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authornfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org>2025-03-03 11:32:33 -0800
committernfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org>2025-03-03 11:32:33 -0800
commit534e8275fa00a4d272845421a9f3df4647b380b8 (patch)
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-</style>
-<title>WHITE WINGS, VOLUME II</title>
-<meta name="PG.Rights" content="Public Domain" />
-<meta name="PG.Title" content="White Wings, Volume II (of 3)" />
-<meta name="PG.Producer" content="Al Haines" />
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-<meta name="DC.Creator" content="William Black" />
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-<meta name="DC.Title" content="White Wings, Volume II A Yachting Romance" />
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-<meta content="2013-09-28T00:10:53.632323+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/43829" rel="DCTERMS.isFormatOf" />
-<meta content="William Black" name="DCTERMS.creator" />
-<meta content="2013-09-27" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.created" />
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-<meta content="EpubMaker 0.3.20a7 by Marcello Perathoner &lt;webmaster@gutenberg.org&gt;" name="generator" />
-</head>
-<body>
-<div class="document" id="white-wings-volume-ii">
-<h1 class="center document-title level-1 pfirst title"><span class="x-large">WHITE WINGS, VOLUME II</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: White Wings, Volume II
-<br /> A Yachting Romance
-<br />
-<br />Author: William Black
-<br />
-<br />Release Date: September 27, 2013 [EBook #43829]
-<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>WHITE WINGS, VOLUME II (OF 3)</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">
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="x-large">WHITE WINGS:</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="large">A Yachting Romance.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">BY</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">WILLIAM BLACK,</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">AUTHOR OF "THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A PHAETON,"
-<br />"GREEN PASTURES AND PICCADILLY," ETC.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics medium">IN THREE VOLUMES</em></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">VOL. II.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">London:
-<br />MACMILLAN AND CO.
-<br />1880.</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics small">The Right of Translation and Reproduction is Reserved.</em></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="align-None container verso">
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">LONDON:
-<br />R. CLAY, SONS, AND TAYLOR.
-<br />BREAD STREET HILL.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CONTENTS.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span>CHAPTER I.</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="reference internal" href="#villany-abroad">VILLANY ABROAD</a></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span>CHAPTER II.</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="reference internal" href="#an-ultimatum">AN ULTIMATUM</a></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span>CHAPTER III.</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-new-suitor">THE NEW SUITOR</a></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span>CHAPTER IV.</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="reference internal" href="#chasing-a-thunderstorm">CHASING A THUNDERSTORM</a></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span>CHAPTER V.</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="reference internal" href="#chasing-seals">CHASING SEALS</a></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span>CHAPTER VI.</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="reference internal" href="#uncertain-coy-and-hard-to-please">"UNCERTAIN, COY, AND HARD TO PLEASE"</a></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span>CHAPTER VII.</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="reference internal" href="#secret-schemes">SECRET SCHEMES</a></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span>CHAPTER VIII.</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="reference internal" href="#before-breakfast">BEFORE BREAKFAST</a></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span>CHAPTER IX.</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-protector">A PROTECTOR</a></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span>CHAPTER X.</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="reference internal" href="#mary-mary">"MARY, MARY!"</a></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span>CHAPTER XI.</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="reference internal" href="#an-unspoken-appeal">AN UNSPOKEN APPEAL</a></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span>CHAPTER XII.</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="reference internal" href="#his-lordship">HIS LORDSHIP</a></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span>CHAPTER XIII.</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-laird-s-plans">THE LAIRD'S PLANS</a></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span>CHAPTER XIV.</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-sunday-in-far-solitudes">A SUNDAY IN FAR SOLITUDES</a></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span>CHAPTER XV.</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="reference internal" href="#hidden-springs">HIDDEN SPRINGS</a></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="villany-abroad"><span class="bold x-large">WHITE WINGS:</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">A Yachting Romance.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER I.</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">VILLANY ABROAD.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>It is near mid-day; two late people are sitting
-at breakfast; the skylight overhead has
-been lifted, and the cool sea-air fills the saloon.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Dead calm again," says Angus Sutherland,
-for he can see the rose-red ensign hanging limp
-from the mizen-mast, a blaze of colour against
-the still blue.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There is no doubt that the </span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span> is
-quite motionless; and that a perfect silence
-reigns around her. That is why we can hear
-so distinctly—through the open skylight—the
-gentle footsteps of two people who are pacing
-up and down the deck, and the soft voice of one
-of them as she speaks to her friend. What is
-all this wild enthusiasm about, then?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is the noblest profession in the world!"
-we can hear so much as she passes the skylight.
-"One profession lives by fomenting quarrels;
-and another studies the art of killing in every
-form; but this one lives only to heal—only to
-relieve the suffering and help the miserable.
-That is the profession I should belong to, if I
-were a man!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Our young Doctor says nothing as the voice
-recedes; but he is obviously listening for the
-return walk along the deck. And here she
-comes again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The patient drudgery of such a life is quite
-heroic—whether he is a man of science,
-working day and night to find out things for the
-good of the world, nobody thanking him or
-caring about him, or whether he is a physician
-in practice with not a minute that can be called
-his own—liable to be summoned at any hour——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The voice again becomes inaudible. It is
-remarked to this young man that Mary Avon
-seems to have a pretty high opinion of the
-medical profession.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"She herself," he says hastily, with a touch
-of colour in his face, "has the patience and
-fortitude of a dozen doctors."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Once more the light tread on deck comes
-near the skylight.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If I were the Government," says Mary
-Avon, warmly, "I should be ashamed to see
-so rich a country as England content to take
-her knowledge second-hand from the German
-Universities; while such men as Dr. Sutherland
-are harassed and hampered in their proper
-work by having to write articles and do
-ordinary doctor's visiting. I should be ashamed.
-If it is a want of money, why don't they pack
-off a dozen or two of the young noodles who
-pass the day whittling quills in the Foreign
-Office?——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Even when modified by the distance, and by
-the soft lapping of the water outside, this seems
-rather strong language for a young lady. Why
-should Miss Avon again insist in such a warm
-fashion on the necessity of endowing research?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But Angus Sutherland's face is burning red.
-Listeners are said to hear ill of themselves.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"However, Dr. Sutherland is not likely to
-complain," she says, proudly, as she comes by
-again. "No; he is too proud of his
-profession. He does his work; and leaves the
-appreciation of it to others. And when everybody
-knows that he will one day be among the most
-famous men in the country, is it not monstrous
-that he should be harassed by drudgery in the
-meantime? If I were the Government——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But Angus Sutherland cannot suffer this to
-go on. He leaves his breakfast unfinished,
-passes along the saloon, and ascends the
-companion.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Good morning!" he says.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, are you up already?" his hostess
-says. "We have been walking as lightly as
-we could, for we thought you were both asleep.
-And Mary has been heaping maledictions on
-the head of the Government because it doesn't
-subsidise all you microscope-men. The next
-thing she will want is a licence for the whole of
-you to be allowed to vivisect criminals."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I heard something of what Miss Avon
-said," he admitted.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The girl, looking rather aghast, glanced at
-the open skylight.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We thought you were asleep," she stammered,
-and with her face somewhat flushed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"At least, I heard you say something about
-the Government," he said, kindly. "Well, all
-I ask from the Government is to give me a trip
-like this every summer."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What," says his hostess, "with a barometer
-that won't fall?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't mind."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And seas like glass?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't mind."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And the impossibility of getting back to land?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"So much the better," he says defiantly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why," she reminds him, laughing, "you
-were very anxious about getting back some
-days ago. What has made you change your
-wishes?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He hesitates for a moment, and then he says—</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe a sort of madness of idleness has
-got possession of me. I have dallied so long
-with that tempting invitation of yours to stay
-and see the </span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span> through the equinoctials
-that—that I think I really must give in——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You cannot help yourself," his hostess says,
-promptly. "You have already promised. Mary
-is my witness."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The witness seems anxious to avoid being
-brought into this matter; she turns to the
-Laird quickly, and asks him some question
-about Ru-na-Gaul light over there.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Ru-na-Gaul light no doubt it is—shining
-white in the sun at the point of the great cliffs;
-and there is the entrance to Tobbermorry; and
-here is Mingary Castle—brown ruins amid the
-brilliant greens of those sloping shores—and
-there are the misty hills over Loch Sunart.
-For the rest, blue seas around us, glassy and
-still; and blue skies overhead, cloudless and
-pale. The barometer refuses to budge.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But suddenly there is a brisk excitement.
-What though the breeze that is darkening the
-water there is coming on right ahead?—we
-shall be moving any way. And as the first
-puffs of it catch the sails, Angus Sutherland
-places Mary Avon in command; and she is
-now—by the permission of her travelling
-physician—allowed to stand as she guides the
-course of the vessel. She has become an
-experienced pilot: the occasional glance at the
-leach of the top-sail is all that is needed; she
-keeps as accurately "full and by" as the master
-of one of the famous cuptakers.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, Mary," says her hostess, "it all depends
-on you as to whether Angus will catch
-the steamer this evening."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, does it?" she says, with apparent innocence.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes; we shall want very good steering to
-get within sight of Castle Osprey before the
-evening."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, then," says this audacious person.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At the same instant she deliberately puts
-the helm down. Of course the yacht directly
-runs up to the wind, her sails flapping
-helplessly. Everybody looks surprised; and John
-of Skye, thinking that the new skipper has
-only been a bit careless, calls out—</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Keep her full, mem, if you please."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean, Mary? What are
-you about?" cries Queen T.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not going to be responsible for
-sending Dr. Sutherland away," she says, in
-a matter-of-fact manner, "since he says he is
-in no hurry to go. If you wish to drive your
-guest away, I won't be a party to it. I mean
-to steer as badly as I can."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I depose you," says Dr. Sutherland
-promptly. "I cannot have a pilot who
-disobeys orders."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well," she says, "you may take the
-tiller yourself"—and she goes away, and sits
-down in high dudgeon, by the Laird.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>So once more we get the vessel under way;
-and the breeze is beginning to blow somewhat
-more briskly; and we notice with hopefulness
-that there is rougher water further down the
-Sound. But with this slow process of beating,
-how are we to get within sight of Castle
-Osprey before the great steamer comes up
-from the South?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Laird is puzzling over the Admiralty
-Sailing Directions. The young lady, deeply
-offended, who sits beside him, pays him great
-attention, and talks "at" the rest of the
-passengers with undisguised contempt.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is all haphazard, the sailing of a yacht,"
-she says to him, though we can all hear.
-"Anybody can do it. But they make a
-jargon about it to puzzle other people, and
-pretend it is a science, and all that."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," says the Laird, who is quite unaware
-of the fury that fills her brain, "there
-are some of the phrases in this book that
-are verra extraordinary. In navigating this
-same Sound of Mull, they say you are to
-keep the 'weather shore aboard.' How can
-ye keep the weather shore aboard?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed, if we don't get into a port soon,"
-remarks our hostess and chief commissariat-officer,
-"it will be the only thing we shall
-have on board. How would you like it
-cooked, Mary?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I won't speak to any of you," says the
-disgraced skipper, with much composure.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you sing to us, then?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you behave properly if you are
-reinstated in command?" asks Angus Sutherland.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I will," she says, quite humbly; and
-forthwith she is allowed to have the tiller
-again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Brisker and brisker grows the breeze; it
-is veering to the south, too; the sea is rising,
-and with it the spirits of everybody on board.
-The ordinarily sedate and respectable </span><em class="italics">White
-Dove</em><span> is showing herself a trifle frisky,
-moreover; an occasional clatter below of
-hairbrushes or candlesticks tells us that people
-accustomed to calms fall into the habit of
-leaving their cabins ill-arranged.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There will be more wind, sir," says John
-of Skye, coming aft; and he is looking at
-some long and streaky "mare's tails" in the
-south-western sky. "And if there wass a gale
-o' wind, I would let her have it!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Why that grim ferocity of look, Captain
-John? Is the poor old </span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span> responsible
-for the too fine weather, that you would like
-to see her driven, all wet and bedraggled,
-before a south-westerly gale? If you must
-quarrel with something, quarrel with the
-barometer; you may admonish it with a
-belaying-pin if you please.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Brisker and brisker grows the breeze. Now
-we hear the first pistol-shots of the spray
-come rattling over the bows; and Hector of
-Moidart has from time to time to duck his
-head, or shake the water from his jersey. The
-</span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span> breasts these rushing waves and
-a foam of white water goes hissing away from
-either side of her. Speine Mor and Speine
-Beg we leave behind; in the distance we can
-descry the ruins of Aros Castle and the deep
-indentation of Salen Bay; here we are passing
-the thick woods of Funeray. "</span><em class="italics">Farewell,
-farewell, to Funeray!</em><span>" The squally look in
-the south-west increases; the wind veers
-more and more. Commander Mary Avon is
-glad to resign the helm, for it is not easy to
-retain hold in these plunging seas.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, you will catch the steamer after all,
-Angus!" says his hostess, as we go tearing by
-the mouth of Loch Aline.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"This is a good one for the last!" he calls
-to her. "Give her some more sheet, John;
-the wind is going round to the north!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Whence comes the whirling storm in the
-midst of the calm summer weather? The
-blue heavens are as blue as the petal of a
-crane'sbill: surely such a sky has nothing to
-do with a hurricane. But wherever it comes
-from, it is welcome enough; and the brave
-</span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span> goes driving through those heavy
-seas, sometimes cresting them buoyantly, at
-other times meeting them with a dull shock,
-followed by a swish of water that rushes
-along the lee scuppers. And those two
-women-folk—without ulsters or other
-covering: it is a merry game to play jack-in-the-box,
-and duck their heads under the shelter
-of the gig when the spray springs into the
-air. But somehow the sea gets the best of
-it. Laugh as they may, they must be feeling
-rather damp about their hair; and as for
-Mary Avon's face—that has got a bath of
-salt-water at least a dozen times. She cares
-not. Sun, wind and sea she allows to do
-their worst with her complexion. Soon we
-shall have to call her the Nut-brown Maid.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Brisker and brisker grows the breeze. Angus
-Sutherland, with a rope round the tiller, has his
-teeth set hard: he is indeed letting the </span><em class="italics">White
-Dove</em><span> have it at last, for he absolutely
-refuses to have the topsail down. The main
-tack, then: might not that be hauled up?
-No; he will have none of John of Skye's
-counsels. The </span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span> tears her way
-through the water—we raise a cloud of birds
-from the rocks opposite Scallasdale—we see
-the white surf breaking in at Craignure—ahead
-of us is Lismore Lighthouse, perched over
-the whirling and struggling tides, shining white
-in the sunlight above the dark and driven sea.</span></p>
-<blockquote>
-<div>
-<div class="line-block outermost">
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">Ahead she goes; the land she knows!</em></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</blockquote>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>—past the shadowy ruins of Duart, and out
-and through the turbulent tides off the
-lighthouse rocks. The golden afternoon is not yet
-far advanced; let but this brave breeze
-continue, and soon they will descry the </span><em class="italics">White
-Dove</em><span> from the far heights of Castle Osprey!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But there was to be no Castle Osprey for
-Angus Sutherland that evening, despite the
-splendid run the </span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span> had made. It
-was a race, indeed, between the yacht and the
-steamer for the quay; and notwithstanding that
-Mary Avon was counselling everybody to give
-it up as impossible, John of Skye would hold
-to it in the hope of pleasing Dr. Sutherland
-himself. And no sooner was the anchor let
-go in the bay, than the gig was down from the
-davits; the men had jumped in; the solitary
-portmanteau was tossed into the stern; and
-Angus Sutherland was hurriedly bidding his
-adieux. The steamer was at this instant
-slowing into the quay.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I forbid any one to say good-bye to him,"
-says our Admiral-in-chief, sternly. "</span><em class="italics">Au
-revoir—auf Wiedersehen</em><span>—anything you like—no
-good-bye."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Last of all he took Mary Avon's hand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You have promised, you know," she said,
-with her eyes cast down.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said he, regarding her for an instant
-with a strange look—earnest perhaps, and yet
-timid—as if it would ask a question, and dared
-not—"I will keep my promise." Then he
-jumped into the boat.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>That was a hard pull away to the quay;
-and even in the bay the water was rough, so
-that the back-sweep of the oars sometimes
-caught the waves and sent the spray flying
-in the wind. The </span><em class="italics">Chevalier</em><span> had rung her
-bells. We made sure he would be too late.
-What was the reason of this good-natured
-indulgence? We lost sight of the gig in at
-the landing-slip.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then the great steamer slowly steamed away
-from the quay: who was that on the paddle-box
-waving good-bye to us?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, I can see him plainly," calls out
-Queen T., looking through a glass; and there
-is a general waving of handkerchiefs in reply
-to the still visible signal. Mary Avon waves
-her handkerchief, too—in a limp fashion. We
-do not look at her eyes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And when the gig came back, and we bade
-good-bye for the time to the brave old </span><em class="italics">White
-Dove</em><span>, and set out for Castle Osprey, she was
-rather silent. In vain did the Laird tell her
-some of the very best ones about Homesh;
-she seemed anxious to get into the house and
-to reach the solitude of her own room.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But in the meantime there was a notable
-bundle of letters, newspapers, and what not,
-lying on the hall-table. This was the first
-welcome that civilisation gave us. And
-although we defied these claims—and determined
-that not an envelope should be opened
-till after dinner—Mary Avon, having only one
-letter awaiting her, was allowed to read that.
-She did it mechanically, listlessly—she was
-not in very good spirits. But suddenly we
-heard her utter some slight exclamation; and
-then we turned and saw that there was a
-strange look on her face—of dismay and dread.
-She was pale, too, and bewildered—like one
-stunned. Then without a word, she handed
-the letter to her friend.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What is the matter, Mary?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But she read the letter—and, in her
-amazement, she repeated the reading of it, aloud.
-It was a brief, business-like, and yet friendly
-letter, from the manager of a certain bank in
-London. He said he was sorry to refer to
-painful matters; but no doubt Miss Avon had
-seen in the papers some mention of the
-absconding of Mr. Frederick Smethurst, of
-——. He hoped there was nothing wrong;
-but he thought it right to inform Miss Avon
-that, a day or two before this disappearance,
-Mr. Smethurst had called at the bank and
-received, in obedience to her written
-instructions, the securities—U.S. Funded
-Stock—which the bank held in her name.
-Mr. Smethurst had explained that these bonds
-were deliverable to a certain broker; and that
-securities of a like value would be deposited
-with the bank in a day or two afterwards.
-Since then nothing had been heard of him till
-the Hue and Cry appeared in the newspapers.
-Such was the substance of the letter.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But it isn't true!" said Mary Avon, almost
-wildly. "I cannot believe it. I will not
-believe it. I saw no announcement in the
-papers. And I did give him the letter—he
-was acting quite rightly. What do they want
-me to believe?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Mary!" cries her friend, "why did you
-not tell us? Have you parted with everything?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The money?" says the girl—with her white
-face, and frightened pathetic eyes. "Oh, I
-do not care about the money! It has got
-nothing to do with the money. But—but—he—was
-my mother's only brother."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The lips tremble for a moment; but she
-collects herself. Her courage fights through
-the stun of this sudden blow.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I will not believe it!" she says. "How
-dare they say such things of him? How is
-it we have never seen anything of it in the papers?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But the Laird leaves these and other wild
-questions to be answered at leisure. In the
-meantime, his eyes are burning like coals of
-fire; and he is twisting his hands together
-in a vain endeavour to repress his anger and
-indignation.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell them to put a horse to," he says in
-a voice the abruptness of which startles every
-one. "I want to drive to the telegraph-office.
-This is a thing for men to deal wi'—not weemen."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="an-ultimatum"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER II.</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">AN ULTIMATUM.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>When our good friend the Laird of
-Denny-mains came back from the post-office, he
-seemed quite beside himself with wrath. And
-yet his rage was not of the furious and
-loquacious sort; it was reticent, and deep,
-and dangerous. He kept pacing up and down
-the gravel-path in front of the house, while as
-yet dinner was not ready. Occasionally he
-would rub his hands vehemently, as if to get
-rid of some sort of electricity; and once or
-twice we heard him ejaculate to himself,
-"The scoondrel! The scoondrel!" It was
-in vain that our gentle Queen Titania, always
-anxious to think the best of everybody, broke
-in on these fierce meditations, and asked the
-Laird to suspend his judgment. How could
-he be sure, she asked, that Frederick
-Smethurst had really run away with his niece's
-little property? He had come to her and
-represented that he was in serious difficulties;
-that this temporary loan of seven thousand
-pounds or so would save him; that he
-would repay her directly certain remittances
-came to him from abroad. How could he,
-the Laird, know that Frederick Smethurst
-did not mean to keep his promise?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But Denny-mains would have none of
-these possibilities. He saw the whole story
-clearly. He had telegraphed for confirmation;
-but already he was convinced. As for
-Frederick Smethurst being a swindler—that
-did not concern him, he said. As for the
-creditors, that was their own look-out: men
-in business had to take their chance. But
-that this miscreant, this ruffian, this mean
-hound should have robbed his own niece of
-her last farthing—and left her absolutely
-without resources or protection of any kind in the
-world—this it was that made the Laird's eyes
-burn with a dark fire. "The scoondrel!—the
-scoondrel!" he said; and he rubbed his hands
-as though he would wrench the fingers off.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>We should have been more surprised at
-this exhibition of rage on the part of a person
-so ordinarily placid as Denny-mains, but that
-every one had observed how strong had
-become his affection for Mary Avon during our
-long days on the Atlantic. If she had been
-twenty times his own daughter he could not
-have regarded her with a greater tenderness.
-He had become at once her champion and
-her slave. When there was any playful
-quarrel between the young lady and her
-hostess, he took the side of Mary Avon with
-a seriousness that soon disposed of the
-contest. He studied her convenience to the
-smallest particular when she wished to paint
-on deck; and so far from hinting that he
-would like to have Tom Galbraith revise and
-improve her work, he now said that he would
-have pride in showing her productions to that
-famous artist. And perhaps it was not quite
-so much the actual fact of the stealing of the
-money as the manner and circumstance of it
-that now wholly upset his equilibrium, and
-drove him into this passion of rage. "The
-scoondrel!—the scoondrel!" he muttered to
-himself, in these angry pacings to and fro.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then he surprised his hostess by suddenly
-stopping short, and uttering some brief chuckle
-of laughter.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg your pardon, ma'am," said he, "for
-the leeberty I have taken; but I was at the
-telegraph-office in any case; and I thought
-ye would not mind my sending for my
-nephew Howard. Ye were so good as to say——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, we shall be most pleased to see him,"
-said she promptly. "I am sure he must have
-heard us talking about the yacht; he will not
-mind a little discomfort——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He will have to take what is given him,
-and be thankful," said the Laird, sharply.
-"In my opeenion the young people of the
-present day are too much given to picking and
-choosing. They will not begin as their parents
-began. Only the best of everything is good
-enough for them."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But here the Laird checked himself.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, ma'am," said he. "My nephew
-Howard is not like that. He is a good lad—a
-sensible lad. And as for his comfort on
-board that yacht, I'm thinking it's not that,
-but the opposite, he has to fear most. Ye
-are spoiling us all—the crew included."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Now we must go in to dinner," is the
-practical answer.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Has she come down?" asks the Laird, in
-a whisper.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose so."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In the drawing-room we found Mary Avon.
-She was rather pale, and silent—that was all;
-and she seemed to wish to avoid observation.
-But when dinner was announced the Laird
-went over to her, and took her hand, and led
-her into the dining-room, just as he might
-have led a child. And he arranged her chair
-for her; and patted her on the back as he
-passed on, and said cheerfully—</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite right—quite right—don't believe all
-the stories ye hear. </span><em class="italics">Nil desperandum</em><span>—we're
-not beaten down yet!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She sate cold and white, with her eyes cast
-down. He did not know that in the interval
-her hostess had been forced to show the girl
-that paragraph of the Hue and Cry.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Nil desperandum</em><span>—that's it," continued the
-good-hearted Laird, in his blithest manner.
-"Keep your own conscience clear, and let
-other people do as they please—that is the
-philosophy of life. That is what Dr. Sutherland
-would say to ye, if he was here."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>This chance reference to Angus Sutherland
-was surely made with the best intentions;
-but it produced a strange effect on the girl.
-For an instant or two she tried to maintain
-her composure—though her lips trembled;
-then she gave way, and bent her head, and
-burst out crying, and covered her face with
-her hands. Of course her kind friend and
-hostess was with her in a moment, and soothed
-her, and caressed her, and got her to dry her
-eyes. Then the Laird said, after a second or
-two of inward struggle—</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, do you know that there is a steamer
-run on the rocks at the mouth of Loch Etive?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes," his hostess—who had resumed
-her seat—said cheerfully. "That is a good
-joke. They say the captain wanted to be
-very clever; and would not have a pilot,
-though he knows nothing about the coast.
-So he thought he would keep mid-channel in
-going into the Loch!".</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Laird looked puzzled: where was the joke?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," said she, noticing his bewilderment,
-"don't you know that at the mouth of Loch
-Etive the rocks are right in the middle, and
-the channel on each side? He chose precisely
-the straight line for bringing his vessel full
-tilt on the rocks!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>So this was the joke, then: that a valuable
-ship should be sunk? But it soon became
-apparent that any topic was of profound
-interest—was exceedingly facetious even—that
-could distract Mary Avon's attention. They
-would not let her brood over this thing. They
-would have found a joke in a coffin. And
-indeed amidst all this talking and laughing
-Mary Avon brightened up considerably; and
-took her part bravely; and seemed to have
-forgotten all about her uncle and his evil deeds.
-You could only have guessed from a certain
-preoccupation that, from time to time, these
-words must have been appearing before her
-mind, their commonplace and matter-of-fact
-phraseology in no way detracting from their
-horrible import: "</span><em class="italics">Police-officers and others are
-requested to make immediate search and inquiry
-for the above named; and those stationed at
-seaport towns are particularly requested to search
-outward-bound vessels.</em><span>" The description of
-Mr. Frederick Smethurst that preceded this
-injunction was not very flattering.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But among all the subjects, grave and gay,
-on which the Laird touched during this repast,
-there was none he was so serious and
-pertinacious about as the duty owed by young
-people to their parents and guardians. It did
-not seem an opportune topic. He might, for
-example, have enlarged upon the duties of
-guardians towards their helpless and
-unprotected wards. However, on this matter he
-was most decided. He even cross-examined
-his hostess, with an unusual sternness, on the
-point. What was the limit—was there any
-limit—she would impose on the duty which
-young folks owed to those who were their
-parents or who stood to them in the relation
-of parents? Our sovereign mistress, a little
-bit frightened, said she had always found her
-boys obedient enough. But this would not
-do. Considering the care and affection
-bestowed on them—considering the hardly-earned
-wealth spent on them—considering the easy
-fortune offered to them—was it not bounden
-on young people to consult and obey the
-wishes of those who had done so much for
-them? She admitted that such was the case.
-Pressed to say where the limit of such duty
-should lie, she said there was hardly any. So
-far good; and the Laird was satisfied.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was not until two days afterwards that we
-obtained full information by letter of what was
-known regarding the proceedings of Frederick
-Smethurst, who, it appears, before he bolted,
-had laid hands on every farthing of money he
-could touch, and borrowed from the credulous
-among his friends; so that there remained no
-reasonable doubt that the story he had told
-his niece was among his other deceptions, and
-that she was left penniless. No one was
-surprised. It had been almost a foregone
-conclusion. Mary Avon seemed to care little
-about it; the loss of her fortune was less to
-her than the shame and dishonour that this
-scoundrel had brought on her mother's name.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But this further news only served to stir up
-once more the Laird's slumbering wrath. He
-kept looking at his watch.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"She'll be off Easdale now," said he to
-himself; and we knew he was speaking of
-the steamer that was bringing his nephew
-from the south.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>By and by—"She'll be near Kerrara, now,"
-he said, aloud. "Is it not time to drive to
-the quay?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was not time, but we set out. There was
-the usual crowd on the quay when we got
-there; and far off we could descry the red
-funnels and the smoke of the steamer. Mary
-Avon had not come with us.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What a beautiful day your nephew must
-have had for his sail from the Crinan," said
-the Laird's gentle hostess to him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Did he not hear her? Or was he absorbed
-in his own thoughts? His answer, at all
-events, was a strange one.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is the first time I have asked anything
-of him," he said almost gloomily. "I have
-a right to expect him to do something for me
-now."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The steamer slows in; the ropes are thrown
-across; the gangways run up; and the crowd
-begins to pour out. And here is a tall and
-handsome young fellow who comes along with
-a pleasant smile of greeting on his face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How do you do, Mr. Smith?" says Queen
-T., very graciously—but she does not call
-him "Howard" as she calls Dr. Sutherland
-"Angus."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, uncle," says he, brightly, when he
-has shaken hands all round, "what is the
-meaning of it all? Are you starting for
-Iceland in a hurry? I have brought a rifle as
-well as my breechloader. But perhaps I had
-better wait to be invited?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>This young man with the clear, pale complexion,
-and the dark hair, and dark grey eyes,
-had good looks and a pleasant smile in his
-favour; he was accustomed to be made
-welcome; he was at ease with himself. He
-was not embarrassed that his uncle did not
-immediately answer; he merely turned and
-called out to the man who had got his
-luggage. And when we had got him into
-the waggonette, and were driving off, what
-must he needs talk about but the absconding
-of Mr. Frederick Smethurst, whom he
-knew to be the uncle of a young lady he
-had once met at our house.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Catch him?" said he with a laugh.
