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-*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LINDSAYS, VOLUME 1 (OF 3) ***

-

-

-

-                             THE LINDSAYS.

-

-

-

-

-   +--------------------------------------------------------------+

-   |                 NEW NOVELS AT EVERY LIBRARY.                 |

-   |                                                              |

-   |                                                              |

-   | =KING OR KNAVE?= By R. E. FRANCILLON. 3 vols.                |

-   |                                                              |

-   | =EVERY INCH A SOLDIER.= By M. J. COLQUHOUN. 3 vols.          |

-   |                                                              |

-   | =THE PASSENGER FROM SCOTLAND YARD.= By H. F. WOOD. 1 vol.    |

-   |                                                              |

-   | =THE HEIR OF LINNE.= By ROBERT BUCHANAN. 1 vol.              |

-   |                                                              |

-   | =IN EXCHANGE FOR A SOUL.= By MARY LINSKILL. 3 vols.          |

-   |                                                              |

-   | =SETH’S BROTHER’S WIFE.= By HAROLD FREDERIC. 2 vols.         |

-   |                                                              |

-   | =PINE AND PALM.= By MONCURE D. CONWAY. 2 vols.               |

-   |                                                              |

-   | =ONE TRAVELLER RETURNS.= By D. CHRISTIE MURRAY and HENRY     |

-   |                        HERMAN. 1 vol.                        |

-   |                                                              |

-   | =OLD BLAZER’S HERO.= By D. CHRISTIE MURRAY. 1 vol.           |

-   |                                                              |

-   | =A PHYLLIS OF THE SIERRAS, etc.= By BRET HARTE. 1 vol.       |

-   |                                                              |

-   | =THE DEEMSTER.= By HALL CAINE. 1 vol.                        |

-   |                                                              |

-   | =RED SPIDER.= By the Author of ‘Mehalah.’ 1 vol.             |

-   |                                                              |

-   | =PASTON CAREW.= By E. LYNN LINTON. 1 vol.                    |

-   |                                                              |

-   | =A ROMANCE OF THE QUEEN’S HOUNDS.= By CHARLES JAMES. 1 vol.  |

-   |                                                              |

-   |                                                              |

-   |             LONDON: CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY.             |

-   +--------------------------------------------------------------+

-

-

-

-

-                              THE LINDSAYS

-

-                       A Romance of Scottish Life

-

-

-

-

-                                   BY

-

-                              JOHN K. LEYS

-

-                        [Illustration: colophon]

-

-                            IN THREE VOLUMES

-

-                                VOL. I.

-

-

-

-

-                                 London

-

-                     CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY

-

-                                  1888

-

-                [_The right of translation is reserved_]

-

-

-

-

-                          CONTENTS OF VOL. I.

-

-

-             CHAPTER                                PAGE

-

-                I. THE FIRST LETTER                    1

-

-               II. THE SECOND LETTER                  15

-

-              III. THE THIRD LETTER                   37

-

-               IV. THE FOURTH LETTER                  57

-

-                V. THE SHIP SETS SAIL                 80

-

-               VI. A NEW EXPERIENCE                  106

-

-              VII. A SUNDAY IN GLASGOW               126

-

-             VIII. THE ROARING GAME                  146

-

-               IX. THE END OF THE SESSION            173

-

-                X. ARROCHAR                          193

-

-               XI. A RIVAL                           215

-

-              XII. ‘YOU MUST GIVE ME AN ANSWER’      232

-

-

-

-

-                             THE LINDSAYS.

-

-

-

-

-                       _PROLOGUE.--FOUR LETTERS._

-

-

-

-

-                               CHAPTER I.

-

-                           THE FIRST LETTER.

-

-                   _Hubert Blake to Sophy Meredith._

-

-

-                               THE CASTLE FARM, MUIRBURN,

-                                    KYLESHIRE, N.B., _Sept. 12, 187-_.

-

-     MY DEAR SOPHY,

-

-I only arrived here last night, so you see I am losing no time in

-redeeming my promise. I can hardly tell you what I think of my new

-cousins; they are not to be known in a day, I can see that much. As for

-the country and its inhabitants generally--well, they are as different

-from an English county and English country-folks as if they were in

-different continents, and that is all I can say at present.

-

-I left the railway at a tiny station called Kilmartin, and found ‘the

-coach’ waiting in the station yard. It was not a coach, but a queer

-dumpy omnibus, about two-thirds of the size of a London ’bus, with

-three big, raw-boned horses harnessed to it. I was lucky enough to get

-a seat in front beside the driver. It was just a little before sunset;

-and I wish I could put before you in words the freshness of the scene.

-We were ascending a rising ground in a very leisurely fashion. On

-either side of the road was a steep bank thickly clothed with crowsfoot

-and wild thyme. Above us on either side stretched a belt of Scotch

-firs. The sunset rays shone red on the trunks of the pines, and here

-and there one could catch through them a sight of the ruddy west,

-showing like a great painted window in a cathedral. The air was soft,

-and laden with the sweet smell of the firs, and yet it was cool and

-exhilarating.

-

-As soon as we got to the top of the ridge we began to rattle down the

-other side at a great rate. It was really very pleasant, and thinking

-to conciliate the weather-beaten coachman at my side, I confided to

-him my opinion that of all species of travelling coaching was the most

-delightful.

-

-‘Specially on a winter’s nicht, wi’ yer feet twa lumps o’ ice, an’ a

-wee burn o’ snaw-watter runnin’ doon the nape o’ yer neck!’ responded

-the Scotch Jehu.

-

-I laughed, and glanced at the man sitting on my right, a big,

-brown-faced, gray-haired farmer, in a suit of heavy tweeds, who sat

-leaning his two hands on the top of an enormous stick. He was smiling

-grimly to himself, as if he enjoyed the stranger being set down.

-

-‘Fine country,’ I remarked, by way of conciliating _him_.

-

-‘Ay,’ said he, with a glance at the horizon out of the sides of his

-eyes, but without moving a muscle of his face.

-

-‘And a very fine evening,’ I persisted.

-

-‘Ay--micht be waur.’

-

-Upon this I gave it up, lighted a cigar, and set myself to study the

-landscape. We had got to a considerable elevation above the sea-level;

-and in spite of the glorious evening and the autumn colours just

-beginning to appear in the hedges, the country had a dreary look.

-Imagine one great stretch of pasture barely reclaimed from moorland,

-with the heather and stony ground cropping up every here and there,

-divided into fields, not by generous spreading hedgerows, but by low

-walls of blue stone, built without mortar. The only wood to be seen

-was narrow belts of firs, planted here and there behind a farmhouse,

-or between two fields, and somehow their long bare stems and heavy

-mournful foliage did not add to the brightness of the scene, though

-they gave it a character of its own. But the country is not all moor

-and pasture. It is broken every now and then by long, deep, winding

-ravines, clothed with the larch and the mountain ash, each one the

-home of a bright brawling stream.

-

-We had travelled for half an hour in silence, when the farmer suddenly

-spoke.

-

-‘Ye’ll be frae the sooth, I’m thinkin’.’

-

-He was not looking at me, but contemplating the road in front of us

-from under a pair of the bushiest eyebrows I ever saw. For a moment

-I thought of repaying his bad manners by giving him no answer, but

-thinking better of it I said ‘Ay,’ after the manner of the country.

-

-‘Ye’ll no hae mony beasts like they in England, I fancy,’ said he.

-

-We were passing some Ayrshire cows at the time, small, but splendid

-animals of their kind; and I soothed the old man’s feelings by

-admitting the fact.

-

-‘Are ye traivellin’ faur?’ he asked.

-

-‘Not much farther, I believe.’

-

-‘Ye’re no an agent, are ye?’

-

-‘No,’ I answered.

-

-‘Nor a factor?’

-

-‘No.’

-

-(He was evidently puzzled to make out what an Englishman was about in

-his country, and I determined not to gratify his curiosity.)

-

-‘Ye’ll maybe be the doctor?’

-

-‘No.’

-

-‘Sharely ye’re no the new minister?’ he exclaimed with an expression of

-unfeigned alarm.

-

-I calmed his fears, and again we proceeded on our way in silence.

-

-When we had gone perhaps some seven or eight miles from the railway

-station, I noticed a stout dog-cart standing at the corner of a

-by-road, under a tall, straggling thorn hedge. The youth who was seated

-in it made a sign to the coachman to stop, and I was made aware that

-the dog-cart had been sent for me. I got down, and as I bade good-night

-to the cross-questioning farmer, I observed a grim smile of triumph on

-his firmly compressed lips. He evidently knew the dog-cart, and would

-now be able to trace the mysterious stranger.

-

-I and my portmanteau were finally left on the side of the road, and

-the young man in the dog-cart civilly turned the vehicle round (with

-some difficulty on account of the narrow road), and drew up beside me,

-to save my carrying my luggage a dozen yards. At first I was a little

-uncertain whether I had one of my third (or fourth, which is it?)

-cousins before me, or simply a young man from Mr. Lindsay’s farm. He

-was dressed in very coarse tweeds, and his hands were rough, and spoke

-of manual labour, and he breathed the incense of the farm-yard; but I

-thought his finely-cut features and sensitive lips bespoke him to be of

-gentle blood, and, luckily, I made a hit in the right direction.

-

-‘You are one of Mr. Lindsay’s sons, I think--that is to say, one of my

-cousins,’ I said, as I shook hands with him.

-

-The youth’s face lighted up with a blush and a pleasant smile as he

-answered that he was, and held open the apron of the dog-cart for me to

-get in. In another moment we were off, the sturdy old mare between the

-shafts carrying us along at a very fair pace.

-

-There are some people, Sophy, who wear their characters written on

-their faces, and Alec Lindsay is one of them. I could see, even as

-we drove together along that solitary lane in the autumn twilight,

-that his was a frank, ingenuous nature, shy, sensitive, and reserved.

-I mean that his shyness made him reserved, but his thoughts and

-feelings showed themselves in his face without his knowing it, so

-little idea had he of purposely concealing himself. Such a face is

-always interesting; and besides, there was an under-expression of

-dissatisfaction, of unrest, I hardly know what to call it, in his eyes,

-which was scarcely natural in so young a lad. He could not be more than

-eighteen or nineteen.

-

-After half an hour’s drive we approached the little town, or

-village--it is rather too large for a village, and much too small to

-be called a town--of Muirburn. It consists of one long double row

-of two-storied houses built of stone and whitewashed, with one or

-two short cross streets at intervals. The houses had not a scrap of

-garden in front of them, nothing but a broad footpath, the playground

-of troops of children. The lower part of these dwellings had a bare,

-deserted appearance, but I found that they were used in almost every

-case as workrooms, being fitted up with looms. In one or two of the

-windows a light twinkled, and we could hear the noise of the shuttle as

-we passed.

-

-In the middle of the village stood a large square building, whitewashed

-all over, and provided with two rows of small square windows, placed at

-regular intervals, one above and one below.

-

-‘What is that building?’ I asked.

-

-‘The Free Church,’ answered my companion, with a touch of pride.

-

-A church! Why, it was hardly fit to be a school-house. A mean iron

-railing, which had been painted at some remote epoch, alone protected

-it from the street. It was the very embodiment of ugliness; its sole

-ornament being a stove-pipe which protruded from one corner of the

-roof. Never, in all my life, whether among Hindoos, Mahometans, or

-Irish peasants, had I seen so supremely ugly an edifice dedicated to

-the service of the Almighty.

-

-‘That’s the United Presbyterian one,’ said Alec, pointing with his whip

-to a building on the other side of the street, similar to the one we

-had just passed, but of less hideous aspect. It was smaller, and it

-could boast a front of hewn stone, and neat latticed windows, while a

-narrow belt of greensward fenced it off from the road.

-

-Just then we passed a knot of men, perhaps ten or a dozen, standing at

-the corner of one of the side streets. All had their hands in their

-pockets, all were in their shirt-sleeves, and all wore long white

-aprons. They were doing nothing whatever--not talking, nor laughing,

-nor quarrelling, but simply looking down the street. At present our

-humble equipage was evidently an object of supreme interest to them.

-

-‘What are these men doing there?’ I asked.

-

-‘They’re weavers,’ answered Alec, as if the fact contained a reason in

-itself for their conduct. ‘They always stand there when they are not

-working, in all weathers, wet and dry; it’s their chief diversion.’

-

-‘Diversion!’ I repeated; but at that moment the sweet tinkle of a

-church-bell fell upon my ears. I almost expected to see the people

-cross themselves, it sounded so much like the Angelus. It is the

-custom, I find, to ring the bell of the parish church at six in the

-morning and eight in the evening, though there is no service, and no

-apparent need for the ceremony. I wonder if it can be really a survival

-of the Vesper-bell?

-

-The bell was still ringing as we passed the church that possessed it.

-This was ‘the Established Church,’ my companion informed me--a building

-larger than either of its competitors, and boasting a belfry.

-

-‘What does a small town like this want with so many chapels?’ I asked

-my cousin.

-

-I could see that I had displeased him, whether by speaking of Muirburn

-as a small town, or by inadvertently calling the ‘churches’ chapels, I

-was not sure. As he hesitated for an answer I hastened to add:

-

-‘You are all of the same religion--substantially, I mean?’

-

-‘Well, yes.’

-

-‘Then why don’t you club together and have one handsome place of

-worship instead of three very--well, plain buildings?’

-

-‘What?’ exclaimed Alec, and then he burst into a roar of laughter.

-‘That’s a good joke,’ said he, as if I had said something superlatively

-witty; ‘but I say,’ he continued, with a serious look in his bonny blue

-eyes, ‘you’d better not say anything of that kind to my father.’

-

-‘Why not?’ I asked, but Alec did not answer me.

-

-His attention was attracted by a child which was playing in the road,

-right in front of us. He called out, but the little one did not seem to

-hear him, and he slackened the mare’s pace almost to a walk. We were

-just approaching the last of the side streets, and at that moment a

-gig, drawn by a powerful bay horse, appeared coming rapidly round the

-corner. It was evident that there must be a collision, though, owing to

-Alec’s having slackened his pace so much, it could not be a serious one.

-

-But the child? Before I could cry out, before I could think, Alec was

-out of the trap and snatching the little boy from under the horse’s

-very nose. I never saw a narrower escape; how he was not struck down

-himself, I cannot imagine.

-

-The next moment the gig, which had brushed against our vehicle without

-doing it much damage, had disappeared down the road; and a woman, clad

-in a short linsey petticoat and a wide sleeveless bodice of printed

-cotton, had rushed out of the opposite house and was roundly abusing

-Alec for having nearly killed her child. Without paying much attention

-to her, Alec walked round to the other side of the dog-cart to see what

-damage had been done, and muttering to himself, ‘I’m thankful it’s no

-worse,’ he climbed back into his place, and we resumed our journey,

-while the young Caledonian was acknowledging sundry tender marks of his

-mother’s affection with screams like those of a locomotive.

-

-Another half-hour’s drive brought us to a five-barred gate which

-admitted us to a narrow and particularly rough lane. We jolted on for

-a few minutes, and then the loud barking of several dogs announced

-that we had arrived at the farm. But I must keep my description of

-its inhabitants for my next epistle. I am too sleepy to write more.

-Good-night.

-

-                       Your affectionate cousin,

-                                         HUBERT BLAKE.

-

-

-

-

-                              CHAPTER II.

-

-                           THE SECOND LETTER.

-

-                   _Hubert Blake to Sophy Meredith._

-

-

-                                    THE CASTLE FARM, MUIRBURN, N.B.

-                                             _September 15._

-

-     DEAR SOPHY,

-

-I think I shall like this place, and shall probably stay till the

-beginning of winter. I have begun a large picture of a really beautiful

-spot which I found close by two days ago, and I should like to see

-my painting well on to completion before I return, lest I should be

-tempted to leave it unfinished, like so many others, when I get back to

-town.

-

-I had a very hospitable welcome from Mr. Lindsay on the night I

-arrived. He met me at the door--a tall, broad-shouldered, upright man,

-perhaps sixty years of age, with the regular Scotch type of features,

-large nose, and high cheek-bones. I could see, even at first, that he

-is the sort of man it would not be pleasant to quarrel with.

-

-He led me into a wide passage, and thence into a large low-roofed

-kitchen with a stone floor. Here there were seated two or three men and

-as many women, whom I took to be farm-servants. There was no light in

-the place, except that which came from a bit of ‘cannel’ coal, stuck in

-the peat fire. The women were knitting; the men were doing nothing. No

-one took the trouble of rising as we passed, except one of the young

-men who went to look after the mare.

-

-After crossing the kitchen we passed through a narrow passage, and

-entered a pleasant and good-sized room in which a large coal fire and a

-moderator lamp were burning.

-

-Did you ever see a perfectly beautiful woman, Sophy? I doubt it. I

-never did till I saw Margaret Lindsay. I was so astonished to see

-a lady at the Castle Farm that I positively stared at the girl

-for a moment, but she came forward and shook hands with the utmost

-self-possession.

-

-‘I’m afraid you have had a cold drive, Mr. Blake,’ she said; and though

-she spoke in a very decidedly Scotch accent, the words did not sound so

-harshly from her lips as they had done when spoken by her father. For

-the first time I thought that the Doric might have an agreeable sound.

-

-I will try to tell you what Margaret is like. She must be nearly twenty

-years of age, for she is evidently older than her brother, but her

-complexion is that of a girl of sixteen, by far the finest and softest

-I ever saw. She is tall, but not too tall for elegance. Her eyes are

-brown, like her father’s, and her hair is a dark chestnut. Her features

-are simply perfect--low forehead, beautifully moulded eyebrows, short

-upper lip--you can imagine the rest. You will say that my description

-would fit a marble bust nearly as well as a girl of nineteen, and

-your criticism would be just. Margaret’s face is rather wanting in

-expression. It is calm, reserved, not to say hard. But her deliberate

-almost proud manner suits her admirably.

-

-I can see you smiling to yourself, and saying that you understand now

-my anxiety to get my picture finished before I leave the farm. All I

-can say is, you never were more mistaken in your life. I am not falling

-in love with this newly-discovered beauty, and I certainly don’t intend

-to do anything so foolish. But I could look at her face by the hour

-together. I wonder whether there are any capabilities of passion under

-the cold exterior.

-

-I took an opportunity when Alec was out of the room to narrate our

-little adventure by the way, and just as I finished my recital the hero

-of the story came in.

-

-‘So you managed to get run into on the way home, Alec,’ said his

-father, with a look of displeasure. ‘I should think you might have

-learned to drive by this time.’

-

-The lad’s face flushed, but he made no answer.

-

-‘Is the mare hurt?’ asked the old man.

-

-‘No, she wasn’t touched,’ answered his son. ‘One of the wheels will

-want a new spoke; that’s all.’

-

-‘And is that nothing, sir?’

-

-‘No one could possibly have avoided the collision, such as it was,’

-said I; ‘and I’ve seldom seen a pluckier thing than Alec did.’

-

-The old man looked at me, and immediately changed the subject.

-

-When tea (a remarkably substantial meal, by the way) was over, the

-farm-servants and the old woman who acts as housemaid were called into

-the large parlour in which we were sitting for prayers, or, as they

-call it here, ‘worship.’ I can’t say I was edified, Sophy. I dare say

-I am not a particularly good judge of these matters, but really there

-seemed to me a very slight infusion of worship about the ceremony.

-First of all Bibles were handed round, and Mr. Lindsay proceeded to

-read a few lines from a metrical version of the Psalms, beginning in

-the middle of a Psalm for the excellent reason that they had left off

-at that point on the preceding evening. Then they began to sing the

-same verses to a strange, pathetic melody. Margaret led the tune, and

-it was a pleasure to listen to her sweet unaffected notes, but the

-rough grumble of the old men and Betty’s discordant squeak produced a

-really ridiculous effect. Then a chapter was read from the Bible, and

-then we rose up, turned round, and knelt down. Mr. Lindsay began an

-extempore prayer, which was partly an exposition of the chapter we had

-just heard read, and partly an address to the Almighty, which I won’t

-shock you by describing. At the end of the prayer were some practical

-petitions, amongst them one on behalf of ‘the stranger within our

-gates,’ by which phrase your humble servant was indicated. The instant

-the word ‘Amen’ escaped from the lips of my host, there was a sudden

-shuffling of feet, and the little congregation had risen to their feet

-and were in full retreat before I had realized that the service was

-at an end. I fully expected that this conduct would have called down

-a reproof from Mr. Lindsay, but it seemed to be accepted on all hands

-as the ordinary custom. Half an hour afterwards I was in bed, and sound

-asleep.

-

-I awoke next morning to a glorious day. The harvest is late in these

-parts, you know, and the ‘happy autumn fields,’ some half cut, some

-filled with ‘stooks’ of corn, were stretching before my window down to

-a hollow, which I judged to be the bed of a river.

-

-After breakfast I had an interview with my host, and managed to get my

-future arrangements put upon a proper footing. Of course I could not

-stay here for an indefinite time at Mr. Lindsay’s expense; and though

-at first he scouted the proposal, I got him to consent that I should

-set up an establishment of my own in two half-empty rooms--the house is

-twice as large as the family requires--and be practically independent.

-I could see that the old man had a struggle between his pride and his

-love of hospitality on the one hand, and the prospect of letting part

-of his house to a good tenant on the other; but I smoothed matters a

-little by asking to be allowed to remain as his guest until Monday.

-Poor man, I am sorry for him. He used to be a well-to-do if not a

-wealthy ‘laird,’ and owned not only the Castle Farm, but one or two

-others. Now, in consequence of his having become surety for a friend

-who left him to pay the piper, and as a result of several bad seasons,

-he has been forced to sell one farm and mortgage the others so heavily

-that he is practically worse off than if he were a tenant of the

-mortgagees. This ‘come down’ in the world has soured his temper, and

-developed a stinginess which I think is foreign to his real nature. I

-fancy, too, he had a great loss when his wife died. She was a woman, I

-am told, of education and refinement. It must have been from her that

-Margaret got her beauty, and Alec his fine eyes.

-

-But I have not told you what the neighbourhood is like. Well, the

-farmhouse is built on the side of a knoll, and at the top is a very

-respectable ruin. The castle, from which the farm takes its name, must

-have been a strong place at one time. The keep is still standing,

-and its walls are quite five feet thick. Besides the keep, time has

-spared part of the front, some of the buttresses, and some half-ruined

-doorways and windows. But the whole place is overgrown with weeds and

-nettles. No one takes the slightest interest in this relic of another

-age: nobody could tell me who built it, or give me even a shred of a

-legend about its history.

-

-As I was wandering about the walls of the ruin, trying to select a

-point from which to sketch it, I was joined by Alec Lindsay. He had one

-or two books under his arm; and he stopped short on seeing me, as if he

-had not expected to find anyone there.

-

-‘Don’t let me interrupt you,’ I said, beginning to move away. ‘You make

-this place your study, I see.’

-

-‘Sometimes I bring my books up here,’ he replied. ‘There is a corner

-under the wall of the tower which is quite sheltered from the wind.

-Even the rain can hardly reach it, and I have a glorious view of the

-sunset when I sit there on fine evenings.’

-

-‘I should like to see the place,’ said I, anxious to put the lad at

-his ease; and he led me to a corner among the ruins, from which, as he

-said, a wide view was obtained.

-

-Near at hand were pastures and harvest-fields. Beyond them was the bed

-of the river, fringed with wood, and the horizon was bounded by low

-moorland hills.

-

-‘From the top of that one,’ said Alec, pointing to one of the hills,

-‘you can catch a glint of the sea. It shines like a looking-glass. I

-would like to see it near at hand.’

-

-‘Have you never been to the seaside?’ I asked.

-

-I must have betrayed my surprise by my voice, for the boy blushed as he

-answered:

-

-‘No; I have been to Glasgow once or twice, but I have never been to the

-salt water.’ (The seaside is always spoken of as ‘the coast’ or ‘the

-salt water’ in this part of the country.) ‘I have never been beyond

-Muirburn, except once or twice, in my life,’ he added, as the look of

-discontent which I fancied I had detected in his face grew stronger.

-

-‘May I look at your books?’ I asked, by way of changing the subject.

-

-‘Oh yes; they’re not much to look at,’ he said with a blush.

-

-I took them up--a Greek grammar, and a school-book containing simple

-passages of Greek for translation, with a vocabulary at the end of the

-volume.

-

-‘Is this how you spend your leisure time?’ I asked.

-

-‘Not always--not very often,’ answered Alec. ‘Often I am lazy and go

-in for Euclid and algebra--I like them far better than Greek. And

-sometimes,’ he added with hesitation, as if he were confessing a

-fault--‘sometimes I waste my time with a novel.’

-

-‘I would not call it wasting time if you read good novels,’ said I.

-‘What do you read?’

-

-‘Only Sir Walter and old volumes of _Blackwood_; they are all I have

-got.’

-

-‘You could not do better, in my opinion,’ said I emphatically. ‘Such

-books are just as necessary for your education as a Greek delectus.’

-

-‘Do you think so?’ said the lad, with wondering eyes. ‘These are not my

-father’s notions.’

-

-‘Shall I leave you to your work now?’ I asked, rising from the heather

-on which we were lying.

-

-‘I like to have you to talk to,’ said Alec, half shyly, half frankly.

-‘I seldom do get anyone to talk to.’

-

-‘You have your sister,’ I said involuntarily.

-

-‘Margaret is not like me. She has her own thoughts and her own ways;

-besides, she is a girl. Will you come and see the “Lover’s Leap?” It’s

-a bonny place.’

-

-‘Where is it?’

-

-‘Only half a mile up the Logan.’

-

-‘You mean the stream that runs through the valley down there?’

-

-‘No; that’s the Nethan. The Logan falls into it about a mile farther

-up.’

-

-We were descending the knoll as we talked; and on our way we saw a

-field where the reapers were at work. As we approached, we saw a tall

-form leave the field and come towards us. It was Alec’s father.

-

-‘I think, Alec,’ said the old man, ‘you would be better employed

-helping to stack the corn, if you’re too proud to take a hand at the

-shearing, rather than walking about doing nothing.’

-

-The lad blushed furiously, and made no answer.

-

-‘Alec meant to have been at work over his books,’ said I; ‘but he was

-kind enough to show me something of the neighbourhood. It doesn’t

-matter in the least, Alec; I can easily find my way alone.’

-

-‘Oh, if you have any need for the boy, that’s another matter,’ said Mr.

-Lindsay.

-

-I protested again that I could find my way perfectly well, and moved

-off, while Alec turned into the field with a set look about his mouth

-that was not pleasant to see.

-

-The cause of the discontent I had seen in the lad’s face was plain

-enough now. He is treated like a child, as if he had no mind or will of

-his own. I wonder how the boy will turn out. It seems to me a toss-up;

-or rather, the chances are that he will break away altogether, and ruin

-himself.

-

-I went on my way to the bank of the river, by the side of a double row

-of Scotch firs. It was one of those perfect September days when the

-air is still warm, when a thin haze is hanging over all the land, when

-there is no sound to be heard but now and then the chirp of a bird, or

-the far-off lowing of cattle--a day in which it is enough, and more

-than enough, to sit still and drink in the silent influences of earth

-and heaven, when anything like occupation seems an insult to the

-sweetness and beauty of nature. Across the little river was a large

-plantation of firs, growing almost to the water’s edge; and I could

-feel the balmy scent of them in the air.

-

-As I reached the river I overtook Margaret Lindsay, who was walking

-a little way in advance of me. She had a book under her arm, an old

-volume covered in brown leather. We greeted each other, and I soon

-found that she was bound, like myself, for the ‘Lover’s Leap.’

-

-‘I will show you the place,’ she said; ‘we must cross the river here.’

-

-As she spoke she stepped on a large flat stone that lay at the water’s

-edge; and I saw that a succession of such stones, placed at intervals

-of about a yard, made a path by which the river could be crossed. The

-current was pretty strong, and as the water was rushing fast between

-the stones (which barely showed their heads above the stream), I

-hastened to offer Margaret my hand. But the girl only glanced at me

-with a look of surprise, and with the nearest approach to a smile which

-I had seen in her face, she shook her head and began to walk over the

-stepping-stones with as much composure as if she had been moving across

-a floor. Now and then she had to make a slight spring to gain the next

-stone, and she did so with the ease and grace of a fawn. I followed a

-little way behind, and when we had gained the opposite side we walked

-in single file along the riverbank, till we came to the spot where

-the Logan came tumbling and dancing down the side of a rather steep

-hill to meet the larger stream. The hill was covered with brushwood

-and bracken, and a few scattered trees; but a path seemed to have been

-made through the bushes, and up this path we began to scramble. Once or

-twice I ventured to offer Margaret my hand, but she declined my help,

-saying that she could get on better alone.

-

-After a few minutes of this climbing, Margaret suddenly moved to one

-side, and sprang down to a tiny morsel of gravelly beach, at the side

-of the burn. I followed her, and was fairly entranced by what I saw. A

-little way above us the gorge widened, allowing us to see the trees,

-which, growing on either side of the brook, interlaced their branches

-above it. From beneath the trees the stream made a clear downward

-leap, of perhaps thirty or forty feet, into a pool--the pool at our

-feet--which was so deep that it seemed nearly as black as ink. The

-music of the waterfall filled the air so that we could hardly catch

-the sound of each other’s words; and if we moved to the farther end

-of the little margin of beach, we heard, instead of the noise of the

-waterfall, the sweet babbling of the burn over its stony bed.

-

-‘Do you often come here?’ I asked, as we stood at the edge of the

-stream, some little distance from the fall.

-

-‘Yes, pretty often when I wish to be alone, or to have an hour’s quiet

-reading.’

-

-‘As you do to-day,’ said I; ‘that’s as much as to say that you want to

-have an hour’s quiet reading now.’

-

-‘So I do,’ said the girl calmly.

-

-‘Or, in other words, that it is time for me to take myself off.’

-

-‘I did not mean that,’ said Margaret, with perfect placidity. ‘Would

-you like to go up to the top of the linn?’

-

-‘Very much,’ said I, and we scrambled up the bank to the upper level of

-the stream, and gazed down upon the black rushing water and the dark

-pool beneath, with its fringe of cream-coloured foam.

-

-‘So this is the “Lover’s Leap,”’ I remarked.

-

-‘Yes,’ said Margaret. ‘They say that once a young man was carrying off

-his sweetheart, when her father and brothers pursued them. The girl was

-riding on a pillion behind her lover. As the only way of escape, he

-put his horse at the gap over our heads--it must have been narrower in

-those days than it is now--missed it, and both himself and the lady

-were killed in the fall.’

-

-‘Dreadful!’ I exclaimed.

-

-‘Of course it isn’t true,’ pursued Margaret tranquilly.

-

-‘Why not?’ I asked.

-

-‘Oh, such stories never are; they are all romantic nonsense.’

-

-‘How different your streams are from those in the south,’ said I, after

-a pause; ‘Tennyson’s description of a brook would hardly suit this one.’

-

-‘What is that?’ she inquired.

-

-‘Don’t you know it?’ I asked, letting my surprise get the better of my

-good manners.

-

-‘No, I never heard it,’ she said, without the least tinge of

-embarrassment; so I repeated the well-known lines, to which Margaret

-listened with her eyes still fixed on the rushing water.

-

-‘They are very pretty,’ said the girl, when I had finished; ‘but I

-should not care for a brook like that. I should think it would be very

-much like a canal, wouldn’t it?--only smaller. I like my own brook

-better; and I like Burns’s description of one better than Tennyson’s.’

-

-‘Has Burns described a brook? I wish you would quote it to me,’ said I.

-

-‘Surely you know the lines,’ said Margaret; ‘they are in “Hallowe’en.”’

-

-I assured her I did not, and in a low clear voice she repeated:

-

-   ‘Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays,

-      As through the glen it wimples;

-    Whyles round a rocky scaur it strays;

-      Whyles in a wiel it dimples.

-    Whyles glitterin’ to the noontide rays,

-      Wi’ bickerin’, dancin’ dazzle,

-    Whyles cookin’ underneath the braes,

-      Below the spreading hazel.’

-

-‘I think they are beautiful lines, so far as I understand them,’ was

-my verdict. ‘What is “cookin’,” for example? I know it does not mean

-frying, or anything of that kind, but----’

-

-I stopped, for the girl looked half offended at my poor little attempt

-to be funny at the expense of a Scotch word.

-

-‘There is no word for it in English, that I know of,’ she said. ‘It

-means crouching down, contentedly, in a comfortable place. If you

-saw a hen on a windy day under a stook of corn, you might say it was

-“cooking” there.’

-

-‘Thank you,’ I replied; ‘I won’t forget. And now I must be off, for I

-know you came here to read.’

-

-If in my vanity I had hoped for permission to remain, I was

-disappointed. Nothing of the kind was forthcoming.

-

-‘I hope you have got an interesting book,’ said I, wondering what the

-old brown-leather volume could be.

-

-‘You might not think it very interesting,’ answered Margaret, raising

-her lovely eyes to mine, as tranquilly as if she had been speaking

-of a newspaper. ‘It is only a volume of old sermons. Good-bye till

-dinner-time, Mr. Blake;’ and so saying she turned to seek her favourite

-nook, at the side of the waterfall.

-

-‘Old sermons!’ I exclaimed to myself as I left her. ‘What a singular

-girl she is. Fancy----’

-

-But my reflections were cut short, for I ‘lifted up mine eyes’ and saw

-a mountain ash--they call them ‘rowan trees’ here--full of berries.

-

-Sophy, such a tree is the most beautiful object in nature; there is no

-way of describing it, no way of putting its beauty into words. If you

-doubt what I say, look well at the next one you see, and then tell me

-if I am wrong. Good-night.

-

-                       Ever yours affectionately,

-                                          HUBERT BLAKE.

-

-P.S.--I mean to get M. to sit for her portrait to-morrow; but I see

-that in order to gain this end I shall have to use all my skill in

-diplomacy, both with the young lady and with her respected father.

-

-                                                            H. B.

-

-

-

-

-                              CHAPTER III.

-

-                           THE THIRD LETTER.

-

-                   _Hubert Blake to Sophy Meredith._

-

-

-                                 THE CASTLE FARM, MUIRBURN, N.B.,

-                                          _September 17_.

-

-     MY DEAR SOPHY,

-

-It did not occur to me, when I agreed to consider myself Mr. Lindsay’s

-guest until to-day, that the arrangement would entail my spending the

-greater part of a glorious autumn day within the walls of the Muirburn

-Free Kirk--but you shall hear. I suspected, from something which fell

-from my host at breakfast, that the excuses which I intended to offer

-for my not accompanying the family to church would not be considered

-sufficient; but when I ventured to hint at something of the kind my

-remark was received by such a horrified stare (not to speak of the look

-of consternation on Margaret’s beautiful face), that I saw that to have

-made any further struggle for freedom would have been a positive breach

-of good manners. I submitted, therefore, with as good a grace as I

-could; and I was afterwards given to understand that to have absented

-myself from ‘ordinances’ that Sunday would have been little short of a

-scandal, seeing that it happened to be ‘Sacrament Sunday.’

-

-If you ask a Scotchman how many sacraments there are, he will answer,

-if he remembers the Shorter Catechism, two. If, however, he is taken

-unawares, he will answer, one. Baptism is popularly considered to be

-a mere ceremony, of no practical importance to the infant recipient

-of it. It is regarded chiefly as an outward sign and token of the

-respectability of the parents, since it is only administered to the

-children of well-behaved people. ‘The Sacrament’ means the Lord’s

-Supper, which is administered in Presbyterian churches generally

-four times, but in country places often only twice a year. This,

-as it happened, was one of the ‘quarterly’ Communions, and as such

-popularly considered as of less dignity than those which occur at the

-old-fashioned seasons of July and January.

-

-We set off about a quarter-past ten in the heavy, two-wheeled dog-cart

-which brought me here. I manifested an intention of walking to the

-village, and asked Alec to accompany me, but Mr. Lindsay intervened

-and protested strongly against my proposal. He said it would not be

-‘seemly,’ by which I suppose he meant that it would be inconsistent

-with the dignity of the family, if a guest of his house were to be seen

-going to church on foot; but I could not help suspecting that he envied

-Alec and myself the sinful pleasure which a four-mile walk on so lovely

-a morning would have afforded us.

-

-I can see that my elderly cousin (three times removed) is one of those

-people who are thoroughly unhappy unless they get their own way

-in everything, and never enjoy themselves more than when they have

-succeeded in spoiling somebody’s pleasure. I mentally resolved to have

-as little to do with the old gentleman as I possibly could, and mounted

-to the front seat of the dog-cart, which, as the place of honour, had

-been reserved for me.

-

-As the old mare trotted soberly along, I could not help noticing the

-silence that seemed to brood over the fields. I have remarked the same

-thing in England, but somehow a Scotch Sunday seems even more still and

-quiet than an English one. Is it merely a matter of association and

-sentiment? Or is it that we miss on Sundays hundreds of trifling noises

-which on week-days fall unconsciously upon our ears?

-

-Presently we began to pass little knots of people trudging along

-churchwards. The old women carried their Bibles wrapped up in their

-pocket-handkerchiefs to preserve them from the dust, along with the

-usual sprig of southern-wood. The men, without exception, wore suits

-of black, shiny broadcloth. They seemed to be all farmers. Very few

-of the weavers or labourers have any religion whatever (so far as

-outward rites go), any more than your unworthy cousin; and I can’t help

-thinking that the necessity for shiny black clothes has something to do

-with it. The women are different; as usual in all countries, and in all

-creeds, they are more devout than the men.

-

-On the way we passed a group of young women just inside a field not

-far from the town, who were sitting about and stooping in various

-attitudes. I could not conceive what they were about, and turned to my

-host for an explanation.

-

-He gravely informed me that they were putting on their shoes. Being

-accustomed throughout the week to dispense with these inventions of

-modern effeminacy, they find it extremely irksome to walk for miles

-over dusty roads in shoes and stockings. They therefore carry them in

-their hands till they reach some convenient field near the town which

-is the object of their journey, and then, sitting down on the grass,

-they array themselves in that part of their raiment before going into

-church.

-

-We were now close to the town, and the sweet-toned little bell which

-I had heard on the evening of my arrival, along with a larger one of

-peculiarly strident tone in the belfry of the United Presbyterian

-Kirk, were ‘doing their best.’ There were whole processions of gigs

-or dog-carts such as that in which we were seated. No other style of

-vehicle was to be seen.

-

-I was rather amused to see that the corner at which on week-days the

-weavers stand in their shirt-sleeves was not left unoccupied. The place

-was crowded with farmers, most of them highly respectable-looking men,

-clad in long black coats and tall hats. As to the hats, by the way,

-they were of all shapes which have been in fashion for the last twenty

-years, some of them taller than I should have supposed it possible for

-a hat to be.

-

-We alighted at the door of an inn, and I noticed that the inn yard

-was crowded with ‘machines,’ _i.e._, dog-carts and gigs, which I

-thought pretty fair evidence of the prosperity of the country. Then we

-proceeded to our place of worship. In the little vestibule was a tall

-three-legged stool covered with a white napkin, and upon this rested

-a large pewter plate to receive the contributions of the faithful.

-Two tall farmers, dressed in swallow-tail coats, tall hats, and white

-neckties of the old-fashioned, all-round description, were standing

-over the treasury, and in one of them I recognised my acquaintance of

-the coach. I was prepared to nod him a greeting, but he preserved the

-most complete immobility of countenance, and kept his gaze fixed on the

-horizon outside the church door, as if no nearer object were worthy of

-his attention.

-

-I found the church filled with dreadfully narrow pews of unpainted

-wood, and facing them an immensely tall pulpit, with a subsidiary

-pulpit in front of the other at a lower elevation. There were carpets

-on the staircase which led up to the pulpits, and the desks of both

-were covered with red cloth, with elaborate tassels. From either side

-of the upper pulpit there projected slender, curving brass rods about

-two feet long, terminating in broad pieces of brass, fixed at right

-angles to the rods. What the use of this apparatus was I could not

-imagine. A steep gallery ran round three sides of the little building;

-and in front of the pulpit was a table covered with a white cloth.

-

-I was not so uncharitable as to suppose that those who came here to

-worship were guilty of any intentional irreverence, but certainly they

-carried out the theory that no reverence ought to be paid to sacred

-places very completely. No male person removed his hat till he was well

-within the doors; and in many cases men did not uncover themselves till

-they were comfortably seated. No one so much as thought of engaging

-in any private devotions. I was surprised to see that the congregation

-(which was, for the size of the building, a large one) was composed

-almost entirely of women and children; but as soon as the bells stopped

-ringing, a great clatter of heavy boots was heard in the vestibule, and

-the heads of families, whom I had seen standing at the corner, poured

-into the place. Like wise men, they had been taking the benefit of the

-fresh air till the last available moment.

-

-Hardly had the farmers taken their seats when a man appeared, dressed

-entirely in black, carrying an enormous Bible, with two smaller books

-placed on the top of it. Ascending the pulpit stairs, he placed one

-of the smaller books on the desk of the lower pulpit; and then, going

-a few steps higher, he deposited the other two volumes on the desk of

-the higher one. He then retired, and immediately the minister, a tall,

-dark man, with very long black hair, wearing an immense gown of black

-silk, black gloves, and white bands such as barristers wear, entered

-the church and ascended to the pulpit. He was followed by an older man

-dressed in a stuff gown, who went into the lower pulpit. Last of all

-came the door-keeper, who also went up the pulpit stairs and carefully

-closed the pulpit door after the minister. The man in the stuff gown

-was left to shut his own door, and he did so with a bang, as if in

-protest at the want of respect shown to him, and his inferior position

-generally.

-

-The ritual part, as I may call it, of the service being over, the

-minister rose and gave out a psalm, just as old Mr. Lindsay does at

-prayers; and as he did so, the man in the stuff gown got up, and

-pulling out two thin black boards from under his desk, he skilfully

-fixed one of them on the end of the brass rod which projected from the

-right-hand side of the pulpit; and then, turning half round, he fixed

-the other upon the similar rod on the left-hand side. On each of these

-boards I read, in large gilt letters, the word ‘Martyrdom.’ I could not

-imagine, even then, the meaning of this ceremony; but Alec informed me

-afterwards that it was meant to convey to the congregation the name of

-the tune to which the psalm was to be sung, so that they might turn it

-up in their tune-books, if they felt so inclined.

-

-When the minister had read the verses which he wished to have sung, he

-gave out the number of the psalm again in a loud voice, and read the

-first line a second time, so that there might be no mistake. He then

-sat down, and the little man beneath him, rising up, began to sing.

-I very nearly got into trouble at this point by rising to my feet,

-forgetting for the moment that the orthodox Scotch fashion is to sit

-while singing and to stand at prayer. (I am told that in the towns a

-good many churches have adopted the habit of standing up to sing and

-keeping their seats during the prayer; but older Presbyterians look

-upon this custom, as, if not exactly heretical, yet objectionable,

-as tending in the direction of ritualism, prelacy, and other

-abominations.) For a line or two the precentor was left to sing by

-himself, then one or two joined in, and presently the whole body of

-the congregation took up the singing. I was surprised to find what a

-good effect resulted--it was at least infinitely better than that of

-an ordinary choir of mixed voices led by a vile harmonium or American

-organ. Many of the voices were rough, no doubt; and the precentor

-seemed to make it a point of honour to keep half a note ahead of

-everybody else; but, in spite of this, the general effect of so many

-sonorous voices singing in unison was decidedly impressive.

-

-As soon as the four prescribed verses had been sung, the minister

-rose up to pray, and everybody got up at the same time. You know

-I am not easily shocked, Sophy; and hitherto, though I had seen

-much that was ludicrous and strange, I had not seen anything that I

-considered specially objectionable; but I must say that the behaviour

-of these good folks at the prayer which followed did shock me. They

-simply stood up and stared at each other; perhaps I noticed it more

-particularly because I, being a stranger, came in for a good share of

-attention. Many of the men kept their hands in their pockets; some

-were occupied taking observations of the weather, through the little

-windows of plain glass, half the time. The minister, I noticed, kept

-his hands clasped and his eyes tightly closed; and some of his flock,

-among whom were my host and his daughter, followed his example; but

-the majority, as I have said, simply stared around them. They may

-have been giving, meanwhile, a mental assent to the truths which the

-minister was enunciating; I dare say some of them were; but as far as

-one could judge from outward appearances they were no more engaged in

-praying than they were engaged in ploughing. The prayer lasted a very

-long time; when it was over we heard a chapter read, and after another

-part of a psalm was sung the sermon began. This was evidently the

-event of the day, to which everything said or done hitherto had been

-only an accessory; and everybody settled himself down in his seat as

-comfortably as he could.

-

-From what I had heard of Scotch sermons I was prepared for a

-well-planned logical discourse, and the sermon to which I now listened

-fulfilled that description. But then it was, to my mind at least,

-entirely superfluous. Granting the premisses (as to which no one in

-the building, excepting perhaps my unworthy self, entertained the

-slightest doubt), the conclusion followed as a matter of course, and

-hardly needed a demonstration lasting fifty minutes by my watch. I

-was so tired with the confinement in a cramped position and a close

-atmosphere that I very nearly threw propriety to the winds and left

-the building. Fortunately, however, just before exhausted nature

-succumbed, the preacher began what he called the ‘practical application

-of the foregoing,’ and I knew that the time of deliverance was at

-hand. And I must say that, judging from the fervour with which the

-concluding verses of a psalm were sung, I was not alone in my feeling

-of relief. As soon as the psalm was ended everybody rose, and the

-preacher, stretching out his arms over his flock, pronounced a solemn

-benediction. The ‘Amen’ was hardly out of the good man’s mouth when

-a most refreshing clatter arose. No one resumed his seat. Everybody

-hurried into the narrow passages, which were in an instant so crammed

-that moving in them was hardly possible. Here, again, I am convinced

-that there was no intentional irreverence; it was merely a custom

-arising from the extremely natural desire of breathing the fresh air

-after the confinement we had undergone. As we passed out I overheard

-several casual remarks about the sermon, which was discussed with the

-utmost freedom.

-

-‘Maister McLeod was a wee thocht dry the day,’ said one farmer.

-

-‘But varra guid--varra soon’,’ responded his neighbour.

-

-‘I thocht he micht ha’ made raither mair o’ that last pint,’ said the

-first speaker.

-

-‘Weel--maybe,’ was the cautious reply.

-

-We went over to the inn for a little refreshment, and in three-quarters

-of an hour the bells began to jangle once more. This was more than I

-had bargained for; but there was no help for it. I could not offend my

-host by retreating; and besides, I was desirous of seeing for myself

-what a Scottish Communion Service was like.

-

-After the usual singing of a few verses of a psalm, and prayer, the

-minister descended from the pulpit, and took his place beside the table

-beneath, on which there had now been placed two loaves of bread, and

-four large pewter cups. From this position he delivered an address,

-and after it a prayer. He then took a slice from one of the loaves of

-bread which were ready cut before him, broke off a morsel for himself,

-and handed the piece of bread to one of several elderly men, called

-‘elders,’ who were seated near him. This man broke off a morsel in

-the same way, and handed the remainder of the bread to another, and

-so on till all the elders had partaken. Four of the elders then rose,

-and two went down one side of the church, and two down the other side,

-one of each pair bearing a plate covered with a napkin, and holding

-a loaf of bread cut in slices, which they distributed among those

-of the congregation who were sitting in the centre of the church,

-and who alone were about to take part in the rite. The ceremony is,

-in fact, very much, or altogether, the same as the ‘love-feasts’

-among the Methodists; except that the Methodists use water while the

-Presbyterians use wine. There is nothing of the sacramental character

-left in the ordinance; it is avowedly a commemorative and symbolic

-rite, and nothing more.

-

-In the meantime perfect silence reigned in the little building. There

-was literally not a sound to be heard but the chirping of one or two

-sparrows outside the partly-opened windows. Have you ever noticed

-how impressive an interval of silence is at any meeting of men,

-especially when they are met together for a religious purpose? Silence

-is never vulgar; and it almost seems as if any form of worship in which

-intervals of silence form a part were redeemed thereby from vulgarity.

-Whatever may have been the reason, this service impressed me, I must

-confess, in a totally different way from that in which the long sermon

-in the morning had done.

-

-Suddenly a gentle falsetto voice fell upon my ear; and looking up, I

-saw that the elders, having finished their task, had returned to the

-table, and that a little white-haired man had risen to address the

-people. He wore no gown, but he had on a pair of bands, like his friend

-Mr. McLeod, which gave him a comical sort of air. This, however, as

-well as the curious falsetto or whining tone in which his voice was

-pitched, was forgotten when one began to listen. The old man had

-chosen for his text one of the most sacred of all possible subjects to

-a Christian; and no one who heard him could doubt that he was speaking

-from his heart. A deeper solemnity seemed to fall upon the silent

-gathering. I glanced round, but whatever emotions were excited by the

-touching address, none of them were suffered to appear on the faces of

-the people. On Alec Lindsay’s face, alone, I noticed a look of rapt

-attention; his sister’s beautiful features seemed as if they had been

-carved in marble.

-

-Before the old minister sat down he raised one of the large cups (which

-had been previously filled with wine from a flagon), and handed it

-to one of the elders, who, after drinking from it, passed it to his

-neighbour. After the ministers and elders had tasted the wine, two of

-the latter rose, and each proceeded down one of the passages, bearing a

-large pewter cup, while he was followed by one of his fellows carrying

-a flagon. The cups were handed to the people still sitting in the

-pews, exactly as the bread had been, and circulated from one to another

-till all the communicants had partaken of the wine. Then followed

-another address, from the black-haired gentleman this time; and with a

-prayer and a little more singing the ceremony came to an end.

-

-As we emerged into the afternoon sunshine, and waited for ‘the beast to

-be put in,’ as the innkeeper called it, I could not be sorry that I had

-sacrificed my inclinations and had seen something of the practice of

-religion in this country.

-

-But I dare say you have had enough of my experiences for the

-present--so, good-night.

-

-                       Your affectionate cousin,

-                                         HUBERT BLAKE.

-

-

-

-

-                              CHAPTER IV.

-

-                           THE FOURTH LETTER.

-

-                   _Hubert Blake to Sophy Meredith._

-

-

-                                  THE CASTLE FARM, MUIRBURN, N.B.

-                                         _Oct. 5, 187-._

-

-     MY DEAR SOPHY,

-

-Yesterday there was a ‘feeing fair’ at Muirburn, and under Alec’s

-guidance I paid a visit to the scene of dissipation.

-

-But, first of all, I wish to tell you of a curious Scotch custom that

-fell under my notice the evening before. Alec and I were returning

-from a short ramble in the ‘gloaming,’ _i.e._, the twilight, when we

-happened to meet a young couple walking side by side. As soon as they

-caught sight of us they separated, and walked on opposite sides of the

-road till we had passed. This, it seems, was according to local ideas

-of what is proper under such circumstances. As we went by I glanced at

-the girl, and saw that she was one of Mr. Lindsay’s farm-servants.

-

-‘So Jessie has got a sweetheart,’ I remarked.

-

-‘Very likely,’ said Alec, with a laugh; ‘but I don’t think Tom

-Archibald is her lad. He is only the “black-fuit.”’

-

-‘The _what_?’

-

-‘The “black-fuit.” Dae ye no ken--I mean, don’t ye know what that is?’

-

-On confessing my ignorance, I learned that the etiquette of courtship,

-as understood among the peasantry of south-west Scotland, demands that

-no young ploughman shall present himself at the farm on which the young

-woman who has taken his fancy may happen to be employed; if he did so,

-it would expose the girl to a good deal of bantering. He invariably

-secures the services of a friend, on whom he relies not only for moral

-support, but for actual assistance in his enterprise.

-

-At the end of the working-day, when the dairymaids, as we should

-call them in England, have ‘cleaned themselves,’ and are chatting

-together in a little group at the door of the byre, John, the friend,

-makes his appearance, and presently contrives to engage the attention

-of Jeanie, who is the object of his friend’s devotion. The other

-girls good-naturedly leave them alone, and John suggests that ‘they

-micht tak’ a bit daun’er as far as the yett’ (_i.e._, the gate).

-Jeanie blushes, and picking up the corner of her apron as she goes,

-accompanies the ambassador to the gate and into the lane beyond. There,

-by pure accident, they meet Archie, and he and John greet each other in

-the same way as if they had not met each other for a week. The three

-saunter on together, under the hawthorn, till suddenly John remembers

-that he will be ‘expeckit hame,’ and takes his departure, leaving

-Archie to plead his cause as best he may.

