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- float: left; - margin-right: 1em } - -.align-right { clear: right; - float: right; - margin-left: 1em } - -.align-center { margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto } - -div.shrinkwrap { display: table; } - -/* SECTIONS */ - -body { margin: 5% 10% 5% 10% } - -/* compact list items containing just one p */ -li p.pfirst { margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0 } - -.first { margin-top: 0 !important; - text-indent: 0 !important } -.last { margin-bottom: 0 !important } - -span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 1 } -img.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.5em 0 0; max-width: 25% } -span.dropspan { font-variant: small-caps } - -.no-page-break { page-break-before: avoid !important } - -/* PAGINATION */ - -.pageno { position: absolute; right: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.pageno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.lineno { position: absolute; left: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.lineno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.toc-pageref { float: right } - -@media screen { - .coverpage, .frontispiece, .titlepage, .verso, .dedication, .plainpage - { margin: 10% 0; } - - div.clearpage, div.cleardoublepage - { margin: 10% 0; border: none; border-top: 1px solid gray; } - - .vfill { margin: 5% 10% } -} - -@media print { - div.clearpage { page-break-before: always; padding-top: 10% } - div.cleardoublepage { page-break-before: right; padding-top: 10% } - - .vfill { margin-top: 20% } - h2.title { margin-top: 20% } -} - -/* DIV */ -pre { font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.9em; white-space: pre-wrap } - -</style> -<title>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" /> -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<meta name="DC.Creator" content="William Black" /> -<meta name="DC.Created" content="1880" /> -<meta name="PG.Id" content="43829" /> -<meta name="PG.Released" content="2013-09-27" /> -<meta name="DC.Language" content="en" /> -<meta name="DC.Title" content="White Wings, Volume II A Yachting Romance" /> - -<link href="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" rel="schema.DCTERMS" /> -<link href="http://id.loc.gov/vocabulary/relators" rel="schema.MARCREL" /> -<meta content="White Wings, Volume II A Yachting Romance" name="DCTERMS.title" /> -<meta content="wings2.rst" name="DCTERMS.source" /> -<meta content="en" scheme="DCTERMS.RFC4646" name="DCTERMS.language" /> -<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" /> -<meta content="width=device-width" name="viewport" /> -<meta content="EpubMaker 0.3.20a7 by Marcello Perathoner <webmaster@gutenberg.org>" name="generator" /> -</head> -<body> -<div class="document" id="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> -<div class="cleardoublepage"> -</div> -<div class="language-en level-2 pgfooter section" id="a-word-from-project-gutenberg" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<span id="pg-footer"></span><h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><span>A Word from Project Gutenberg</span></h2> -<p class="pfirst"><span>We will update this book if we find any errors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This book can be found under: </span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/43829"><span>http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/43829</span></a></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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