-"They'll never catch him."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His uncle said nothing at all.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>When we reached Castle Osprey, the Laird
-said in the hall, when he had satisfied himself
-that there was no one within hearing—</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Howard, I wish to have a few meenutes'
-talk with ye; and perhaps our good friends
-here will come into the room too——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>We followed him into the dining-room; and
-shut the door.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"—just to see whether there is anything
-unreasonable in what I have got to say to ye."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The young man looked rather alarmed;
-there was an unusual coldness and austerity
-in the elder man's voice.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We may as well sit down," he said; "it
-wants a little explanation."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>We sate down in silence, Howard Smith
-looking more concerned than ever. He had
-a real affection, as we knew, for this
-pseudo-uncle of his, and was astounded that he
-should be spoken to in this formal and cold
-manner.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Laird put one or two letters on the table
-before him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have asked our friends here," said he, in
-a calm and measured voice, "to listen to what
-I have to say, and they will judge whether it is
-unreasonable. I have a service to ask of ye. I
-will say nothing of the relations between you
-and me before this time—but I may tell ye
-frankly—what doubtless ye have understood—that
-I had intended to leave ye Denny-mains at
-my death. I have neither kith nor kin of my
-own blood; and it was my intention that ye
-should have Denny-mains—perhaps even before
-I was called away."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The young man said nothing; but the manner
-in which the Laird spoke of his intentions in
-the past sense might have made the most
-disinterested of heirs look frightened. After ali,
-he had certainly been brought up on the
-understanding that he was to succeed to the
-property.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Now," said he, slowly, "I may say I have
-shown ye some kindness——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed you have, sir!" said the other warmly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"—and I have asked nothing from ye in
-return. I would ask nothing now, if I was your
-age. If I was twenty years younger, I would
-not have telegraphed for ye—indeed no, I
-would have taken the matter into my own
-hands——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Here the Laird paused for a second or so
-to regain that coldness of demeanour with which
-he had started.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, just so. Well, ye were talking about
-the man Smethurst as we were coming along.
-His niece, as ye may be aware, is in this
-house—a better lass was never seen within any
-house."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Laird hesitated more and more as he
-came to the climax of his discourse: it was
-obviously difficult for him to put this restraint
-on himself.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said he, speaking a little more
-hurriedly, "and that scoondrel—that scoondrel—has
-made off with every penny that the poor
-lass had—every penny of it—and she is left an
-orphan—without a farthing to maintain herself
-wi'—and that infernal scoondrel——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Laird jumped from his seat; his anger
-was too much for him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I mean to stand by her," said he, pacing up
-and down the room, and speaking in short
-ejaculations. "She will not be left without a
-farthing. I will reach him too, if I can. Ay,
-ay, if I was but twenty years younger, and had
-that man before me!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He stopped short opposite his nephew,
-and controlled himself so as to speak quite
-calmly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I would like to see ye settled at
-Denny-mains, Howard," said he. "And ye would
-want a wife. Now if ye were to marry this
-young leddy, it would be the delight of my
-old age to see ye both comfortable and well
-provided for. And a better wife ye would not
-get within this country. Not a better!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Howard Smith stared.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, uncle!" said he, as if he thought
-some joke was going forward. We, who had
-been aware of certain profound plans on the
-part of Denny-mains, were less startled by this
-abrupt disclosure of them.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That is one of two things," said the Laird,
-with forced composure, "that I wished to put
-before ye. If it is impossible, I am sorely
-vexed. But there is another; and one or the
-other, as I have been thinking, I am fairly
-entitled to ask of ye. So far I have not
-thought of any return for what I have done; it
-has been a pleasure to me to look after your
-up-bringing."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, uncle," said the young man, beginning
-to look a little less frightened. "I would
-rather hear of the other thing. You know—eh—that
-is—a girl does not take anybody who is
-flung at her, as it were—it would be an
-insult—and—and people's inclinations and
-affections——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I know—I know—I know," said the Laird,
-impatiently. "I have gone over all that. Do
-ye think I am a fool? If the lass will not have
-ye, there is an end to it: do your best to get
-her, and that is enough for me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There was another thing—" the young man
-suggested timidly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, there is," said the Laird, with a sudden
-change in his manner. "It is a duty, sir, ye
-owe not to me, but to humanity. Ye are
-young, strong, have plenty of time, and I will
-give ye the money. Find out that man
-Smethurst; get him face to face; and fell him!
-Fell him!"—the Laird brought his fist down
-on the table with a bang that made everything
-jump, and his eyes were like coals of
-fire. "None o' your pistols or rapiers or trash
-like that!—no, no!—a mark on his face for the
-rest of his life—the brand of a scoondrel
-between his eyes—there! will ye do that for me?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But, uncle," cried the young man, finding
-this alternative about as startling as the other,
-"how on earth can I find him? He is off to
-Brazil, or Mexico, or California, long ere now,
-you may depend on it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Laird had pulled himself together again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have put two things before ye," said he,
-calmly. "It is the first time I have asked ye
-for a service, after having brought ye up as
-few lads have been brought up. If you think
-it is unfair of me to make a bargain about such
-things, I will tell ye frankly that I have more
-concern in that young thing left to herself than
-in any creature now living on earth; and I will
-be a friend to her as well as an old man can. I
-have asked our friends here to listen to what
-I had to say; they will tell ye whether I am
-unreasonable. I will leave ye to talk it over."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He went to the door. Then he turned for a
-moment to his hostess.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am going to see, ma'am, if Mary will go
-for a bit walk wi' me—down to the shore, or
-the like; but we will be back before the hour
-for denner."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="the-new-suitor"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER III.</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE NEW SUITOR.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>It is only those who have lived with her for
-a number of years who can tell when a certain
-person becomes possessed with the demon of
-mischief, and allows sarcasm and malignant
-laughter and other unholy delights to run riot
-in her brain. The chief symptom is the
-assumption of an abnormal gravity, and a look of
-simple and confiding innocence that appears in
-the eyes. The eyes tell most of all. The dark
-pupils seem even clearer than is their wont, as
-if they would let you read them through and
-through; and there is a sympathetic appeal in
-them; the woman seems so anxious to be kind,
-and friendly, and considerate. And all the
-time—especially if it be a man who is
-hopelessly dumfoundered—she is revenging the
-many wrongs of her sex by covertly laughing
-at him and enjoying his discomfiture.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And no doubt the expression on Howard
-Smith's face, as he sat there in a bewildered
-silence, was ludicrous enough. He was inclined
-to laugh the thing away as a joke, but he knew
-that the Laird was not given to practical jokes.
-And yet—and yet—</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you really think he is serious?" he
-blurted out at length, and he spoke to this lady
-with the gentle innocent eyes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, undoubtedly," she answered, with
-perfect gravity.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no; it is impossible!" he said, as if
-arguing with himself. "Why, my uncle, of all
-men in the world,—and pretending it was
-serious—of course people often do wish their
-sons or daughters to marry a particular person—for
-a sensible reason, to keep estates together,
-or to join the fortunes of a family—but this—no,
-no; this is a joke, or else he wants to drive
-me into giving that fellow a licking. And that,
-you know, is quite absurd; you might as well
-drag the Atlantic for a penknife."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am afraid your uncle is quite serious,"
-said she, demurely.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But it was to be left to you," he answered
-quickly. "You were to say whether it was
-unreasonable. Surely you must see it is not
-reasonable. Neither the one thing nor the
-other is possible—"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Here the young man paused for a moment.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Surely," he said, "my uncle can't mean,
-by putting these impossible things before me,
-to justify his leaving his property to somebody
-else? There was no need for any such excuse;
-I have no claim on him; he has a right to do
-what he pleases."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That has nothing to do with it," said
-Queen T. promptly. "Your uncle is quite
-resolved, I know, that you should have
-Denny-mains."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—and a wife," responded the young
-man, with a somewhat wry smile. "Oh, but
-you know, it is quite absurd; you will reason
-him out of it, won't you? He has such a high
-opinion of your judgment, I know."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The ingenious youth!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Besides," said he warmly, "do you think
-it very complimentary to your friend Miss
-Avon that any one should be asked to come
-and marry her?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>This was better; it was an artful thrust.
-But the bland sympathetic eyes only paid him
-a respectful attention.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I know my uncle is pretty firm when he
-has got a notion into his head," said he,
-"and—and—no doubt he is quite right in thinking
-that the young lady has been badly treated,
-and that somebody should give the absconder a
-thrashing. All that is quite right; but why
-should I be made responsible for it? I can't
-do impossible things."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, you see," said his sage adviser, with
-a highly matter-of-fact air, "your uncle may
-not regard either the one thing or the other as
-impossible."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But they are impossible," said he.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I am very sorry," said she, with great
-sweetness. "Because Denny-mains is really a
-beautiful place. And the house would lend
-itself splendidly to a thorough scheme of
-redecoration; the hall could be made perfectly
-lovely. I would have the wooden dado painted
-a dark bottle-green, and the wall over it a rich
-Pompeian red—I don't believe the colours of a
-hall can be too bold if the tones are good in
-themselves. Pompeian red is a capital
-background for pictures, too; and I like to see
-pictures in the hall; the gentlemen can look at
-them while they are waiting for their wives.
-Don't you think Indian matting makes a very
-nice, serviceable, sober-coloured dado for a
-dining-room—so long as it does not drive your
-pictures too high on the wall?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The fiendishness of this woman! Denny-mains
-was being withdrawn from him at this
-very moment; and she was bothering him
-with questions about its decoration. What did
-he think of Indian matting?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said he, "if I am to lose my chance
-of Denny-mains through this piece of absurdity,
-I can't help it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg your pardon," said she most amiably;
-"but I don't think your uncle's proposal so very
-absurd. It is the commonest thing in the world
-for people to wish persons in whom they are
-interested to marry each other; and very often
-they succeed by merely getting the young
-people to meet, and so forth. You say yourself
-that it is reasonable in certain cases. Well, in
-this case, you probably don't know how great
-an interest your uncle takes in Miss Avon, and
-the affection that he has for her. It is quite
-remarkable. And he has been dwelling on this
-possibility of a match between you—of seeing
-you both settled at Denny-mains—until he
-almost regards it as already arranged. 'Put
-yourself in his place,' as Mr. Reade says. It
-seems to him the most natural thing in the
-world, and I am afraid he will consider you
-very ungrateful if you don't fall in with his
-plan."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Deeper and deeper grew the shadow of
-perplexity on the young man's brow. At first
-he had seemed inclined to laugh the whole
-matter aside, but the gentle reasoning of this
-small person had a ghastly aspect of seriousness
-about it.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then his notion of my seeking out the
-man Smethurst and giving him a thrashing:
-you would justify that, too?" he cried.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, not quite," she answered, with a bit
-of a smile. "That is a little absurd, I
-admit—it is merely an ebullition of anger. He won't
-think any more of that in a day or two I am
-certain. But the other—the other, I fear, is
-a fixed idea."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At this point we heard some one calling
-outside:</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Mary! I have been searching for ye
-everywhere; are ye coming for a walk down to
-the shore?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then a voice, apparently overhead at an
-open window—</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"All right, sir; I will be down in a moment."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Another second or two, and we hear some
-one singing on the stair, with a fine air of
-bravado—</span></p>
-<blockquote>
-<div>
-<div class="line-block outermost">
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">A strong sou-wester's blowing, Billy; can't you hear it roar, now?</em></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</blockquote>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>—the gay voice passes through the hall—</span></p>
-<blockquote>
-<div>
-<div class="line-block outermost">
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">Lord help 'em, how I pities all un—</em></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</blockquote>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>—then the last phrase is heard outside—</span></p>
-<blockquote>
-<div>
-<div class="line-block outermost">
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">—folks on shore now—</em></div>
-<div class="line"> </div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</blockquote>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Queen Titania darts to the open window of
-the dining-room.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mary! Mary!" she calls. "Come here."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The next instant a pretty enough picture
-is framed by the lower half of the window,
-which is open. The background is a blaze of
-scarlet and yellow and green—a mixture of
-sunlight and red poppies and nasturtiums
-and glancing fuchsia leaves. Then this slight
-figure that has appeared is dark in shadow;
-but there is a soft reflected light from the front
-of the house, and that just shows you the smile
-on Mary Avon's face and the friendliness of
-her dark soft eyes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, how do you do?" she says, reaching
-in her hand and shaking hands with him.
-There is not any timidity in her manner. No
-one has been whispering to her of the dark
-plots surrounding her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Nor was Mr. Smith much embarrassed,
-though he did not show himself as grateful
-as a young man might have done for so frank
-and friendly a welcome.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I scarcely thought you would have
-remembered me," said he modestly. But at
-this moment Denny-mains interfered, and took
-the young lady by the arm, and dragged her
-away. We heard their retreating footsteps
-on the gravel walk.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"So you remember her?" says our hostess,
-to break the awkward silence.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, well enough," said he; and then
-he goes on to say stammeringly—"Of course,
-I—I have nothing to say against her——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If you have," it is here interposed, as a
-wholesome warning, "you had better not
-mention it here. Ten thousand hornets' nests
-would be a fool compared to this house if you
-said anything in it against Mary Avon."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"On the contrary," says he, "I suppose she
-is a very nice girl indeed—very—I suppose
-there's no doubt of it. And if she has been
-robbed like that, I am very sorry for her; and
-I don't wonder my uncle should be interested
-in her, and concerned about her, and—and all
-that's quite right. But it is too bad—it is too
-bad—that one should be expected to—to ask
-her to be one's wife, and a sort of penalty
-hanging over one's head, too. Why, it is
-enough to set anybody against the whole
-thing; I thought everybody knew that you
-can't get people to marry if you drive them
-to it—except in France, I suppose, where the
-whole business is arranged for you by your
-relatives. This isn't France; and I am quite
-sure Miss Avon would consider herself very
-unfairly treated if she thought she was being
-made part and parcel of any such arrangement.
-As for me—well, I am very grateful to my
-uncle for his long kindness to me; he has
-been kindness itself to me; and it is quite
-true, as he says, that he has asked for nothing
-in return. Well, what he asks now is just a
-trifle too much. I won't sell myself for any
-property. If he is really serious—if it is to
-be a compulsory marriage like that—Denny-mains
-can go. I shall be able to earn my
-own living somehow."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was a chord struck in this brief,
-hesitating, but emphatic speech that went
-straight to his torturer's heart. A look of
-liking and approval sprang to her eyes. She
-would no longer worry him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you think," said she gently, "that
-you are taking the matter too seriously? Your
-uncle does not wish to force you into a
-marriage against your will; he knows nothing
-about Adelphi melodramas. What he asks is
-simple and natural enough. He is, as you see,
-very fond of Mary Avon; he would like to
-see her well provided for; he would like to
-see you settled and established at Denny-mains.
-But he does not ask the impossible.
-If she does not agree, neither he nor you can
-help it. Don't you think it would be a very
-simple matter for you to remain with us for
-a time, pay her some ordinary friendly
-attention, and then show your uncle that the
-arrangement he would like does not recommend
-itself to either you or her? He asks no
-more than that; it is not much of a sacrifice."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was no stammering about this lady's
-exposition of the case. Her head is not very
-big, but its perceptive powers are remarkable.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then the young man's face brightened considerably.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said he, "that would be more sensible,
-surely. If you take away the threat, and
-the compulsion, and all that, there can be no
-harm in my being civil to a girl, especially
-when she is, I am sure, just the sort of girl one
-ought to be civil to. I am sure she has plenty
-of common sense—-"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It is here suggested once more that, in this
-house, negative praise of Mary Avon is likely
-to awake slumbering lions.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I have no doubt," says he readily, "that
-she is a very nice girl indeed. One would not
-have to pretend to be civil to some creature
-stuffed with affectation, or a ghoul. I don't
-object to this at all. If my uncle thinks it
-enough, very well. And I am quite sure that
-a girl you think so much of would have more
-self-respect than to expect anybody to go and
-make love to her in the country-bumpkin style."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Artful again; but it was a bad shot. There
-was just a little asperity in Madame's manner
-when she said—</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg you not to forget that Mary does not
-wish to be made love to by anybody. She is quite
-content as she is. Perhaps she has quite other
-views, which you would not regret, I am sure.
-But don't imagine that she is looking for a
-husband; or that a husband is necessary for her;
-or that she won't find friends to look after her.
-It is your interests we are considering, not hers."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Was the snubbing sufficient?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, of course, of course," said he, quite
-humbly. "But then, you know, I was only
-thinking that—that—if I am to go in and make
-believe about being civil to your young
-lady-friend, in order to please my uncle, too much
-should not be expected. It isn't a very nice
-thing—at least, for you it may be very
-nice—to look on at a comedy——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And is it so very hard to be civil to a girl?"
-says his monitress sharply. "Mary will not
-shock you with the surprise of her gratitude.
-She might have been married ere now if she
-had chosen."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"She—isn't—quite a school-girl, you know,"
-he says timidly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I was not aware that men preferred to marry
-school-girls," says the other, with a gathering
-majesty of demeanour.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Here a humble witness of this interview has
-once more to interpose to save this daring
-young man from a thunderbolt. Will he not
-understand that the remotest and most
-round-about reflection on Mary Avon is in this house
-the unpardonable sin?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said he frankly, "it is exceedingly
-kind of you to show me how I am to get out of
-this troublesome affair; and I am afraid I must
-leave it to you to convince my uncle that I have
-done sufficient. And it is very kind of you to
-ask me to go yachting with you; I hope I shall
-not be in the way. And—and—there is no
-reason at all why Miss Avon and I should not
-become very good friends—in fact, I hope we
-shall become such good friends that my uncle
-will see we could not be anything else."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Could anything be fairer than this? His
-submission quite conquered his hostess. She said
-she would show him some of Mary Avon's
-sketches in oil, and led him away for that purpose.
-His warm admiration confirmed her good
-opinion of him; henceforth he had nothing
-to fear.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At dinner that evening he was at first a little
-shy; perhaps he had a suspicion that there were
-present one or two spectators of a certain
-comedy which he had to play all by himself.
-But, indeed, our eyes and ears were not for him
-alone. Miss Avon was delighting the Laird
-with stories of the suggestions she had got
-about her pictures from the people who had
-seen them—even from the people who had
-bought them—in London.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you know," said she quite frankly, "I
-must study popular taste as much as I fairly can
-now, for I have to live by it. If people will
-have sea-pieces spoiled by having figures put in,
-I must put in figures. By and by I may be in
-a position to do my own work in my own way."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Laird glanced at his nephew: was it not
-for him to emancipate this great and original
-artist from the fear of critics, and dealers, and
-purchasers? There was no response.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I mean to be in London soon myself," the
-Laird said abruptly; "ye must tell me where I
-can see some of your pictures."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no," she said, laughing, "I shall not
-victimise my friends. I mean to prey on the
-public—if possible. It is Mr. White, in King
-Street, St. James's, however, who has taken
-most of my pictures hitherto; and so if you
-know of anybody who would like to acquire
-immortal works for a few guineas apiece, that is
-the address."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am going to London myself soon," said
-he, with a serious air, as if he had suddenly
-determined on buying the National Gallery.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then Howard Smith, perceiving that no one
-was watching him, or expecting impossibilities
-of him, became quite cheerful and talkative;
-and told some excellent stories of his experiences
-at various shooting quarters the previous winter.
-Light-hearted, good-natured, fairly humorous,
-he talked very well indeed. We gathered that
-during the last months of the year the shooting
-of pheasants occupied a good deal more of his
-time and attention than the study of law. And
-how could one wonder that so pleasant-mannered
-a young man was a welcome guest at those
-various country-houses in the south?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But it appeared that, despite all this careless
-talk, he had been keeping an eye on Mary Avon
-during dinner. Walking down to the yacht
-afterwards—the blood-red not quite gone from
-the western skies, a cool wind coming up from
-the sea—he said casually to his uncle—</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, sir, whatever trouble that young lady
-may have gone through has not crushed her
-spirits yet. She is as merry as a lark."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"She has more than cheerfulness—she has
-courage," said the Laird, almost severely. "Oh,
-ay, plenty of courage. And I have no doubt
-she could fight the world for herself just as well
-as any man I know. But I mean to make it
-my business that she shall not have to fight the
-world for herself—not as long as there is a stick
-standing on Denny-mains!"</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="chasing-a-thunderstorm"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER IV.</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">CHASING A THUNDERSTORM.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>"</span><em class="italics">All on board then—all on board!</em><span>" the
-summons comes ringing through the wonderland
-of dreams. And then, amid the general
-hurry and scurry throughout the house, certain
-half-bewildered people turn first of all to the
-windows of their rooms: a welcome sight!
-The glory of the summer dawn is shining over
-the mountains; the </span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span>, with nearly
-all her sail set, is swinging there at her
-moorings; best of all, a strong breeze—apparently
-from the north-east—is ruffling the dark
-blue seas and driving a line of white surf on
-the further shores. The news comes that
-Master Fred, by darting about in the dingay
-since ever daylight began, has got the very last
-basket on board; the red caps are even now
-bringing the gig in to the landing slip; John of
-Skye is all impatience to take advantage of the
-favourable wind. There is but little time lost;
-the happy-go-lucky procession—</span><em class="italics">dona ferentes</em><span>—set
-out for the beach. And if the Laird is
-pleased to find his nephew apparently falling
-into his scheme with a good grace; and if the
-nephew thinks he is very lucky to get so easily
-out of an awkward predicament; and if Mary
-Avon—unconscious of these secret designs—is
-full of an eager delight at the prospect of being
-allowed to set to work again—may not all this
-account for a certain indecorous gaiety that
-startles the silence of the summer morning?
-Or is it that mythical hero Homesh who is
-responsible for this laughter? We hear the
-Laird chuckling; we notice the facetious
-wrinkles about his eyes; we make sure it must
-be Homesh. Then the final consignment of
-books, shawls, gun-cases, and what not is
-tossed into the gig; and away we go, with the
-measured dash of the oars.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And what does the bearded John of Skye
-think of the new hand we have brought him?
-Has he his own suspicions? Is his friend and
-sworn ally, Dr. Sutherland, to be betrayed and
-supplanted in his absence?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Good morning, sir," he says obediently, at
-the gangway; and the quick Celtic eyes glance
-at Howard Smith from top to toe.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Good morning, captain," the young man
-says lightly; and he springs too quickly up the
-steps, making a little bit of a stumble. This is
-not an auspicious omen.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then on deck: the handsome figure and
-pleasant manner of this young man ought
-surely to prepossess people in his favour.
-What if his tightly-fitting garments and his
-patent-leather boots and white gaiters are not
-an orthodox yachting rig? John of Skye
-would not judge of a man by his costume.
-And if he does not seem quite at home—in this
-first look round—every one is not so familiar
-with boating life as Dr. Sutherland. It is true,
-an umbrella used as a walking-stick looks
-strange on board a yacht; and he need not
-have put it on the curved top of the companion,
-for it immediately rolls over into the scuppers.
-Nor does he seem to see the wickedness of
-placing a heavy bundle of canvases on the
-raised skylight of the ladies' cabin; does he
-want to start the glass? Dr. Sutherland, now,
-would have given the men a hand in hauling
-up the gig. Dr. Sutherland would not have
-been in the way of the tiller, as the yacht is
-released from her moorings.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Unaware of this rapid criticism, and unconcerned
-by all the bustle going on around, our
-new friend is carelessly and cheerfully chatting
-with his hostess; admiring the yacht; praising
-the beauty of the summer morning; delighted
-with the prospect of sailing in such weather.
-He does not share in the profound curiosity of
-his uncle about the various duties of the men.
-When John of Skye, wishing to leave the tiller
-for a minute to overhaul the lee tackle, turns
-quite naturally to Mary Avon, who is standing
-by him, and says with a grin of apology, "If
-ye please, mem," the young man betrays but
-little surprise that this young lady should be
-entrusted with the command of the vessel.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What!" he says, with a pleasant smile—they
-seem on very friendly terms already—"can
-you steer, Miss Avon? Mind you don't run us
-against any rocks."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Miss Avon has her eye on the mainsail. She
-answers, with a business-like air—</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, there is no fear of that. What I have
-to mind, with this wind, is not to let her gybe,
-or I should get into disgrace."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I hope you won't let her gybe,
-whatever that is," said he, with a laugh.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Never was any setting-out more auspicious.
-We seemed to have bade farewell to those
-perpetual calms. Early as it was in the
-morning, there was no still, dream-like haze
-about the mountains; there was a clear
-greenish-yellow where the sunlight struck
-them; the great slopes were dappled with the
-shadows of purple-brown; further away the tall
-peaks were of a decided blue. And then the
-windy, fresh, brisk morning; the </span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span>
-running races with the driven seas; the white
-foam flying away from her sides. John of Skye
-seemed to have no fear of this gentle skipper.
-He remained forward, superintending the setting
-of the topsail; the </span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span> was to "have it"
-while the fresh breeze continued to blow.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And still the squally easterly wind bears her
-bravely onward, the puffs darkening the water
-as they pass us and strike the rushing seas.
-Is that a shadow of Colonsay on the far
-southern horizon? The lighthouse people
-here have gone to bed; there is not a single
-figure along the yellow-white walls. Look at
-the clouds of gulls on the rocks, resting after
-their morning meal. By this time the deer
-have retreated into the high slopes above
-Craignure; there is a white foam breaking
-along the bay of Innismore. And still the
-</span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span> spins along, with foam-diamonds
-glittering in the sunlight at her bows; and we
-hear the calling of the sea-swallows, and the
-throbbing of a steamer somewhere in among
-the shadows of Loch Aline. Surely now we are
-out of the reign of calms; the great boom strains
-at the sheets; there is a whirl of blue waters;
-the </span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span> has spread her wings at last.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, ay," says John of Skye, who has relieved
-Miss Avon at the helm; "it is a great peety."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, John?" says she, with some surprise;
-is he vexed that we should be sailing well on
-this fine sailing day?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It iss a great peety that Mr. Sutherland
-not here," said John, "and he wass know so
-much about a yacht, and day after day not a
-breeze at ahl. There iss not many chentlemen
-will know so much about a yacht as Mr. Sutherland."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Miss Avon did not answer, though her face
-seemed conscious in its colour. She was deeply
-engaged in a novel.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, that is the Mr. Sutherland who has
-been with you," said Howard Smith to his
-hostess, in a cheerful way. "A doctor, I think
-you said?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At this Miss Avon looked up quickly from
-her book.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I should have thought," said she with a
-certain dignity of manner, "that most people
-had heard of Dr. Angus Sutherland."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, no doubt," said he, in the most
-good-natured fashion. "I know about him
-myself—it must be the same man. A nephew
-of Lord Foyers, isn't he? I met some friends
-of his at a house last winter; they had his
-book with them—the book about tiger-hunting
-in Nepaul, don't you know?—very interesting
-indeed it was, uncommonly interesting. I read
-it right through one night when everybody else
-was in bed——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, that is Captain Sutherland's book,"
-said his hostess, with just a trace of annoyance.
-"They are not even related. How can you
-imagine that Angus Sutherland would write
-a book about tiger-hunting?—he is one of
-the most distinguished men of science in
-England."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, indeed," says the young man, with
-the most imperturbable good humour. "Oh,
-yes, I am sure I have heard of him—the
-Geographical Society, or something like that;
-really those evenings are most amusing. The
-women are awfully bored, and yet they do
-keep their eyes open somehow. But about
-those Indian fellows; it was only last winter
-that I heard how the —— —— manages to
-make those enormous bags, all to his own
-gun, that you see in the papers. Haven't
-you noticed them?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Well, some of us had been struck with
-amazement by the reports of the enormous
-slaughter committed by a certain Indian prince;
-and had wondered at one of the gentle natives
-of the East taking so thoroughly and
-successfully to our robust English sports.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why," said this young man, "he has every
-covert laid out with netting, in small squares
-like a dice-board; and when he has done
-blazing away in the air, the under-keepers
-come up and catch every pheasant, hare, and
-rabbit that has run into the netting, and kill
-them, and put them down to his bag. Ingenious,
-isn't it? But I'll tell you what I
-have seen myself. I have seen Lord Justice
-—— deliberately walk down a line of netting
-and shoot every pheasant and rabbit that had
-got entangled. 'Safer not to let them get
-away,' says he. And when his host came up
-he said, 'Very good shooting; capital. I have
-got four pheasants and seven rabbits there; I
-suppose the beaters will pick them up.'"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And so the Youth, as we had got to call
-him, rattled on, relating his personal experiences,
-and telling such stories as occurred to
-him. There was a good sprinkling of well-known
-names in this desultory talk; how could
-Miss Avon fail to be interested, even if the
-subject-matter was chiefly composed of
-pheasant-shooting, private theatricals, billiard matches on
-wet days, and the other amusements of country life?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Laird, when he did turn aside from that
-huge volume of </span><em class="italics">Municipal London</em><span>—which he
-had brought with him for purposes of
-edification—must have seen and approved. If the
-young man's attentions to Mary Avon were of
-a distinctly friendly sort, if they were
-characterised by an obvious frankness, if they
-were quite as much at the disposal of Mr. Smith's
-hostess, what more could be expected?
-Rome was not built in a day. Meanwhile
-Miss Avon seemed very well pleased with her
-new companion.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And if it may have occurred to one or other
-of us that Howard Smith's talking, however
-pleasant and good-natured and bright, was on a
-somewhat lower level than that of another of
-our friends, what then? Was it not better fitted
-for idle sailing among summer seas? Now,
-indeed, our good friend the Laird had no need
-to fear being startled by the sudden propounding
-of conundrums.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He was startled by something else. Coming
-up from luncheon, we found that an
-extraordinary darkness prevailed in the western
-heavens—a strange bronze-purple gloom that
-seemed to contain within it the promise of a
-hundred thunderstorms. And as this fair wind
-had now brought us within sight of the open
-Atlantic, the question was whether we should
-make for Skye or run right under this lurid
-mass of cloud that appeared to lie all along the
-western shores of Mull. Unanimously the
-vote was for the latter course. Had not
-Angus Sutherland been anxious all along to
-witness a thunderstorm at sea? Might it not
-be of inestimable value to Miss Avon? John
-of Skye, not understanding these reasons,
-pointed out that the wind had backed
-somewhat to the north, and that Mull would give
-us surer shelter than Skye for the night. And
-so we bore away past Quinish, the brisk breeze
-sending the </span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span> along in capital style;
-past the mouth of Loch Cuan; past the wild
-Cailleach Point; past the broad Calgary Bay;
-and past the long headland of Ru-Treshanish.