-

-I declared my conviction that the custom sprang from unworthy fears of

-an action for breach of promise; but Alec was almost offended by this

-imputation on the good faith of his countrymen, and assured me most

-seriously that that kind of litigation was unheard of in Kyleshire.

-

-Next day we went to the fair. The object of this gathering is to enable

-farmers to meet and engage their farm-servants, male and female; it

-takes place twice a year, the hiring being always for six months.

-

-The village, or ‘the toon,’ as they always call it here, was in a state

-of great excitement. There was quite a crowd in the middle of the

-street, chiefly composed of young women in garments of many colours,

-in the most enviable condition of physical health; and young giants

-of ploughmen in their best clothes, with carefully oiled hair. On the

-outskirts of the crowd (which was as dense as four hundred people

-could possibly make it), were a few queys, _i.e._, young cows, and a

-few rough farm-horses. The public-houses were simply crammed as full

-as they would hold. There was a swing, and a merry-go-round, and a

-cheap-Jack. There was also a sort of lottery, conducted on the most

-primitive principles. You paid sixpence, plunged your hand into a

-little wooden barrel revolving on a spindle, and pulled out a morsel of

-peculiarly dirty paper bearing a number. This entitled you to a comb,

-or an accordion with three notes, or a penny doll, as the case might be.

-

-What chiefly impressed me was the sober, not to say dismal,

-character of the whole thing. I saw no horse-play, no dancing, no

-kiss-in-the-ring, or games of any kind. One might have thought it was

-an ordinary market-day, but for the crowd and the cracking of the

-caps on the miniature rifles with which the lads were shooting for

-nuts. This, in fact, was the only popular amusement; and, as all the

-boys and young men took part in it, and all held the muzzle of their

-weapon within twelve or fourteen inches of the mark, I perceived that

-every proprietor of a nut-barrow would have been ruined if he had not

-secured himself against bankruptcy by prudently twisting the barrels of

-his firearms.

-

-There was, by the way, one other amusement besides the shooting for

-nuts: every young man presented every girl of his acquaintance with a

-handful of nuts or sweetmeats, the degree of his regard being indicated

-by the quantity offered. I convinced myself that some of the prettier

-and more popular girls must have carried home several pounds’ weight of

-saccharine matter.

-

-We did not leave the village till it was getting dark and the naphtha

-lamps were blazing at the stalls. Probably the fun was only beginning,

-but we did not stay to witness it. Happily, the drinking seemed to

-be confined to great, large-limbed farmers, on whom half a bottle of

-whisky seemed to make not the slightest impression, beyond loosening

-their tongues. As the night advanced, however, a change must have

-occurred, for I was told afterwards that Hamilton of Burnfoot (my

-friend of the coach and of the offertory) had been seen sitting upright

-in his gig, thrashing with all his might, and in perfect silence, a

-saddler’s hobby-horse, which some wag had put between the shafts in

-place of his steady old ‘roadster.’

-

-On the way home Alec and I had some confidential conversation as to his

-future.

-

-‘Mr. Blake,’ he began, ‘what do you think I ought to be?’

-

-‘How can I tell, Alec?’ I answered; ‘what would you like to be?’

-

-‘That’s just what I don’t know,’ said the lad gloomily. ‘I don’t know

-what I am fit for, or whether I am fit for anything. How can I tell,

-before I have seen anything of the world, what part I should try to

-play in it?’

-

-‘You have no strong taste in any direction?’

-

-‘No; I can’t say that I have. I like the country, but I am sick of the

-loneliness of my life here. I long to be out in the world, to be up and

-doing something, I hardly know what. You see, I know so little. What

-I should like is to go to college for the next three or four years--to

-Glasgow, or Edinburgh--and by that time I would have an idea what I

-could do, and what I should not attempt.’

-

-‘But do you think,’ I said, with some hesitation, ‘that you are ready

-to go to college?’

-

-‘Why not? Don’t you think I am old enough? I am almost nineteen. I

-dare say you think I am too ignorant; but there are junior classes

-for beginners. I can do Virgil and Cicero, and I think I could manage

-Xenophon and Homer.’

-

-‘What is the difficulty then?’

-

-‘My father thinks it would be wasting money to send me to college,

-unless I were to be a minister or a doctor, and I don’t want to be

-either the one or the other.’

-

-‘But you must be something, you know.’

-

-‘Yes, but I won’t be a minister. Do you know that I was once very

-nearly in the way of making my fortune through paraffin oil. and lost

-my chance through an ugly bull-pup?’

-

-‘Really? How was that?’

-

-‘Mr. Lindsay of Drumleck----’

-

-‘Is _he_ a relation of yours?’ I interposed.

-

-(It was a surprise to me to hear that I was, ever so distantly, related

-to a millionnaire.)

-

-‘He is my father’s uncle,’ said Alec. ‘Well, last year he sent for me

-to pay him a visit, and he had hinted to my father that if I pleased

-him he would “make a man of me.” I didn’t please him. The very day

-I went to his house, I happened to be standing near a table in the

-drawing-room on which there was a precious vase of some sort or other.

-There was a puppy under the table that I didn’t see; I trod on its

-tail, and the brute started up with a yowl and flew at my leg. I

-stooped down to drive it off, and managed to knock over the table,

-vase and all. You should have seen the old man’s face! He very nearly

-ordered me out of the house. I don’t believe he particularly cared for

-the thing, but then you see he had given five-and-twenty pounds for it.

-It ended my chances so far as he is concerned at any rate; and, to tell

-the truth, I wasn’t particularly sorry. I shouldn’t care to spend my

-life in making oil.’

-

-‘But, my dear fellow, it seems to me you are too particular. Take

-my advice, and if you have an opportunity of getting into your

-grand-uncle’s good books again, don’t lose it.’

-

-‘Oh! he has taken another in my place, a fellow Semple--I don’t think

-much of him. He is a grand-nephew, too. I shouldn’t wonder if he makes

-him his heir; and I don’t care. I don’t want to be a Glasgow merchant,

-any more than I want to be a Kyleshire farmer.’

-

-‘Ah! Alec, are you smitten too?’ I said. ‘You want to climb, and you

-will not think that you may fall. I didn’t know you were ambitious.’

-

-‘I want to go into a wider world than this one;’ said the lad, and his

-eyes flashed, and his voice trembled with excitement. ‘I want to learn,

-first of all; then I want to find what I can do best, and try to make a

-name for myself. I want to rise to the level of--oh! what am I talking

-about?’

-

-He broke off abruptly, as if ashamed of his own enthusiasm.

-

-For my own part I felt sorry for him. I always do, somehow, when I see

-a brave young spirit eager to meet and conquer fortune--a ship setting

-sail from port, colours all flying, guns firing, crowds cheering.

-How many reach the harbour? How many founder at sea? One is wrecked

-in this way, another in that. One gallant bark meets with headwinds

-nearly all the way; another is run down by a rival and is heard of no

-more; a third, after baffling many a wintry gale, goes down in smooth

-water, within sight of land. How many unsuccessful men are there in the

-world for every one who succeeds? And of those who gain their heart’s

-desire, how many can say, ‘I am satisfied’?

-

-

-                                                    _October 29._

-

-I was fairly amazed to find this unfinished letter, begun three weeks

-ago, between the leaves of my blotter this morning. Another example of

-my incurable laziness!

-

-My stay here is almost at an end. My large picture is nearly completed.

-My portrait of Margaret is finished; and though it is not what I would

-like it to be, I think it is the best thing I have done yet. I leave

-to-morrow morning, and hope to be with you in a day or two. Alec goes

-with me as far as Glasgow, for he has persuaded his father to send him

-to college--or rather, the old man has yielded to the lad’s discontent,

-backed by my expressions of the high opinion I hold of his abilities.

-I fancy Mr. Lindsay thinks his son will yet be an ornament to the Free

-Kirk, but, if I am not very much mistaken, Alec will never change his

-mind on this point.

-

-We had a regular family council, at which the matter was settled.

-The old man sat on his chair, bolt upright, his hands folded before

-him. Alec sat near by while his future was being decided, carelessly

-playing with a paper-knife on the table. Margaret was, as usual, at her

-sewing; but I could tell by little signs in her face, that for once her

-composure was more than half assumed.

-

-‘You had your chance a year ago,’ said the old man in a harsh

-unyielding tone, ‘and you threw it away. Why should I stint myself, and

-go back from my task of buying back the land, to give you another one?’

-

-‘I don’t wish you to stint yourself,’ said the boy half sullenly.

-

-‘I don’t want to injure your sister,’ said his father, in the same tone.

-

-‘Do you think _I_ wish Margaret injured? If you cannot spare

-five-and-twenty pounds without inconvenience, there’s an end of it.’

-

-‘It’s not the first winter only,’ began Mr. Lindsay.

-

-‘But I can support myself after that,’ interrupted Alec; ‘I can get a

-bursary; I can get teaching----’

-

-‘You’ll have to give up idling away your time over _Blackwood_ then,’

-said the old man, with a grim smile.

-

-Alec’s face flushed, and he made no reply.

-

-Then, having proved that Alec’s wish was wholly unreasonable and

-impracticable, Mr. Lindsay gave his consent to the proposal, and, to

-cut short further discussion, told Margaret to bid the servants come to

-‘worship.’

-

-I was rather surprised that Margaret had said nothing on her brother’s

-behalf, and a little disappointed that she had not declared that her

-own interests ought not to stand in the way of her brother’s education;

-but I found that I had misjudged her.

-

-‘Well, I owe this to Margaret,’ said Alec to me, as soon as we found

-ourselves alone together.

-

-‘To your sister?’ I said, with some surprise.

-

-‘Yes; my father thinks more of her opinion than he does of anybody

-else’s, and I know she has been urging him to let me go. As for that

-about injuring her, it is all stuff. Do you think I would take the

-money, if I didn’t know my father could afford it perfectly well?’

-

-I hardly knew what reply to make to this, and Alec went on:

-

-‘There will be a row between them one of these days. My father will

-want her to marry Semple. I know he is in love with her; and Margaret

-won’t have him.’

-

-‘I should think not, indeed!’ I exclaimed.

-

-I had seen this young fellow, and I confess I took a violent dislike

-to him. He came over to the farm one afternoon, and I thought I had

-never seen a more vulgar creature. He was dressed in the latest

-fashion--on a visit to a farmhouse, too! He had a coarse, commonplace

-face, a ready, officious manner, and the most awful accent I ever

-heard on the tongue of any human being. I cannot say I admire the

-Scotch accent; it is generally harsh and disagreeable; but when it

-is joined to an affectation of correctness, when every syllable is

-carefully articulated, and every _r_ is given its full force and

-effect, the result is overpowering. The young man was good enough to

-give me a considerable share of his attention, and I could hardly

-conceal my dislike of him. He patronized old Mr. Lindsay, was loftily

-condescending to Alec, and treated Margaret as if she ought to have

-been highly flattered by the admiration of so fine a gentleman.

-

-‘Your respected cousin seemed to me as if he were greatly in need of a

-kicking,’ I said to Alec.

-

-‘If he gets even a share of Uncle James’s property he will be a rich

-man,’ said Alec thoughtfully. ‘My father would think it a sin for

-Maggie to refuse a man with a hundred thousand pounds.’

-

-‘So would a good many fathers, I suppose,’ said I.

-

-I am sorry to see Alec’s attitude to his father; yet I fear he judges

-the old man only too accurately.

-

-For the last few days we have had nothing but rain. Rain, rain,

-rain, till the leaves were fairly washed off the trees, and the very

-earth seemed as if it must be sodden to the rocks beneath. Yesterday

-afternoon I felt tired of being shut up in the large bare room which

-I have been using as a studio, so I put on a thick suit, and went out

-for a stretch in the midst of a perfect deluge. I crossed the river by

-a stone bridge, about a mile lower down, as the stepping-stones were

-covered, and soon I got to a wide expanse of country, composed of large

-sodden green fields, barely reclaimed from the moor, and even now, in

-spite of drains, partly overgrown with rushes. There were no fences;

-and the hardy cattle wandered at will over the land.

-

-It was inexpressibly dreary. There was little or no wind--no clouds

-in the sky--only a lead-coloured heaven from which the rain fell

-incessantly. There was not a house, not a tree, not a hedgerow in

-sight; and the rain-laden atmosphere hid the horizon.

-

-Suddenly I heard the noise of singing, the singing of a child. I was

-fairly startled, and looked round, wondering where the sound could come

-from. I was on the border between the moor and the reclaimed land;

-and there was literally nothing in sight but the earth, the sky, and

-the rain, except what looked like a small heap of turf left by the

-peat-cutters. Could some stray child be hidden behind it? If so, I

-thought, its life must be in danger.

-

-I hurried up to the mound of peats, and as I did so, the sound of the

-song became stronger. Then it ceased, and the little singer began a

-fresh melody:

-

-   ‘Behind yon hills where Lugar flows,

-      ‘Mang muirs an’ mosses mony, O,

-    The wintry sun the day has closed----’

-

-He stopped suddenly as he caught sight of me, and a fine collie which

-had been lying beside him made a dash at me.

-

-‘Doon, Swallow! Lie doon, sir!’ cried the child, and the dog obeyed at

-once.

-

-It was not a heap of peats, as I had supposed, but a tiny hut, just

-large enough to hold a boy sitting upright, ingeniously built of dry

-peats. It was open to the east, the lee side, and was quite impervious

-to the weather. The little fellow seemed to be about twelve years of

-age, a stout, rosy-cheeked laddie, clad in an immense Scotch bonnet and

-a tattered gray plaid; and his little red bare feet peeped out beneath

-his corduroys.

-

-‘What on earth are you doing here, child?’ I exclaimed.

-

-‘Eh?’ asked the boy, looking up in my face with surprise.

-

-‘Why are you here? Why are you not at home?’

-

-‘Man, I’m herdin’.’

-

-‘Herding what?’

-

-‘The kye.’

-

-At that moment some of the young cattle took it into their heads to

-cross the ditch which separated their territory from the moor, and the

-boy with a ‘Here, Swallow!’ sent the dog bounding after the ‘stirks.’

-

-‘And do you stay here all alone?’

-

-‘Ay.’

-

-‘All day long?’

-

-‘Ou, ay.’

-

-‘Poor little fellow!’ was on my lips, but I did not utter the words.

-The child was healthy and strong, and not, apparently, unhappy. He held

-a ‘gully’ in one hand, and a bit of wood, which he had been whittling

-while he sang, in the other. Why should I, by expressing my pity for

-his solitary condition, make him discontented with his lot?

-

-Fortunately I had in my pocket a few coppers, which I presented to

-him. You should have seen the joy that lighted up the child’s face!

-He looked at the treasure shyly, as if afraid to touch it, so I had

-to force it into his hand. I don’t think I ever saw before such an

-expression of pure unalloyed delight on a human countenance. He was so

-happy that he forgot to thank me.

-

-‘What will you do with them?’ I asked.

-

-He opened his hand and pointed to the pennies one after another.

-

-‘I’ll buy sweeties wi’ that ane, an’--an’ bools wi’ that ane,

-an’--an’--an’ a peerie wi’ that ane; an’ I’ll gi’e ane to Annie, and

-I’ll lay by twa!’

-

-‘Prudent young Scotchman,’ said I; ‘and pray, what are “bools”?

-Marbles, I suppose. And what is a “peerie”?’

-

-The boy thought I was laughing at him.

-

-‘Div ye no ken that?’ he asked, with some suspiciousness and a dash of

-contempt.

-

-I assured him I did not.

-

-‘Ye tie’t up wi’ a string, an’ birl’t on the road, an’ it gangs soon’

-soon’ asleep.’

-

-‘Oh, a top you mean.’

-

-‘A peerie,’ persisted he.

-

-‘Ah, well; it’s the same thing. Good-day, my boy,’ said I.

-

-The little fellow got up, draped as he was in his ragged plaid, and

-putting one hand with the precious pennies into his pocket, solemnly

-extended to me the other.

-

-‘I dare say,’ said I to myself, as I looked back and saw the child

-counting over his treasure once more with eager eyes, ‘I dare say there

-isn’t a happier creature this day between Land’s End and John O’Groats,

-than this herd-boy, in his lonely hut on the sodden, dreary moorland!’

-

-And so it is, all the world over. I should think myself very hardly

-used by fortune, if I had to live alone in a grimy city for six months

-on five-and-thirty pounds, and had to get up every day before dawn to

-grind away at Latin and Greek; yet here is young Lindsay with his blue

-eyes ready to leap out of his head with excitement and delight at the

-bare prospect of it! It is a curious world. But I must look after my

-packing; for in order to reach Glasgow to-morrow, we must be stirring

-long before daylight. Till we meet, then,

-

-                       Your affectionate cousin,

-                                           HUBERT.

-

-

-

-

-                               CHAPTER V.

-

-                          THE SHIP SETS SAIL.

-

-

-A sudden change in the weather had whitened the fields of the Castle

-Farm, and covered the puddles in the narrow lane with thin clear sheets

-of ice. Little or nothing was said at the breakfast-table; but as Alec

-Lindsay went into the empty kitchen to fasten a card on his little

-cow-hide trunk, his sister followed him, and stood over him in silence

-till one of the men came in, lifted the box, and carried it away.

-

-‘You will write home every week, won’t you, Alec?’ she said.

-

-‘Every week, Maggie! what in the world shall I get to say?’

-

-‘Tell us what your life is like, whether your lodgings are

-comfortable, what sort of people you take up with.’

-

-‘Well; all right.’

-

-‘And, Alec, you had better write to father and me time about; and when

-you write to me you can send a little scrap for myself as well.’

-

-‘That you needn’t show to anybody? I thought that was against your

-principles, Meg. Don’t mind me, I was only making fun of you,’ he

-added, suddenly throwing his arms round his sister’s neck; ‘of course I

-will send you a little private note now and then. Don’t cry, Maggie.’

-

-‘I’m not crying.’

-

-‘Yes, you are.’

-

-‘It will be very lonely without you, Alec, all the long winter.’

-

-‘I almost wish I weren’t going, for your sake; but I know you have

-helped me to get away, Maggie, and it was awfully kind of you.’

-

-Here Mr. Lindsay’s voice was heard calling out that the travellers

-would miss the coach if they did not set off at once.

-

-‘Nonsense! We shall only have to wait at the roadside for twenty

-minutes,’ said Alec under his breath. But he gave his sister a last

-hug, shook hands with his father, and mounted the back-seat of the

-dog-cart, where his trunk and Blake’s portmanteau were already

-deposited.

-

-In another minute they were off; and Alec, looking back, saw the light

-of the lantern shine on the tall figures of his gray-haired father and

-his sister, framed in the old stone doorway as in a picture.

-

-The stable was passed, the long byre where the cows were already

-stirring, the stack-yard, the great hay-rick, the black peat-stack

-flanking the outmost gable; and as each familiar building and

-well-remembered corner faded in turn from view, Alec in his heart

-bade them good-bye. He felt as if he would never see the old place

-again--never, at least, would it be to him what it had been. When he

-came again it would be merely for a visit, like any other stranger.

-The subtle, invisible chains that bind us to this or that corner of

-mother earth, once broken, can hardly be reforged; and Alec felt that

-no future leave-taking of the Farm would be like this one; henceforth

-it would belong not to the present, but to the past.

-

-As the travellers had foreseen when they set out, they had a good

-twenty minutes to wait at the corner of the lane till the coach came

-up; then came the long, monotonous drive, the horses’ hoofs keeping

-time to ‘Auld Lang Syne’ in Alec’s head all the way; then the railway

-journey. Blake had, as a matter of course, taken a first-class ticket.

-Alec had, equally as a matter of course, taken a third-class one. When

-this was discovered, Blake took his seat beside his friend, laughing at

-the uneasiness depicted on Alec’s face, and declined without a second

-thought the lad’s proposal that he too should travel first-class and

-pay the difference of fare. But the incident caused Alec acute mental

-discomfort, which lasted till they reached Glasgow.

-

-When the train steamed into the terminus, it seemed as if it were

-entering a huge gloomy cavern, where the air was composed of smoke,

-mist, and particles of soot. The frost still held the fields in

-Kyleshire; but here the rain was dripping from every house-top, and the

-streets were covered with a thick layer of slimy mud.

-

-Blake shuddered.

-

-‘I’ve got nothing particular to do, Alec,’ said he; ‘let me help you to

-look for lodgings.’

-

-But Alec had no mind to let his friend see the sort of accommodation

-with which he would have to content himself; and the artist saw that

-the lad wanted to decline his offer, without very well knowing how.

-

-‘Or perhaps you’d rather hunt about by yourself?’ continued Blake.

-‘Well, in that case, I think I’ll be off to Edinburgh at once, and go

-to London that way. Anything to be out of this.’

-

-He stopped suddenly, and hoped that his companion had not heard his

-last words. They took a cab to Queen Street; and after seeing his

-friend off to Edinburgh, Alec set out on his quest of a shelter. A few

-steps brought him to the district north of George Street, where, in

-those days, the poorer class of students had their habitations. The

-streets were not particularly broad, and the houses were of tremendous

-height, looking like great barracks placed one at the end of another,

-though their hewn-stone fronts saved them from the mean appearance of

-brick or stucco exteriors. After a good deal of running up and down

-steep staircases (for these houses are built in flats), Alec at last

-pitched upon a narrow but lofty sitting-room, with a still narrower

-bedroom opening from it. For this accommodation the charge was only

-eight shillings a week.

-

-After a peculiarly uncomfortable meal, Alec Lindsay set out for ‘The

-College.’

-

-The University of Glasgow, founded by a Bull of one of the mediæval

-Popes, had in those days its seat in the High Street, once the main

-thoroughfare of the city, but long since fallen from its old estate.

-The air seemed thicker, more full of smoke and soot, of acid vapours

-and abominable smells, in this quarter, than in any other part of the

-town.

-

-An ancient pile of buildings faced the street; and a quaint gateway

-gave access to the outer quadrangle or ‘first court,’ as Alec soon

-learned to call it. Here a solid stone staircase, guarded by a stone

-lion on one side and a unicorn on the other, led to the senate-room

-above; and an archway led to a quadrangle beyond.

-

-But Alec had scarcely time to observe as much as this. Hardly had he

-set foot within the gateway, when a gigantic man wearing a huge black

-beard stalked up to him, and without more ado caught him by the arm,

-while a small crowd of half a dozen lads of his own age, wearing gowns

-of red flannel, swarmed round him on the other side.

-

-‘I say!’ exclaimed the big man; ‘you’re going to matriculate, aren’t

-you?’

-

-‘Of course; that’s what I came here for.’

-

-‘And where were you born?’

-

-‘Where was I born?’ asked Alec, in bewilderment.

-

-‘Yes; be quick, man. Do you come from Highlands or Lowlands, or from

-beyond the Border?’

-

-‘Why do you want to know?’

-

-‘He comes from the county of Clackmannan; I know by the cut of his

-hair!’ yelled a red-haired, freckled youth of some seventeen summers.

-

-‘Get out, you unmannerly young cub!’ cried the big man, making a dash

-at the offender, without releasing his hold of Alec’s arm.

-

-‘Are you Transforthana?’ cried another. ‘Oh, say if you’re

-Transforthana, like a good fellow, and don’t keep us in suspense.’

-

-‘He’s Rothseiana! I know it!’ bawled out a fourth.

-

-At this point a little man in spectacles darted from a low doorway on

-the left with a sheaf of papers printed in red ink, which he began to

-distribute as fast as he could. Instantly the men who had fastened upon

-Alec left him, and rushed off to secure one of the papers, and Alec

-followed their example.

-

-After some little trouble he got one, and then elbowing his way out

-of the crowd, began to read it. He found it was a not very comical

-parody of ‘Come into the garden, Maud,’ the allusions being half of a

-political, half of an academical character.

-

-Looking up with a puzzled air, Alec encountered the gaze of a man

-ten or twelve years his senior, who was regarding him with a look of

-mingled interest and amusement. He was considerably over six feet

-high, and broad in proportion. He wore a suit of tweeds, a blue Scotch

-bonnet, and a reddish-brown beard. He had the high cheek-bones and

-large limbs of the true Highlander, and one of his eyes had a slight

-cast. When he smiled, he had a cynical but not unkindly expression.

-

-‘I wish you would tell me what all this nonsense is about,’ said Alec.

-

-‘What nonsense would ye like to pe informed apoot?’ inquired the other

-in a strong Highland accent--‘the nonsense in that bit paper? Or the

-nonsense o’ these daft callants? Or the nonsense o’ this haill thing?’

-and he waved his thick stick round the quadrangle.

-

-‘What is all this stir about? Why were a’ these fellows so anxious to

-know where I was born?’

-

-‘One quastion at a time, my lad,’ answered the big Highlander. ‘They

-are electin’ a Lord Rector; the ploy will gang on for a week or

-ten days yet. And they vote in “nations,” according to the part o’

-the country they belong to. I was born in the Duke’s country, and

-consequently my vote is worth conseederably more than that o’ yon wee

-spectacled callant who was kittled in the Gorbals, for example.’

-

-‘I was born in Kyleshire,’ said Alec.

-

-‘Then you’re Rothseiana,’ said the stranger, ‘and your vote’s worth

-more than mine. I’d advise ye to choose at once, and put down your name

-at one club or the other, or they’ll tease your life out.’

-

-‘But who are the candidates?’

-

-‘Mr. Sharpe, and Lord Dummieden, of course.’

-

-Alec knew Mr. Sharpe’s name as that of an ex-Cabinet Minister on the

-Liberal side, who had the reputation of being a scholar, but who had

-never written anything beyond two or three pungent articles in _The

-Debater_.

-

-‘And who is Lord Dummieden?’

-

-‘What!’ answered the Highlander; ‘is it possible that you have never

-heard of the “History of the British Isles before the Roman Invasion,”

-in sixteen volumes, by the Right Honourable James Beattie, Viscount

-Dummieden, of Crumlachie?’

-

-Alec gave an incredulous look, and the other laughed outright.

-

-‘Don’t be offended,’ said the Highlander.

-

-‘Have you matriculated yet? No? Come awa’ then, and I’ll show you the

-way.’ He passed his arm through Alec’s as he spoke, and led him to a

-tiny office in a corner of the quadrangle which was half filled with

-students.

-

-‘What is your name?’ asked Alec’s new friend, as they stood waiting

-their turn to enter their names in the volume kept for the purpose.

-Alec told him. ‘Mine’s Cameron--Duncan Cameron. I’m a medical. This is

-my third year. Have you got lodgings?’

-

-‘Yes; at No. 210, Hanover Street.

-

-‘Does your landlady look a decent body? I’ll come round and see if she

-has a room to spare for me,’ he added, without waiting for an answer.

-

-Presently Alec obtained, in exchange for one of his father’s one-pound

-notes, a ticket bearing his name, and the words ‘_Civis Universitatis

-Glasguenis_’ printed in large letters underneath.

-

-‘That’s all right,’ said Cameron; ‘now come along, and I’ll show

-you the Professors’ Court. You have to call on the Latin and Greek

-professors, and get your class-tickets. The fee is three guineas each.’

-He led Alec through an archway into a second and larger quadrangle,

-then across it and through another archway into a third. ‘That’s the

-museum,’ said Cameron, pointing to a building with handsome stone

-columns; ‘and that’s the library,’ he added, pointing to a narrow

-structure, built apparently of black stone, on the right.

-

-The two young men turned to the left, passed through an iron gateway,

-and found themselves in a gloomy and silent court, formed by the houses

-of the various professors, which, like the library, were black with

-smoke and soot-flakes.

-

-After the professors of ‘Humanity’ (as Latin is called in the north)

-and of Greek had been duly interviewed, Alec and his friend returned

-to the High Street without going back to the quadrangles; and in a few

-minutes they pulled Mrs. Macpherson’s brightly-polished bell-handle.

-

-‘I’ve brought a friend, a fellow-student, who wants to know if you have

-any more rooms to let,’ said Alec.

-

-‘Is he a medical?’ asked the good woman, knitting her brows.

-

-‘I am proud to say that I am,’ said Cameron.

-

-‘Then this is no the place for you ava.’

-

-‘An’ what for no?’

-

-‘I’ve had eneuch, an’ mair than eneuch, o’ thae misguidet callants,

-wi’ their banes, an’ their gases, an’ their gruesome talk, an’ their

-singin’ sangs, an’ playing cairds, an’ drinkin’, till twa, or maybe

-haulf-past on a Sabbath mornin’. Na, na; I’ll hae nae mair o’ the

-tribe, at no price.’

-

-But this opposition made Cameron determined that under that roof and

-no other would he take up his abode for the winter. He bound himself

-by a solemn promise to introduce neither bones, human or animal,

-nor chemicals of any kind, upon the premises, and to behave himself

-discreetly in other respects. He then remembered that his aunt’s

-husband’s cousin was a Macpherson; and when it came out that the

-landlady’s ‘forbears’ came from Auchintosh, which was within a day’s

-sail of the island where the Camerons had their home, all objections

-were withdrawn.

-

-A large dingy sitting-room, with a ‘concealed bed’ constructed in

-a recess, so that the room could also be used as a bedroom, was

-pronounced by Cameron to be too grand; and on Mrs. Macpherson saying

-that all her other rooms were let except an attic, he asked if he might

-see that apartment. They climbed up a steep and narrow staircase, and

-presently stood in a long narrow room, right under the slates, so low

-in the ceiling that Cameron could only walk along one side of it. It

-was furnished with a narrow bedstead, a small deal table, and two or

-three stout chairs.

-

-‘First-rate!’ exclaimed Cameron. ‘The very thing;’ and going to the

-skylight, he pushed it open and thrust out his head and shoulders.

-‘Plenty of air here--not fresh, but better than nothing. What is the

-rent?’

-

-The rent was five shillings and sixpence a week, and after a vain

-effort to get rid of the sixpence, and an elaborate agreement on the

-subject of coals, the bargain was concluded.

-

-‘That’s settled,’ said Cameron; ‘and now I’m off to the Broomielaw to

-get my impedimenta oot o’ the _Dunolly Castle_. Will ye come?’

-

-Having nothing better to do, Alec readily acquiesced; and the two young

-men walked down Buchanan Street with its broad wet pavements, and

-through the more crowded Argyle Street and Jamaica Street, till they

-reached the wharf.

-

-Here all was damp and dismal. Coal-dust covered the ground; water,

-thick with coaldust and mud, dripped from the eaves of the huge open

-sheds; a smell of tar filled all the air. To Alec, however, nothing was

-dismal, nothing was depressing. All was new, strange, and interesting.

-A few vessels of light burden lay moored at the opposite side of the

-narrow river; a river steamer, her day’s work ended, was blowing off

-steam at the Broomielaw.

-

-‘You will hardly believe it, Cameron,’ said Alec, gazing with all his

-eyes at these commonplace sights, ‘but I never saw a ship or a steamer

-before.’

-

-‘Hoots, man,’ replied his companion; ‘I’ve been on the salt water ever

-since I can remember; but then, till I came here three years sin’, I

-had never seen a railway train--I used to spend hours at one of the

-stations watching them--and, what is more, I had never seen a tree.’

-

-‘Never seen a tree!’

-

-‘No; they won’t grow in some of the islands, you know, at least not

-above five or six feet high. But there’s the _Dunolly Castle_.’

-

-There lay the good vessel which had so lately ploughed the waters of

-the Outer Hebrides, a captive now, bound fast by stem and stern.

-

-Cameron jumped on board, and soon reappeared dragging a full sack

-behind him, while a seaman followed with a heavy wooden box on his

-shoulder, and a big earthenware jar in his left hand. Several porters

-with big two-wheeled barrows now proffered their services. Cameron

-selected one, and having loaded the barrow with a sack of oatmeal,

-a small barrel of salt herrings, two great jars which Alec rightly

-conjectured to contain whisky, and the wooden box, he proceeded to

-pilot the porter to Hanover Street.

-

-‘Tak’ care o’ the jaurs!’ he cried out in some alarm, as the porter

-knocked his barrow against a corner. ‘They’re just the maist precious

-bit o’ the haill cargo; and if ye preak ane o’ them, she’ll preak your

-heid, as I’m a leefin’ man!’

-

-‘Why do you bring your provisions instead of buying them here? Is it

-any cheaper?’ asked Alec.

-

-‘Cheaper! Fat the teil do I care for the cheapness? I prefer my own

-whisky, and my own oatmeal, I tell you; it is better than any you can

-buy here,’ answered the proud and irate Highlandman.

-

-But when Alec and he were better acquainted, he acknowledged that the

-oatmeal and whisky were presented to him by relatives, as aids to the

-difficult task of living for six months on twenty pounds.

-

-Next morning Alec woke to a blinding, acrid, yellow fog, which the

-gaslight faintly illumined. It was still dark when he emerged into the

-street and took his way to the College, with a copy of one of Cicero’s

-orations and a note-book under his arm. As he reached his destination

-the clock struck eight, and immediately a bell began to tinkle in

-quick, sharp, imperative tones.

-

-The junior Latin class, he found, met in the centre of a long narrow

-hall, lit by a few gas-jets flaring here and there. On both sides of

-the hall were tall windows, outside of which was the yellow cloud

-of fog. There was no stove or heating apparatus whatever. A raised

-bench ran along one side of the long room, and there were black empty

-galleries at either end. In the centre stood a pulpit, raised about two

-feet above the floor, and in this the Professor was already standing.

-

-About two hundred men and boys were seated in the benches nearest the

-pulpit, some wearing the regulation red gown, and some without it,

-while beyond them the black empty benches stretched away to the farther

-end of the hall, which lay in complete darkness.

-

-All was stillness, but for the tinkling of the bell. Suddenly it

-stopped, and that instant a janitor banged the door, shutting out late

-comers inexorably.

-

-Everybody stood up, while the Professor repeated a collect and the

-Lord’s Prayer in English. Then he began to call the roll in Latin, and

-as each student answered ‘Adsum!’ he was assigned a place on one of the

-benches, which was to be his for the rest of the session. Alec’s place

-was between a stout little fellow of sixteen, son of a wealthy Glasgow

-merchant, and a pale overworked teacher, who had set his heart on being

-able to write ‘M.A.’ after his name.

-

-The work of the class then began. The Professor gave a short

-explanation of the circumstances under which the oration which he had

-selected was made. He read and translated a few lines, explaining the

-various allusions, the nature of a Roman trial, and the meaning of the

-word ‘judices.’ He then, by way of illustrating the method of teaching,

-called on one of the students to construe a few lines, and proceeded to

-ask all sorts of questions, historical and philological, passing the

-questions from man to man and from bench to bench. He then prescribed a

-piece of English to be turned into Latin prose. Before he had ceased

-speaking the clock struck; the bell began to ring; the Professor

-finished his sentence and shut his book. The lecture was at an end.

-

-The next hour Alec spent chiefly in wandering round the College Green,

-a kind of neglected park thinly populated with soot-encrusted trees,

-which lay at the rear of the College buildings. At ten o’clock the

-junior Greek class met; and Alec entered a small room crammed with

-students, who were sitting on narrow, crescent-shaped benches raised

-one behind the other, and fronting a semicircular platform at the lower

-end of the room. The book-boards, Alec noticed, were extremely narrow,

-and neatly bound with iron. The procedure here was much the same as it

-had been in the Latin class, except that there were no prayers, the

-devotions being confined to the classes which happened to meet earliest

-in the day.

-

-At eleven there was another hour of Latin, Virgil being the text-book

-this time; and then lectures were over for the day, so far as Alec was

-concerned.

-

-All day long the committee-rooms of the rival Conservative and Liberal

-Associations were filled with men, consulting, smoking, enrolling

-pledges, and inditing ‘squibs’ and manifestoes; and as a Liberal

-meeting in support of Mr. Sharpe was to be held that evening in the

-Greek class-room, Alec determined to be present, hoping to hear some

-arguments which might help him to decide how he ought to vote on this

-momentous occasion.

-

-In this expectation, however, he was disappointed. Before he came in

-sight of the lighted-up windows of the class-room he heard a roar of

-singing--the factions were uniting their powers to render a stanza

-of ‘The Good Rhine Wine’ with proper emphasis. The place was packed

-as full as it would hold, the Professor’s platform being held by the

-committee-men of the Liberal Association. As soon as the song was

-ended, a small man in spectacles was voted into the chair. He opened

-the proceedings by calling upon a Mr. Macfarlane to move the first

-resolution, and (like a wise man) immediately sat down.

-

-Mr. Macfarlane, a young man of great size with a throat of brass, was

-not popular. Cries of ‘Sit down, sir!’ ‘Go home, sir!’ ‘Speak up,

-sir!’ were mingled with volleys of peas, Kentish fire, cheers for Lord

-Dummieden, and the usual noises of a noisy meeting.

-

-The little man in spectacles got up, and, speaking in a purposely low

-voice, obtained a hearing. He reminded his Conservative friends that

-the Liberals had not spoiled the Conservative meeting on the previous

-evening, and said it was only fair that they should have their turn.

-This was greeted with loud shouts of ‘Hear! hear!’ and Mr. Macfarlane

-began a second time. But soon he managed to set his audience in an

-uproar once more. His face was fairly battered with peas. Men got

-up and stood on the benches, then on the book-boards. One fellow

-had brought a policeman’s rattle, with which he created a din so

-intolerable that three or four others tried to deprive him of it. One

-or two stout Conservatives came to the rescue, and finally the whole

-group slid off their narrow foot-hold on the book-boards, and fell in a

-confused heap on the floor, amid loud cheers from both parties.

-

-After this episode order was restored, and a fresh orator held the

-attention of the audience for a few minutes. Unfortunately he stopped

-for a moment, and the pause was immediately filled by a student at the

-farther end of the room blowing a shrill, pitiful blast on a child’s

-penny trumpet. The effect was comical enough; and everybody laughed. At

-that moment a loud knock was heard at the door, which had been locked,

-the room being already as full as it could possibly hold. The knock was

-repeated.

-

-‘I believe the perambulator has come for the gentleman with the penny

-trumpet,’ said the chairman in gentle accents.

-

-This sally was greeted with a loud roar of laughter; and when it died

-away, comparative silence reigned for five minutes.

-

-Then came more cheers, songs, and volleys of peas; and when everybody

-was hoarse the meeting came to an end, the leading spirits on both

-sides adjourning to their committee-rooms, and afterwards to the hotels

-which they usually patronized.

-

-These meetings were continued for about ten days, and then the vote was

-taken. The four ‘nations’ had each one vote. Two voted for Mr. Sharpe,

-and two for Lord Dummieden. And then the Chancellor, in accordance

-with old established practice, gave his casting vote in favour of the

-Conservative candidate.

-

-It was over. The manifestoes and satirical ballads were swept away; and

-the twelve hundred men and boys settled down to six months’ labour.

-

-

-

-

-                              CHAPTER VI.

-

-                           A NEW EXPERIENCE.

-

-

-For the next six weeks Alec Lindsay’s life was one unvarying round of

-lectures, and preparation for lectures. For recreation he had football

-on the College Green, long walks on Saturday afternoons, and long

-debates with his friend Cameron. The debates, however, were not very

-frequent, for the Highlander was working twelve hours a day.

-

-‘I mean to get a first-class in surgery,’ he said to Alec one Saturday

-night, as the two sat over their pipes in Alec’s sitting-room; ‘and

-then perhaps the Professor will ask me to be an assistant. If he does,

-my fortune is made, for I know my work.’

-

-‘Ay, that’s the great thing,’ said Alec absently. ‘Don’t you ever go to

-church, Cameron?’ he added abruptly.

-

-‘As seldom as I can,’ said the other, with a side look at his

-companion; ‘but don’t take me for a guide.’

-

-‘I can’t help it,’ replied the lad, still gazing into the fire; ‘we all

-take our neighbours for guides, whether we acknowledge it or not.’

-

-‘More or less, no doubt.’

-

-‘Don’t you think one _ought_ to go to church?’

-

-‘How can I tell? Every man for himself, my lad.’

-

-‘That won’t do,’ answered Alec, rousing himself and facing his friend;

-‘right’s right, and wrong’s wrong; what is right for one man must be

-right for every man--under the same circumstances, I mean.’

-

-‘Will you just tell me,’ said Cameron, half defiantly, ‘what good going

-to church can do me? I know the psalms almost by heart, and I know the

-chapters the minister reads almost as well. As for the prayers, half

-of them aren’t prayers at all, and the other half I could say as weel

-at hame, if I had a mind. And the sermons!--man, Alec, ye canna say ye

-think they can do good to any living creature.’

-

-‘Some of them, perhaps.’

-

-‘When I find a minister that doesna tell us the same thing over, and

-over, and over again, and use fifty words to say what might be said in

-five, to spin out the time, I’ll reconsider the p’int,’ said Cameron.

-

-‘But you believe there’s a God,’ said Alec.

-

-‘That’s a lang stap furret,’ said the other.

-

-‘But do you?’

-

-‘Well, I do, and I dinna. I don’t believe in the Free Kirk God. It’s

-hard to think this warl could mak’ itsel’: but I hae my doots.’

-

-‘Then you’re an Agnostic?’

-

-‘What if I am? Are ye scunnered?’[1]

-

-‘No--and yet----’

-

-‘Or what if I should tell you I have chosen some other religion? Why

-should I be a Presbyterian? Because I was born in Scotland. That’s the

-only reason I’ve been able to think of, and it doesn’t seem to me to be

-up to much.’

-

-Alec was secretly shocked, though he thought it more manly not to show

-it.

-

-‘I believe in the Bible,’ he said at last.

-

-‘That doesna help you much,’ said Cameron, with some contempt.

-‘Baptists, Independents, Episcopalians, the very Papists themsel’s, and

-thae half-heathen Russians, wad tell ye that they believe in the Bible.

-Ye micht as weel tell a judge, when he ca’ed on you for an argument,

-that ye believe in an Act o’ Parliament.’

-

-‘Hae ye an aitlas?’ he continued after a pause. ‘Here’s one.’

-

-He turned to a ‘Mercator’s projection’ at the beginning of the volume,

-and scratched the spot which represented Scotland with his pencil. He

-then slightly shaded England, the United States, and Holland, and put

-in a few dots in Germany and Switzerland.

-

-‘There!’ he said, as he pushed the map across the table; ‘that’s your

-Presbyterian notion o’ Christendom. There’s a glimmerin’ in England and

-the States, but only in bonny Scotland does the true licht shine full

-and fair. As for Germany, Holland, an’ Switzerland, they’re unco dry,

-no tae say deid branches. The rest o’ mankind--total darkness!’

-

-‘But you might have said the same thing of Christianity itself at one

-time, and of every religion in the world, for that matter,’ protested

-Alec.

-

-‘Nae doot,’ retorted Cameron, ‘but that was at the beginning. This is

-Christianity, according to the gospel o’ John Knox and Company after

-nineteen centuries! A poor show for nineteen hunder’ years--a mighty

-poor show!’

-

-He got up as he spoke, and knocking the ashes out of his pipe,

-prepared to move to his own quarters.

-

-‘Let’s change the subject,’ said Alec. ‘Here’s a letter I got this

-morning, and I don’t know how to answer it.’

-

-‘What’s this?’ said the older man, taking the thick sheet of paper

-between the tips of his fingers. ‘“Mr. James Lindsay presents his

-compliments to Mr. Alexander Lindsay, and requests the pleasure of

-his company at dinner on Tuesday the 27th inst., at half-past six.

-Blythswood Square, December, 187-.” Is this old James Lindsay o’

-Drumleck?’

-

-‘Yes.’

-

-‘Are you a connection of his?’

-

-‘Grand-nephew.’

-

-‘And why can’t you answer the note?’

-

-‘I don’t want to go. I haven’t been brought up to this sort of thing,

-and I don’t care to go out of my way to make myself ridiculous in a

-rich man’s house. Besides, I don’t want to go to the expense of a suit

-of dress clothes. And then, my uncle and I were not particularly

-smitten with each other when I saw him last.’

-

-‘Don’t be a fool, Alec,’ said Cameron quietly. ‘You can’t afford to

-throw away the friendship of a man worth twenty thousand a year.’

-

-‘That phrase always reminds me,’ remarked Alec, ‘of what one of the

-Erskines--I don’t remember which of them it was--once said, when some

-one said in his company that so-and-so had died worth three hundred

-thousand pounds--“Did he indeed, sir? And a very pretty sum, too, to

-begin the next world with.”’

-

-Cameron smiled grimly.

-

-‘You’ll have to go, Alec,’ he repeated; ‘and you needn’t be afraid of

-appearing ridiculous. Do as you see others do, and keep a lown sail;

-better seem blate than impident.’

-

-‘My father would be in a fine way if he heard that my uncle had invited

-me, and that I had refused the invitation,’ said Lindsay.

-

-‘And quite right too,’ rejoined Cameron. ‘Besides, Alec, the old man

-is your father’s uncle, and you ought to show him some respect.’

-

-‘That wasn’t the reason you put in the forefront,’ said Alec slyly.

-

-For reply Cameron, who had reached the door, picked up a Greek grammar,

-flung it at his friend’s head as he muttered something in Gaelic, and

-banging the door behind him, ascended to his own domicile.

-

-Exactly at the appointed hour Alec presented himself at his

-grand-uncle’s house in Blythswood Square. The square had once been

-fashionable, and was still something more than respectable, because

-the houses were too large to be inhabited by people of moderate means;

-but the situation was dull and gloomy to the last degree. Within,

-however, there was a very different scene. Entrance-hall, staircase,

-drawing-room, were all as brilliant as gas-jets could make them. The

-walls, even of the passages, were lined with pictures, good, bad, and

-indifferent. Every landing, every corner, held a statue, or at least a

-statuette, or a bust upon a pedestal.

-

-When Alec was ushered into the drawing-room, he could hardly see for

-the blaze of light; he could hardly move for little tables laden with

-china, ormolu, and bronzes. Fortunately, Sir Peter and Lady Colquhoun

-were entering the reception-room just as Alec reached it, so that he

-made his entrance in their wake, and, as it were, under their lee.

-

-The room was already pretty well filled, and more guests were

-continually arriving. On the hearth-rug stood a little old man, with a

-mean, inexpressive face, scanty hair which was still gray, thin gray

-whiskers, small eyes, and a fussy consequential air. When he spoke, it

-was in a high-pitched, rasping voice; and he invariably gave one the

-impression that he was insisting upon being noticed and attended to.

-

-This was Mr. Lindsay of Drumleck. He stared at Alec for an instant,

-then gave him his hand in silence, and, without addressing a word to

-him, continued his conversation with the Lord Provost’s wife. Alec’s

-face flushed. His first impulse was to walk out of the room, and out

-of the house; but on second thoughts he saw that that course would not

-even be dignified. He retreated to a corner, and set himself to watch

-the company.

-

-For the most part they sat nearly silent--fat baillies and their

-well-nourished wives--hard-featured damsels of thirty or forty summers,

-in high-necked dresses and Brussels lace collars--one or two stout

-ministers--such was the assembly. Alec was astonished. He had expected,

-somehow, that he should meet people of a different type.

-

-‘Take one or two dozen people from behind the shop-counters in

-Argyle Street,’ he said to himself (with boyish contempt for the

-disappointing), ‘or even a few Muirburn ploughmen and weavers, give

-them plenty of money, and in three weeks they would be quite as fine

-ladies and gentlemen as any I see here.’

-

-As the thought passed through the boy’s mind, the door was thrown

-open, and the names of ‘Professor Taylor and Miss Mowbray’ were

-announced. A tall, lean man, with long hair and crumpled old-fashioned

-garments, entered, and beside him walked a young lady with her eyes on

-the ground.

-

-She was dressed in a cream-coloured costume, with just a fleck of

-colour here and there. She was indeed remarkably pretty, and possessed

-a soft, childlike grace which was more captivating than beauty alone

-would have been. She had a small, well-rounded figure--a little more

-and it would have been plump--abundant dark-brown hair, and a soft,

-peach-like complexion. Her eyelashes were unusually long; and when,

-reaching her host, she half-timidly raised her eyes to his, Alec (who

-was sitting in the background) felt a little thrill of pleasure at the

-mere sight of their dark loveliness.

-

-She was the first lady, the first young lady, at least, whom he had

-seen, and he looked at her as if she were a being to be worshipped.

-But Laura Mowbray was indeed pretty enough to have turned the head of a

-more experienced person than the laird’s son.

-

-Professor Taylor and his niece moved to one side; her dress almost

-brushed against Alec. She glanced at him for an instant; without

-intending it he dropped his eyes, and the girl looked in another

-direction with a little inward smile.

-

-In three or four minutes dinner was announced, and Laura fell to the

-care of James Semple (the cousin who had taken Alec’s place at the

-oil-works), who had just come in. There were more men than women in the

-party, and Alec and one or two of the less wealthy guests were left to

-find their way into the dining-room by themselves at the end of the

-procession. Fortune, however, favoured Alec. When he took his seat, he

-found that he was sitting between a pale, inoffensive-looking youth

-and--Laura Mowbray.

-

-He literally did not dare to look at her, much less to address her; he

-was not sure, indeed, whether the rules of society allowed him to do

-so in the absence of an introduction. In a little time, however, his

-shyness wore off; he watched his opportunity; but before he found one,

-his neighbour remarked in her soft English accent, and in the sweetest

-of tones:

-

-‘What dreadful fogs you have in Glasgow!’

-

-Alec made some reply, and the ice once broken, he made rapid progress.

-

-‘Everybody I meet seems to be related to somebody else, or connected

-with some one I have met before,’ said Miss Mowbray. ‘You have all

-so many relations in this part of the country, and you seem never to

-forget any of them. In London it is different. People seldom know their

-next-door neighbours; and it is just a chance whether they keep up

-cousinships, and so on, or not.’

-

-‘Really? I think that is very unnatural.’

-

-‘Oh! _so_ unnatural! Life in London is so dreadfully conventional and

-superficial. Don’t you think so?’

-

-‘I dare say; but I have never been in London.’

-

-‘Have you, Mr. Semple?’ she asked of the gentleman on her left.

-

-‘No, I haven’t,’ he answered shortly.

-

-He did not approve of Miss Mowbray paying any attention to Alec,

-regarding her as for the time being his property. On this Laura left

-off talking to Alec, and devoted herself to the amusement of Mr. Semple.

-

-Soon, however, she took advantage of his attention being claimed by the

-lady on his left, to turn again with a smile to Alec.

-

-‘Mr. Semple tells me you are at College. My uncle is a professor there,

-but he has hardly any students, because history is not a compulsory

-subject in the examinations. How do you like being at College?’

-

-Alec was grateful for her interest in him, and gave her his impressions

-of College life. Then she turned once more to her legitimate

-entertainer, who was by that time at liberty.

-

-Alec had already had far more intercourse with his lovely neighbour

-than he had dared to hope for; but the dinner was a long one; and as

-Mr. Semple’s left-hand neighbour happened to be a maiden aunt with

-money, she was able to compel his attention once more before the close

-of the meal.

-

-‘You live in a beautiful part of the country, I believe,’ Miss Mowbray

-remarked to Alec.

-

-‘I don’t know; I like it, of course; but I don’t know that it is finer

-than any country with wood and a river.’

-

-‘Oh, you _have_ a river? I am so passionately fond of river scenery.’

-

-‘Yes, and we have a castle,’ replied Alec; and before the ladies rose

-he had described not only the castle, but the moorland and the romantic

-dell which was his sister’s favourite retreat, to his much-interested

-neighbour.

-

-When at length the ladies followed Miss Lindsay--a distant relation who

-superintended Mr. Lindsay’s establishment--out of the room, Alec felt

-as if the evening had suddenly come to an end.

-

-Semple, who had vouchsafed him rather a cool nod in the evening, tried

-in vain to make him talk.

-

-‘How do you like College?’

-

-‘Pretty well.’

-

-‘Dreadful underbred set. Why don’t you go to Oxford?’

-

-Alec made no reply.

-

-‘Or Edinburgh--they are a much better class of men at Edinburgh, I’m

-told.’

-

-And Mr. Semple turned away to join a conversation about ‘warrants,’

-and ‘premiums,’ and ‘vendor’s shares,’ ‘corners,’ ‘contangos,’ and

-‘quotations,’ which to Alec was simply unintelligible.

-

-At the other end of the table a conversation of another character

-was in progress--one hardly less interesting to those who took part

-in it, and hardly more interesting to an outsider. It seemed that a

-wealthy congregation of United Presbyterians had built themselves an

-organ at considerable expense, without obtaining the sanction of their

-co-religionists; and an edict had gone forth that the organ must be

-silent on Sundays, but might be used for the delectation of those who

-attended the prayer-meeting on Wednesday evenings.

