviolate sea'—defence not defiance—you understand -the kind of thing. But really, Vin, you know, there -is going to be an awful stramash, as my old nurse -used to say, in Europe before the century is out; -and England's safety will lie in her being strong -enough to remain aloof. And how? Why, by -trebling her present navy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Trebling her present navy!" Vincent repeated, -in a vague sort of way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," Musselburgh went on, coolly. "And it -can easily be done, without involving a single -farthing of taxation. I want the people of this -country to show what they can do voluntarily; I -want them to make a tremendous effort to render -Great Britain secure from attack for a century at -least; and the manner of doing it is to form a -National Patriotic Fund, to which everybody, man -and woman, merchant and apprentice, millionaire -and club-waiter, can subscribe, according to their -means and the genuineness of their patriotism. -Here is a chance for everybody; here is a test of -all those professions of love of country. Why, it -would become a point of honour, with the very -meanest, if the nation were thoroughly aroused, and -if a splendid example were set in high places. -The Queen, now—who is more directly interested -in the safety of the country than she is?—why -should she not head the list with £100,000? I -would call the fund the Queen's Fund; and I -should not wonder if we were to get two or three -maniacs—very useful maniacs—patriots they would -have been called in other days—to cut their -possessions in half, and hand the one half bodily -over to Her Majesty: that would be something -like an example!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But is it all a wild speculation, Musselburgh?" -asked Vincent, who was puzzled. "Or do you -mean it seriously?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha and hum," said the young peer, significantly. -"That depends. I should want to sound some of -the dukes about it. And first of all I must have -some sort of scheme ready, to get rid of obvious -objections. They might say 'Oh, you want to -treble the Navy? Then in twenty years you'll find -yourself with a crowd of obsolete ships, and all your -money gone.' That is not what I mean at all. I -mean the formation of an immense voluntary -national fund, which will keep the Navy at double -or treble its present strength, not by a sudden -multiplication of ships, but by gradually adding -vessels of the newest construction, as improvements -are invented. An immense fund, doubtless; for of -course there would be maintenance; but what -couldn't a rich country like England do if she -chose? And that's what I'm coming to, with -regard to you, my young Demosthenes. It would -be infinitely better—it would be safer—it would be -building on securer foundations—if the demand for -such a movement came from the country itself. If -the Queen, and the dukes, and the millionaires were -to subscribe as if in answer to an appeal from the -people, the enthusiasm would be tremendous; it -would be such a thing as never happened before in -the history of England: talk about noble ladies -flinging their jewels into the public treasury?—why, -every school-girl would bring out her hoarded -pocket-money, with her lips white with patriotic -fervour. England can subscribe on all possible -occasions for the benefit of other countries: for once -let her subscribe on her own behalf!" Lord Musselburgh -went on, though it might have been hard to -say what half-mocking bravado intermingled with -his apparent enthusiasm. "And that's where you -would come in. You would be the emissary, the -apostle, the bearer of the fiery torch. You've done -very well with the grocers' assistants of Mendover; -but fancy having to wake up England, Canada, -Australia, and the Cape to the necessity for making -the Mother Country once for all invulnerable, in the -interests of peace and universal freedom. Why, -I could become eloquent about it myself. They -cheered your graduated income-tax; but what -would they say to this? Fancy what could be -done if every man in this country were to pledge -himself to give a year's income! We don't ask -him to go out and have his legs or his arms -amputated, or his head shot off; we only ask for a -year's income—to secure peace and prosperity for -himself and his children and his children's children. -If there is any patriotism in the country at all, who -would say no? And then when there is an iron -belt round England, and when there is a floating -mass of iron that could be sent at any moment to -form a wall round any of her dependencies, then, -I suppose, there might be a splendid assemblage in -Westminster Hall; and you and I—as the -instigators of this great national movement—but my -imagination stops short: I don't know what they -will make of us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He himself had to stop short, for he was passing -through a wide gateway into the grounds surrounding -the Bungalow, and the carriage-drive was -almost invisible under the overshadowing trees. -Presently they had drawn up in front of the long, -low, rambling house; and here were lit windows, -and an open door, and servants. The two young -men descended, and entered, and went into the -billiard-room, where cigars and soda-water and -similar things had been set out in readiness