-It was a strange afternoon. The sun was
-hidden; but in the south and west there
-was a wan, clear, silver glow on the sea; and
-in this white light the islands of Lunga, and
-Fladda, and Staffa, and the Dutchman were
-of sombre purple. Darker still were the
-islands lying towards the land—Gometra, and
-Ulva, and Inch Kenneth; while the great
-rampart of cliff from Loch-na-Keal to Loch
-Scridain was so wrapped in gloom that
-momentarily we watched for the first quivering
-flash of the lightning. Then the wind died
-away. The sea grew calm. On the glassy grey
-surface the first drops of the rain fell—striking
-black, and then widening out in small circles.
-We were glad of the cool rain, but the
-whispering of it sounded strangely in the silence.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then, as we are still watching for the first
-silver-blue flash of the lightning, behold! the
-mighty black wall of the Bourg and Gribun
-cliffs slowly, mysteriously disappears; and
-there is only before us a vague mist of grey.
-Colonsay is gone; Inch Kenneth is gone; no
-longer can we make out the dark rocks of
-Erisgeir. And then the whispering of the
-sea increases; there is a deeper gloom over
-head; the rain-king is upon us! There is a
-hasty retreat down stairs; the hatches are
-shoved over; after dinner we shall see what
-this strange evening portends.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope we shall get into the Sound of
-Ulva before dark," says Miss Avon.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish Angus was on board. It is a
-shame he should be cheated out of his
-thunderstorm. But we shall have the equinoctials
-for him, at all events," says Queen Titania—just
-as if she had a series of squalls and
-tempests bottled, labelled, and put on a shelf.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>When we get on deck again we find that
-the evening, but not the </span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span>, has
-advanced. There is no wind; there is no rain;
-around us there is the silent, glassy, lilac-grey
-sea, which, far away in the west, has one or
-two gleams of a dull bronze on it, as if some
-afterglow were struggling through the clouds
-at the horizon. Along the Gribun cliffs, and
-over the islands, the gloom has surely
-increased; it were better if we were in some
-shelter for this night.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then a noise is heard that seems to impose
-a sudden silence—thunder, low, distant, and
-rumbling. But there is no splendid gleam
-through the gathering gloom of the night: the
-Gribun cliffs have not spoken yet.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>John of Skye has carelessly seated himself
-on one of the deck-stools; his arm hangs idly
-on the tiller; we guess, rather than hear, that
-he is regaling himself with the sad, monotonous
-</span><em class="italics">Farewell to Fuineray</em><span>. He has got on
-his black oilskins, though there is not a drop
-of rain.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>By and by, however, it being now quite
-dark, he jumps to his feet, and appears to
-listen intently.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, do ye hear it?" he says, with a short
-laugh. "And it iss off the land it iss coming!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He calls aloud—"Look out boys! it is a
-squahl coming over, and we'll hev the topsail
-down whatever!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then we hear a distant roaring; and presently
-the headsails are violently shaken, and
-the great boom swings over as John puts
-the helm up to get way on her. The next
-instant we are racing in for the land, as if we
-mean to challenge the heavy squall that is
-tearing across from the unseen Gribun cliffs.
-And now the rain-clouds break in deluges;
-the men in their black oilskins go staggering
-this way and that along the slippery decks;
-the </span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span> is wrestling with the sudden
-storm; another low murmur of thunder comes
-booming through the darkness. What is that
-solitary light far in there towards the
-land?—dare any steamer venture so near the shore
-on such a night? And we, too; would it not
-be safer for us to turn and run out to sea
-rather than beat against a squall into the
-narrow and shallow channels of Ulva's Sound?
-But John of Skye is not afraid. The wind
-and sea cannot drown his strident voice; the
-rain deluge cannot blind the trained eyes; the
-men on the look-out—when the bow of the
-boat springs high on a wave, we can see the
-black figures against the sombre sky—know
-the channels too; we are not afraid to make
-for Ulva's Sound.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There is a wild cry from one of the women;
-she has caught sight, through the gloom, of
-white foam dashing on the rocks.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is all right, mem!" John calls aloud,
-with a laugh; but all the same the order is
-shouted, "</span><em class="italics">Ready about!</em><span>"—"</span><em class="italics">Ready about!</em><span>" is
-the call coming back to us from the darkness.
-"</span><em class="italics">'Bout ship!</em><span>" and then away she sheers from
-that ugly coast.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>We were after all cheated of our thunderstorm,
-but it was a wild and a wet night
-nevertheless. Taking in the mizen was no
-joke amid this fury of wind and rain, but that
-and the hauling up of the main-tack lessened
-the pressure on her. John of Skye was in
-high spirits. He was proud of his knowledge
-of the dangerous coast; where less familiar
-eyes saw only vague black masses looming out
-of the darkness he recognised every rock and
-headland.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, mem," he was calling out in friendly
-tones; "we not hef to run out to sea at ahl.
-We will get into the Sound of Ulva ferry well;
-and there will not be any better anchorage as
-the Sound of Ulva, when you are acquaint.
-But a stranger—I not ask a stranger to go into
-the Sound of Ulva on so dark a night."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>What is this we hear?—"</span><em class="italics">Down foresail,
-boys!</em><span>" and there is a rattle on to the decks.
-The head of the yacht seems to sway round;
-there is a loud flapping of sails. "</span><em class="italics">Down
-chub!</em><span>"—and there are black figures struggling
-up there at the bowsprit; but vaguely seen
-against the blackness of the sky and the sea.
-Then, in a second or two, there is a fiercer
-rattle than ever; the anchor is away with a
-roar. Some further chain is paid out; then a
-strange silence ensues; we are anchored in
-Ulva's Sound.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Come down into the cabin, then, you women-folk,
-and dry your streaming faces, and arrange
-your dishevelled hair. Is not this a wonderful
-stillness and silence after the whirl and
-roar of the storm outside? But then you
-must know that the waters are smooth in here;
-and the winds become gentle—as gentle as
-the name of the island that is close to us now
-in the dark. It is a green-shored island. The
-sailors call it </span><em class="italics">Ool-a-va</em><span>.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="chasing-seals"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER V.</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">CHASING SEALS.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Next morning found the Laird in a most
-excellent humour. All was going well.
-Though nothing had been said or promised
-by the Youth, was not his coming away with
-us into these remote solitudes—to say nothing
-of the very pleasant manner in which he sought
-to entertain Miss Mary Avon—sufficient
-evidence that he had at least no great repugnance
-to his uncle's scheme? The Laird was
-disposed to chuckle privately over the anxiety
-that Mary displayed about her work. The
-poor young thing: she did not understand
-what higher powers were ordering her future
-for her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Let her work on," the Laird said, in great
-confidence, to his hostess, and there was a
-fine secret humour in his eyes. "Ay, ay, let
-her work on: hard work never harmed
-anybody. And if she brings her bit mailin to
-the marriage—ye would call it her dowry in
-the south—in the shape of a bundle of
-pictures—just as a young Scotch lass brings a chest
-of drawers or a set of napery—she will not
-be empty-handed. She can hang them up
-herself at Denny-mains."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are looking too far ahead, sir," says
-Queen T., with a quiet smile.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Maybe—maybe," says the Laird, rubbing
-his hands with a certain proud satisfaction.
-"We'll see who's right—we will see who is
-right, ma'am."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then, at breakfast, he was merry, complaisant,
-philosophical in turns. He told us
-that the last vidimus of the affairs of the
-Burgh of Strathgovan was most satisfactory:
-assets about 35,000*l.*; liabilities not over
-20,000*l.*; there was thus an estimated surplus
-of no less than 15,000*l*. Why, then, he asked,
-should certain poor creatures on the Finance
-Committee make such a work about the merest
-trifles? Life was not given to man that he
-should worry himself into a rage about a penny
-farthing.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There is a great dale of right down
-common sense, ma'am," said he, "in that verse
-that was written by my countryman, Welliam
-Dunbaur—</span></p>
-<blockquote>
-<div>
-<div class="line-block outermost">
-<div class="line"><span>Be merry man, and tak not sair in mind</span></div>
-<div class="inner line-block">
-<div class="line"><span>The wavering of this wretched world of sorrow;</span></div>
-</div>
-<div class="line"><span>To God be humble, to thy friend be kind,</span></div>
-<div class="inner line-block">
-<div class="line"><span>And with thy neighbours gladly lend and borrow;</span></div>
-</div>
-<div class="line"><span>His chance to-night, it may be thine to-morrow;</span></div>
-<div class="inner line-block">
-<div class="line"><span>Be blythe in heart for any aventúre,</span></div>
-</div>
-<div class="line"><span>For oft with wise men it has been said aforow,</span></div>
-<div class="inner line-block">
-<div class="line"><span>Without Gladnésse availeth no Treasúre."</span></div>
-<div class="line"> </div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</blockquote>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>But we, who were in the secret, knew that
-this quotation had nothing in the world to do
-with the Finance Committee of Strathgovan.
-The Laird had been comforting himself with
-these lines. They were a sort of philosophico-poetical
-justification of himself to himself for
-his readiness to make these two young people
-happy by giving up to them Denny-mains.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And no doubt he was still chuckling over
-the simplicity of this poor girl, when, after
-breakfast, he found her busily engaged in
-getting her painting materials on deck.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Beautiful—beautiful," said he, glancing
-around. "Ye will make a fine picture out of
-those mountains, and the mist, and the still
-sea. What an extraordinary quiet after last
-night's rain!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And perhaps he was thinking how well this
-picture would look in the dining-room at
-Denny-mains; and how a certain young
-hostess—no longer pale and fragile, but robust
-and sun-browned with much driving in a
-pony-carriage—would take her friends to the picture,
-and show them Ulva, and Loch-na-Keal, and
-Ben-More; and tell them how this strange
-quiet and beauty had followed on a wild night
-of storm and rain. The world around us was
-at this moment so quiet that we could hear
-the twittering of some small bird among the
-rocks in there at the shore. And the pale,
-wan, dream-like sea was so perfect a mirror
-that an absolutely double picture was
-produced—of the gloomy mountain-masses of
-Ben-More, amid silver gleams of cloud and
-motionless wreaths of mist; of the basaltic pillars
-of the coast nearer at hand—a pale reddish-brown,
-with here and there a scant sprinkling
-of grass; of that broad belt of rich orange-yellow
-seaweed that ran all along the rocks,
-marking the junction of the world of the land
-with the water-world below. An absolutely
-perfect mirror; except when some fish splashed;
-then the small circles widened out and
-gradually disappeared; and the surface was as
-glassy as before.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Laird was generous. He would leave
-the artist undisturbed at her work. Would
-not his nephew be better amused if a bachelor
-expedition were fitted out to go in search of
-the seals that abound in the channels around
-Inch Kenneth? Our hostess declined to go;
-but provided us with an ample lunch. The
-gig was lowered; and everything ready for the
-start.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Bring your shot-gun, too, Howard," said
-the Laird. "I want ye to shoot some skarts.
-I am told that the breasts of them are very
-close and fine in the feathers; and I would like
-a muff or a bag made of them for a leddy—for
-a young leddy."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mary Avon was busy with her work: how
-could she hear?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And if the skin of the seals about here
-is not very fine, we will make something of
-it. Oh, ay, we will make something of it in the
-way of a present. I know a man in Glasgow
-who is extraordinary clever at such things."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We have first to get the seal, uncle," said
-his nephew, laughing. "I know any number
-of men who assure you they have shot seals;
-but not quite so many who have got the seals
-that were shot."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, but we'll get the seal, and the skarts,
-too," said the Laird; and then he added,
-grimly, "Man, if ye cannot do that, what can
-ye do? If ye cannot shoot well, what else are
-ye fit for?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I really don't know, uncle," the Youth
-confessed modestly, as he handed down his rifle
-into the gig. "The London solicitors are a
-blind race. If they only knew what a treasure
-of learning and sound judgment they might
-have for the asking: but they don't. And I
-can't get any of the Scotch business you were
-talking about; because my name doesn't begin
-with Mac."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, well, we must wait, and hope for the
-best," said the Laird, cheerfully, as he took his
-seat in the stern of the gig. "We are not
-likely to run against a solicitor in the Sound
-of Ulva. Sufficient for the day. As I was
-saying, there's great common sense in what
-Welliam Dunbaur wrote—</span></p>
-<blockquote>
-<div>
-<div class="line-block outermost">
-<div class="inner line-block">
-<div class="line"><span>Be blythe in heart for any aventúre,</span></div>
-</div>
-<div class="line"><span>For oft with wise men it has been said aforow,</span></div>
-<div class="inner line-block">
-<div class="line"><span>Without Gladnésse availeth no Treasúre.</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</blockquote>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>—Bless me, look at that!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>This sudden exclamation sent all eyes to
-the shore. A large heron, startled by the
-rattling of the oars, had risen, with a sharp
-and loud croak of alarm, from among the
-sea-weed, his legs hanging down, his long
-neck, and wings, and body apparently a
-grey-white against the shadow of the basaltic rocks.
-Then, lazily flapping, he rose higher and
-higher; he tucked up his legs; the great wings
-went somewhat more swiftly; and then, getting
-above the low cliffs, and appearing quite black
-against the silver-clear sky, he slowly sailed
-away.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The silence of this dream-like picture around
-us was soon broken. As the men pulled away
-from the yacht, the lonely shores seemed to
-waken up into life; and there were whistlings,
-and callings, and warnings all along the cliffs;
-while the startled sea-birds whirred by in
-flashes of colour, or slowly and heavily betook
-themselves to some further promontory. And
-now, as we passed along the narrow Sound,
-and saw through the translucent water the
-wonder-land of seaweed below—with the
-patches of clear yellow sand intervening—we
-appreciated more and more highly the skill
-of John of Skye in getting us into such a
-harbour on the previous night. It is not
-every one who, in pitch darkness and in the
-midst of squalls, can run a yacht into the neck
-of a bottle.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>We emerged from the narrow channel, and
-got out into the open; but even the broad
-waters of Loch-na-Keal were pale and still:
-the reflection of Eorsa was scarcely marred
-by a ripple. The long, measured throb of the
-rowing was the only sound of life in this world
-of still water and overhanging cloud. There
-was no stroke-oar now to give the chorus</span></p>
-<blockquote>
-<div>
-<div class="line-block outermost">
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">A long strong pull together,</em></div>
-<div class="inner line-block">
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">Ho, ro, clansman.</em></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</blockquote>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>But still we made good way. As we got
-further out, we came in sight of Little Colonsay;
-and further off still, Staffa, lying like a dark
-cloud on the grey sea. Inch Kenneth, for
-which we were making, seemed almost black;
-although, among the mists that lay along the
-Gribun and Bourg cliffs, there was a dull
-silver-yellow light, as though some sunlight
-had got mixed up with the clouds.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no," the Laird was saying, as he
-studied a scrap of paper, "it is not a great
-property to admeenister; but I am strong in
-favour of local management. After reading
-that book on London, and its catalogue of the
-enormous properties there, our little bit Burgh
-appears to be only a toy; but the principle of
-sound and energetic self-government is the
-same. And yet it is no so small, mind ye.
-The Burgh buildings are estimated at
-nineteen thousand pounds odd; the furniture at
-twelve hunderd pounds; lamps near on two
-thousand five hunderd; sewers nine thousand
-pounds odd; and then debts not far from three
-thousand pounds—that makes our assets just
-about thirty-five thousand. And if the
-water-pipes in some places are rather too small for
-the steam fire-engine, we maun have them
-bigger. It was quite rideeculous that a thriving
-place like Strathgovan, when there was a big
-fire, should have to run to Glesca for help.
-No, no; I believe in independence; and if ye
-should ever live in our neighbourhood, Howard,
-I hope ye will stand out against the policy of
-annexation. It is only a lot o' Radical bodies
-that are for upsetting institutions that have
-been tried by time and not found wanting."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, certainly, sir," Howard Smith said
-blithely. "When you educate people to take
-an interest in small parochial matters, they are
-better fitted to give an opinion about the
-general affairs of the country."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Small?" said the Laird, eyeing him
-severely. "They are of as much importance
-as human life; is there anything of greater
-importance in the world? By abolishin' the
-Coulterburn nuisance, and insisting on greater
-cleanliness and ventilation, we have reduced
-the number of deaths from infectious diseases
-in a most extraordinar' manner; and there will
-be no more fear of accidents in the Mitherdrum
-Road, for we are going to have a
-conteenuous line of lamps that'll go right in to
-the Glesca lamps. I do not call these small
-matters. As for the asphalting of the pavement
-in front of John Anderson's line of houses,"
-continued the Laird, as he consulted the
-memorandum in his hand, "that is a small matter, if
-ye like. I am not disposed to pronounce an
-opinion on that matter: they can settle it
-without my voice. But it will make a great
-difference to John Anderson; and I would
-like to see him come forward with a bigger
-subscription for the new Park. Well, well;
-we must fight through as best we can."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was here suggested to the Laird that he
-should not let these weighty matters trouble
-him while he is away on a holiday.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Trouble me?" said he, lightly. "Not a
-bit, man! People who have to meddle in
-public affairs must learn how to throw off their
-cares. I am not troubled. I am going to
-give the men a dram; for better pulling I
-never saw in a boat!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He was as good as his word, too. He
-had the luncheon-basket handed down from
-the bow; he got out the whisky bottle;
-there was a glass filled out for each of the
-men, which was drunk in solemn silence.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, boys," said he, as they took to their
-oars again, "haven't ye got a song or a chorus
-to make the rowing easy?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But they were too shy for a bit. Presently,
-however, we heard at the bow a low, plaintive,
-querulous voice; and the very oars seemed
-to recognise the air as they gripped the water.
-Then there was a hum of a chorus—not very
-musical—and it was in the Gaelic—but we
-knew what the refrain meant.</span></p>
-<blockquote>
-<div>
-<div class="line-block outermost">
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">Ō bōatmān, ă fārewĕll tō yŏu,</em></div>
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">Ō bōatmān, ă fārewĕll tō yŏu,</em></div>
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">Whĕrēvēr yŏu māy bĕ gōĭng.</em></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</blockquote>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>That is something like the English of it: we
-had heard the </span><em class="italics">Fhir a Bhata</em><span> in other days.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The long, heavy pull is nearly over. Here
-are the low-lying reefs of rock outside Inch
-Kenneth; not a whisper is permissible as we
-creep into the nearest bay. And then the
-men and the boat are left there; and the
-Youth—perhaps dimly conscious that his
-uncle means the seal-skin for Mary Avon—grasps
-his rifle and steals away over the
-undulating shelves of rock; while his two
-companions, with more leisure but with not less
-circumspection, follow to observe his
-operations. Fortunately there is no screaming
-sea-pyot or whistling curlew to give warning;
-stealthily, almost bent in two, occasionally
-crawling on all fours, he makes his way along
-the crannies in the reef, until, as we see, he
-must be nearly approaching the channel on his
-left. There he pauses to take breath. He
-creeps behind a rock; and cautiously looks
-over. He continues his progress.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"This is terrible woark," says the Laird,
-in a stage-whisper, as he, too—with a much
-heavier bulk to carry—worms along. From
-time to time he has to stay to apply his
-handkerchief to his forehead; it is hot work
-on this still, breathless day.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And at last we, too, get down to the edge
-of a channel—some hundred yards lower than
-Howard Smith's post—and from behind a rock
-we have a pretty clear view of the scene of
-operations. Apparently there is no sign of any
-living thing—except that a big fish leaps into
-the air, some dozen yards off. Thereafter a
-dead silence.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>After waiting about a quarter of an hour
-or so, the Laird seemed to become violently
-excited, though he would neither budge nor
-speak. And there, between two islands right
-opposite young Smith, appeared two shining
-black heads on the still water; and they were
-evidently coming down this very channel. On
-they came—turning about one way and another,
-as if to look that the coast was clear. Every
-moment we expected to hear the crack of the
-rifle. Then the heads silently disappeared.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Laird was beside himself with disappointment.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why did he no shoot? Why did he no
-shoot?" he said, in an excited whisper.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He had scarcely spoken when he was startled
-by an apparition. Right opposite to him—not
-more than twenty yards off—a black thing
-appeared on the water—with a glistening smooth
-head, and large, soft eyes. Then another. We
-dared not move. We waited for the whistle
-of the rifle-bullet. The next instant the first
-seal caught sight of the Laird; raised its head
-for an instant at least six inches higher; then
-silently plunged along with its companion.
-They were gone, at all events.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Youth came marching along the rocks,
-his rifle over his shoulder.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why didn't you fire?" his uncle said,
-almost angrily.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought they were coming nearer," said
-he. "I was just about to fire when they
-dived. Mind, it isn't very easy to get on to
-a thing that is bobbing about like that, with a
-rifle. I propose we have luncheon, now, until
-the tide ebbs a bit; then there may be a
-chance of catching one lying on the rocks.
-That is the proper time for getting a shot
-at a seal."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>We had luncheon: there was no difficulty
-about securing that. But as for getting at
-the seals—whether we crawled over the rocks,
-or lay in hiding, or allowed the boat to drift
-towards some island, on the chance of one
-of them rising in our neighbourhood—it was
-no use at all. There were plenty of seals
-about: a snap shot now and again served to
-break the monotony of the day; but that
-present tor Mary Avon seemed as remote
-as ever. And when one is determined on
-shooting a seal, one is not likely to waste
-one's attention, and cartridges, on such inferior
-animals as skarts.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The silver-grey day became more golden;
-there was a touch of warm purple about the
-shadows of Staffa.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Come," said the Laird at last. "We must
-go back. It is no use. I have often heard
-people say that if you miss the first chance at
-a seal it never gives ye another."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Better luck next time, uncle," said the
-Youth; but his uncle refused to be comforted.
-And the first thing he said to Mary Avon
-when he got back to the yacht was—</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We have not got it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Got what?" said she.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The seal-skin I wanted to have dressed
-for ye. No, nor the skarts I wanted to have
-made into a muff or a bag for ye."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," said she, promptly, "I am very glad.
-I hope you won't shoot any of those poor
-things on my account; I should be very sorry
-indeed."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Laird took this as one of the familiar
-protestations on the part of women, who
-wouldn't for the world have poor things shot,
-but who don't object to wearing any amount
-of furs and feathers, to say nothing of having
-innocent sheep sheared and harmless silkworms
-robbed in order to deck themselves out.
-She should have that dressed seal-skin, and
-that muff of skarts' breasts, all the same.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Nothing of stupendous importance happened
-that evening except that—after we had caught
-three dozen of good-sized lithe and returned
-to the yacht with this welcome addition to our
-stores—there was a general discussion of our
-plans for the next few days. And our gentle
-hostess was obviously looking forward to
-Angus Sutherland's coming back to us with
-great pleasure; and we were to make our
-return to suit his convenience; and she would
-write to him whenever we got near a
-post-office again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mary Avon had sate silent during all
-this. At last, she said—apparently with some
-effort and yet very deliberately—</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I think you are a little cruel to
-Dr. Sutherland. You are forcing him to come
-with you against his better judgment—for
-you know, with his prospects, and the calls
-on his time, he cannot afford such long
-idleness. Do you think it is quite fair?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The woman stared at this girl, who spoke
-with some earnestness, though her eyes were
-downcast.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He would do anything to please you,"
-Mary Avon continued, as if she were
-determined to get through with some speech
-that she had prepared, "and he is very fond
-of sailing: but do you think you should allow
-him to injure his prospects in this way?
-Wouldn't it be a greater kindness to write
-and say that, if he really feels he ought to
-return to London, you would not hold him
-to his promise? I am sure he would not be
-offended: he would understand you at once.
-And I am sure he would do what is clearly
-right: he would go straight back to London,
-and resume his work—for his own sake and
-for the sake of those who count on a great
-future for him. I, for one, should be very
-sorry to see him come back to idle away his
-time in sailing."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And still Queen Tita stared at the girl,
-though their eyes did not meet. And she
-could scarcely believe that it was Mary Avon
-who had counselled this cold dismissal.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="uncertain-coy-and-hard-to-please"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VI.</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">"UNCERTAIN, COY, AND HARD TO PLEASE."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>There are two people walking up and down
-the deck this beautiful morning: the lazy ones
-are still below, dawdling over breakfast. And
-now young Smith, though he is not much more
-than an acquaintance, talks quite confidentially
-to his hostess. She has his secret; he looks
-to her for aid. And when they do have a
-quiet moment like this together there is usually
-but one person of whom they speak.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I must say she has an extraordinary spirit,"
-he observes, with some decision. "Why, I
-believe she is rather pleased than otherwise to
-have lost that money. She is not a bit afraid
-of going up to London to support herself by her
-work. It seems to amuse her on the whole!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mary has plenty of courage," says the
-other quietly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't wonder at my uncle being so fond
-of her: he likes her independent ways and
-her good humour. I shouldn't be surprised if
-he were to adopt her as his daughter, and cut
-me out. There would be some sense in that."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am glad you take it so coolly," says our
-governor-general, in a matter-of-fact way that
-rather startles him. "More unlikely things
-have happened."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But he recovers himself directly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no," says he, laughing. "There is
-one objection. She could not sit on any of
-the parochial Boards of Strathgovan. Now I
-know my uncle looks forward to putting me
-on the Police Committee and the Lighting
-Committee, and no end of other Committees.
-By the way, she might go on the School
-Board. Do they have women on the School
-Boards in Scotland?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>On this point his hostess was no better
-informed than himself.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said he, after a bit, "I wouldn't call
-her pretty, you know; but she has a singularly
-interesting face."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, do you think so?" says the other,
-quite innocently.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I do, indeed," answers the ingenuous Youth.
-"And the more you see of her the more interesting
-it becomes. You seem to get so well
-acquainted with her somehow; and—and you
-have a sort of feeling that her presence is
-sort of necessary."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>This was somewhat vague; but he made
-another wild effort to express himself.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What I mean is—that—that suppose she
-were to leave the yacht, wouldn't the saloon
-look quite different? And wouldn't the sailing
-be quite different? You would know there
-was something wanting."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I should, indeed," is the emphatic reply.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I never knew any one," says the Youth,
-warming to his work of thorough explanation,
-"about whose presence you seem so conscious—even
-when she isn't here—I don't mean
-that exactly—I mean that at this moment
-now, you know she is on board the yacht—and
-it would be quite different if she were
-not. I suppose most people wouldn't call her
-pretty. There is nothing of the Book of
-Beauty about her. But I call it a most
-interesting face. And she has fine eyes. Anybody
-must admit that. They have a beautiful, soft
-expression; and they can laugh even when
-she is quite silent——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear Mr. Smith," says his hostess,
-suddenly stopping short, and with a kind of
-serious smile on her face, "let me talk frankly
-to you. You acted very sensibly, I think, in
-coming with us to humour your uncle. He
-will come to see that this scheme of his is
-impracticable; and in the meantime, if you
-don't mind the discomfort of it, you have a
-holiday. That is all quite well. But pray
-don't think it necessary that you should argue
-yourself into falling in love with Mary. I am
-not in her confidence on such a delicate matter;
-but one has eyes; and I think I might almost
-safely say to you that, even if you persuaded
-yourself that Mary would make an excellent
-wife—and be presentable to your friends—I
-say even if you succeeded in persuading
-yourself, I am afraid you would only have thrown
-that labour away. Please don't try to convince
-yourself that you ought to fall in love with her."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>This was plain speaking. But then our
-admiral-in-chief was very quickly sensitive
-where Mary Avon was concerned; and perhaps
-she did not quite like her friend being spoken
-of as though she were a pill that had to be
-swallowed. Of course the Youth instantly
-disclaimed any intention of that kind. He
-had a very sincere regard for the girl, so far
-as he had seen her; he was not persuading
-himself; he was only saying how much she
-improved when you got better acquainted with her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And if," said he, with just a touch of
-dignity, "if Miss Avon is—is—engaged——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I did not say that," his hostess quickly
-interposed. "Oh, certainly not. It was only
-a guess on my part——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"——or likely to be engaged," he
-continued, with something of the same reserve,
-"I am sure I am very glad for her sake; and
-whoever marries her ought to have a cheerful
-home and a pleasant companion."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>This was a generous sentiment; but there
-was not much of a "wish-you-may-be-happy"
-air about the young man. Moreover, where
-was the relief he ought to have experienced
-on hearing that there was an obstacle—or
-likelihood of an obstacle—to the execution of
-his uncle's scheme which would absolve him
-from responsibility altogether?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>However, the subject could not be continued
-just then; for at this moment a tightly-brushed
-small head, and a narrow-brimmed felt hat,
-and a shapely neck surrounded by an
-upstanding collar and bit of ribbon of navy-blue,
-appeared at the top of the companion, and
-Mary Avon, looking up with her black eyes
-full of a cheerful friendliness, said—</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Weil, John, are you ready to start yet?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And the great, brown-bearded John of Skye,
-looking down at this small Jack-in-the-box with
-a smile of welcome on his face, said—</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, mem, when the breakfast is over."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you think it is blowing outside, then?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, mem, but there is a good breeze;
-and maybe there will be a bit of a rowl from
-the Atlantic. Will Mr. —— himself be for
-going now?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, certainly," she says, with a fine
-assumption of authority. "We are quite
-ready when you are ready, John; Fred will
-have the things off the table in a couple of
-minutes."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, mem," says the obedient John
-of Skye, going forward to get the men up
-to the windlass.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Our young Doctor should have been there
-to see us getting under way. The Sound of
-Ulva is an excellent harbour and anchorage
-when you are once in it; but getting out of it,
-unless with both wind and tide in your favour,
-is very like trying to manoeuvre a man-of-war
-in a tea-cup. But we had long ago come to
-the conclusion that John of Skye could sail
-the </span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span> through a gas-pipe, with half
-a gale of wind dead in his teeth; and the
-manner in which he got us out of this narrow and
-tortuous channel fully justified our confidence.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Very prettily done, Captain John!" said
-the Laird—who was beginning to give himself
-airs on nautical matters—when we had got out
-into the open.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And here, as we soon discovered, was the
-brisk fresh breeze that John of Skye had
-predicted; and the running swell, too, that
-came sweeping in to the mouth of Loch-na-Keal.