-

-‘I look upon it as the thin end of the wedge,’ said the Reverend Hector

-MacTavish, D.D., striking his fist on his knee. ‘You begin with hymns,

-many of them wish-washy trash, some of them positively unscriptural.

-Then you must have a choir for the tunes, as if the old-fashioned long

-metre and common metre were not good enough; then comes an organ; then

-the Lord’s Prayer is used as a part of the ritual--mark you, as a part

-of the ritual--I have no objection to the Lord’s Prayer when it is not

-used on formal, stated occasions. After that, you have a liturgy.’

-

-‘No, no, Doctor; you are going too fast,’ murmured one of the audience.

-

-‘And I maintain that with a liturgy there is an end to the

-distinctively Presbyterian form of worship.’

-

-‘But where would you draw the line?’ inquired a mild, sallow-faced

-young man who had imbibed his theological opinions at Heidelberg, and

-was in consequence suspected of latitudinarianism, if not of actual

-heresy.

-

-‘Where our fathers drew it, at the Psalms of Tavid!’ thundered Mr.

-MacTavish, striking his unoffending knee once more.

-

-‘Then I fear you render Union impossible,’ said the young minister.

-

-‘And what if I do, sir?’ said Dr. MacTavish loftily; ‘in my opinion

-we Free Churchmen are ferry well as we are, and need no new lights to

-illuminate us.’

-

-The young man received the covert sneer at his German training and his

-liberal ideas with a smile; and Alec listened no longer, but relapsed

-into dreamland. The dispute, however, continued long after most of the

-men had returned to the drawing-room, and Alec rose from his chair

-while an animated discussion was in progress on the point whether

-the use of an organ was favourable to spiritual worship or tended to

-sensuousness, and whether the fact that the New Testament was silent on

-the subject, condemned the organ and its followers by anticipation.

-

-When Alec entered the drawing-room, Miss Mowbray was singing. He

-retreated to a corner and stood as one spell-bound. He watched for an

-opportunity of speaking to her again, but there was none; however,

-on passing him on her way to the door on her uncle’s arm, she gave

-him a little bow and smile, which he regarded as another proof of her

-sweetness of disposition.

-

-The theologians had not finished their disputations, and were

-continuing them in a corner of the drawing-room, when Alec took his

-departure.

-

-He walked back to his poor and empty room with his head among the

-stars. She had talked with him, smiled upon him, treated him as an

-equal. He would find out where she lived, and contrive to meet her

-again. How lovely she was, how sweet, how pure, how good! The wide

-earth, Alec Lindsay was firmly convinced, contained no mortal fit

-for one moment to be compared with the girl whose soft brown eyes

-and gentle, almost appealing, looks still made his heart beat as he

-remembered them.

-

-

-FOOTNOTES:

-

-     [1] Disgusted.

-

-

-

-

-                              CHAPTER VII.

-

-                          A SUNDAY IN GLASGOW.

-

-

-‘Well, Alec, how did you get on last night?’ asked Duncan Cameron

-of his friend, when they met as usual the day after the dinner at

-Blythswood Square.

-

-‘Oh, all right. It was rather a stupid affair.’

-

-‘Rather stupid--not quite worth the trouble of attending? And yet you

-were half afraid of going! Don’t deny it.’

-

-‘I said it was stupid; and so it was,’ said Alec, reddening. ‘Nobody

-said anything worth listening to, so far as I heard.’

-

-‘That means nobody took much notice of _you_, eh?’

-

-‘What an ill-conditioned, sneering fellow you are, Cameron,’ replied

-Alec tranquilly. ‘You’ll never get on in the world unless you learn to

-be civil.’

-

-‘It isn’t worth my while to be civil to you,’ said Cameron. ‘Wait till

-I’m in practice and have to flatter and humour rich old women. What did

-your uncle say to you?’

-

-‘Hardly anything--just a word or two, as I was coming away.’

-

-‘You ought to cultivate him, Alec.’

-

-‘I wish you wouldn’t speak like that, Duncan,’ said Alec roughly. ‘Do

-you think I’m the sort of fellow to flatter and fawn upon an old man I

-don’t like, simply because he is rich?’

-

-‘There’s no need for flattering and fawning,’ replied Cameron; ‘but

-you’ve no right to throw away such a chance at the very outset of your

-life.’

-

-‘Do you think, then, that it’s manly or honourable to visit a man as

-it were out of pure friendship, when your only object is to make him

-useful to you?’

-

-‘There’s no question of friendship, ye gowk; he’s your relation,

-and the head of your house. It’s your duty to pay him your respects

-occasionally.’

-

-‘Paying my respects wouldn’t be of much use,’ retorted Alec. ‘You’re

-shirking the question. Is it honourable to--I don’t know the right

-word--to try to ingratiate yourself with anyone in the hope of getting

-something out of him?’

-

-‘Why not?’

-

-‘It’s not honourable; and I would not respect myself if I were to do

-such a thing,’ said Alec, with much dignity.

-

-Cameron laughed inwardly, but he made no response, and there was

-silence for a few minutes between the two friends. The older man was

-thinking how absurd the boy was, and how a little experience of life

-would rub off his ‘high-fantastical’ notions. Then he wished that he

-had a grand-uncle who was a millionnaire. And then he fell to 

-wondering whether, on the whole, it was best to despise wealth, 

-as Alec Lindsay did, or to acquire it.

-

-‘I suppose it is too late now to take another class?’ said Alec, half

-absently.

-

-‘I should think so,’ responded his friend. ‘What class did you think of

-taking? Mathematics?’

-

-‘No; History.’

-

-‘History! That isn’t wanted for a degree. What put that into your head?’

-

-‘Oh, I don’t know. I only thought of it.’

-

-Cameron did not know that the learned Professor of History had a niece

-named Laura Mowbray.

-

-That evening about ten o’clock, when the medical student went down to

-his friend’s room, as was his custom at that hour, he found Alec poring

-over some papers, which he pushed aside as Cameron entered.

-

-‘Come in,’ he cried, as the other paused in the doorway. ‘I’m not

-working.’

-

-The Highlander took up his usual position, standing on the hearth-rug

-with his back to the fire, and proceeded to light his pipe.

-

-‘They tell me you’re doing very well in the Latin class--sure of a

-prize, if you keep on as you’re doing,’ he said, after smoking for a

-minute in silence.

-

-‘Oh, it’s no use; I can’t do Latin prose,’ answered Alec

-discontentedly. ‘How can I? I’ve never had any practice. Just look at

-this--my last exercise--no frightful blunders, but, as the Professor

-said, full of inelegancies;’ and he handed his friend a sheet of paper

-from his table as he spoke.

-

-Cameron took the paper, and regarded it through a cloud of smoke.

-

-‘What’s this?’ he exclaimed. ‘Poetry, as I’m a livin’ Heelandman! Just

-listen!’ and he waved his hand, as if addressing an imaginary audience.

-

-Alec’s face burned, as he rose and hastily snatched the paper from his

-friend’s grasp. Cameron would have carried his bantering further, but

-he saw that in the lad’s face which restrained him.

-

-‘Already!’ he muttered, as he turned away to hide his laughter.

-

-‘Are you going home for the New Year?’ asked Alec, when his

-embarrassment had subsided.

-

-‘Me? No! We have only a week’s vacation, or ten days at most. The

-_Dunolly Castle_ sails only once a week in winter; and if the sailings

-didn’t suit, I should have hardly time to go there before I had to come

-away again. And if a storm came on I should be weather-bound, and might

-not get south for another week.’

-

-‘It must be very dreary in the north in winter,’ said Alec.

-

-‘Ay--but you must come and see for yourself some day.’

-

-Alec was silent; he was thinking that he should like to ask his friend

-to spend the vacation week with him at the Castle Farm; but he did not

-care to take the responsibility of giving the invitation.

-

-The following Sunday was one of those dismal days which are common

-in the west of Scotland during the winter months. It was nearly cold

-enough for snow, but instead of snow a continuous drizzle fell slowly

-throughout the day. There was no fog; but in the streets of Glasgow it

-was dark soon after midday.

-

-Alec Lindsay went to church in the forenoon as usual; then he came home

-and ate a cold dinner which would have been very trying to any appetite

-less robust than that of a young Scotchman.

-

-Finding that he had a few minutes to spare before setting out for the

-afternoon service (which takes the place of an evening service in

-England), he ran upstairs to his friend’s room.

-

-‘I wish you would come to church with me, Duncan,’ he said, as he

-seated himself on the medical student’s trunk.

-

-The invitation implied a reproach; but Cameron was not offended at

-this interference with his private concerns. In the north a man who

-‘neglects ordinances’ is supposed to lay himself open to the reproof

-of any better-disposed person who assumes an interest in his spiritual

-welfare. For reply he muttered something in Gaelic, which Alec

-conjectured, rightly enough, to be an exclamation too improper to be

-said conveniently in English.

-

-‘Fat can ye no leaf a man alone for?’ he said aloud, reverting, as he

-did when he was excited, to his strong Highland accent.

-

-Alec said no more; but Cameron, whose conscience was not quite at rest,

-chose to continue the subject.

-

-‘I go to the kirk when I’m at home,’ he said, ‘an’ that’s enough. I go

-to please my mother, an’ keep folk from talking--but it’s weary work.

-I often ask myself what is the good of it?--the whole thing, I mean.

-There’s old Mr. Macfarlane, the parish minister of Glenstruan--we went

-to live on the mainland two years ago, you know. He’s a decent man--a

-_ferry_ decent man. He ladles oot castor oil an’ cod-liver oil as

-occasion requires, to the haill parish, an’ the next ane tae, without

-fee or reward. He’s a great botanist, and spends half his time in his

-gairden--grows a’ sorts o’ fruit--even peaches, I’ve been told. When

-the weather’s suitable he gangs fishin’. On Sabbath he has apoot forty

-folk in his big barn o’ a kirk. He talks tae them for an oor, an’ lets

-them gang. He’s aye ready to baptize a wean, or pray wi’ a deein’

-botoch,[2] but it’s seldom he has the chance. I’m no blamin’ the man.

-It’s no his faut that the folk gaed ower bodily to the Free Kirk at the

-Disruption, an’ left him, a shepherd wi’ ne’er a flock, but a wheen

-auld rams, wha----’

-

-‘But there’s the Free Kirk,’ interrupted Alec, ‘and it’s your own kirk,

-I suppose.’

-

-‘No,’ said Cameron. ‘If anything, I belong to the Establishment.

-Save me, is my daily an’ nichtly prayer, frae the bitter birr o’ the

-Dissenters.’

-

-Alec laughed, and the other went on:

-

-‘There’s Maister MacPhairson, the Free Kirk minister. He’s a wee, soor,

-black-avised crater, wi’ a wife an’ nine weans. Hoo he manages to gie

-them parritch an’ milk I can _not_ imagine. He’s jist eaten up wi’ envy

-an’ spite that the parish minister has the big hoose, and he has the

-wee ane. He mak’s his sermons dooble as lang to let folk see that he

-does a’ the wark----’

-

-‘A very good reason for not belonging to the Free Church,’ interposed

-Alec; ‘but I don’t see what all this has got to do with the question.’

-

-‘I’m only showing that the religious system of this country

-is in a state of petrifaction,’ said Cameron, abandoning the

-Doric--‘fossilization, if you like it better.’

-

-Alec laughed.

-

-‘A pretty proof,’ he cried.

-

-‘Oh, of course, the state of religion in one corner of the Hielans is

-only an illustration; but it’s much the same everywhere. I don’t see,

-to put the thing plainly, that we should be very much worse off without

-any kirks, and what we want with so many is a mystery to me. What was

-the use of building a new one in every parish at the Disruption, I

-should like to know?’

-

-‘You know as well as I do,’ answered Alec. ‘A great principle was at

-stake.’

-

-‘“The sacred right o’ the nowte[3] to chuse their ain herd,” as Burns

-puts it,’ interposed Cameron.

-

-‘Not only that; the question was whether the Church should submit to

-interference on the part of the State,’ said Alec.

-

-‘And by way of showing that she never would submit, she rent herself

-in twa, and one half has spent the best part of her pith ever since in

-keeping up the fight wi’ the tither half. What sense is there in that,

-can ye tell me?’

-

-‘That’s all very well,’ said Alec, ‘but it seems to me that if a man

-finds a poor religion around him, he ought to stick to it as well as he

-can till he finds a better one.’

-

-‘There’s sense in that, Alec,’ said Cameron; ‘and I’ll no just say I’ve

-no had my endeavours to find a better.’

-

-‘Where can ye find a better?’ asked Alec, shocked at this

-latitudinarianism.

-

-‘I didna say I had succeeded, did I? But I’ve tried. I went a good deal

-among the Methodists in my first year at College. I was wonderfully

-taken with them at first--thought them just the very salt of the earth.

-But in six months, I found they groaned and cried “Amen” a little too

-often--for nothing at all. Then, my next session, I wandered about from

-one kirk to another, and then I stayed still. Sometimes I’ve even gone

-to the Catholics.’

-

-‘The Catholics!’ exclaimed Alec, with horror. If his friend had said

-that he had occasionally joined in the rites of pagans, and had

-witnessed human sacrifices, he could hardly have shocked this son of

-the Covenanters more seriously.

-

-‘Hoots, ay!’ said the Highlander, with a half-affected carelessness.

-‘There’s a lot o’ them in Glenstruan.’

-

-‘At home? In the north?’ asked Alec, in astonishment.

-

-‘Yes; in out-of-the-way corners there are many Catholics. In some

-parishes there are but few Protestants.’

-

-‘How did they come there?’

-

-‘They have always been there.’

-

-It was news to Alec, Scotchman as he was, that there are to this day

-little communities of Catholics hidden among the mountains of Ross and

-Inverness, living in glens so secluded that one might almost fancy that

-the fierce storms of the sixteenth century had never reached them.

-

-Wondering in his heart how it was possible that even unlettered

-Highlanders should have clung so long to degrading superstitions,

-Alec descended from his friend’s garret, and set off alone for St.

-Simon’s Free Church. The Free Churchmen in the Scotch towns frequently

-name their places of worship after the Apostles, not with any idea

-of honouring the Apostles’ memory, but solely by way of keeping up

-a healthful and stimulating rivalry with the Establishment. Thus we

-have ‘St. Paul’s,’ and ‘Free St. Paul’s’--‘St. John’s,’ and ‘Free St.

-John’s’--and so forth.

-

-Alec set out alone, and he felt very lonely as he made his way over

-the sloppy pavements. Among all these crowds of respectably-dressed

-people, there was not one face he knew, not the least possibility that

-anyone would give him a greeting. He would much rather have stayed at

-home over a pipe and a book, like Duncan Cameron; but his conscience

-would have made him miserable for a month if he had been guilty of such

-a crime. The jangling of bells filled the murky air. Most places of

-worship in Scotland have a bell, but very few have more than one. There

-is, therefore, no reason why each church should not have as large and

-as loud a bell as is consistent with the safety of the belfry.

-

-In a short time Alec reached ‘Free St. Simon’s,’ a building which

-outwardly resembled an Egyptian temple on a small scale, and inwardly

-a Methodist chapel on a large scale. In all essential points the

-worship was exactly a counterpart of that to which he had always been

-accustomed at Muirburn; but the details were different. Here the

-passages were covered with matting, and the pews were carpeted and

-cushioned. Hassocks were also provided, not for kneeling upon, but for

-the greater comfort of the audience during the sermon.

-

-The tall windows on either side of the pulpit were composed of painted

-glass. There were no idolatrous representations in the windows; only

-geometrical figures--Alec knew their number, and the colour of each one

-of them, intimately.

-

-At Free St. Simon’s the modern habit of standing during psalm-singing

-had been introduced. The attitude to be observed at prayer was as yet a

-moot question. Custom varied upon the point. The older members of the

-congregation stood up and severely regarded their fellow-worshippers,

-who kept their seats, propped their feet on their hassocks, put their

-arms on the book-boards, and leant their heads upon their arms. This

-posture Alec found to be highly conducive to slumber; and he had much

-difficulty in keeping awake, but he did not care to proclaim himself

-one of the ‘unco guid’ by rising to his feet, and protesting in that

-way against the modern laxity of manners.

-

-The prayer was a very long one, but at last it was over; and then came

-a chapter read from the Bible, another portion of a psalm, and the

-sermon. The preacher was both a good man and a learned one, but oratory

-was not his strong point; and if it had been, he might well have been

-excused for making no attempt to exert it at such a time and under such

-circumstances. The text, Alec remembered afterwards, was ‘One Lord, one

-Father of all,’ and the sermon was an elaborate attempt to prove that

-the Creator was in no proper sense the ‘Father’ of all men, but of the

-elect only. The young student listened for a time, and then fell to

-castle-building, an occupation of which he was perilously fond.

-

-When the regulation hour-and-a-half had come to a close, the

-congregation was dismissed; and Alec Lindsay went back to his lodgings,

-weary, depressed, and discontented. After tea there was absolutely

-nothing for him to do. He did not feel inclined to read a religious

-book; and recreations of any kind were absolutely forbidden by the

-religion in which he had been brought up. After an hour spent in idling

-about his room, he set out to find a church at which there was evening

-service, thinking that to hear another sermon would be less wearisome

-than solitude.

-

-Wandering through the streets, which at that hour were almost deserted,

-he at last heard a church bell begin to ring, and following the sound

-he came to a stone building, surmounted by a belfry. After a little

-hesitation, Alec Lindsay entered, and was conducted by the pew-opener

-to a seat. The area of the building was filled with very high-backed

-pews, set close together, and a large gallery ran round three of

-the walls; but the chapel was evidently not a Presbyterian place of

-worship, for on either side of the lofty pulpit was a reading-desk,

-nearly as high as the pulpit itself.

-

-Presently the bell stopped, and an organ placed in the gallery opposite

-the pulpit began to sound. Then a clergyman in white surplice and black

-stole ascended to the reading-desk on the right of the central pulpit,

-and Alec Lindsay knew that he was, for the first time in his life, in

-an ‘Episcopal’ chapel.

-

-The service was conducted in the plainest manner possible. The psalms

-were read, the canticles alone being chanted; and the clergyman, as

-he read the prayers, faced the congregation. The hymns were of a

-pronounced Evangelical type, and the sternest Calvinist could have

-found no fault with the sermon. But to Alec all was so entirely new

-and strange that he sometimes found it difficult to remember that he

-was supposed to be engaged in worship.

-

-The prayers were over, and the sermon had begun, when Alec noticed, at

-some little distance, a face, the sight of which made his hand tremble

-and his heart beat. It was Laura Mowbray. She was sitting alone in

-her corner, her only companion being a maidservant, who sat at the

-door of the pew. Her profile was turned towards Alec, its clear white

-outline showing against the dark panelling behind her. Almost afraid

-to look in her direction, for fear of attracting her attention, or of

-allowing those sitting near him to guess what was passing in his mind,

-he took only a glance now and then at the object of his worship. It was

-worship, rather than love, with Alec Lindsay. Courtship, and marriage,

-and the practical considerations which these things entail, never

-entered the boy’s mind. He had seen his ideal of beauty, of refinement,

-of feminine grace; and he was content, for the present at least, to

-worship her at a distance, himself unseen.

-

-When the service was over, he left the chapel, and placed himself at

-an angle outside the gateway, where he could see her as she passed

-out. He recognised her figure as soon as it appeared, but to his great

-disappointment her face was turned from him. By chance, however, she

-looked back to see if the maid were following her, and for one instant

-he had a full view of her face. It was enough, and without a thought of

-accosting her, Alec went home satisfied.

-

-

-FOOTNOTES:

-

-     [2] Old man.

-

-     [3] Cattle.

-

-

-

-

-                             CHAPTER VIII.

-

-                           THE ROARING GAME.

-

-

-When the Christmas holidays drew near, Alec obtained his father’s

-permission to ask his friend, Duncan Cameron, to spend a week at the

-Castle Farm; and, after a little hesitation, Cameron accepted the

-proposal.

-

-‘There’s just one thing, Duncan, I would like you to mind,’ said

-Alec, as they drew near the farm; ‘my father’s an old man, and he

-doesn’t like to be contradicted. More than that, he doesn’t care

-to hear anyone express opinions contrary to his own, at least on

-two subjects--politics and religion. If you can’t agree with him on

-these points, and I dare say you won’t, hold your tongue, like a good

-fellow. And my sister--you’d better keep off religion in her case too.’

-

-‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’ was Cameron’s inward thought;

-but he only said he would of course be careful not to wound the old

-gentleman’s susceptibilities.

-

-Mr. Lindsay received his guest with a hearty welcome--it was not one

-of his faults to fail in hospitality--indeed, a stranger might have

-thought that he was better pleased to see his guest than his son. He

-led the way through the great stone-floored kitchen to the parlour,

-where an enormous fire of coals was blazing, and where the evening meal

-was already laid out on the snowy table-cloth.

-

-‘You had better warm your hands before going upstairs,’ he said to

-Duncan. ‘You must have had a very cold drive. Margaret!’ he called out,

-finding that his daughter was not in the sitting-room. ‘Margaret! where

-are you? Come away at once.’

-

-In his eyes Margaret was a child still. He was a little annoyed that

-she should have been out of the way, and not in her place, ready to

-welcome the guest.

-

-Margaret, however, had taken her stand in the dairy, which was on the

-opposite side of the passage from the kitchen. She wanted to greet her

-brother in her own way. And Alec, as soon as he saw that she was not

-with his father, knew where she was. The dairy had been a favourite

-refuge in their childish days. It was a little out of the way, and

-seldom visited, while it commanded a way of retreat through the

-cheese-house.

-

-As soon as his father had taken charge of Cameron, Alec hurried back

-through the kitchen, ran along the passage, opened the dairy-door, and

-there, sure enough, was Margaret.

-

-‘Maggie!’ he cried; and the two were fast locked in each other’s

-embrace.

-

-It was but eight weeks since they had parted; but they had never been

-separated before.

-

-For a moment neither spoke.

-

-‘What made you come here, Maggie?’ asked Alec, with boyish

-inconsiderateness.

-

-‘I came for the cream for tea,’ said Margaret.

-

-‘Oh, Maggie!’

-

-‘I did indeed. Go and get me a light. Oh, Alec! it has been so lonely

-without you!’

-

-She kissed him again, and pushed him out of the dairy. Then she burst

-into tears. He was not so glad to see her as she had been to see him.

-He was changed; she knew he was changed, though she had not really seen

-him. He was going to be a man, to grow beyond her, to forget, perhaps

-to despise her. Why had he asked why she had come there? Surely he

-might have----

-

-At this point in Margaret’s reflections, Alec returned with a candle,

-and seeing the traces of tears on his sister’s cheeks, he turned and

-gave her another hug. She tenderly returned the caress; but her first

-words were:

-

-‘Why did you bring a stranger home with you, Alec? And we are to be

-together such a short time, too!’

-

-‘Oh, nonsense, Maggie! Cameron is a great friend of mine, and you’ll

-like him, I’m sure. But there’s father calling; we must go.’

-

-Mr. Lindsay had divined what his daughter had been doing; but he

-thought it was now quite time that she should come forward and play her

-part as hostess.

-

-‘You go first, Alec,’ she said, taking up the cream-jug which she had

-brought as her excuse for her visit to the dairy.

-

-‘And I tell you, sir, that till we have the ballot we can have no

-security against persecution,’ Mr. Lindsay was exclaiming, as they

-entered the sitting-room. ‘A man cannot vote now according to his

-conscience unless he is prepared to risk being driven from his home, to

-lose his very livelihood. Let me give you an instance----’

-

-But here Margaret came forward, calm and serene as usual. Cameron

-rose to meet her; and the political harangue was cut short by the

-appearance of a stout damsel with cheeks like peonies, bearing an

-enormous silver teapot.

-

-Cameron was struck by Margaret Lindsay’s beauty, as everyone was who

-saw her; but the effect was to render him shy and ill at ease. He felt

-inferior to her; and the calm indifference of her manner made him fancy

-that she treated him with disdain. Mr. Lindsay did most of the talking;

-Cameron, mindful of his friend’s warning, sat almost dumb, totally

-unlike his usual self. Alec began to think that he had made a mistake

-in inviting him to the Castle Farm.

-

-As it happened, a keen frost had set in some days before, and farm

-operations were at a standstill. Margaret was busy next morning in

-superintending matters in the dairy and the kitchen; but the three men

-had nothing to do. Mr. Lindsay fastened on his guest, and extracted

-from him a full and particular account of the state of agriculture and

-of religion in the island of Scalpa and the neighbouring mainland

-before the one o’clock dinner.

-

-In the evening, however, there was a promise of a little break in the

-monotony of life at the farm. A message was brought to Alec enjoining

-him to be at ‘The Lang Loch’ by half-past nine next morning, and take

-part in a curling-match between the Muirburn parish and the players of

-the neighbouring parish of Auchinbyres.

-

-‘You can’t possibly go, Alec,’ said the laird, when the message was

-delivered; ‘Mr. Cameron won’t care to hang about here alone all day.’

-

-Mr. Lindsay was secretly proud of his son’s reputation as a curler; but

-he did not wish him to go to the match, because he did not care that

-he should be exposed to the contaminating influences of a very mixed

-company, and he did not relish the prospect of Alec’s carrying away

-his friend and leaving him alone for the day. But when Duncan heard

-of the match he declared that he must see it--there was hardly ever

-any frost worth speaking of in the Hebrides; and he had never seen a

-curling-match.

-

-‘You’ll want the dog-cart to take your stones to the loch, Alec,’ said

-Mr. Lindsay. ‘I think I will go with you, and go on to Netherburn about

-those tiles.’

-

-‘I wish you would come with us, Maggie,’ said Alec. ‘Father will be

-passing the loch on his way back in half an hour, and he can pick you

-up and bring you home. The drive will do you good.’

-

-To this arrangement Margaret consented, and early next morning the

-little party set out in the keen wintry air. The sun, not long risen,

-was making the snow sparkle on the fields, and turning the desolate

-scene into fairyland.

-

-After an hour’s drive they arrived at the scene of the match--a sheet

-of water, on one side of which the open moor stretched away to the

-horizon, while on the other side there was a thin belt of fir-trees.

-The ice, two or three acres in extent, was covered with a sprinkling

-of snow, which had been carefully cleared from the ‘rinks.’ The rinks

-were sixty or seventy yards long by six or eight wide, and they showed

-like pools of black water beside the clear white snow.

-

-Already the surface of the little lake was dotted with boys on

-‘skeitchers,’ as skates are called in that part of the country; and

-the margin was fringed with dog-carts from which the horses had been

-removed. The stones, circular blocks of granite, nearly a foot in

-diameter, and about five inches thick, fitted with brass handles, were

-lying in order on the bank on beds of straw.

-

-Quite a little crowd of farmers, farm-servants, and schoolboys were

-assembled beside the stones, waiting till the match should begin. Lord

-Bantock, the chief landowner in that part of Kyleshire, was there, his

-red, good-humoured face beaming on everybody, his hands thrust into the

-pockets of his knickerbockers, the regulation green broom under his

-arm. Next him stood a little spare man in a tall hat. This was Johnnie

-Fergus, draper, ironmonger, guardian of the poor, and Free Church

-deacon in the neighbouring village of Auchinbyres.

-

-Nothing was ever done at Auchinbyres without Johnnie Fergus having a

-hand in it. He was a man of importance, and he knew it. No man had ever

-seen Johnnie in a round hat. He always carried his chin very much in

-the air, and kept his lips well pursed up, and spoke in a peremptory

-tone of voice--especially when (as on the present occasion) he was in

-the company of his betters.

-

-Next to him stood Hamilton of the Holme, a great giant of a man, slow

-in his movements, slow in his speech, wearing the roughest of rough

-tweeds, and boots whose soles were at least an inch in thickness.

-At present, however, he was encased as to his lower man in enormous

-stockings, drawn over boots and trousers, to prevent him from slipping

-about on the ice; and many of the players were arrayed in a similar

-fashion.

-

-‘Come awa’, Castle Fairm!’ cried one of the crowd as Mr. Lindsay drove

-up. ‘Aw’m glaid to see ye; ye play a hantle better nor yer son.’

-

-‘Na, na, Muirfuit,’ responded the laird; ‘my playin’-days are by.’

-

-Meantime Lord Bantock strolled over to the dog-cart, his ostensible

-reason being to shake hands with Mr. Lindsay, whom he recognised in his

-fallen state as one of the small gentry of the county.

-

-‘Are you going to honour us with your presence, Miss Lindsay?’ he

-asked, as he helped Margaret to alight.

-

-‘Only for half an hour,’ she answered, as she sprang lightly to the

-ground. ‘You will be back by that time?’ she continued, addressing her

-father.

-

-‘In less than an hour, at any rate,’ he answered as he drove away; and

-Margaret, seeing some schoolgirls whom she knew engaged in sliding,

-went off to speak to them.

-

-At this point a loud roar of laughter came from the group of men

-standing at the side of the loch; and Lord Bantock, who dearly loved a

-joke, hurried back to them.

-

-‘Old Simpson is telling some of his stories; let us go and hear him,’

-said Alec Lindsay, as, passing his arm through his friend’s, he led him

-up to the little crowd.

-

-A tall man with a lean, smooth face, dressed in a high hat and black

-frock-coat, and wearing an old-fashioned black silk handkerchief round

-his neck, was standing in a slouching attitude, his hands half out of

-his pockets, while the others hung around in silence, waiting for his

-next anecdote.

-

-‘That minds me,’ he was saying, as Alec and Cameron came up, ‘that

-minds me o’ what auld Craig o’ the Burn-Fuit said to wee Jamieson the

-writer.[4] Craig was a dour,[5] ill-tempered man; and though he had

-never fashed the kirk muckle, the minister cam’ to see him on one

-occasion when it was thocht he was near his hinner-en’.

-

-‘“Ye’re deein’, Burn-Fuit,” says Maister Symie.

-

-‘“No jist yet, minister,” says Craig.

-

-‘“I doot ye’re deein’; an’ it behoves ye to mak’ your peace wi’ the

-haill warl’,” says the minister.

-

-‘Craig gied a sigh, as if it was the hardest job he could set himself

-tae. After a heap o’ talkin’ the minister got him persuaded to see

-Jamieson, who just then was his great enemy--he aye had ane or twa o’

-them--an’ forgie him for some ill-turn the writer had dune him. An’ wi’

-jist as much persuasion he got Jamieson to come to the deein’ man’s

-bedside, and be a pairty to the reconciliation.

-

-‘Sae the twa met, and had a freenly crack i’ the minister’s presence.

-Guid Mr. Symie was delighted. As the writer was depairtin’, they shook

-hands.

-

-‘“Guid-day, Maister Jamieson,” says Craig. “Ye’ve done me many an

-ill-turn, but I forgie ye. But mind--mind, if I get weel, a’ this gangs

-for nowt!”’

-

-A laugh followed the schoolmaster’s story; and the group dispersed to

-see that the preparations which were being made on the ice were duly

-performed. A small hole had already been bored at each end of the

-principal rink. Each of these was to be in its turn the ‘tee,’ or mark.

-At some distance from each of the tees, a line called the ‘hog-score’

-was drawn across the ice. Stones which did not pass this line were not

-to be allowed to count, and were to be removed at once from the ice. A

-long piece of wood, with nails driven through it at fixed intervals,

-was now placed with one of its ends resting on the tee, and held there

-firmly, while it was slowly turned round on the ice. The result of

-this operation was that the ice was marked by circles drawn at equal

-distances from the tee, by which the relative distances of two stones

-from the central point could be easily determined.

-

-The players having been already selected, the match began as soon as

-this was done.

-

-Alec Lindsay, being one of the youngest men present, was told to begin,

-his adversary being Simpson the schoolmaster.

-

-Cameron and Margaret, standing together on one side of the players,

-who assembled at one end of the rink, watched Alec, who went forward,

-lifted one of his father’s heavy granite stones, and swung it lightly

-in his hand. Meanwhile one of the players from his own side had gone

-to the other side of the rink, and holding his broom upright in the

-tee-hole, enabled Alec to form a more accurate idea of the distance.

-

-Swinging his stone, Alec stooped down, and with no apparent effort

-‘placed’ it on the ice. Away it sailed with a loud humming sound, sweet

-to a curler’s ear.

-

-Every man eagerly watched its rate of speed, while some, running

-alongside, accompanied it on its course.

-

-‘Soop it up! Soop it up!’ cried some of the younger members of the

-Muirburn side; and they began to sweep the ice in front of the stone

-with their brooms, so as to expedite its progress.

-

-‘Let her alane! She’s comin’ on brawly!’ cried Hamilton, from the other

-end of the rink, in an authoritative tone. They immediately left off

-sweeping; and two of the Auchinbyres men, acting on the principle that

-if the stone had, from the Muirburn players’ point of view, just enough

-way on it, they had better give it a little more, began to ply their

-brooms vigorously in front of it.

-

-These attentions, however, did no harm. The stone glided up towards the

-tee, slackened its speed, and finally stopped, exactly where it ought

-to have stopped, about a foot in front of the mark.

-

-A slight cheer greeted this good shot; and ‘Ye’ll mak’ as guid a player

-as your faither, Alec!’ from one of the bystanders made Margaret’s face

-flush with pleasure.

-

-It was now the schoolmaster’s turn. One of his side took Hamilton’s

-place as pilot; and the old man, playing with even less apparent

-effort than Alec had used, sent his stone right in the face of his

-adversary’s. The speed was so nicely graduated that Alec’s stone was

-disposed of for good, while Simpson’s stone occupied almost exactly the

-spot on which Alec’s had formerly rested.

-

-Again Hamilton advanced to lend the young player his advice, while

-Alec took up his remaining stone, and went to the front. He sent

-a well-aimed shot, but rather too powerfully delivered, and the

-adversaries of course hastened to make it worse by sweeping. The stone

-struck Simpson’s slightly on one side, sending it to the left, while

-it went on towards the right, and finally stopped considerably to

-the right of the tee, but near enough to make it worth guarding. The

-schoolmaster’s next shot was not a success. His stone went between the

-two which were already on the ice, and passing over the tee landed

-about two feet beyond it.

-

-This gave a chance to the Muirburn men. Their next player placed his

-stone a long way from the tee, but right in front of Alec’s, so that it

-was impossible, or almost impossible, to dislodge the latter without

-first getting rid of the former. To him succeeded Johnnie Fergus; and

-he, preferring his own judgment before that of the official guide,

-played the guard full on, with the result that he sent it well into the

-inner circle, while his own stone formed a very efficient guard for

-that of his enemy. As every stone which, at the end of the round, is

-found nearer the tee than anyone belonging to a player of the opposite

-side counts for one point, the Muirburn men had now two stones in a

-position to score; and they patiently surrounded them with guards,

-which the Auchinbyres players knocked away whenever they could. So the

-game went with varying success, till only one pair of players was left

-for that round--Hamilton, playing for Muirburn, and Lord Bantock, who

-belonged to the enemy.

-

-Things at that moment were very bad for the Muirburn men. Four stones

-belonging to the opposite side were nearer the tee than any one of

-their own; while a formidable array of guards lined the ice in front of

-them.

-

-Hamilton went and studied the situation carefully. Then he went back,

-and played his first shot.

-

-‘Soop it! Soop it! Soop it!’ roared the schoolmaster, flourishing

-his broom, and dancing like a maniac. He alone, of the Auchinbyres

-players, understood the object of the shot, and saw that it could only

-be defeated, if at all, by giving it a little extra impetus. But the

-advice came too late. The brooms were plied before it like lightning,

-but the stone came stealing up like a live thing, and just avoiding an

-outlying guard, gave a knock to one stone at such an angle that the

-impetus was communicated to a second and from it to a third, while it

-took the third place, thus cutting off two of the adversaries’ points.

-

-‘Noo, m’ lord, a wee thocht tae the richt o’ this,’ said Johnnie

-Fergus, as he stooped down and held his broom over the spot where he

-desired Lord Bantock’s stone should come in.

-

-But Lord Bantock had been given the place of honour as last player more

-out of consideration for his rank than for his skill. He played with

-far too much force, and sent his stone smashing on one of the outside

-guards, from which it rushed to the side of the rink and disappeared.

-

-‘Did I no tell ye no to pit that sumph at the tail?’ quoth Johnnie in

-an undertone of deep disgust, as he rose from his stooping posture.

-

-‘Haud your tongue, man! I’ve seen his lordship play as weel as ony

-deacon amang ye,’ said the leader, angry at being suspected of unduly

-favouring the great man.

-

-But with a cry of expectation from the crowd, Hamilton’s second stone

-left his hand and came spinning over the ice, right in the track of

-its predecessor. A roar went up from the players, as the Muirburn men

-rushed forward, and distributing themselves over the path which the

-stone had to traverse, polished it till the ice was like glass. The

-stone came in beautifully, displaced the best stone, and took the first

-place, by cannoning off another of the enemy.

-

-A loud hurrah greeted this feat, and Lord Bantock stepped forward,

-determined to do something to redeem his reputation, which he knew had

-suffered from the result of his former effort.

-

-An old farmer ran as fast as his years would permit to offer his

-lordship a word of advice before the last shot was fired.

-

-‘All right, Blackwater,’ said Lord Bantock, with a nod, as he planted

-his feet firmly on the ice, and gripped the handle of his stone, as if

-he would bend the brass. Away went the stone with a rush, and a roar

-from the crowd. Crash--crash--it struck against one and another; but

-it had force enough to go on. Smash it came among the group of stones,

-sending them flying in all directions, while everybody jumped aside to

-avoid a collision. It was not a first-rate shot; but it was successful.

-The first, second, third, fourth, and fifth stones were knocked, or

-rather knocked one another, out of the way. Lord Bantock’s stone itself

-went right ahead, ploughing a path for itself in the snow beyond the

-rink. Alec’s second stone, long since considered to be out of the

-running, was found to be half an inch nearer the tee than any one

-belonging to the other side; and the Muirburn men accordingly scored

-one towards the game.

-

-At the other rinks, meanwhile, subsidiary contests were in full

-progress, and the scene was a very animated one. It was, however, very

-cold work for bystanders, and Cameron, as he saw that his companion

-was shivering in spite of her winter clothing, proposed to Alec that

-Margaret and himself should set out at once for the farm, leaving Mr.

-Lindsay to overtake them when he returned. To this arrangement Alec of

-course assented, and Margaret and Cameron set off together.

-

-Most young men would have been glad to be in Cameron’s place; but the

-Highlander felt very ill at ease. He began to seek for a subject which

-might be supposed to be interesting to a girl, and dismissed one after

-another as totally unsuitable. The silence continued, and the young

-man was nearly in despair, when Margaret, totally unconscious of any

-embarrassment, came to his assistance.

-

-‘That is the way to Drumclog,’ she said, pointing to a moorland road

-which crossed their path; ‘Alec and you ought to walk over some day.’

-

-‘Is there anything to see there?’ inquired her companion.

-

-‘Have you never heard of the Battle of Drumclog?’ asked the girl in

-surprise.

-

-The Highlander was obliged to confess that he had not.

-

-‘Have you never read of the persecutions of the Covenanters, and Graham

-of Claverhouse, and the martyrs?’ asked Margaret again, with wonder in

-her eyes.

-

-‘Oh yes, of course; but I didn’t know that these things happened in

-this part of the country.’

-

-‘Yes,’ said Margaret. ‘The Martyrs’ Cairn is only a little way beyond

-Blackwater. You know the Covenanters were not allowed to worship in

-their own way, and they used to meet in hollows of the hills and on the

-open moors. The country was full of soldiers, sent to keep down the

-people; and when the Covenanters went to the preaching, they used to

-take arms with them. One Sabbath morning a large number of them were

-attending a service on the lonely moor at Drumclog when the English

-soldiers, who had somehow heard of the gathering, bore down upon

-them. They were dragoons, led by “the bloody Claverhouse,” as they

-call him to this day. Providentially there was a bog in front of the

-Covenanters. The horses of the dragoons could not cross it; and those

-soldiers who did cross at last were beaten off by the Covenanters, and

-many of them were killed.’

-

-‘I remember it now,’ said Cameron; ‘I have read about it in “Old

-Mortality.”’

-

-‘The most unfair book that ever was written!’ exclaimed Margaret with

-some heat--‘a book that every true Scotchman should be ashamed of.’

-

-‘I don’t see that,’ returned Cameron; ‘I think Sir Walter held the

-balance very fairly.’

-

-‘He simply turns the Covenanters into ridicule and tries to make his

-readers sympathize with the persecutors,’ said Margaret.

-

-‘Well, you can’t deny that a good many of them _were_ ridiculous,’ said

-Cameron lightly.

-

-‘And you have no sympathy for these brave men who won our liberties for

-us with their blood!’ exclaimed the girl.

-

-‘I don’t say that,’ said the young Highlander cautiously; ‘but I’m not

-so sure about their having won our liberties for us,’ he added with a

-laugh. ‘There wasn’t much liberty in the Highlands when _their_ King

-got the upper hand.’

-

-Then he tried to change the subject; but Margaret answered him only

-in monosyllables. This daughter of the Covenanters could not forgive

-anyone who refused to consider those who took part in the petty

-rebellion of the west as heroes and martyrs. She made their cause her

-own, and decided that Cameron was thenceforth to be regarded as a

-‘malignant.’

-

-As for Cameron, he mentally banned the whole tribe of Covenanters,

-as well as his own folly in offering any opposition to Margaret’s

-prejudices; and before he could make his peace with her Mr. Lindsay

-drove up, and the _tête-à-tête_ came to an end.

-

-Duncan Cameron had felt the spell of Margaret’s beauty, as everyone

-did who approached her. But he had made a bad beginning in his

-intercourse with her, and he now felt a strong sense of repulsion

-mingling with his admiration. It was not only that he despised her

-narrowness of mind; there was between the two something of the old

-antagonism between Cavalier and Puritan. For the rest of his stay at

-Castle Farm he avoided meeting her alone, and only spoke to her when

-ordinary politeness required it. And yet, whenever she addressed him,

-he felt that the fascination of her beauty was as strong as ever. When

-Alec came home on the day of the curling-match, and shouted out in

-triumph that Muirburn had won, Margaret’s eyes flashed, and her cheek

-flushed in sympathy; and Cameron, watching her, forgot that she had not

-forgiven him for his lack of sympathy with the men of Drumclog.

-

-

-FOOTNOTES:

-

-     [4] A lawyer.

-

-     [5] Hard.

-

-

-

-

-                              CHAPTER IX.

-

-                        THE END OF THE SESSION.

-

-

-At the end of the appointed week the two young men returned to Glasgow,

-and braced themselves up for the remaining four months of work. At

-the northern Universities the academic year ends (except for a few

-supplementary medical classes) with the 1st of May. Alec Lindsay had a

-great deal of leeway to make up, as he had never had a proper grounding

-in either Latin or Greek; but he did his best, and felt pretty sure of

-being able to take at least one prize.

-

-Of course he found his way back to the Church of England chapel at

-which he had seen Miss Mowbray; and on more than one occasion he was

-gratified by a sight of her. As to the Anglican form of worship, he

-regarded it with very mixed feelings. He was pleased by the stately

-simplicity of the collects, and by the rhythm of the chants. The

-service was free from the monotony of the Presbyterian form, and it was

-more ‘congregational’ than anything to which he had been accustomed.

-But it was some time before he could divest himself of the idea that he

-was witnessing a kind of religious entertainment, ingeniously devised

-and interesting, but by no means tending to edification. He felt like

-his countrywoman, who when taken to a service at Westminster Abbey

-said afterwards: ‘It was very fine--but eh! that was an awfu’ way o’

-spending the Sabbath!’ The voice of conscience is as loud when it

-condemns the infraction of a rule founded only in prejudice as when

-it protests against a breach of the moral law itself; and for several

-Sunday evenings Alec Lindsay left the chapel with the feeling that he

-had been guilty of a misdemeanour--he had been playing at worship. The

-unexpressed idea in his mind (a result of his Presbyterian training)

-was that collects, and chants, and ceremonial observances in general,

-were too interesting, too pleasing to the natural man, to be acceptable

-to the Almighty. But by degrees this feeling wore off; and when he

-became familiar with the Prayer-book, he found that it was an aid

-rather than a hindrance to devotion.

-

-The end of the session drew near; and the April sun shone clear and

-fair through the smoke-cloud of Glasgow. It was a Saturday afternoon,

-and Alec determined to console himself for the loss of a long walk, for

-which he could not afford time, by putting a book in his pocket, and

-taking a stroll in the park.

-

-Those who are most attached to the country care least for parks. A

-piece of enclosed and tended pleasure-ground, whether it is large or

-small, always affects the lover of nature with a sense of restraint,

-of formality, of the substitution of an imitation for a reality. Trim

-gravelled walks are but a poor substitute for a grass-grown lane; a

-neglected hedgerow, a bit of moorland, or even a corner of a common,

-will hold more that is beautiful, more that is interesting to one who

-loves the open country, than acres of park, with all their flower-plots

-and ticketed specimens of foreign shrubs; for in a thorn hedge or a

-mound of furze one recognises the inexpressible charm that Nature only

-possesses when she is left to work by herself.

-

-Yet, to a dweller in cities, parks are worth having. They are, at

-least, infinitely better than the streets. So, at least, thought

-Alec Lindsay this April afternoon, as he wandered along the deserted

-pathway, under the budding trees. Glasgow is fortunate in at least

-one of its parks. The enclosure is of small extent, but then it is

-not merely a square of ground planted with weedy young trees and

-intersected by roads. It is a bit of the valley of the Kelvin; and it

-includes one side of a steep rising-ground which is crowned by handsome

-houses of stone. The little river itself is always dirty, and in

-summer is little better than a sewer with the roof off; but seen from a

-little distance it is picturesque, and lends variety to the scene.

-

-Alec was wandering along one of the pathways, watching the sunlight

-playing in the yet leafless branches, and trying to cheat himself into

-the idea that his mind was filled with Roman history; when suddenly he

-found himself face to face with--Laura Mowbray. She was dressed, not in

-winter garments, though the air was cold, but in light, soft colours,

-which made her look different from the Scotch damsels whom Alec had

-seen in the streets. She seemed the impersonation of the spring as she

-slowly approached Alec with a smile on her face. Of course he stopped

-to speak to her.

-

-‘I have come out for a turn in the park, for I really couldn’t bear to

-stay shut up in the house on such a glorious day,’ said Laura. ‘Uncle

-wouldn’t come with me, though I teased him ever so long. He said he

-was very busy; but I think people sometimes make a pretence of being

-studious,’ and she glanced at Alec’s note-book as she spoke.

-

-Alec laughed and thrust the book into his pocket, and turning round

-walked on slowly by the girl’s side.

-

-‘If you had an exam. to prepare for, you wouldn’t much care whether

-people thought you studious or not,’ he said.

-

-‘How is your uncle?’ asked Laura.

-

-‘I’m sure I can’t tell.’

-

-‘Can’t tell! You wicked, unnatural creature! I am quite shocked at you.’

-

-‘He was very well when I saw him last--that is, about three months

-ago--with the exception of a fearfully bad temper.’

-

-‘Don’t you know that it is highly unbecoming of you to speak of anyone

-older than yourself in that disrespectful way?’

-

-But Laura’s look hardly seconded her words; and Alec went on:

-

-‘It is quite true, though. I wonder Aunt Jean can put up with him.’

-

-‘Who is Aunt Jean? Miss Lindsay? The lady who lives with your uncle and

-keeps house for him?’

-

-‘Yes.’

-

-‘She is a relation of your uncle’s, isn’t she?’

-

-‘Oh yes; a cousin in some degree or other.’

-

-‘Mr. Lindsay never married, I believe,’ said Miss Mowbray.

-

-‘No; he has no relations nearer than’--‘nearer than I am,’ he was going

-to have said; but he stopped and substituted--‘nearer than nephews and

-nieces.’

-

-‘And he has plenty of them, I suppose? All Scotch people seem to have

-so many relations; it is quite bewildering.’

-

-‘Uncle James is my father’s uncle, you understand,’ said Alec; ‘and

-there are only two in our family, my sister and I; that is not so very

-many.’

-

-‘No. But have you really a sister?’ exclaimed Laura, turning round so

-as to face her companion for an instant.

-

-‘Yes, one sister: Margaret.’

-

-‘How lucky you are! I have no brothers or sisters; I have only my

-uncle. How I wish I knew your sister! And Margaret is such a pretty

-name.’

-

-‘It is common enough, anyway.’

-

-‘But not commonplace; oh! not at all commonplace. If I had a sister I

-would call her Margaret, whatever her real name might be. By the way,

-have you seen Mr. Semple since that night of the dinner-party?’

-

-‘No.’

-

-‘And you don’t seem very sorry for it?’ said the girl, with a little

-smile.

-

-‘No; I can’t say I care much for Cousin James.’

-

-‘_He_ is a relation of Mr. Lindsay, too, isn’t he?’

-

-‘Yes; his mother was a Lindsay, a niece of my grand-uncle’s. He is in

-the oil-works; and I dare say he will become manager of them some day.’

-

-Miss Mowbray was silent for a few moments; then she stopped and

-hesitated.

-

-‘Do you know, I don’t think I ought to allow you to walk with me in

-this way. Suppose we were to meet anyone we knew!’

-

-Alec flushed to the roots of his hair.

-

-‘I beg your pardon!’ he exclaimed.

-

-‘Oh, I don’t mind; but--Mrs. Grundy, you know.’

-

-‘Do you know that you can see Ben Lomond from the top of the hill?’

-said Alec, suddenly changing the subject.

-

-‘No; _really_?’

-

-‘Yes; won’t you let me show it to you? It’s a beautiful view, and only

-a few steps off.’

-

-Miss Mowbray seemed to forget her scruples, for she allowed herself to

-be led up a narrow winding path, fringed with young trees, which led to

-the top of the rising ground.

-

-‘If I had known you a little longer,’ began Laura, with some

-hesitation, ‘I think I would have ventured to give you a little bit of

-my mind.’

-

-‘About what?’ asked Alec with sudden eagerness.

-

-Laura shook her head gravely.

-

-‘I fear you would be offended if I were to speak of it,’ she said.

-

-‘Indeed I would not. Nothing you could say could offend me.’

-

-‘Well, if you will promise to forgive me if I _should_ offend you----’

-

-‘You couldn’t offend me if you tried,’ said Alec warmly.

-

-‘Then I will tell you what I was thinking of. I don’t think you should

-neglect your grand-uncle as you do.’

-

-‘Neglect!’

-

-‘Yes. It is not kind or dutiful.’

-

-‘Neglect! My dear Miss Mowbray, you are altogether mistaken. We can’t

-neglect those who don’t want us. He hasn’t the slightest wish, I assure

-you, to see me dangling about him.’

-

-‘There! You promised not to be offended; and you are!’

-

-‘Indeed I am not.’

-

-‘Yes, you are. I won’t say another word.’

-

-‘Oh, Miss Mowbray! How can you think I am offended? What have I said to

-make you fancy such a thing? On the contrary, I think it so very, very

-good of you to take so much interest----’

-

-Here Alec stopped, for he saw that his companion was blushing, and that

-somehow he had made a mess of things. He had not yet learned that some

-species of gratitude cannot find fitting expression in words.

-

-‘I think it is my turn to say that I have offended you,’ he said after

-a pause.

-

-Laura laughed--such a pleasant, rippling laugh!

-

-‘It is getting quite too involved. Let us pass an Act of Oblivion, and

-forget all about it.’

-

-‘But if you think I ought to call on my uncle,’ began Alec--‘no; don’t

-shake your head. Tell me what you really think I ought to do.’

-

-‘Do you like Miss Lindsay?’ asked Laura, without replying to the

-question.

-

-‘Aunt Jean? Yes; much better than I like Uncle James.’

-

-‘Then you can go to see _her_ now and then; and when you are in the

-house go into your uncle’s room and ask how he is, if he is at home.

-We ought not only to visit people for our own pleasure, but sometimes

-because it is our duty to do so.’

-

-‘Yes, you are quite right; and I will do what you say. But here we are

-at the top of the hill. What a delightful breeze, isn’t it? Do you see

-that blue cloud in the distance, just a little deeper in tint than

-those about it?’

-

-‘Yes; I see it.’

-

-‘That is Ben Lomond, nearly four thousand feet high.’

-

-‘Really?’ said Miss Mowbray; but there was not much enthusiasm in her

-voice.

-

-Alec, on the contrary, stood, in a kind of rapture which made him

-forget for the moment even the girl at his side. The sight of distant

-mountains always affected him with a kind of strange, delicious

-melancholy--unrest mingling with satisfaction, such as that which

-filled the heart of Christian when from afar he caught a glimpse of the

-shining towers of the celestial city.