for -them; and here Lord Musselburgh, lying back in -a cane-bottomed chair, proceeded to talk in a less -random fashion about this project of his, until he -had almost persuaded his companion that there was -something reasonable and practicable in it, if only -it could be properly initiated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Anyhow," said he to his guest, as they were both -retiring for the night, "it is some big movement -like that, Vin, my lad, that you want to get -identified with, if your aim is to make a position in -English public life. You have advantages. You -can speak well. You will have plenty of money. -You are beginning with the proletariat—that is -laying a foundation of popularity. You have youth -and heaps of strength on your side. Then —— is -known to be your friend. What more?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What more, indeed? The future seemed to smile -on this young man; and if his dreams, waking or -sleeping, had been of great achievements and public -triumphs, who could have wondered? But curiously -enough, just at this time, the forecasts that came to -him in moments of quiet were apt to be sombre. -He dreaded he hardly knew what. And these -vague forebodings of the day took a more definite -shape in the far-reaching visions of the night; for -again and again there recurred to him that -phantasmal picture that had suddenly startled him -when old George Bethune was talking of the -possibilities that might be lying in store for his -granddaughter. Vin Harris had never seen -Balloray—did not know where it was, in fact; but -night after night he beheld with a strange -distinctness the big baronial building, and the black -firs, and the gate with the otter's head in stone. -Had that been all! But as regularly there came -forth the tall young girl with the long-flowing -hair; and he was a poor wanderer, cowering away -from recognition; and again she would ride by, -along the white road, until she was lost in the -dappled sun and shadow under the beeches. Then -there was a song somewhere—perhaps it was the -trembling leaves that whispered the refrain—but -it was all about separation, and loneliness, and -the sadness of remembrance and of loss. </span><em class="italics">Chante, -rossignol, chante, toi qui as le coeur gai</em><span>—this was -what he heard, or seemed to hear, away in that -distant land, where he had been left alone ... </span><em class="italics">J'ai -perdu ma maîtresse, sans l'avoir mérité</em><span> ... It was -strange that no birds sang in these woods, that no -lark hung quivering in those skies: all was -silence—save for that continuous murmur of farewell.... -</span><em class="italics">Lui ya longtemps que je t'aime, jamais je ne t'oublierai</em><span>. -And sometimes the murmur rose into a larger -monotone; the big grey building, and the black -firs, and the highway, and the beeches, disappeared; -and behold in their stead was a great breadth of -sea, desolate, and rain-swept, and void of all sign of -life. And was this the barrier now between him -and her? Not merely that she was the heiress of -Balloray, under the guardianship of her implacably -proud old grandfather, but that she was away in -some far land, beyond those never-ending myriad -voices of the deep? ... </span><em class="italics">Pour un bouquet de roses, que -je lui refusai</em><span> ... What wrong had he done her? -What had he denied her, in the time when they -were as boy and girl together—when there was -no thought of her being the heiress of Balloray—when -she used to walk down through Hyde Park, -in her simple dress, and sit on the bench, while her -grandfather read his newspaper? Then the grey -dawn would come; and he would awake to the -knowledge that he had been tortured by mere -phantasies; and yet these left something in his -mind, even during the actual and practical daylight -hours. He begun to wish that there was some -bond—of what nature he had not determined—for -it was all a vague longing and wistful desire—a -bond that could so bind Maisrie and him together -that that great width of sea should not intervene. -For it was a sorrowful kind of thing—even when -the white hours of the daylight told him he had -only seen it in a dream.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But apart from all these dim anxieties and this -haunting unrest, came the strictly matter-of-fact -consideration that within an appreciable time old -George Bethune and his granddaughter would be -returning to the United States. That was no -spectral ocean that would then lie between Maisrie and -him, but three thousand miles of the Atlantic; and -who could tell when the two wanderers might ever -see England again? Nay, had not he himself been -implored to help in bringing about this separation? -Maisrie had begged of him to urge upon her -grandfather the necessity of getting the American book -done first, before setting out on the poetic pilgrimage -through Scotland which was to yield fruit of another -kind; and, of course, if the old man consented, the -first step to be taken was a voyage to New York. -Vincent had drawn many a fancy picture of a little -group of three, wandering away through the rich-hued -autumn days, by "lone St. Mary's silent lake," -or by the banks of the silver Tweed; but now all -that was to be sacrificed; and he himself was to do -what he could towards sending the old man back to -America, and