-Black indeed looked that far-reaching
-loch on this breezy, changeful morning—as
-dark as it was when the chief of Ulva's Isle
-came down to the shore with his runaway
-bride; and all along Ben-More and over the
-Gribun cliffs hung heavy masses of cloud, dark
-and threatening as if with thunder. But far
-away in the south there was a more cheerful
-outlook; the windy sea shimmering in light;
-some gleams of blue in the sky; we knew that
-the sunshine must be shining on the green
-clover and the beautiful sands of Iona. The
-</span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span> seemed to understand what was
-required of her. Her head was set for the
-gleaming south; her white wings outspread;
-as she sprang to meet those rushing seas we
-knew we were escaping from the thunder-darkness
-that lay over Loch-na-Keal.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And Ulva: had we known that we were
-now leaving Ulva behind us for the last time,
-should we not have taken another look back,
-even though it now lay under a strange and
-mysterious gloom? Perhaps not. We had
-grown to love the island in other days. And
-when one shuts one's eyes in winter, it is not
-to see an Ulva of desolate rocks and leaden
-waves; it is a fair and shining Ulva, with blue
-seas breaking whitely along its shores; and
-magical still channels, with mermaid's halls of
-seaweed; and an abundant, interesting life—all
-manner of sea-birds, black rabbits running
-among the rocks, seals swimming in the silent
-bays. Then the patch of civilisation under
-shelter of the hills; the yellow corn-fields;
-the dots of human creatures and the red and
-tawny-grey cattle visible afar in the meadow;
-the solitary house; the soft foliage of trees
-and bushes; the wild-flowers along the cliffs.
-That is the green-shored island: that is the
-</span><em class="italics">Ool-a-va</em><span> of the sailors; we know it only in
-sunlight and among blue summer seas: it
-shines for us for ever!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The people who go yachting are a fickle
-folk. The scene changes—and their interests
-change—every few minutes. Now it is the
-swooping down of a solan; again it is the
-appearance of another island far away;
-presently it is a shout of laughter forward, as
-some unlucky wight gets drowned in a shower
-of sea-spray: anything catches their attention
-for the moment. And so the </span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span>
-swings along; and the sea gets heavier and
-heavier; and we watch the breakers springing
-high over the black rocks of Colonsay. It
-is the Laird who is now instructing our
-new guest; pointing out to him, as they come
-in view, Staffa, the Dutchman, Fladda, and
-Lunga, and Cairnaburg. Tiree is invisible at
-the horizon: there is too wild a whirl of wind
-and water.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The gloom behind us increases; we know
-not what is about to happen to our beloved
-but now distant Ulva—what sudden rumble
-of thunder is about to startle the silence of
-the dark Loch-na-Keal. But ahead of us the
-south is still shining clear: blow, winds, that
-we may gain the quiet shelter of Polterriv
-before the evening falls! And is it not full
-moon to-night?—to-night our new guest may
-see the yellow moon shining on the still waters
-of Iona Sound.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But the humiliating truth must be told. The
-heavy sea has been trying to one unaccustomed
-to life on board. Howard Smith, though
-answering questions well enough, and even
-joining voluntarily in conversation occasionally,
-wears a preoccupied air. He does not take
-much interest in the caves of Bourg. The
-bright look has gone from his face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His gentle hostess—who has herself had
-moments of gloom on the bosom of the
-deep—recognises these signs instantly; and insists
-on immediate luncheon. There is a double
-reason for this haste. We can now run under
-the lee of the Erisgeir rocks, where there will
-be less danger to Master Fred's plates and
-tumblers. So we are all bundled down into the
-saloon; the swell sensibly subsides as we get
-to leeward of Erisgeir; there is a scramble of
-helping and handing; and another explosion
-in the galley tells us that Master Fred has
-not yet mastered the art of releasing
-effervescing fluids. Half a tumblerful of that
-liquid puts new life into our solemn friend.
-The colour returns to his face, and brightness
-to his eyes. He admits that he was beginning
-to long for a few minutes on firm land—but
-now—but now—he is even willing to join us
-in an excursion that has been talked of to
-the far Dubhartach lighthouse.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But we must really wait for Angus,"
-our hostess says, "before going out there.
-He was always so anxious to go to Dubhartach."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But surely you won't ask him to come
-away from his duties again?" Mary Avon
-puts in hastily. "You know he ought to go
-back to London at once."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I know I have written him a letter," says
-the other demurely. "You can read it if you
-like, Mary. It is in pencil, for I was afraid
-of the ink-bottle going waltzing over the table."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Miss Avon would not read the letter. She
-said we must be past Erisgeir by this time;
-and proposed we should go on deck. This
-we did; and the Youth was now so comfortable
-and assured in his mind that, by lying full
-length on the deck, close to the weather
-bulwarks, he managed to light a cigar. He
-smoked there in much content, almost safe
-from the spray.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mary Avon was seated at the top of the
-companion, reading. Her hostess came and
-squeezed herself in beside her, and put her
-arm round her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mary," said she, "why don't you want
-Angus Sutherland to come back to the yacht?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I!" said she, in great surprise—though
-she did not meet the look of the elder
-woman—"I—I—don't you see yourself that he ought
-to go back to London? How can he look
-after that magazine while he is away in the
-Highlands? And—and—he has so much to
-look forward to—so much to do—that you
-should not encourage him in making light
-of his work."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Making light of his work!" said the other.
-"I am almost sure that you yourself told him
-that he deserved and required a long—a very
-long—holiday."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You did, certainly."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And didn't you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The young lady looked rather embarrassed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"When you saw him," said she, with flushed
-cheeks, "so greatly enjoying the sailing—absorbed
-in it—and—and gaining health and
-strength, too—well, of course you naturally
-wished that he should come back and go away
-with you again. But it is different on
-reflection. You should not ask him."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, what evil is likely to happen to
-him through taking another six weeks' holiday?
-Is he likely to fall out of the race of
-life because of a sail in the </span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span>?
-And doesn't he know his own business? He
-is not a child."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He would do a great deal to please you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I want him to please himself," said the
-other; and she added, with a deadly frown
-gathering on her forehead, "and I won't have
-you, Miss Dignity, interfering with the
-pleasures of my guests. And there is to be no
-snubbing, and no grim looks, and no hints
-about work, and London, and other nonsense,
-when Angus Sutherland comes back to us.
-You shall stand by the gangway—do you
-hear?—and receive him with a smiling face;
-and if you are not particularly kind, and civil,
-and attentive to him, I'll have you lashed to
-the yard-arm and painted blue—keel-haul me
-if I don't."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fairer and fairer grew the scene around
-us as the brave </span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span> went breasting
-the heavy Atlantic rollers. Blue and white
-overhead; the hot sunlight doing its best to
-dry the dripping decks; Iona shining there
-over the smoother waters of the Sound; the
-sea breaking white, and spouting up in columns,
-as it dashed against the pale red promontories
-of the Ross of Mull. But then this stiff
-breeze had backed to the west; and there was
-many a long tack to be got over before we
-left behind the Atlantic swell and ran clear
-into the Sound. The evening was drawing on
-apace as we slowly and cautiously steered into
-the little creek of Polterriv. No sooner had
-the anchor rattled out than we heard the clear
-tinkling of Master Fred's bell; how on earth
-had he managed to cook dinner amid all that
-diving and rolling and pitching?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And then, as we had hoped, it was a beautiful
-evening; and the long gig was got out, and
-shawls for the women-folk flung into the
-stern. The fishing did not claim our
-attention. Familiar as some of us were with the
-wonderful twilights of the north, which of us
-had ever seen anything more solemn, and still,
-and lovely than these colours of sea and shore?
-Half-past nine at night on the 8th of August;
-and still the west and north were flushed with
-a pale rose-red, behind the dark, rich,
-olive-green of the shadowed Iona. But what was
-that to the magic world that lay before us as
-we returned to the yacht? Now the moon
-had arisen, and it seemed to be of a clear,
-lambent gold; and the cloudless heavens and
-the still sea were of a violet hue—not imaginatively,
-or relatively, but positively and literally
-violet. Then between the violet-coloured sky
-and the violet-coloured sea, a long line of
-rock, jet black as it appeared to us. That
-was all the picture: the yellow moon, the
-violet sky, the violet sea, the line of black
-rock. No doubt it was the intensity of the
-shadows along this line of rock that gave
-that extraordinary luminousness to the still
-heavens and the still sea.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>When we got back to the yacht a telegram
-awaited us. It had been sent to Bunessan,
-the nearest telegraph-station; but some kind
-friends there, recognising the </span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span> as
-she came along by Erisgeir, and shrewdly
-concluding that we must pass the night at
-Polterriv, had been so kind as to forward it
-on to Fion-phort by a messenger.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought so!" says Queen T. with a
-fine delight in her face as she reads the
-telegram. "It is from Angus. He is coming on
-Thursday. We must go back to meet him at
-Ballahulish or Corpach."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then the discourtesy of this remark struck her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg your pardon, Mr. Smith," said she,
-instantly. "Of course, I mean if it is quite
-agreeable to you. He does not expect us,
-you see; he would come on here——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I assure you I would as soon go to
-Ballahulish as anywhere else," says the
-Youth promptly. "It is quite the same to
-me—it is all new, you see, and all equally
-charming."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mary Avon alone expressed no delight at
-this prospect of our going to Ballahulish to
-meet Angus Sutherland; she sate silent; her
-eyes were thoughtful and distant; it was
-not of anything around her that she was
-thinking.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The moon had got whiter now; the sea
-and the sky blue-black in place of that soft
-warm violet colour. We sate on deck till a
-late hour; the world was asleep around us;
-not a sound disturbed the absolute stillness
-of land and sea.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And where was the voice of our singing
-bird? Had the loss of a mere sum of money
-made her forget all about Mary Beaton, and
-Mary Seaton, "and Mary Carmichael and
-me?" Or was the midnight silence too much
-for her; and the thought of the dusky cathedral
-over there; with the gravestones pale in
-the moonlight; and all around a whispering
-of the lonely sea? She had nothing to fear.
-She might have crossed over to Iona and
-might have walked all by herself through the
-ruins, and in calmness regarded the sculptured
-stones. The dead sleep sound.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="secret-schemes"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VII.</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">SECRET SCHEMES.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>The delight with which John of Skye heard
-that his friend Dr. Sutherland was coming
-back to the yacht, and that we were now
-setting out for Ballahulish or Corpach to meet
-him, found instant and practical expression on
-this fine, breezy, sunlit morning.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Hector," says he, "we will put the gaff
-topsail on her!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>What did he care though this squally breeze
-came blowing down the Sound in awkward gusts?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a fine wind, mem," says he to the
-Admiral, as we slowly leave the green waters
-and the pink rocks of Polterriv, and get into
-the open and breezy channel. "Oh, we will
-mek a good run the day. And I beg your
-pardon, mem, but it is a great pleasure to me
-that Mr. Sutherland himself is coming back
-to the yat."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He understands your clever sailing, John:
-is that it?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He knows more about a yat as any
-chentleman I will ever see, mem. And we
-will try to get a good breeze for him this time,
-mem—and not to have the calm weather."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>This is not likely to be a day of calm
-weather, at all events. Tide and wind
-together take us away swiftly from the little
-harbour behind the granite rocks. And is
-Iona over there all asleep; or are there some
-friends in the small village watching the
-</span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span> bearing away to the south? We
-wave our handkerchiefs on chance. We take
-a last look at the gabled ruins over the
-sea; at the green corn-fields; and the
-scattered houses; and the beaches of silver sand.
-Good-bye—good-bye! It is a last look for
-this summer at least; perhaps it is a last
-look for ever. But Iona too—as well as
-Ulva—remains in the memory a vision of sunlight,
-and smooth seas, and summer days.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Harder and harder blows this fresh breeze
-from the north; and we are racing down the
-Sound with the driven waves. But for the
-rope round the tiller, Miss Avon, who is
-steering, would find it difficult to keep her
-feet; and her hair is blown all about her
-face. The salt water comes swishing down
-the scuppers; the churned foam goes hissing
-and boiling away from the sides of the vessel;
-the broad Atlantic widens out. And that
-small grey thing at the horizon? Can that speck
-be a mass of masonry a hundred and fifty feet
-in height, wedged into the lonely rock?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no," says our gentle Queen Titania
-with an involuntary shudder, "not for worlds
-would I climb up that iron ladder, with the
-sea and the rocks right below me. I should
-never get half-way up."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"They will put a rope round your waist,
-if you like," it is pointed out to her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"When we go out, then," says this coward.
-"I will see how Mary gets on. If she does
-not die of fright, I may venture."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, but I don't think I shall be with
-you," remarks the young lady quite simply.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At this there is a general stare.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know what you mean," says her
-hostess, with an ominous curtness.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, you know," says the girl, cheerfully—and
-disengaging one hand to get her hair
-out of her eyes—"I can't afford to go idling
-much longer. I must get back to London."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't talk nonsense," says the other
-woman, angrily. "You may try to stop
-other people's holidays, if you like; but I am
-going to look after yours. Holidays! How
-are you to work, if you don't work now?
-Will you find many landscapes in Regent
-Street?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have a great many sketches," says Mary
-Avon, "and I must try to make something
-out of them, where there is less distraction
-of amusement. And really, you know, you
-have so many friends—would you like me
-to become a fixture—like the mainmast—"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I would like you to talk a little common
-sense," is the sharp reply. "You are not
-going back to London till the </span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span>
-is laid up for the winter—that is what I
-know."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am afraid I must ask you to let me off,"
-she says, quite simply and seriously. "Suppose
-I go up to London next week? Then, if I
-get on pretty well, I may come back——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You may come back!" says the other with
-a fine contempt. "Don't try to impose on
-me. I am an older woman than you. And
-I have enough provocations and worries from
-other quarters: I don't want you to begin
-and bother."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Is your life so full of trouble?" says the
-girl, innocently. "What are these fearful
-provocations?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind. You will find out in time.
-But when you get married, Mary, don't forget
-to buy a copy of Doddridge on Patience.
-That should be included in every bridal
-trousseau."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor thing—is it so awfully ill-used?"
-replies the steersman, with much compassion.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Here John of Skye comes forward.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If ye please, mem, I will tek the tiller
-until we get round the Ross. The rocks are
-very bad here."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"All right, John," says the young lady; and
-then, with much cautious clinging to various
-objects, she goes below, saying that she means
-to do a little more to a certain slight
-water-colour sketch of Polterriv. We know why
-she wants to put some further work on that
-hasty production. Yesterday the Laird
-expressed high approval of the sketch. She
-means him to take it with him to Denny-mains,
-when she leaves for London.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But this heavy sea: how is the artist getting
-on with her work amid such pitching and
-diving? Now that we are round the Ross,
-the </span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span> has shifted her course; the
-wind is more on her beam; the mainsheet has
-been hauled in; and the noble ship goes
-ploughing along in splendid style; but how
-about water-colour drawing?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly, as the yacht gives a heavy lurch
-to leeward, an awful sound is heard below.
-Queen T. clambers down the companion, and
-holds on by the door of the saloon; the others
-following and looking over her shoulders.
-There a fearful scene appears. At the head
-of the table, in the regal recess usually
-occupied by the carver and chief president of our
-banquets, sits Mary Avon, in mute and blank
-despair. Everything has disappeared from
-before her. A tumbler rolls backwards and
-forwards on the floor, empty. A dishevelled
-bundle of paper, hanging on to the edge of a
-carpet-stool, represents what was once an
-orderly sketch-book. Tubes, pencils, saucers,
-sponges—all have gone with the table-cloth.
-And the artist sits quite hopeless and silent,
-staring before her like a maniac in a cell.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Whatever have you been and done?" calls
-her hostess.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There is no answer: only that tragic despair.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It was all bad steering," remarks the
-Youth. "I knew it would happen as soon as
-Miss Avon left the helm."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But the Laird, not confining his sympathy
-to words, presses by his hostess; and, holding
-hard by the bare table, staggers along to the
-scene of the wreck. The others timidly follow.
-One by one the various objects are rescued,
-and placed for safety on the couch on the
-leeward side of the saloon. Then the automaton
-in the presidential chair begins to move. She
-recovers her powers of speech. She
-says—awaking from her dream—</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Is my head on?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And if it is, it is not of much use to you,"
-says her hostess, angrily. "Whatever made
-you have those things out in a sea like this?
-Come up on deck at once; and let Fred get
-luncheon ready."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The maniac only laughs.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Luncheon!" she says. "Luncheon in the
-middle of earthquakes!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But this sneer at the </span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span>, because
-she has no swinging table, is ungenerous.
-Besides, is not our Friedrich d'or able to battle
-any pitching with his ingeniously bolstered
-couch—so that bottles, glasses, plates, and what
-not, are as safe as they would be in a case in
-the British Museum? A luncheon party on
-board the </span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span>, when there is a heavy
-Atlantic swell running, is not an imposing
-ceremony. It would not look well as a coloured
-lithograph in the illustrated papers. The
-figures crouching on the low stools to leeward;
-the narrow cushion bolstered up so that the
-most enterprising of dishes cannot slide; the
-table-cover plaited so as to afford receptacles
-for knives and spoons; bottles and tumblers
-plunged into hollows and propped; Master
-Fred, balancing himself behind these stooping
-figures, bottle in hand, and ready to replenish
-any cautiously proffered wine-glass. But it
-serves. And Dr. Sutherland has assured us
-that, the heavier the sea, the more necessary
-is luncheon for the weaker vessels, who may
-be timid about the effect of so much rolling
-and pitching. When we get on deck again,
-who is afraid? It is all a question as to what
-signal may be visible to the white house of
-Carsaig—shining afar there in the sunlight,
-among the hanging woods, and under the soft
-purple of the hills. Behold!—behold!—the
-red flag run up to the top of the white pole!
-Is it a message to us, or only a summons to
-the </span><em class="italics">Pioneer</em><span>? For now, through the whirl of
-wind and spray, we can make out the steamer
-that daily encircles Mull, bringing with it white
-loaves, and newspapers, and other luxuries of
-the mainland.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She comes nearer and nearer; the throbbing
-of the paddles is heard among the rush of the
-waves; the people crowd to the side of the
-boat to have a look at the passing yacht; and
-one well-known figure, standing on the hurricane
-deck, raises his gilt-braided cap,—for we
-happen to have on board a gentle small creature
-who is a great friend of his. And she waves her
-white handkerchief, of course; and you should
-see what a fluttering of similar tokens there is
-all along the steamer's decks, and on the paddle
-boxes. Farewell!—farewell!—may you have
-a smooth landing at Staffa, and a pleasant sail
-down the Sound, in the quiet of the afternoon!
-The day wears on, with puffs and squalls
-coming tearing over from the high cliffs of
-southern Mull; and still the gallant </span><em class="italics">White
-Dove</em><span> meets and breasts those rolling waves,
-and sends the spray flying from her bows.
-We have passed Loch Buy; Garveloch and
-the Island of Saints are drawing nearer; soon
-we shall have to bend our course northward,
-when we have got by Eilean-straid-ean. And
-whether it is that Mary Avon is secretly
-comforting herself with the notion that she will
-soon see her friends in London again, or
-whether it is that she is proud of being again
-promoted to the tiller, she has quite recovered
-her spirits. We hear our singing-bird once
-more—though it is difficult, amid the rush and
-swirl of the waters, to do more than catch
-chance phrases and refrains. And then she
-is being very merry with the Laird, who is
-humorously decrying England and the English,
-and proving to her that it is the Scotch
-migration to the south that is the very saving
-of her native country.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The Lord Chief Justice of England, the
-Archbishop of Canterbury, the President of
-the Royal Academy—the heads and leading
-men everywhere—all Scotch—all Scotch,"
-says he.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But the weak point about the Scotch, sir,"
-says this philosopher in the ulster, who is
-clinging on to the tiller rope, "is their modesty.
-They are so distrustful of their own merits.
-And they are always running down their
-own country."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, ha!—ho! ho! ho!" roars the Laird.
-"Verra good! verra good! I owe ye one for
-that. I owe ye one. Howard, have ye nothing
-to say in defence of your native country?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are speaking of Scotland, sir?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That is not my native country, you know."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It was your mother's, then."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Somehow, when by some accident—and it
-but rarely happened—the Laird mentioned
-Howard Smith's mother, a brief silence fell on
-him. It lasted but a second or two. Presently
-he was saying, with much cheerfulness—</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, I am not one of those that would
-promote any rivalry between Scotland and
-England. We are one country now. If the
-Scotch preserve the best leeterary English—the
-most pithy and characteristic forms of the
-language—the English that is talked in the
-south is the most generally received throughout
-the world. I have even gone the length—I'm
-no ashamed to admit it—of hinting to Tom
-Galbraith that he should exheebit more in
-London: the influence of such work as his
-should not be confined to Edinburgh. And
-jealous as they may be in the south of the
-Scotch school, they could not refuse to
-recognise its excellence—eh? No, no; when
-Galbraith likes to exheebit in London, ye'll
-hear a stir, I'm thinking. The jealousy of
-English artists will have no effect on public
-opeenion. They may keep him out o' the
-Academy—there's many a good artist has
-never been within the walls—but the public is
-the judge. I am told that when his picture of
-</span><em class="italics">Stonebyres Falls</em><span> was exheebited in Edinburgh,
-a dealer came all the way from London to look
-at it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Did he buy it?" asked Miss Avon, gently.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Buy it!" the Laird said, with a
-contemptuous laugh. "There are some of us
-about Glasgow who know better than to let a
-picture like that get to London. I bought it
-myself. Ye'll see it when ye come to
-Denny-mains. Ye have heard of it, no doubt?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"N—no, I think not," she timidly answers.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No matter—no matter. Ye'll see it when
-ye come to Denny-mains."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He seemed to take it for granted that she
-was going to pay a visit to Denny-mains: had
-he not heard, then, of her intention of at once
-returning to London?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Once well round into the Frith of Lorn, the
-wind that had borne us down the Sound of
-Iona was now right ahead; and our progress
-was but slow. As the evening wore on, it was
-proposed that we should run into Loch Speliv
-for the night. There was no dissentient voice.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The sudden change from the plunging seas
-without to the quiet waters of the solitary little
-loch was strange enough. And then, as we slowly
-beat up against the northerly wind to the head
-of the loch—a beautiful, quiet, sheltered little
-cup of a harbour among the hills—we found
-before us, or rather over us, the splendours of a
-stormy sunset among the mountains above
-Glen More. It was a striking spectacle—the
-vast and silent gloom of the valleys below,
-which were of a cold and intense green in
-the shadow; then above, among the great
-shoulders and peaks of the hills, flashing
-gleams of golden light, and long swathes of
-purple cloud touched with scarlet along their
-edges, and mists of rain that came along with
-the wind, blotting out here and there those
-splendid colours. There was an absolute
-silence in this overshadowed bay—but for the
-cry of the startled wild-fowl. There was no
-sign of any habitation, except perhaps a trace
-of pale blue smoke rising from behind a mass
-of trees. Away went the anchor with a short,
-sharp rattle; we were safe for the night.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>We knew, however, what that trace of smoke
-indicated behind the dark trees. By and by,
-as soon as the gig had got to the land, there
-was a procession along the solitary shore—in
-the wan twilight—and up the rough path—and
-through the scattered patches of birch and fir.
-And were you startled, Madam, by the apparition
-of people who were so inconsiderate as to
-knock at your door in the middle of dinner, and
-whose eyes, grown accustomed to the shadows
-of the valleys of Mull, must have looked
-bewildered enough on meeting the glare of the
-lamps? And what did you think of a particular
-pair of eyes—very soft and gentle in their dark
-lustre—appealing, timid, friendly eyes, that had
-nevertheless a quiet happiness and humour in
-them? It was at all events most kind of you
-to tell the young lady that her notion of
-throwing up her holiday and setting out for London
-was mere midsummer madness. How could
-you—or any one else—guess at the origin of so
-strange a wish?</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="before-breakfast"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VIII.</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">BEFORE BREAKFAST.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Who is this who slips through the saloon,
-while as yet all on board are asleep—who
-noiselessly ascends the companion-way, and
-then finds herself alone on deck? And all the
-world around her is asleep too, though the gold
-and rose of the new day is shining along the
-eastern heavens. There is not a sound in this
-silent little loch: the shores and the woods are
-as still as the far peaks of the mountains, where
-the mists are touched here and there with a
-dusky fire.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She is not afraid to be alone in this silent
-world. There is a bright and contented look
-on her face. Carefully and quietly, so as not
-to disturb the people below, she gets a couple
-of deck stools, and puts down the large
-sketch-book from under her arm, and opens out a
-certain leather case. But do not think she is
-going to attack that blaze of colour in the east,
-with the reflected glare on the water, and the
-bar of dark land between. She knows better.
-She has a wholesome fear of chromo-lithographs.
-She turns rather to those great mountain
-masses, with their mysteriously moving
-clouds, and their shoulders touched here and
-there with a sombre red, and their deep and
-silent glens a cold, intense green in shadow.
-There is more workable material.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And after all there is no ambitious effort to
-trouble her. It is only a rough jotting of form
-and colour, for future use. It is a pleasant
-occupation for this still, cool, beautiful morning;
-and perhaps she is fairly well satisfied with it,
-for one listening intently might catch snatches
-of songs and airs—of a somewhat incoherent
-and inappropriate character. For what have
-the praises of Bonny Black Bess to do with
-sunrise in Loch Speliv? Or the saucy Arethusa
-either? But all the same the work goes quietly
-and dexterously on—no wild dashes and searchings
-for theatrical effect, but a patient mosaic
-of touches precisely reaching their end. She
-does not want to bewilder the world. She
-wants to have trustworthy records for her own
-use. And she seems content with the progress
-she is making.</span></p>
-<blockquote>
-<div>
-<div class="line-block outermost">
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">Here's a health to the girls that we loved long ago,</em></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</blockquote>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>this is the last air into which she has
-wandered—half humming and half whistling—</span></p>
-<blockquote>
-<div>
-<div class="line-block outermost">
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">Where the Shannon, and Liffey, and Blackwater flow.</em></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</blockquote>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>—when she suddenly stops her work to listen.
-Can any one be up already? The noise is not
-repeated; and she proceeds with her work.</span></p>
-<blockquote>
-<div>
-<div class="line-block outermost">
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">Here's a health to old Ireland: may she ne'er be dismayed;</em></div>
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">Then pale grew the cheeks of the Irish Brigade!</em></div>
-<div class="line"> </div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</blockquote>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>The clouds are assuming substance now:
-they are no mere flat washes but accurately
-drawn objects that have their fore-shortening
-like anything else. And if Miss Avon may be
-vaguely conscious that had our young Doctor
-been on board she would not have been left so
-long alone, that had nothing to with her work.
-The mornings on which he used to join her on
-deck, and chat to her while she painted, seem
-far away now. He and she together would see
-Dunvegan no more.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But who is this who most cautiously comes
-up the companion, bearing in his hand a cup
-and saucer?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Avon," says he, with a bright laugh,
-"here is the first cup of tea I ever made; are
-you afraid to try it?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, dear me," said she, penitently, "did I
-make any noise in getting my things below?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," he says, "I thought I heard you;
-and I knew what you would be after; and I
-got up and lit the spirit-lamp."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, it is so very kind of you," she says—for
-it is really a pretty little attention on the
-part of one who is not much given to shifting
-for himself on board.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then he dives below again and fetches her
-up some biscuits.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"By Jove," he says, coming closer to the
-sketch, "that is very good. That is awfully
-good. Do you mean to say you have done all
-that this morning?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes," she says, modestly. "It is only
-a sketch."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I think it uncommonly good," he says,
-staring at it as if he would pierce the paper.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then there is a brief silence, during which
-Miss Avon boldly adventures upon this
-amateur's tea.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg your pardon," he says, after a bit, "it
-is none of my business, you know—but you
-don't really mean that you are going back to
-London?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If I am allowed," she answers with a smile.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am sure you will disappoint your friends
-most awfully," says he, in quite an earnest
-manner. "I know they had quite made up
-their minds you were to stay the whole time.
-It would be very unfair of you. And my
-uncle: he would break his heart if you were
-to go."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"They are all very kind to me," was her
-only answer.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Look here," he says, with a most friendly
-anxiety. "If—if—it is only about business—about
-pictures I mean—I really beg your
-pardon for intermeddling——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," said she, frankly, "there is no secret
-about it. In fact, I want everybody to know
-that I am anxious to sell my pictures. You
-see, as I have got to earn my own living,
-shouldn't I begin at once and find out what it
-is like?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But look here," he said eagerly, "if it is a
-question of selling pictures, you should trust to
-my uncle. He is among a lot of men in the
-West of Scotland, rich merchants and people of
-that sort, who haven't inherited collections of
-pictures, and whose hobby is to make a
-collection for themselves. And they have much too
-good sense to buy spurious old masters, or bad
-examples for the sake of the name: they prefer
-good modern art, and I can tell you they are
-prepared to pay for it too. And they are not
-fools, mind you; they know good pictures.