-

-The English girl watched the look in the young Scotchman’s face with

-wonder not unmixed with amusement. When with a sigh Alec turned to his

-companion, she, too, was gazing on the far-off mountain-top.

-

-‘I really must go now,’ she said softly, holding out her hand.

-

-‘May I not go to the park-gate with you?’

-

-Laura shook her head; but her smile was bright enough to take the sting

-from her refusal.

-

-‘Good-bye.’

-

-And in another moment Alec was alone.

-

-The sun had gone out of his sky. He sat down on a bench, and began to

-wonder how he had dared to converse familiarly with one so beautiful,

-so refined, so far removed from his ordinary friends, as Laura Mowbray.

-Then he recalled her great goodness in interesting herself in his

-concerns, and of course he resolved to follow her advice. He could

-think of nothing but Laura Mowbray the whole afternoon. He recalled

-her looks, her smile, her lightest word. To him they were treasures,

-to be hidden for ever from every human eye but his own; and in every

-look and word he found a new ground for admiration, a new proof of Miss

-Mowbray’s intelligence, sweetness, and goodness.

-

-Next week he acted upon her suggestion, and paid a visit to Blythswood

-Square. He was received by Miss Lindsay, a tall, spare, large-featured

-woman, whose gray hair was bound down severely under her old-fashioned

-cap.

-

-‘Weel, Alec; an’ what brings you here?’ was her greeting, as she held

-out her hand without troubling herself to rise.

-

-‘Nothing particular: why do you ask?’

-

-‘Ye come sae seldom; it’s no often we hae the pleasure o’ a veesit frae

-you.’

-

-‘I canna say much for my attentions, Aunt Jean; but then I canna say

-much for your welcome,’ returned Alec, flushing as he spoke.

-

-‘Hoots, laddie! sit doon an’ behave yersel’. My bark’s waur nor my

-bite.’

-

-‘And how’s my uncle?’

-

-‘Much as usual. I don’t think he’s overly weel pleased wi’ you, Alec,

-my man.’

-

-‘What have I done now?’

-

-‘It’s no your daein’; it’s your no-daein’. Ye never look near him.’

-

-‘He doesn’t want to be bothered with me.’

-

-The door opened, and the master of the house came in. He gave Alec his

-hand with his usual dry, consequential air, and hardly looking at him,

-made some indifferent remark to his cousin.

-

-‘Here’s Alec sayin’ he doesna believe you want to be bothered wi’ him,’

-she said.

-

-The old man seated himself deliberately, and made no disclaimer of the

-imputation.

-

-‘You’ll be going home for the summer?’ he asked.

-

-‘Yes; I am going home at the end of the month; but I should like to get

-a tutorship for the summer, if I could.’

-

-‘Humph!’

-

-‘What are you going to be?’ asked Mr. Lindsay after a pause--‘a doctor,

-or a minister, or what?’

-

-‘I don’t know yet,’ said Alec.

-

-His uncle sniffed contemptuously.

-

-‘A rowin’ stane gethers nae fog,’[6] put in Aunt Jean.

-

-Alec changed the subject; but his grand-uncle soon returned to it.

-

-‘The sooner ye mak’ up yer mind the better, my lad,’ said the old man.

-‘Would you like to go into the oil-works?’ he added, as if it were an

-after-thought.

-

-‘I hardly know, sir. I would like another year at College first,’ said

-Alec. ‘But thank you all the same, Uncle James;’ and as he spoke he

-rose to take his leave.

-

-Mr. Lindsay paid no sort of attention to the latter part of the reply.

-He took up a newspaper, and adjusting his spectacles began to read it,

-almost before the lad had turned his back.

-

-In another week the session was practically at an end. The prize-list,

-settled by the votes of the students themselves, showed that Alec had

-won the fourth prize, which in a class numbering nearly two hundred was

-a proof of at least a fair amount of application; and he also won an

-extra prize for Roman History.

-

-‘You don’t seem much elated,’ said Cameron to his friend, when he

-brought home the splendidly-bound volumes of nothing in particular.

-‘You’ve either less ambition or more sense than I gave you credit for.’

-

-‘I expected something better,’ said Alec. ‘Self-conceit, you should

-have said, not sense, Duncan.’

-

-If Alec were conceited he got little to feed his vanity at home. His

-father looked at the books, praised the binding, asked how many prizes

-were given in the class, and said no more. Secretly he was gratified

-by his son’s success; but it was one of his principles to discourage

-vainglory in his children by never, under any circumstances, speaking

-favourably of their performances. No one would have guessed from Alec’s

-manner that he cared a straw whether any praise was awarded to him

-or not; but he felt none the less keenly the absence of his father’s

-commendation.

-

-The month of May went by slowly at the Castle Farm. Alec was longing

-for change of occupation and change of scene. One morning he chanced to

-notice an advertisement which he thought it worth while to answer. A

-Glasgow merchant, whose wife and daughters had persuaded him to spend

-four months of the year at the seaside, wished to find some one to read

-with his boys three hours a day, that they might not forget in summer

-all that they had learned in winter. For this service he was prepared

-to pay the munificent sum of five guineas a month. As it happened, the

-merchant’s address was a tiny watering-place on the Frith of Clyde,

-where Mr. James Lindsay had a large ‘marine villa.’

-

-In reply to Alec’s letter, the advertiser, Mr. Fraser, asked only one

-question, whether the applicant were a relation of Mr. James Lindsay of

-Drumleck. Alec replied that he was, and was forthwith engaged.

-

-For once Alec had taken a step which pleased his father. The laird

-commended his son’s intention of earning his own living during the

-summer; and Alec fancied that his father used towards him a tone of

-greater consideration than he had ever adopted before. Margaret was

-much chagrined at her brother leaving home so soon after his return;

-but she did not say a word on the subject. She knew she had not reason

-on her side; and she was too proud to show her mortification. It might

-have been better if she had spoken her mind; for a coolness sprang up

-between brother and sister, which even the parting did not quite remove.

-

-

-FOOTNOTES:

-

-     [6] Moss.

-

-

-

-

-                               CHAPTER X.

-

-                               ARROCHAR.

-

-

-The Clyde is not, except in the neighbourhood of Lanark, a particularly

-interesting river. When Scotchmen talk of the scenery of the Clyde

-they are thinking, not of the river, but of the frith which bears its

-name. When Alec Lindsay set out for Arrochar to enter upon his duties

-as tutor to Mr. Fraser’s boys, he embarked at Glasgow; and he was much

-disappointed to find that for the first part of his journey there was

-little to satisfy his love of the picturesque.

-

-The day was gloomy; there were but few passengers on board the

-_Chancellor_. For a long way the narrow stream flowed between dull

-level fields. When it became broader there appeared a long dyke

-adorned with red posts surmounted by barrels, built in the channel to

-mark the passage. This did not add to the beauty of the scene. Now and

-then the steamer met one of her own class on its homeward journey;

-sometimes she overtook a queer, melancholy-looking, floating dredger,

-or a vessel outward-bound, towed by a small and abominably dirty

-tug-boat.

-

-But about twenty miles below Glasgow the scene changed. A wide expanse

-of water stretched away to the horizon. On the left lay a large town

-over which hung a dense cloud of smoke, but away to the west, beyond

-the blue water, could be seen the bold bases of steep hills rising from

-the sea itself, their summits being hidden in the clouds. At Greenock

-all was life and bustle. Several steamers plying to different points of

-the coast lay at the pier, and a crowd of passengers who had come by

-train from Glasgow streamed down from the railway-station to meet them.

-

-Alec stood on the bridge watching them with considerable amusement.

-Here was a group of elderly maiden ladies, sisters probably, to whom

-their month ‘at the salt water’ was the great event of the year. After

-much debate they had decided to go to Kilcreggan this year, instead

-of to Rothesay. Each carried an armful of wraps, small baskets, and

-brown-paper parcels, and each rushed to a separate steamer, as if

-thinking it more desirable that one at least should be right than

-that all should be wrong. Each appealed excitedly to a porter for

-directions, and eventually all assembled at the gangway of the proper

-steamer. But the combined evidence of the porters was insufficient.

-Each of the three travellers made a separate demand, one on the master,

-another on the chief officer, and a third upon the steward, in order to

-know whether the steamer was really going to Kilcreggan. At last they

-were satisfied, settled themselves with their belongings in a sheltered

-corner, and began to eat Abernethy biscuits.

-

-Then came a whole family--an anxious mother, an aunt more anxious

-than the mother, two servants, and six children, who were running in

-different ways at once, and had to be manœuvred on board like so many

-young pigs. As soon as they were shipped, two of them immediately made

-for the engine-room, while the others rushed to the bulwarks, and

-craned their necks over the side as far as they possibly could without

-losing their balance.

-

-In one corner was a little band of rosy school-girls in tweed frocks

-and straw hats, cumbered with a collection of novels, tennis-bats, and

-fishing-rods. Here and there were one or two gigantic Celts returning

-to the hill country, while a few pale-faced young men stepped on board

-with knapsacks on their shoulders. But the male passengers were few at

-this hour of the day. A few hours later the steamers would be black

-with men leaving the roar and worry of the city to sleep under the

-shadow of the hills.

-

-At length the bells clanged for the last time; the gangways were

-pushed on shore; the old lady who always delays her departure till

-that period made her appearance, and was somehow hoisted on board; the

-escape-pipes ceased their roaring; and one after another the steamers

-glided off upon the bosom of the frith.

-

-And now, suddenly, the sun shone out, showing that the sea was not a

-level plain of water, but covered with a million dancing wavelets.

-The sunshine travelled westward over the sea, and Alec followed it

-with his eyes. It rested on the distant hills, and then the haze that

-covered them melted away, and they revealed themselves, dim in outline,

-violet-coloured, magnified in the mist. As the steamer drew nearer

-them it became plain that the nearer hills were much lower than those

-beyond, and that many of them were covered with pines up to a certain

-height. Above the woods they were often black--that was where the old

-heather had been burnt to make room for the young shoots, or light

-brown--that was where masses of last year’s bracken lay; sometimes they

-were white with glistening rocks, or green from never-failing springs.

-

-And now it could be seen that between the woods and the seashore ran a

-white road, and that the coast was dotted for miles with houses, of all

-shapes and sizes, each standing in its own ground, and sheltered by its

-own green leaves. There was no town anywhere--nothing approaching to

-one; but every three or four miles a few houses were built in a little

-row, affording accommodation for a grocer’s and a baker’s shop; and

-opposite the shops there was invariably a white wooden pier, affording

-an outlet to the rest of the world.

-

-Soon after crossing the frith, the _Chancellor_ made for one of

-these landing-places. Round the pier there swarmed half a dozen

-pleasure-boats of all sizes, some the merest cockleshells, navigated

-(not unskilfully) by mariners who were barely big enough to make the

-oars move through the water.

-

-The rocky shore was adorned with groups of girls who were drying

-their hair after their morning’s dip in the sea, and dividing their

-attention between their novels, their little brothers in the boats just

-mentioned, and the approaching steamer. The water being deep close to

-the edge of the rocky coast, the pier was a very short one; and Alec

-Lindsay, looking over the edge, through the green water swirling round

-the piles of the pier, could see the pebbles on the shore twenty feet

-below.

-

-Ropes were thrown out and caught, and hawsers were dragged ashore by

-their aid. With these the steamer was made fast at stem and stern,

-gangways were run on board, and a score of passengers disembarked. In

-another minute the steamer had been cast loose and had gone on her way.

-The pier, the pleasure-boats, the girls on the rocks, the white dusty

-road, the hedges of fuchsia, had disappeared. In a quarter of an hour

-another pier had been reached where exactly the same scene presented

-itself. No town, no promenade, no large hotels--not even a row of

-public bathing-machines, or a German band.

-

-After three or four stoppages the _Chancellor_ began to get fairly into

-Loch Long. The hills on either side were not high, and were covered

-only with grass and heather; but they had, nevertheless, a certain

-quiet beauty. It seemed as if they made a world of their own, and as

-if they were contemptuously indifferent to the foolish beings who came

-among them for an hour in their impudent, puffing steamer, and were

-gone like a cloud. Right in front was one bold eminence, perhaps a

-thousand or twelve hundred feet high, which divided the waters of the

-upper part of Loch Long from those of Loch Goil on the west. Gazing

-at its weather-beaten rocks and its sketches of silent moorland, one

-could hardly help tasting that renovating draught--the sense that one

-has reached a place where man is as nothing, a sphere which is but

-nominally under his sway, where he comes and goes, but leaves behind

-him no mark upon the face of nature.

-

-Leaving this eminence upon the left, the channel became narrower, and

-the inlet seemed to be completely land-locked. In front the nearer

-hills seemed to lie one behind another, fold upon fold, while beyond

-some much loftier peaks raised their blue summits to heaven. Alec

-Lindsay never tired of gazing on them. If he turned away his eyes, it

-was that he might refresh them with a change of scene--the low green

-rock, the salt water washing the white stones under the heather on the

-hillside, the tiny rainbow in the foam of the paddle-wheels--and return

-with new desire to the sight of the everlasting hills. Strange, he

-thought to himself, as he gazed on the shadow of a cloud passing like

-a spirit over a lonely peak--strange that the sight of masses of mere

-dead earth and stone, the dullest and lowest forms of matter, should be

-able to touch us more profoundly than all the lovely sights and sweet

-sounds of the animated world!

-

-In a few miles the top of the loch was reached. The mountains, standing

-like giants ‘to sentinel enchanted land,’ rose almost from the water’s

-edge. A few cottages stood clustering together at the mouth of a defile

-which gave access to Loch Lomond on the east. One or two large houses

-(of which ‘Glendhu,’ Mr. James Lindsay’s seaside residence, was one)

-stood at intervals along the shore.

-

-Alec’s first care after landing was to provide himself with a lodging,

-as (much to his satisfaction) he was not required to live in Mr.

-Fraser’s house; and he was fortunate enough to find the accommodation

-he wanted in a cottage close to the seashore.

-

-In the afternoon he called on Mrs. Fraser, and found her a fat, florid,

-good-natured looking woman, ostentatiously dressed, and surrounded by a

-troop of her progeny.

-

-‘Come away, Mr. Lindsay,’ she said graciously, as she extended to him

-a remarkably well-developed hand and arm. ‘I’m just fairly delighted

-to see you. It will be an extraordinary pleasure to get rid of Hector

-and John Thompson, though it should be but for three hours in the

-day. You wouldn’t believe, Mr. Lindsay, what these two, not to speak

-of Douglas and Phemie--I often tell her father she should have been a

-boy--cost me in anxiety. I wonder I’m not worn to a shadow. The day

-before yesterday, now, not content with going in to bathe four times,

-they managed to drop Jamsie--that’s the one next to Douglas, Mr.

-Lindsay--over the edge of the boat, and the bairn wasn’t able to speak

-when they pulled him in again.’

-

-‘Oh, ma!’ protested the young gentleman referred to, ‘I could have got

-in again by myself, only John Thompson hit me a whack on the head with

-his oar, trying to pull me nearer the boat.’

-

-‘I don’t think it’s safe for the boys to be out in the little boat by

-themselves, without either me or their father to look after them. I

-don’t mind their being in the four-oar. What do you think, Mr. Lindsay?’

-

-‘Really, I can hardly say, Mrs. Fraser, seeing that I know nothing of

-boating. I haven’t had a chance of learning; I hope you will give me a

-lesson,’ he added, turning to his new pupils.

-

-The boys, who had been staring at Alec with a suspicious expression,

-brightened up at this; and it was arranged that the first lesson in

-boating should be given next day.

-

-On the following afternoon Alec called at Glendhu, his uncle’s house,

-to inquire whether any of the family had arrived; and was told that

-they intended to come down in about a fortnight. In the evening, as

-he looked over his newspaper, his eyes fell upon a paragraph which

-informed him that Mr. Taylor, Professor of History in the University

-of Glasgow, had died suddenly the day before. Alec was shocked and

-surprised at the news; but the thought that was uppermost in his mind

-was that in all probability he would never see Laura Mowbray again.

-Now that her uncle was dead she would go back to her friends in London;

-and in a few months she would forget him. Not until that moment had

-Alec realized how constantly the thought of this girl had been in his

-mind, how he had made her image play a part in all his dreams. And now

-it was over! The world which had seemed so fair and bright but an hour

-ago was dull and lifeless now.

-

-But the companionship of Mrs. Fraser’s boys and girls saved him from

-sinking into a foolish melancholy. He tried hard for three hours every

-day to make them learn a little Latin grammar and history, and a great

-part of every afternoon was spent in their company. They taught him

-to row and steer, and to manage a sail. But his chief delight was in

-the mountains. He was never tired of wandering among their lonely

-recesses; he loved the bare granite rocks and crags even better than

-the sheltered dell where the silver birches clustered round the rapid

-stream. He learned to know the hills from every point of view, to

-select at a glance the practicable side for an ascent; and before a

-fortnight was over he had set his foot on the top of every peak within

-walking distance of Arrochar.

-

-About three weeks after his arrival, Alec heard that his uncle and Miss

-Lindsay had come down; and one evening soon afterwards he went to see

-them.

-

-From the windows of the drawing-room at Glendhu the view was

-magnificent. Under the low garden-wall were the still, blue waters of

-the loch; and right in front ‘The Cobbler’ lifted his head against the

-glowing western sky.

-

-Alec was waiting there in silence, absorbed in the spectacle, when he

-suddenly heard a soft voice behind him.

-

-‘Mr. Lindsay!’

-

-No need for him to turn round. The tones of her voice thrilled through

-every fibre of his body.

-

-Yes; it was she, simply dressed in black, standing with a smile on her

-face, holding out her hand.

-

-‘Why don’t you speak to me? Won’t you shake hands?’

-

-‘Lau---- Miss Mowbray!’

-

-‘Certainly. Am I a ghost?’

-

-‘I thought you were far away--gone back to your friends in England.’

-

-‘No,’ said Laura tranquilly, seating herself on a couch; ‘my poor uncle

-left me as a legacy to Mr. Lindsay; and here I am. You have not even

-said you are glad to see me.’

-

-‘You know I am glad. But I was sorry to hear of your loss, and sorry to

-think of your grief.’

-

-‘Yes; it was very sad, and _so_ sudden,’ answered Laura, casting down

-her eyes. ‘And how did you come to be here?’ she asked, lifting them

-again to her companion’s face. Alec told her; and then his uncle and

-Miss Lindsay came into the room.

-

-‘So you’ve got a veesitor?’ said the old lady to Laura, as she came

-forward.

-

-‘Oh no!’ answered the girl. ‘I had no idea anyone was in the room when

-I came in; and your nephew stared at me as if I had been an apparition.’

-

-She smiled as she spoke; but Alec noticed that as soon as the elder

-lady turned away the smile suddenly faded.

-

-Nothing worth mentioning was said in the conversation that followed.

-Alec hoped that before he took his leave he would receive a general

-invitation to the house; but nothing of the kind was forthcoming. That,

-however, mattered little. Laura was here, close to him; they would

-be sure to meet; and of course he was at liberty to go to Glendhu

-occasionally. He went home to his lodgings wondering at his good

-fortune. The rosy hue had returned to the earth, and Arrochar was the

-most delightful spot on the habitable globe.

-

-The one event of the day in the village was the arrival of the steamer

-and the departure of the coach which carried passengers to Tarbert on

-Loch Lomond. It was a favourite amusement of the inhabitants to lounge

-about the landing-place on these occasions, ostensibly coming for their

-letters and newspapers, but really pleased to see new faces and make

-comments about the appearance of the tourists. Laura Mowbray generally

-found it necessary to go to the post-office about the time of the

-steamer’s arrival; and Alec was not long in turning the custom to his

-own advantage.

-

-As he was walking back with her to Glendhu one day, he noticed that she

-was rather abstracted.

-

-‘I wonder what you are thinking of, Miss Mowbray,’ he said. ‘You have

-not answered me once since we left the pier.’

-

-‘Haven’t I? I’m sure I beg your pardon.’

-

-‘See that patch of sunlight on the hill across the loch!’ cried Alec

-enthusiastically. ‘See how it brings out the rich yellow colour of the

-moss, while all the rest of the hill is in shadow.’

-

-‘You ought to have been a painter,’ said his companion.

-

-‘Don’t you think Arrochar is a perfectly _lovely_ place?’ returned Alec.

-

-‘Yes; very pretty. But it is very dull.’

-

-‘Dull?’

-

-‘Yes; there is no life--no gaiety. It is said that the English take

-their pleasures sadly; but they are gaiety itself compared with you

-Scotch. You shut yourselves up in your own houses and don’t mix with

-your neighbours at all. At least you have no amusements in which

-anyone can share. The boating, tennis, bathing, everything is done _en

-famille_. There is no fun, no mixing with the rest of the world. In an

-English watering-place people stay at hotels, or in lodgings; and if

-they tire of one place they can go to another. Then they have parties

-of all kinds, and dances at the hotels. Here everyone takes a house

-for two months, and moves down with servants, plate, linen, groceries,

-perhaps even the family piano. I only wonder they don’t bring the

-bedsteads. Having got to their houses, they stay there, and perhaps

-never see a strange face till it is time to go back to town. It’s a

-frightfully narrowing system, not to speak of the dulness of it.’

-

-‘I never thought of it before,’ said Alec. ‘I don’t care to know more

-people myself; I am never at my ease with people till I know them

-pretty well. But I am sorry if you find it dull.’

-

-‘Well, of course I couldn’t go to dances or anything of that kind

-just yet; but it is dreadfully tiresome to see no one from one day to

-another, to have no games or amusements of any kind.’

-

-‘There are always the hills, you know,’ said Alec.

-

-Laura glanced at her companion to see whether he was laughing, and

-perceiving that he was perfectly serious, she turned away her face with

-a little _moue_.

-

-‘The hills don’t amuse me; they weary me; and sometimes, when I get

-up in the night and look at them, they terrify me. Think what it

-would be to be up among those rocks on a winter’s night, with the

-snowflakes whirling around you, and the wind roaring--ugh! Let us talk

-of something else.’

-

-They did so, but there was little spirit in the conversation. Alec

-could not conceive of anyone with a heart and a pair of eyes who should

-not love these mountain-tops as he did himself. He had already endowed

-Laura with every conceivable grace, and he had taken it for granted

-that the power to appreciate mountain scenery was among her gifts.

-Here, at least, was a deficiency, a point on which his mind and hers

-were not in harmony.

-

-With feminine tact Laura saw that she had disappointed her companion in

-some way, and she easily guessed at the cause.

-

-‘I see you don’t appreciate my straightforwardness,’ she said, after

-a little pause. ‘Knowing that you have such a passion for mountain

-scenery, I ought to have pretended that I was as fond of it as you are

-yourself.’

-

-‘No, indeed.’

-

-‘That would have been polite; but it would not have been quite

-straightforward. I always say the thing that comes uppermost, you know;

-I can’t help it.’

-

-Of course she did; and of course her simple honesty was infinitely

-better than even a love of Scotch scenery. The latter would no doubt

-come with more familiar acquaintance with it. And was she not herself

-the most charming thing that the sun shone down upon that summer day?

-

-Laura knew very well that this, or something like it, was the thought

-in the lad’s mind as he bade her good-day with lingering eyes.

-Perhaps she would not have been ill pleased if he had said what he

-was thinking; but it never entered into his head to pay the girl a

-compliment: he would have fancied it an impertinence.

-

-‘What a queer, stupid boy he is!’ said Laura to herself, as she peeped

-back at him while she closed the gate behind her. ‘I can’t help

-liking him, but he is so provoking, with his enthusiastic, sentimental

-nonsense. Heigh-ho! There’s the luncheon-bell. And after that there are

-four hours to be spent somehow before dinner!’

-

-

-

-

-                              CHAPTER XI.

-

-                                A RIVAL.

-

-

-‘Hullo! Semple!’

-

-‘Hullo! Alec!’

-

-‘Didn’t expect to see _you_ here.’

-

-‘As little did I expect to see _you_.’

-

-‘When did you come?’

-

-‘Only last night; by an excursion steamer.’

-

-‘Staying with Uncle James?’

-

-‘Yes: he asked me to spend my holidays down here, and I thought I might

-as well come.’

-

-‘How long do you get?’

-

-‘Three weeks; but I may take a month.’

-

-An unreasonable jealousy of his cousin sprang up in Alec’s breast at

-that moment. Five minutes before he was perfectly satisfied with his

-lot; now, because another occupied a more favourable position than

-himself, he was miserable. He had been able to meet Laura nearly every

-day; but this fellow was to live under the same roof with her, to eat

-at the same table, to breathe the same air. To see her and talk to her

-would be his rival’s daily, hourly privilege.

-

-‘Splendid hills!’ said Semple.

-

-Alec made no reply. The scenery was too sacred a subject to be

-discussed with one like Semple.

-

-‘What do you do with yourself all day?’ asked the new-comer.

-

-‘Oh, I take a swim in the morning, give the boys their lessons from ten

-to one; then I generally take a row, or a walk, or read some Horace.’

-

-‘I should think you’d get dreadfully tired of it, after a bit. There

-are no places where they play tennis, I suppose?’

-

-‘Not that I know of.’

-

-‘I expect I shall find it rather dull.’

-

-Another jealous pang shot through Alec’s heart. Laura and his cousin

-were agreed on this point. What more natural than that they should

-amuse each other? In a day or two Semple would be on better terms

-with Laura than he was himself. Of course he would fall in love with

-her--and she?

-

-Anyone watching the course of affairs at Glendhu would have thought

-that Alec’s foreboding was in a fair way of being realized. Laura was

-very gracious to her guardian’s nephew, and overlooked in the prettiest

-manner his little vulgarities. The two were constantly together,

-and neither seemed to feel the want of a more extended circle of

-acquaintance. It was nobody’s fault, for Semple had been invited to

-Glendhu before Mr. Taylor’s death had caused Laura to become a member

-of Mr. Lindsay’s family; but Miss Lindsay determined that she would

-at least introduce another guest into the house. She wrote to Alec’s

-sister, and asked her to spend a fortnight at Loch Long.

-

-When the invitation reached the Castle Farm, Margaret’s first impulse

-was to decline it without saying anything to her father, partly out of

-shyness and a sense of the deficiencies in her wardrobe, partly because

-she could not easily at that season be spared from the farm. But when

-Mr. Lindsay asked if there was anything in her aunt’s letter, Margaret

-felt bound to mention the matter to him; and he at once insisted upon

-her going.

-

-Margaret’s advent, however, made little practical difference in the

-usual order of things at Glendhu. Mr. Semple at first offered her a

-share of his attentions; but she received them so coldly that he soon

-ceased to trouble himself about her, and devoted himself to Laura as

-before, while Margaret seemed perfectly contented with her own society

-when Miss Lindsay was not with her guests.

-

-There was little intimacy between the two girls, and the blame of this

-could not fairly be attributed to Laura.

-

-‘I am so glad you have come, Miss Lindsay,’ she had said on the

-first occasion when they were left alone together. ‘May I call you

-“Margaret”? I think it is such a perfectly lovely name.’

-

-‘Of course you may,’ said the matter-of-fact Margaret.

-

-‘And you will call me “Laura,” of course.’

-

-But Margaret avoided making any reply to this, and practically declined

-to adopt the more familiar style of address; and Laura soon returned to

-the more formal ‘Miss Lindsay.’

-

-Alec was, of course, more frequently at his uncle’s, now that his

-sister was staying there; but his visits did not afford him much

-satisfaction. With Semple he had little in common. There was a natural

-want of sympathy between the two; and besides, Semple looked down upon

-Alec as being ‘countrified,’ while Alec was disposed to hold his

-cousin in contempt for his ignorance of everything unconnected with

-the making and the sale of paraffin oil. As to Laura, he seldom had a

-chance of saying much to her; while his intercourse with his sister

-was more constrained than it had ever been before. Margaret saw quite

-plainly that as her brother was talking to her, his eyes and his heart

-were hankering after Laura Mowbray; and she felt mortified by his want

-of interest in what she said to him, though she was too proud to show

-her feeling, except by an additional coldness of manner.

-

-One evening Alec called at Glendhu, and, as usual, he found the younger

-portion of the family in the garden. Margaret was sitting by herself on

-a bench overlooking the sea, with some knitting in her hand, while the

-other two were sauntering along one of the paths at a little distance.

-Alec waited till they came up, and then he said:

-

-‘I have borrowed Mr. Fraser’s light skiff; suppose we all go for a row?

-You can row one skiff and I the other,’ he added, turning to Semple.

-

-‘Oh, delightful!’ cried Laura. ‘It is just the evening for a row. You

-will come, Miss Lindsay, won’t you?’

-

-‘I have no objections,’ said Margaret, quite indifferently.

-

-Laura turned and ran into the house for wraps, while a rather awkward

-silence fell upon the rest of the party. Semple moved away from

-Margaret almost at once, and hung about the French window, so as to be

-ready to intercept Laura as soon as she issued from the house. Alec

-felt in a manner bound to remain with his sister; and she would not

-see his evident desire to follow Semple to the house, and so have a

-chance of securing Laura for his companion. When at length the English

-girl appeared, with a dark-green plaid thrown over her shoulder, Semple

-sprang at once to her side; and, without paying the slightest attention

-to Alec or his sister, they hurried down to the water’s edge. In a few

-minutes more they had appropriated the best of the two boats (the one

-Alec had borrowed) and were floating far out on the loch.

-

-Alec could not help his disappointment appearing in his face; and his

-sister noticed and resented it.

-

-‘Don’t row at such a furious rate; you’ll snap the oars,’ she said

-tranquilly, as her brother sent the boat careering over the waves.

-

-He stopped, and tried to look pleasant, but he could not shut his ears

-to the gay laughter that came to him across the water from the other

-boat.

-

-‘They seem merry enough,’ said Alec.

-

-‘Yes,’ said Margaret spitefully. ‘Miss Mowbray seems in very good

-spirits, considering that her uncle has not been dead much more than a

-month.’

-

-‘How unjust you are!’ cried Alec hotly. ‘As if she ought to shut

-herself up, and never laugh, because her uncle died! It would be

-hypocrisy if she did.’

-

-‘There I quite agree with you,’ said Margaret, with an ill-natured

-smile.

-

-‘You mean that Laura could not be sincerely sorry?’

-

-‘I think she is very shallow and heartless,’ said Margaret, sweetly

-tranquil as ever.

-

-Alec was furious.

-

-‘You girls are all alike,’ he said with suppressed passion. ‘Either

-you are always kissing and praising one another, or running each other

-down. And the more refinement, and delicacy, and beauty another girl

-has, the more you depreciate her.’

-

-Margaret merely curled her lip contemptuously, and sat trailing her

-hand through the water, without making any reply.

-

-Nothing more was said till Alec was helping his sister out of the boat

-on their returning to land.

-

-‘Don’t let us quarrel. I am sorry if I have vexed you, Maggie,’ he said.

-

-‘I’m not vexed,’ she answered, in a not very reassuring tone, keeping

-her eyes upon the rocks at her feet.

-

-Her brother’s real offence was that he had fallen in love with Laura,

-and that she now occupied a very secondary place in his heart. And that

-she could not forgive.

-

-‘Won’t you come up to the house?’ she asked.

-

-‘No; and you can tell that cad that the next time he wants Mr. Fraser’s

-boat he had better borrow it himself.’

-

-So saying, Alec shouldered the oars and strode away.

-

-Though he had defended Laura passionately when his sister spoke her

-mind about that young lady, Alec felt that he had been badly used.

-He had certainly made the proposal to the whole party, but he had

-pointedly looked at Laura and spoken to her; and she had replied in

-the same way. There was, indeed, a tacit understanding between them at

-the moment, that she would be his partner for the evening; and it was

-chiefly from a spirit of coquetry that she had chosen to ignore it

-afterwards.

-

-But Laura showed no trace of embarrassment when she met Alec in the

-village next day.

-

-‘Why didn’t you come into the house last night?’ she said with a smile.

-

-‘I didn’t think it mattered.’

-

-‘Why are you so cross? I suppose I have managed to offend you again. I

-never saw anyone so touchy and unreasonable!’

-

-‘It doesn’t very much matter--does it?’

-

-‘Why?’

-

-‘I mean, you don’t really care whether--oh!--never mind.’

-

-‘Now, I really believe you are annoyed because I went in your cousin’s

-boat last night, instead of yours. But what could I do? I couldn’t say,

-“I prefer to go with Mr. Lindsay”--could I?’

-

-‘No; but--but you never seem to think of me at all now, Miss Mowbray.’

-

-‘Nonsense!’ answered the girl, as a pleased blush came over her face.

-‘And to prove my goodwill, I’ll tell you what I will do. I will let you

-take me for a row this evening.’

-

-‘Will you?’

-

-This was said so eagerly that Laura could not help blushing again.

-

-‘The others are going to dine at Mr. Grainger’s to-night, over at Loch

-Lomond side.’

-

-‘But I am to be with the Frasers to-night!’ exclaimed Alec in dismay.

-‘Would not to-morrow night do as well?’ Then, seeing that his companion

-did not seem to care for this change of plans, he added: ‘But I dare

-say I can manage to get away by half-past eight. That would not be too

-late, would it? It is quite light until after nine.’

-

-‘I will be in the garden, then; but I must go now,’ said Laura

-hurriedly, as she bade him good-day.

-

-The evening went by as on leaden feet with Alec Lindsay, as he talked

-to Mr. Fraser, or listened to his wife’s interminable easy-going

-complaints about her children and her servants, and tried to appear

-interested, and at his ease. He could not keep the thought of the

-coming meeting out of his mind.

-

-With rather a lame excuse he left Mr. Fraser’s house not many minutes

-after the appointed time, and very soon afterwards he was gliding under

-the garden-wall of Glendhu. For some minutes no one was visible, and

-Alec began to fear that a new disappointment was in store for him. But

-presently a figure began to move through the shadows of the trees. It

-was Laura! She stepped without a word over the loose rocks and stones;

-then, hardly touching Alec’s outstretched hand, she lightly took her

-place at the stern, and met Alec’s gaze with a smile.

-

-‘Do you know, I feel horribly guilty, and all through you,’ she said,

-as the boat moved swiftly out into the loch.

-

-‘Why should it make any difference that there is no discontented

-fellow-creature in another boat behind us?’ asked Alec gaily.

-

-Laura shook her head, but made no reply. Leaning back in the stern she

-took off her hat, and let the cool breeze blow upon her face. Alec

-thought he had never seen her look so beautiful. The delicate curves of

-her features, the peach-like complexion, the melting look in her eyes,

-made him feel as if the girl seated near him was something more than

-human.

-

-‘Don’t you think we have gone far enough?’ said Laura gently, when Alec

-had rowed some way in silence.

-

-He stopped, resting on his oars.

-

-‘How still it is--and how beautiful!’ she exclaimed in the same low

-voice.

-

-Not a sound but the faint lapping of the water on the boat fell upon

-their ears. The hills were by this time in darkness, and the stars were

-beginning to glimmer in the twilight sky. Beyond the western hills

-the sky was still bright, with a glow that seemed less that of the

-sunken sun, than some mysterious halo of the northern night. A faint

-phosphorescence lingered about the drops of sea-water upon the oars.

-Nothing but the distant lights in the cottage windows seemed to be in

-any way connected with the commonplace, everyday world.

-

-‘Hadn’t we better go back? It is really getting dark,’ said Laura, as

-gently as before; and Alec obediently dipped his oars and turned the

-bow of the boat towards Glendhu.

-

-All his life long Alec remembered that silent row in the dim, unearthly

-twilight. There was no need for words. They were sitting, as it were,

-‘on the shores of old romance,’ and tasting the dew of fairyland.

-That hidden land was for this short hour revealed to them; they were

-breathing the enchanted air.

-

-It was almost dark when Alec shipped his oars and drew the boat along

-the rocks outside the garden-wall.

-

-‘How dreadfully late it is! I hope they have not come back,’ said

-Laura, as she rose to go ashore.

-

-Alec took her hand, so small and white, with the tiny blue veins

-crossing it, in his own rough brown fingers, and when he had helped the

-girl ashore he stooped and kissed it.

-

-A moment afterwards, a soft ‘good-night’ from the garden assured him

-that the act of homage had not been taken amiss. If he had lingered a

-minute or two longer he would have heard Miss Lindsay’s voice calling

-out in some anxiety, and Laura Mowbray’s silvery accents replying:

-

-‘Yes; here I am, Miss Lindsay--it is so much cooler out of doors. My

-headache is almost quite gone, thank you; the cool sea-breeze has

-driven it away. How did you enjoy your party? How I wish I could have

-gone with you!’

-

-But before Laura reached the house, Alec was once more far out in the

-loch. He wished to be alone, to indulge the sweet intoxication which

-was burning in his veins.

-

-When at last he returned to his little room he found a letter awaiting

-him which had been sent on from home. The address was in an unfamiliar

-handwriting, and breaking the seal he read as follows:

-

-

-                                       ‘CAEN LODGE, HIGHGATE, N.,

-                                           ‘_July 10, 187-_.

-

-          ‘MY DEAR LINDSAY,

-

-     ‘You will be surprised to hear that you may see me the day

-     after this reaches you. I want to see how your beautiful

-     river scenery looks in this glorious summer weather. If it

-     is not convenient for me to stay at the farm, I can easily

-     find quarters elsewhere.

-

-                             ‘Ever yours,

-                                   ‘HUBERT BLAKE.’

-

-As Alec foresaw, when he read this note, Blake found existence at the

-Castle Farm with the sole companionship of Mr. Lindsay to be quite

-impracticable; and next day he arrived at Arrochar and took up his

-quarters in the little inn at the head of the pier.

-

-

-

-

-                              CHAPTER XII.

-

-                     ‘YOU MUST GIVE ME AN ANSWER.’

-

-

-Margaret Lindsay, not the scenery of the Nethan, was the real

-attraction which drew Hubert Blake to the north. He was not in

-love with her; certainly, at least, he felt for her nothing of the

-rapturous passion which Alec felt for Laura Mowbray. But he admired

-her immensely. He undertook the long journey from London that he might

-feast his eyes on her beauty once more; and when he found that she was

-at Arrochar he straightway betook himself thither.

-

-Blake was by this time a man nearer forty than thirty years of age,

-who was still without an aim in life. He had an income which rendered

-it unnecessary for him to devote himself to the ordinary aim of an

-Englishman--the making of money; and to set himself to charm sovereigns

-which he did not need out of the pockets of his fellow-creatures into

-his own, for the mere love of gold or of luxury, was an idea which he

-would have despised as heartily as Alec Lindsay himself would have

-done. Blake had also great contempt for the brassy self-importance and

-self-conceit which is the most useful of all attributes for one who

-means to get on in the world. He looked at men struggling for political

-or social distinction, as he might have gazed at a crowd of lunatics

-fighting for a tinsel crown. ‘And after all,’ he would say to himself,

-‘if I am idle, my idleness hurts no one but myself. At least, I do not

-trample down my fellow-men on my journey through life.’

-

-He was not satisfied; but he was not energetic enough to find a career

-in which he could turn his talents and his money to good advantage. He

-was a great lover of nature, and he had a wide and tolerant sympathy

-for his fellow-men. The one thing he loved in the world was art.

-

-It was not long, of course, before he was a member of the little circle

-at Glendhu, and he looked on at the little comedy that was being played

-there with good-natured amusement. Laura Mowbray soon discovered that

-the stranger was insensible to her charms, that he quite understood her

-little allurements, and regarded them with a good-humoured smile. He

-saw quite plainly that she was enjoying a double triumph; and on the

-whole he thought that though she devoted by far the greater part of her

-time to Semple, she had a secret preference for his friend Alec. He

-spent most of his time in making sketches of the surrounding scenery;

-and though he was not an enthusiastic climber, Alec was often able to

-persuade him to accompany him to some of the loftier peaks.

-

-One day before Margaret’s visit came to an end, Alec proposed that

-the whole party--that is, Blake, Laura Mowbray, his sister, Semple,

-and himself--should make an ascent of ‘The Cobbler.’ He described the

-view which was to be obtained from the top of the mountain in terms

-which fired even Laura’s enthusiasm; and the ascent was fixed for the

-following forenoon.

-

-The morning was rather cloudy, but not sufficiently so to make the

-party abandon the expedition, especially as Alec pointed out that they

-would find it much easier to climb than they would have done if the day

-had been one of brilliant sunshine. They rowed over to the foot of the

-hill, so as to save walking round the head of the loch; and were soon

-in a wilderness of heather and wild juniper.

-

-The ascent, they found, though by no means difficult, was long and

-tiresome. The girls, indeed, if they had consulted merely their own

-inclination, would have turned back at the end of the first hour; but

-it never occurred to Margaret to give way to her feeling of fatigue,

-and Laura was too proud to be the first to complain.

-

-Everyone was glad, however, when Blake proposed a halt about half-way

-up. They threw themselves down on the heather, and tasted the delicious

-sense of rest to strained muscles and panting lungs.

-

-‘I am afraid this is rather too much for you,’ said Alec to Laura,

-noticing her look of weariness.

-

-‘Oh, I shall get on after I have rested,’ she replied; ‘but it is so

-tiresome to imagine, every now and then, that the crest before you is

-the top of the hill, and to find when you arrive there that the real

-summit seems farther off than ever.’

-

-‘The finest views are always to be had half-way up a mountain,’ said

-Blake. ‘How much we can see from this knoll! There is Loch Lomond, Ben

-Lomond, Ben Venue, and I don’t know how many Bens besides--a perfect

-crowd of them. Then we can see right down the loch and out into the

-frith. Let us be content with what we have. Miss Mowbray and your

-sister would prefer, I think, to wait here with me, Alec, while you and

-your cousin get to the top and back again.’

-

-But this proposal was not entertained; and in a quarter of an hour the

-whole party were on foot once more.

-

-Up to this point Semple had succeeded in monopolizing the society

-of Laura; but he had found that to guide the steps of a delicately

-nurtured girl over a rough Scotch mountain, and help her whenever she

-came to a steep place, was no light labour. For the rest of the climb

-he was content to leave her a good deal to Alec, while it fell to

-Blake’s lot to look after Margaret.

-

-One after another the ridges were overcome, the prospect widening with

-every step, till the last grassy knoll was surmounted, and the bare

-rocky peak stood full in view at a little distance. It was, indeed, so

-steep that Laura was secretly terrified, and had to be hauled up for a

-good part of the way.

-

-An involuntary cry burst from the lips of each, as one by one they set

-foot upon the windy summit. Far away, as it were upon the limits of

-the world, the sun was shining on a sea of gold. The two peaks of Jura

-lifted up their heads, illumined by the radiance. All around them was a

-billowy sea of mountain-tops--Ben Crois, Ben Ime, Ben Donich, Ben Vane,

-Ben Voirlich, and a hundred more, with many a lonely tarn, and many a

-glen without a name. At their feet lay the black waters of the lochs;

-and far in the south were the rugged hills of Arran.

-

-‘Look!’ cried Laura, ‘the steamer is no bigger than a toy-boat; and the

-road is like a thin white thread drawn across the moor!’

-

-‘Come here,’ said Alec to Blake with a laugh, beckoning as he spoke.

-

-Blake followed him, and found that on one side, where there was a sheer

-descent of many hundred feet, a rock, which was pierced with a natural

-archway, jutted out from the body of the mountain.

-

-‘This is the “needle-eye,”’ said Alec, ‘and everybody who comes up here

-is expected to go through it.’

-

-‘Nonsense! Why, man, a false step there would mean----’

-

-‘There’s not the slightest danger, if you have a good head. I have been

-through twice already,’ returned Alec, as he disappeared behind the

-rock.

-

-A cry from Laura told Blake that she had witnessed the danger.

-Margaret, whose cheek had suddenly grown pale, gripped her tightly by

-the arm.

-

-‘Don’t speak,’ she said hoarsely; ‘it may make his foot slip.’

-

-In a minute he reappeared, having passed through the crevice.

-

-‘Alec, you shouldn’t do a thing like that; it’s a sin to risk your life

-for nothing,’ said Margaret, in a tone of cold displeasure.

-

-‘There’s not the slightest danger in it,’ protested Alec.

-

-‘None whatever,’ echoed Semple; but he did not think it necessary to

-prove the truth of his opinion.

-

-‘I think we ought to be off,’ said Alec; ‘there’s a cloud coming right

-upon us; and if we don’t make haste we shall have to stay here till it

-passes.’

-

-His meaning was not quite plain to his companions; but they soon saw

-the force of his remark. They had accomplished but a small part of the

-descent when they found themselves suddenly in the midst of a cold,

-thick, white vapour. It was not safe to go on, so the little company

-crouched together under a boulder, and watched the great wreaths of

-mist moving in the stillness from crag to crag.

-

-As soon as the mist got a little thinner, they recommenced the descent,

-for their position was not a very pleasant one. Semple was in front,

-while Blake and Margaret followed, and Alec and Laura brought up the

-rear, when it happened that they came to an unusually steep part of the

-hillside which they thought it best to cross in a slanting direction.

-The soil was of loose, crumbling stone, with here and there a narrow

-patch of short, dry grass, and, at intervals, narrow beds or courses of

-loose stones. A short distance below there was an unbroken precipice of

-at least five hundred feet.

-

-Alec was helping Laura across one of those narrow beds of stones, the

-others being some little way in advance, when they were startled by

-a deep rumbling noise, and a tremulous motion under their feet. The

-whole layer of stones, loosened by the rain and frost, was sliding

-down towards the precipice! With a cry Alec hurried his companion on;

-but her trembling feet could hardly support her. The movement of the

-stones, slow at first, was becoming faster every moment; and Alec’s

-only hope lay in crossing them before they were carried down to the

-edge of the cliff. For a minute it seemed doubtful whether they would

-be able to cross in time; but Alec succeeded in struggling, along with

-his half-fainting companion, to the edge of the sliding stones, and

-placed her, just in time, upon a sloping but solid bank of earth.

-

-In a few minutes more the stones had swept past them, and had

-disappeared over the cliff.

-

-But the position which Alec had reached was hardly less dangerous than

-the one they had escaped from. Behind them was a deep chasm which the

-treacherous stones had left. In front the mountain rose at a terrible

-slope. Alec scanned it closely, and it seemed to him that though he

-might have scaled it at a considerable risk, it was quite impracticable

-for Laura without help from above. If he were to make the attempt, and

-fall, he knew he would infallibly dash her as well as himself over the

-precipice.

-

-Some feet above their heads there was a ledge of rock from which it

-might be possible to assist them; but where were Blake and the others?

-They were out of sight, and the sound of Alec’s shouts, cut off by the

-rocks above, could not reach them. Worst of all, the mist seemed to be

-closing upon them more thickly than ever.

-

-The question was, Could they maintain their position till help could

-reach them? Soon it became evident that they could not. The ledge of

-grass-covered rock on which they stood was so narrow that they could

-not even sit down; and it was plain that Laura could not stand much

-longer.

-

-There was only one way of escape. Eight or ten feet below was a shelf

-of rock, frightfully narrow, and, what was worse, sloping downwards and

-covered with slippery dry grass. But Alec saw that if he could reach

-it, he could make his way round to the top of the rock, and then he

-could stretch down his hand so as to help Laura up the steep.

-

-‘Oh, Mr. Lindsay, what _shall_ we do?’ cried Laura, turning to Alec her

-white, despairing face. ‘Oh, look down there! What a dreadful death!’

-

-‘Death! Nonsense! There is no danger--not much, at least. See, now, I

-am going to drop down on that bit of grassy rock, and climb round to

-the top. Then I’ll be able to help you up.’

-

-‘But I could never climb up there! I should fall, and be killed in a

-moment!’

-

-‘Not a bit, if you have hold of my hand.’

-

-‘But you won’t leave me?’ cried Laura, clutching Alec by the arm as she

-spoke; ‘you won’t leave me all alone in this dreadful place?’

-

-‘Only for a minute.’

-

-‘But I can’t stand any longer.’

-

-‘Yes, you can. Turn your face to the rock, and lean against it. Don’t

-look downwards on any account.’

-

-And with these words Alec slipped off his shoes, slung them round his

-neck, and let himself hang over the cliff. It was an awful moment,

-and for a second or two the lad’s courage failed him. But it was only

-for an instant. Setting his teeth hard, he let go, and dropped upon

-the little shelf beneath. His feet slid; but he clung to the rock and

-just saved himself from slipping over the precipice. Then, with great

-exertion, he managed to climb round where the ascent was not quite

-so steep, and gained the ledge above that on which he had left his

-companion.

-

-‘All right!’ he cried cheerily, looking over the ledge; and, lying

-down, he grasped the rock with one hand, and stretched the other

-downwards as far as he could.

-

-But by this time Laura was almost paralyzed with terror.

-

-‘I can’t--I can’t move!’ she exclaimed in a voice of agony, while her

-eyes wandered as if seeking the abyss she dreaded.

-

-Alec stretched himself downwards till he could almost touch her hat,

-while the beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead.

-

-‘Give me your hand at once!’ he shouted imperiously.

-

-Almost mechanically the girl put her hand in his, and the firm clasp

-immediately made her more calm.

-

-‘Now put your foot on that tuft of grass at your knee. Don’t be afraid.

-I tell you, you _can’t_ fall, if you do as I bid you!’

-

-Laura felt as if her arm were being pulled out of its socket; but she

-obeyed, and in another moment she was in safety.

-

-Then came a flood of hysterical tears.

-

-‘Oh, how cruel you are! Why did you ever bring me to this horrible

-place? Where are the others? What will become of us? Don’t leave me;

-take me back! Oh, take me back!’ And she clung to her companion as if

-she were still in danger of her life.

-

-Alec soothed and encouraged her as well as he was able; and by hurrying

-forward they managed in half an hour to overtake the rest of the party.

-

-‘What in the world have you been about?’ cried Semple. ‘We began

-to think you had lost your way in the mist, or had tumbled over a

-precipice.’

-

-‘So we did, very nearly,’ said Laura; and Margaret, seeing that the

-girl was pale and trembling, went up to her, threw her arms round her,

-and promised not to leave her till they were safe at Glendhu.

-

-‘You needn’t have taken _her_ into danger,’ growled Semple.

-

-‘I did nothing of the kind,’ said Alec angrily. Then he bit his lip,

-and vouchsafed no further explanation.

-

-Without further accident they reached the foot of the mountain, and

-half an hour later landed at Glendhu.

-

-Laura had not quite recovered from her fright on the following morning,

-when an extremely welcome piece of news restored her to her usual

-spirits. Mr. Lindsay had suddenly determined to transfer himself

-and his family to Paris; and Laura was overjoyed. When Alec called,

-therefore, in the afternoon, to ask how she was, he found her in the

-garden, dreaming of the coming pleasure, and in high good-humour.

-

-‘You know, I was so dreadfully sorry for that accident,’ said Alec.

-‘I almost felt as if I had been to blame. But I couldn’t help the

-landslip, could I?’

-

-‘Oh, of course not. And you must forget all the foolish things I said

-when I was in that terrible place. How brave you were! I am sure I owe

-you my life.’

-

-‘Next time we go a-climbing, we shan’t go where there are any

-precipices,’ said Alec.

-

-‘But we can’t go climbing any more,’ said Laura, with visible

-satisfaction. ‘Haven’t you heard? We are all to set out for Paris the

-day after to-morrow.’

-

-‘For Paris!’

-

-‘Yes; and perhaps, after that, we may go to Italy. Isn’t it splendid?’

-

-‘Very--for you. But----’

-

-He stopped, almost frightened at the audacious thought that had come

-into his mind. His pulses leaped, his heart throbbed, and his cheek

-grew pale.

-

-Laura looked at him curiously.

-

-‘“But”--what?’ she asked.

-

-‘But it will be very lonely for me. Life does not seem worth living

-when you are not near me.’ And then, hardly knowing what he said, he

-poured out the story of his love. He seized her hands, as they lay idly

-in her lap, and seemed unconscious of the efforts she made to withdraw

-them. He gazed into her face, and repeated his words with passionate

-earnestness, again and again:--‘I love you, Laura; I love you; I love

-you!’

-

-Laura threw a glance around, to make sure that no one was in sight; and

-then, slipping her hands away, she covered with them her blushing face.

-When she looked up, she met Alec’s passionate gaze with a smile.

-

-‘Oh, hush! hush!’ she said. ‘Why do you speak so wildly?’

-

-‘Because I love you.’

-

-‘But we are far too young to think of such things. I don’t mean to get

-married for--oh! ever such a long time. And you--you have to take your

-degree, and choose a profession. We will forget all this, and we shall

-be friends still, just as before.’

-

-‘It can never be just as before,’ said Alec.

-

-‘Why not?’