Maisrie with him. Then there would -be no more of the long, quiet days of study, made -happy by anticipations of the evening; no more of -the pleasant little dinners in this or that restaurant; -no more of those wonderful twilights in the little -parlour, with their enchantments of music and happy -converse. London, with Maisrie Bethune three -thousand miles away: that would be a strange -thing—that he could even now hardly imagine to himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nay, it was a thing that he looked forward to -with such an unreasoning dread and dismay that he -began to construct all sorts of mad schemes for -defeating any such possibility; and at last he hit -upon one that seemed more or less practicable, -while it would in the meantime virtually absolve -him from his promise to Maisrie. On the morning -after the meeting of the Mendover Liberal Association, -the two young men were returning to town by -train; and Vincent said to his companion—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You were telling me the other night of the -Scotch newspaper-man whom you got to know in -New York: what did you say his name was?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you mean Hugh Anstruther? I hope I -spoke no ill of him; for an enthusiastic patriotism -such as his is really something to admire in these -days. A capital fellow, Hugh; until I fell across -him in New York I did not know that I had one -virtue transcending all the other virtues, and that -was simply my being a brother Scot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did you say was the name of the paper -that he edits?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The </span><em class="italics">Western Scotsman</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And it was he who gave Mr. Bethune a letter of -introduction to you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But here Lord Musselburgh's manner instantly -changed: he had been answering these questions in -a careless way, looking out of the carriage window -most of the time: now he turned to his companion, -and regarded him with some scrutiny.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do you ask, Vin?" he said. "Do you -want to find out something further about the old man?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vincent's forehead flushed; and his eyes gloomed -dark.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not," he made answer, in distinct tones. "I -thank goodness my nature is not so suspicious. It -seems to me extraordinary that two human beings -who have done nothing in the world to deserve it -should be regarded with a constant mistrust and -doubt. Why? Do you suspect everybody else in -the same way?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, don't say that I suspect them," Lord Musselburgh -exclaimed at once—for he was an exceedingly -good-natured young man and had no wish to offend. -"I don't know them well enough—don't know -anything at all about them, in fact."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You told me yourself that my aunt and you had -been talking them over; and I gathered enough -from what you said," was the younger man's retort.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mrs. Ellison is naturally anxious about anything -that concerns your future, Vin—or seems likely to -concern it," Musselburgh said. "And you should -be the last to object."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I do object," he said, stiffly. "I object -altogether to her canvassing the character of any -friends of mine; and to her putting her doubts and -suspicions and hints about them into any third -person's imaginations. Oh, yes, I could make out -quite clearly what she had been saying. That -night at Henley she came on a visit of inspection; -it was perfectly obvious. And what is more, she -came with the hope of having her suspicions -confirmed; and I suppose she was horribly disappointed -that Maisrie Bethune did not drop her </span><em class="italics">h</em><span>'s, and that -Mr. Bethune did not beg the loan of a sovereign -from her!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why so passionate, Vin—why so indignant?" -his companion put in, glancing at him curiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I say it is a shame—a monstrous -shame," the young man said, with flaming eyes, -"that anyone should be insulted so! Is it their -fault that they have no friends, that they are -unknown, that they are poor? To be wealthy is -to be virtuous, of course; if you have a long -balance at your bankers', you are above suspicion -then; if you have house-boats, and four-in-hands, -and gold plate, you're all right. I suppose," said -he, altering his tone, "that it was on that very -evening—the evening of her inspection—that my -aunt was kind enough to talk over those two friends -of mine with you, and tell you of all the portentous -things she suspected of them. But I presume she -did not repeat to you the very last words she used -to me as she said good-night?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"About what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"About Miss Bethune," said Vincent—though -it cost him an indescribable effort to pronounce her -name.