-You may think my uncle is very prejudiced—he
-has his favourite artists—and—and believes
-in Tom Galbraith, don't you know—but I can
-assure you, you won't find many men who
-know more about a good landscape than he
-does; and you would say so if you saw his
-dining room at Denny-mains."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I quite believe that," said she, beginning
-to put up her materials: she had done her
-morning's work.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," he says, "you trust to him; there
-are lots of those Glasgow men who would only
-be too glad to have the chance——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, no," she cried, laughing. "I am
-not going to coerce people into buying my
-pictures for the sake of friendship. I think
-your uncle would buy every sketch I have on
-board the yacht; but I cannot allow my friends
-to be victimised."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, victimised!" said he, scornfully.
-"They ought to be glad to have the chance.
-And do you mean to go on giving away your
-work for nothing? That sketch of the little
-creek we were in—opposite Iona, don't you
-know—that you gave my uncle, is charming.
-And they tell me you have given that picture
-of the rocks and sea-birds—where is the
-place?——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, do you mean the sketch in the saloon—of Canna?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes; why it is one of the finest landscapes
-I ever saw. And they tell me you gave it to
-that doctor who was on board!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Dr. Sutherland," says she, hastily—and
-there is a quick colour in her face—"seemed to
-like it as—as a sort of reminiscence, you
-know——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But he should not have accepted a valuable
-picture," said the Youth, with decision. "No
-doubt you offered it to him when you saw he
-admired it. But now—when he must understand
-that—well, in fact, that circumstances are
-altered—he will have the good sense to give it
-you back again."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I hope not," she says, with her
-embarrassment not diminishing. "I—I should
-not like that! I—I should be vexed."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A person of good tact and good taste,"
-says this venturesome young man, "would make
-a joke of it—would insist that you never meant
-it—and would prefer to buy the picture."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She answers, somewhat shortly—</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I think not. I think Dr. Sutherland has as
-good taste as any one. He would know that
-that would vex me very much."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, well," says he, with a sort of carelessness,
-"every one to his liking. If he cares
-to accept so valuable a present, good and well."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't suppose he asked me for it?"
-she says, rather warmly. "I gave it him. He
-would have been rude to have refused it. I
-was very much pleased that he cared for the picture."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, he is a judge of art, also? I am told
-he knows everything."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He was kind enough to say he liked the
-sketch; that was enough for me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He is very lucky; that is all I have to say."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I dare say he has forgotten all about such
-a trifle. He has more important things to
-think about."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said he, with a good-natured laugh,
-"I should not consider such a picture a trifle if
-any one presented it to me. But it is always
-the people who get everything they want who
-value things least."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you think Dr. Sutherland such a
-fortunate person?" says she. "Well, he is
-fortunate in having great abilities; and he is
-fortunate in having chosen a profession that
-has already secured him great honour, and
-that promises a splendid future to him.
-But that is the result of hard work; and
-he has to work hard now. I don't think most
-men would like to change places with him just
-at present."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He has one good friend and champion, at
-all events," he says, with a pleasant smile.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," says she, hastily and anxiously, "I am
-saying what I hear. My acquaintance with
-Dr. Sutherland is—is quite recent, I may say;
-though I have met him in London. I only got
-to know something about him when he was in
-Edinburgh, and I happened to be there too."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He is coming back to the yacht," observes
-Mr. Smith.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He will be foolish to think of it," she
-answers, simply.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At this stage the yacht begins to wake up.
-The head of Hector of Moidart, much dishevelled,
-appears at the forecastle, and that
-wiry mariner is rubbing his eyes; but no
-sooner does he perceive that one of the ladies
-is on deck than he suddenly ducks down again—to
-get his face washed, and his paper collar.
-Then there is a voice heard in the saloon
-calling:—</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Who has left my spirit-lamp burning?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, good gracious!" says the Youth, and
-tumbles down the companion incontinently.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then the Laird appears, bringing up with
-him a huge red volume entitled </span><em class="italics">Municipal
-London</em><span>; but no sooner does he find that Miss
-Avon is on deck than he puts aside that mighty
-compendium, and will have her walk up and
-down with him before breakfast.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What?" he says, eyeing the cup and saucer,
-"have ye had your breakfast already?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Smith was so kind as to bring me a
-cup of tea."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What," he says again—and he is obviously
-greatly delighted. "Of his own making? I
-did not think he had as much gumption."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg your pardon, sir?" said she. She
-had been startled by the whistling of a curlew
-close by, and had not heard him distinctly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I said he was a smart lad," said the Laird,
-unblushingly. "Oh, ay, a good lad; ye will
-not find many better lads than Howard. Will
-I tell ye a secret?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, sir—if you like," said she.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was a mysterious, but humorous look
-about the Laird; and he spoke in a whisper.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is not good sometimes for young folk to
-know what is in store for them. But I mean
-to give him Denny-mains. Whish! Not a
-word. I'll surprise him some day."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He ought to be very grateful to you, sir,"
-was her answer.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That he is—that he is," said the Laird;
-"he's an obedient lad. And I should not
-wonder if he had Denny-mains long before he
-expects it; though I must have my crust of
-bread, ye know. It would be a fine occupation
-for him, looking after the estate; and what is
-the use of his living in London, and swallowing
-smoke and fog? I can assure ye that the
-air at Denny-mains, though it's no far from
-Glasgow, is as pure as it is in this very Loch
-Speliv."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, indeed, sir."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They had another couple of turns in silence.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye're verra fond of sailing," says the Laird.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am now," she says. "But I was very much
-afraid before I came; I have suffered so
-terribly in crossing the Channel. Somehow
-one never thinks of being ill here—with nice
-clean cabins—and no engines throbbing——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I meant that ye like well enough to go
-sailing about these places?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh yes," says she. "When shall I ever
-have such a beautiful holiday, again?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Laird laughed a little to himself. Then
-he said with a business-like air:</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have been thinking that, when my
-nephew came to Denny-mains, I would buy a
-yacht for him, that he could keep down the
-Clyde somewhere—at Gourock, or Kilmun, or
-Dunoon, maybe. It is a splendid ground for
-yachting—a splendid! Ye have never been
-through the Kyles of Bute?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, sir; I have been through them in
-the steamer."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, but a yacht; wouldn't that be better?
-And I am no sure I would not advise him to
-have a steam-yacht—ye are so much more
-independent of wind and tide; and I'm thinking
-ye could get a verra good little steam-yacht
-for 3,000*l*."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, indeed."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A great deal depends on the steward," he
-continues, seriously. "A good steward that
-does not touch drink, is jist worth anything.
-If I could get a first-class man, I would not
-mind giving him two pounds a week, with his
-clothes and his keep, while the yacht was being
-used; and I would not let him away in the
-winter—no, no. Ye could employ him at
-Denny-mains, as a butler-creature, or something
-like that."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She did not notice the peculiarity of the
-little pronoun: if she had, how could she have
-imagined that the Laird was really addressing
-himself to her?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have none but weeman-servants indoors
-at Denny-mains," he continued, "but when
-Howard comes, I would prefer him to keep the
-house like other people, and I will not stint
-him as to means. Have I told ye what
-Welliam Dunbaur says—</span></p>
-<blockquote>
-<div>
-<div class="line-block outermost">
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">Be merry, man, and tak not sair in mind—</em><span>"</span></div>
-<div class="line"> </div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</blockquote>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>"Oh, yes, I remember."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There's fine common sense in that. And
-do not you believe the people who tell ye that
-the Scotch are a dour people, steeped in
-Calvinism, and niggardly and grasping at the
-last farthing——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have found them exceedingly kind to me,
-and warm-hearted and generous—" says she;
-but he interrupted her suddenly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll tell ye what I'll do," said he, with
-decision. "When I buy that yacht, I'll get
-Tom Galbraith to paint every panel in the
-saloon—no matter what it costs!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Your nephew will be very proud of it,"
-she said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And I would expect to take a trip in her
-myself, occasionally," he added, in a facetious
-manner. "I would expect to be invited——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Surely, sir, you cannot expect your
-nephew to be so ungrateful——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," he said, "I only expect reasonable
-things. Young people are young people; they
-cannot like to be always hampered by
-grumbling old fogeys. No, no; if I present any
-one wi' a yacht, I do not look on myself as a
-piece of its furniture."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Laird seemed greatly delighted. His
-step on the deck was firmer. In the pauses of
-the conversation she heard something about—</span></p>
-<blockquote>
-<div>
-<div class="line-block outermost">
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">tántará! Sing tántará!</em></div>
-<div class="line"> </div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</blockquote>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>"Will ye take your maid with ye?" he asked
-of her, abruptly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The girl looked up with a bewildered
-air—perhaps with a trifle of alarm in her eyes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I, sir?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, ha!" said he, laughing, "I forgot. Ye
-have not been invited yet. No more have I.
-But—if the yacht were ready—and—and if ye
-were going—ye would take your maid, no
-doubt, for comfort's sake?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The girl looked reassured. She said, cheerfully:</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, sir, I don't suppose I shall ever go
-yachting again, after I leave the </span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span>.
-And if I were, I don't suppose I should be
-able to afford to have a maid with me, unless
-the dealers in London should suddenly begin
-to pay me a good deal more than they have
-done hitherto."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At this point she was summoned below by
-her hostess calling. The Laird was left alone
-on deck. He continued to pace up and down,
-muttering to himself, with a proud look on his
-face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A landscape in every panel, as I'm a living
-man! ... Tom 'll do it well, when I tell him
-who it's for.... The leddies' cabin blue and
-silver—cool in the summer—the skylight pented—she'll
-no be saying that the Scotch are wanting
-in taste when she sees that cabin!</span></p>
-<blockquote>
-<div>
-<div class="line-block outermost">
-<div class="inner line-block">
-<div class="line"><span>Sing tántará! Sing tántará!</span></div>
-<div class="line"><span>* * * The Highland army rues</span></div>
-</div>
-<div class="line"><span>That ere they came to Cromdale!</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</blockquote>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>And her maid—if she will not be able to afford
-a maid, who will?—French, if she likes! Blue
-and silver—blue and silver—that's it!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And then the Laird, still humming his
-lugubrious battle-song, comes down into the
-saloon.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Good morning, ma'am; good morning!
-Breakfast ready? I'm just ravenous. That
-wild lassie has walked me up and down until I
-am like to faint. A beautiful morning
-again—splendid!—splendid! And do ye know where
-ye will be this day next year?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am sure I don't," says his hostess, busy
-with the breakfast-things.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I will tell ye. Anchored in the Holy Loch,
-off Kilmun, in a screw-yacht. Mark my words
-now: </span><em class="italics">this very day next year!</em><span>"</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="a-protector"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER IX.</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">A PROTECTOR.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>"Oh, ay," says John of Skye, quite proudly,
-as we go on deck after breakfast, "there will
-be no more o' the dead calms. We will give
-Mr. Sutherland a good breeze or two when
-he comes back to the yat."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It is all Mr. Sutherland and Mr. Sutherland
-now!—everything is to be done because
-Mr. Sutherland is coming. Each belaying pin is
-polished so that one might see to shave in it;
-Hector of Moidart has spent about two hours
-in scraping and rubbing the brass and copper of
-the galley stove-pipe; and Captain John, with
-many grins and apologies, has got Miss Avon
-to sew up a rent that has begun to appear in
-the red ensign. All that he wants now is to
-have the yacht beached for a couple of days,
-to have the long slender sea-grass scraped from
-her hull: then Mr. Sutherland will see how
-the </span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span> will sail!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I should imagine," says the Youth, in an
-undertone, to his hostess, as we are working
-out the narrow entrance to Loch Speliv, "that
-your doctor-friend must have given those men
-a liberal </span><em class="italics">pour-boire</em><span> when he left."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I am sure not," said she, quickly, as if
-that was a serious imputation. "That is very
-unlikely."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"They seem very anxious to have everything
-put right against his coming," he says;
-"at all events, your captain seems to think that
-every good breeze he gets is merely thrown
-away on us."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Dr. Sutherland and he," she says, laughing,
-"were very good friends. And then Angus
-had very bad luck when he was on board: the
-glass wouldn't fall. But I have promised to
-bottle up the equinoctials for him—he will have
-plenty of winds before we have done with him.
-You must stay too, you know, Mr. Smith,
-and see how the </span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span> rides out a gale."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He regarded her—with some suspicion. He
-was beginning to know that this lady's
-speech—despite the great gentleness and innocence
-of her eyes—sometimes concealed curious
-meanings. And was she now merely giving
-him a kind and generous invitation to go
-yachting with us for another month; or was she,
-with a cruel sarcasm, referring to the probability
-of his having to remain a prisoner for
-that time, in order to please his uncle?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>However, the conversation had to be
-dropped, for at this moment the Laird and his
-</span><em class="italics">protégée</em><span> made their appearance; and, of course,
-a deck-chair had to be brought for her, and a
-foot-stool, and a sunshade, and a book. But
-what were these attentions, on the part of her
-elderly slave, compared with the fact that a
-young man, presumably enjoying a sound and
-healthy sleep, should have unselfishly got
-up at an unholy hour of the morning, and
-should have risked blowing up the yacht with
-spirits of wine in order to get her a cup of tea?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was a fine sailing day. Running before a
-light topsail breeze from the south-east, the
-</span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span> was making for the Lynn of
-Morven, and bringing us more and more within
-view of the splendid circle of mountains, from
-Ben Cruachan in the east to Ben Nevis in the
-north; from Ben Nevis down to the successive
-waves of the Morven hills. And we knew
-why, among all the sunlit yellows and
-greens—faint as they were in the distance—there
-were here and there on slope and shoulder
-stains of a beautiful rose-purple that were a
-new feature in the landscape. The heather
-was coming into bloom—the knee-deep, honey-scented
-heather, the haunt of the snipe, and the
-muircock, and the mountain hare. And if there
-was to be for us this year no toiling over the
-high slopes and crags—looking down from time
-to time on a spacious world of sunlit sea and
-island—we were not averse from receiving
-friendly and substantial messages from those
-altitudes. In a day or two now the first crack
-of the breechloader would startle the silence of
-the morning air. And Master Fred's larder
-was sorely in want of variety.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Northward, and still northward, the light
-breeze tempering the scorching sunlight that
-glares on the sails and the deck. Each long
-ripple of the running blue sea flashes in
-diamonds; and when we look to the south,
-those silver lines converge and converge, until
-at the horizon they become a solid blaze of light
-unendurable to the eye. But it is to the north
-we turn—to the land of Appin, and Kingairloch,
-and Lochaber: blow, light wind; and carry
-us onward, gentle tide; we have an appointment
-to keep within shadow of the mountains
-that guard Glencoe.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Laird has discovered that these two were
-up early this morning: he becomes facetious.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not sleepy yet, Miss Mary?" he says.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no—not at all," she says, looking up
-from her book.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It's the early bird that catches the first
-sketch. Fine and healthy is that early rising,
-Howard. I'm thinking ye did not sleep sound
-last night: what for were ye up before anybody
-was stirring?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But the Laird does not give him time to
-answer. Something has tickled the fancy of
-this profound humourist.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Kee! kee!</em><span>" he laughs; and he rubs his
-hands. "I mind a good one I heard from
-Tom Galbraith, when he and I were at the
-Bridge of Allan; room to room, ye know; and
-Tom did snore that night. 'What,' said I to
-him in the morning, 'had ye nightmare, or
-</span><em class="italics">delirium tremens</em><span>, that ye made such a noise
-in the night?' 'Did I snore?' said he—I'm
-thinking somebody else must have complained
-before. 'Snore?' said I, 'twenty grampuses
-was nothing to it.' And Tom—he burst out
-a-laughing. 'I'm very glad,' says he. 'If I
-snored, I must have had a sound sleep!' A
-</span><em class="italics">sound</em><span> sleep—d'ye see? Very sharp—very
-smart—eh?"—and the Laird laughed and
-chuckled over that portentous joke.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, uncle, uncle, uncle!" his nephew cried.
-"You used never to do such things. You must
-quit the society of those artists, if they have
-such a corrupting influence on you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I tell ye," he says, with a sudden seriousness,
-"I would just like to show Tom Galbraith
-that picture o' Canna that's below. No; I
-would not ask him to alter a thing. Very
-good—very good it is. And—and—I think—I
-will admit it—for a plain man likes the truth to
-be told—there is just a bit jealousy among
-them against any English person that tries to
-paint Scotch scenery. No, no, Miss Mary—don't
-you be afraid. Ye can hold your own.
-If I had that picture, now—if it belonged to
-me—and if Tom was stopping wi' me at
-Denny-mains, I would not allow him to alter
-it, not if he offered to spend a week's work
-on it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>After that—what? The Laird could say no
-more.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Alas! alas! our wish to take a new route
-northward was all very well; but we had got
-under the lee of Lismore, and slowly and slowly
-the wind died away, until even the sea was as
-smooth as the surface of a mirror. It was but
-little compensation that we could lean over the
-side of the yacht, and watch the thousands of
-"sea-blubbers" far down in the water, in all
-their hues of blue, and purple, and pale pink.
-The heat of the sun was blistering; scorching
-with a sharp pain any nose or cheek that was
-inadvertently turned towards it. As for the
-Laird, he could not stand this oven-like
-business any longer; he declared the saloon
-was ever so much cooler than the deck; and
-went down below, and lay at length on one of
-the long blue cushions.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, John," says Queen T., "you are
-bringing on those dead calms again. What
-will Dr. Sutherland say to you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But John of Skye has his eye on the distant
-shore.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, mem," he says, with a crafty
-smile, "there will not be a dead calm very
-long."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And there, in at the shore, we see a dark
-line on the water; and it spreads and spreads;
-the air becomes gratefully cool to the face
-before the breeze perceptibly fills the sails;
-then there is a cheerful swing over of the boom
-and a fluttering of the as yet unreleased
-head-sails. A welcome breeze, surely, from the far
-hills of Kingairloch. We thank you, you
-beautiful Kingairloch, with your deep glens and
-your rose-purple shoulders of hills: long may
-you continue to send fresh westerly winds to
-the parched and passing voyager!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>We catch a distant glimpse of the white
-houses of Port Appin; we bid adieu to the
-musically-named Eilean-na-Shuna; far ahead
-of us is the small white lighthouse at the mouth
-of the narrows of Corran. But there is to be
-no run up to Fort William for us to-night; the
-tide will turn soon; we cannot get through the
-Corran narrows. And so there is a talk of
-Ballahulish; and Captain John is trying hard
-to get Miss Avon to pronounce this Bal-a-chaolish.
-It is not fair of Sandy from Islay—who
-thinks he is hidden by the foresail—to
-grin to himself at these innocent efforts.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Grander and grander grow those ramparts
-of mountains ahead of us—with their
-wine-coloured stains of heather on the soft and
-velvety yellow-green. The wind from the
-Kingairloch shores still carries us on; and
-Inversanda swells the breeze; soon we shall
-be running into that wide channel that leads
-up to the beautiful Loch Leven. The Laird
-reappears on deck. He is quite enchanted
-with the scene around him. He says if an
-artist had placed that black cloud behind the
-great bulk of Ben Nevis, it could not have
-been more artistically arranged. He declares
-that this entrance to Loch Leven is one of the
-most beautiful places he has ever seen. He
-calls attention to the soft green foliage of the
-steep hills; and to that mighty peak of granite,
-right in the middle of the landscape, that we
-discover to be called the Pap of Glencoe. And
-here, in the mellow light of the afternoon, is
-the steamer coming down from the north: is
-it to be a race between us for the Bal-a-chaolish
-quay?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It is an unfair race. We have to yield to
-brute strength and steam kettles.</span></p>
-<blockquote>
-<div>
-<div class="line-block outermost">
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">Four to one Argyle came on,</em></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</blockquote>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>as the dirge of Eric says. But we bear no
-malice. We salute our enemy as he goes
-roaring and throbbing by; and there is many
-a return signal waved to us from the paddle-boxes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Sutherland is no there, mem, I think,"
-says Captain John, who has been scanning
-those groups of people with his keen eyes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I should think not; he said he was coming
-to-morrow," is the answer.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Will he be coming down by the </span><em class="italics">Chevalier</em><span>
-in the morning, or by the </span><em class="italics">Mountaineer</em><span> at
-night?" is the further question.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We will be ashore for him in the morning,
-whatever," says John of Skye cheerfully;
-and you would have thought it was his
-guest, and not ours, who was coming on
-board.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The roaring out of the anchor chain was
-almost immediately followed by Master Fred's
-bell. Mary Avon was silent and </span><em class="italics">distraite</em><span> at
-dinner; but nothing more was said of her
-return to London. It was understood that,
-when Angus Sutherland came on board, we
-should go back to Castle Osprey, and have
-a couple of days on shore, to let the </span><em class="italics">White
-Dove</em><span> get rid of her parasitic seaweed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then, after dinner, a fishing excursion; but
-this was in a new loch, and we were not
-very successful. Or was it that most of us
-were watching, from this cup of water
-surrounded by the circle of great mountains, the
-strange movings of the clouds in the gloomy
-and stormy twilight, long after the sun had
-sunk?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is not a very sheltered place," remarked
-the Laird, "if a squall were to come down
-from the hills."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But by and by something appeared that lent
-an air of stillness and peace to this sombre
-scene around us. Over one of those eastern
-mountains a faint, smoky, suffused yellow light
-began to show; then the outline of the
-mountain—serrated with trees—grew dark; then
-the edge of the moon appeared over the black
-line of trees; and by and by the world was
-filled with this new, pale light, though the
-shadows on the hills were deeper than ever.
-We did not hurry on our way back to the
-yacht. It was a magical night—the black,
-overhanging hills, the white clouds crossing
-the blue vaults of the heavens, the wan light
-on the sea. What need for John of Skye to
-put up that golden lamp at the bow? But it
-guided us on our way back—under the dusky
-shadows of the hills.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then below, in the orange-lit cabin, with
-cards and dominoes and chess about, a curious
-thing overhead happens to catch the eye of
-one of the gamblers. Through the skylight,
-with this yellow glare, we ought not to see
-anything; but there, shining in the night, is
-a long bar of pale phosphorescent green light.
-What can this be? Why green? And it is
-Mary Avon who first suggests what this
-strangely luminous thing must be—the boom,
-wet with the dew, shining in the moonlight.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Come," says the Laird to her, "put a
-shawl round ye, and we will go up for another
-look round."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And so, after a bit, they went on deck, these
-two, leaving the others to their bezique. And
-the Laird was as careful about the wrapping
-up of this girl as if she had been a child of
-five years of age; and when they went out
-on to the white deck, he would give her his
-arm that she should not trip over any stray
-rope; and they were such intimate friends
-now that he did not feel called upon to talk
-to her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But by and by the heart of the Laird was
-lifted up within him because of the wonderful
-beauty and silence of this moonlight night.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a great peety," said he, "that you
-in the south are not brought up as children
-to be familiar with the Scotch version of the
-Psalms of David. It is a fountain-head of
-poetry that ye can draw from all your life
-long; and is there any poetry in the world
-can beat it? And many a time I think that
-David had a great love for mountains—and
-that he must have looked at the hills around
-Jerusalem—and seen them on many a night
-like this. Ye cannot tell, lassie, what stirs
-in the heart of a Scotchman or Scotchwoman
-when they repeat the 121st Psalm:—</span></p>
-<blockquote>
-<div>
-<div class="line-block outermost">
-<div class="line"><span>I to the hills will lift mine eyes,</span></div>
-<div class="inner line-block">
-<div class="line"><span>From whence doth come mine aid;</span></div>
-</div>
-<div class="line"><span>My safety cometh from the Lord</span></div>
-<div class="inner line-block">
-<div class="line"><span>Who heaven and earth hath made.</span></div>
-</div>
-<div class="line"><span>Thy foot He'll not let slide, nor will</span></div>
-<div class="inner line-block">
-<div class="line"><span>He slumber that thee keeps:</span></div>
-</div>
-<div class="line"><span>Behold, He that keeps Israel</span></div>
-<div class="inner line-block">
-<div class="line"><span>He slumbers not nor sleeps.</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</blockquote>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Ask your friend Dr. Sutherland—ask him
-whether he has found anything among his
-philosophy, and science, and the new-fangled
-leeterature of the day that comes so near to
-his heart as a verse of the old Psalms that
-he learnt as a boy. I have heard of Scotch
-soldiers in distant countries just bursting out
-crying, when they heard by chance a bit
-repeated o' the Psalms of David. And the
-strength and reliance of them: what grander
-source of consolation can ye have? 'As the
-mountains are round about Jerusalem, so the
-Lord is round about His people from henceforth,
-even for ever.' What are the trials of
-the hour to them that believe and know and
-hope? They have a sure faith; the captivity
-is not for ever. Do ye remember the beginning
-of the 126th Psalm—it reminds me most
-of all of the Scotch phrase</span></p>
-<blockquote>
-<div>
-<div class="line-block outermost">
-<div class="line"><span>'laughin' maist like to greet'</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</blockquote>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>—'When the Lord turned again the captivity
-of Zion, we were like them that dream. Then
-was our mouth filled with laughter, and our
-tongue with singing; then said they among
-the heathen, The Lord hath done great things
-for them. The Lord hath done great things
-for us, whereof we are glad. Turn again our
-captivity, O Lord, as the streams in the
-south!'"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Laird was silent for a minute or two;
-there was nothing but the pacing up and down
-the moonlit deck.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you have your troubles too, my lass,"
-said he, at length. "Oh, I know—though ye
-put so brave a face on it. But you need not
-be afraid; you need not be afraid. Keep up
-your heart. I am an old man now; I may
-have but few years to reckon on; but while I
-live ye will not want a friend.... Ye will
-not want a friend.... If I forget, or refuse
-what I promise ye this night, may God do so
-and more unto me!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But the good-hearted Laird will not have
-her go to sleep with this solemnity weighing
-on her mind.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, come," he says cheerfully, "we will
-go below now; and you will sing me a
-song—the Queen's Maries, if ye like—though
-I doubt but that they were a lot o' wild
-hizzies."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="mary-mary"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER X.</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">"MARY, MARY!"</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Is there any one awake and listening—perhaps
-with a tremor of the heart—for the calling
-out of "</span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span>, ahoy!" from the shore?
-Once the ordinary loud noises of the morning
-are over—the brief working of the pump, the
-washing down of the decks—silence reigns
-once more throughout the yacht. One can
-only hear a whispering of the rain above.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then, in the distance, there is a muffled
-sound of the paddles of a steamer; and that
-becomes fainter and fainter, while the </span><em class="italics">White
-Dove</em><span> gradually loses the motion caused by the
-passing waves. Again there is an absolute
-stillness; with only that whispering of the rain.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But this sudden sound of oars? and the
-slight shock against the side of the vessel?
-The only person on board the yacht who is
-presentable whips a shawl over her head, darts
-up the companion way, and boldly emerges
-into the moist and dismal morning.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Angus!" she cries, to this streaming
-black figure that has just stepped on deck,
-"what a day you have brought with you!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, it is nothing!" says a cheerful voice
-from out of the dripping macintosh—perhaps it
-is this shining black garment that makes the wet
-face and whiskers and hair glow redder than
-ever, and makes the blue eyes look even bluer.
-"Nothing at all! John and I have agreed it is
-going to clear. But this is a fine place to be
-in, with a falling glass! If you get a squall
-down from Glencoe, you won't forget it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A squall!" she says, looking round, in
-amazement. Well might she exclaim; for the
-day is still, and grey, and sombre; the
-mountains are swathed in mist; the smooth sea
-troubled only by the constant rain.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>However, the ruddy-faced Doctor, having
-divested himself of his dripping garment,
-follows his hostess down the companion, and
-into the saloon, and sits down on one of the
-couches. There is an odd, half pathetic
-expression on his face, as he looks around.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It seems a long time ago," he says,
-apparently to himself.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What does?" asks his hostess, removing
-her head-gear.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The evenings we used to spend in this
-very saloon," says he—looking with a strange
-interest on those commonplace objects, the
-draughts and dominoes, the candlesticks and
-cigar-boxes, the cards and books—"away up
-there in the north. It seems years since we
-were at Dunvegan, doesn't it, and lying off
-Vaternish Point? There never was as snug a
-cabin as this in any yacht. It is like returning
-to an old home to get into it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am very glad to hear you say so," says his
-hostess, regarding him with a great kindliness.
-"We will try to make you forget that you have
-ever been away. Although," she added frankly,
-"I must tell you you have been turned out of
-your state-room—for a time. I know you
-won't mind having a berth made up for you on
-one of those couches."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course not," he said; "if I am not in
-your way at all. But——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And his face asked the question.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! it is a nephew of Denny-mains who
-has come on board—a Mr. Smith, a very nice
-young fellow; I am sure you will like him."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was nothing said in reply to this.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then the new-comer inquired, rather timidly,
-"You are all well, I hope?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And—and Miss Avon, too?" said he.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes! But Mary has suffered a great
-misfortune since you left."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She looked up quickly. Then she told him
-the story; and in telling him her indignation
-awoke afresh. She spoke rapidly. The old
-injury had touched her anew.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But, strangely enough, although Angus
-Sutherland displayed a keen interest in the
-matter, he was not at all moved to that passion
-of anger and desire for vengeance that had
-shaken the Laird. Not at all. He was very
-thoughtful for a time; but he only said, "You
-mean she has to support herself now?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Absolutely."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"She will naturally prefer that to being
-dependent on her friends?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"She will not be dependent on her friends, I
-know," is the answer; "though the Laird has
-taken such a great liking for her that I believe
-he would give her half Denny-mains."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He started a little bit at this; but
-immediately said—</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course she will prefer independence.
-And, as you say, she is quite capable of earning
-her own living. Well, she does not worry
-about it? It does not trouble her mind?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That affair of her uncle wounded her very
-keenly, I imagine, though she said little; but
-as for the loss of her little fortune, not at all!