-

-‘It is impossible. But you won’t refuse me, Laura?’ he pleaded. ‘If you

-only knew how much I love you! Don’t you love me a little in return?

-Sometimes I can’t help thinking you do.’

-

-‘Then all I can say is, you have a very strong imagination.’

-

-‘You don’t?’ cried Alec despairingly.

-

-Laura shook her head, but smiled at the same time.

-

-‘You must give me an answer,’ said Alec, rising to his feet. He was

-dreadfully in earnest.

-

-‘And I say that at your age and mine it is ridiculous to talk of such

-things.’

-

-‘Nonsense! We are not too young to love each other. _Can_ you love me,

-Laura? What you have said is no answer at all.’

-

-‘I’m afraid it’s the only answer I can give you,’ said Laura, with a

-saucy smile, rising in her turn, and gliding past her companion. ‘Don’t

-be absurd; and don’t be unkind or disagreeable when we meet again,

-after we come back from our tour. Good-bye.’

-

-He stood, looking after her, without saying another word. And she,

-turning when she reached the French window, and seeing him still

-standing there, waved her hand to bid him adieu, before she disappeared.

-

-

-

-

-                            END OF VOL. I.

-

-

-                 BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD.

-

-

-

-

-Transcriber’s Note:

-

-This book was written in a period when many words had not become

-standardized in their spelling. Words may have multiple spelling

-variations or inconsistent hyphenation in the text. These have been

-left unchanged. Dialect, obsolete and alternative spellings were left

-unchanged. Misspelled words were not corrected.

-

-Words and phrases in italics are surrounded by underscores, _like

-this_. Those in bold are surrounded by equal signs, =like this=.

-Footnotes were renumbered sequentially and were moved to the end

-of the chapter. Obvious printing errors, such as backwards, upside

-down, extraneous, or partially printed letters and punctuation,

-were corrected. Final stops missing at the end of sentences and

-abbreviations were added.