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I believe she did," Lord Musselburgh -admitted. "For she had just come away from -hearing Miss Bethune sing some Canadian song or -another; and she was very much struck; and she -said she had confessed as much to you. Oh, more -than that—I don't precisely remember the words. -But really, Vin, when you come to think of it, you -must acknowledge that there is not much guidance -as to character, or antecedents, or any thing else, -in the mere singing of a song. Mrs. Ellison, who -is always posing as a callous woman of the world, is -really very sympathetic and generous, and -warm-hearted; and she was quite taken captive by the -charm and simplicity of this </span><em class="italics">Claire Fontaine</em><span>—is -that the name of it?—but at the same time I should -not place too great a value—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I quite agree with you," the younger man said, -interrupting without apology. "I place no more -value on my aunt's acquittal and commendation -than on her previous suspicions. And—and—if -you don't mind, Musselburgh, I would rather not -have the question discussed further, nor Miss -Bethune's name mentioned in any way whatsoever."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, but remember I said nothing against her," -Lord Musselburgh finally added, in perfect good -humour. "How could I? I hope your new friends -are all you think them; and as for the young lady, -it is difficult to believe any harm of so refined and -sweet a face. But I hope you won't concern -yourself too much with them, Vin; you have other, and -perhaps more serious, interests in life; and it seems -to me that everything promises well for you. Why, -at this moment, man, don't you know what ought to -be occupying all your attention?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What?" his companion asked—perhaps glad -enough to get away from that delicate topic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At least I know what I should be thinking of -if I were in your shoes. I should be wondering -how much space the editor of the </span><em class="italics">Mendover Weekly -Guardian</em><span> was going to give me on Saturday morning next."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was another editor whom Vincent had in his -mind at that moment. As soon as he got back to -London he wrote and despatched the following -letter, which was addressed to "Hugh Anstruther, -Esq., </span><em class="italics">Western Scotsman</em><span> Office, New York, U.S.A."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>"DEAR SIR,</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope you will be so kind as to -consider the contents of this note as strictly private -and confidential. In a recent conversation with -Lord Musselburgh he informed me that it was you -who had given a letter of introduction to him to -Mr. George Bethune; and from Mr. Bethune -himself I learn that he, Mr. Bethune, is about to bring -out a volume on the Scottish poets in America, as -soon as he can conveniently get the materials -together. But to this end it would appear that -he must revisit the United States and Canada, to -obtain particulars of the lives of the various poets -and verse-writers, and perhaps, also, examples of -their work. Now I wish to ask you, as a friend of -Mr. Bethune's, whether all this fatigue and travel -might not be spared him, supposing there were -some person or persons in this country willing to -defray the cost of having those materials collected -for him. To speak plainly, do you, sir, know of -any writer, connected with the press or otherwise, -who would undertake, for a sufficient consideration, -to bring together biographical memoranda of the -authors in question, along with specimens of their -work, which could be sent over here to Mr. Bethune, -for him to put into shape and issue in book-form? -Mr. Bethune, as you know, is an old man, who must -surely have had enough of travelling; moreover he -has in mind a leisurely ramble through Scotland -which, while also leading to literary results, would -involve much less fatigue than a voyage to the -United States and Canada. I should be greatly -obliged if you would tell me whether you consider -it practicable to collect those materials by deputy; -also, if you know of anyone capable of undertaking -the task; and what remuneration he would probably -require. I beg you to forgive me, a stranger, for -thus appealing to you; but I know you will not -grudge a little trouble for the sake of a friend and -a fellow Scotchman.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<dl class="docutils"> -<dt class="noindent"><span>"Yours faithfully and obediently,</span></dt> -<dd><p class="first last noindent pfirst"><span>"VINCENT HARRIS."