-She is as light-hearted as ever. The only
-thing is that she is possessed by a mad notion
-that she should start away at once for London."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"To begin work; I tell her she must work here."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But she is not anxious? She is not troubled?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not a bit! The Laird says she has the
-courage of ten men; and I believe him."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That is all right. I was going to prescribe
-a course of Marcus Aurelius; but if you have
-got philosophy in your blood, it is better than
-getting it through the brain."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And so this talk ended; leaving on the mind
-of one of those two friends a distinct sense of
-disappointment. She had been under the
-impression that Angus Sutherland had a very warm
-regard for Mary Avon; and she had formed
-certain other suspicions. She had made sure
-that he, more quickly than any one else, would
-resent the injury done to this helpless girl.
-And now he seemed to treat it as of no
-account. If she was not troubling herself; if
-she was not giving herself headaches about it:
-then, no matter! It was a professional view of
-the case. A dose of Marcus Aurelius? It was
-not thus that the warm-hearted Laird had
-espoused Mary Avon's cause.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then the people came one by one in to
-breakfast; and our young Doctor was
-introduced to the stranger who had ousted him
-from his state-room. Last of all came Mary Avon.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>How she managed to go along to him, and
-to shake hands with him, seeing that her eyes
-were bent on the floor all the time, was a
-mystery. But she did shake hands with him;
-and said, "How do you do?" in a somewhat
-formal manner; and she seemed a little paler
-than usual.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't think you are looking quite as well
-as when I left," said he, with a great interest
-and kindness in his look.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you, I am very well," she said; and
-then she instantly turned to the Laird and
-began chatting to him. Angus Sutherland's
-face burned red; it was not thus she had been
-used to greet him in the morning, when we
-were far away beyond the shores of Canna.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And then, when we found that the rain was
-over, and that there was not a breath of wind
-in this silent, grey, sombre world of mountain
-and mist, and when we went ashore for a walk
-along the still lake, what must she needs do but
-attach herself to the Laird, and take no notice
-of her friend of former days? Angus walked
-behind with his hostess, but he rarely took his
-eyes off the people in front. And when Miss
-Avon, picking up a wild flower now and again,
-was puzzling over its name, he did not, as once
-he would have done, come to her help with his
-student-days' knowledge of botany. Howard
-Smith brought her a bit of wall rue, and said
-he thought they called it </span><em class="italics">Asplenium marinum</em><span>:
-there was no interference. The preoccupied
-Doctor behind only asked how far Miss Avon
-was going to walk with her lame foot.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Laird of Denny-mains knew nothing of
-all this occult business. He was rejoicing in his
-occupation of philosopher and guide. He was
-assuring us all that this looked like a real
-Highland day—far more so than the Algerian
-blue sky that had haunted us for so long. He
-pointed out, as we walked along the winding
-shores of Loch Leven, by the path that rose,
-and fell, and skirted small precipices all
-hanging in foliage, how beautiful was that calm,
-slate-blue mirror beneath, showing every
-outline of the sombre mountains, with their masses
-of Landseer mist. He stopped his companion
-to ask her if she had ever seen anything finer
-in colour than the big clusters of scarlet rowans
-among the yellow-green leaves? Did she
-notice the scent of the meadow-sweet, in the
-moist air of this patch of wood? He liked
-to see those white stars of the grass-of-Parnassus;
-they reminded him of many a stroll
-among the hills about Loch Katrine.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And this still Loch Leven," he said at
-length, and without the least blush on his face,
-"with the Glencoe mountains at the end of it.
-I have often heard say was as picturesque a
-loch as any in Scotland, on a gloomy day like
-this. Gloomy I call it, but ye see there are
-fine silver glints among the mist; and—and, in
-fact, there's a friend of mine has often been
-wishing to have a water-colour sketch of it. If
-ye had time, Miss Mary, to make a bit drawing
-from the deck of the yacht, ye might name
-your own price—just name your own price. I
-will buy it for him."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A friend! Mary Avon knew very well who
-the friend was.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I should be afraid, sir," said she, laughing,
-"to meddle with anything about Glencoe."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Toots! toots!" said he; "ye have not
-enough confidence. I know twenty young
-men in Edinburgh and Glasgow who have
-painted every bit of Glencoe, from the bridge
-to the King's House inn, and not one of them
-able to come near ye. Mind, I'm looking
-forward to showing your pictures to Tom
-Galbraith; I'm thinking he'll stare!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Laird chuckled again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, ay! he does not know what a formidable
-rival has come from the south; I'm
-thinking he'll stare when he comes to Denny-mains
-to meet ye. Howard, what's that down there?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Laird had caught sight of a pink flower
-on the side of a steep little ravine, leading
-down to the shore.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I don't want it; I don't want it!"
-Mary Avon cried.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But the Laird was obdurate. His nephew
-had to go scrambling down through the alders
-and rowan-trees and wet bracken to get this
-bit of pink crane's-bill for Miss Avon's bouquet.
-And of course she was much pleased; and
-thanked him very prettily; and was it
-catch-fly, or herb robert, or what was it?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then out of sheer common courtesy she had
-to turn to Angus Sutherland.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am sure Dr. Sutherland can tell us."
-she says, timidly; and she does not meet
-his eyes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is one of the crane's-bills, any way,"
-he says, indifferently. "Don't you think you
-had better return now, Miss Avon, or you
-will hurt your foot?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, my foot is quite well now, thank
-you!" she says; and on she goes again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>We pass by the first cuttings of the
-slate-quarries; the men suspended by ropes round
-their waists and hewing away at the face of
-the cliff. We go through the long straggling
-village; and the Laird remarks that it is not
-usual for a Celtic race to have such clean
-cottages, with pots of flowers in the window.
-We saunter idly onwards, towards those great
-mountain-masses, and there is apparently no
-thought of returning.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"When we've gone so far, might we not
-go on to the mouth of the pass?" she asks.
-"I should like to have a look even at the
-beginning of Glencoe."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought so," said the Laird, with a
-shrewd smile. "Oh, ay! we may as well
-go on."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Past those straggling cottages, with the
-elder-bush at their doors to frighten away
-witches; over the bridge that spans the
-brawling Cona; along the valley down which
-the stream rushes; and this gloom overhead
-deepens and deepens. The first of the great
-mountains appears on our right, green to the
-summit, and yet so sheer from top to bottom
-that it is difficult to understand how those
-dots of sheep maintain their footing. Then
-the marks on him; he seems to be a huge
-Behemoth, with great eyes, grand, complacent,
-even sardonic in his look. But the further
-and further mountains have nothing of this
-mild, grand humour about them; they are
-sullen and awful; they grasp the earth with
-their mighty bulk below, but far away they
-lift their lurid peaks to the threatening skies,
-up there where the thunder threatens to shake
-the silence of the world.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Avon," Dr. Sutherland again
-remonstrates, "you have come five or six miles
-now. Suppose you have to walk back in
-the rain?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't mind about that," she says,
-cheerfully. "But I am dreadfully, dreadfully
-hungry."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then we must push on to Clachaig,"
-says the Laird; "there is no help for it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But wait a moment," she says.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She goes to the side of the road, where
-the great grey boulders, and ferns, and moist
-marsh-grass are, and begins to gather handfuls
-of "sourocks;" that is to say, of the smaller
-sheep's sorrel. "Who will partake of this
-feast to allay the pangs of hunger?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Is thy servant a baa-lamb that she should
-do this thing?" her hostess says, and drives
-the girl forward.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The inn is reached but in time; for behold
-there is a grey "smurr" of mist coming down
-the glen; and the rain is beginning to darken
-the grey boulders. And very welcome are
-those chairs, and the bread and cheese and
-beer, and the humble efforts in art around
-the walls. If the feast is not as the feasting
-of the Fishmongers—if we have no pretty
-boxes to carry home to the children—if we
-have no glimpses of the pale blue river and
-shipping through the orange light of the room,
-at least we are not amazed by the appearance
-of the Duke of Sussex in the garb of a
-Highlander. And the frugal meal is substantial
-enough. Then the question about getting
-back arises.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, Mary," says her hostess, "you have
-got to pay for your amusement. How will
-you like walking seven or eight miles in a
-thunderstorm?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But here the Laird laughs.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no," he says, going to the window.
-"That waggonette that has just come up I
-ordered at the inn on passing. Ye will not
-have to walk a step, my lass; but I think
-we had better be going, as it looks black
-overhead."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Black enough, indeed, was it as we drove
-back in this silent afternoon, with a
-thunderstorm apparently about to break over our
-heads. And it was close and sultry when
-we got on board again, though there was as
-yet no wind. Captain John did not like the
-look of the sky.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I said you were going to bring a gale
-with you, Angus," his hostess remarked to
-him, cheerfully, at dinner.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It begins to look like it," he answered,
-gravely; "and it is getting too late to run
-away from here if the wind rises. As soon
-as it begins to blow, if I were John, I would
-put out the starboard anchor."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I know he will take your advice," she
-answers, promptly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>We saw little of Angus Sutherland that
-evening; for it was raining hard and blowing
-hard; and the cabin below, with its lit candles,
-and books and cards, and what not, was
-cheerful enough; while he seemed very much to
-prefer being on deck. We could hear the
-howling of the wind through the rigging,
-and the gurgling of the water along the sides
-of the yacht; and we knew by the way she
-was swaying that she was pulling hard at
-her anchor chain. There was to be no
-beautiful moonlight for us that night, with the
-black shadows on the hills, and the lane of
-silver on the water.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A dripping and glistening figure comes down
-the companion; a gleaming red face appears
-at the door. Mary Avon looks up from her
-draughts, but for an instant.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Angus, what is the report?" says
-Queen Titania, brightly. "And what is all
-the noise on deck? And why don't you come
-below?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"They have been paying out more anchor
-chain," says the rough voice from out of the
-macintosh; "it is likely to be a nasty night,
-and we are going to lower the topmast now.
-I want you to be so kind as to tell Fred to
-leave out some whisky and some bread and
-cheese; for John thinks of having an anchor
-watch."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The bread and cheese and whisky Fred
-can get at any time," says she; and she adds
-with some warmth, "But you are not going to
-stay on deck on such a night? Come in
-here at once. Leave your macintosh on the
-steps."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Is it that he looks at that draught-board?
-It is Mr. Howard Smith who is playing with
-Mary Avon. The faithless Miranda has got
-another Ferdinand now.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I think I would rather take my turn like
-the rest," he says, absently. "There may be
-some amusement before the morning."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And so the black figure turned away and
-disappeared; and a strange thing was that
-the girl playing draughts seemed to have been
-so bewildered by the apparition that she stared
-at the board, and could not be got to
-understand how she had made a gross and gigantic
-blunder.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes; oh, certainly!" she said, hurriedly;
-but she did not know how to retrieve
-her obvious mistake.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="an-unspoken-appeal"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XI.</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">AN UNSPOKEN APPEAL.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>"What have I done? Is she vexed?
-Have I offended her?" he asked the next
-morning, in a rapid manner, when his hostess
-came on deck. The gale had abated
-somewhat, but gloom overspread earth and sky.
-It was nothing to the gloom that overspread
-his usually frank and cheerful face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean Mary?" she says, though she
-knows well enough.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes; haven't you seen? She seems to
-treat me as though we had never met before—as
-though we were perfect strangers—and I
-know she is too kind-hearted to cause any
-one pain——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Here he looks somewhat embarrassed for a
-moment; but his customary straightforwardness
-comes to his rescue.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes; I will confess I am very much hurt
-by it. And—and I should like to know if
-there is any cause. Surely you must have
-noticed it?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She had noticed it, sure enough; and, in
-contrast with that studied coldness which Mary
-Avon had shown to her friend of former days,
-she had remarked the exceeding friendliness
-the young lady was extending to the Laird's
-nephew. But would she draw the obvious
-conclusion? Not likely; she was too staunch
-a friend to believe any such thing. All the
-same there remained in her mind a vague
-feeling of surprise, with perhaps a touch of
-personal injury.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Angus, you know," she said, evasively;
-"Mary is very much preoccupied just
-at present. Her whole condition of life is
-changed, and she has many things to think
-of——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes; but she is frank enough with her
-other friends. What have I done, that I
-should be made a stranger of?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A pathetic answer comes to these idle
-frettings of the hour. Far away on the shore a
-number of small black figures emerge from
-the woods, and slowly pass along the winding
-road that skirts the rocks. They are
-following a cart—a common farmyard cart; but on
-the wooden planks is placed a dark object
-that is touched here and there with silver—or
-perhaps it is only the white cords. Between
-the overhanging gloom of the mountains and
-the cold greys of the wind-swept sea the small
-black line passes slowly on. And these two
-on board the yacht watch it in silence. Are
-they listening for the wail of the pipes—the
-wild dirge of Lord Lovat, or the cry of the
-</span><em class="italics">Cumhadh na Cloinne</em><span>? But the winds are
-loud, and the rushing seas are loud; and now
-the rude farmyard cart, with its solemn burden,
-is away out at the point; and presently
-the whole simple pageant has disappeared.
-The lonely burying-ground lies far away among
-the hills.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Angus Sutherland turns round again, with
-a brief sigh.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It will be all the same in a few years," he
-says to his hostess; and then he adds,
-indifferently, "What do you say about starting?
-The wind is against us; but anything is better
-than lying here. There were some bad squalls
-in the night."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Very soon after this the silent loch is
-resounding with the rattle of halyards, blocks,
-and chains; and Angus Sutherland is seeking
-distraction from those secret cares of the
-moment in the excitement of hard work. Nor
-is it any joke getting in that enormous quantity
-of anchor chain. In the midst of all the noise
-and bustle Mary Avon appears on deck to
-see what is going on, and she is immediately
-followed by young Smith.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why don't you help them?" she says, laughing.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"So I would, if I knew what to do," he
-says, good-naturedly. "I'll go and ask
-Dr. Sutherland."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was a fatal step. Angus Sutherland
-suggested, somewhat grimly, that, if he liked,
-he might lend them a hand at the windlass.
-A muscular young Englishman does not
-like to give in; and for a time he held his
-own with the best of them; but long before
-the starboard anchor had been got up, and
-the port one hove short, he had had enough
-of it. He did not volunteer to assist at the
-throat halyards. To Miss Avon, who was
-calmly looking on, he observed that it would
-take him about a fortnight to get his back
-straight.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That," said she, finding an excuse for him
-instantly, "is because you worked too hard at
-it at first. You should have watched the Islay
-man. All he does is to call 'Heave!' and to
-make his shoulders go up as if he were going
-to do the whole thing himself. But he does
-not help a bit. I have watched him again
-and again."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Your friend, Dr. Sutherland," said he,
-regarding her for an instant as he spoke,
-"seems to work as hard as any of them."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He is very fond of it," she said, simply,
-without any embarrassment; nor did she appear
-to regard it as singular that Angus Sutherland
-should have been spoken of specially as her
-friend.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Angus Sutherland himself comes rapidly aft,
-loosens the tiller rope, and jams the helm over.
-And now the anchor is hove right up; the
-reefed mainsail and small jib quickly fill out
-before this fresh breeze; and, presently, with a
-sudden cessation of noise, we are spinning
-away through the leaden-coloured waters. We
-are not sorry to get away from under the gloom
-of these giant hills; for the day still looks
-squally, and occasionally a scud of rain comes
-whipping across, scarcely sufficient to wet the
-decks. And there is more life and animation
-on board now; a good deal of walking up and
-down in ulsters, with inevitable collisions; and
-of remarks shouted against, or with, the wind;
-and of joyful pointing towards certain silver
-gleams of light in the west and south. There
-is hope in front; behind us nothing but
-darkness and the threatenings of storm. The Pap
-of Glencoe has disappeared in rain; the huge
-mountains on the right are as black as the
-deeds of murder done in the glen below;
-Ardgour over there, and Lochaber here, are
-steeped in gloom. And there is less sadness
-now in the old refrain of Lochaber since there
-is a prospect of the South shining before us.
-If Mary Avon is singing to herself about</span></p>
-<blockquote>
-<div>
-<div class="line-block outermost">
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">Lochaber no more! And Lochaber no more!</em></div>
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">We'll maybe return to Lochaber no more!</em></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</blockquote>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>—it is with a light heart.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But then if it is a fine thing to go bowling
-along with a brisk breeze on our beam, it is
-very different when we get round Ardshiel and
-find the southerly wind veering to meet us
-dead in the teeth. And there is a good sea
-running up Loch Linnhe—a heavy grey-green
-sea that the </span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span> meets and breaks, with
-spurts of spray forward, and a line of hissing
-foam in our wake. The zig-zag beating takes
-us alternately to Ardgour and Appin, until we
-can see here and there the cheerful patches of
-yellow corn at the foot of the giant and gloomy
-hills; then "'Bout ship" again, and away we
-go on the heaving and rushing grey-green sea.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And is Mary Avon's oldest friend—the
-woman who is the staunchest of champions—being
-at last driven to look askance at the girl?
-Is it fair that the young lady should be so
-studiously silent when our faithful Doctor is by,
-and instantly begin to talk again when he goes
-forward to help at the jib or foresail sheets?
-And when he asks her, as in former days, to
-take the tiller, she somewhat coldly declines the
-offer he has so timidly and respectfully made.
-But as for Mr. Smith, that is a very different
-matter. It is he whom she allows to go below
-for some wrapper for her neck. It is he who
-stands by, ready to shove over the top of the
-companion when she crouches to avoid a passing
-shower of rain. It is he with whom she jokes
-and talks—when the Laird does not monopolise her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I would have believed it of any girl in the
-world rather than of her," says her hostess, to
-another person, when these two happen to be
-alone in the saloon below. "I don't believe
-it yet. It is impossible. Of course a girl who
-is left as penniless as she is might be pardoned
-for looking round and being friendly with rich
-people who are well inclined towards her; but
-I don't believe—I say it is impossible—that
-she should have thrown Angus over just
-because she saw a chance of marrying the
-Laird's nephew. Why, there never was a girl
-we have ever known so independent as she is!—not
-any one half as proud and as fearless.
-She looks upon going to London and earning
-her own living as nothing at all! She is the
-very last girl in the world to speculate on
-making a good match—she has too much
-pride—she would not speak another word to Howard
-Smith if such a monstrous thing were suggested
-to her."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well," says the meek listener. The
-possibility was not of his suggesting, assuredly:
-he knows better.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then the Admiral-in-chief of the </span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span>
-sits silent and puzzled for a time.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And yet her treatment of poor Angus is
-most unfair. He is deeply hurt by it—he told
-me so this morning——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If he is so fearfully sensitive that he cannot
-go yachting and enjoy his holiday because a
-girl does not pay him attention——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, what do you suppose he came back
-here for?" she says, warmly. "To go sailing
-in the </span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span>? No; not if twenty </span><em class="italics">White
-Doves</em><span> were waiting for him! He knows too
-well the value of his time to stay away so long
-from London if it were merely to take the
-tiller of a yacht. He came back here, at great
-personal sacrifice, because Mary was on board."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Has he told you so?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He has not; but one has eyes."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then suppose she has changed her mind:
-how can you help it?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She says nothing for a second. She is
-preparing the table for Master Fred: perhaps
-she tosses the novels on to the couch with an
-impatience they do not at all deserve. But at
-length she says—</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well; I never thought Mary would have
-been so fickle as to go chopping and changing
-about within the course of a few weeks.
-However, I won't accuse her of being mercenary;
-I will not believe that. Howard Smith is a
-most gentlemanly young man—good-looking,
-too, and pleasant tempered. I can imagine
-any girl liking him."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Here a volume of poems is pitched on to
-the top of the draught-board, as if it had done
-her some personal injury.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And in any case she might be more civil to
-one who is a very old friend of ours," she adds.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Further discourse on this matter is
-impossible; for our Freidrich d'or comes in to
-prepare for luncheon. But why the charge of
-incivility? When we are once more assembled
-together, the girl is quite the reverse of uncivil
-towards him. She shows him—when she is
-forced to speak to him—an almost painful
-courtesy; and she turns her eyes down, as if
-she were afraid to speak to him. This is no
-flaunting coquette, proud of her wilful caprice.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And as for poor Angus, he does his best to
-propitiate her. They begin talking about the
-picturesqueness of various cities. Knowing
-that Miss Avon has lived the most of her life,
-if she was not actually born, in London, he
-strikes boldly for London. What is there in
-Venice, what is there in the world, like London
-in moonlight—with the splendid sweep of her
-river—and the long lines of gas-lamps—and the
-noble bridges? But she is all for Edinburgh
-if Edinburgh had but the Moldau running
-through that valley, and the bridges of Prague
-to span it, what city in Europe could compare
-with it? And the Laird is so delighted with
-her approval of the Scotch capital, that he
-forgets for the moment his Glaswegian
-antipathy to the rival city, and enlarges no less
-on the picturesqueness of it than on its wealth
-of historical traditions. There is not a stain
-of blood on any floor that he does not believe
-in. Then the Sanctuary of Holyrood: what
-stories has he not to tell about that famous
-refuse?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe the mysterious influence of that
-Sanctuary has gone out and charmed all the
-country about Edinburgh," said our young
-Doctor. "I suppose you know that there are
-several plants, poisonous elsewhere, that are
-quite harmless in the neighbourhood of
-Edinburgh. You remember I told you, Miss Avon,
-that evening we went out to Arthur's Seat?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was well done, Queen Titania must have
-thought, to expose this graceless flirt before
-her new friends. So she had been walking
-out to Arthur's Seat with him, in the summer
-afternoons?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Y—yes," says the girl.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay; that is a most curious thing," says the
-Laird, not noticing her downcast looks and
-flushed cheeks. "But what were they, did
-ye say?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Umbelliferous plants," replies Angus
-Sutherland, in quite a matter-of-fact manner. "The
-</span><em class="italics">Œnanthe crocata</em><span> is one of them, I remember;
-and I think the </span><em class="italics">Cicuta virosa</em><span>—that is, the
-Water Hemlock."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I would jist like to know," says the Laird,
-somewhat pompously, "whether that does not
-hold good about the neighbourhood of Glesca
-also. There's nothing so particular healthy
-about the climate of Edinburgh, as far as ever
-I heard tell of. Quite the reverse—quite the
-reverse. East winds—fogs—no wonder the
-people are shilpit-looking creatures as a general
-rule—like a lot o' Paisley weavers. But the
-ceety is a fine ceety, I will admit that; and
-many's the time I've said to Tom Galbraith
-that he could get no finer thing to paint than
-the view of the High Street at night from
-Prince's Street—especially on a moonlight
-night. A fine ceety: but the people
-themselves!—" here the Laird shook his head.
-"And their manner o' speech is most vexsome—a
-long, sing-song kind o' yaumering as if
-they had not sufficient manliness to say
-outright what they meant. If we are to have
-a Scotch accent, I prefer the accent—the very
-slight accent—ye hear about Glesca. I would
-like to hear what Miss Avon has to say upon
-that point."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not a very good judge, sir," says
-Miss Avon, prudently.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then on deck. The leaden-black waves
-are breaking in white foam along the shores
-of Kingairloch and the opposite rocks of
-Eilean-na-Shuna; and we are still laboriously
-beating against the southerly wind; but those
-silver-yellow gleams in the south have
-increased, over the softly-purple hills of Morvern
-and Duart. Black as night are the vast ranges
-of mountains in the north; but they are far
-behind us; we have now no longer any fear
-of a white shaft of lightning falling from the
-gloom overhead.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The decks are dry now; camp-stools are
-in requisition; there is to be a consultation
-about our future plans, after the </span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span>
-has been beached for a couple of days. The
-Laird admits that, if it had been three days
-or four days, he would like to run through
-to Glasgow and to Strathgovan, just to see
-how they are getting on with the gas-lamps
-in the Mitherdrum Road; but, as it is, he
-will write for a detailed report; hence he is
-free to go wherever we wish. Miss Avon,
-interrogated, answers that she thinks she must
-leave us and set out for London; whereupon
-she is bidden to hold her tongue and not talk
-foolishness. Our Doctor, also interrogated,
-looks down on the sitting parliament—he is
-standing at the tiller—and laughs.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be too sure of getting to Castle
-Osprey to-night," he says, "whatever your
-plans may be. The breeze is falling off a
-bit. But you may put me down as willing
-to go anywhere with you, if you will let me
-come."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>This decision seemed greatly to delight his
-hostess. She said we could not do without him.
-She was herself ready to go anywhere now;
-she eagerly embraced the Youth's suggestion
-that there were, according to John of Skye's
-account, vast numbers of seals in the bays on
-the western shores of Knapdale; and at once
-assured the Laird, who said he particularly
-wanted a sealskin or two and some skarts'
-feathers for a young lady, that he should not
-be disappointed. Knapdale, then, it was to be.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But in the meantime? Dinner found us in
-a dead calm. After dinner, when we came on
-deck, the sun had gone down; and in the pale,
-tender blue-grey of the twilight, the golden star
-of Lismore lighthouse was already shining.
-Then we had our warning lights put up—the
-port red light shedding a soft crimson glow
-on the bow of the dingay, the starboard green
-light touching with a cold, wan colour the iron
-shrouds. To crown all, as we were watching
-the dark shadows of Lismore island, a thin,
-white, vivid line—like the edge of a
-shilling—appeared over the low hill; and then the full
-moon rose into the partially clouded sky. It
-was a beautiful night.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But we gave up all hope of reaching Castle
-Osprey. The breeze had quite gone; the
-calm sea slowly rolled. We went below—to
-books, draughts, and what not; Angus Sutherland
-alone remaining on deck, having his pipe
-for his companion.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was about an hour afterwards that we
-were startled by sounds on deck; and
-presently we knew that the </span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span> was
-again flying through the water. The women
-took some little time to get their shawls and
-things ready; had they known what was
-awaiting them, they would have been more
-alert.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>For no sooner were we on deck than we
-perceived that the </span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span> was tearing
-through the water without the slightest
-landmark or light to guide her. The breeze that
-had sprung up had swept before it a bank of
-sea-fog—a most unusual thing in these windy
-and changeable latitudes; and so dense was
-this fog that the land on all sides of us had
-disappeared, while it was quite impossible to
-say where Lismore light-house was. Angus
-Sutherland had promptly surrendered the helm
-to John of Skye; and had gone forward.
-The men on the look out at the bow were
-themselves invisible.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, it is all right, mem!" called out John
-of Skye, through the dense fog, in answer to
-a question. "I know the lay o' the land
-very well, though I do not see it. And I
-will keep her down to Duart, bekass of the
-tide."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And then he calls out—</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Hector, do you not see any land yet?'</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Cha n'eil!</em><span>" answers Hector, in his native
-tongue.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We'll put a tack on her now. Ready
-about, boys!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Ready about!</em><span>"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Round slews her head, with blocks and sails
-clattering and flapping; there is a scuffle of
-making fast the lee sheets; then once more
-the </span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span> goes plunging into the
-unknown. The non-experts see nothing at all
-but the fog; they have not the least idea
-whether Lismore lighthouse—which is a solid
-object to run against—is on port or starboard
-bow, or right astern, for the matter of that.
-They are huddled in a group about the top
-of the companion. They can only listen,
-and wait.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>John of Skye's voice rings out again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Hector, can you not mek out the land yet?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Cha n'eil!</em><span>"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What does he say?" the Laird asks,
-almost in a whisper: he is afraid to distract
-attention at such a time.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He says 'No,'" Angus Sutherland
-answers. "He cannot make out the land. It
-is very thick; and there are bad rocks
-between Lismore and Duart. I think I will
-climb up to the cross-trees and have a look
-round."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>What was this? A girl's hand laid for an
-instant on his arm; a girl's voice—low, quick,
-beseeching—saying "Oh, no!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was the trifle of a moment.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There is not the least danger," says he,
-lightly. "Sometimes you can see better at
-the cross-trees."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then the dim figure is seen going up the
-shrouds; but he is not quite up at the
-cross-trees, when the voice of John of Skye is
-heard again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Sutherland!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"All right, John!" and the dusky figure
-comes stumbling down and across the loose
-sheets on deck.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If ye please, sir," says John of Skye; and
-the well-known formula means that Angus
-Sutherland is to take the helm. Captain
-John goes forward to the bow: the only
-sound around us is the surging of the unseen
-waves.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope you are not frightened, Miss
-Avon," says Mr. Smith, quite cheerfully;
-though he is probably listening, like the rest
-of us, for the sullen roaring of breakers in
-the dark.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No—I am bewildered—I don't know
-what it is all about."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You need not be afraid," Angus Sutherland
-says to her, abruptly, for he will not have
-the Youth interfere in such matters, "with
-Captain John on board. He sees better in a
-fog than most men in daylight."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We are in the safe keeping of one greater
-than any Captain John," says the Laird, simply
-and gravely: he is not in any alarm.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then a call from the bow.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Helm hard down, sir!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Hard down it is, John!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then the rattle again of sheets and sails;
-and as she swings round again on the other
-tack, what is that vague, impalpable shadow
-one sees—or fancies one sees—on the starboard
-bow?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that the land, John?" Angus Sutherland
-asks, as the skipper comes aft.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, ay!" says he, with a chuckle. "I
-was thinking to myself it wass the loom of
-Duart I sah once or twice. And I wass saying
-to Hector if it wass his sweetheart he will look,
-for he will see better in the night."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then by and by this other object, to which
-all attention is summoned: the fog grows
-thinner and thinner; some one catches sight
-of a pale, glimmering light on our port quarter;
-and we know that we have left Lismore
-lighthouse in our wake. And still the fog grows
-thinner, until it is suffused with a pale blue
-radiance; then suddenly we sail out into the
-beautiful moonlight, with the hills along the
-horizon all black under the clear and solemn skies.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It is a pleasant sail into the smooth harbour
-on this enchanted night: the far windows of
-Castle Osprey are all aglow; the mariners are
-to rest for a while from the travail of the sea.