-

-

-

-

-

+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LINDSAYS, VOLUME 1 (OF 3) ***
+
+
+
+                             THE LINDSAYS.
+
+
+
+
+   +--------------------------------------------------------------+
+   |                 NEW NOVELS AT EVERY LIBRARY.                 |
+   |                                                              |
+   |                                                              |
+   | =KING OR KNAVE?= By R. E. FRANCILLON. 3 vols.                |
+   |                                                              |
+   | =EVERY INCH A SOLDIER.= By M. J. COLQUHOUN. 3 vols.          |
+   |                                                              |
+   | =THE PASSENGER FROM SCOTLAND YARD.= By H. F. WOOD. 1 vol.    |
+   |                                                              |
+   | =THE HEIR OF LINNE.= By ROBERT BUCHANAN. 1 vol.              |
+   |                                                              |
+   | =IN EXCHANGE FOR A SOUL.= By MARY LINSKILL. 3 vols.          |
+   |                                                              |
+   | =SETH’S BROTHER’S WIFE.= By HAROLD FREDERIC. 2 vols.         |
+   |                                                              |
+   | =PINE AND PALM.= By MONCURE D. CONWAY. 2 vols.               |
+   |                                                              |
+   | =ONE TRAVELLER RETURNS.= By D. CHRISTIE MURRAY and HENRY     |
+   |                        HERMAN. 1 vol.                        |
+   |                                                              |
+   | =OLD BLAZER’S HERO.= By D. CHRISTIE MURRAY. 1 vol.           |
+   |                                                              |
+   | =A PHYLLIS OF THE SIERRAS, etc.= By BRET HARTE. 1 vol.       |
+   |                                                              |
+   | =THE DEEMSTER.= By HALL CAINE. 1 vol.                        |
+   |                                                              |
+   | =RED SPIDER.= By the Author of ‘Mehalah.’ 1 vol.             |
+   |                                                              |
+   | =PASTON CAREW.= By E. LYNN LINTON. 1 vol.                    |
+   |                                                              |
+   | =A ROMANCE OF THE QUEEN’S HOUNDS.= By CHARLES JAMES. 1 vol.  |
+   |                                                              |
+   |                                                              |
+   |             LONDON: CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY.             |
+   +--------------------------------------------------------------+
+
+
+
+
+                              THE LINDSAYS
+
+                       A Romance of Scottish Life
+
+
+
+
+                                   BY
+
+                              JOHN K. LEYS
+
+                        [Illustration: colophon]
+
+                            IN THREE VOLUMES
+
+                                VOL. I.
+
+
+
+
+                                 London
+
+                     CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY
+
+                                  1888
+
+                [_The right of translation is reserved_]
+
+
+
+
+                          CONTENTS OF VOL. I.
+
+
+             CHAPTER                                PAGE
+
+                I. THE FIRST LETTER                    1
+
+               II. THE SECOND LETTER                  15
+
+              III. THE THIRD LETTER                   37
+
+               IV. THE FOURTH LETTER                  57
+
+                V. THE SHIP SETS SAIL                 80
+
+               VI. A NEW EXPERIENCE                  106
+
+              VII. A SUNDAY IN GLASGOW               126
+
+             VIII. THE ROARING GAME                  146
+
+               IX. THE END OF THE SESSION            173
+
+                X. ARROCHAR                          193
+
+               XI. A RIVAL                           215
+
+              XII. ‘YOU MUST GIVE ME AN ANSWER’      232
+
+
+
+
+                             THE LINDSAYS.
+
+
+
+
+                       _PROLOGUE.--FOUR LETTERS._
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER I.
+
+                           THE FIRST LETTER.
+
+                   _Hubert Blake to Sophy Meredith._
+
+
+                               THE CASTLE FARM, MUIRBURN,
+                                    KYLESHIRE, N.B., _Sept. 12, 187-_.
+
+     MY DEAR SOPHY,
+
+I only arrived here last night, so you see I am losing no time in
+redeeming my promise. I can hardly tell you what I think of my new
+cousins; they are not to be known in a day, I can see that much. As for
+the country and its inhabitants generally--well, they are as different
+from an English county and English country-folks as if they were in
+different continents, and that is all I can say at present.
+
+I left the railway at a tiny station called Kilmartin, and found ‘the
+coach’ waiting in the station yard. It was not a coach, but a queer
+dumpy omnibus, about two-thirds of the size of a London ’bus, with
+three big, raw-boned horses harnessed to it. I was lucky enough to get
+a seat in front beside the driver. It was just a little before sunset;
+and I wish I could put before you in words the freshness of the scene.
+We were ascending a rising ground in a very leisurely fashion. On
+either side of the road was a steep bank thickly clothed with crowsfoot
+and wild thyme. Above us on either side stretched a belt of Scotch
+firs. The sunset rays shone red on the trunks of the pines, and here
+and there one could catch through them a sight of the ruddy west,
+showing like a great painted window in a cathedral. The air was soft,
+and laden with the sweet smell of the firs, and yet it was cool and
+exhilarating.
+
+As soon as we got to the top of the ridge we began to rattle down the
+other side at a great rate. It was really very pleasant, and thinking
+to conciliate the weather-beaten coachman at my side, I confided to
+him my opinion that of all species of travelling coaching was the most
+delightful.
+
+‘Specially on a winter’s nicht, wi’ yer feet twa lumps o’ ice, an’ a
+wee burn o’ snaw-watter runnin’ doon the nape o’ yer neck!’ responded
+the Scotch Jehu.
+
+I laughed, and glanced at the man sitting on my right, a big,
+brown-faced, gray-haired farmer, in a suit of heavy tweeds, who sat
+leaning his two hands on the top of an enormous stick. He was smiling
+grimly to himself, as if he enjoyed the stranger being set down.
+
+‘Fine country,’ I remarked, by way of conciliating _him_.
+
+‘Ay,’ said he, with a glance at the horizon out of the sides of his
+eyes, but without moving a muscle of his face.
+
+‘And a very fine evening,’ I persisted.
+
+‘Ay--micht be waur.’
+
+Upon this I gave it up, lighted a cigar, and set myself to study the
+landscape. We had got to a considerable elevation above the sea-level;
+and in spite of the glorious evening and the autumn colours just
+beginning to appear in the hedges, the country had a dreary look.
+Imagine one great stretch of pasture barely reclaimed from moorland,
+with the heather and stony ground cropping up every here and there,
+divided into fields, not by generous spreading hedgerows, but by low
+walls of blue stone, built without mortar. The only wood to be seen
+was narrow belts of firs, planted here and there behind a farmhouse,
+or between two fields, and somehow their long bare stems and heavy
+mournful foliage did not add to the brightness of the scene, though
+they gave it a character of its own. But the country is not all moor
+and pasture. It is broken every now and then by long, deep, winding
+ravines, clothed with the larch and the mountain ash, each one the
+home of a bright brawling stream.
+
+We had travelled for half an hour in silence, when the farmer suddenly
+spoke.
+
+‘Ye’ll be frae the sooth, I’m thinkin’.’
+
+He was not looking at me, but contemplating the road in front of us
+from under a pair of the bushiest eyebrows I ever saw. For a moment
+I thought of repaying his bad manners by giving him no answer, but
+thinking better of it I said ‘Ay,’ after the manner of the country.
+
+‘Ye’ll no hae mony beasts like they in England, I fancy,’ said he.
+
+We were passing some Ayrshire cows at the time, small, but splendid
+animals of their kind; and I soothed the old man’s feelings by
+admitting the fact.
+
+‘Are ye traivellin’ faur?’ he asked.
+
+‘Not much farther, I believe.’
+
+‘Ye’re no an agent, are ye?’
+
+‘No,’ I answered.
+
+‘Nor a factor?’
+
+‘No.’
+
+(He was evidently puzzled to make out what an Englishman was about in
+his country, and I determined not to gratify his curiosity.)
+
+‘Ye’ll maybe be the doctor?’
+
+‘No.’
+
+‘Sharely ye’re no the new minister?’ he exclaimed with an expression of
+unfeigned alarm.
+
+I calmed his fears, and again we proceeded on our way in silence.
+
+When we had gone perhaps some seven or eight miles from the railway
+station, I noticed a stout dog-cart standing at the corner of a
+by-road, under a tall, straggling thorn hedge. The youth who was seated
+in it made a sign to the coachman to stop, and I was made aware that
+the dog-cart had been sent for me. I got down, and as I bade good-night
+to the cross-questioning farmer, I observed a grim smile of triumph on
+his firmly compressed lips. He evidently knew the dog-cart, and would
+now be able to trace the mysterious stranger.
+
+I and my portmanteau were finally left on the side of the road, and
+the young man in the dog-cart civilly turned the vehicle round (with
+some difficulty on account of the narrow road), and drew up beside me,
+to save my carrying my luggage a dozen yards. At first I was a little
+uncertain whether I had one of my third (or fourth, which is it?)
+cousins before me, or simply a young man from Mr. Lindsay’s farm. He
+was dressed in very coarse tweeds, and his hands were rough, and spoke
+of manual labour, and he breathed the incense of the farm-yard; but I
+thought his finely-cut features and sensitive lips bespoke him to be of
+gentle blood, and, luckily, I made a hit in the right direction.
+
+‘You are one of Mr. Lindsay’s sons, I think--that is to say, one of my
+cousins,’ I said, as I shook hands with him.
+
+The youth’s face lighted up with a blush and a pleasant smile as he
+answered that he was, and held open the apron of the dog-cart for me to
+get in. In another moment we were off, the sturdy old mare between the
+shafts carrying us along at a very fair pace.
+
+There are some people, Sophy, who wear their characters written on
+their faces, and Alec Lindsay is one of them. I could see, even as
+we drove together along that solitary lane in the autumn twilight,
+that his was a frank, ingenuous nature, shy, sensitive, and reserved.
+I mean that his shyness made him reserved, but his thoughts and
+feelings showed themselves in his face without his knowing it, so
+little idea had he of purposely concealing himself. Such a face is
+always interesting; and besides, there was an under-expression of
+dissatisfaction, of unrest, I hardly know what to call it, in his eyes,
+which was scarcely natural in so young a lad. He could not be more than
+eighteen or nineteen.
+
+After half an hour’s drive we approached the little town, or
+village--it is rather too large for a village, and much too small to
+be called a town--of Muirburn. It consists of one long double row
+of two-storied houses built of stone and whitewashed, with one or
+two short cross streets at intervals. The houses had not a scrap of
+garden in front of them, nothing but a broad footpath, the playground
+of troops of children. The lower part of these dwellings had a bare,
+deserted appearance, but I found that they were used in almost every
+case as workrooms, being fitted up with looms. In one or two of the
+windows a light twinkled, and we could hear the noise of the shuttle as
+we passed.
+
+In the middle of the village stood a large square building, whitewashed
+all over, and provided with two rows of small square windows, placed at
+regular intervals, one above and one below.
+
+‘What is that building?’ I asked.
+
+‘The Free Church,’ answered my companion, with a touch of pride.
+
+A church! Why, it was hardly fit to be a school-house. A mean iron
+railing, which had been painted at some remote epoch, alone protected
+it from the street. It was the very embodiment of ugliness; its sole
+ornament being a stove-pipe which protruded from one corner of the
+roof. Never, in all my life, whether among Hindoos, Mahometans, or
+Irish peasants, had I seen so supremely ugly an edifice dedicated to
+the service of the Almighty.
+
+‘That’s the United Presbyterian one,’ said Alec, pointing with his whip
+to a building on the other side of the street, similar to the one we
+had just passed, but of less hideous aspect. It was smaller, and it
+could boast a front of hewn stone, and neat latticed windows, while a
+narrow belt of greensward fenced it off from the road.
+
+Just then we passed a knot of men, perhaps ten or a dozen, standing at
+the corner of one of the side streets. All had their hands in their
+pockets, all were in their shirt-sleeves, and all wore long white
+aprons. They were doing nothing whatever--not talking, nor laughing,
+nor quarrelling, but simply looking down the street. At present our
+humble equipage was evidently an object of supreme interest to them.
+
+‘What are these men doing there?’ I asked.
+
+‘They’re weavers,’ answered Alec, as if the fact contained a reason in
+itself for their conduct. ‘They always stand there when they are not
+working, in all weathers, wet and dry; it’s their chief diversion.’
+
+‘Diversion!’ I repeated; but at that moment the sweet tinkle of a
+church-bell fell upon my ears. I almost expected to see the people
+cross themselves, it sounded so much like the Angelus. It is the
+custom, I find, to ring the bell of the parish church at six in the
+morning and eight in the evening, though there is no service, and no
+apparent need for the ceremony. I wonder if it can be really a survival
+of the Vesper-bell?
+
+The bell was still ringing as we passed the church that possessed it.
+This was ‘the Established Church,’ my companion informed me--a building
+larger than either of its competitors, and boasting a belfry.
+
+‘What does a small town like this want with so many chapels?’ I asked
+my cousin.
+
+I could see that I had displeased him, whether by speaking of Muirburn
+as a small town, or by inadvertently calling the ‘churches’ chapels, I
+was not sure. As he hesitated for an answer I hastened to add:
+
+‘You are all of the same religion--substantially, I mean?’
+
+‘Well, yes.’
+
+‘Then why don’t you club together and have one handsome place of
+worship instead of three very--well, plain buildings?’
+
+‘What?’ exclaimed Alec, and then he burst into a roar of laughter.
+‘That’s a good joke,’ said he, as if I had said something superlatively
+witty; ‘but I say,’ he continued, with a serious look in his bonny blue
+eyes, ‘you’d better not say anything of that kind to my father.’
+
+‘Why not?’ I asked, but Alec did not answer me.
+
+His attention was attracted by a child which was playing in the road,
+right in front of us. He called out, but the little one did not seem to
+hear him, and he slackened the mare’s pace almost to a walk. We were
+just approaching the last of the side streets, and at that moment a
+gig, drawn by a powerful bay horse, appeared coming rapidly round the
+corner. It was evident that there must be a collision, though, owing to
+Alec’s having slackened his pace so much, it could not be a serious one.
+
+But the child? Before I could cry out, before I could think, Alec was
+out of the trap and snatching the little boy from under the horse’s
+very nose. I never saw a narrower escape; how he was not struck down
+himself, I cannot imagine.
+
+The next moment the gig, which had brushed against our vehicle without
+doing it much damage, had disappeared down the road; and a woman, clad
+in a short linsey petticoat and a wide sleeveless bodice of printed
+cotton, had rushed out of the opposite house and was roundly abusing
+Alec for having nearly killed her child. Without paying much attention
+to her, Alec walked round to the other side of the dog-cart to see what
+damage had been done, and muttering to himself, ‘I’m thankful it’s no
+worse,’ he climbed back into his place, and we resumed our journey,
+while the young Caledonian was acknowledging sundry tender marks of his
+mother’s affection with screams like those of a locomotive.
+
+Another half-hour’s drive brought us to a five-barred gate which
+admitted us to a narrow and particularly rough lane. We jolted on for
+a few minutes, and then the loud barking of several dogs announced
+that we had arrived at the farm. But I must keep my description of
+its inhabitants for my next epistle. I am too sleepy to write more.
+Good-night.
+
+                       Your affectionate cousin,
+                                         HUBERT BLAKE.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER II.
+
+                           THE SECOND LETTER.
+
+                   _Hubert Blake to Sophy Meredith._
+
+
+                                    THE CASTLE FARM, MUIRBURN, N.B.
+                                             _September 15._
+
+     DEAR SOPHY,
+
+I think I shall like this place, and shall probably stay till the
+beginning of winter. I have begun a large picture of a really beautiful
+spot which I found close by two days ago, and I should like to see
+my painting well on to completion before I return, lest I should be
+tempted to leave it unfinished, like so many others, when I get back to
+town.
+
+I had a very hospitable welcome from Mr. Lindsay on the night I
+arrived. He met me at the door--a tall, broad-shouldered, upright man,
+perhaps sixty years of age, with the regular Scotch type of features,
+large nose, and high cheek-bones. I could see, even at first, that he
+is the sort of man it would not be pleasant to quarrel with.
+
+He led me into a wide passage, and thence into a large low-roofed
+kitchen with a stone floor. Here there were seated two or three men and
+as many women, whom I took to be farm-servants. There was no light in
+the place, except that which came from a bit of ‘cannel’ coal, stuck in
+the peat fire. The women were knitting; the men were doing nothing. No
+one took the trouble of rising as we passed, except one of the young
+men who went to look after the mare.
+
+After crossing the kitchen we passed through a narrow passage, and
+entered a pleasant and good-sized room in which a large coal fire and a
+moderator lamp were burning.
+
+Did you ever see a perfectly beautiful woman, Sophy? I doubt it. I
+never did till I saw Margaret Lindsay. I was so astonished to see
+a lady at the Castle Farm that I positively stared at the girl
+for a moment, but she came forward and shook hands with the utmost
+self-possession.
+
+‘I’m afraid you have had a cold drive, Mr. Blake,’ she said; and though
+she spoke in a very decidedly Scotch accent, the words did not sound so
+harshly from her lips as they had done when spoken by her father. For
+the first time I thought that the Doric might have an agreeable sound.
+
+I will try to tell you what Margaret is like. She must be nearly twenty
+years of age, for she is evidently older than her brother, but her
+complexion is that of a girl of sixteen, by far the finest and softest
+I ever saw. She is tall, but not too tall for elegance. Her eyes are
+brown, like her father’s, and her hair is a dark chestnut. Her features
+are simply perfect--low forehead, beautifully moulded eyebrows, short
+upper lip--you can imagine the rest. You will say that my description
+would fit a marble bust nearly as well as a girl of nineteen, and
+your criticism would be just. Margaret’s face is rather wanting in
+expression. It is calm, reserved, not to say hard. But her deliberate
+almost proud manner suits her admirably.
+
+I can see you smiling to yourself, and saying that you understand now
+my anxiety to get my picture finished before I leave the farm. All I
+can say is, you never were more mistaken in your life. I am not falling
+in love with this newly-discovered beauty, and I certainly don’t intend
+to do anything so foolish. But I could look at her face by the hour
+together. I wonder whether there are any capabilities of passion under
+the cold exterior.
+
+I took an opportunity when Alec was out of the room to narrate our
+little adventure by the way, and just as I finished my recital the hero
+of the story came in.
+
+‘So you managed to get run into on the way home, Alec,’ said his
+father, with a look of displeasure. ‘I should think you might have
+learned to drive by this time.’
+
+The lad’s face flushed, but he made no answer.
+
+‘Is the mare hurt?’ asked the old man.
+
+‘No, she wasn’t touched,’ answered his son. ‘One of the wheels will
+want a new spoke; that’s all.’
+
+‘And is that nothing, sir?’
+
+‘No one could possibly have avoided the collision, such as it was,’
+said I; ‘and I’ve seldom seen a pluckier thing than Alec did.’
+
+The old man looked at me, and immediately changed the subject.
+
+When tea (a remarkably substantial meal, by the way) was over, the
+farm-servants and the old woman who acts as housemaid were called into
+the large parlour in which we were sitting for prayers, or, as they
+call it here, ‘worship.’ I can’t say I was edified, Sophy. I dare say
+I am not a particularly good judge of these matters, but really there
+seemed to me a very slight infusion of worship about the ceremony.
+First of all Bibles were handed round, and Mr. Lindsay proceeded to
+read a few lines from a metrical version of the Psalms, beginning in
+the middle of a Psalm for the excellent reason that they had left off
+at that point on the preceding evening. Then they began to sing the
+same verses to a strange, pathetic melody. Margaret led the tune, and
+it was a pleasure to listen to her sweet unaffected notes, but the
+rough grumble of the old men and Betty’s discordant squeak produced a
+really ridiculous effect. Then a chapter was read from the Bible, and
+then we rose up, turned round, and knelt down. Mr. Lindsay began an
+extempore prayer, which was partly an exposition of the chapter we had
+just heard read, and partly an address to the Almighty, which I won’t
+shock you by describing. At the end of the prayer were some practical
+petitions, amongst them one on behalf of ‘the stranger within our
+gates,’ by which phrase your humble servant was indicated. The instant
+the word ‘Amen’ escaped from the lips of my host, there was a sudden
+shuffling of feet, and the little congregation had risen to their feet
+and were in full retreat before I had realized that the service was
+at an end. I fully expected that this conduct would have called down
+a reproof from Mr. Lindsay, but it seemed to be accepted on all hands
+as the ordinary custom. Half an hour afterwards I was in bed, and sound
+asleep.
+
+I awoke next morning to a glorious day. The harvest is late in these
+parts, you know, and the ‘happy autumn fields,’ some half cut, some
+filled with ‘stooks’ of corn, were stretching before my window down to
+a hollow, which I judged to be the bed of a river.
+
+After breakfast I had an interview with my host, and managed to get my
+future arrangements put upon a proper footing. Of course I could not
+stay here for an indefinite time at Mr. Lindsay’s expense; and though
+at first he scouted the proposal, I got him to consent that I should
+set up an establishment of my own in two half-empty rooms--the house is
+twice as large as the family requires--and be practically independent.
+I could see that the old man had a struggle between his pride and his
+love of hospitality on the one hand, and the prospect of letting part
+of his house to a good tenant on the other; but I smoothed matters a
+little by asking to be allowed to remain as his guest until Monday.
+Poor man, I am sorry for him. He used to be a well-to-do if not a
+wealthy ‘laird,’ and owned not only the Castle Farm, but one or two
+others. Now, in consequence of his having become surety for a friend
+who left him to pay the piper, and as a result of several bad seasons,
+he has been forced to sell one farm and mortgage the others so heavily
+that he is practically worse off than if he were a tenant of the
+mortgagees. This ‘come down’ in the world has soured his temper, and
+developed a stinginess which I think is foreign to his real nature. I
+fancy, too, he had a great loss when his wife died. She was a woman, I
+am told, of education and refinement. It must have been from her that
+Margaret got her beauty, and Alec his fine eyes.
+
+But I have not told you what the neighbourhood is like. Well, the
+farmhouse is built on the side of a knoll, and at the top is a very
+respectable ruin. The castle, from which the farm takes its name, must
+have been a strong place at one time. The keep is still standing,
+and its walls are quite five feet thick. Besides the keep, time has
+spared part of the front, some of the buttresses, and some half-ruined
+doorways and windows. But the whole place is overgrown with weeds and
+nettles. No one takes the slightest interest in this relic of another
+age: nobody could tell me who built it, or give me even a shred of a
+legend about its history.
+
+As I was wandering about the walls of the ruin, trying to select a
+point from which to sketch it, I was joined by Alec Lindsay. He had one
+or two books under his arm; and he stopped short on seeing me, as if he
+had not expected to find anyone there.
+
+‘Don’t let me interrupt you,’ I said, beginning to move away. ‘You make
+this place your study, I see.’
+
+‘Sometimes I bring my books up here,’ he replied. ‘There is a corner
+under the wall of the tower which is quite sheltered from the wind.
+Even the rain can hardly reach it, and I have a glorious view of the
+sunset when I sit there on fine evenings.’
+
+‘I should like to see the place,’ said I, anxious to put the lad at
+his ease; and he led me to a corner among the ruins, from which, as he
+said, a wide view was obtained.
+
+Near at hand were pastures and harvest-fields. Beyond them was the bed
+of the river, fringed with wood, and the horizon was bounded by low
+moorland hills.
+
+‘From the top of that one,’ said Alec, pointing to one of the hills,
+‘you can catch a glint of the sea. It shines like a looking-glass. I
+would like to see it near at hand.’
+
+‘Have you never been to the seaside?’ I asked.
+
+I must have betrayed my surprise by my voice, for the boy blushed as he
+answered:
+
+‘No; I have been to Glasgow once or twice, but I have never been to the
+salt water.’ (The seaside is always spoken of as ‘the coast’ or ‘the
+salt water’ in this part of the country.) ‘I have never been beyond
+Muirburn, except once or twice, in my life,’ he added, as the look of
+discontent which I fancied I had detected in his face grew stronger.
+
+‘May I look at your books?’ I asked, by way of changing the subject.
+
+‘Oh yes; they’re not much to look at,’ he said with a blush.
+
+I took them up--a Greek grammar, and a school-book containing simple
+passages of Greek for translation, with a vocabulary at the end of the
+volume.
+
+‘Is this how you spend your leisure time?’ I asked.
+
+‘Not always--not very often,’ answered Alec. ‘Often I am lazy and go
+in for Euclid and algebra--I like them far better than Greek. And
+sometimes,’ he added with hesitation, as if he were confessing a
+fault--‘sometimes I waste my time with a novel.’
+
+‘I would not call it wasting time if you read good novels,’ said I.
+‘What do you read?’
+
+‘Only Sir Walter and old volumes of _Blackwood_; they are all I have
+got.’
+
+‘You could not do better, in my opinion,’ said I emphatically. ‘Such
+books are just as necessary for your education as a Greek delectus.’
+
+‘Do you think so?’ said the lad, with wondering eyes. ‘These are not my
+father’s notions.’
+
+‘Shall I leave you to your work now?’ I asked, rising from the heather
+on which we were lying.
+
+‘I like to have you to talk to,’ said Alec, half shyly, half frankly.
+‘I seldom do get anyone to talk to.’
+
+‘You have your sister,’ I said involuntarily.
+
+‘Margaret is not like me. She has her own thoughts and her own ways;
+besides, she is a girl. Will you come and see the “Lover’s Leap?” It’s
+a bonny place.’
+
+‘Where is it?’
+
+‘Only half a mile up the Logan.’
+
+‘You mean the stream that runs through the valley down there?’
+
+‘No; that’s the Nethan. The Logan falls into it about a mile farther
+up.’
+
+We were descending the knoll as we talked; and on our way we saw a
+field where the reapers were at work. As we approached, we saw a tall
+form leave the field and come towards us. It was Alec’s father.
+
+‘I think, Alec,’ said the old man, ‘you would be better employed
+helping to stack the corn, if you’re too proud to take a hand at the
+shearing, rather than walking about doing nothing.’
+
+The lad blushed furiously, and made no answer.
+
+‘Alec meant to have been at work over his books,’ said I; ‘but he was
+kind enough to show me something of the neighbourhood. It doesn’t
+matter in the least, Alec; I can easily find my way alone.’
+
+‘Oh, if you have any need for the boy, that’s another matter,’ said Mr.
+Lindsay.
+
+I protested again that I could find my way perfectly well, and moved
+off, while Alec turned into the field with a set look about his mouth
+that was not pleasant to see.
+
+The cause of the discontent I had seen in the lad’s face was plain
+enough now. He is treated like a child, as if he had no mind or will of
+his own. I wonder how the boy will turn out. It seems to me a toss-up;
+or rather, the chances are that he will break away altogether, and ruin
+himself.
+
+I went on my way to the bank of the river, by the side of a double row
+of Scotch firs. It was one of those perfect September days when the
+air is still warm, when a thin haze is hanging over all the land, when
+there is no sound to be heard but now and then the chirp of a bird, or
+the far-off lowing of cattle--a day in which it is enough, and more
+than enough, to sit still and drink in the silent influences of earth
+and heaven, when anything like occupation seems an insult to the
+sweetness and beauty of nature. Across the little river was a large
+plantation of firs, growing almost to the water’s edge; and I could
+feel the balmy scent of them in the air.
+
+As I reached the river I overtook Margaret Lindsay, who was walking
+a little way in advance of me. She had a book under her arm, an old
+volume covered in brown leather. We greeted each other, and I soon
+found that she was bound, like myself, for the ‘Lover’s Leap.’
+
+‘I will show you the place,’ she said; ‘we must cross the river here.’
+
+As she spoke she stepped on a large flat stone that lay at the water’s
+edge; and I saw that a succession of such stones, placed at intervals
+of about a yard, made a path by which the river could be crossed. The
+current was pretty strong, and as the water was rushing fast between
+the stones (which barely showed their heads above the stream), I
+hastened to offer Margaret my hand. But the girl only glanced at me
+with a look of surprise, and with the nearest approach to a smile which
+I had seen in her face, she shook her head and began to walk over the
+stepping-stones with as much composure as if she had been moving across
+a floor. Now and then she had to make a slight spring to gain the next
+stone, and she did so with the ease and grace of a fawn. I followed a
+little way behind, and when we had gained the opposite side we walked
+in single file along the riverbank, till we came to the spot where
+the Logan came tumbling and dancing down the side of a rather steep
+hill to meet the larger stream. The hill was covered with brushwood
+and bracken, and a few scattered trees; but a path seemed to have been
+made through the bushes, and up this path we began to scramble. Once or
+twice I ventured to offer Margaret my hand, but she declined my help,
+saying that she could get on better alone.
+
+After a few minutes of this climbing, Margaret suddenly moved to one
+side, and sprang down to a tiny morsel of gravelly beach, at the side
+of the burn. I followed her, and was fairly entranced by what I saw. A
+little way above us the gorge widened, allowing us to see the trees,
+which, growing on either side of the brook, interlaced their branches
+above it. From beneath the trees the stream made a clear downward
+leap, of perhaps thirty or forty feet, into a pool--the pool at our
+feet--which was so deep that it seemed nearly as black as ink. The
+music of the waterfall filled the air so that we could hardly catch
+the sound of each other’s words; and if we moved to the farther end
+of the little margin of beach, we heard, instead of the noise of the
+waterfall, the sweet babbling of the burn over its stony bed.
+
+‘Do you often come here?’ I asked, as we stood at the edge of the
+stream, some little distance from the fall.
+
+‘Yes, pretty often when I wish to be alone, or to have an hour’s quiet
+reading.’
+
+‘As you do to-day,’ said I; ‘that’s as much as to say that you want to
+have an hour’s quiet reading now.’
+
+‘So I do,’ said the girl calmly.
+
+‘Or, in other words, that it is time for me to take myself off.’
+
+‘I did not mean that,’ said Margaret, with perfect placidity. ‘Would
+you like to go up to the top of the linn?’
+
+‘Very much,’ said I, and we scrambled up the bank to the upper level of
+the stream, and gazed down upon the black rushing water and the dark
+pool beneath, with its fringe of cream-coloured foam.
+
+‘So this is the “Lover’s Leap,”’ I remarked.
+
+‘Yes,’ said Margaret. ‘They say that once a young man was carrying off
+his sweetheart, when her father and brothers pursued them. The girl was
+riding on a pillion behind her lover. As the only way of escape, he
+put his horse at the gap over our heads--it must have been narrower in
+those days than it is now--missed it, and both himself and the lady
+were killed in the fall.’
+
+‘Dreadful!’ I exclaimed.
+
+‘Of course it isn’t true,’ pursued Margaret tranquilly.
+
+‘Why not?’ I asked.
+
+‘Oh, such stories never are; they are all romantic nonsense.’
+
+‘How different your streams are from those in the south,’ said I, after
+a pause; ‘Tennyson’s description of a brook would hardly suit this one.’
+
+‘What is that?’ she inquired.
+
+‘Don’t you know it?’ I asked, letting my surprise get the better of my
+good manners.
+
+‘No, I never heard it,’ she said, without the least tinge of
+embarrassment; so I repeated the well-known lines, to which Margaret
+listened with her eyes still fixed on the rushing water.
+
+‘They are very pretty,’ said the girl, when I had finished; ‘but I
+should not care for a brook like that. I should think it would be very
+much like a canal, wouldn’t it?--only smaller. I like my own brook
+better; and I like Burns’s description of one better than Tennyson’s.’
+
+‘Has Burns described a brook? I wish you would quote it to me,’ said I.
+
+‘Surely you know the lines,’ said Margaret; ‘they are in “Hallowe’en.”’
+
+I assured her I did not, and in a low clear voice she repeated:
+
+   ‘Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays,
+      As through the glen it wimples;
+    Whyles round a rocky scaur it strays;
+      Whyles in a wiel it dimples.
+    Whyles glitterin’ to the noontide rays,
+      Wi’ bickerin’, dancin’ dazzle,
+    Whyles cookin’ underneath the braes,
+      Below the spreading hazel.’
+
+‘I think they are beautiful lines, so far as I understand them,’ was
+my verdict. ‘What is “cookin’,” for example? I know it does not mean
+frying, or anything of that kind, but----’
+
+I stopped, for the girl looked half offended at my poor little attempt
+to be funny at the expense of a Scotch word.
+
+‘There is no word for it in English, that I know of,’ she said. ‘It
+means crouching down, contentedly, in a comfortable place. If you
+saw a hen on a windy day under a stook of corn, you might say it was
+“cooking” there.’
+
+‘Thank you,’ I replied; ‘I won’t forget. And now I must be off, for I
+know you came here to read.’
+
+If in my vanity I had hoped for permission to remain, I was
+disappointed. Nothing of the kind was forthcoming.
+
+‘I hope you have got an interesting book,’ said I, wondering what the
+old brown-leather volume could be.
+
+‘You might not think it very interesting,’ answered Margaret, raising
+her lovely eyes to mine, as tranquilly as if she had been speaking
+of a newspaper. ‘It is only a volume of old sermons. Good-bye till
+dinner-time, Mr. Blake;’ and so saying she turned to seek her favourite
+nook, at the side of the waterfall.
+
+‘Old sermons!’ I exclaimed to myself as I left her. ‘What a singular
+girl she is. Fancy----’
+
+But my reflections were cut short, for I ‘lifted up mine eyes’ and saw
+a mountain ash--they call them ‘rowan trees’ here--full of berries.
+
+Sophy, such a tree is the most beautiful object in nature; there is no
+way of describing it, no way of putting its beauty into words. If you
+doubt what I say, look well at the next one you see, and then tell me
+if I am wrong. Good-night.
+
+                       Ever yours affectionately,
+                                          HUBERT BLAKE.
+
+P.S.--I mean to get M. to sit for her portrait to-morrow; but I see
+that in order to gain this end I shall have to use all my skill in
+diplomacy, both with the young lady and with her respected father.
+
+                                                            H. B.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER III.
+
+                           THE THIRD LETTER.
+
+                   _Hubert Blake to Sophy Meredith._
+
+
+                                 THE CASTLE FARM, MUIRBURN, N.B.,
+                                          _September 17_.
+
+     MY DEAR SOPHY,
+
+It did not occur to me, when I agreed to consider myself Mr. Lindsay’s
+guest until to-day, that the arrangement would entail my spending the
+greater part of a glorious autumn day within the walls of the Muirburn
+Free Kirk--but you shall hear. I suspected, from something which fell
+from my host at breakfast, that the excuses which I intended to offer
+for my not accompanying the family to church would not be considered
+sufficient; but when I ventured to hint at something of the kind my
+remark was received by such a horrified stare (not to speak of the look
+of consternation on Margaret’s beautiful face), that I saw that to have
+made any further struggle for freedom would have been a positive breach
+of good manners. I submitted, therefore, with as good a grace as I
+could; and I was afterwards given to understand that to have absented
+myself from ‘ordinances’ that Sunday would have been little short of a
+scandal, seeing that it happened to be ‘Sacrament Sunday.’
+
+If you ask a Scotchman how many sacraments there are, he will answer,
+if he remembers the Shorter Catechism, two. If, however, he is taken
+unawares, he will answer, one. Baptism is popularly considered to be
+a mere ceremony, of no practical importance to the infant recipient
+of it. It is regarded chiefly as an outward sign and token of the
+respectability of the parents, since it is only administered to the
+children of well-behaved people. ‘The Sacrament’ means the Lord’s
+Supper, which is administered in Presbyterian churches generally
+four times, but in country places often only twice a year. This,
+as it happened, was one of the ‘quarterly’ Communions, and as such
+popularly considered as of less dignity than those which occur at the
+old-fashioned seasons of July and January.
+
+We set off about a quarter-past ten in the heavy, two-wheeled dog-cart
+which brought me here. I manifested an intention of walking to the
+village, and asked Alec to accompany me, but Mr. Lindsay intervened
+and protested strongly against my proposal. He said it would not be
+‘seemly,’ by which I suppose he meant that it would be inconsistent
+with the dignity of the family, if a guest of his house were to be seen
+going to church on foot; but I could not help suspecting that he envied
+Alec and myself the sinful pleasure which a four-mile walk on so lovely
+a morning would have afforded us.
+
+I can see that my elderly cousin (three times removed) is one of those
+people who are thoroughly unhappy unless they get their own way
+in everything, and never enjoy themselves more than when they have
+succeeded in spoiling somebody’s pleasure. I mentally resolved to have
+as little to do with the old gentleman as I possibly could, and mounted
+to the front seat of the dog-cart, which, as the place of honour, had
+been reserved for me.
+
+As the old mare trotted soberly along, I could not help noticing the
+silence that seemed to brood over the fields. I have remarked the same
+thing in England, but somehow a Scotch Sunday seems even more still and
+quiet than an English one. Is it merely a matter of association and
+sentiment? Or is it that we miss on Sundays hundreds of trifling noises
+which on week-days fall unconsciously upon our ears?
+
+Presently we began to pass little knots of people trudging along
+churchwards. The old women carried their Bibles wrapped up in their
+pocket-handkerchiefs to preserve them from the dust, along with the
+usual sprig of southern-wood. The men, without exception, wore suits
+of black, shiny broadcloth. They seemed to be all farmers. Very few
+of the weavers or labourers have any religion whatever (so far as
+outward rites go), any more than your unworthy cousin; and I can’t help
+thinking that the necessity for shiny black clothes has something to do
+with it. The women are different; as usual in all countries, and in all
+creeds, they are more devout than the men.
+
+On the way we passed a group of young women just inside a field not
+far from the town, who were sitting about and stooping in various
+attitudes. I could not conceive what they were about, and turned to my
+host for an explanation.
+
+He gravely informed me that they were putting on their shoes. Being
+accustomed throughout the week to dispense with these inventions of
+modern effeminacy, they find it extremely irksome to walk for miles
+over dusty roads in shoes and stockings. They therefore carry them in
+their hands till they reach some convenient field near the town which
+is the object of their journey, and then, sitting down on the grass,
+they array themselves in that part of their raiment before going into
+church.
+
+We were now close to the town, and the sweet-toned little bell which
+I had heard on the evening of my arrival, along with a larger one of
+peculiarly strident tone in the belfry of the United Presbyterian
+Kirk, were ‘doing their best.’ There were whole processions of gigs
+or dog-carts such as that in which we were seated. No other style of
+vehicle was to be seen.
+
+I was rather amused to see that the corner at which on week-days the
+weavers stand in their shirt-sleeves was not left unoccupied. The place
+was crowded with farmers, most of them highly respectable-looking men,
+clad in long black coats and tall hats. As to the hats, by the way,
+they were of all shapes which have been in fashion for the last twenty
+years, some of them taller than I should have supposed it possible for
+a hat to be.
+
+We alighted at the door of an inn, and I noticed that the inn yard
+was crowded with ‘machines,’ _i.e._, dog-carts and gigs, which I
+thought pretty fair evidence of the prosperity of the country. Then we
+proceeded to our place of worship. In the little vestibule was a tall
+three-legged stool covered with a white napkin, and upon this rested
+a large pewter plate to receive the contributions of the faithful.
+Two tall farmers, dressed in swallow-tail coats, tall hats, and white
+neckties of the old-fashioned, all-round description, were standing
+over the treasury, and in one of them I recognised my acquaintance of
+the coach. I was prepared to nod him a greeting, but he preserved the
+most complete immobility of countenance, and kept his gaze fixed on the
+horizon outside the church door, as if no nearer object were worthy of
+his attention.
+
+I found the church filled with dreadfully narrow pews of unpainted
+wood, and facing them an immensely tall pulpit, with a subsidiary
+pulpit in front of the other at a lower elevation. There were carpets
+on the staircase which led up to the pulpits, and the desks of both
+were covered with red cloth, with elaborate tassels. From either side
+of the upper pulpit there projected slender, curving brass rods about
+two feet long, terminating in broad pieces of brass, fixed at right
+angles to the rods. What the use of this apparatus was I could not
+imagine. A steep gallery ran round three sides of the little building;
+and in front of the pulpit was a table covered with a white cloth.
+
+I was not so uncharitable as to suppose that those who came here to
+worship were guilty of any intentional irreverence, but certainly they
+carried out the theory that no reverence ought to be paid to sacred
+places very completely. No male person removed his hat till he was well
+within the doors; and in many cases men did not uncover themselves till
+they were comfortably seated. No one so much as thought of engaging
+in any private devotions. I was surprised to see that the congregation
+(which was, for the size of the building, a large one) was composed
+almost entirely of women and children; but as soon as the bells stopped
+ringing, a great clatter of heavy boots was heard in the vestibule, and
+the heads of families, whom I had seen standing at the corner, poured
+into the place. Like wise men, they had been taking the benefit of the
+fresh air till the last available moment.
+
+Hardly had the farmers taken their seats when a man appeared, dressed
+entirely in black, carrying an enormous Bible, with two smaller books
+placed on the top of it. Ascending the pulpit stairs, he placed one
+of the smaller books on the desk of the lower pulpit; and then, going
+a few steps higher, he deposited the other two volumes on the desk of
+the higher one. He then retired, and immediately the minister, a tall,
+dark man, with very long black hair, wearing an immense gown of black
+silk, black gloves, and white bands such as barristers wear, entered
+the church and ascended to the pulpit. He was followed by an older man
+dressed in a stuff gown, who went into the lower pulpit. Last of all
+came the door-keeper, who also went up the pulpit stairs and carefully
+closed the pulpit door after the minister. The man in the stuff gown
+was left to shut his own door, and he did so with a bang, as if in
+protest at the want of respect shown to him, and his inferior position
+generally.
+
+The ritual part, as I may call it, of the service being over, the
+minister rose and gave out a psalm, just as old Mr. Lindsay does at
+prayers; and as he did so, the man in the stuff gown got up, and
+pulling out two thin black boards from under his desk, he skilfully
+fixed one of them on the end of the brass rod which projected from the
+right-hand side of the pulpit; and then, turning half round, he fixed
+the other upon the similar rod on the left-hand side. On each of these
+boards I read, in large gilt letters, the word ‘Martyrdom.’ I could not
+imagine, even then, the meaning of this ceremony; but Alec informed me
+afterwards that it was meant to convey to the congregation the name of
+the tune to which the psalm was to be sung, so that they might turn it
+up in their tune-books, if they felt so inclined.
+
+When the minister had read the verses which he wished to have sung, he
+gave out the number of the psalm again in a loud voice, and read the
+first line a second time, so that there might be no mistake. He then
+sat down, and the little man beneath him, rising up, began to sing.
+I very nearly got into trouble at this point by rising to my feet,
+forgetting for the moment that the orthodox Scotch fashion is to sit
+while singing and to stand at prayer. (I am told that in the towns a
+good many churches have adopted the habit of standing up to sing and
+keeping their seats during the prayer; but older Presbyterians look
+upon this custom, as, if not exactly heretical, yet objectionable,
+as tending in the direction of ritualism, prelacy, and other
+abominations.) For a line or two the precentor was left to sing by
+himself, then one or two joined in, and presently the whole body of
+the congregation took up the singing. I was surprised to find what a
+good effect resulted--it was at least infinitely better than that of
+an ordinary choir of mixed voices led by a vile harmonium or American
+organ. Many of the voices were rough, no doubt; and the precentor
+seemed to make it a point of honour to keep half a note ahead of
+everybody else; but, in spite of this, the general effect of so many
+sonorous voices singing in unison was decidedly impressive.
+
+As soon as the four prescribed verses had been sung, the minister
+rose up to pray, and everybody got up at the same time. You know
+I am not easily shocked, Sophy; and hitherto, though I had seen
+much that was ludicrous and strange, I had not seen anything that I
+considered specially objectionable; but I must say that the behaviour
+of these good folks at the prayer which followed did shock me. They
+simply stood up and stared at each other; perhaps I noticed it more
+particularly because I, being a stranger, came in for a good share of
+attention. Many of the men kept their hands in their pockets; some
+were occupied taking observations of the weather, through the little
+windows of plain glass, half the time. The minister, I noticed, kept
+his hands clasped and his eyes tightly closed; and some of his flock,
+among whom were my host and his daughter, followed his example; but
+the majority, as I have said, simply stared around them. They may
+have been giving, meanwhile, a mental assent to the truths which the
+minister was enunciating; I dare say some of them were; but as far as
+one could judge from outward appearances they were no more engaged in
+praying than they were engaged in ploughing. The prayer lasted a very
+long time; when it was over we heard a chapter read, and after another
+part of a psalm was sung the sermon began. This was evidently the
+event of the day, to which everything said or done hitherto had been
+only an accessory; and everybody settled himself down in his seat as
+comfortably as he could.
+
+From what I had heard of Scotch sermons I was prepared for a
+well-planned logical discourse, and the sermon to which I now listened
+fulfilled that description. But then it was, to my mind at least,
+entirely superfluous. Granting the premisses (as to which no one in
+the building, excepting perhaps my unworthy self, entertained the
+slightest doubt), the conclusion followed as a matter of course, and
+hardly needed a demonstration lasting fifty minutes by my watch. I
+was so tired with the confinement in a cramped position and a close
+atmosphere that I very nearly threw propriety to the winds and left
+the building. Fortunately, however, just before exhausted nature
+succumbed, the preacher began what he called the ‘practical application
+of the foregoing,’ and I knew that the time of deliverance was at
+hand. And I must say that, judging from the fervour with which the
+concluding verses of a psalm were sung, I was not alone in my feeling
+of relief. As soon as the psalm was ended everybody rose, and the
+preacher, stretching out his arms over his flock, pronounced a solemn
+benediction. The ‘Amen’ was hardly out of the good man’s mouth when
+a most refreshing clatter arose. No one resumed his seat. Everybody
+hurried into the narrow passages, which were in an instant so crammed
+that moving in them was hardly possible. Here, again, I am convinced
+that there was no intentional irreverence; it was merely a custom
+arising from the extremely natural desire of breathing the fresh air
+after the confinement we had undergone. As we passed out I overheard
+several casual remarks about the sermon, which was discussed with the
+utmost freedom.
+
+‘Maister McLeod was a wee thocht dry the day,’ said one farmer.
+
+‘But varra guid--varra soon’,’ responded his neighbour.
+
+‘I thocht he micht ha’ made raither mair o’ that last pint,’ said the
+first speaker.
+
+‘Weel--maybe,’ was the cautious reply.
+
+We went over to the inn for a little refreshment, and in three-quarters
+of an hour the bells began to jangle once more. This was more than I
+had bargained for; but there was no help for it. I could not offend my
+host by retreating; and besides, I was desirous of seeing for myself
+what a Scottish Communion Service was like.
+
+After the usual singing of a few verses of a psalm, and prayer, the
+minister descended from the pulpit, and took his place beside the table
+beneath, on which there had now been placed two loaves of bread, and
+four large pewter cups. From this position he delivered an address,
+and after it a prayer. He then took a slice from one of the loaves of
+bread which were ready cut before him, broke off a morsel for himself,
+and handed the piece of bread to one of several elderly men, called
+‘elders,’ who were seated near him. This man broke off a morsel in
+the same way, and handed the remainder of the bread to another, and
+so on till all the elders had partaken. Four of the elders then rose,
+and two went down one side of the church, and two down the other side,
+one of each pair bearing a plate covered with a napkin, and holding
+a loaf of bread cut in slices, which they distributed among those
+of the congregation who were sitting in the centre of the church,
+and who alone were about to take part in the rite. The ceremony is,
+in fact, very much, or altogether, the same as the ‘love-feasts’
+among the Methodists; except that the Methodists use water while the
+Presbyterians use wine. There is nothing of the sacramental character
+left in the ordinance; it is avowedly a commemorative and symbolic
+rite, and nothing more.
+
+In the meantime perfect silence reigned in the little building. There
+was literally not a sound to be heard but the chirping of one or two
+sparrows outside the partly-opened windows. Have you ever noticed
+how impressive an interval of silence is at any meeting of men,
+especially when they are met together for a religious purpose? Silence
+is never vulgar; and it almost seems as if any form of worship in which
+intervals of silence form a part were redeemed thereby from vulgarity.
+Whatever may have been the reason, this service impressed me, I must
+confess, in a totally different way from that in which the long sermon
+in the morning had done.
+
+Suddenly a gentle falsetto voice fell upon my ear; and looking up, I
+saw that the elders, having finished their task, had returned to the
+table, and that a little white-haired man had risen to address the
+people. He wore no gown, but he had on a pair of bands, like his friend
+Mr. McLeod, which gave him a comical sort of air. This, however, as
+well as the curious falsetto or whining tone in which his voice was
+pitched, was forgotten when one began to listen. The old man had
+chosen for his text one of the most sacred of all possible subjects to
+a Christian; and no one who heard him could doubt that he was speaking
+from his heart. A deeper solemnity seemed to fall upon the silent
+gathering. I glanced round, but whatever emotions were excited by the
+touching address, none of them were suffered to appear on the faces of
+the people. On Alec Lindsay’s face, alone, I noticed a look of rapt
+attention; his sister’s beautiful features seemed as if they had been
+carved in marble.
+
+Before the old minister sat down he raised one of the large cups (which
+had been previously filled with wine from a flagon), and handed it
+to one of the elders, who, after drinking from it, passed it to his
+neighbour. After the ministers and elders had tasted the wine, two of
+the latter rose, and each proceeded down one of the passages, bearing a
+large pewter cup, while he was followed by one of his fellows carrying
+a flagon. The cups were handed to the people still sitting in the
+pews, exactly as the bread had been, and circulated from one to another
+till all the communicants had partaken of the wine. Then followed
+another address, from the black-haired gentleman this time; and with a
+prayer and a little more singing the ceremony came to an end.
+
+As we emerged into the afternoon sunshine, and waited for ‘the beast to
+be put in,’ as the innkeeper called it, I could not be sorry that I had
+sacrificed my inclinations and had seen something of the practice of
+religion in this country.
+
+But I dare say you have had enough of my experiences for the
+present--so, good-night.
+
+                       Your affectionate cousin,
+                                         HUBERT BLAKE.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER IV.
+
+                           THE FOURTH LETTER.
+
+                   _Hubert Blake to Sophy Meredith._
+
+
+                                  THE CASTLE FARM, MUIRBURN, N.B.
+                                         _Oct. 5, 187-._
+
+     MY DEAR SOPHY,
+
+Yesterday there was a ‘feeing fair’ at Muirburn, and under Alec’s
+guidance I paid a visit to the scene of dissipation.
+
+But, first of all, I wish to tell you of a curious Scotch custom that
+fell under my notice the evening before. Alec and I were returning
+from a short ramble in the ‘gloaming,’ _i.e._, the twilight, when we
+happened to meet a young couple walking side by side. As soon as they
+caught sight of us they separated, and walked on opposite sides of the
+road till we had passed. This, it seems, was according to local ideas
+of what is proper under such circumstances. As we went by I glanced at
+the girl, and saw that she was one of Mr. Lindsay’s farm-servants.
+
+‘So Jessie has got a sweetheart,’ I remarked.
+
+‘Very likely,’ said Alec, with a laugh; ‘but I don’t think Tom
+Archibald is her lad. He is only the “black-fuit.”’
+
+‘The _what_?’
+
+‘The “black-fuit.” Dae ye no ken--I mean, don’t ye know what that is?’
+
+On confessing my ignorance, I learned that the etiquette of courtship,
+as understood among the peasantry of south-west Scotland, demands that
+no young ploughman shall present himself at the farm on which the young
+woman who has taken his fancy may happen to be employed; if he did so,
+it would expose the girl to a good deal of bantering. He invariably
+secures the services of a friend, on whom he relies not only for moral
+support, but for actual assistance in his enterprise.
+
+At the end of the working-day, when the dairymaids, as we should
+call them in England, have ‘cleaned themselves,’ and are chatting
+together in a little group at the door of the byre, John, the friend,
+makes his appearance, and presently contrives to engage the attention
+of Jeanie, who is the object of his friend’s devotion. The other
+girls good-naturedly leave them alone, and John suggests that ‘they
+micht tak’ a bit daun’er as far as the yett’ (_i.e._, the gate).
+Jeanie blushes, and picking up the corner of her apron as she goes,
+accompanies the ambassador to the gate and into the lane beyond. There,
+by pure accident, they meet Archie, and he and John greet each other in
+the same way as if they had not met each other for a week. The three
+saunter on together, under the hawthorn, till suddenly John remembers
+that he will be ‘expeckit hame,’ and takes his departure, leaving
+Archie to plead his cause as best he may.
+
+I declared my conviction that the custom sprang from unworthy fears of
+an action for breach of promise; but Alec was almost offended by this
+imputation on the good faith of his countrymen, and assured me most
+seriously that that kind of litigation was unheard of in Kyleshire.
+
+Next day we went to the fair. The object of this gathering is to enable
+farmers to meet and engage their farm-servants, male and female; it
+takes place twice a year, the hiring being always for six months.
+
+The village, or ‘the toon,’ as they always call it here, was in a state
+of great excitement. There was quite a crowd in the middle of the
+street, chiefly composed of young women in garments of many colours,
+in the most enviable condition of physical health; and young giants
+of ploughmen in their best clothes, with carefully oiled hair. On the
+outskirts of the crowd (which was as dense as four hundred people
+could possibly make it), were a few queys, _i.e._, young cows, and a
+few rough farm-horses. The public-houses were simply crammed as full
+as they would hold. There was a swing, and a merry-go-round, and a
+cheap-Jack. There was also a sort of lottery, conducted on the most
+primitive principles. You paid sixpence, plunged your hand into a
+little wooden barrel revolving on a spindle, and pulled out a morsel of
+peculiarly dirty paper bearing a number. This entitled you to a comb,
+or an accordion with three notes, or a penny doll, as the case might be.
+
+What chiefly impressed me was the sober, not to say dismal,
+character of the whole thing. I saw no horse-play, no dancing, no
+kiss-in-the-ring, or games of any kind. One might have thought it was
+an ordinary market-day, but for the crowd and the cracking of the
+caps on the miniature rifles with which the lads were shooting for
+nuts. This, in fact, was the only popular amusement; and, as all the
+boys and young men took part in it, and all held the muzzle of their
+weapon within twelve or fourteen inches of the mark, I perceived that
+every proprietor of a nut-barrow would have been ruined if he had not
+secured himself against bankruptcy by prudently twisting the barrels of
+his firearms.
+
+There was, by the way, one other amusement besides the shooting for
+nuts: every young man presented every girl of his acquaintance with a
+handful of nuts or sweetmeats, the degree of his regard being indicated
+by the quantity offered. I convinced myself that some of the prettier
+and more popular girls must have carried home several pounds’ weight of
+saccharine matter.
+
+We did not leave the village till it was getting dark and the naphtha
+lamps were blazing at the stalls. Probably the fun was only beginning,
+but we did not stay to witness it. Happily, the drinking seemed to
+be confined to great, large-limbed farmers, on whom half a bottle of
+whisky seemed to make not the slightest impression, beyond loosening
+their tongues. As the night advanced, however, a change must have
+occurred, for I was told afterwards that Hamilton of Burnfoot (my
+friend of the coach and of the offertory) had been seen sitting upright
+in his gig, thrashing with all his might, and in perfect silence, a
+saddler’s hobby-horse, which some wag had put between the shafts in
+place of his steady old ‘roadster.’
+
+On the way home Alec and I had some confidential conversation as to his
+future.
+
+‘Mr. Blake,’ he began, ‘what do you think I ought to be?’
+
+‘How can I tell, Alec?’ I answered; ‘what would you like to be?’
+
+‘That’s just what I don’t know,’ said the lad gloomily. ‘I don’t know
+what I am fit for, or whether I am fit for anything. How can I tell,
+before I have seen anything of the world, what part I should try to
+play in it?’
+
+‘You have no strong taste in any direction?’
+
+‘No; I can’t say that I have. I like the country, but I am sick of the
+loneliness of my life here. I long to be out in the world, to be up and
+doing something, I hardly know what. You see, I know so little. What
+I should like is to go to college for the next three or four years--to
+Glasgow, or Edinburgh--and by that time I would have an idea what I
+could do, and what I should not attempt.’
+
+‘But do you think,’ I said, with some hesitation, ‘that you are ready
+to go to college?’
+
+‘Why not? Don’t you think I am old enough? I am almost nineteen. I
+dare say you think I am too ignorant; but there are junior classes
+for beginners. I can do Virgil and Cicero, and I think I could manage
+Xenophon and Homer.’
+
+‘What is the difficulty then?’
+
+‘My father thinks it would be wasting money to send me to college,
+unless I were to be a minister or a doctor, and I don’t want to be
+either the one or the other.’
+
+‘But you must be something, you know.’
+
+‘Yes, but I won’t be a minister. Do you know that I was once very
+nearly in the way of making my fortune through paraffin oil. and lost
+my chance through an ugly bull-pup?’
+
+‘Really? How was that?’
+
+‘Mr. Lindsay of Drumleck----’
+
+‘Is _he_ a relation of yours?’ I interposed.
+
+(It was a surprise to me to hear that I was, ever so distantly, related
+to a millionnaire.)
+
+‘He is my father’s uncle,’ said Alec. ‘Well, last year he sent for me
+to pay him a visit, and he had hinted to my father that if I pleased
+him he would “make a man of me.” I didn’t please him. The very day
+I went to his house, I happened to be standing near a table in the
+drawing-room on which there was a precious vase of some sort or other.
+There was a puppy under the table that I didn’t see; I trod on its
+tail, and the brute started up with a yowl and flew at my leg. I
+stooped down to drive it off, and managed to knock over the table,
+vase and all. You should have seen the old man’s face! He very nearly
+ordered me out of the house. I don’t believe he particularly cared for
+the thing, but then you see he had given five-and-twenty pounds for it.
+It ended my chances so far as he is concerned at any rate; and, to tell
+the truth, I wasn’t particularly sorry. I shouldn’t care to spend my
+life in making oil.’
+
+‘But, my dear fellow, it seems to me you are too particular. Take
+my advice, and if you have an opportunity of getting into your
+grand-uncle’s good books again, don’t lose it.’
+
+‘Oh! he has taken another in my place, a fellow Semple--I don’t think
+much of him. He is a grand-nephew, too. I shouldn’t wonder if he makes
+him his heir; and I don’t care. I don’t want to be a Glasgow merchant,
+any more than I want to be a Kyleshire farmer.’
+
+‘Ah! Alec, are you smitten too?’ I said. ‘You want to climb, and you
+will not think that you may fall. I didn’t know you were ambitious.’
+
+‘I want to go into a wider world than this one;’ said the lad, and his
+eyes flashed, and his voice trembled with excitement. ‘I want to learn,
+first of all; then I want to find what I can do best, and try to make a
+name for myself. I want to rise to the level of--oh! what am I talking
+about?’
+
+He broke off abruptly, as if ashamed of his own enthusiasm.
+
+For my own part I felt sorry for him. I always do, somehow, when I see
+a brave young spirit eager to meet and conquer fortune--a ship setting
+sail from port, colours all flying, guns firing, crowds cheering.
+How many reach the harbour? How many founder at sea? One is wrecked
+in this way, another in that. One gallant bark meets with headwinds
+nearly all the way; another is run down by a rival and is heard of no
+more; a third, after baffling many a wintry gale, goes down in smooth
+water, within sight of land. How many unsuccessful men are there in the
+world for every one who succeeds? And of those who gain their heart’s
+desire, how many can say, ‘I am satisfied’?
+
+
+                                                    _October 29._
+
+I was fairly amazed to find this unfinished letter, begun three weeks
+ago, between the leaves of my blotter this morning. Another example of
+my incurable laziness!
+
+My stay here is almost at an end. My large picture is nearly completed.
+My portrait of Margaret is finished; and though it is not what I would
+like it to be, I think it is the best thing I have done yet. I leave
+to-morrow morning, and hope to be with you in a day or two. Alec goes
+with me as far as Glasgow, for he has persuaded his father to send him
+to college--or rather, the old man has yielded to the lad’s discontent,
+backed by my expressions of the high opinion I hold of his abilities.
+I fancy Mr. Lindsay thinks his son will yet be an ornament to the Free
+Kirk, but, if I am not very much mistaken, Alec will never change his
+mind on this point.
+
+We had a regular family council, at which the matter was settled.
+The old man sat on his chair, bolt upright, his hands folded before
+him. Alec sat near by while his future was being decided, carelessly
+playing with a paper-knife on the table. Margaret was, as usual, at her
+sewing; but I could tell by little signs in her face, that for once her
+composure was more than half assumed.
+
+‘You had your chance a year ago,’ said the old man in a harsh
+unyielding tone, ‘and you threw it away. Why should I stint myself, and
+go back from my task of buying back the land, to give you another one?’
+
+‘I don’t wish you to stint yourself,’ said the boy half sullenly.
+
+‘I don’t want to injure your sister,’ said his father, in the same tone.
+
+‘Do you think _I_ wish Margaret injured? If you cannot spare
+five-and-twenty pounds without inconvenience, there’s an end of it.’
+
+‘It’s not the first winter only,’ began Mr. Lindsay.
+
+‘But I can support myself after that,’ interrupted Alec; ‘I can get a
+bursary; I can get teaching----’
+
+‘You’ll have to give up idling away your time over _Blackwood_ then,’
+said the old man, with a grim smile.
+
+Alec’s face flushed, and he made no reply.
+
+Then, having proved that Alec’s wish was wholly unreasonable and
+impracticable, Mr. Lindsay gave his consent to the proposal, and, to
+cut short further discussion, told Margaret to bid the servants come to
+‘worship.’
+
+I was rather surprised that Margaret had said nothing on her brother’s
+behalf, and a little disappointed that she had not declared that her
+own interests ought not to stand in the way of her brother’s education;
+but I found that I had misjudged her.
+
+‘Well, I owe this to Margaret,’ said Alec to me, as soon as we found
+ourselves alone together.
+
+‘To your sister?’ I said, with some surprise.
+
+‘Yes; my father thinks more of her opinion than he does of anybody
+else’s, and I know she has been urging him to let me go. As for that
+about injuring her, it is all stuff. Do you think I would take the
+money, if I didn’t know my father could afford it perfectly well?’
+
+I hardly knew what reply to make to this, and Alec went on:
+
+‘There will be a row between them one of these days. My father will
+want her to marry Semple. I know he is in love with her; and Margaret
+won’t have him.’
+
+‘I should think not, indeed!’ I exclaimed.
+
+I had seen this young fellow, and I confess I took a violent dislike
+to him. He came over to the farm one afternoon, and I thought I had
+never seen a more vulgar creature. He was dressed in the latest
+fashion--on a visit to a farmhouse, too! He had a coarse, commonplace
+face, a ready, officious manner, and the most awful accent I ever
+heard on the tongue of any human being. I cannot say I admire the
+Scotch accent; it is generally harsh and disagreeable; but when it
+is joined to an affectation of correctness, when every syllable is
+carefully articulated, and every _r_ is given its full force and
+effect, the result is overpowering. The young man was good enough to
+give me a considerable share of his attention, and I could hardly
+conceal my dislike of him. He patronized old Mr. Lindsay, was loftily
+condescending to Alec, and treated Margaret as if she ought to have
+been highly flattered by the admiration of so fine a gentleman.
+
+‘Your respected cousin seemed to me as if he were greatly in need of a
+kicking,’ I said to Alec.
+
+‘If he gets even a share of Uncle James’s property he will be a rich
+man,’ said Alec thoughtfully. ‘My father would think it a sin for
+Maggie to refuse a man with a hundred thousand pounds.’
+
+‘So would a good many fathers, I suppose,’ said I.
+
+I am sorry to see Alec’s attitude to his father; yet I fear he judges
+the old man only too accurately.
+
+For the last few days we have had nothing but rain. Rain, rain,
+rain, till the leaves were fairly washed off the trees, and the very
+earth seemed as if it must be sodden to the rocks beneath. Yesterday
+afternoon I felt tired of being shut up in the large bare room which
+I have been using as a studio, so I put on a thick suit, and went out
+for a stretch in the midst of a perfect deluge. I crossed the river by
+a stone bridge, about a mile lower down, as the stepping-stones were
+covered, and soon I got to a wide expanse of country, composed of large
+sodden green fields, barely reclaimed from the moor, and even now, in
+spite of drains, partly overgrown with rushes. There were no fences;
+and the hardy cattle wandered at will over the land.
+
+It was inexpressibly dreary. There was little or no wind--no clouds
+in the sky--only a lead-coloured heaven from which the rain fell
+incessantly. There was not a house, not a tree, not a hedgerow in
+sight; and the rain-laden atmosphere hid the horizon.
+
+Suddenly I heard the noise of singing, the singing of a child. I was
+fairly startled, and looked round, wondering where the sound could come
+from. I was on the border between the moor and the reclaimed land;
+and there was literally nothing in sight but the earth, the sky, and
+the rain, except what looked like a small heap of turf left by the
+peat-cutters. Could some stray child be hidden behind it? If so, I
+thought, its life must be in danger.
+
+I hurried up to the mound of peats, and as I did so, the sound of the
+song became stronger. Then it ceased, and the little singer began a
+fresh melody:
+
+   ‘Behind yon hills where Lugar flows,
+      ‘Mang muirs an’ mosses mony, O,
+    The wintry sun the day has closed----’
+
+He stopped suddenly as he caught sight of me, and a fine collie which
+had been lying beside him made a dash at me.
+
+‘Doon, Swallow! Lie doon, sir!’ cried the child, and the dog obeyed at
+once.
+
+It was not a heap of peats, as I had supposed, but a tiny hut, just
+large enough to hold a boy sitting upright, ingeniously built of dry
+peats. It was open to the east, the lee side, and was quite impervious
+to the weather. The little fellow seemed to be about twelve years of
+age, a stout, rosy-cheeked laddie, clad in an immense Scotch bonnet and
+a tattered gray plaid; and his little red bare feet peeped out beneath
+his corduroys.
+
+‘What on earth are you doing here, child?’ I exclaimed.
+
+‘Eh?’ asked the boy, looking up in my face with surprise.
+
+‘Why are you here? Why are you not at home?’
+
+‘Man, I’m herdin’.’
+
+‘Herding what?’
+
+‘The kye.’
+
+At that moment some of the young cattle took it into their heads to
+cross the ditch which separated their territory from the moor, and the
+boy with a ‘Here, Swallow!’ sent the dog bounding after the ‘stirks.’
+
+‘And do you stay here all alone?’
+
+‘Ay.’
+
+‘All day long?’
+
+‘Ou, ay.’
+
+‘Poor little fellow!’ was on my lips, but I did not utter the words.
+The child was healthy and strong, and not, apparently, unhappy. He held
+a ‘gully’ in one hand, and a bit of wood, which he had been whittling
+while he sang, in the other. Why should I, by expressing my pity for
+his solitary condition, make him discontented with his lot?
+
+Fortunately I had in my pocket a few coppers, which I presented to
+him. You should have seen the joy that lighted up the child’s face!
+He looked at the treasure shyly, as if afraid to touch it, so I had
+to force it into his hand. I don’t think I ever saw before such an
+expression of pure unalloyed delight on a human countenance. He was so
+happy that he forgot to thank me.
+
+‘What will you do with them?’ I asked.
+
+He opened his hand and pointed to the pennies one after another.
+
+‘I’ll buy sweeties wi’ that ane, an’--an’ bools wi’ that ane,
+an’--an’--an’ a peerie wi’ that ane; an’ I’ll gi’e ane to Annie, and
+I’ll lay by twa!’
+
+‘Prudent young Scotchman,’ said I; ‘and pray, what are “bools”?
+Marbles, I suppose. And what is a “peerie”?’
+
+The boy thought I was laughing at him.
+
+‘Div ye no ken that?’ he asked, with some suspiciousness and a dash of
+contempt.
+
+I assured him I did not.
+
+‘Ye tie’t up wi’ a string, an’ birl’t on the road, an’ it gangs soon’
+soon’ asleep.’
+
+‘Oh, a top you mean.’
+
+‘A peerie,’ persisted he.
+
+‘Ah, well; it’s the same thing. Good-day, my boy,’ said I.
+
+The little fellow got up, draped as he was in his ragged plaid, and