</span></p> -</dd> -</dl> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>After sending off that letter the young man's -spirits lightened considerably; he saw there was -still a chance that Maisrie Bethune, her -grandfather, and himself might together set out on that -coveted perambulation of the legend-haunted -districts of the North. And now he and they had -returned to their ordinary mode of life—which -perhaps pleased him better than the ostentatious -festivities of Henley. Here was no staring crowd, -here were no suspicious friends, to break in upon -their close and constant companionship. He rejoiced -in this isolation; he wished for no fourth person at -the quiet little dinners in the restaurants; he had -no desire that anyone should share the privacy -of the hushed small parlour where old George -Bethune loftily discoursed of poetry and philosophy, -of ancient customs and modern manners, and where -Maisrie played pathetic Scotch airs on the violin, -or sang in her low clear voice of </span><em class="italics">le pont d'Avignon</em><span> -or perhaps of </span><em class="italics">Marianson, dame jolie</em><span>. Moreover, he -could not fail to perceive, and that with an -ever-increasing delight, that her old expression of sad -and wistful resignation was gradually being banished -from her eyes; and not only that, but a quite fresh -colour was come into her cheeks, so that the pale -sun-tinge was less perceptible. Perhaps it was the -companionship of one nearer to her own age that -had made a difference in her life; at all events -much of her former shyness was gone; she met his -look frankly, sometimes with a touch of gratitude, -sometimes with simple gladness, as if his mere -presence was something that pleased her. When -she was watering the flowers in the little balcony, -and caught sight of him over the way, she nodded -and smiled: he wondered whether it was that -faint-sun-tinge of the complexion that made her teeth -seem so clearly white. He began to forget those -dreams of a wide intervening sea: this present -existence was so peaceable, and contented, and -happy. And in spite of Maisrie's injunction, those -dreams of Scotland would recur: he saw three -newly-arrived strangers walking along Princes -Street, Edinburgh, in the silver glare of the -morning; and the middle one of the three—looking -away up to the dusky shadows of the Castle -rock—was no other than Maisrie Bethune herself, with -light and gladness shining in her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And what had old George Bethune to say to this -constant association and this fast friendship between -the two young people? Well, old George Bethune -had an admirable capacity for enjoying the present -moment; and so long as the dinner was fairly -cooked and the claret to his taste, so long as he -had a small and faithful audience to listen to his -rhapsodies about Scottish song and Scottish heroism, -and so long as Maisrie's violin was in tune and her -hand as sensitive as ever on the trembling strings, -he did not seem to pay much heed to the future. -Perhaps it was but natural that one who had -wandered so far and wide should welcome a little -peace at last; and perhaps he intentionally blinded -his eyes; at all events the young people were -allowed the utmost freedom of companionship—it -was as if these three formed but one family.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One night, as Vincent was about to leave, the -old gentleman said to him—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"About to-morrow evening: I presume we dine -at Mentavisti's?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, certainly: we've tried a good many -places, and we can't do better than Mentavisti's," -the young man answered—as if it mattered one -brass farthing to him what sort of dinner there was, -or where he got it, so long as Maisrie was at the -same table!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, very well. For this is how I am situated," -said Mr. Bethune, gravely and grandly as befitted -the seriousness of the theme. "I have an -appointment in Jermyn-street at six o'clock. I may be -detained. Now I can undertake to be at Mentavisti's -Restaurant at seven—and when the dinner-hour -is once fixed, to play shilly-shally with it seems -to me abominable—but I am not so sure that -I shall have time to return home first. It will -be better, therefore, and everyway safer, for Maisrie -to come down by herself in a cab—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But mayn't I call for her?" the young man -suggested at once. "You know she would much -rather walk down than drive."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, very well, very well, if you don't mind," -said Mr. Bethune, with a lofty condescension—or -indifference; while Maisrie, instead of being in the -least confused by this proposal, looked up with -perfectly frank and pleased eyes, apparently giving -him a little message of thanks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nor was she in the least embarrassed on the -following evening, when he was ushered upstairs -by the landlady's daughter. Maisrie was alone in -the little parlour, ready-dressed except as regarded -her gloves, and she was putting a final touch to -the few flowers with which she had adorned the -table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good evening," said she, quite placidly. "I -will be with you in a moment, as soon as I have -dried my fingers."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She disappeared for a second, and returned. -He hesitated before accompanying her to the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Won't you give me one of those flowers?" said -he, rather breathlessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She seemed a little surprised.