-And as we go up the moonlit road, the Laird is
-jocular enough; and asks Mary Avon, who is
-his companion, whether she was prepared to
-sing "Lochaber no more!" when we were
-going blindly through the mist. But our young
-Doctor remembers that hour or so of mist for
-another reason. There was something in the
-sound of the girl's voice he cannot forget.
-The touch of her hand was slight; but his
-arm has not even yet parted with the thrill
-of it.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="his-lordship"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XII.</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">HIS LORDSHIP.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Miss Avon is seated in the garden in front
-of Castle Osprey, under the shade of a
-drooping ash. Her book lies neglected beside her,
-on the iron seat; she is idly looking abroad on
-the sea and the mountains, now all aglow in
-the warm light of the afternoon.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There is a clanging of a gate below. Presently,
-up the steep gravel path, comes a tall and
-handsome young fellow, in full shooting
-accoutrement, with his gun over his shoulder. Her
-face instantly loses its dreamy expression. She
-welcomes him with a cheerful "Good evening!"
-and asks what sport he has had. For answer
-he comes across the greensward; places his gun
-against the trunk of the ash; takes a seat
-beside her; and puts his hands round one knee.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a long story," says the Youth. "Will
-it bore you to hear it? I've seen how the
-women in a country house dread the beginning
-of the talk at dinner about the day's shooting;
-and yet give themselves up, like the martyrs
-and angels they are; and—and it is very
-different from hunting, don't you know, for
-there the women can talk as much as anybody."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! but I should like to hear, really," says
-she. "It was so kind of a stranger on board
-a steamer to offer you a day's shooting."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, it was," says he; "and the place has
-been shot over only once—on the 12th. Very
-well; you shall hear the whole story. I met
-the keeper by appointment, down at the quay.
-I don't know what sort of a fellow he
-is—Highlander or Lowlander—I am not such a
-swell at those things as my uncle is; but I
-should have said he talked a most promising
-mixture of Devonshire, Yorkshire, and
-Westmoreland——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What was his name?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know," says the other leisurely.
-"I called him Donald, on chance; and he took
-to it well enough. I confess I thought it
-rather odd he had only one dog with him—an
-old retriever; but then, don't you know, the
-moor had been shot over only once; and I
-thought we might get along. As we walked
-along to the hill, Donald says, 'Dinna tha
-mind, sir, if a blackcock gets up; knock un
-ower, knock un ower, sir.'"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At this point Miss Avon most unfairly bursts
-out laughing.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why," she says, "what sort of countryman
-was he if he talked like that? That is how
-they speak in plays about the colliery districts."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, it's all the same!" says the young
-man, quite unabashed. "I gave him my bag
-to carry, and put eight or ten cartridges in
-my pockets. 'A few mower, sir; a few mower,
-sir,' says Donald; and crams my pockets full.
-Then he would have me put cartridges in
-my gun even before we left the road; and as
-soon as we began to ascend the hill I saw he
-was on the outlook for a straggler or two, or
-perhaps a hare. But he warned me that the
-shooting had been very bad in these districts
-this year; and that on the 12th the rain was
-so persistent that scarcely anybody went out.
-Where could we have been on the 12th? surely
-there was no such rain with us?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But when you are away from the hills
-you miss the rain," remarks this profound
-meteorologist.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! perhaps so. However, Donald said,
-'His lordship went hout for an hour, and got a
-brace and a alf. His lordship is no keen for
-a big bag, ye ken; but is just satisfied if he
-can get a brace or a couple of brace afore
-luncheon. It is the exerceez he likes.' I then
-discovered that Lord —— had had this moor
-as part of his shooting last year; and I assured
-Donald I did not hunger after slaughter. So
-we climbed higher and higher. I found Donald
-a most instructive companion. He was very
-great on the ownership of the land about here;
-and the old families, don't you know; and all
-that kind of thine. I heard a lot about the
-MacDougalls, and how they had all their
-possessions confiscated in 1745; and how, when
-the Government pardoned them, and ordered
-the land to be restored, the Campbells and
-Breadalbane, into whose hands it had fallen,
-kept all the best bits for themselves. I asked
-Donald why they did not complain; he only
-grinned; I suppose they were afraid to make a
-row. Then there was one MacDougall, an
-admiral or captain, don't you know; and he sent
-a boat to rescue some shipwrecked men, and the
-boat was swamped. Then he would send
-another; and that was swamped, too. The
-Government, Donald informed me, wanted to
-hang him for his philanthropy; but he had
-influential friends; and he was let off on the
-payment of a large sum of money—I suppose
-out of what Argyll and Breadalbane had left him."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Youth calmly shifted his hands to the
-other knee.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You see, Miss Avon, this was all very
-interesting; but I had to ask Donald where
-the birds were. 'I'll let loose the doag now,'
-says he. Well; he did so. You would have
-thought he had let loose a sky-rocket! It was
-off and away—up hill and down dale—and all
-his whistling wasn't of the slightest use. 'He's
-a bit wild,' Donald had to admit; 'but if I had
-kent you were agoin' shootin' earlier in the
-morning, I would have given him a run or two
-to take the freshness hoff. But on a day like
-this, sir, there's no scent; we will just have to
-walk them up; they'll lie as close as a
-water-hen.' So we left the dog to look after himself;
-and on we pounded. Do you see that long
-ridge of rugged hill?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He pointed to the coast-line beyond the bay.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We had to climb that, to start with;
-and not even a glimpse of a rabbit all the
-way up. ''Ave a care, sir,' says Donald; and
-I took down my gun from my shoulder,
-expecting to walk into a whole covey at least.
-'His lordship shot a brace and a alf of grouse
-on this wery knoll the last day he shot over
-the moor last year.' And now there was
-less talking, don't you know; and we went
-cautiously through the heather, working every
-bit of it, until we got right to the end of the
-knoll. 'It's fine heather,' says Donald; 'bees
-would dae well here.' On we went; and
-Donald's information began again. He pointed
-out a house on some distant island where
-Alexander III. was buried. 'But where are
-the birds?' I asked of him, at last. 'Oh,'
-says he, 'his lordship was never greedy after
-the shootin'! A brace or two afore luncheon
-was all he wanted. He baint none o' your
-greedy ones, he baint. His lordship shot a
-hare on this very side last year—a fine long
-shot.' We went on again: you know what
-sort of morning it was, Miss Avon?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It was hot enough even in the shelter of
-the trees."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Up there it was dreadful: not a breath
-of wind: the sun blistering. And still we
-ploughed through that knee-deep heather, with
-the retriever sometimes coming within a mile
-of us; and Donald back to his old families.
-It was the MacDonnells now; he said they
-had no right to that name; their proper name
-was MacAlister—Mack Mick Alister, I think
-he said. 'But where the dickens are the
-birds?' I asked. 'If we get a brace afore
-luncheon, we'll do fine,' said he; and then he
-added, 'There's a braw cold well down there
-that his lordship aye stopped at.' The hint
-was enough; we had our dram. Then we
-went on, and on, and on, and on, until I struck
-work, and sat down, and waited for the
-luncheon basket."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We were so afraid Fred would be late,"
-she said; "the men were all so busy down
-at the yacht."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What did it matter?" the Youth said,
-resignedly. "I was being instructed. He
-had got further back still now, to the Druids,
-don't you know, and the antiquity of the
-Gaelic language. 'What was the river that
-ran by Rome?' 'The Tiber,' I said. 'And
-what,' he asked, 'was </span><em class="italics">Tober</em><span> in Gaelic but a
-spring or fountain?' And the Tamar in
-Devonshire was the same thing. And the
-various Usks—</span><em class="italics">uska</em><span>, it seems, is the Gaelic
-for water. Well, I'm hanged if I know what
-that man did </span><em class="italics">not</em><span> talk about!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But surely such a keeper must be invaluable,"
-remarked the young lady, innocently.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps. I confess I got a little bit tired
-of it; but no doubt the poor fellow was doing
-his best to make up for the want of birds.
-However, we started again after luncheon. And
-now we came to place after place where his
-lordship had performed the most wonderful
-feats last year. And, mind you, the dog
-wasn't ranging so wild now; if there had been
-the ghost of a shadow of a feather in the
-whole district we must have seen it. Then
-we came to another well where his lordship
-used to stop for a drink. Then we arrived
-at a crest where no one who had ever shot on
-the moor had ever failed to get a brace or two.
-A brace or two! What we flushed was a
-covey of sheep that flew like mad things down
-the hill. Well, Donald gave in at last. He
-could not find words to express his astonishment.
-His lordship had never come along that
-highest ridge without getting at least two or
-three shots. And when I set out for home,
-he still stuck to it; he would not let me take
-the cartridges out of my gun; he assured me
-his lordship never failed to get a snipe or a
-blackcock on the way home. Confound his
-lordship!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And is that all the story?" says the young
-lady, with her eyes wide open.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, it is," says he, with a tragic gloom on
-the handsome face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You have not brought home a single bird?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not a feather!—never saw one."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nor even a rabbit?'</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nary rabbit!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Fred was up here a short time ago,
-wanting a few birds for the yacht."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, indeed," says he, with a sombre
-contempt. "Perhaps he will go and ask his
-lordship for them. In the meantime, I'm
-going in to dress for dinner. I suppose his
-lordship would do that, too, after having shot
-his thirty brace."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You must not, any way," she says. "There
-is to be no dressing for dinner to-day; we are
-all going down to the yacht after."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"At all events," he says, "I must get my
-shooting things off. Much good I've done
-with 'em!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>So he goes into the house, and leaves her
-alone. But this chat together seems to have
-brightened her up somewhat; and with a
-careless and cheerful air she goes over to the
-flower borders and begins culling an assortment
-of various-hued blossoms. The evening is
-becoming cooler; she is not so much afraid of
-the sun's glare; it is a pleasant task; and she
-is singing, or humming, snatches of songs of
-the most heterogeneous character.</span></p>
-<blockquote>
-<div>
-<div class="line-block outermost">
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">Then fill up a bumper!—what can I do less</em></div>
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">Than drink to the health of my bonny Black Bess!</em></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</blockquote>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>—this is the point at which she has arrived
-when she suddenly becomes silent, and for a
-second her face is suffused with a conscious
-colour. It is our young Doctor who has
-appeared on the gravel path. She does not
-rise from her stooping position; but she hurries
-with her work.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are going to decorate the dinner-table,
-I suppose?" he says, somewhat timidly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she answers, without raising her
-head. The fingers work nimbly enough: why
-so much hurry?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You will take some down to the yacht,
-too?" he says. "Everything is quite ready
-now for the start to-morrow."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes!" she says. "And I think I have
-enough now for the table. I must go in."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Avon," he says; and she stops—with
-her eyes downcast. "I wanted to say a word
-to you. You have once or twice spoken about
-going away. I wanted to ask you—you won't
-think it is any rudeness. But if the reason
-was—if it was the presence of any one that was
-distasteful to you——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I hope no one will think that!" she
-answers, quickly; and for one second the soft,
-black, pathetic eyes meet his. "I am very
-happy to be amongst such good friends—too
-happy, I think—I, I must think of other
-things——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And here she seems to force this embarrassment
-away from her; and she says to him,
-with quite a pleasant air—</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am so glad to hear that the </span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span>
-will sail so much better now. It must be so
-much more pleasant for you, when you
-understand all about it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And then she goes into the house to put
-the flowers on the table. He, left alone, goes
-over to the iron seat beneath the ash tree;
-and takes up the book she has been reading,
-and bends his eyes on the page. It is not
-the book he is thinking about.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="the-laird-s-plans"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIII.</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE LAIRD'S PLANS.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Who is first up to thrust aside those delusive
-yellow blinds that suggest sunshine whether
-the morning be fair or foul? But the first
-glance through the panes removes all apprehensions:
-the ruffled bay, the fluttering ensign, the
-shining white wings of the </span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span> are all
-a summons to the slumbering house. And the
-mistress of Castle Osprey, as soon as she is
-dressed, is up stairs and down stairs like a furred
-flash of lightning. Her cry and potent
-command—a reminiscence of certain transatlantic
-experiences—is, "</span><em class="italics">All aboard for Dan'ls!</em><span>" She
-will not have so fine a sailing morning
-wasted, especially when Dr. Angus Sutherland
-is with us.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Strangely enough, when at last we stand on
-the white decks, and look round on the shining
-brass and varnished wood, and help to stow
-away the various articles needed for our cruise,
-he is the least excited of all those chattering
-people. There is a certain conscious elation
-on starting on a voyage, especially on a
-beautiful morning; but there also may be some
-vague and dim apprehension. The beginning
-is here; but the end? Angus walked about
-with Captain John, and was shown all that
-had been done to the yacht, and listened in
-silence.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But the rest were noisy enough, calling for
-this and that, handing things down the
-companion, and generally getting in the way of the
-steward.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Fred," says our facetious Laird,
-"have ye hung up all the game that Mr. Smith
-brought back from the moor yesterday?"
-and Master Fred was so much tickled by this
-profound joke that he had to go down into the
-forecastle to hide his grinning delight, and
-went covertly smiling about his work for the
-next quarter of an hour.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then the hubbub gradually ceased; for the
-boats had been swung to the davits, and the
-</span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span> was gently slipping away from her
-moorings. A fine northerly breeze; a ruffled
-blue sea; and the south all shining before her!
-How should we care whither the beautiful bird
-bore us? Perhaps before the night fell we
-should be listening for the singing of the
-mermaid of Colonsay.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The wooded shores slowly drew away; the
-horizon widened; there was no still blue, but a
-fine windy grey, on the vast plain of the sea
-that was opening out before us.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, mem!" says John of Skye to Miss
-Avon. "I wass sure we would get a good
-breeze for Mr. Sutherland when he will come
-back to the yat."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Miss Avon does not answer: she is looking at
-the wide sea, and at the far islands, with
-somewhat wistful eyes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Would you like to tek the tiller, now,
-mem?" says the bearded skipper, in his most
-courteous tones. "Mr. Sutherland was aye very
-proud to see ye at the tiller."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, thank you, John," she says.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And then she becomes aware that she has—in
-her absent mood—-spoken somewhat curtly;
-so she turns and comes over to him, and says
-in a confidential way—</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"To tell you the truth, John, I never feel
-very safe in steering when the yacht is going
-before the wind. When she is close-hauled I
-have something to guide me; but with the
-wind coming behind I know I may make a
-blunder without knowing why."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, mem; you must not let Mr. Sutherland
-hear you say that: when he was
-so prood o' learnin' ye; and there is no dancher
-at ahl of your making a plunder."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But at this moment our young Doctor
-himself comes on deck; and she quickly moves
-away to her camp-stool, and plunges herself
-into a book; while the attentive Mr. Smith
-provides her with a sunshade and a footstool.
-Dr. Sutherland cannot, of course, interfere with
-her diligent studies.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile our hostess is below, putting a
-few finishing touches to the decoration of the
-saloon; while the Laird, in the blue-cushioned
-recess at the head of the table, is poring over
-</span><em class="italics">Municipal London</em><span>. At length he raises his
-eyes, and says to his sole companion—</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I told ye, ma'am, he was a good lad—a biddable
-lad—did I not?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are speaking of your nephew, of
-course," she says. "Well; it is very kind of
-him to offer to turn out of his state-room in
-favour of Dr. Sutherland; but there is really
-no need for it. Angus is much better
-accustomed to roughing it on board a yacht."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg your pardon, ma'am," says the Laird,
-with judicial gravity. "Howard is in the right
-there too. He must insist on it. Dr. Sutherland
-is your oldest friend. Howard is here on
-a kind of sufferance. I am sure we are both of
-us greatly obliged to ye."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Here there was the usual deprecation.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And I will say," observes the Laird, with
-the same profound air, "that his conduct since
-I sent for him has entirely my approval—entirely
-my approval. Ye know what I mean.
-I would not say a word to him for the world—no,
-no—after the first intimation of my wishes, no
-coercion. Every one for himself: no coercion."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She does not seem so overjoyed as might
-have been expected.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, of course not!" she says. "It is only
-in plays and books that anybody is forced into
-a marriage; at least you don't often find a man
-driven to marry anybody against his will. And
-indeed, sir," she adds, with a faint smile, "you
-rather frightened your nephew at first. He
-thought you were going to play the part of a
-stage guardian, and disinherit him if he did not
-marry the young lady. But I took the liberty
-of saying to him that you could not possibly be
-so unreasonable. Because, you know, if Mary
-refused to marry him, how could that be any
-fault of his?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Precisely so," said the Laird, in his grand
-manner. "A most judeecious and sensible
-remark. Let him do his part, and I am
-satisfied. I would not exact impossibeelities
-from any one, much less from one that I have
-a particular regard for. And, as I was saying,
-Howard is a good lad."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Laird adopted a lighter tone.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Have ye observed, ma'am, that things are
-not at all unlikely to turn out as we wished?"
-he said, in a half-whisper; and there was a
-secret triumph in his look. "Have ye observed?
-Oh, yes! young folks are very shy; but their
-elders are not blind. Did ye ever see two
-young people that seemed to get on better
-together on so short an acquaintance?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes!" she says, rather gloomily; "they
-seem to be very good friends."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yachting is a famous thing for making
-people acquainted," says the Laird, with
-increasing delight. "They know one another
-now as well as though they had been friends
-for years on the land. Has that struck ye now
-before?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes!" she says. There is no delight
-on </span><em class="italics">her</em><span> face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It will jist be the happiness of my old age,
-if the Lord spares me, to see these two
-established at Denny-mains," says he, as if he were
-looking at the picture before his very eyes. "And
-we have a fine soft air in the west of Scotland;
-it's no like asking a young English leddy to
-live in the bleaker parts of the north, or among
-the east winds of Edinburgh. And I would
-not have the children sent to any public school,
-to learn vulgar ways of speech and clipping of
-words. No, no; I would wale out a young
-man from our Glasgow University—one familiar
-with the proper tradeetions of the English
-language; and he will guard against the
-clipping fashion of the South, just as against the
-yaumering of the Edinburgh bodies. Ah will
-wale him out maself. But no too much
-education: no, no; that is the worst gift ye can
-bestow upon bairns. A sound constitution;
-that is first and foremost. I would rather see
-a lad out and about shooting rabbits than shut
-up wi' a pale face among a lot of books. And
-the boys will have their play, I can assure ye;
-I will send that fellow Andrew about his
-business if he doesna stop netting and snaring.
-What do I care about the snipping at the
-shrubs? I will put out turnips on the verra
-lawn, jist to see the rabbits run about in the
-morning. The boys shall have their play at
-Denny-mains, I can assure ye; more play than
-school-hours, or I'm mistaken!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Laird laughed to himself just as if
-he had been telling a good one about Homesh.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And no muzzle-loaders," he continued, with
-a sudden seriousness. "Not a muzzle-loader
-will I have put into their hands. Many's the
-time it makes me grue to think of my loading
-a muzzle-loader when I was a boy—loading
-one barrel, with the other barrel on full-cock,
-and jist gaping to blow my fingers off. I'm
-thinking Miss Mary—though she'll no be
-Miss Mary then—will be sore put to when
-the boys bring in thrushes and blackbirds they
-have shot; for she's a sensitive bit thing;
-but what I say is, better let them shoot
-thrushes and blackbirds than bring them up
-to have white faces ower books. Ah tell ye
-this: I'll give them a sovereign a-piece for
-every blackbird they shoot on the wing!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Laird had got quite excited; he did
-not notice that </span><em class="italics">Municipal London</em><span> was
-dangerously near the edge of the table.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Andrew will not objeck to the shooting
-o' blackbirds," he said, with a loud laugh—as
-if there was something of Homesh's vein in
-that gardener. "The poor crayture is just daft
-about his cherries. That's another thing; no
-interference with bairns in a garden. Let
-them steal what they like. Green apples? bless
-ye, they're the life o' children! Nature
-puts everything to rights. She kens better
-than books. If I catched the schoolmaster
-lockin' up they boys in their play-hours, my
-word but I'd send him fleein'!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He was most indignant with this school-master,
-although he was to be of his own
-"waling." He was determined that the lads
-should have their play, lessons or no lessons.
-Green apples he preferred to Greek. The
-dominie would have to look out.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you think, ma'am," he says, in an
-insidious manner; "do ye think she would
-like to have a furnished house in London for
-pairt of the year? She might have her friends
-to see——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Now at last this is too much. The gentle,
-small creature has been listening with a fine,
-proud, hurt air on her face, and with tears
-near to her eyes. Is it thus that her Scotch
-student, of whom she is the fierce champion,
-is to be thrust aside?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why," she says, with an indignant warmth;
-"you take it all for granted! I thought it was
-a joke. Do you really think your nephew is
-going to marry Mary? And Angus Sutherland
-in love with her!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"God bless me!" exclaimed the Laird, with
-such a start that the bulky </span><em class="italics">Municipal London</em><span>
-banged down on the cabin floor.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Was it the picking up of that huge tome,
-or the consciousness that he had been betrayed
-into an unusual ejaculation, that crimsoned the
-Laird's face? When he sate upright again,
-however, wonder was the chief expression
-visible in his eyes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course I have no right to say so," she
-instantly and hurriedly adds: "it is only a
-guess—a suspicion. But haven't you seen it?
-And until quite recently I had other suspicions,
-too. Why, what do you think would induce
-a man in Angus Sutherland's position to spend
-such a long time in idleness?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But by this time the Laird had recovered
-his equanimity. He was not to be disturbed
-by any bogie. He smiled serenely.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We will see, ma'am; we will see. If it
-is so with the young man, it is a peety. But
-you must admit yourself that ye see how things
-are likely to turn out?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know," she said, with reluctance:
-she would not admit that she had been
-grievously troubled during the past few days.
-"Very well, ma'am, very well," said the
-Laird, blithely. "We will see who is right.
-I am not a gambler, but I would wager ye a
-gold ring, a sixpence, and a silver thimble
-that I am no so far out. I have my eyes
-open; oh, aye! Now I am going on deck
-to see where we are."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And so the Laird rose, and put the bulky
-volume by, and passed along the saloon to
-the companion. We heard</span></p>
-<blockquote>
-<div>
-<div class="line-block outermost">
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">Sing tántara! Sing tántara!</em></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</blockquote>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>as his head appeared. He was in a gay
-humour.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile the </span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span>, with all sail
-set, had come along at a spanking pace. The
-weather threatened change, it is true; there
-was a deep gloom overhead; but along the
-southern horizon there was a blaze of yellow
-light which had the odd appearance of being
-a sunset in the middle of the day; and in this
-glare lay the long blue promontory known
-as the Rhinns of Islay, within sight of the
-Irish coast. And so we went down by Easdail,
-and past Colipoll and its slate-quarries; and
-we knew this constant breeze would drive us
-through the swirls of the Dorus Mohr—the
-"Great Gate." And were we listening, as
-we drew near in the afternoon to the
-rose-purple bulk of Scarba, for the low roar of
-Corrievrechan? We knew the old refrain:—</span></p>
-<blockquote>
-<div>
-<div class="line-block outermost">
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">As you pass through Jura's Sound</em></div>
-<div class="inner line-block">
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">Bend your course by Scarba's shore;</em></div>
-</div>
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">Shun, oh, shun the gulf profound</em></div>
-<div class="inner line-block">
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">Where Corrievrechan's surges roar!</em></div>
-<div class="line"> </div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</blockquote>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>But now there is no ominous murmur along
-those distant shores. Silence and a sombre
-gloom hang over the two islands. We are
-glad to shun this desolate coast; and glad
-that the </span><em class="italics">White Dove</em><span> is carrying us away to
-the pleasanter south, when, behold! behold! another
-sight! As we open out the dreaded
-gulf, Corrievrechan itself becomes but an open
-lane leading out to the west; and there, beyond
-the gloom, amid the golden seas, lies afar the
-music-haunted Colonsay! It is the calm of
-the afternoon; the seas lie golden around the
-rocks; surely the sailors can hear her singing
-now for the lover she lost so long ago! What
-is it that thrills the brain so, and fills the eyes
-with tears, when we can hear no sound at all
-coming over the sea?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It is the Laird who summons us back to
-actualities.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It would be a strange thing," says he,
-"if Tom Galbraith were in that island at this
-very meenit. Ah'm sure he was going there."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And Captain John helps.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I not like to go near Corrievrechan," he
-says, with a grin, "when there is a flood tide
-and half a gale from the sou'-west. It is an
-ahfu' place," he adds, more seriously, "an
-ahfu' place."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I should like to go through," Angus
-Sutherland says, quite inadvertently.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, would ye, sir?" says Captain John,
-eagerly. "If there wass only you and me on
-board, I would tek you through ferry well—with
-the wind from the norrard and an ebb
-tide. Oh, yes! I would do that; and maybe
-we will do it this year yet!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not think I am likely to see
-Corrievrechan again this year," said he, quite
-quietly—so quietly that scarcely any one
-heard. But Mary Avon heard.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Well, we managed, after all, to bore
-through the glassy swirls of the Dorus
-Mohr—the outlying pickets, as it were, of
-the fiercer whirlpools and currents of
-Corrievrechan—and the light breeze still
-continuing we crept along in the evening past
-Crinan, and along the lonely coast of
-Knapdale, with the giant Paps of Jura darkening
-in the west. Night fell; the breeze almost
-died away; we turned the bow of the </span><em class="italics">White
-Dove</em><span> towards an opening in the land, and
-the flood tide gently bore her into the wide,
-silent, empty loch. There did not seem to
-be any light on the shores. Like a tall,
-grey phantom the yacht glided through the
-gloom; we were somewhat silent on deck.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But there was a radiant yellow glow coming
-through the skylight; and Master Fred had
-done his best to make the saloon cheerful
-enough. And where there is supper there
-ought to be other old-fashioned
-institutions—singing, for example; and how long was it
-since we had heard anything about the
-Queen's Maries, or "Ho, ro, clansmen!" or
-the Irish Brigade? Nobody, however,
-appeared to think of these things. This was
-a silent and lonely loch, and the gloom of
-night was over land and water; but we still
-seemed to have before our eyes the far island
-amid the golden seas. And was there not
-still lingering in the night air some faint echo
-of the song of Colonsay? It is a heart-breaking
-song; it is all about the parting of lovers.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="a-sunday-in-far-solitudes"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIV.</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">A SUNDAY IN FAR SOLITUDES.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Mary Avon is seated all alone on deck,
-looking rather wistfully around her at this
-solitary Loch-na-Chill—that is, the Loch of
-the Burying Place. It is Sunday morning,
-and there is a more than Sabbath peace
-dwelling over sea and shore. Not a ripple
-on the glassy sea; a pale haze of sunshine
-on the islands in the south; a stillness as of
-death along the low-lying coast. A seal rises
-to the surface of the calm sea, and regards
-her for a moment with his soft black eyes;
-then slowly subsides. She has not seen him;
-she is looking far away.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then a soft step is heard on the companion;
-and the manner of the girl instantly
-changes. Are these tears that she hastily
-brushes aside? But her face is all smiles to
-welcome her friend. She declares that she
-is charmed with the still beauty of this remote
-and solitary loch.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then other figures appear; and at last we
-are all summoned on deck for morning service.
-It is not an elaborate ceremony; there are
-no candles, or genuflexions, or embroidered
-altar-cloths. But the Laird has put on a
-black frock coat, and the men have put aside
-their scarlet cowls and wear smart sailor-looking
-cloth caps. Then the Laird gravely
-rises, and opens his book.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Sometimes, it is true, our good friend has
-almost driven us to take notice of his accent,
-and we have had our little jokes on board
-about it; but you do not pay much heed to
-these peculiarities when the strong and
-resonant voice—amid the strange silence of
-this Loch of the Burying Place—reads out
-the 103rd Psalm: "Like as a father peetieth
-his children," he may say; but one does not
-heed that. And who is to notice that, as
-he comes to these words, he lifts his eyes
-from the book and fixes them for a moment
-on Mary Avon's downcast face? "Like as
-a father pitieth his children, so the Lord
-pitieth them that fear Him. For He knoweth
-our frame; He remembereth that we are dust.
-As for man, his days are as grass: as a flower
-of the field, so he flourisheth. For the wind
-passeth over it, and it is gone; and the place
-thereof shall know it no more. But the mercy
-of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting
-upon them that fear Him, and His righteousness
-unto children's children." Then, when
-he had finished the Psalm, he turned to the
-New Testament, and read in the same slow
-and reverent manner the 6th chapter of
-Matthew. This concluded the service; it
-was not an elaborate one.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then, about an hour afterwards, the Laird,
-on being appealed to by his hostess, gave it
-as his opinion that there would be no Sabbath
-desecration at all in our going ashore to
-examine the ruins of what appeared to be an
-ancient chapel, which we could make out by
-the aid of our glasses on the green slope above
-the rocks. And as our young friends—Angus
-and the Youth—idly paddled us away from
-the yacht, the Laird began to apologise to his
-hostess for not having lengthened the service
-by the exposition of some chosen text.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye see, ma'am," he observed, "some are
-gifted in that way, and some not. My father,
-now, had an amazing power of expounding
-and explaining—I am sure there was nothing
-in </span><em class="italics">Hutcheson's Exposeetion</em><span> he had not in his
-memory. A very famous man he was in those
-days as an Anti-Lifter—very famous; there
-were few who could argue with him on that
-memorable point."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But what did you call him, sir?" asks
-his hostess, with some vague notion that the
-Laird's father had lived in the days of
-body-snatchers.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"An Anti-Lifter: it was a famous controversy;
-but ye are too young to remember of
-it perhaps. And now in these days we are
-more tolerant, and rightly so; I do not care
-whether the minister lifts the sacramental
-bread before distribution or not, now that
-there is no chance of Popery getting into our
-Presbyterian Church in disguise. It is the
-speerit, not the form, that is of importance:
-our Church authoritatively declares that the
-efficacy of the sacraments depends not 'upon
-any virtue in them or in him that doth
-administer them.' Aye; that is the cardinal
-truth. But in those days they considered it
-right to guard against Popery in every
-manner; and my father was a prominent
-Anti-Lifter; and well would he argue and expound
-on that and most other doctrinal subjects.