+putting one hand with the precious pennies into his pocket, solemnly
+extended to me the other.
+
+‘I dare say,’ said I to myself, as I looked back and saw the child
+counting over his treasure once more with eager eyes, ‘I dare say there
+isn’t a happier creature this day between Land’s End and John O’Groats,
+than this herd-boy, in his lonely hut on the sodden, dreary moorland!’
+
+And so it is, all the world over. I should think myself very hardly
+used by fortune, if I had to live alone in a grimy city for six months
+on five-and-thirty pounds, and had to get up every day before dawn to
+grind away at Latin and Greek; yet here is young Lindsay with his blue
+eyes ready to leap out of his head with excitement and delight at the
+bare prospect of it! It is a curious world. But I must look after my
+packing; for in order to reach Glasgow to-morrow, we must be stirring
+long before daylight. Till we meet, then,
+
+                       Your affectionate cousin,
+                                           HUBERT.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER V.
+
+                          THE SHIP SETS SAIL.
+
+
+A sudden change in the weather had whitened the fields of the Castle
+Farm, and covered the puddles in the narrow lane with thin clear sheets
+of ice. Little or nothing was said at the breakfast-table; but as Alec
+Lindsay went into the empty kitchen to fasten a card on his little
+cow-hide trunk, his sister followed him, and stood over him in silence
+till one of the men came in, lifted the box, and carried it away.
+
+‘You will write home every week, won’t you, Alec?’ she said.
+
+‘Every week, Maggie! what in the world shall I get to say?’
+
+‘Tell us what your life is like, whether your lodgings are
+comfortable, what sort of people you take up with.’
+
+‘Well; all right.’
+
+‘And, Alec, you had better write to father and me time about; and when
+you write to me you can send a little scrap for myself as well.’
+
+‘That you needn’t show to anybody? I thought that was against your
+principles, Meg. Don’t mind me, I was only making fun of you,’ he
+added, suddenly throwing his arms round his sister’s neck; ‘of course I
+will send you a little private note now and then. Don’t cry, Maggie.’
+
+‘I’m not crying.’
+
+‘Yes, you are.’
+
+‘It will be very lonely without you, Alec, all the long winter.’
+
+‘I almost wish I weren’t going, for your sake; but I know you have
+helped me to get away, Maggie, and it was awfully kind of you.’
+
+Here Mr. Lindsay’s voice was heard calling out that the travellers
+would miss the coach if they did not set off at once.
+
+‘Nonsense! We shall only have to wait at the roadside for twenty
+minutes,’ said Alec under his breath. But he gave his sister a last
+hug, shook hands with his father, and mounted the back-seat of the
+dog-cart, where his trunk and Blake’s portmanteau were already
+deposited.
+
+In another minute they were off; and Alec, looking back, saw the light
+of the lantern shine on the tall figures of his gray-haired father and
+his sister, framed in the old stone doorway as in a picture.
+
+The stable was passed, the long byre where the cows were already
+stirring, the stack-yard, the great hay-rick, the black peat-stack
+flanking the outmost gable; and as each familiar building and
+well-remembered corner faded in turn from view, Alec in his heart
+bade them good-bye. He felt as if he would never see the old place
+again--never, at least, would it be to him what it had been. When he
+came again it would be merely for a visit, like any other stranger.
+The subtle, invisible chains that bind us to this or that corner of
+mother earth, once broken, can hardly be reforged; and Alec felt that
+no future leave-taking of the Farm would be like this one; henceforth
+it would belong not to the present, but to the past.
+
+As the travellers had foreseen when they set out, they had a good
+twenty minutes to wait at the corner of the lane till the coach came
+up; then came the long, monotonous drive, the horses’ hoofs keeping
+time to ‘Auld Lang Syne’ in Alec’s head all the way; then the railway
+journey. Blake had, as a matter of course, taken a first-class ticket.
+Alec had, equally as a matter of course, taken a third-class one. When
+this was discovered, Blake took his seat beside his friend, laughing at
+the uneasiness depicted on Alec’s face, and declined without a second
+thought the lad’s proposal that he too should travel first-class and
+pay the difference of fare. But the incident caused Alec acute mental
+discomfort, which lasted till they reached Glasgow.
+
+When the train steamed into the terminus, it seemed as if it were
+entering a huge gloomy cavern, where the air was composed of smoke,
+mist, and particles of soot. The frost still held the fields in
+Kyleshire; but here the rain was dripping from every house-top, and the
+streets were covered with a thick layer of slimy mud.
+
+Blake shuddered.
+
+‘I’ve got nothing particular to do, Alec,’ said he; ‘let me help you to
+look for lodgings.’
+
+But Alec had no mind to let his friend see the sort of accommodation
+with which he would have to content himself; and the artist saw that
+the lad wanted to decline his offer, without very well knowing how.
+
+‘Or perhaps you’d rather hunt about by yourself?’ continued Blake.
+‘Well, in that case, I think I’ll be off to Edinburgh at once, and go
+to London that way. Anything to be out of this.’
+
+He stopped suddenly, and hoped that his companion had not heard his
+last words. They took a cab to Queen Street; and after seeing his
+friend off to Edinburgh, Alec set out on his quest of a shelter. A few
+steps brought him to the district north of George Street, where, in
+those days, the poorer class of students had their habitations. The
+streets were not particularly broad, and the houses were of tremendous
+height, looking like great barracks placed one at the end of another,
+though their hewn-stone fronts saved them from the mean appearance of
+brick or stucco exteriors. After a good deal of running up and down
+steep staircases (for these houses are built in flats), Alec at last
+pitched upon a narrow but lofty sitting-room, with a still narrower
+bedroom opening from it. For this accommodation the charge was only
+eight shillings a week.
+
+After a peculiarly uncomfortable meal, Alec Lindsay set out for ‘The
+College.’
+
+The University of Glasgow, founded by a Bull of one of the mediæval
+Popes, had in those days its seat in the High Street, once the main
+thoroughfare of the city, but long since fallen from its old estate.
+The air seemed thicker, more full of smoke and soot, of acid vapours
+and abominable smells, in this quarter, than in any other part of the
+town.
+
+An ancient pile of buildings faced the street; and a quaint gateway
+gave access to the outer quadrangle or ‘first court,’ as Alec soon
+learned to call it. Here a solid stone staircase, guarded by a stone
+lion on one side and a unicorn on the other, led to the senate-room
+above; and an archway led to a quadrangle beyond.
+
+But Alec had scarcely time to observe as much as this. Hardly had he
+set foot within the gateway, when a gigantic man wearing a huge black
+beard stalked up to him, and without more ado caught him by the arm,
+while a small crowd of half a dozen lads of his own age, wearing gowns
+of red flannel, swarmed round him on the other side.
+
+‘I say!’ exclaimed the big man; ‘you’re going to matriculate, aren’t
+you?’
+
+‘Of course; that’s what I came here for.’
+
+‘And where were you born?’
+
+‘Where was I born?’ asked Alec, in bewilderment.
+
+‘Yes; be quick, man. Do you come from Highlands or Lowlands, or from
+beyond the Border?’
+
+‘Why do you want to know?’
+
+‘He comes from the county of Clackmannan; I know by the cut of his
+hair!’ yelled a red-haired, freckled youth of some seventeen summers.
+
+‘Get out, you unmannerly young cub!’ cried the big man, making a dash
+at the offender, without releasing his hold of Alec’s arm.
+
+‘Are you Transforthana?’ cried another. ‘Oh, say if you’re
+Transforthana, like a good fellow, and don’t keep us in suspense.’
+
+‘He’s Rothseiana! I know it!’ bawled out a fourth.
+
+At this point a little man in spectacles darted from a low doorway on
+the left with a sheaf of papers printed in red ink, which he began to
+distribute as fast as he could. Instantly the men who had fastened upon
+Alec left him, and rushed off to secure one of the papers, and Alec
+followed their example.
+
+After some little trouble he got one, and then elbowing his way out
+of the crowd, began to read it. He found it was a not very comical
+parody of ‘Come into the garden, Maud,’ the allusions being half of a
+political, half of an academical character.
+
+Looking up with a puzzled air, Alec encountered the gaze of a man
+ten or twelve years his senior, who was regarding him with a look of
+mingled interest and amusement. He was considerably over six feet
+high, and broad in proportion. He wore a suit of tweeds, a blue Scotch
+bonnet, and a reddish-brown beard. He had the high cheek-bones and
+large limbs of the true Highlander, and one of his eyes had a slight
+cast. When he smiled, he had a cynical but not unkindly expression.
+
+‘I wish you would tell me what all this nonsense is about,’ said Alec.
+
+‘What nonsense would ye like to pe informed apoot?’ inquired the other
+in a strong Highland accent--‘the nonsense in that bit paper? Or the
+nonsense o’ these daft callants? Or the nonsense o’ this haill thing?’
+and he waved his thick stick round the quadrangle.
+
+‘What is all this stir about? Why were a’ these fellows so anxious to
+know where I was born?’
+
+‘One quastion at a time, my lad,’ answered the big Highlander. ‘They
+are electin’ a Lord Rector; the ploy will gang on for a week or
+ten days yet. And they vote in “nations,” according to the part o’
+the country they belong to. I was born in the Duke’s country, and
+consequently my vote is worth conseederably more than that o’ yon wee
+spectacled callant who was kittled in the Gorbals, for example.’
+
+‘I was born in Kyleshire,’ said Alec.
+
+‘Then you’re Rothseiana,’ said the stranger, ‘and your vote’s worth
+more than mine. I’d advise ye to choose at once, and put down your name
+at one club or the other, or they’ll tease your life out.’
+
+‘But who are the candidates?’
+
+‘Mr. Sharpe, and Lord Dummieden, of course.’
+
+Alec knew Mr. Sharpe’s name as that of an ex-Cabinet Minister on the
+Liberal side, who had the reputation of being a scholar, but who had
+never written anything beyond two or three pungent articles in _The
+Debater_.
+
+‘And who is Lord Dummieden?’
+
+‘What!’ answered the Highlander; ‘is it possible that you have never
+heard of the “History of the British Isles before the Roman Invasion,”
+in sixteen volumes, by the Right Honourable James Beattie, Viscount
+Dummieden, of Crumlachie?’
+
+Alec gave an incredulous look, and the other laughed outright.
+
+‘Don’t be offended,’ said the Highlander.
+
+‘Have you matriculated yet? No? Come awa’ then, and I’ll show you the
+way.’ He passed his arm through Alec’s as he spoke, and led him to a
+tiny office in a corner of the quadrangle which was half filled with
+students.
+
+‘What is your name?’ asked Alec’s new friend, as they stood waiting
+their turn to enter their names in the volume kept for the purpose.
+Alec told him. ‘Mine’s Cameron--Duncan Cameron. I’m a medical. This is
+my third year. Have you got lodgings?’
+
+‘Yes; at No. 210, Hanover Street.
+
+‘Does your landlady look a decent body? I’ll come round and see if she
+has a room to spare for me,’ he added, without waiting for an answer.
+
+Presently Alec obtained, in exchange for one of his father’s one-pound
+notes, a ticket bearing his name, and the words ‘_Civis Universitatis
+Glasguenis_’ printed in large letters underneath.
+
+‘That’s all right,’ said Cameron; ‘now come along, and I’ll show
+you the Professors’ Court. You have to call on the Latin and Greek
+professors, and get your class-tickets. The fee is three guineas each.’
+He led Alec through an archway into a second and larger quadrangle,
+then across it and through another archway into a third. ‘That’s the
+museum,’ said Cameron, pointing to a building with handsome stone
+columns; ‘and that’s the library,’ he added, pointing to a narrow
+structure, built apparently of black stone, on the right.
+
+The two young men turned to the left, passed through an iron gateway,
+and found themselves in a gloomy and silent court, formed by the houses
+of the various professors, which, like the library, were black with
+smoke and soot-flakes.
+
+After the professors of ‘Humanity’ (as Latin is called in the north)
+and of Greek had been duly interviewed, Alec and his friend returned
+to the High Street without going back to the quadrangles; and in a few
+minutes they pulled Mrs. Macpherson’s brightly-polished bell-handle.
+
+‘I’ve brought a friend, a fellow-student, who wants to know if you have
+any more rooms to let,’ said Alec.
+
+‘Is he a medical?’ asked the good woman, knitting her brows.
+
+‘I am proud to say that I am,’ said Cameron.
+
+‘Then this is no the place for you ava.’
+
+‘An’ what for no?’
+
+‘I’ve had eneuch, an’ mair than eneuch, o’ thae misguidet callants,
+wi’ their banes, an’ their gases, an’ their gruesome talk, an’ their
+singin’ sangs, an’ playing cairds, an’ drinkin’, till twa, or maybe
+haulf-past on a Sabbath mornin’. Na, na; I’ll hae nae mair o’ the
+tribe, at no price.’
+
+But this opposition made Cameron determined that under that roof and
+no other would he take up his abode for the winter. He bound himself
+by a solemn promise to introduce neither bones, human or animal,
+nor chemicals of any kind, upon the premises, and to behave himself
+discreetly in other respects. He then remembered that his aunt’s
+husband’s cousin was a Macpherson; and when it came out that the
+landlady’s ‘forbears’ came from Auchintosh, which was within a day’s
+sail of the island where the Camerons had their home, all objections
+were withdrawn.
+
+A large dingy sitting-room, with a ‘concealed bed’ constructed in
+a recess, so that the room could also be used as a bedroom, was
+pronounced by Cameron to be too grand; and on Mrs. Macpherson saying
+that all her other rooms were let except an attic, he asked if he might
+see that apartment. They climbed up a steep and narrow staircase, and
+presently stood in a long narrow room, right under the slates, so low
+in the ceiling that Cameron could only walk along one side of it. It
+was furnished with a narrow bedstead, a small deal table, and two or
+three stout chairs.
+
+‘First-rate!’ exclaimed Cameron. ‘The very thing;’ and going to the
+skylight, he pushed it open and thrust out his head and shoulders.
+‘Plenty of air here--not fresh, but better than nothing. What is the
+rent?’
+
+The rent was five shillings and sixpence a week, and after a vain
+effort to get rid of the sixpence, and an elaborate agreement on the
+subject of coals, the bargain was concluded.
+
+‘That’s settled,’ said Cameron; ‘and now I’m off to the Broomielaw to
+get my impedimenta oot o’ the _Dunolly Castle_. Will ye come?’
+
+Having nothing better to do, Alec readily acquiesced; and the two young
+men walked down Buchanan Street with its broad wet pavements, and
+through the more crowded Argyle Street and Jamaica Street, till they
+reached the wharf.
+
+Here all was damp and dismal. Coal-dust covered the ground; water,
+thick with coaldust and mud, dripped from the eaves of the huge open
+sheds; a smell of tar filled all the air. To Alec, however, nothing was
+dismal, nothing was depressing. All was new, strange, and interesting.
+A few vessels of light burden lay moored at the opposite side of the
+narrow river; a river steamer, her day’s work ended, was blowing off
+steam at the Broomielaw.
+
+‘You will hardly believe it, Cameron,’ said Alec, gazing with all his
+eyes at these commonplace sights, ‘but I never saw a ship or a steamer
+before.’
+
+‘Hoots, man,’ replied his companion; ‘I’ve been on the salt water ever
+since I can remember; but then, till I came here three years sin’, I
+had never seen a railway train--I used to spend hours at one of the
+stations watching them--and, what is more, I had never seen a tree.’
+
+‘Never seen a tree!’
+
+‘No; they won’t grow in some of the islands, you know, at least not
+above five or six feet high. But there’s the _Dunolly Castle_.’
+
+There lay the good vessel which had so lately ploughed the waters of
+the Outer Hebrides, a captive now, bound fast by stem and stern.
+
+Cameron jumped on board, and soon reappeared dragging a full sack
+behind him, while a seaman followed with a heavy wooden box on his
+shoulder, and a big earthenware jar in his left hand. Several porters
+with big two-wheeled barrows now proffered their services. Cameron
+selected one, and having loaded the barrow with a sack of oatmeal,
+a small barrel of salt herrings, two great jars which Alec rightly
+conjectured to contain whisky, and the wooden box, he proceeded to
+pilot the porter to Hanover Street.
+
+‘Tak’ care o’ the jaurs!’ he cried out in some alarm, as the porter
+knocked his barrow against a corner. ‘They’re just the maist precious
+bit o’ the haill cargo; and if ye preak ane o’ them, she’ll preak your
+heid, as I’m a leefin’ man!’
+
+‘Why do you bring your provisions instead of buying them here? Is it
+any cheaper?’ asked Alec.
+
+‘Cheaper! Fat the teil do I care for the cheapness? I prefer my own
+whisky, and my own oatmeal, I tell you; it is better than any you can
+buy here,’ answered the proud and irate Highlandman.
+
+But when Alec and he were better acquainted, he acknowledged that the
+oatmeal and whisky were presented to him by relatives, as aids to the
+difficult task of living for six months on twenty pounds.
+
+Next morning Alec woke to a blinding, acrid, yellow fog, which the
+gaslight faintly illumined. It was still dark when he emerged into the
+street and took his way to the College, with a copy of one of Cicero’s
+orations and a note-book under his arm. As he reached his destination
+the clock struck eight, and immediately a bell began to tinkle in
+quick, sharp, imperative tones.
+
+The junior Latin class, he found, met in the centre of a long narrow
+hall, lit by a few gas-jets flaring here and there. On both sides of
+the hall were tall windows, outside of which was the yellow cloud
+of fog. There was no stove or heating apparatus whatever. A raised
+bench ran along one side of the long room, and there were black empty
+galleries at either end. In the centre stood a pulpit, raised about two
+feet above the floor, and in this the Professor was already standing.
+
+About two hundred men and boys were seated in the benches nearest the
+pulpit, some wearing the regulation red gown, and some without it,
+while beyond them the black empty benches stretched away to the farther
+end of the hall, which lay in complete darkness.
+
+All was stillness, but for the tinkling of the bell. Suddenly it
+stopped, and that instant a janitor banged the door, shutting out late
+comers inexorably.
+
+Everybody stood up, while the Professor repeated a collect and the
+Lord’s Prayer in English. Then he began to call the roll in Latin, and
+as each student answered ‘Adsum!’ he was assigned a place on one of the
+benches, which was to be his for the rest of the session. Alec’s place
+was between a stout little fellow of sixteen, son of a wealthy Glasgow
+merchant, and a pale overworked teacher, who had set his heart on being
+able to write ‘M.A.’ after his name.
+
+The work of the class then began. The Professor gave a short
+explanation of the circumstances under which the oration which he had
+selected was made. He read and translated a few lines, explaining the
+various allusions, the nature of a Roman trial, and the meaning of the
+word ‘judices.’ He then, by way of illustrating the method of teaching,
+called on one of the students to construe a few lines, and proceeded to
+ask all sorts of questions, historical and philological, passing the
+questions from man to man and from bench to bench. He then prescribed a
+piece of English to be turned into Latin prose. Before he had ceased
+speaking the clock struck; the bell began to ring; the Professor
+finished his sentence and shut his book. The lecture was at an end.
+
+The next hour Alec spent chiefly in wandering round the College Green,
+a kind of neglected park thinly populated with soot-encrusted trees,
+which lay at the rear of the College buildings. At ten o’clock the
+junior Greek class met; and Alec entered a small room crammed with
+students, who were sitting on narrow, crescent-shaped benches raised
+one behind the other, and fronting a semicircular platform at the lower
+end of the room. The book-boards, Alec noticed, were extremely narrow,
+and neatly bound with iron. The procedure here was much the same as it
+had been in the Latin class, except that there were no prayers, the
+devotions being confined to the classes which happened to meet earliest
+in the day.
+
+At eleven there was another hour of Latin, Virgil being the text-book
+this time; and then lectures were over for the day, so far as Alec was
+concerned.
+
+All day long the committee-rooms of the rival Conservative and Liberal
+Associations were filled with men, consulting, smoking, enrolling
+pledges, and inditing ‘squibs’ and manifestoes; and as a Liberal
+meeting in support of Mr. Sharpe was to be held that evening in the
+Greek class-room, Alec determined to be present, hoping to hear some
+arguments which might help him to decide how he ought to vote on this
+momentous occasion.
+
+In this expectation, however, he was disappointed. Before he came in
+sight of the lighted-up windows of the class-room he heard a roar of
+singing--the factions were uniting their powers to render a stanza
+of ‘The Good Rhine Wine’ with proper emphasis. The place was packed
+as full as it would hold, the Professor’s platform being held by the
+committee-men of the Liberal Association. As soon as the song was
+ended, a small man in spectacles was voted into the chair. He opened
+the proceedings by calling upon a Mr. Macfarlane to move the first
+resolution, and (like a wise man) immediately sat down.
+
+Mr. Macfarlane, a young man of great size with a throat of brass, was
+not popular. Cries of ‘Sit down, sir!’ ‘Go home, sir!’ ‘Speak up,
+sir!’ were mingled with volleys of peas, Kentish fire, cheers for Lord
+Dummieden, and the usual noises of a noisy meeting.
+
+The little man in spectacles got up, and, speaking in a purposely low
+voice, obtained a hearing. He reminded his Conservative friends that
+the Liberals had not spoiled the Conservative meeting on the previous
+evening, and said it was only fair that they should have their turn.
+This was greeted with loud shouts of ‘Hear! hear!’ and Mr. Macfarlane
+began a second time. But soon he managed to set his audience in an
+uproar once more. His face was fairly battered with peas. Men got
+up and stood on the benches, then on the book-boards. One fellow
+had brought a policeman’s rattle, with which he created a din so
+intolerable that three or four others tried to deprive him of it. One
+or two stout Conservatives came to the rescue, and finally the whole
+group slid off their narrow foot-hold on the book-boards, and fell in a
+confused heap on the floor, amid loud cheers from both parties.
+
+After this episode order was restored, and a fresh orator held the
+attention of the audience for a few minutes. Unfortunately he stopped
+for a moment, and the pause was immediately filled by a student at the
+farther end of the room blowing a shrill, pitiful blast on a child’s
+penny trumpet. The effect was comical enough; and everybody laughed. At
+that moment a loud knock was heard at the door, which had been locked,
+the room being already as full as it could possibly hold. The knock was
+repeated.
+
+‘I believe the perambulator has come for the gentleman with the penny
+trumpet,’ said the chairman in gentle accents.
+
+This sally was greeted with a loud roar of laughter; and when it died
+away, comparative silence reigned for five minutes.
+
+Then came more cheers, songs, and volleys of peas; and when everybody
+was hoarse the meeting came to an end, the leading spirits on both
+sides adjourning to their committee-rooms, and afterwards to the hotels
+which they usually patronized.
+
+These meetings were continued for about ten days, and then the vote was
+taken. The four ‘nations’ had each one vote. Two voted for Mr. Sharpe,
+and two for Lord Dummieden. And then the Chancellor, in accordance
+with old established practice, gave his casting vote in favour of the
+Conservative candidate.
+
+It was over. The manifestoes and satirical ballads were swept away; and
+the twelve hundred men and boys settled down to six months’ labour.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER VI.
+
+                           A NEW EXPERIENCE.
+
+
+For the next six weeks Alec Lindsay’s life was one unvarying round of
+lectures, and preparation for lectures. For recreation he had football
+on the College Green, long walks on Saturday afternoons, and long
+debates with his friend Cameron. The debates, however, were not very
+frequent, for the Highlander was working twelve hours a day.
+
+‘I mean to get a first-class in surgery,’ he said to Alec one Saturday
+night, as the two sat over their pipes in Alec’s sitting-room; ‘and
+then perhaps the Professor will ask me to be an assistant. If he does,
+my fortune is made, for I know my work.’
+
+‘Ay, that’s the great thing,’ said Alec absently. ‘Don’t you ever go to
+church, Cameron?’ he added abruptly.
+
+‘As seldom as I can,’ said the other, with a side look at his
+companion; ‘but don’t take me for a guide.’
+
+‘I can’t help it,’ replied the lad, still gazing into the fire; ‘we all
+take our neighbours for guides, whether we acknowledge it or not.’
+
+‘More or less, no doubt.’
+
+‘Don’t you think one _ought_ to go to church?’
+
+‘How can I tell? Every man for himself, my lad.’
+
+‘That won’t do,’ answered Alec, rousing himself and facing his friend;
+‘right’s right, and wrong’s wrong; what is right for one man must be
+right for every man--under the same circumstances, I mean.’
+
+‘Will you just tell me,’ said Cameron, half defiantly, ‘what good going
+to church can do me? I know the psalms almost by heart, and I know the
+chapters the minister reads almost as well. As for the prayers, half
+of them aren’t prayers at all, and the other half I could say as weel
+at hame, if I had a mind. And the sermons!--man, Alec, ye canna say ye
+think they can do good to any living creature.’
+
+‘Some of them, perhaps.’
+
+‘When I find a minister that doesna tell us the same thing over, and
+over, and over again, and use fifty words to say what might be said in
+five, to spin out the time, I’ll reconsider the p’int,’ said Cameron.
+
+‘But you believe there’s a God,’ said Alec.
+
+‘That’s a lang stap furret,’ said the other.
+
+‘But do you?’
+
+‘Well, I do, and I dinna. I don’t believe in the Free Kirk God. It’s
+hard to think this warl could mak’ itsel’: but I hae my doots.’
+
+‘Then you’re an Agnostic?’
+
+‘What if I am? Are ye scunnered?’[1]
+
+‘No--and yet----’
+
+‘Or what if I should tell you I have chosen some other religion? Why
+should I be a Presbyterian? Because I was born in Scotland. That’s the
+only reason I’ve been able to think of, and it doesn’t seem to me to be
+up to much.’
+
+Alec was secretly shocked, though he thought it more manly not to show
+it.
+
+‘I believe in the Bible,’ he said at last.
+
+‘That doesna help you much,’ said Cameron, with some contempt.
+‘Baptists, Independents, Episcopalians, the very Papists themsel’s, and
+thae half-heathen Russians, wad tell ye that they believe in the Bible.
+Ye micht as weel tell a judge, when he ca’ed on you for an argument,
+that ye believe in an Act o’ Parliament.’
+
+‘Hae ye an aitlas?’ he continued after a pause. ‘Here’s one.’
+
+He turned to a ‘Mercator’s projection’ at the beginning of the volume,
+and scratched the spot which represented Scotland with his pencil. He
+then slightly shaded England, the United States, and Holland, and put
+in a few dots in Germany and Switzerland.
+
+‘There!’ he said, as he pushed the map across the table; ‘that’s your
+Presbyterian notion o’ Christendom. There’s a glimmerin’ in England and
+the States, but only in bonny Scotland does the true licht shine full
+and fair. As for Germany, Holland, an’ Switzerland, they’re unco dry,
+no tae say deid branches. The rest o’ mankind--total darkness!’
+
+‘But you might have said the same thing of Christianity itself at one
+time, and of every religion in the world, for that matter,’ protested
+Alec.
+
+‘Nae doot,’ retorted Cameron, ‘but that was at the beginning. This is
+Christianity, according to the gospel o’ John Knox and Company after
+nineteen centuries! A poor show for nineteen hunder’ years--a mighty
+poor show!’
+
+He got up as he spoke, and knocking the ashes out of his pipe,
+prepared to move to his own quarters.
+
+‘Let’s change the subject,’ said Alec. ‘Here’s a letter I got this
+morning, and I don’t know how to answer it.’
+
+‘What’s this?’ said the older man, taking the thick sheet of paper
+between the tips of his fingers. ‘“Mr. James Lindsay presents his
+compliments to Mr. Alexander Lindsay, and requests the pleasure of
+his company at dinner on Tuesday the 27th inst., at half-past six.
+Blythswood Square, December, 187-.” Is this old James Lindsay o’
+Drumleck?’
+
+‘Yes.’
+
+‘Are you a connection of his?’
+
+‘Grand-nephew.’
+
+‘And why can’t you answer the note?’
+
+‘I don’t want to go. I haven’t been brought up to this sort of thing,
+and I don’t care to go out of my way to make myself ridiculous in a
+rich man’s house. Besides, I don’t want to go to the expense of a suit
+of dress clothes. And then, my uncle and I were not particularly
+smitten with each other when I saw him last.’
+
+‘Don’t be a fool, Alec,’ said Cameron quietly. ‘You can’t afford to
+throw away the friendship of a man worth twenty thousand a year.’
+
+‘That phrase always reminds me,’ remarked Alec, ‘of what one of the
+Erskines--I don’t remember which of them it was--once said, when some
+one said in his company that so-and-so had died worth three hundred
+thousand pounds--“Did he indeed, sir? And a very pretty sum, too, to
+begin the next world with.”’
+
+Cameron smiled grimly.
+
+‘You’ll have to go, Alec,’ he repeated; ‘and you needn’t be afraid of
+appearing ridiculous. Do as you see others do, and keep a lown sail;
+better seem blate than impident.’
+
+‘My father would be in a fine way if he heard that my uncle had invited
+me, and that I had refused the invitation,’ said Lindsay.
+
+‘And quite right too,’ rejoined Cameron. ‘Besides, Alec, the old man
+is your father’s uncle, and you ought to show him some respect.’
+
+‘That wasn’t the reason you put in the forefront,’ said Alec slyly.
+
+For reply Cameron, who had reached the door, picked up a Greek grammar,
+flung it at his friend’s head as he muttered something in Gaelic, and
+banging the door behind him, ascended to his own domicile.
+
+Exactly at the appointed hour Alec presented himself at his
+grand-uncle’s house in Blythswood Square. The square had once been
+fashionable, and was still something more than respectable, because
+the houses were too large to be inhabited by people of moderate means;
+but the situation was dull and gloomy to the last degree. Within,
+however, there was a very different scene. Entrance-hall, staircase,
+drawing-room, were all as brilliant as gas-jets could make them. The
+walls, even of the passages, were lined with pictures, good, bad, and
+indifferent. Every landing, every corner, held a statue, or at least a
+statuette, or a bust upon a pedestal.
+
+When Alec was ushered into the drawing-room, he could hardly see for
+the blaze of light; he could hardly move for little tables laden with
+china, ormolu, and bronzes. Fortunately, Sir Peter and Lady Colquhoun
+were entering the reception-room just as Alec reached it, so that he
+made his entrance in their wake, and, as it were, under their lee.
+
+The room was already pretty well filled, and more guests were
+continually arriving. On the hearth-rug stood a little old man, with a
+mean, inexpressive face, scanty hair which was still gray, thin gray
+whiskers, small eyes, and a fussy consequential air. When he spoke, it
+was in a high-pitched, rasping voice; and he invariably gave one the
+impression that he was insisting upon being noticed and attended to.
+
+This was Mr. Lindsay of Drumleck. He stared at Alec for an instant,
+then gave him his hand in silence, and, without addressing a word to
+him, continued his conversation with the Lord Provost’s wife. Alec’s
+face flushed. His first impulse was to walk out of the room, and out
+of the house; but on second thoughts he saw that that course would not
+even be dignified. He retreated to a corner, and set himself to watch
+the company.
+
+For the most part they sat nearly silent--fat baillies and their
+well-nourished wives--hard-featured damsels of thirty or forty summers,
+in high-necked dresses and Brussels lace collars--one or two stout
+ministers--such was the assembly. Alec was astonished. He had expected,
+somehow, that he should meet people of a different type.
+
+‘Take one or two dozen people from behind the shop-counters in
+Argyle Street,’ he said to himself (with boyish contempt for the
+disappointing), ‘or even a few Muirburn ploughmen and weavers, give
+them plenty of money, and in three weeks they would be quite as fine
+ladies and gentlemen as any I see here.’
+
+As the thought passed through the boy’s mind, the door was thrown
+open, and the names of ‘Professor Taylor and Miss Mowbray’ were
+announced. A tall, lean man, with long hair and crumpled old-fashioned
+garments, entered, and beside him walked a young lady with her eyes on
+the ground.
+
+She was dressed in a cream-coloured costume, with just a fleck of
+colour here and there. She was indeed remarkably pretty, and possessed
+a soft, childlike grace which was more captivating than beauty alone
+would have been. She had a small, well-rounded figure--a little more
+and it would have been plump--abundant dark-brown hair, and a soft,
+peach-like complexion. Her eyelashes were unusually long; and when,
+reaching her host, she half-timidly raised her eyes to his, Alec (who
+was sitting in the background) felt a little thrill of pleasure at the
+mere sight of their dark loveliness.
+
+She was the first lady, the first young lady, at least, whom he had
+seen, and he looked at her as if she were a being to be worshipped.
+But Laura Mowbray was indeed pretty enough to have turned the head of a
+more experienced person than the laird’s son.
+
+Professor Taylor and his niece moved to one side; her dress almost
+brushed against Alec. She glanced at him for an instant; without
+intending it he dropped his eyes, and the girl looked in another
+direction with a little inward smile.
+
+In three or four minutes dinner was announced, and Laura fell to the
+care of James Semple (the cousin who had taken Alec’s place at the
+oil-works), who had just come in. There were more men than women in the
+party, and Alec and one or two of the less wealthy guests were left to
+find their way into the dining-room by themselves at the end of the
+procession. Fortune, however, favoured Alec. When he took his seat, he
+found that he was sitting between a pale, inoffensive-looking youth
+and--Laura Mowbray.
+
+He literally did not dare to look at her, much less to address her; he
+was not sure, indeed, whether the rules of society allowed him to do
+so in the absence of an introduction. In a little time, however, his
+shyness wore off; he watched his opportunity; but before he found one,
+his neighbour remarked in her soft English accent, and in the sweetest
+of tones:
+
+‘What dreadful fogs you have in Glasgow!’
+
+Alec made some reply, and the ice once broken, he made rapid progress.
+
+‘Everybody I meet seems to be related to somebody else, or connected
+with some one I have met before,’ said Miss Mowbray. ‘You have all
+so many relations in this part of the country, and you seem never to
+forget any of them. In London it is different. People seldom know their
+next-door neighbours; and it is just a chance whether they keep up
+cousinships, and so on, or not.’
+
+‘Really? I think that is very unnatural.’
+
+‘Oh! _so_ unnatural! Life in London is so dreadfully conventional and
+superficial. Don’t you think so?’
+
+‘I dare say; but I have never been in London.’
+
+‘Have you, Mr. Semple?’ she asked of the gentleman on her left.
+
+‘No, I haven’t,’ he answered shortly.
+
+He did not approve of Miss Mowbray paying any attention to Alec,
+regarding her as for the time being his property. On this Laura left
+off talking to Alec, and devoted herself to the amusement of Mr. Semple.
+
+Soon, however, she took advantage of his attention being claimed by the
+lady on his left, to turn again with a smile to Alec.
+
+‘Mr. Semple tells me you are at College. My uncle is a professor there,
+but he has hardly any students, because history is not a compulsory
+subject in the examinations. How do you like being at College?’
+
+Alec was grateful for her interest in him, and gave her his impressions
+of College life. Then she turned once more to her legitimate
+entertainer, who was by that time at liberty.
+
+Alec had already had far more intercourse with his lovely neighbour
+than he had dared to hope for; but the dinner was a long one; and as
+Mr. Semple’s left-hand neighbour happened to be a maiden aunt with
+money, she was able to compel his attention once more before the close
+of the meal.
+
+‘You live in a beautiful part of the country, I believe,’ Miss Mowbray
+remarked to Alec.
+
+‘I don’t know; I like it, of course; but I don’t know that it is finer
+than any country with wood and a river.’
+
+‘Oh, you _have_ a river? I am so passionately fond of river scenery.’
+
+‘Yes, and we have a castle,’ replied Alec; and before the ladies rose
+he had described not only the castle, but the moorland and the romantic
+dell which was his sister’s favourite retreat, to his much-interested
+neighbour.
+
+When at length the ladies followed Miss Lindsay--a distant relation who
+superintended Mr. Lindsay’s establishment--out of the room, Alec felt
+as if the evening had suddenly come to an end.
+
+Semple, who had vouchsafed him rather a cool nod in the evening, tried
+in vain to make him talk.
+
+‘How do you like College?’
+
+‘Pretty well.’
+
+‘Dreadful underbred set. Why don’t you go to Oxford?’
+
+Alec made no reply.
+
+‘Or Edinburgh--they are a much better class of men at Edinburgh, I’m
+told.’
+
+And Mr. Semple turned away to join a conversation about ‘warrants,’
+and ‘premiums,’ and ‘vendor’s shares,’ ‘corners,’ ‘contangos,’ and
+‘quotations,’ which to Alec was simply unintelligible.
+
+At the other end of the table a conversation of another character
+was in progress--one hardly less interesting to those who took part
+in it, and hardly more interesting to an outsider. It seemed that a
+wealthy congregation of United Presbyterians had built themselves an
+organ at considerable expense, without obtaining the sanction of their
+co-religionists; and an edict had gone forth that the organ must be
+silent on Sundays, but might be used for the delectation of those who
+attended the prayer-meeting on Wednesday evenings.
+
+‘I look upon it as the thin end of the wedge,’ said the Reverend Hector
+MacTavish, D.D., striking his fist on his knee. ‘You begin with hymns,
+many of them wish-washy trash, some of them positively unscriptural.
+Then you must have a choir for the tunes, as if the old-fashioned long
+metre and common metre were not good enough; then comes an organ; then
+the Lord’s Prayer is used as a part of the ritual--mark you, as a part
+of the ritual--I have no objection to the Lord’s Prayer when it is not
+used on formal, stated occasions. After that, you have a liturgy.’
+
+‘No, no, Doctor; you are going too fast,’ murmured one of the audience.
+
+‘And I maintain that with a liturgy there is an end to the
+distinctively Presbyterian form of worship.’
+
+‘But where would you draw the line?’ inquired a mild, sallow-faced
+young man who had imbibed his theological opinions at Heidelberg, and
+was in consequence suspected of latitudinarianism, if not of actual
+heresy.
+
+‘Where our fathers drew it, at the Psalms of Tavid!’ thundered Mr.
+MacTavish, striking his unoffending knee once more.
+
+‘Then I fear you render Union impossible,’ said the young minister.
+
+‘And what if I do, sir?’ said Dr. MacTavish loftily; ‘in my opinion
+we Free Churchmen are ferry well as we are, and need no new lights to
+illuminate us.’
+
+The young man received the covert sneer at his German training and his
+liberal ideas with a smile; and Alec listened no longer, but relapsed
+into dreamland. The dispute, however, continued long after most of the
+men had returned to the drawing-room, and Alec rose from his chair
+while an animated discussion was in progress on the point whether
+the use of an organ was favourable to spiritual worship or tended to
+sensuousness, and whether the fact that the New Testament was silent on
+the subject, condemned the organ and its followers by anticipation.
+
+When Alec entered the drawing-room, Miss Mowbray was singing. He
+retreated to a corner and stood as one spell-bound. He watched for an
+opportunity of speaking to her again, but there was none; however,
+on passing him on her way to the door on her uncle’s arm, she gave
+him a little bow and smile, which he regarded as another proof of her
+sweetness of disposition.
+
+The theologians had not finished their disputations, and were
+continuing them in a corner of the drawing-room, when Alec took his
+departure.
+
+He walked back to his poor and empty room with his head among the
+stars. She had talked with him, smiled upon him, treated him as an
+equal. He would find out where she lived, and contrive to meet her
+again. How lovely she was, how sweet, how pure, how good! The wide
+earth, Alec Lindsay was firmly convinced, contained no mortal fit
+for one moment to be compared with the girl whose soft brown eyes
+and gentle, almost appealing, looks still made his heart beat as he
+remembered them.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+     [1] Disgusted.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER VII.
+
+                          A SUNDAY IN GLASGOW.
+
+
+‘Well, Alec, how did you get on last night?’ asked Duncan Cameron
+of his friend, when they met as usual the day after the dinner at
+Blythswood Square.
+
+‘Oh, all right. It was rather a stupid affair.’
+
+‘Rather stupid--not quite worth the trouble of attending? And yet you
+were half afraid of going! Don’t deny it.’
+
+‘I said it was stupid; and so it was,’ said Alec, reddening. ‘Nobody
+said anything worth listening to, so far as I heard.’
+
+‘That means nobody took much notice of _you_, eh?’
+
+‘What an ill-conditioned, sneering fellow you are, Cameron,’ replied
+Alec tranquilly. ‘You’ll never get on in the world unless you learn to
+be civil.’
+
+‘It isn’t worth my while to be civil to you,’ said Cameron. ‘Wait till
+I’m in practice and have to flatter and humour rich old women. What did
+your uncle say to you?’
+
+‘Hardly anything--just a word or two, as I was coming away.’
+
+‘You ought to cultivate him, Alec.’
+
+‘I wish you wouldn’t speak like that, Duncan,’ said Alec roughly. ‘Do
+you think I’m the sort of fellow to flatter and fawn upon an old man I
+don’t like, simply because he is rich?’
+
+‘There’s no need for flattering and fawning,’ replied Cameron; ‘but
+you’ve no right to throw away such a chance at the very outset of your
+life.’
+
+‘Do you think, then, that it’s manly or honourable to visit a man as
+it were out of pure friendship, when your only object is to make him
+useful to you?’
+
+‘There’s no question of friendship, ye gowk; he’s your relation,
+and the head of your house. It’s your duty to pay him your respects
+occasionally.’
+
+‘Paying my respects wouldn’t be of much use,’ retorted Alec. ‘You’re
+shirking the question. Is it honourable to--I don’t know the right
+word--to try to ingratiate yourself with anyone in the hope of getting
+something out of him?’
+
+‘Why not?’
+
+‘It’s not honourable; and I would not respect myself if I were to do
+such a thing,’ said Alec, with much dignity.
+
+Cameron laughed inwardly, but he made no response, and there was
+silence for a few minutes between the two friends. The older man was
+thinking how absurd the boy was, and how a little experience of life
+would rub off his ‘high-fantastical’ notions. Then he wished that he
+had a grand-uncle who was a millionnaire. And then he fell to 
+wondering whether, on the whole, it was best to despise wealth, 
+as Alec Lindsay did, or to acquire it.
+
+‘I suppose it is too late now to take another class?’ said Alec, half
+absently.
+
+‘I should think so,’ responded his friend. ‘What class did you think of
+taking? Mathematics?’
+
+‘No; History.’
+
+‘History! That isn’t wanted for a degree. What put that into your head?’
+
+‘Oh, I don’t know. I only thought of it.’
+
+Cameron did not know that the learned Professor of History had a niece
+named Laura Mowbray.
+
+That evening about ten o’clock, when the medical student went down to
+his friend’s room, as was his custom at that hour, he found Alec poring
+over some papers, which he pushed aside as Cameron entered.
+
+‘Come in,’ he cried, as the other paused in the doorway. ‘I’m not
+working.’
+
+The Highlander took up his usual position, standing on the hearth-rug
+with his back to the fire, and proceeded to light his pipe.
+
+‘They tell me you’re doing very well in the Latin class--sure of a
+prize, if you keep on as you’re doing,’ he said, after smoking for a
+minute in silence.
+
+‘Oh, it’s no use; I can’t do Latin prose,’ answered Alec
+discontentedly. ‘How can I? I’ve never had any practice. Just look at
+this--my last exercise--no frightful blunders, but, as the Professor
+said, full of inelegancies;’ and he handed his friend a sheet of paper
+from his table as he spoke.
+
+Cameron took the paper, and regarded it through a cloud of smoke.
+
+‘What’s this?’ he exclaimed. ‘Poetry, as I’m a livin’ Heelandman! Just
+listen!’ and he waved his hand, as if addressing an imaginary audience.
+
+Alec’s face burned, as he rose and hastily snatched the paper from his
+friend’s grasp. Cameron would have carried his bantering further, but
+he saw that in the lad’s face which restrained him.
+
+‘Already!’ he muttered, as he turned away to hide his laughter.
+
+‘Are you going home for the New Year?’ asked Alec, when his
+embarrassment had subsided.
+
+‘Me? No! We have only a week’s vacation, or ten days at most. The
+_Dunolly Castle_ sails only once a week in winter; and if the sailings
+didn’t suit, I should have hardly time to go there before I had to come
+away again. And if a storm came on I should be weather-bound, and might
+not get south for another week.’
+
+‘It must be very dreary in the north in winter,’ said Alec.
+
+‘Ay--but you must come and see for yourself some day.’
+
+Alec was silent; he was thinking that he should like to ask his friend
+to spend the vacation week with him at the Castle Farm; but he did not
+care to take the responsibility of giving the invitation.
+
+The following Sunday was one of those dismal days which are common
+in the west of Scotland during the winter months. It was nearly cold
+enough for snow, but instead of snow a continuous drizzle fell slowly
+throughout the day. There was no fog; but in the streets of Glasgow it
+was dark soon after midday.
+
+Alec Lindsay went to church in the forenoon as usual; then he came home
+and ate a cold dinner which would have been very trying to any appetite
+less robust than that of a young Scotchman.
+
+Finding that he had a few minutes to spare before setting out for the
+afternoon service (which takes the place of an evening service in
+England), he ran upstairs to his friend’s room.
+
+‘I wish you would come to church with me, Duncan,’ he said, as he
+seated himself on the medical student’s trunk.
+
+The invitation implied a reproach; but Cameron was not offended at
+this interference with his private concerns. In the north a man who
+‘neglects ordinances’ is supposed to lay himself open to the reproof
+of any better-disposed person who assumes an interest in his spiritual
+welfare. For reply he muttered something in Gaelic, which Alec
+conjectured, rightly enough, to be an exclamation too improper to be
+said conveniently in English.
+
+‘Fat can ye no leaf a man alone for?’ he said aloud, reverting, as he
+did when he was excited, to his strong Highland accent.
+
+Alec said no more; but Cameron, whose conscience was not quite at rest,
+chose to continue the subject.
+
+‘I go to the kirk when I’m at home,’ he said, ‘an’ that’s enough. I go
+to please my mother, an’ keep folk from talking--but it’s weary work.
+I often ask myself what is the good of it?--the whole thing, I mean.
+There’s old Mr. Macfarlane, the parish minister of Glenstruan--we went
+to live on the mainland two years ago, you know. He’s a decent man--a
+_ferry_ decent man. He ladles oot castor oil an’ cod-liver oil as
+occasion requires, to the haill parish, an’ the next ane tae, without
+fee or reward. He’s a great botanist, and spends half his time in his
+gairden--grows a’ sorts o’ fruit--even peaches, I’ve been told. When
+the weather’s suitable he gangs fishin’. On Sabbath he has apoot forty
+folk in his big barn o’ a kirk. He talks tae them for an oor, an’ lets
+them gang. He’s aye ready to baptize a wean, or pray wi’ a deein’
+botoch,[2] but it’s seldom he has the chance. I’m no blamin’ the man.
+It’s no his faut that the folk gaed ower bodily to the Free Kirk at the
+Disruption, an’ left him, a shepherd wi’ ne’er a flock, but a wheen
+auld rams, wha----’
+
+‘But there’s the Free Kirk,’ interrupted Alec, ‘and it’s your own kirk,
+I suppose.’
+
+‘No,’ said Cameron. ‘If anything, I belong to the Establishment.
+Save me, is my daily an’ nichtly prayer, frae the bitter birr o’ the
+Dissenters.’
+
+Alec laughed, and the other went on:
+
+‘There’s Maister MacPhairson, the Free Kirk minister. He’s a wee, soor,
+black-avised crater, wi’ a wife an’ nine weans. Hoo he manages to gie
+them parritch an’ milk I can _not_ imagine. He’s jist eaten up wi’ envy
+an’ spite that the parish minister has the big hoose, and he has the
+wee ane. He mak’s his sermons dooble as lang to let folk see that he
+does a’ the wark----’
+
+‘A very good reason for not belonging to the Free Church,’ interposed
+Alec; ‘but I don’t see what all this has got to do with the question.’
+
+‘I’m only showing that the religious system of this country
+is in a state of petrifaction,’ said Cameron, abandoning the
+Doric--‘fossilization, if you like it better.’
+
+Alec laughed.
+
+‘A pretty proof,’ he cried.
+
+‘Oh, of course, the state of religion in one corner of the Hielans is
+only an illustration; but it’s much the same everywhere. I don’t see,
+to put the thing plainly, that we should be very much worse off without
+any kirks, and what we want with so many is a mystery to me. What was
+the use of building a new one in every parish at the Disruption, I
+should like to know?’
+
+‘You know as well as I do,’ answered Alec. ‘A great principle was at
+stake.’
+
+‘“The sacred right o’ the nowte[3] to chuse their ain herd,” as Burns
+puts it,’ interposed Cameron.
+
+‘Not only that; the question was whether the Church should submit to
+interference on the part of the State,’ said Alec.
+
+‘And by way of showing that she never would submit, she rent herself
+in twa, and one half has spent the best part of her pith ever since in
+keeping up the fight wi’ the tither half. What sense is there in that,
+can ye tell me?’
+
+‘That’s all very well,’ said Alec, ‘but it seems to me that if a man
+finds a poor religion around him, he ought to stick to it as well as he
+can till he finds a better one.’
+
+‘There’s sense in that, Alec,’ said Cameron; ‘and I’ll no just say I’ve
+no had my endeavours to find a better.’
+
+‘Where can ye find a better?’ asked Alec, shocked at this
+latitudinarianism.
+
+‘I didna say I had succeeded, did I? But I’ve tried. I went a good deal
+among the Methodists in my first year at College. I was wonderfully
+taken with them at first--thought them just the very salt of the earth.
+But in six months, I found they groaned and cried “Amen” a little too
+often--for nothing at all. Then, my next session, I wandered about from
+one kirk to another, and then I stayed still. Sometimes I’ve even gone
+to the Catholics.’
+
+‘The Catholics!’ exclaimed Alec, with horror. If his friend had said
+that he had occasionally joined in the rites of pagans, and had
+witnessed human sacrifices, he could hardly have shocked this son of
+the Covenanters more seriously.
+
+‘Hoots, ay!’ said the Highlander, with a half-affected carelessness.
+‘There’s a lot o’ them in Glenstruan.’
+
+‘At home? In the north?’ asked Alec, in astonishment.
+
+‘Yes; in out-of-the-way corners there are many Catholics. In some
+parishes there are but few Protestants.’
+
+‘How did they come there?’
+
+‘They have always been there.’
+
+It was news to Alec, Scotchman as he was, that there are to this day
+little communities of Catholics hidden among the mountains of Ross and
+Inverness, living in glens so secluded that one might almost fancy that
+the fierce storms of the sixteenth century had never reached them.
+
+Wondering in his heart how it was possible that even unlettered
+Highlanders should have clung so long to degrading superstitions,
+Alec descended from his friend’s garret, and set off alone for St.
+Simon’s Free Church. The Free Churchmen in the Scotch towns frequently
+name their places of worship after the Apostles, not with any idea
+of honouring the Apostles’ memory, but solely by way of keeping up
+a healthful and stimulating rivalry with the Establishment. Thus we
+have ‘St. Paul’s,’ and ‘Free St. Paul’s’--‘St. John’s,’ and ‘Free St.
+John’s’--and so forth.
+
+Alec set out alone, and he felt very lonely as he made his way over
+the sloppy pavements. Among all these crowds of respectably-dressed
+people, there was not one face he knew, not the least possibility that
+anyone would give him a greeting. He would much rather have stayed at
+home over a pipe and a book, like Duncan Cameron; but his conscience
+would have made him miserable for a month if he had been guilty of such
+a crime. The jangling of bells filled the murky air. Most places of
+worship in Scotland have a bell, but very few have more than one. There
+is, therefore, no reason why each church should not have as large and
+as loud a bell as is consistent with the safety of the belfry.
+
+In a short time Alec reached ‘Free St. Simon’s,’ a building which
+outwardly resembled an Egyptian temple on a small scale, and inwardly
+a Methodist chapel on a large scale. In all essential points the
+worship was exactly a counterpart of that to which he had always been
+accustomed at Muirburn; but the details were different. Here the
+passages were covered with matting, and the pews were carpeted and
+cushioned. Hassocks were also provided, not for kneeling upon, but for
+the greater comfort of the audience during the sermon.
+
+The tall windows on either side of the pulpit were composed of painted
+glass. There were no idolatrous representations in the windows; only
+geometrical figures--Alec knew their number, and the colour of each one
+of them, intimately.
+
+At Free St. Simon’s the modern habit of standing during psalm-singing
+had been introduced. The attitude to be observed at prayer was as yet a
+moot question. Custom varied upon the point. The older members of the
+congregation stood up and severely regarded their fellow-worshippers,
+who kept their seats, propped their feet on their hassocks, put their
+arms on the book-boards, and leant their heads upon their arms. This
+posture Alec found to be highly conducive to slumber; and he had much
+difficulty in keeping awake, but he did not care to proclaim himself
+one of the ‘unco guid’ by rising to his feet, and protesting in that
+way against the modern laxity of manners.
+
+The prayer was a very long one, but at last it was over; and then came
+a chapter read from the Bible, another portion of a psalm, and the
+sermon. The preacher was both a good man and a learned one, but oratory
+was not his strong point; and if it had been, he might well have been
+excused for making no attempt to exert it at such a time and under such
+circumstances. The text, Alec remembered afterwards, was ‘One Lord, one
+Father of all,’ and the sermon was an elaborate attempt to prove that
+the Creator was in no proper sense the ‘Father’ of all men, but of the
+elect only. The young student listened for a time, and then fell to
+castle-building, an occupation of which he was perilously fond.
+
+When the regulation hour-and-a-half had come to a close, the
+congregation was dismissed; and Alec Lindsay went back to his lodgings,
+weary, depressed, and discontented. After tea there was absolutely
+nothing for him to do. He did not feel inclined to read a religious
+book; and recreations of any kind were absolutely forbidden by the
+religion in which he had been brought up. After an hour spent in idling
+about his room, he set out to find a church at which there was evening
+service, thinking that to hear another sermon would be less wearisome
+than solitude.
+
+Wandering through the streets, which at that hour were almost deserted,
+he at last heard a church bell begin to ring, and following the sound
+he came to a stone building, surmounted by a belfry. After a little
+hesitation, Alec Lindsay entered, and was conducted by the pew-opener
+to a seat. The area of the building was filled with very high-backed
+pews, set close together, and a large gallery ran round three of
+the walls; but the chapel was evidently not a Presbyterian place of
+worship, for on either side of the lofty pulpit was a reading-desk,
+nearly as high as the pulpit itself.
+
+Presently the bell stopped, and an organ placed in the gallery opposite
+the pulpit began to sound. Then a clergyman in white surplice and black
+stole ascended to the reading-desk on the right of the central pulpit,
+and Alec Lindsay knew that he was, for the first time in his life, in
+an ‘Episcopal’ chapel.
+
+The service was conducted in the plainest manner possible. The psalms
+were read, the canticles alone being chanted; and the clergyman, as
+he read the prayers, faced the congregation. The hymns were of a
+pronounced Evangelical type, and the sternest Calvinist could have
+found no fault with the sermon. But to Alec all was so entirely new
+and strange that he sometimes found it difficult to remember that he
+was supposed to be engaged in worship.
+
+The prayers were over, and the sermon had begun, when Alec noticed, at
+some little distance, a face, the sight of which made his hand tremble
+and his heart beat. It was Laura Mowbray. She was sitting alone in
+her corner, her only companion being a maidservant, who sat at the
+door of the pew. Her profile was turned towards Alec, its clear white
+outline showing against the dark panelling behind her. Almost afraid
+to look in her direction, for fear of attracting her attention, or of
+allowing those sitting near him to guess what was passing in his mind,
+he took only a glance now and then at the object of his worship. It was
+worship, rather than love, with Alec Lindsay. Courtship, and marriage,
+and the practical considerations which these things entail, never
+entered the boy’s mind. He had seen his ideal of beauty, of refinement,
+of feminine grace; and he was content, for the present at least, to
+worship her at a distance, himself unseen.
+
+When the service was over, he left the chapel, and placed himself at
+an angle outside the gateway, where he could see her as she passed
+out. He recognised her figure as soon as it appeared, but to his great
+disappointment her face was turned from him. By chance, however, she
+looked back to see if the maid were following her, and for one instant
+he had a full view of her face. It was enough, and without a thought of
+accosting her, Alec went home satisfied.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+     [2] Old man.
+
+     [3] Cattle.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER VIII.
+
+                           THE ROARING GAME.
+
+
+When the Christmas holidays drew near, Alec obtained his father’s
+permission to ask his friend, Duncan Cameron, to spend a week at the
+Castle Farm; and, after a little hesitation, Cameron accepted the
+proposal.
+
+‘There’s just one thing, Duncan, I would like you to mind,’ said
+Alec, as they drew near the farm; ‘my father’s an old man, and he
+doesn’t like to be contradicted. More than that, he doesn’t care
+to hear anyone express opinions contrary to his own, at least on
+two subjects--politics and religion. If you can’t agree with him on
+these points, and I dare say you won’t, hold your tongue, like a good
+fellow. And my sister--you’d better keep off religion in her case too.’
+
+‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’ was Cameron’s inward thought;
+but he only said he would of course be careful not to wound the old
+gentleman’s susceptibilities.
+
+Mr. Lindsay received his guest with a hearty welcome--it was not one
+of his faults to fail in hospitality--indeed, a stranger might have
+thought that he was better pleased to see his guest than his son. He
+led the way through the great stone-floored kitchen to the parlour,
+where an enormous fire of coals was blazing, and where the evening meal
+was already laid out on the snowy table-cloth.
+
+‘You had better warm your hands before going upstairs,’ he said to
+Duncan. ‘You must have had a very cold drive. Margaret!’ he called out,
+finding that his daughter was not in the sitting-room. ‘Margaret! where
+are you? Come away at once.’
+
+In his eyes Margaret was a child still. He was a little annoyed that
+she should have been out of the way, and not in her place, ready to
+welcome the guest.
+
+Margaret, however, had taken her stand in the dairy, which was on the
+opposite side of the passage from the kitchen. She wanted to greet her
+brother in her own way. And Alec, as soon as he saw that she was not
+with his father, knew where she was. The dairy had been a favourite
+refuge in their childish days. It was a little out of the way, and
+seldom visited, while it commanded a way of retreat through the
+cheese-house.
+
+As soon as his father had taken charge of Cameron, Alec hurried back
+through the kitchen, ran along the passage, opened the dairy-door, and
+there, sure enough, was Margaret.
+
+‘Maggie!’ he cried; and the two were fast locked in each other’s
+embrace.
+
+It was but eight weeks since they had parted; but they had never been
+separated before.
+
+For a moment neither spoke.
+
+‘What made you come here, Maggie?’ asked Alec, with boyish
+inconsiderateness.
+
+‘I came for the cream for tea,’ said Margaret.
+
+‘Oh, Maggie!’
+
+‘I did indeed. Go and get me a light. Oh, Alec! it has been so lonely
+without you!’
+
+She kissed him again, and pushed him out of the dairy. Then she burst
+into tears. He was not so glad to see her as she had been to see him.
+He was changed; she knew he was changed, though she had not really seen
+him. He was going to be a man, to grow beyond her, to forget, perhaps
+to despise her. Why had he asked why she had come there? Surely he
+might have----
+
+At this point in Margaret’s reflections, Alec returned with a candle,
+and seeing the traces of tears on his sister’s cheeks, he turned and
+gave her another hug. She tenderly returned the caress; but her first
+words were:
+
+‘Why did you bring a stranger home with you, Alec? And we are to be
+together such a short time, too!’
+
+‘Oh, nonsense, Maggie! Cameron is a great friend of mine, and you’ll
+like him, I’m sure. But there’s father calling; we must go.’
+
+Mr. Lindsay had divined what his daughter had been doing; but he
+thought it was now quite time that she should come forward and play her
+part as hostess.
+
+‘You go first, Alec,’ she said, taking up the cream-jug which she had
+brought as her excuse for her visit to the dairy.
+
+‘And I tell you, sir, that till we have the ballot we can have no
+security against persecution,’ Mr. Lindsay was exclaiming, as they
+entered the sitting-room. ‘A man cannot vote now according to his
+conscience unless he is prepared to risk being driven from his home, to
+lose his very livelihood. Let me give you an instance----’
+
+But here Margaret came forward, calm and serene as usual. Cameron
+rose to meet her; and the political harangue was cut short by the
+appearance of a stout damsel with cheeks like peonies, bearing an
+enormous silver teapot.
+
+Cameron was struck by Margaret Lindsay’s beauty, as everyone was who
+saw her; but the effect was to render him shy and ill at ease. He felt
+inferior to her; and the calm indifference of her manner made him fancy
+that she treated him with disdain. Mr. Lindsay did most of the talking;
+Cameron, mindful of his friend’s warning, sat almost dumb, totally
+unlike his usual self. Alec began to think that he had made a mistake
+in inviting him to the Castle Farm.
+
+As it happened, a keen frost had set in some days before, and farm
+operations were at a standstill. Margaret was busy next morning in
+superintending matters in the dairy and the kitchen; but the three men
+had nothing to do. Mr. Lindsay fastened on his guest, and extracted
+from him a full and particular account of the state of agriculture and
+of religion in the island of Scalpa and the neighbouring mainland
+before the one o’clock dinner.
+
+In the evening, however, there was a promise of a little break in the
+monotony of life at the farm. A message was brought to Alec enjoining
+him to be at ‘The Lang Loch’ by half-past nine next morning, and take
+part in a curling-match between the Muirburn parish and the players of
+the neighbouring parish of Auchinbyres.
+
+‘You can’t possibly go, Alec,’ said the laird, when the message was
+delivered; ‘Mr. Cameron won’t care to hang about here alone all day.’
+
+Mr. Lindsay was secretly proud of his son’s reputation as a curler; but
+he did not wish him to go to the match, because he did not care that
+he should be exposed to the contaminating influences of a very mixed
+company, and he did not relish the prospect of Alec’s carrying away
+his friend and leaving him alone for the day. But when Duncan heard
+of the match he declared that he must see it--there was hardly ever
+any frost worth speaking of in the Hebrides; and he had never seen a
+curling-match.
+
+‘You’ll want the dog-cart to take your stones to the loch, Alec,’ said
+Mr. Lindsay. ‘I think I will go with you, and go on to Netherburn about
+those tiles.’
+
+‘I wish you would come with us, Maggie,’ said Alec. ‘Father will be
+passing the loch on his way back in half an hour, and he can pick you
+up and bring you home. The drive will do you good.’
+
+To this arrangement Margaret consented, and early next morning the
+little party set out in the keen wintry air. The sun, not long risen,
+was making the snow sparkle on the fields, and turning the desolate
+scene into fairyland.
+
+After an hour’s drive they arrived at the scene of the match--a sheet
+of water, on one side of which the open moor stretched away to the
+horizon, while on the other side there was a thin belt of fir-trees.
+The ice, two or three acres in extent, was covered with a sprinkling
+of snow, which had been carefully cleared from the ‘rinks.’ The rinks
+were sixty or seventy yards long by six or eight wide, and they showed
+like pools of black water beside the clear white snow.
+
+Already the surface of the little lake was dotted with boys on
+‘skeitchers,’ as skates are called in that part of the country; and
+the margin was fringed with dog-carts from which the horses had been
+removed. The stones, circular blocks of granite, nearly a foot in
+diameter, and about five inches thick, fitted with brass handles, were
+lying in order on the bank on beds of straw.
+
+Quite a little crowd of farmers, farm-servants, and schoolboys were
+assembled beside the stones, waiting till the match should begin. Lord
+Bantock, the chief landowner in that part of Kyleshire, was there, his
+red, good-humoured face beaming on everybody, his hands thrust into the
+pockets of his knickerbockers, the regulation green broom under his
+arm. Next him stood a little spare man in a tall hat. This was Johnnie
+Fergus, draper, ironmonger, guardian of the poor, and Free Church
+deacon in the neighbouring village of Auchinbyres.
+
+Nothing was ever done at Auchinbyres without Johnnie Fergus having a
+hand in it. He was a man of importance, and he knew it. No man had ever
+seen Johnnie in a round hat. He always carried his chin very much in
+the air, and kept his lips well pursed up, and spoke in a peremptory
+tone of voice--especially when (as on the present occasion) he was in
+the company of his betters.
+
+Next to him stood Hamilton of the Holme, a great giant of a man, slow
+in his movements, slow in his speech, wearing the roughest of rough
+tweeds, and boots whose soles were at least an inch in thickness.
+At present, however, he was encased as to his lower man in enormous
+stockings, drawn over boots and trousers, to prevent him from slipping
+about on the ice; and many of the players were arrayed in a similar
+fashion.
+
+‘Come awa’, Castle Fairm!’ cried one of the crowd as Mr. Lindsay drove
+up. ‘Aw’m glaid to see ye; ye play a hantle better nor yer son.’
+
+‘Na, na, Muirfuit,’ responded the laird; ‘my playin’-days are by.’
+
+Meantime Lord Bantock strolled over to the dog-cart, his ostensible
+reason being to shake hands with Mr. Lindsay, whom he recognised in his
+fallen state as one of the small gentry of the county.
+
+‘Are you going to honour us with your presence, Miss Lindsay?’ he
+asked, as he helped Margaret to alight.
+
+‘Only for half an hour,’ she answered, as she sprang lightly to the
+ground. ‘You will be back by that time?’ she continued, addressing her
+father.
+
+‘In less than an hour, at any rate,’ he answered as he drove away; and
+Margaret, seeing some schoolgirls whom she knew engaged in sliding,
+went off to speak to them.
+
+At this point a loud roar of laughter came from the group of men
+standing at the side of the loch; and Lord Bantock, who dearly loved a
+joke, hurried back to them.
+
+‘Old Simpson is telling some of his stories; let us go and hear him,’
+said Alec Lindsay, as, passing his arm through his friend’s, he led him
+up to the little crowd.
+
+A tall man with a lean, smooth face, dressed in a high hat and black
+frock-coat, and wearing an old-fashioned black silk handkerchief round
+his neck, was standing in a slouching attitude, his hands half out of
+his pockets, while the others hung around in silence, waiting for his
+next anecdote.
+
+‘That minds me,’ he was saying, as Alec and Cameron came up, ‘that
+minds me o’ what auld Craig o’ the Burn-Fuit said to wee Jamieson the
+writer.[4] Craig was a dour,[5] ill-tempered man; and though he had
+never fashed the kirk muckle, the minister cam’ to see him on one
+occasion when it was thocht he was near his hinner-en’.
+
+‘“Ye’re deein’, Burn-Fuit,” says Maister Symie.
+
+‘“No jist yet, minister,” says Craig.
+
+‘“I doot ye’re deein’; an’ it behoves ye to mak’ your peace wi’ the
+haill warl’,” says the minister.
+
+‘Craig gied a sigh, as if it was the hardest job he could set himself
+tae. After a heap o’ talkin’ the minister got him persuaded to see
+Jamieson, who just then was his great enemy--he aye had ane or twa o’
+them--an’ forgie him for some ill-turn the writer had dune him. An’ wi’
+jist as much persuasion he got Jamieson to come to the deein’ man’s
+bedside, and be a pairty to the reconciliation.
+
+‘Sae the twa met, and had a freenly crack i’ the minister’s presence.
+Guid Mr. Symie was delighted. As the writer was depairtin’, they shook
+hands.
+
+‘“Guid-day, Maister Jamieson,” says Craig. “Ye’ve done me many an
+ill-turn, but I forgie ye. But mind--mind, if I get weel, a’ this gangs
+for nowt!”’
+
+A laugh followed the schoolmaster’s story; and the group dispersed to
+see that the preparations which were being made on the ice were duly
+performed. A small hole had already been bored at each end of the
+principal rink. Each of these was to be in its turn the ‘tee,’ or mark.
+At some distance from each of the tees, a line called the ‘hog-score’
+was drawn across the ice. Stones which did not pass this line were not
+to be allowed to count, and were to be removed at once from the ice. A
+long piece of wood, with nails driven through it at fixed intervals,
+was now placed with one of its ends resting on the tee, and held there
+firmly, while it was slowly turned round on the ice. The result of
+this operation was that the ice was marked by circles drawn at equal
+distances from the tee, by which the relative distances of two stones
+from the central point could be easily determined.
+
+The players having been already selected, the match began as soon as
+this was done.
+
+Alec Lindsay, being one of the youngest men present, was told to begin,
+his adversary being Simpson the schoolmaster.
+
+Cameron and Margaret, standing together on one side of the players,
+who assembled at one end of the rink, watched Alec, who went forward,
+lifted one of his father’s heavy granite stones, and swung it lightly
+in his hand. Meanwhile one of the players from his own side had gone
+to the other side of the rink, and holding his broom upright in the
+tee-hole, enabled Alec to form a more accurate idea of the distance.
+
+Swinging his stone, Alec stooped down, and with no apparent effort
+‘placed’ it on the ice. Away it sailed with a loud humming sound, sweet
+to a curler’s ear.
+
+Every man eagerly watched its rate of speed, while some, running
+alongside, accompanied it on its course.
+
+‘Soop it up! Soop it up!’ cried some of the younger members of the
+Muirburn side; and they began to sweep the ice in front of the stone
+with their brooms, so as to expedite its progress.
+
+‘Let her alane! She’s comin’ on brawly!’ cried Hamilton, from the other
+end of the rink, in an authoritative tone. They immediately left off
+sweeping; and two of the Auchinbyres men, acting on the principle that
+if the stone had, from the Muirburn players’ point of view, just enough
+way on it, they had better give it a little more, began to ply their
+brooms vigorously in front of it.
+
+These attentions, however, did no harm. The stone glided up towards the
+tee, slackened its speed, and finally stopped, exactly where it ought
+to have stopped, about a foot in front of the mark.
+
+A slight cheer greeted this good shot; and ‘Ye’ll mak’ as guid a player
+as your faither, Alec!’ from one of the bystanders made Margaret’s face
+flush with pleasure.
+
+It was now the schoolmaster’s turn. One of his side took Hamilton’s
+place as pilot; and the old man, playing with even less apparent
+effort than Alec had used, sent his stone right in the face of his
+adversary’s. The speed was so nicely graduated that Alec’s stone was
+disposed of for good, while Simpson’s stone occupied almost exactly the
+spot on which Alec’s had formerly rested.
+
+Again Hamilton advanced to lend the young player his advice, while
+Alec took up his remaining stone, and went to the front. He sent
+a well-aimed shot, but rather too powerfully delivered, and the
+adversaries of course hastened to make it worse by sweeping. The stone
+struck Simpson’s slightly on one side, sending it to the left, while
+it went on towards the right, and finally stopped considerably to
+the right of the tee, but near enough to make it worth guarding. The
+schoolmaster’s next shot was not a success. His stone went between the
+two which were already on the ice, and passing over the tee landed
+about two feet beyond it.
+
+This gave a chance to the Muirburn men. Their next player placed his
+stone a long way from the tee, but right in front of Alec’s, so that it
+was impossible, or almost impossible, to dislodge the latter without