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now that I think of it," she said, "I have never -seen you wear a flower in your coat, as other -gentlemen do. And I'm afraid there isn't one -here nearly fine enough—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you were to give me a flower, I should -not destroy it by wearing it in my coat!" said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, merely a flower?" she asked. She went -to the table. "Will this one do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a white geranium that she handed him, -simply enough: he took out his pocket-book, and -carefully placed it between the leaves. For the -briefest instant she regarded him as if in wonder -that he should seek to preserve so worthless a trifle; -but she made no remark; and then unconcernedly and -cheerfully she led the way downstairs, and together -they passed out into the open street.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a marvellous and bewildering thing to -think that he should be in sole and complete charge -of her, here in the midst of the great and busy -world of London. Did these hurrying people guess -at his proud elation, his new-found sense of -guardianship and responsibility, his anxiety that -all things should be pleasant to her; or had they -hardly time even to notice this beautiful young -creature, her step light as a fawn, fresh colour in -her fair cheeks, happiness radiant in her eyes? -Perhaps they heeded her and the tall and handsome -youth by her side as little as she heeded them; for -indeed she seemed to be entirely engrossed in her -companion, talking, smiling, replying to him without -a shadow of self-consciousness or restraint. To him -this new relationship was an amazing kind of thing: -she did not seem even to perceive it. To him it -was an epoch in his life, to be for ever remembered: -to her—well, nearly every evening she walked out -in similar fashion with her grandfather, and she did -not appear to notice any difference: at least she -showed no sign.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But all at once Maisrie altered her manner; and -that was when he in the lightness of his heart -informed her that there was still a chance of their -setting out on that long contemplated pilgrimage to -the various poetic shrines of Scotland.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Harris," she said, proudly, "you made me -a promise—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I know I did," he said; "but things have -changed, and I'm going to explain to you; and I -think you'll find everything satisfactory. But first -of all, before I begin, I wish you wouldn't call me -'Mr. Harris.' It sounds detestable. You who are -so natural and straightforward in all your -ways—why don't you call me Vincent?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you think that Mr. Vincent might be a -fair compromise?" she asked gently, and with her -eyes lowered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've called you Maisrie once or twice, by -accident, and you didn't seem to mind," he pointed -out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am sure I did not notice," she made answer -at once. "How should I? I am used to nothing else."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I am to be allowed to call you Maisrie?" -said he, clutching eagerly at this new-found -privilege. "And you will call me Vincent—when -you find Mr. Vincent become too formal: is it a -compact?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, it is—Mr. Vincent—if you like," said she, -with a smile. "But why do you make it so very -serious?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because," said he, gravely, "when any solemn -bargain is completed, people shake hands to make -it secure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not in the middle of Oxford-street?" she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We will postpone the ceremony, if you prefer -it; and now I will begin and tell you how it is still -possible we may have that long ramble through -Scotland together. You were anxious that before -anything of the kind were attempted, your -grandfather should go back to the United States to get -materials for his book on the Scottish poets in -America. Well, now, it seems a pity to make such -a long voyage if it can be done without; and so I -have taken the liberty of sending over to New York -to see if there isn't some handy young fellow -there—some clerk or reporter—who would undertake to -collect all the necessary materials, and send them -over here for your grandfather to work up. Then -we could go to Scotland all the same—that is, if -you will let me accompany you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Someone to collect the materials and send them -over?" she repeated; and then she said: "But -would that be fair, Mr. Harris—Mr. Vincent—would -that be honest? Surely not! The book would not -be my grandfather's book at all; properly it would -belong to the young man in New York."