-But I have not much gift that way," added
-the Laird, modestly; quite forgetting with
-what clearness he had put before us the chief
-features of the great Semple case.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't think you have anything to regret,
-sir," said our young Doctor, as he carelessly
-worked the oar with one hand, "that you did
-not bother the brains of John and his men
-with any exposition of the Sermon on the
-Mount. Isn't it an odd thing that the
-common fishermen and boatmen of the Sea of
-Galilee understood the message Christ brought
-them just at once? and now a days, when we
-have millions of churches built, and millions
-of money being spent, and tons upon tons of
-sermons being written every year, we seem
-only to get further and further into confusion
-and chaos. Fancy the great army of
-able-bodied men that go on expounding and
-expounding; and the learning and time and
-trouble they bestow on their work; and
-scarcely any two of them agreed; while the
-people who listen to them are all in a fog.
-Simon Peter, and Andrew, and the sons of
-Zebedee, must have been men of the most
-extraordinary intellect. They understood at
-once; they were commissioned to teach; and
-they had not even a Shorter Catechism to
-go by."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Laird looked at him doubtfully. He
-did not know whether to recognise in him a
-true ally or not. However, the mention of
-the Shorter Catechism seemed to suggest solid
-ground; and he was just about entering into
-the question of the Subordinate Standards
-when an exclamation of rage on the part of
-his nephew startled us. That handsome lad,
-during all this theological discussion, had been
-keeping a watchful and matter-of-fact eye on
-a number of birds on the shore; and now
-that we were quite close to the sandy
-promontory, he had recognised them.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Look! look!" he said, in tones of mingled
-eagerness and disappointment. "Golden
-plovers, every one of them! Isn't it too
-bad? It's always like this on Sunday. I
-will bet you won't get within half a mile of
-them to-morrow!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And he refused to be consoled as we landed
-on the sandy shore; and found the golden-dusted,
-long-legged birds running along before
-us, or flitting from patch to patch of the moist
-greensward. We had to leave him behind in
-moody contemplation as we left the shore and
-scrambled up the rugged and rocky slope to
-the ruins of this solitary little chapel.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was an air of repose and silence
-about these crumbling walls and rusted gates
-that was in consonance with a habitation of
-the dead. And first of all, outside, we came
-upon an upright Iona cross, elaborately carved
-with strange figures of men and beasts. But
-inside the small building, lying prostrate among
-the grass and weeds, there was a collection
-of those memorials that would have made an
-antiquarian's heart leap for joy. It is to be
-feared that our guesses about the meaning of
-the emblems on the tombstones were of a
-crude and superficial character. Were these
-Irish chiefs, those stone figures with the long
-sword and the harp beside them? Was the
-recurrent shamrock a national or religious
-emblem? And why was the effigy of this
-ancient worthy accompanied by a pair of
-pincers, an object that looked like a
-tooth-comb, and a winged griffin? Again, outside
-but still within the sacred walls, we came upon
-still further tombs of warriors, most of them
-hidden among the long grass; and here and
-there we tried to brush the weeds away. It
-was no bad occupation for a Sunday morning,
-in this still and lonely burial-place above the
-wide seas.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>On going on board again we learned from
-John of Skye that there were many traces of
-an ancient ecclesiastical colonisation about this
-coast; and that in especial there were a ruined
-chapel and other remains on one of a small
-group of islands that we could see on the
-southern horizon. Accordingly, after luncheon,
-we fitted out an expedition to explore that
-distant island. The Youth was particularly
-anxious to examine these ecclesiastical
-remains; he did not explain to everybody that
-he had received from Captain John a hint
-that the shores of this sainted island swarmed
-with seals.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And now the gig is shoved off; the four
-oars strike the glassy water; and away we
-go in search of the summer isles in the south.
-The Laird settles himself comfortably in the
-stern; it seems but natural that he should take
-Mary Avon's hand in his, just as if she were
-a little child.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And ye must know, Miss Mary," he says,
-quite cheerfully, "that if ever ye should come
-to live in Scotland, ye will not be persecuted
-with our theology. No, no; far from it; we
-respect every one's religion, if it is sincere;
-though we cling to our own. And why should
-we not cling to it, and guard it from error?
-We have had to fight for our civil and religious
-leeberties inch by inch, foot by foot; and we
-have won. The blood of the saints has not
-been shed in vain. The cry of the dying and
-wounded on many a Lanarkshire moor—when
-the cavalry were riding about, and hewing and
-slaughtering—was not wasted on the air!
-The Lord heard, and answered. And we do
-well to guard what we have gained; and, if
-need were, there are plenty of Scotsmen alive
-at this day who would freely spend their lives
-in defending their own releegion. But ye
-need not fear. These are the days of great
-toleration. Ye might live in Scotland all your
-life, and not hear an ill word said of the
-Episcopal Church!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>After having given this solemn assurance
-the Laird cast a glance of sly humour at
-Angus Sutherland.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I will confess," said he, "when Dr. Sutherland
-brought that up this morning about Peter
-and Andrew, and James and John, I was a bit
-put out. But then," he added, triumphantly,
-"ye must remember that in those days they
-had not the inseedious attacks of Prelacy to
-guard against. There was no need for them
-to erect bulwarks of the faith. But in our
-time it is different, or rather it has been
-different. I am glad to think that we of the
-Scotch Church are emancipated from the fear
-of Rome; and I am of opeenion that with
-the advancing times they are in the right who
-advocate a little moderation in the way of
-applying and exacting the Standards. No,
-no; I am not for bigotry. I assure ye, Miss
-Mary, ye will find far fewer bigots in Scotland
-than people say."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have not met any, sir," remarks Miss Mary.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I tell ye what," said he, solemnly; "I am
-told on good authority that there is a
-movement among the U. P. Presbytery to send up
-to the Synod a sort of memorial with regard
-to the Subordinate Standards—that is, ye
-know, the Westminster Confession of Faith
-and the Larger and Shorter Catechisms—just
-hinting, in a mild sort of way, that these are
-of human composition, and necessarily
-imperfect; and that a little amount of—of——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Laird could not bring himself to pronounce
-the word "laxity." He stammered and
-hesitated, and at last said—</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well; a little judeecious liberality of
-construction—do ye see?—on certain points is
-admissible, while clearly defining other points on
-which the Church will not admit of question.
-However, as I was saying, we have little fear
-of Popery in the Presbyterian Church now;
-and ye would have no need to fear it in your
-English Church if the English people were
-not so sorely wanting in humour. If they had
-any sense of fun they would have laughed
-those millinery, play-acting people out o' their
-Church long ago——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But at this moment it suddenly strikes the
-Laird that a fair proportion of the people he
-is addressing are of the despised English race;
-and he hastily puts in a disclaimer.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I meant the clergy, of course," says he,
-most unblushingly, "the English clergy, as
-having no sense of humour at all—none at
-all. Dear me, what a stupid man I met at
-Dunoon last year! There were some people
-on board the steamer talking about Homesh—ye
-know, he was known to every man who
-travelled up and down the Clyde—and they
-told the English clergyman about Homesh
-wishing he was a stot. 'Wishing he was a
-what?' says he. Would ye believe it, it took
-about ten meenutes to explain the story to
-him bit by bit; and at the end of it his face
-was as blank as a bannock before it is put on
-the girdle!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>We could see the laughter brimming in the
-Laird's eyes; he was thinking either of the
-stot or some other story about Homesh. But
-his reverence for Sunday prevailed. He fell
-back on the Standards; and was most anxious
-to assure Miss Avon that, if ever she were to
-live in Scotland, she would suffer no persecution
-at all, even though she still determined
-to belong to the Episcopal Church.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We have none in the neighbourhood of
-Strathgovan," he remarked, quite simply; "but
-ye could easily drive in to Glasgow"—and he
-did not notice the quick look of surprise and
-inquiry that Angus Sutherland immediately
-directed from the one to the other. But Mary
-Avon was poking down.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was a long pull; but by and by the
-features of the distant island became clearer;
-and we made out an indentation that probably
-meant a creek of some sort. But what was
-our surprise, as we drew nearer and nearer to
-what we supposed to be an uninhabited island,
-to find the topmast of a vessel appearing over
-some rocks that guard the entrance to the
-bay? As we pulled into the still waters, and
-passed the heavy black smack lying at anchor,
-perhaps the two solitary creatures in charge
-of her were no less surprised at the appearance
-of strangers in these lonely waters. They
-came ashore just as we landed. They explained,
-in more or less imperfect English, that
-they were lobster-fishers; and that this was a
-convenient haven tor their smack, while they
-pulled in their small boat round the shores to
-look after the traps. And if—when the Laird
-was not looking—his hostess privately negotiated
-for the sale of half-a-dozen live lobsters,
-and if young Smith also took a quiet opportunity
-of inquiring about the favourite resorts
-of the seals; what then? Mice will play
-when they get the chance. The Laird was
-walking on with Mary Avon; and was telling
-her about the Culdees.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And all the time we wandered about the
-deserted island, and explored its ruins, and
-went round its bays, the girl kept almost
-exclusively with the Laird, or with her other
-and gentle friend; and Angus had but little
-chance of talking to her or walking with her.
-He was left pretty much alone. Perhaps he
-was not greatly interested in the ecclesiastical
-remains. But he elicited from the two lobster-fishers
-that the hay scattered on the floor of
-the chapel was put there by fishermen, who
-used the place to sleep in when they came to
-the island. And they showed him the curious
-tombstone of the saint, with its sculptured
-elephant and man on horseback. Then he
-went away by himself to trace out the remains
-of a former civilisation on the island; the
-withered stumps of a blackthorn hedge, and
-the abundant nettle. A big rat ran out; the
-only visible tenant of the crumbled habitation.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile the others had climbed to the
-summit of the central hill; and behold! all
-around the smooth bays were black and shining
-objects, like the bladders used on fishermen's
-nets. But these moved this way and that;
-sometimes there was a big splash as one
-disappeared. The Youth sate and regarded this
-splendid hunting-ground with a breathless
-interest.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm thinking ye ought to get your sealskin
-to-morrow, Miss Mary," says the Laird, for
-once descending to worldly things.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I hope no one will be shot for me!"
-she said. "They are such gentle creatures."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But young men will be young men, ye
-know," said he, cheerfully. "When I was
-Howard's age, and knew I had a gun within
-reach, a sight like that would have made
-my heart jump."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said the nephew; "but you never do
-have a sight like that when you have a
-rifle within reach."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait till to-morrow—wait till to-morrow,"
-said the Laird, cheerfully. "And now we will
-go down to the boat. It is a long pull back to
-the yacht."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But the Laird's nephew got even more savage
-as we rowed back in the calm, pale twilight.
-Those wild duck would go whirring by within
-easy shot—apparently making away to the
-solitudes of Loch Swen. Then that greyish-yellow
-thing on the rocks—could it be a sheep?
-We watched it for several minutes, as the gig
-went by in the dusk; then, with a heavy
-plunge or two, the seal floundered down and
-into the water. The splash echoed through
-the silence.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you ever see the like of that?" the
-Youth exclaimed, mortified beyond endurance.
-"Did you ever? As big as a cow! And as
-sure as you get such a chance, it is Sunday!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am very glad," says Miss Avon. "I
-hope no one will shoot a seal on my account."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The seal ought to be proud to have such a
-fate," said the Laird, gallantly. "Ye are
-saving him from a miserable and lingering
-death of cold, or hunger, or old age. And
-whereas in that case nobody would care
-anything or see anything more about him, ye
-give him a sort of immortality in your
-dining-room, and ye are never done admiring
-him. A proud fellow he ought to be. And if
-the seals about here are no very fine in their
-skins, still it would be a curiosity, and at
-present we have not one at all at Denny-mains."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Again this reference to Denny-mains:
-Angus Sutherland glanced from one to the
-other; but what could he see in the dusk?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then we got back to the yacht: what a
-huge grey ghost she looked in the gloom!
-And as we were all waiting to get down the
-companion, Angus Sutherland put his hand on
-his hostess's arm, and stayed her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You must be wrong," said he, simply. "I
-have offended her somehow. She has not
-spoken ten words to me to-day."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="hidden-springs"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XV.</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">HIDDEN SPRINGS.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>"Well, perhaps it is better, after all," says a
-certain person, during one of those opportunities
-for brief conjugal confidences that are
-somewhat rare on board ship. She sighs as
-she speaks. "I thought it was going to be
-otherwise. But it will be all the better for
-Angus not to marry for some years to come.
-He has a great future before him; and a wife
-would really be an encumbrance. Young
-professional men should never marry; their
-circumstances keep on improving, but they
-can't improve their wives."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>All this is very clear and sensible. It is not
-always that this person talks in so matter-of-fact
-a way. If, however, everything has turned
-out for the best, why this sudden asperity with
-which she adds—</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But I did not expect it of Mary."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And then again—</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"She might at least be civil to him."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"She is not uncivil to him. She only avoids
-him."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I consider that her open preference for
-Howard Smith is just a little bit too
-ostentatious," she says, in rather an injured way.
-"Indeed, if it comes to that, she would appear
-to prefer the Laird to either of them. Any
-stranger would think she wanted to marry
-Denny-mains himself."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Has it ever occurred to you," is the
-respectful question, "that a young woman—say
-once in a century—may be in that state of
-mind in which she would prefer not to marry
-anybody?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Abashed? Not a bit of it! There is a
-calm air of superiority on her face: she is
-above trifles and taunts.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If unmarried women had any sense," she
-says, "that would be their normal state of
-mind."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And she might have gone on enlarging on
-this text, only that at this moment Mary Avon
-comes along from the ladies' cabin; and the
-morning greetings take place between the two
-women. Is it only a suspicion that there is a
-touch of coldness in the elder woman's manner?
-Is it possible that her love for Mary Avon may
-be decreasing by ever so little a bit?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then Angus comes down the companion:
-he has got some wild flowers; he has been
-ashore. And surely he ought to give them to
-the younger of the two women: she is of the
-age when such pretty compliments are a natural
-thing. But no. The flowers are for his
-hostess—for the decoration of her table; and
-Mary Avon does not look up as they are
-handed along.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then young Mr. Smith makes his appearance;
-he has been ashore too. And his
-complaints and protests fill the air.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Didn't I tell you?" he says, appealing
-more especially to the women-folk for
-sympathy. "Didn't I tell you? You saw all
-those golden plover yesterday, and the wild
-duck further up the loch: there is not a sign of
-one of them! I knew it would be so. As sure
-as Monday begins, you never get a chance!
-I will undertake to say that when we get to
-those islands where all the seals were yesterday,
-we sha'n't see one to-day!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But are we to stop here a whole day in
-order to let you go and shoot seals?" says his
-hostess.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't help it," says he, laughing.
-"There isn't any wind."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Angus," she says—as if nobody knew
-anything about the wind but the young
-Doctor—"is that so?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not a doubt of it," he says. "But it is a
-beautiful day. You might make up a luncheon-party,
-and have a pic-nic by the side of the
-Saint's Well—down in the hollow, you know."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Much chance I shall have with the seals,
-then!" remarks the other young man,
-good-naturedly enough.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>However, it is enough that the suggestion
-has come from Angus Sutherland. A pic-nic
-on the Island of the Saints is forthwith
-commanded—seals or no seals. And while Master
-Fred, immediately after breakfast, begins his
-preparations, the Laird helps by carefully
-putting a corkscrew in his pocket. It is his
-invariable custom. We are ready for any
-emergency.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And if the golden plover, and mergansers,
-and seals appear to know that the new,
-busy, brisk working-days have begun again,
-surely we ought to know it too. Here are the
-same silent shores; and the calm blue seas
-and blue sky; and the solitary islands in the
-south—all just as they were yesterday; but we
-have a secret sense that the lassitude and
-idleness of Sunday are over, and that there is
-something of freedom in the air. The Laird
-has no longer any need to keep a check on his
-tongue: those stories about Homesh may
-bubble up to the surface of his mind just as
-they please. And indeed he is exceedingly
-merry and facetious as the preparations go on
-for this excursion. When at length he gets
-into the stern of the boat he says to his
-companion—</span></p>
-<blockquote>
-<div>
-<div class="line-block outermost">
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">"There was Mary Beaton, and Mary Seaton,</em></div>
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">And Mary Avon, and me.</em></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</blockquote>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>—What ails ye, lass? I have not heard much
-of your singing of late."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You would not have me sing profane songs
-on Sunday?" she says, demurely.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No; but I mean long before Sunday.
-However," he says, cheerfully, and looking at
-her, "there is a wonderful change in
-ye—wonderful! Well do I mind the day I first
-saw ye, on the quay; though it seems a long
-time since then. Ye were a poor white bit
-thing then; I was astonished; and the next
-day too, when ye were lame as well, I said to
-myself, 'Well; it's high time that bit lass had
-a breath o' the sea air.' And now—why ye
-just mind me o' the lasses in the Scotch
-songs—the country lasses, ye know—with the fine
-colour on your face."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And indeed this public statement did not
-tend to decrease the sun-brown that now tinged
-Mary Avon's cheeks.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"These lads," said he—no doubt referring to
-his nephew and to Angus Sutherland, who
-were both labouring at the long oars—"are
-much too attentive to ye, putting ye under the
-shadow of the sails, and bringing ye parasols
-and things like that. No, no; don't you be
-afraid of getting sun-burned; it is a comely
-and wholesome thing: is it not reasonable that
-human beings need the sunlight as much as
-plants? Just ask your friend Dr. Sutherland
-that; though a man can guess as much without
-a microscope. Keep ye in the sun, Miss
-Mary; never mind the brown on your cheeks,
-whatever the young men say: I can tell ye ye
-are looking a great deal better now than when
-ye stepped on shore—a shilpit pale bit thing—on
-that afternoon."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Miss Avon had not been in the habit of
-receiving lectures like this about her
-complexion, and she seemed rather confused; but
-fortunately the measured noise of the rowlocks
-prevented the younger men from overhearing.</span></p>
-<blockquote>
-<div>
-<div class="line-block outermost">
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">"There was Mary Beaton, and Mary Seaton,</em></div>
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">And Mary Avon, and me."—</em></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</blockquote>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>continued the Laird, in his facetious way; and
-he contentedly patted the hand of the girl
-beside him. "I fear I am growing very fond
-of idleness."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am sure, sir, you are so busy during the
-rest of the year," says this base flatterer, "that
-you should be able to enjoy a holiday with a
-clear conscience."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, perhaps so—perhaps so," said the
-Laird, who was greatly pleased. "And yet,
-let one work as hard as one can, it is singular
-how little one can do, and what little thanks ye
-get for doing it. I am sure those people in
-Strathgovan spend half their lives in
-fault-finding; and expect ye to do everything they
-can think of without asking them for a farthing.
-At the last meeting of the ratepayers in the
-Burgh Hall I heckled them, I can tell ye. I
-am not a good speaker—no, no; far from it;
-but I can speak plain. I use words that can
-be driven into people's heads; and I will say
-this, that some o' those people in Strathgovan
-have a skull of most extraordinar' thickness.
-But said I to them, 'Do ye expect us to work
-miracles? Are we to create things out of
-nothing? If the rates are not to be increased,
-where are the new gas-lamps to come from?
-Do ye think we can multiply gas-lamps as the
-loaves and fishes were multiplied?' I'm
-thinking," added the Laird, with a burst of
-hearty laughter, "that the thickest-skulled of
-them all understood that—eh?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I should hope so," remarked Miss Avon.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then the measured rattle of the oars: it
-wants hard pulling against this fiercely running
-tide; indeed, to cheat it in a measure, we have
-to keep working along the coast and across
-the mouth of Loch Swen.</span></p>
-<blockquote>
-<div>
-<div class="line-block outermost">
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">"There was Mary Beaton, and Mary Seaton,</em></div>
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">And Mary Avon, and me"—</em></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</blockquote>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>says the Laird, as a playful introduction to
-another piece of talking. "I have been asking
-myself once or twice whether I know any one in
-the whole kingdom of Scotland better than you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Than me, sir?" she says, with a start of
-surprise.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he says, sententiously. "That is
-so. And I have had to answer myself in the
-naygative. It is wonderful how ye get to
-know a person on board a yacht. I just feel
-as if I had spent years and years with ye;
-so that there is not any one I know with
-whom I am better acquaint. When ye come
-to Denny-mains, I shall be quite disappointed
-if ye look surprised or strange to the place.
-I have got it into my head that ye must
-have lived there all your life. Will ye
-undertake to say," he continues, in the same airy
-manner, "that ye do not know the little
-winding path that goes up through the trees
-to the flag-staff—eh?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm afraid I don't remember it," she says,
-with a smile.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait till ye see the sunsets ye can see
-from there!" he says, proudly. "We can see
-right across Glasgow to Tennants' Stalk; and
-in the afternoon the smoke is all turning red
-and brown with the sunset—many's and many's
-the time I have taken Tom Galbraith to the
-hill, and asked him whether they have finer
-sunsets at Naples or Venice. No, no; give
-me fire and smoke and meestery for a strong
-sunset. But just the best time of the year,
-as ye'll find out"—and here he looked in a
-kindly way at the girl—"where there is a
-bit wood near the house, is the spring-time.
-When ye see the primroses and the blue-bells
-about the roots of the trees—when ye see
-them so clear and bright among the red of
-the withered leaves—well, ye cannot help
-thinking about some of our old Scotch songs,
-and there's something in that that's just like
-to bring the tears to your een. We have a
-wonderful and great inheritance in these songs,
-as ye'll find out, my lass. You English know
-only of Burns; but a Scotchman, who is
-familiar with the ways and the feelings and
-the speech of the peasantry, has a sort o'
-uncomfortable impression that Burns is at
-times just a bit artifeecial and
-leeterary—especially when he is masquerading in fine
-English; though at other times ye get the
-real lilt—what a man would sing to himself
-when he was all alone at the plough, in the
-early morning, and listening to the birds
-around him. But there are others that we
-are proud of, too—Tannahill, and John Mayne,
-that wrote about </span><em class="italics">Logan Braes</em><span>; and Hogg,
-and Motherwell: I'm sure o' this, that when
-ye read Motherwell's </span><em class="italics">Jeanie Morrison</em><span>, ye'll
-no be able to go on for greetin'."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg your pardon?" said Miss Avon.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But the Laird is too intent on recalling some
-of the lines to notice that she has not quite
-understood him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"They were school-mates," he says, in an
-absent way. "When school was over, they
-wandered away like lad and lass; and he
-writes the poem in after-life, and speaks to
-her he has never seen since.</span></p>
-<blockquote>
-<div>
-<div class="line-block outermost">
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">"Oh, mind ye, love, how oft we left</em></div>
-<div class="inner line-block">
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">The deavin' dinsome toun,</em></div>
-</div>
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">To wander by the green burn-side,</em></div>
-<div class="inner line-block">
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">And hear its water croon?</em></div>
-</div>
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">The simmer leaves hung ower our heads,</em></div>
-<div class="inner line-block">
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">The flowers burst round our feet;</em></div>
-</div>
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">And in the gloamin' o the wood</em></div>
-<div class="inner line-block">
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">The throssil whistled sweet.</em></div>
-<div class="line"> </div>
-<div class="inner line-block">
-<div class="line"><span>*      *      *      *      *</span></div>
-<div class="line"> </div>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">"And on the knowe aboon the burn</em></div>
-<div class="inner line-block">
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">For hours thegither sat</em></div>
-</div>
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">In the silentness o' joy, till baith</em></div>
-<div class="inner line-block">
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">Wi' very gladness grat!</em></div>
-</div>
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">Aye, aye, dear Jeanie Morrison,</em></div>
-<div class="inner line-block">
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">Tears trinkled down your cheek,</em></div>
-</div>
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">Like dew-beads on a rose, yet nane</em></div>
-<div class="inner line-block">
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">Had ony power to speak!"</em></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</blockquote>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>The Laird's voice faltered for a moment; but
-he pretended he had great difficulty in
-remembering the poem, and confessed that he
-must have mixed up the verses. However,
-he said he remembered the last one.</span></p>
-<blockquote>
-<div>
-<div class="line-block outermost">
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">"O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison,</em></div>
-<div class="inner line-block">
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">Since we were sundered young,</em></div>
-</div>
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">I've never seen your face, nor heard</em></div>
-<div class="inner line-block">
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">The music of your tongue;</em></div>
-</div>
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">But I could hug all wretchedness,</em></div>
-<div class="inner line-block">
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">And happy could I dee,</em></div>
-</div>
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">Did I but ken your heart still dreamed</em></div>
-<div class="inner line-block">
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">O' bygane days and me!"</em></div>
-<div class="line"> </div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</blockquote>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Just as he finished, the old Laird turned
-aside his head. He seemed to be suddenly
-interested in something over at the mouth of
-Loch Swen. Then he quickly passed his red
-silk handkerchief across his face, and said, in
-a gay manner—though he was still looking in
-that alien direction—</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"This is a desperate hard pull. We had
-nothing like this yesterday. But it will do
-the lads good; it will take the stiffness out
-of their backs."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>However, one of the lads—to wit, the Laird's
-nephew—admitted at length that he had had
-quite enough of it, and gave up his oar to
-the man he had relieved. Then he came into
-the stern, and was very pleasant and talkative;
-and said he had quite made up his mind to
-find all the seals gone from the shores of
-the sacred island.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>So formidable, indeed, was the tide, that we
-had to keep well away to the south of the
-island before venturing to make across for it;
-and when at length we did put the bow straight
-for the little harbour, the mid-channel current
-swept us away northward, as if the gig had
-been a bit of cork. But the four oars kept
-manfully to their work; and by dint of hard
-pulling and pertinacious steering we managed
-to run into the little bay.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>We found it quite deserted. The two
-lobster-fishers had left in the morning; we
-were in sole possession of this lonely island,
-set amid the still summer seas.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But by this time it was nearly noon; and
-so it was arranged that the men of the party
-should content themselves with a preliminary
-expedition, to find out, by stealthy crawlings
-out to the various bays, where the seals were
-chiefly congregated; while the women were
-to remain by the Saints' Well, to help Fred
-to get luncheon spread out and arranged. And
-this was done; and thus it happened that,
-after Master Fred had finished his work, and
-retired down to his mates in the gig, the two
-women-folk were left alone.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Mary," said the one of them, quite
-cheerfully (as we afterwards heard), "it is quite
-a long time since you and I had a chat together."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, it is."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"One gets so often interfered with on board,
-you know. Aren't you going to begin now
-and make a sketch?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She had brought with her her sketching
-materials; but they were lying unopened on
-a rock hard by.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I think not," she said, listlessly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What is the matter with you?" said her
-kind friend, pretending to laugh at her. "I
-believe you are fretting over the loss of the
-money, after all."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no: I hope you do not think I am
-fretting!" said she, anxiously. "No one has
-said that? I am really quite content—I am
-very—happy."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She managed to say the word.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am very glad to hear it," said her friend;
-"but I have a great mind to scold you all
-the same."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The girl looked up. Her friend went over
-to her, and sate down beside her, and took
-her hand in hers.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be offended, Mary," she said,
-good-naturedly. "I have no right to interfere;
-but Angus is an old friend of mine. Why do
-you treat him like that?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The girl looked at her with a sort of quick,
-frightened, inquiring glance; and then said—as
-if she were almost afraid to hear herself
-speak—</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Has he spoken to you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. Now don't make a mole-hill into
-a mountain, Mary. If he has offended you, tell
-him. Be frank with him. He would not vex
-you for the world: do you think he would?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The girl's hand was beginning to tremble a
-good deal; and her face was white, and piteous.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If you only knew him as well as I do,
-you would know he is as gentle as a child:
-he would not offend any one. Now, you will
-be friends with him again, Mary?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The answer was a strange one. The girl
-broke into a fit of wild crying, and hid her
-face in her friend's bosom, and sobbed there
-so that her whole frame was shaken with the
-violence of her misery.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mary, what is it?" said the other, in great
-alarm.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then, by and by, the girl rose, and went
-away over to her sketching materials for a
-minute or two. Then she returned: her face
-still rather white, but with a certain cold and
-determined look on it.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is all a mistake," said she, speaking
-very distinctly. "Dr. Sutherland has not
-offended me in the least: please tell him so
-if he speaks again. I hope we shall always
-be good friends."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She opened out her colour-box.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And then," said she, with an odd laugh,
-"before you think I have gone crazed, please
-remember it isn't every day one loses such
-an enormous fortune as mine."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She began to get her other sketching things
-ready. And she was very cheerful about it,
-and very busy; and she was heard to be
-singing to herself—</span></p>
-<blockquote>
-<div>
-<div class="line-block outermost">
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">Then fill up a bumper: what can I do less</em></div>
-<div class="line"><em class="italics">Than drink to the health of my bonny Black Bess?</em></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</blockquote>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>But her friend, when by chance she turned
-her head a little bit, perceived that the pale
-and piteous face was still wet with tears; and
-the praises of Black Bess did not wholly
-deceive her.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">END OF VOL. II.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">LONDON: R. CLAY, SONS, AND TAYLOR, BREAD STREET HILL.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span>*      *      *      *      *      *      *      *</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">NOVELS BY WILLIAM BLACK.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>MACLEOD OF DARE.
-<br />THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A PHAETON.
-<br />A PRINCESS OF THULE.
-<br />MADCAP VIOLET.
-<br />GREEN PASTURES AND PICCADILLY.
-<br />THE MAID OF KILLEENA, and other Tales.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">MACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON.</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>WHITE WINGS, VOLUME II (OF 3)</span><span> ***</span></p>
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