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg your pardon," said he, with decision. "He -only supplies the bricks; he does not build the -house. When a Chancellor of the Exchequer -produces his budget, of course he claims it as his own; -but he has got his facts from the heads of departments, -and most likely his quotations have been -hunted out for him by his private secretary. It -would be your grandfather's book, solely and -wholly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But the cost?" she said, after a second. "Supposing -it were practicable, the expense—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, never mind about that," said he, lightly. -"It will be next to nothing—you needn't mind -about that. Our deputy in New York will find -very little difficulty in getting the memoranda that -he wants. There is no sort of unnecessary modesty -about minor poets; they will be glad enough to -give him specimens of their work, as soon as it is -known what he aims at. And in Scotland," he -continued (grown suddenly bold), "don't you see -how it would work? Your grandfather must have -an occasional morning to give to his MSS; then -you and I could leave him in absolute peace and -quiet; and we might go away for a stroll up to -Arthur's Seat, or round the ramparts of the Castle, -and return to him by lunch-time. Wouldn't that -be an excellent arrangement?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, that would be very nice indeed," said she, -with a pleased expression: she seemed to look -forward to this close and constant companionship as -the most natural thing in the world.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And in fact so sanguine was the young man about -the success of his new scheme that, when the three -of them were seated at a small table in Mentavisti's -Restaurant, he ventured to hint to old George -Bethune his fond hope that he might be allowed -to join in that prolonged excursion through -Scotland; and the old man at once acquiesced.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes, why not?" he said; and then he went -on, absently: "Yet my nerve is not what it was. -Sometimes I hesitate. It would grieve me more -than I can say if Maisrie here were to be -disappointed. It is a long time since I was in the -country; perhaps I remember only the beautiful -things; and it is only of these she has heard me -talk. When Sturrock thinks of the old home, the -dappled hills shine for him: you remember, -Maisrie?—</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>'Oh native land! Oh cherished home,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>I've sailed across the sea,</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>And, though my wandering footsteps roam,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>My heart still turns to thee!</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>My thoughts and dreams are sweet and bright</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>With dew which love distils;</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>While every gleam of golden light</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Falls on the Scottish hills.'</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>He forgets the mists and the rain and the darkened -days. And you, Maisrie, you have been brought -up under fair blue skies; you have never learnt -how sombre days and wild and driving clouds stir -the imagination; perhaps, if you stood in the very -street where the 'bonnie Earl o' Moray came -sounding through the town,' you would see only the wet -pavements and the dull windows; and you might -turn to me and say 'Is this what you have talked -about to me, grandfather?'" Then all of a sudden -he seemed to throw off this despondent fit as by -a violent effort. "No, no!" said he, in quite a -different tone. "I will not believe but that there -are still yellow cornfields and silver lakes in bonnie -Scotland, and the lark singing as high in the -heavens as when Tannahill, or Hogg, or Motherwell -paused to listen. I will show you the red rowans -hanging from the mountain crag, and the golden -bracken down by the side of the burn; and if we -go still further away—to the lonely islands of the -western seas—then you must learn to forget the -soft prettiness of the sunnier south, and to let -the mysterious charm of isolation hold you, and -the majesty of the darkened mountains, and the -pathetic beauty of the wandering veils of rain. I -would sooner forget the mother that bore me," he -said, with a proud ring in his voice, "than believe -that bonnie Scotland had lost her glamour and -wonder and fascination. And you would be no -holiday-tourist, Maisrie; you belong by blood to -the 'land of wild weather'; and imagination is part -of the dowry of youth. No, no; I do not fear. -I—I made a mistake when I said I was afraid—I am -not afraid of you, Maisrie—not afraid of you—you -have the fine sympathy, the intelligence, the quick -imagination that I can trust—I am not afraid of -you, Maisrie——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You need not be afraid, grandfather," the girl -said, gently—for she saw that he was somewhat -disturbed. "Why should you be afraid, -grandfather? I shall be looking with your eyes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the curious thing was that despite all this -talking about the projected pilgrimage, it never -seemed to come any nearer. No mention of a date -or even of any approximate time, was ever made. -In like manner, their return to America, though the -old gentleman spoke of it now and again as a fixed -and definite and necessary thing, kept receding -backwards and backwards into a perfectly nebulous -future. The present moment was everything to old -George Bethune, whether he was engaged with a -roe-deer cutlet at a restaurant in Regent-street, or -lighting his pipe and mixing his toddy on his -return home, while he was descanting on Barbour, -and Drummond, and Sir David Lindesay, or Ramsay, -and Ferguson, and Burns. People were beginning -to leave town; Vincent had received, and -declined, an invitation to join a big house-party in -Argyllshire, notwithstanding that it was to the -same house that Mrs. Ellison and Lord -Musselburgh were going; but old George Bethune and -his granddaughter appeared to pay no heed to the -changing times and seasons; their placid, uneventful -life seemed quite enough for them. And was it -not enough for this young man also, who had been -admitted to be their constant associate and friend? -Why should he vex himself about literary schemes -that were none of his devising? Day by day he -waved a good-morning to Maisrie as she came to -water her flowers, and an answer came from her -smiling eyes; sometimes he walked out into the -parks in the afternoon, with her grandfather and -herself, and ever he rejoiced to see that the fine -peach-bloom on her cheek was surmounting the -sun-tinge that had been left there by travel; then -in the evening they had all London to choose from, -as to where they should dine, with a quiet stroll -homeward thereafter, to music, and dominoes, and -careless talk. What more? The great outer world -might go on its way, and welcome.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Master Vin was about to be startled out of -this dreamful ease. At last there came an answer -to the communication he had sent to the editor of -the Western Scotsman, with many apologies for -unavoidable delay: Mr. Anstruther, it appeared, had -been in Canada, taking his annual holiday among -his kinsmen and countrymen there.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"I must say your letter has astonished me beyond -measure," the writer went on, "and I would fain -believe that there is some great mistake somewhere, -which is capable of explanation. It is quite true -that when I gave my venerable friend Mr. Bethune -a note of introduction to Lord Musselburgh, I was -aware that he had in view various literary projects—in -fact, his brain teems with them as if he were a -young man of five-and-twenty—the </span><em class="italics">perfervidum -ingenium Scotorum</em><span> in his case has taken hold of his -imagination; but I cannot understand how he could -have included in these the publication of a volume -on the Scottish poets in America, for the simple -reason that he must have known that such a work -was not only in progress here, but that it was near -completion. Why, I myself showed Mr. Bethune -proofs of the early sheets of this volume; for the -author is a particular friend of mine; and as it was -being set up, he used to send me the sheets as they -were printed; and Mr. Bethune being in the habit -of calling at my office, I not only showed them to -him, but I fancy I let him take some of them away, -that he might read them at his leisure. How he -should now propose to bring out a similar work—and -bespeak Lord Musselburgh's patronage for it, as -I presume he did—passes my comprehension, except -on the ground that, being an old man, he may have -suffered from some temporary attack of mental -aberration and forgetfulness. I would rather believe -this than that a man whom I had taken for a -thorough Scot, loyal and true to the backbone, and -proud of his country and of his own name and -lineage, should be endeavouring to supplant another -worker who is already in possession of the field. -However, no actual harm can be done; for the -volume I speak of is on the eve of publication, and -no doubt it will be issued simultaneously in -England. That is all I have to say, on a subject which -at present seems to me to have something of a -painful aspect—though I hope a satisfactory explanation -may be forthcoming. In conclusion may I beg of -you to keep this letter private? The facts are as I -have stated; but I would rather Mr. Bethune did -not know you had them from me.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<dl class="docutils"> -<dt class="noindent"><span>"Yours faithfully,</span></dt> -<dd><p class="first last noindent pfirst"><span>"HUGH ANSTRUTHER."</span></p> -</dd> -</dl> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>For some time Vincent sat with this letter in his -hand, in a sort of stupefaction. Curiously enough -his first question to himself was—What if -Mrs. Ellison should get to know?—would she not -triumphantly declare that her worst suspicions had been -confirmed? That was but a first thought. There -must be some explanation! He had not associated -so continually with George Bethune—he had not -heard the old man's voice thrill with proud emotion -as he spoke of Scotland's hills and dales—he had not -seen his eyes fill with unbidden tears as he talked of -his granddaughter and the loneliness that might be -in store for her—all for nothing: not at once could -he be convinced that this old man was a mere -charlatan, a thief, a begging-letter impostor. But -he had been startled; and when he reached his -lodgings in that small thoroughfare, he hardly -dared look across the way: he knew not what to -think.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">END OF VOL. I.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, -<br />STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 6em"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="backmatter"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst" id="pg-end-line"><span>*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON! 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