+first getting rid of the former. To him succeeded Johnnie Fergus; and
+he, preferring his own judgment before that of the official guide,
+played the guard full on, with the result that he sent it well into the
+inner circle, while his own stone formed a very efficient guard for
+that of his enemy. As every stone which, at the end of the round, is
+found nearer the tee than anyone belonging to a player of the opposite
+side counts for one point, the Muirburn men had now two stones in a
+position to score; and they patiently surrounded them with guards,
+which the Auchinbyres players knocked away whenever they could. So the
+game went with varying success, till only one pair of players was left
+for that round--Hamilton, playing for Muirburn, and Lord Bantock, who
+belonged to the enemy.
+
+Things at that moment were very bad for the Muirburn men. Four stones
+belonging to the opposite side were nearer the tee than any one of
+their own; while a formidable array of guards lined the ice in front of
+them.
+
+Hamilton went and studied the situation carefully. Then he went back,
+and played his first shot.
+
+‘Soop it! Soop it! Soop it!’ roared the schoolmaster, flourishing
+his broom, and dancing like a maniac. He alone, of the Auchinbyres
+players, understood the object of the shot, and saw that it could only
+be defeated, if at all, by giving it a little extra impetus. But the
+advice came too late. The brooms were plied before it like lightning,
+but the stone came stealing up like a live thing, and just avoiding an
+outlying guard, gave a knock to one stone at such an angle that the
+impetus was communicated to a second and from it to a third, while it
+took the third place, thus cutting off two of the adversaries’ points.
+
+‘Noo, m’ lord, a wee thocht tae the richt o’ this,’ said Johnnie
+Fergus, as he stooped down and held his broom over the spot where he
+desired Lord Bantock’s stone should come in.
+
+But Lord Bantock had been given the place of honour as last player more
+out of consideration for his rank than for his skill. He played with
+far too much force, and sent his stone smashing on one of the outside
+guards, from which it rushed to the side of the rink and disappeared.
+
+‘Did I no tell ye no to pit that sumph at the tail?’ quoth Johnnie in
+an undertone of deep disgust, as he rose from his stooping posture.
+
+‘Haud your tongue, man! I’ve seen his lordship play as weel as ony
+deacon amang ye,’ said the leader, angry at being suspected of unduly
+favouring the great man.
+
+But with a cry of expectation from the crowd, Hamilton’s second stone
+left his hand and came spinning over the ice, right in the track of
+its predecessor. A roar went up from the players, as the Muirburn men
+rushed forward, and distributing themselves over the path which the
+stone had to traverse, polished it till the ice was like glass. The
+stone came in beautifully, displaced the best stone, and took the first
+place, by cannoning off another of the enemy.
+
+A loud hurrah greeted this feat, and Lord Bantock stepped forward,
+determined to do something to redeem his reputation, which he knew had
+suffered from the result of his former effort.
+
+An old farmer ran as fast as his years would permit to offer his
+lordship a word of advice before the last shot was fired.
+
+‘All right, Blackwater,’ said Lord Bantock, with a nod, as he planted
+his feet firmly on the ice, and gripped the handle of his stone, as if
+he would bend the brass. Away went the stone with a rush, and a roar
+from the crowd. Crash--crash--it struck against one and another; but
+it had force enough to go on. Smash it came among the group of stones,
+sending them flying in all directions, while everybody jumped aside to
+avoid a collision. It was not a first-rate shot; but it was successful.
+The first, second, third, fourth, and fifth stones were knocked, or
+rather knocked one another, out of the way. Lord Bantock’s stone itself
+went right ahead, ploughing a path for itself in the snow beyond the
+rink. Alec’s second stone, long since considered to be out of the
+running, was found to be half an inch nearer the tee than any one
+belonging to the other side; and the Muirburn men accordingly scored
+one towards the game.
+
+At the other rinks, meanwhile, subsidiary contests were in full
+progress, and the scene was a very animated one. It was, however, very
+cold work for bystanders, and Cameron, as he saw that his companion
+was shivering in spite of her winter clothing, proposed to Alec that
+Margaret and himself should set out at once for the farm, leaving Mr.
+Lindsay to overtake them when he returned. To this arrangement Alec of
+course assented, and Margaret and Cameron set off together.
+
+Most young men would have been glad to be in Cameron’s place; but the
+Highlander felt very ill at ease. He began to seek for a subject which
+might be supposed to be interesting to a girl, and dismissed one after
+another as totally unsuitable. The silence continued, and the young
+man was nearly in despair, when Margaret, totally unconscious of any
+embarrassment, came to his assistance.
+
+‘That is the way to Drumclog,’ she said, pointing to a moorland road
+which crossed their path; ‘Alec and you ought to walk over some day.’
+
+‘Is there anything to see there?’ inquired her companion.
+
+‘Have you never heard of the Battle of Drumclog?’ asked the girl in
+surprise.
+
+The Highlander was obliged to confess that he had not.
+
+‘Have you never read of the persecutions of the Covenanters, and Graham
+of Claverhouse, and the martyrs?’ asked Margaret again, with wonder in
+her eyes.
+
+‘Oh yes, of course; but I didn’t know that these things happened in
+this part of the country.’
+
+‘Yes,’ said Margaret. ‘The Martyrs’ Cairn is only a little way beyond
+Blackwater. You know the Covenanters were not allowed to worship in
+their own way, and they used to meet in hollows of the hills and on the
+open moors. The country was full of soldiers, sent to keep down the
+people; and when the Covenanters went to the preaching, they used to
+take arms with them. One Sabbath morning a large number of them were
+attending a service on the lonely moor at Drumclog when the English
+soldiers, who had somehow heard of the gathering, bore down upon
+them. They were dragoons, led by “the bloody Claverhouse,” as they
+call him to this day. Providentially there was a bog in front of the
+Covenanters. The horses of the dragoons could not cross it; and those
+soldiers who did cross at last were beaten off by the Covenanters, and
+many of them were killed.’
+
+‘I remember it now,’ said Cameron; ‘I have read about it in “Old
+Mortality.”’
+
+‘The most unfair book that ever was written!’ exclaimed Margaret with
+some heat--‘a book that every true Scotchman should be ashamed of.’
+
+‘I don’t see that,’ returned Cameron; ‘I think Sir Walter held the
+balance very fairly.’
+
+‘He simply turns the Covenanters into ridicule and tries to make his
+readers sympathize with the persecutors,’ said Margaret.
+
+‘Well, you can’t deny that a good many of them _were_ ridiculous,’ said
+Cameron lightly.
+
+‘And you have no sympathy for these brave men who won our liberties for
+us with their blood!’ exclaimed the girl.
+
+‘I don’t say that,’ said the young Highlander cautiously; ‘but I’m not
+so sure about their having won our liberties for us,’ he added with a
+laugh. ‘There wasn’t much liberty in the Highlands when _their_ King
+got the upper hand.’
+
+Then he tried to change the subject; but Margaret answered him only
+in monosyllables. This daughter of the Covenanters could not forgive
+anyone who refused to consider those who took part in the petty
+rebellion of the west as heroes and martyrs. She made their cause her
+own, and decided that Cameron was thenceforth to be regarded as a
+‘malignant.’
+
+As for Cameron, he mentally banned the whole tribe of Covenanters,
+as well as his own folly in offering any opposition to Margaret’s
+prejudices; and before he could make his peace with her Mr. Lindsay
+drove up, and the _tête-à-tête_ came to an end.
+
+Duncan Cameron had felt the spell of Margaret’s beauty, as everyone
+did who approached her. But he had made a bad beginning in his
+intercourse with her, and he now felt a strong sense of repulsion
+mingling with his admiration. It was not only that he despised her
+narrowness of mind; there was between the two something of the old
+antagonism between Cavalier and Puritan. For the rest of his stay at
+Castle Farm he avoided meeting her alone, and only spoke to her when
+ordinary politeness required it. And yet, whenever she addressed him,
+he felt that the fascination of her beauty was as strong as ever. When
+Alec came home on the day of the curling-match, and shouted out in
+triumph that Muirburn had won, Margaret’s eyes flashed, and her cheek
+flushed in sympathy; and Cameron, watching her, forgot that she had not
+forgiven him for his lack of sympathy with the men of Drumclog.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+     [4] A lawyer.
+
+     [5] Hard.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER IX.
+
+                        THE END OF THE SESSION.
+
+
+At the end of the appointed week the two young men returned to Glasgow,
+and braced themselves up for the remaining four months of work. At
+the northern Universities the academic year ends (except for a few
+supplementary medical classes) with the 1st of May. Alec Lindsay had a
+great deal of leeway to make up, as he had never had a proper grounding
+in either Latin or Greek; but he did his best, and felt pretty sure of
+being able to take at least one prize.
+
+Of course he found his way back to the Church of England chapel at
+which he had seen Miss Mowbray; and on more than one occasion he was
+gratified by a sight of her. As to the Anglican form of worship, he
+regarded it with very mixed feelings. He was pleased by the stately
+simplicity of the collects, and by the rhythm of the chants. The
+service was free from the monotony of the Presbyterian form, and it was
+more ‘congregational’ than anything to which he had been accustomed.
+But it was some time before he could divest himself of the idea that he
+was witnessing a kind of religious entertainment, ingeniously devised
+and interesting, but by no means tending to edification. He felt like
+his countrywoman, who when taken to a service at Westminster Abbey
+said afterwards: ‘It was very fine--but eh! that was an awfu’ way o’
+spending the Sabbath!’ The voice of conscience is as loud when it
+condemns the infraction of a rule founded only in prejudice as when
+it protests against a breach of the moral law itself; and for several
+Sunday evenings Alec Lindsay left the chapel with the feeling that he
+had been guilty of a misdemeanour--he had been playing at worship. The
+unexpressed idea in his mind (a result of his Presbyterian training)
+was that collects, and chants, and ceremonial observances in general,
+were too interesting, too pleasing to the natural man, to be acceptable
+to the Almighty. But by degrees this feeling wore off; and when he
+became familiar with the Prayer-book, he found that it was an aid
+rather than a hindrance to devotion.
+
+The end of the session drew near; and the April sun shone clear and
+fair through the smoke-cloud of Glasgow. It was a Saturday afternoon,
+and Alec determined to console himself for the loss of a long walk, for
+which he could not afford time, by putting a book in his pocket, and
+taking a stroll in the park.
+
+Those who are most attached to the country care least for parks. A
+piece of enclosed and tended pleasure-ground, whether it is large or
+small, always affects the lover of nature with a sense of restraint,
+of formality, of the substitution of an imitation for a reality. Trim
+gravelled walks are but a poor substitute for a grass-grown lane; a
+neglected hedgerow, a bit of moorland, or even a corner of a common,
+will hold more that is beautiful, more that is interesting to one who
+loves the open country, than acres of park, with all their flower-plots
+and ticketed specimens of foreign shrubs; for in a thorn hedge or a
+mound of furze one recognises the inexpressible charm that Nature only
+possesses when she is left to work by herself.
+
+Yet, to a dweller in cities, parks are worth having. They are, at
+least, infinitely better than the streets. So, at least, thought
+Alec Lindsay this April afternoon, as he wandered along the deserted
+pathway, under the budding trees. Glasgow is fortunate in at least
+one of its parks. The enclosure is of small extent, but then it is
+not merely a square of ground planted with weedy young trees and
+intersected by roads. It is a bit of the valley of the Kelvin; and it
+includes one side of a steep rising-ground which is crowned by handsome
+houses of stone. The little river itself is always dirty, and in
+summer is little better than a sewer with the roof off; but seen from a
+little distance it is picturesque, and lends variety to the scene.
+
+Alec was wandering along one of the pathways, watching the sunlight
+playing in the yet leafless branches, and trying to cheat himself into
+the idea that his mind was filled with Roman history; when suddenly he
+found himself face to face with--Laura Mowbray. She was dressed, not in
+winter garments, though the air was cold, but in light, soft colours,
+which made her look different from the Scotch damsels whom Alec had
+seen in the streets. She seemed the impersonation of the spring as she
+slowly approached Alec with a smile on her face. Of course he stopped
+to speak to her.
+
+‘I have come out for a turn in the park, for I really couldn’t bear to
+stay shut up in the house on such a glorious day,’ said Laura. ‘Uncle
+wouldn’t come with me, though I teased him ever so long. He said he
+was very busy; but I think people sometimes make a pretence of being
+studious,’ and she glanced at Alec’s note-book as she spoke.
+
+Alec laughed and thrust the book into his pocket, and turning round
+walked on slowly by the girl’s side.
+
+‘If you had an exam. to prepare for, you wouldn’t much care whether
+people thought you studious or not,’ he said.
+
+‘How is your uncle?’ asked Laura.
+
+‘I’m sure I can’t tell.’
+
+‘Can’t tell! You wicked, unnatural creature! I am quite shocked at you.’
+
+‘He was very well when I saw him last--that is, about three months
+ago--with the exception of a fearfully bad temper.’
+
+‘Don’t you know that it is highly unbecoming of you to speak of anyone
+older than yourself in that disrespectful way?’
+
+But Laura’s look hardly seconded her words; and Alec went on:
+
+‘It is quite true, though. I wonder Aunt Jean can put up with him.’
+
+‘Who is Aunt Jean? Miss Lindsay? The lady who lives with your uncle and
+keeps house for him?’
+
+‘Yes.’
+
+‘She is a relation of your uncle’s, isn’t she?’
+
+‘Oh yes; a cousin in some degree or other.’
+
+‘Mr. Lindsay never married, I believe,’ said Miss Mowbray.
+
+‘No; he has no relations nearer than’--‘nearer than I am,’ he was going
+to have said; but he stopped and substituted--‘nearer than nephews and
+nieces.’
+
+‘And he has plenty of them, I suppose? All Scotch people seem to have
+so many relations; it is quite bewildering.’
+
+‘Uncle James is my father’s uncle, you understand,’ said Alec; ‘and
+there are only two in our family, my sister and I; that is not so very
+many.’
+
+‘No. But have you really a sister?’ exclaimed Laura, turning round so
+as to face her companion for an instant.
+
+‘Yes, one sister: Margaret.’
+
+‘How lucky you are! I have no brothers or sisters; I have only my
+uncle. How I wish I knew your sister! And Margaret is such a pretty
+name.’
+
+‘It is common enough, anyway.’
+
+‘But not commonplace; oh! not at all commonplace. If I had a sister I
+would call her Margaret, whatever her real name might be. By the way,
+have you seen Mr. Semple since that night of the dinner-party?’
+
+‘No.’
+
+‘And you don’t seem very sorry for it?’ said the girl, with a little
+smile.
+
+‘No; I can’t say I care much for Cousin James.’
+
+‘_He_ is a relation of Mr. Lindsay, too, isn’t he?’
+
+‘Yes; his mother was a Lindsay, a niece of my grand-uncle’s. He is in
+the oil-works; and I dare say he will become manager of them some day.’
+
+Miss Mowbray was silent for a few moments; then she stopped and
+hesitated.
+
+‘Do you know, I don’t think I ought to allow you to walk with me in
+this way. Suppose we were to meet anyone we knew!’
+
+Alec flushed to the roots of his hair.
+
+‘I beg your pardon!’ he exclaimed.
+
+‘Oh, I don’t mind; but--Mrs. Grundy, you know.’
+
+‘Do you know that you can see Ben Lomond from the top of the hill?’
+said Alec, suddenly changing the subject.
+
+‘No; _really_?’
+
+‘Yes; won’t you let me show it to you? It’s a beautiful view, and only
+a few steps off.’
+
+Miss Mowbray seemed to forget her scruples, for she allowed herself to
+be led up a narrow winding path, fringed with young trees, which led to
+the top of the rising ground.
+
+‘If I had known you a little longer,’ began Laura, with some
+hesitation, ‘I think I would have ventured to give you a little bit of
+my mind.’
+
+‘About what?’ asked Alec with sudden eagerness.
+
+Laura shook her head gravely.
+
+‘I fear you would be offended if I were to speak of it,’ she said.
+
+‘Indeed I would not. Nothing you could say could offend me.’
+
+‘Well, if you will promise to forgive me if I _should_ offend you----’
+
+‘You couldn’t offend me if you tried,’ said Alec warmly.
+
+‘Then I will tell you what I was thinking of. I don’t think you should
+neglect your grand-uncle as you do.’
+
+‘Neglect!’
+
+‘Yes. It is not kind or dutiful.’
+
+‘Neglect! My dear Miss Mowbray, you are altogether mistaken. We can’t
+neglect those who don’t want us. He hasn’t the slightest wish, I assure
+you, to see me dangling about him.’
+
+‘There! You promised not to be offended; and you are!’
+
+‘Indeed I am not.’
+
+‘Yes, you are. I won’t say another word.’
+
+‘Oh, Miss Mowbray! How can you think I am offended? What have I said to
+make you fancy such a thing? On the contrary, I think it so very, very
+good of you to take so much interest----’
+
+Here Alec stopped, for he saw that his companion was blushing, and that
+somehow he had made a mess of things. He had not yet learned that some
+species of gratitude cannot find fitting expression in words.
+
+‘I think it is my turn to say that I have offended you,’ he said after
+a pause.
+
+Laura laughed--such a pleasant, rippling laugh!
+
+‘It is getting quite too involved. Let us pass an Act of Oblivion, and
+forget all about it.’
+
+‘But if you think I ought to call on my uncle,’ began Alec--‘no; don’t
+shake your head. Tell me what you really think I ought to do.’
+
+‘Do you like Miss Lindsay?’ asked Laura, without replying to the
+question.
+
+‘Aunt Jean? Yes; much better than I like Uncle James.’
+
+‘Then you can go to see _her_ now and then; and when you are in the
+house go into your uncle’s room and ask how he is, if he is at home.
+We ought not only to visit people for our own pleasure, but sometimes
+because it is our duty to do so.’
+
+‘Yes, you are quite right; and I will do what you say. But here we are
+at the top of the hill. What a delightful breeze, isn’t it? Do you see
+that blue cloud in the distance, just a little deeper in tint than
+those about it?’
+
+‘Yes; I see it.’
+
+‘That is Ben Lomond, nearly four thousand feet high.’
+
+‘Really?’ said Miss Mowbray; but there was not much enthusiasm in her
+voice.
+
+Alec, on the contrary, stood, in a kind of rapture which made him
+forget for the moment even the girl at his side. The sight of distant
+mountains always affected him with a kind of strange, delicious
+melancholy--unrest mingling with satisfaction, such as that which
+filled the heart of Christian when from afar he caught a glimpse of the
+shining towers of the celestial city.
+
+The English girl watched the look in the young Scotchman’s face with
+wonder not unmixed with amusement. When with a sigh Alec turned to his
+companion, she, too, was gazing on the far-off mountain-top.
+
+‘I really must go now,’ she said softly, holding out her hand.
+
+‘May I not go to the park-gate with you?’
+
+Laura shook her head; but her smile was bright enough to take the sting
+from her refusal.
+
+‘Good-bye.’
+
+And in another moment Alec was alone.
+
+The sun had gone out of his sky. He sat down on a bench, and began to
+wonder how he had dared to converse familiarly with one so beautiful,
+so refined, so far removed from his ordinary friends, as Laura Mowbray.
+Then he recalled her great goodness in interesting herself in his
+concerns, and of course he resolved to follow her advice. He could
+think of nothing but Laura Mowbray the whole afternoon. He recalled
+her looks, her smile, her lightest word. To him they were treasures,
+to be hidden for ever from every human eye but his own; and in every
+look and word he found a new ground for admiration, a new proof of Miss
+Mowbray’s intelligence, sweetness, and goodness.
+
+Next week he acted upon her suggestion, and paid a visit to Blythswood
+Square. He was received by Miss Lindsay, a tall, spare, large-featured
+woman, whose gray hair was bound down severely under her old-fashioned
+cap.
+
+‘Weel, Alec; an’ what brings you here?’ was her greeting, as she held
+out her hand without troubling herself to rise.
+
+‘Nothing particular: why do you ask?’
+
+‘Ye come sae seldom; it’s no often we hae the pleasure o’ a veesit frae
+you.’
+
+‘I canna say much for my attentions, Aunt Jean; but then I canna say
+much for your welcome,’ returned Alec, flushing as he spoke.
+
+‘Hoots, laddie! sit doon an’ behave yersel’. My bark’s waur nor my
+bite.’
+
+‘And how’s my uncle?’
+
+‘Much as usual. I don’t think he’s overly weel pleased wi’ you, Alec,
+my man.’
+
+‘What have I done now?’
+
+‘It’s no your daein’; it’s your no-daein’. Ye never look near him.’
+
+‘He doesn’t want to be bothered with me.’
+
+The door opened, and the master of the house came in. He gave Alec his
+hand with his usual dry, consequential air, and hardly looking at him,
+made some indifferent remark to his cousin.
+
+‘Here’s Alec sayin’ he doesna believe you want to be bothered wi’ him,’
+she said.
+
+The old man seated himself deliberately, and made no disclaimer of the
+imputation.
+
+‘You’ll be going home for the summer?’ he asked.
+
+‘Yes; I am going home at the end of the month; but I should like to get
+a tutorship for the summer, if I could.’
+
+‘Humph!’
+
+‘What are you going to be?’ asked Mr. Lindsay after a pause--‘a doctor,
+or a minister, or what?’
+
+‘I don’t know yet,’ said Alec.
+
+His uncle sniffed contemptuously.
+
+‘A rowin’ stane gethers nae fog,’[6] put in Aunt Jean.
+
+Alec changed the subject; but his grand-uncle soon returned to it.
+
+‘The sooner ye mak’ up yer mind the better, my lad,’ said the old man.
+‘Would you like to go into the oil-works?’ he added, as if it were an
+after-thought.
+
+‘I hardly know, sir. I would like another year at College first,’ said
+Alec. ‘But thank you all the same, Uncle James;’ and as he spoke he
+rose to take his leave.
+
+Mr. Lindsay paid no sort of attention to the latter part of the reply.
+He took up a newspaper, and adjusting his spectacles began to read it,
+almost before the lad had turned his back.
+
+In another week the session was practically at an end. The prize-list,
+settled by the votes of the students themselves, showed that Alec had
+won the fourth prize, which in a class numbering nearly two hundred was
+a proof of at least a fair amount of application; and he also won an
+extra prize for Roman History.
+
+‘You don’t seem much elated,’ said Cameron to his friend, when he
+brought home the splendidly-bound volumes of nothing in particular.
+‘You’ve either less ambition or more sense than I gave you credit for.’
+
+‘I expected something better,’ said Alec. ‘Self-conceit, you should
+have said, not sense, Duncan.’
+
+If Alec were conceited he got little to feed his vanity at home. His
+father looked at the books, praised the binding, asked how many prizes
+were given in the class, and said no more. Secretly he was gratified
+by his son’s success; but it was one of his principles to discourage
+vainglory in his children by never, under any circumstances, speaking
+favourably of their performances. No one would have guessed from Alec’s
+manner that he cared a straw whether any praise was awarded to him
+or not; but he felt none the less keenly the absence of his father’s
+commendation.
+
+The month of May went by slowly at the Castle Farm. Alec was longing
+for change of occupation and change of scene. One morning he chanced to
+notice an advertisement which he thought it worth while to answer. A
+Glasgow merchant, whose wife and daughters had persuaded him to spend
+four months of the year at the seaside, wished to find some one to read
+with his boys three hours a day, that they might not forget in summer
+all that they had learned in winter. For this service he was prepared
+to pay the munificent sum of five guineas a month. As it happened, the
+merchant’s address was a tiny watering-place on the Frith of Clyde,
+where Mr. James Lindsay had a large ‘marine villa.’
+
+In reply to Alec’s letter, the advertiser, Mr. Fraser, asked only one
+question, whether the applicant were a relation of Mr. James Lindsay of
+Drumleck. Alec replied that he was, and was forthwith engaged.
+
+For once Alec had taken a step which pleased his father. The laird
+commended his son’s intention of earning his own living during the
+summer; and Alec fancied that his father used towards him a tone of
+greater consideration than he had ever adopted before. Margaret was
+much chagrined at her brother leaving home so soon after his return;
+but she did not say a word on the subject. She knew she had not reason
+on her side; and she was too proud to show her mortification. It might
+have been better if she had spoken her mind; for a coolness sprang up
+between brother and sister, which even the parting did not quite remove.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+     [6] Moss.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER X.
+
+                               ARROCHAR.
+
+
+The Clyde is not, except in the neighbourhood of Lanark, a particularly
+interesting river. When Scotchmen talk of the scenery of the Clyde
+they are thinking, not of the river, but of the frith which bears its
+name. When Alec Lindsay set out for Arrochar to enter upon his duties
+as tutor to Mr. Fraser’s boys, he embarked at Glasgow; and he was much
+disappointed to find that for the first part of his journey there was
+little to satisfy his love of the picturesque.
+
+The day was gloomy; there were but few passengers on board the
+_Chancellor_. For a long way the narrow stream flowed between dull
+level fields. When it became broader there appeared a long dyke
+adorned with red posts surmounted by barrels, built in the channel to
+mark the passage. This did not add to the beauty of the scene. Now and
+then the steamer met one of her own class on its homeward journey;
+sometimes she overtook a queer, melancholy-looking, floating dredger,
+or a vessel outward-bound, towed by a small and abominably dirty
+tug-boat.
+
+But about twenty miles below Glasgow the scene changed. A wide expanse
+of water stretched away to the horizon. On the left lay a large town
+over which hung a dense cloud of smoke, but away to the west, beyond
+the blue water, could be seen the bold bases of steep hills rising from
+the sea itself, their summits being hidden in the clouds. At Greenock
+all was life and bustle. Several steamers plying to different points of
+the coast lay at the pier, and a crowd of passengers who had come by
+train from Glasgow streamed down from the railway-station to meet them.
+
+Alec stood on the bridge watching them with considerable amusement.
+Here was a group of elderly maiden ladies, sisters probably, to whom
+their month ‘at the salt water’ was the great event of the year. After
+much debate they had decided to go to Kilcreggan this year, instead
+of to Rothesay. Each carried an armful of wraps, small baskets, and
+brown-paper parcels, and each rushed to a separate steamer, as if
+thinking it more desirable that one at least should be right than
+that all should be wrong. Each appealed excitedly to a porter for
+directions, and eventually all assembled at the gangway of the proper
+steamer. But the combined evidence of the porters was insufficient.
+Each of the three travellers made a separate demand, one on the master,
+another on the chief officer, and a third upon the steward, in order to
+know whether the steamer was really going to Kilcreggan. At last they
+were satisfied, settled themselves with their belongings in a sheltered
+corner, and began to eat Abernethy biscuits.
+
+Then came a whole family--an anxious mother, an aunt more anxious
+than the mother, two servants, and six children, who were running in
+different ways at once, and had to be manœuvred on board like so many
+young pigs. As soon as they were shipped, two of them immediately made
+for the engine-room, while the others rushed to the bulwarks, and
+craned their necks over the side as far as they possibly could without
+losing their balance.
+
+In one corner was a little band of rosy school-girls in tweed frocks
+and straw hats, cumbered with a collection of novels, tennis-bats, and
+fishing-rods. Here and there were one or two gigantic Celts returning
+to the hill country, while a few pale-faced young men stepped on board
+with knapsacks on their shoulders. But the male passengers were few at
+this hour of the day. A few hours later the steamers would be black
+with men leaving the roar and worry of the city to sleep under the
+shadow of the hills.
+
+At length the bells clanged for the last time; the gangways were
+pushed on shore; the old lady who always delays her departure till
+that period made her appearance, and was somehow hoisted on board; the
+escape-pipes ceased their roaring; and one after another the steamers
+glided off upon the bosom of the frith.
+
+And now, suddenly, the sun shone out, showing that the sea was not a
+level plain of water, but covered with a million dancing wavelets.
+The sunshine travelled westward over the sea, and Alec followed it
+with his eyes. It rested on the distant hills, and then the haze that
+covered them melted away, and they revealed themselves, dim in outline,
+violet-coloured, magnified in the mist. As the steamer drew nearer
+them it became plain that the nearer hills were much lower than those
+beyond, and that many of them were covered with pines up to a certain
+height. Above the woods they were often black--that was where the old
+heather had been burnt to make room for the young shoots, or light
+brown--that was where masses of last year’s bracken lay; sometimes they
+were white with glistening rocks, or green from never-failing springs.
+
+And now it could be seen that between the woods and the seashore ran a
+white road, and that the coast was dotted for miles with houses, of all
+shapes and sizes, each standing in its own ground, and sheltered by its
+own green leaves. There was no town anywhere--nothing approaching to
+one; but every three or four miles a few houses were built in a little
+row, affording accommodation for a grocer’s and a baker’s shop; and
+opposite the shops there was invariably a white wooden pier, affording
+an outlet to the rest of the world.
+
+Soon after crossing the frith, the _Chancellor_ made for one of
+these landing-places. Round the pier there swarmed half a dozen
+pleasure-boats of all sizes, some the merest cockleshells, navigated
+(not unskilfully) by mariners who were barely big enough to make the
+oars move through the water.
+
+The rocky shore was adorned with groups of girls who were drying
+their hair after their morning’s dip in the sea, and dividing their
+attention between their novels, their little brothers in the boats just
+mentioned, and the approaching steamer. The water being deep close to
+the edge of the rocky coast, the pier was a very short one; and Alec
+Lindsay, looking over the edge, through the green water swirling round
+the piles of the pier, could see the pebbles on the shore twenty feet
+below.
+
+Ropes were thrown out and caught, and hawsers were dragged ashore by
+their aid. With these the steamer was made fast at stem and stern,
+gangways were run on board, and a score of passengers disembarked. In
+another minute the steamer had been cast loose and had gone on her way.
+The pier, the pleasure-boats, the girls on the rocks, the white dusty
+road, the hedges of fuchsia, had disappeared. In a quarter of an hour
+another pier had been reached where exactly the same scene presented
+itself. No town, no promenade, no large hotels--not even a row of
+public bathing-machines, or a German band.
+
+After three or four stoppages the _Chancellor_ began to get fairly into
+Loch Long. The hills on either side were not high, and were covered
+only with grass and heather; but they had, nevertheless, a certain
+quiet beauty. It seemed as if they made a world of their own, and as
+if they were contemptuously indifferent to the foolish beings who came
+among them for an hour in their impudent, puffing steamer, and were
+gone like a cloud. Right in front was one bold eminence, perhaps a
+thousand or twelve hundred feet high, which divided the waters of the
+upper part of Loch Long from those of Loch Goil on the west. Gazing
+at its weather-beaten rocks and its sketches of silent moorland, one
+could hardly help tasting that renovating draught--the sense that one
+has reached a place where man is as nothing, a sphere which is but
+nominally under his sway, where he comes and goes, but leaves behind
+him no mark upon the face of nature.
+
+Leaving this eminence upon the left, the channel became narrower, and
+the inlet seemed to be completely land-locked. In front the nearer
+hills seemed to lie one behind another, fold upon fold, while beyond
+some much loftier peaks raised their blue summits to heaven. Alec
+Lindsay never tired of gazing on them. If he turned away his eyes, it
+was that he might refresh them with a change of scene--the low green
+rock, the salt water washing the white stones under the heather on the
+hillside, the tiny rainbow in the foam of the paddle-wheels--and return
+with new desire to the sight of the everlasting hills. Strange, he
+thought to himself, as he gazed on the shadow of a cloud passing like
+a spirit over a lonely peak--strange that the sight of masses of mere
+dead earth and stone, the dullest and lowest forms of matter, should be
+able to touch us more profoundly than all the lovely sights and sweet
+sounds of the animated world!
+
+In a few miles the top of the loch was reached. The mountains, standing
+like giants ‘to sentinel enchanted land,’ rose almost from the water’s
+edge. A few cottages stood clustering together at the mouth of a defile
+which gave access to Loch Lomond on the east. One or two large houses
+(of which ‘Glendhu,’ Mr. James Lindsay’s seaside residence, was one)
+stood at intervals along the shore.
+
+Alec’s first care after landing was to provide himself with a lodging,
+as (much to his satisfaction) he was not required to live in Mr.
+Fraser’s house; and he was fortunate enough to find the accommodation
+he wanted in a cottage close to the seashore.
+
+In the afternoon he called on Mrs. Fraser, and found her a fat, florid,
+good-natured looking woman, ostentatiously dressed, and surrounded by a
+troop of her progeny.
+
+‘Come away, Mr. Lindsay,’ she said graciously, as she extended to him
+a remarkably well-developed hand and arm. ‘I’m just fairly delighted
+to see you. It will be an extraordinary pleasure to get rid of Hector
+and John Thompson, though it should be but for three hours in the
+day. You wouldn’t believe, Mr. Lindsay, what these two, not to speak
+of Douglas and Phemie--I often tell her father she should have been a
+boy--cost me in anxiety. I wonder I’m not worn to a shadow. The day
+before yesterday, now, not content with going in to bathe four times,
+they managed to drop Jamsie--that’s the one next to Douglas, Mr.
+Lindsay--over the edge of the boat, and the bairn wasn’t able to speak
+when they pulled him in again.’
+
+‘Oh, ma!’ protested the young gentleman referred to, ‘I could have got
+in again by myself, only John Thompson hit me a whack on the head with
+his oar, trying to pull me nearer the boat.’
+
+‘I don’t think it’s safe for the boys to be out in the little boat by
+themselves, without either me or their father to look after them. I
+don’t mind their being in the four-oar. What do you think, Mr. Lindsay?’
+
+‘Really, I can hardly say, Mrs. Fraser, seeing that I know nothing of
+boating. I haven’t had a chance of learning; I hope you will give me a
+lesson,’ he added, turning to his new pupils.
+
+The boys, who had been staring at Alec with a suspicious expression,
+brightened up at this; and it was arranged that the first lesson in
+boating should be given next day.
+
+On the following afternoon Alec called at Glendhu, his uncle’s house,
+to inquire whether any of the family had arrived; and was told that
+they intended to come down in about a fortnight. In the evening, as
+he looked over his newspaper, his eyes fell upon a paragraph which
+informed him that Mr. Taylor, Professor of History in the University
+of Glasgow, had died suddenly the day before. Alec was shocked and
+surprised at the news; but the thought that was uppermost in his mind
+was that in all probability he would never see Laura Mowbray again.
+Now that her uncle was dead she would go back to her friends in London;
+and in a few months she would forget him. Not until that moment had
+Alec realized how constantly the thought of this girl had been in his
+mind, how he had made her image play a part in all his dreams. And now
+it was over! The world which had seemed so fair and bright but an hour
+ago was dull and lifeless now.
+
+But the companionship of Mrs. Fraser’s boys and girls saved him from
+sinking into a foolish melancholy. He tried hard for three hours every
+day to make them learn a little Latin grammar and history, and a great
+part of every afternoon was spent in their company. They taught him
+to row and steer, and to manage a sail. But his chief delight was in
+the mountains. He was never tired of wandering among their lonely
+recesses; he loved the bare granite rocks and crags even better than
+the sheltered dell where the silver birches clustered round the rapid
+stream. He learned to know the hills from every point of view, to
+select at a glance the practicable side for an ascent; and before a
+fortnight was over he had set his foot on the top of every peak within
+walking distance of Arrochar.
+
+About three weeks after his arrival, Alec heard that his uncle and Miss
+Lindsay had come down; and one evening soon afterwards he went to see
+them.
+
+From the windows of the drawing-room at Glendhu the view was
+magnificent. Under the low garden-wall were the still, blue waters of
+the loch; and right in front ‘The Cobbler’ lifted his head against the
+glowing western sky.
+
+Alec was waiting there in silence, absorbed in the spectacle, when he
+suddenly heard a soft voice behind him.
+
+‘Mr. Lindsay!’
+
+No need for him to turn round. The tones of her voice thrilled through
+every fibre of his body.
+
+Yes; it was she, simply dressed in black, standing with a smile on her
+face, holding out her hand.
+
+‘Why don’t you speak to me? Won’t you shake hands?’
+
+‘Lau---- Miss Mowbray!’
+
+‘Certainly. Am I a ghost?’
+
+‘I thought you were far away--gone back to your friends in England.’
+
+‘No,’ said Laura tranquilly, seating herself on a couch; ‘my poor uncle
+left me as a legacy to Mr. Lindsay; and here I am. You have not even
+said you are glad to see me.’
+
+‘You know I am glad. But I was sorry to hear of your loss, and sorry to
+think of your grief.’
+
+‘Yes; it was very sad, and _so_ sudden,’ answered Laura, casting down
+her eyes. ‘And how did you come to be here?’ she asked, lifting them
+again to her companion’s face. Alec told her; and then his uncle and
+Miss Lindsay came into the room.
+
+‘So you’ve got a veesitor?’ said the old lady to Laura, as she came
+forward.
+
+‘Oh no!’ answered the girl. ‘I had no idea anyone was in the room when
+I came in; and your nephew stared at me as if I had been an apparition.’
+
+She smiled as she spoke; but Alec noticed that as soon as the elder
+lady turned away the smile suddenly faded.
+
+Nothing worth mentioning was said in the conversation that followed.
+Alec hoped that before he took his leave he would receive a general
+invitation to the house; but nothing of the kind was forthcoming. That,
+however, mattered little. Laura was here, close to him; they would
+be sure to meet; and of course he was at liberty to go to Glendhu
+occasionally. He went home to his lodgings wondering at his good
+fortune. The rosy hue had returned to the earth, and Arrochar was the
+most delightful spot on the habitable globe.
+
+The one event of the day in the village was the arrival of the steamer
+and the departure of the coach which carried passengers to Tarbert on
+Loch Lomond. It was a favourite amusement of the inhabitants to lounge
+about the landing-place on these occasions, ostensibly coming for their
+letters and newspapers, but really pleased to see new faces and make
+comments about the appearance of the tourists. Laura Mowbray generally
+found it necessary to go to the post-office about the time of the
+steamer’s arrival; and Alec was not long in turning the custom to his
+own advantage.
+
+As he was walking back with her to Glendhu one day, he noticed that she
+was rather abstracted.
+
+‘I wonder what you are thinking of, Miss Mowbray,’ he said. ‘You have
+not answered me once since we left the pier.’
+
+‘Haven’t I? I’m sure I beg your pardon.’
+
+‘See that patch of sunlight on the hill across the loch!’ cried Alec
+enthusiastically. ‘See how it brings out the rich yellow colour of the
+moss, while all the rest of the hill is in shadow.’
+
+‘You ought to have been a painter,’ said his companion.
+
+‘Don’t you think Arrochar is a perfectly _lovely_ place?’ returned Alec.
+
+‘Yes; very pretty. But it is very dull.’
+
+‘Dull?’
+
+‘Yes; there is no life--no gaiety. It is said that the English take
+their pleasures sadly; but they are gaiety itself compared with you
+Scotch. You shut yourselves up in your own houses and don’t mix with
+your neighbours at all. At least you have no amusements in which
+anyone can share. The boating, tennis, bathing, everything is done _en
+famille_. There is no fun, no mixing with the rest of the world. In an
+English watering-place people stay at hotels, or in lodgings; and if
+they tire of one place they can go to another. Then they have parties
+of all kinds, and dances at the hotels. Here everyone takes a house
+for two months, and moves down with servants, plate, linen, groceries,
+perhaps even the family piano. I only wonder they don’t bring the
+bedsteads. Having got to their houses, they stay there, and perhaps
+never see a strange face till it is time to go back to town. It’s a
+frightfully narrowing system, not to speak of the dulness of it.’
+
+‘I never thought of it before,’ said Alec. ‘I don’t care to know more
+people myself; I am never at my ease with people till I know them
+pretty well. But I am sorry if you find it dull.’
+
+‘Well, of course I couldn’t go to dances or anything of that kind
+just yet; but it is dreadfully tiresome to see no one from one day to
+another, to have no games or amusements of any kind.’
+
+‘There are always the hills, you know,’ said Alec.
+
+Laura glanced at her companion to see whether he was laughing, and
+perceiving that he was perfectly serious, she turned away her face with
+a little _moue_.
+
+‘The hills don’t amuse me; they weary me; and sometimes, when I get
+up in the night and look at them, they terrify me. Think what it
+would be to be up among those rocks on a winter’s night, with the
+snowflakes whirling around you, and the wind roaring--ugh! Let us talk
+of something else.’
+
+They did so, but there was little spirit in the conversation. Alec
+could not conceive of anyone with a heart and a pair of eyes who should
+not love these mountain-tops as he did himself. He had already endowed
+Laura with every conceivable grace, and he had taken it for granted
+that the power to appreciate mountain scenery was among her gifts.
+Here, at least, was a deficiency, a point on which his mind and hers
+were not in harmony.
+
+With feminine tact Laura saw that she had disappointed her companion in
+some way, and she easily guessed at the cause.
+
+‘I see you don’t appreciate my straightforwardness,’ she said, after
+a little pause. ‘Knowing that you have such a passion for mountain
+scenery, I ought to have pretended that I was as fond of it as you are
+yourself.’
+
+‘No, indeed.’
+
+‘That would have been polite; but it would not have been quite
+straightforward. I always say the thing that comes uppermost, you know;
+I can’t help it.’
+
+Of course she did; and of course her simple honesty was infinitely
+better than even a love of Scotch scenery. The latter would no doubt
+come with more familiar acquaintance with it. And was she not herself
+the most charming thing that the sun shone down upon that summer day?
+
+Laura knew very well that this, or something like it, was the thought
+in the lad’s mind as he bade her good-day with lingering eyes.
+Perhaps she would not have been ill pleased if he had said what he
+was thinking; but it never entered into his head to pay the girl a
+compliment: he would have fancied it an impertinence.
+
+‘What a queer, stupid boy he is!’ said Laura to herself, as she peeped
+back at him while she closed the gate behind her. ‘I can’t help
+liking him, but he is so provoking, with his enthusiastic, sentimental
+nonsense. Heigh-ho! There’s the luncheon-bell. And after that there are
+four hours to be spent somehow before dinner!’
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XI.
+
+                                A RIVAL.
+
+
+‘Hullo! Semple!’
+
+‘Hullo! Alec!’
+
+‘Didn’t expect to see _you_ here.’
+
+‘As little did I expect to see _you_.’
+
+‘When did you come?’
+
+‘Only last night; by an excursion steamer.’
+
+‘Staying with Uncle James?’
+
+‘Yes: he asked me to spend my holidays down here, and I thought I might
+as well come.’
+
+‘How long do you get?’
+
+‘Three weeks; but I may take a month.’
+
+An unreasonable jealousy of his cousin sprang up in Alec’s breast at
+that moment. Five minutes before he was perfectly satisfied with his
+lot; now, because another occupied a more favourable position than
+himself, he was miserable. He had been able to meet Laura nearly every
+day; but this fellow was to live under the same roof with her, to eat
+at the same table, to breathe the same air. To see her and talk to her
+would be his rival’s daily, hourly privilege.
+
+‘Splendid hills!’ said Semple.
+
+Alec made no reply. The scenery was too sacred a subject to be
+discussed with one like Semple.
+
+‘What do you do with yourself all day?’ asked the new-comer.
+
+‘Oh, I take a swim in the morning, give the boys their lessons from ten
+to one; then I generally take a row, or a walk, or read some Horace.’
+
+‘I should think you’d get dreadfully tired of it, after a bit. There
+are no places where they play tennis, I suppose?’
+
+‘Not that I know of.’
+
+‘I expect I shall find it rather dull.’
+
+Another jealous pang shot through Alec’s heart. Laura and his cousin
+were agreed on this point. What more natural than that they should
+amuse each other? In a day or two Semple would be on better terms
+with Laura than he was himself. Of course he would fall in love with
+her--and she?
+
+Anyone watching the course of affairs at Glendhu would have thought
+that Alec’s foreboding was in a fair way of being realized. Laura was
+very gracious to her guardian’s nephew, and overlooked in the prettiest
+manner his little vulgarities. The two were constantly together,
+and neither seemed to feel the want of a more extended circle of
+acquaintance. It was nobody’s fault, for Semple had been invited to
+Glendhu before Mr. Taylor’s death had caused Laura to become a member
+of Mr. Lindsay’s family; but Miss Lindsay determined that she would
+at least introduce another guest into the house. She wrote to Alec’s
+sister, and asked her to spend a fortnight at Loch Long.
+
+When the invitation reached the Castle Farm, Margaret’s first impulse
+was to decline it without saying anything to her father, partly out of
+shyness and a sense of the deficiencies in her wardrobe, partly because
+she could not easily at that season be spared from the farm. But when
+Mr. Lindsay asked if there was anything in her aunt’s letter, Margaret
+felt bound to mention the matter to him; and he at once insisted upon
+her going.
+
+Margaret’s advent, however, made little practical difference in the
+usual order of things at Glendhu. Mr. Semple at first offered her a
+share of his attentions; but she received them so coldly that he soon
+ceased to trouble himself about her, and devoted himself to Laura as
+before, while Margaret seemed perfectly contented with her own society
+when Miss Lindsay was not with her guests.
+
+There was little intimacy between the two girls, and the blame of this
+could not fairly be attributed to Laura.
+
+‘I am so glad you have come, Miss Lindsay,’ she had said on the
+first occasion when they were left alone together. ‘May I call you
+“Margaret”? I think it is such a perfectly lovely name.’
+
+‘Of course you may,’ said the matter-of-fact Margaret.
+
+‘And you will call me “Laura,” of course.’
+
+But Margaret avoided making any reply to this, and practically declined
+to adopt the more familiar style of address; and Laura soon returned to
+the more formal ‘Miss Lindsay.’
+
+Alec was, of course, more frequently at his uncle’s, now that his
+sister was staying there; but his visits did not afford him much
+satisfaction. With Semple he had little in common. There was a natural
+want of sympathy between the two; and besides, Semple looked down upon
+Alec as being ‘countrified,’ while Alec was disposed to hold his
+cousin in contempt for his ignorance of everything unconnected with
+the making and the sale of paraffin oil. As to Laura, he seldom had a
+chance of saying much to her; while his intercourse with his sister
+was more constrained than it had ever been before. Margaret saw quite
+plainly that as her brother was talking to her, his eyes and his heart
+were hankering after Laura Mowbray; and she felt mortified by his want
+of interest in what she said to him, though she was too proud to show
+her feeling, except by an additional coldness of manner.
+
+One evening Alec called at Glendhu, and, as usual, he found the younger
+portion of the family in the garden. Margaret was sitting by herself on
+a bench overlooking the sea, with some knitting in her hand, while the
+other two were sauntering along one of the paths at a little distance.
+Alec waited till they came up, and then he said:
+
+‘I have borrowed Mr. Fraser’s light skiff; suppose we all go for a row?
+You can row one skiff and I the other,’ he added, turning to Semple.
+
+‘Oh, delightful!’ cried Laura. ‘It is just the evening for a row. You
+will come, Miss Lindsay, won’t you?’
+
+‘I have no objections,’ said Margaret, quite indifferently.
+
+Laura turned and ran into the house for wraps, while a rather awkward
+silence fell upon the rest of the party. Semple moved away from
+Margaret almost at once, and hung about the French window, so as to be
+ready to intercept Laura as soon as she issued from the house. Alec
+felt in a manner bound to remain with his sister; and she would not
+see his evident desire to follow Semple to the house, and so have a
+chance of securing Laura for his companion. When at length the English
+girl appeared, with a dark-green plaid thrown over her shoulder, Semple
+sprang at once to her side; and, without paying the slightest attention
+to Alec or his sister, they hurried down to the water’s edge. In a few
+minutes more they had appropriated the best of the two boats (the one
+Alec had borrowed) and were floating far out on the loch.
+
+Alec could not help his disappointment appearing in his face; and his
+sister noticed and resented it.
+
+‘Don’t row at such a furious rate; you’ll snap the oars,’ she said
+tranquilly, as her brother sent the boat careering over the waves.
+
+He stopped, and tried to look pleasant, but he could not shut his ears
+to the gay laughter that came to him across the water from the other
+boat.
+
+‘They seem merry enough,’ said Alec.
+
+‘Yes,’ said Margaret spitefully. ‘Miss Mowbray seems in very good
+spirits, considering that her uncle has not been dead much more than a
+month.’
+
+‘How unjust you are!’ cried Alec hotly. ‘As if she ought to shut
+herself up, and never laugh, because her uncle died! It would be
+hypocrisy if she did.’
+
+‘There I quite agree with you,’ said Margaret, with an ill-natured
+smile.
+
+‘You mean that Laura could not be sincerely sorry?’
+
+‘I think she is very shallow and heartless,’ said Margaret, sweetly
+tranquil as ever.
+
+Alec was furious.
+
+‘You girls are all alike,’ he said with suppressed passion. ‘Either
+you are always kissing and praising one another, or running each other
+down. And the more refinement, and delicacy, and beauty another girl
+has, the more you depreciate her.’
+
+Margaret merely curled her lip contemptuously, and sat trailing her
+hand through the water, without making any reply.
+
+Nothing more was said till Alec was helping his sister out of the boat
+on their returning to land.
+
+‘Don’t let us quarrel. I am sorry if I have vexed you, Maggie,’ he said.
+
+‘I’m not vexed,’ she answered, in a not very reassuring tone, keeping
+her eyes upon the rocks at her feet.
+
+Her brother’s real offence was that he had fallen in love with Laura,
+and that she now occupied a very secondary place in his heart. And that
+she could not forgive.
+
+‘Won’t you come up to the house?’ she asked.
+
+‘No; and you can tell that cad that the next time he wants Mr. Fraser’s
+boat he had better borrow it himself.’
+
+So saying, Alec shouldered the oars and strode away.
+
+Though he had defended Laura passionately when his sister spoke her
+mind about that young lady, Alec felt that he had been badly used.
+He had certainly made the proposal to the whole party, but he had
+pointedly looked at Laura and spoken to her; and she had replied in
+the same way. There was, indeed, a tacit understanding between them at
+the moment, that she would be his partner for the evening; and it was
+chiefly from a spirit of coquetry that she had chosen to ignore it
+afterwards.
+
+But Laura showed no trace of embarrassment when she met Alec in the
+village next day.
+
+‘Why didn’t you come into the house last night?’ she said with a smile.
+
+‘I didn’t think it mattered.’
+
+‘Why are you so cross? I suppose I have managed to offend you again. I
+never saw anyone so touchy and unreasonable!’
+
+‘It doesn’t very much matter--does it?’
+
+‘Why?’
+
+‘I mean, you don’t really care whether--oh!--never mind.’
+
+‘Now, I really believe you are annoyed because I went in your cousin’s
+boat last night, instead of yours. But what could I do? I couldn’t say,
+“I prefer to go with Mr. Lindsay”--could I?’
+
+‘No; but--but you never seem to think of me at all now, Miss Mowbray.’
+
+‘Nonsense!’ answered the girl, as a pleased blush came over her face.
+‘And to prove my goodwill, I’ll tell you what I will do. I will let you
+take me for a row this evening.’
+
+‘Will you?’
+
+This was said so eagerly that Laura could not help blushing again.
+
+‘The others are going to dine at Mr. Grainger’s to-night, over at Loch
+Lomond side.’
+
+‘But I am to be with the Frasers to-night!’ exclaimed Alec in dismay.
+‘Would not to-morrow night do as well?’ Then, seeing that his companion
+did not seem to care for this change of plans, he added: ‘But I dare
+say I can manage to get away by half-past eight. That would not be too
+late, would it? It is quite light until after nine.’
+
+‘I will be in the garden, then; but I must go now,’ said Laura
+hurriedly, as she bade him good-day.
+
+The evening went by as on leaden feet with Alec Lindsay, as he talked
+to Mr. Fraser, or listened to his wife’s interminable easy-going
+complaints about her children and her servants, and tried to appear
+interested, and at his ease. He could not keep the thought of the
+coming meeting out of his mind.
+
+With rather a lame excuse he left Mr. Fraser’s house not many minutes
+after the appointed time, and very soon afterwards he was gliding under
+the garden-wall of Glendhu. For some minutes no one was visible, and
+Alec began to fear that a new disappointment was in store for him. But
+presently a figure began to move through the shadows of the trees. It
+was Laura! She stepped without a word over the loose rocks and stones;
+then, hardly touching Alec’s outstretched hand, she lightly took her
+place at the stern, and met Alec’s gaze with a smile.
+
+‘Do you know, I feel horribly guilty, and all through you,’ she said,
+as the boat moved swiftly out into the loch.
+
+‘Why should it make any difference that there is no discontented
+fellow-creature in another boat behind us?’ asked Alec gaily.
+
+Laura shook her head, but made no reply. Leaning back in the stern she
+took off her hat, and let the cool breeze blow upon her face. Alec
+thought he had never seen her look so beautiful. The delicate curves of
+her features, the peach-like complexion, the melting look in her eyes,
+made him feel as if the girl seated near him was something more than
+human.
+
+‘Don’t you think we have gone far enough?’ said Laura gently, when Alec
+had rowed some way in silence.
+
+He stopped, resting on his oars.
+
+‘How still it is--and how beautiful!’ she exclaimed in the same low
+voice.
+
+Not a sound but the faint lapping of the water on the boat fell upon
+their ears. The hills were by this time in darkness, and the stars were
+beginning to glimmer in the twilight sky. Beyond the western hills
+the sky was still bright, with a glow that seemed less that of the
+sunken sun, than some mysterious halo of the northern night. A faint
+phosphorescence lingered about the drops of sea-water upon the oars.
+Nothing but the distant lights in the cottage windows seemed to be in
+any way connected with the commonplace, everyday world.
+
+‘Hadn’t we better go back? It is really getting dark,’ said Laura, as
+gently as before; and Alec obediently dipped his oars and turned the
+bow of the boat towards Glendhu.
+
+All his life long Alec remembered that silent row in the dim, unearthly
+twilight. There was no need for words. They were sitting, as it were,
+‘on the shores of old romance,’ and tasting the dew of fairyland.
+That hidden land was for this short hour revealed to them; they were
+breathing the enchanted air.
+
+It was almost dark when Alec shipped his oars and drew the boat along
+the rocks outside the garden-wall.
+
+‘How dreadfully late it is! I hope they have not come back,’ said
+Laura, as she rose to go ashore.
+
+Alec took her hand, so small and white, with the tiny blue veins
+crossing it, in his own rough brown fingers, and when he had helped the
+girl ashore he stooped and kissed it.
+
+A moment afterwards, a soft ‘good-night’ from the garden assured him
+that the act of homage had not been taken amiss. If he had lingered a
+minute or two longer he would have heard Miss Lindsay’s voice calling
+out in some anxiety, and Laura Mowbray’s silvery accents replying:
+
+‘Yes; here I am, Miss Lindsay--it is so much cooler out of doors. My
+headache is almost quite gone, thank you; the cool sea-breeze has
+driven it away. How did you enjoy your party? How I wish I could have
+gone with you!’
+
+But before Laura reached the house, Alec was once more far out in the
+loch. He wished to be alone, to indulge the sweet intoxication which
+was burning in his veins.
+
+When at last he returned to his little room he found a letter awaiting
+him which had been sent on from home. The address was in an unfamiliar
+handwriting, and breaking the seal he read as follows:
+
+
+                                       ‘CAEN LODGE, HIGHGATE, N.,
+                                           ‘_July 10, 187-_.
+
+          ‘MY DEAR LINDSAY,
+
+     ‘You will be surprised to hear that you may see me the day
+     after this reaches you. I want to see how your beautiful
+     river scenery looks in this glorious summer weather. If it
+     is not convenient for me to stay at the farm, I can easily
+     find quarters elsewhere.
+
+                             ‘Ever yours,
+                                   ‘HUBERT BLAKE.’
+
+As Alec foresaw, when he read this note, Blake found existence at the
+Castle Farm with the sole companionship of Mr. Lindsay to be quite
+impracticable; and next day he arrived at Arrochar and took up his
+quarters in the little inn at the head of the pier.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XII.
+
+                     ‘YOU MUST GIVE ME AN ANSWER.’
+
+
+Margaret Lindsay, not the scenery of the Nethan, was the real
+attraction which drew Hubert Blake to the north. He was not in
+love with her; certainly, at least, he felt for her nothing of the
+rapturous passion which Alec felt for Laura Mowbray. But he admired
+her immensely. He undertook the long journey from London that he might
+feast his eyes on her beauty once more; and when he found that she was
+at Arrochar he straightway betook himself thither.
+
+Blake was by this time a man nearer forty than thirty years of age,
+who was still without an aim in life. He had an income which rendered
+it unnecessary for him to devote himself to the ordinary aim of an
+Englishman--the making of money; and to set himself to charm sovereigns
+which he did not need out of the pockets of his fellow-creatures into
+his own, for the mere love of gold or of luxury, was an idea which he
+would have despised as heartily as Alec Lindsay himself would have
+done. Blake had also great contempt for the brassy self-importance and
+self-conceit which is the most useful of all attributes for one who
+means to get on in the world. He looked at men struggling for political
+or social distinction, as he might have gazed at a crowd of lunatics
+fighting for a tinsel crown. ‘And after all,’ he would say to himself,
+‘if I am idle, my idleness hurts no one but myself. At least, I do not
+trample down my fellow-men on my journey through life.’
+
+He was not satisfied; but he was not energetic enough to find a career
+in which he could turn his talents and his money to good advantage. He
+was a great lover of nature, and he had a wide and tolerant sympathy
+for his fellow-men. The one thing he loved in the world was art.
+
+It was not long, of course, before he was a member of the little circle
+at Glendhu, and he looked on at the little comedy that was being played
+there with good-natured amusement. Laura Mowbray soon discovered that
+the stranger was insensible to her charms, that he quite understood her
+little allurements, and regarded them with a good-humoured smile. He
+saw quite plainly that she was enjoying a double triumph; and on the
+whole he thought that though she devoted by far the greater part of her
+time to Semple, she had a secret preference for his friend Alec. He
+spent most of his time in making sketches of the surrounding scenery;
+and though he was not an enthusiastic climber, Alec was often able to
+persuade him to accompany him to some of the loftier peaks.
+
+One day before Margaret’s visit came to an end, Alec proposed that
+the whole party--that is, Blake, Laura Mowbray, his sister, Semple,
+and himself--should make an ascent of ‘The Cobbler.’ He described the
+view which was to be obtained from the top of the mountain in terms
+which fired even Laura’s enthusiasm; and the ascent was fixed for the
+following forenoon.
+
+The morning was rather cloudy, but not sufficiently so to make the
+party abandon the expedition, especially as Alec pointed out that they
+would find it much easier to climb than they would have done if the day
+had been one of brilliant sunshine. They rowed over to the foot of the
+hill, so as to save walking round the head of the loch; and were soon
+in a wilderness of heather and wild juniper.
+
+The ascent, they found, though by no means difficult, was long and
+tiresome. The girls, indeed, if they had consulted merely their own
+inclination, would have turned back at the end of the first hour; but
+it never occurred to Margaret to give way to her feeling of fatigue,
+and Laura was too proud to be the first to complain.
+
+Everyone was glad, however, when Blake proposed a halt about half-way
+up. They threw themselves down on the heather, and tasted the delicious
+sense of rest to strained muscles and panting lungs.
+
+‘I am afraid this is rather too much for you,’ said Alec to Laura,
+noticing her look of weariness.
+
+‘Oh, I shall get on after I have rested,’ she replied; ‘but it is so
+tiresome to imagine, every now and then, that the crest before you is
+the top of the hill, and to find when you arrive there that the real
+summit seems farther off than ever.’
+
+‘The finest views are always to be had half-way up a mountain,’ said
+Blake. ‘How much we can see from this knoll! There is Loch Lomond, Ben
+Lomond, Ben Venue, and I don’t know how many Bens besides--a perfect
+crowd of them. Then we can see right down the loch and out into the
+frith. Let us be content with what we have. Miss Mowbray and your
+sister would prefer, I think, to wait here with me, Alec, while you and
+your cousin get to the top and back again.’
+
+But this proposal was not entertained; and in a quarter of an hour the
+whole party were on foot once more.
+
+Up to this point Semple had succeeded in monopolizing the society
+of Laura; but he had found that to guide the steps of a delicately
+nurtured girl over a rough Scotch mountain, and help her whenever she
+came to a steep place, was no light labour. For the rest of the climb
+he was content to leave her a good deal to Alec, while it fell to
+Blake’s lot to look after Margaret.
+
+One after another the ridges were overcome, the prospect widening with
+every step, till the last grassy knoll was surmounted, and the bare
+rocky peak stood full in view at a little distance. It was, indeed, so
+steep that Laura was secretly terrified, and had to be hauled up for a
+good part of the way.
+
+An involuntary cry burst from the lips of each, as one by one they set
+foot upon the windy summit. Far away, as it were upon the limits of
+the world, the sun was shining on a sea of gold. The two peaks of Jura
+lifted up their heads, illumined by the radiance. All around them was a
+billowy sea of mountain-tops--Ben Crois, Ben Ime, Ben Donich, Ben Vane,
+Ben Voirlich, and a hundred more, with many a lonely tarn, and many a
+glen without a name. At their feet lay the black waters of the lochs;
+and far in the south were the rugged hills of Arran.
+
+‘Look!’ cried Laura, ‘the steamer is no bigger than a toy-boat; and the
+road is like a thin white thread drawn across the moor!’
+
+‘Come here,’ said Alec to Blake with a laugh, beckoning as he spoke.
+
+Blake followed him, and found that on one side, where there was a sheer
+descent of many hundred feet, a rock, which was pierced with a natural
+archway, jutted out from the body of the mountain.
+
+‘This is the “needle-eye,”’ said Alec, ‘and everybody who comes up here
+is expected to go through it.’
+
+‘Nonsense! Why, man, a false step there would mean----’
+
+‘There’s not the slightest danger, if you have a good head. I have been
+through twice already,’ returned Alec, as he disappeared behind the
+rock.
+
+A cry from Laura told Blake that she had witnessed the danger.
+Margaret, whose cheek had suddenly grown pale, gripped her tightly by
+the arm.
+
+‘Don’t speak,’ she said hoarsely; ‘it may make his foot slip.’
+
+In a minute he reappeared, having passed through the crevice.
+
+‘Alec, you shouldn’t do a thing like that; it’s a sin to risk your life
+for nothing,’ said Margaret, in a tone of cold displeasure.
+
+‘There’s not the slightest danger in it,’ protested Alec.
+
+‘None whatever,’ echoed Semple; but he did not think it necessary to
+prove the truth of his opinion.
+
+‘I think we ought to be off,’ said Alec; ‘there’s a cloud coming right
+upon us; and if we don’t make haste we shall have to stay here till it
+passes.’
+
+His meaning was not quite plain to his companions; but they soon saw
+the force of his remark. They had accomplished but a small part of the
+descent when they found themselves suddenly in the midst of a cold,
+thick, white vapour. It was not safe to go on, so the little company
+crouched together under a boulder, and watched the great wreaths of
+mist moving in the stillness from crag to crag.
+
+As soon as the mist got a little thinner, they recommenced the descent,
+for their position was not a very pleasant one. Semple was in front,
+while Blake and Margaret followed, and Alec and Laura brought up the
+rear, when it happened that they came to an unusually steep part of the
+hillside which they thought it best to cross in a slanting direction.
+The soil was of loose, crumbling stone, with here and there a narrow
+patch of short, dry grass, and, at intervals, narrow beds or courses of
+loose stones. A short distance below there was an unbroken precipice of
+at least five hundred feet.
+
+Alec was helping Laura across one of those narrow beds of stones, the
+others being some little way in advance, when they were startled by
+a deep rumbling noise, and a tremulous motion under their feet. The
+whole layer of stones, loosened by the rain and frost, was sliding
+down towards the precipice! With a cry Alec hurried his companion on;
+but her trembling feet could hardly support her. The movement of the
+stones, slow at first, was becoming faster every moment; and Alec’s
+only hope lay in crossing them before they were carried down to the
+edge of the cliff. For a minute it seemed doubtful whether they would
+be able to cross in time; but Alec succeeded in struggling, along with
+his half-fainting companion, to the edge of the sliding stones, and
+placed her, just in time, upon a sloping but solid bank of earth.
+
+In a few minutes more the stones had swept past them, and had
+disappeared over the cliff.
+
+But the position which Alec had reached was hardly less dangerous than
+the one they had escaped from. Behind them was a deep chasm which the
+treacherous stones had left. In front the mountain rose at a terrible
+slope. Alec scanned it closely, and it seemed to him that though he
+might have scaled it at a considerable risk, it was quite impracticable
+for Laura without help from above. If he were to make the attempt, and
+fall, he knew he would infallibly dash her as well as himself over the
+precipice.
+
+Some feet above their heads there was a ledge of rock from which it
+might be possible to assist them; but where were Blake and the others?
+They were out of sight, and the sound of Alec’s shouts, cut off by the
+rocks above, could not reach them. Worst of all, the mist seemed to be
+closing upon them more thickly than ever.
+
+The question was, Could they maintain their position till help could
+reach them? Soon it became evident that they could not. The ledge of
+grass-covered rock on which they stood was so narrow that they could
+not even sit down; and it was plain that Laura could not stand much
+longer.
+
+There was only one way of escape. Eight or ten feet below was a shelf
+of rock, frightfully narrow, and, what was worse, sloping downwards and
+covered with slippery dry grass. But Alec saw that if he could reach
+it, he could make his way round to the top of the rock, and then he
+could stretch down his hand so as to help Laura up the steep.
+
+‘Oh, Mr. Lindsay, what _shall_ we do?’ cried Laura, turning to Alec her
+white, despairing face. ‘Oh, look down there! What a dreadful death!’
+
+‘Death! Nonsense! There is no danger--not much, at least. See, now, I
+am going to drop down on that bit of grassy rock, and climb round to
+the top. Then I’ll be able to help you up.’
+
+‘But I could never climb up there! I should fall, and be killed in a
+moment!’
+
+‘Not a bit, if you have hold of my hand.’
+
+‘But you won’t leave me?’ cried Laura, clutching Alec by the arm as she
+spoke; ‘you won’t leave me all alone in this dreadful place?’
+
+‘Only for a minute.’
+
+‘But I can’t stand any longer.’
+
+‘Yes, you can. Turn your face to the rock, and lean against it. Don’t
+look downwards on any account.’
+
+And with these words Alec slipped off his shoes, slung them round his
+neck, and let himself hang over the cliff. It was an awful moment,
+and for a second or two the lad’s courage failed him. But it was only
+for an instant. Setting his teeth hard, he let go, and dropped upon
+the little shelf beneath. His feet slid; but he clung to the rock and
+just saved himself from slipping over the precipice. Then, with great
+exertion, he managed to climb round where the ascent was not quite
+so steep, and gained the ledge above that on which he had left his
+companion.
+
+‘All right!’ he cried cheerily, looking over the ledge; and, lying
+down, he grasped the rock with one hand, and stretched the other
+downwards as far as he could.
+
+But by this time Laura was almost paralyzed with terror.
+
+‘I can’t--I can’t move!’ she exclaimed in a voice of agony, while her
+eyes wandered as if seeking the abyss she dreaded.
+
+Alec stretched himself downwards till he could almost touch her hat,
+while the beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead.
+
+‘Give me your hand at once!’ he shouted imperiously.
+
+Almost mechanically the girl put her hand in his, and the firm clasp
+immediately made her more calm.
+
+‘Now put your foot on that tuft of grass at your knee. Don’t be afraid.
+I tell you, you _can’t_ fall, if you do as I bid you!’
+
+Laura felt as if her arm were being pulled out of its socket; but she
+obeyed, and in another moment she was in safety.
+
+Then came a flood of hysterical tears.
+
+‘Oh, how cruel you are! Why did you ever bring me to this horrible
+place? Where are the others? What will become of us? Don’t leave me;
+take me back! Oh, take me back!’ And she clung to her companion as if
+she were still in danger of her life.
+
+Alec soothed and encouraged her as well as he was able; and by hurrying
+forward they managed in half an hour to overtake the rest of the party.
+
+‘What in the world have you been about?’ cried Semple. ‘We began
+to think you had lost your way in the mist, or had tumbled over a
+precipice.’
+
+‘So we did, very nearly,’ said Laura; and Margaret, seeing that the
+girl was pale and trembling, went up to her, threw her arms round her,
+and promised not to leave her till they were safe at Glendhu.
+
+‘You needn’t have taken _her_ into danger,’ growled Semple.
+
+‘I did nothing of the kind,’ said Alec angrily. Then he bit his lip,
+and vouchsafed no further explanation.
+
+Without further accident they reached the foot of the mountain, and
+half an hour later landed at Glendhu.
+
+Laura had not quite recovered from her fright on the following morning,
+when an extremely welcome piece of news restored her to her usual
+spirits. Mr. Lindsay had suddenly determined to transfer himself
+and his family to Paris; and Laura was overjoyed. When Alec called,
+therefore, in the afternoon, to ask how she was, he found her in the
+garden, dreaming of the coming pleasure, and in high good-humour.
+
+‘You know, I was so dreadfully sorry for that accident,’ said Alec.
+‘I almost felt as if I had been to blame. But I couldn’t help the
+landslip, could I?’
+
+‘Oh, of course not. And you must forget all the foolish things I said
+when I was in that terrible place. How brave you were! I am sure I owe
+you my life.’
+
+‘Next time we go a-climbing, we shan’t go where there are any
+precipices,’ said Alec.
+
+‘But we can’t go climbing any more,’ said Laura, with visible
+satisfaction. ‘Haven’t you heard? We are all to set out for Paris the
+day after to-morrow.’
+
+‘For Paris!’
+
+‘Yes; and perhaps, after that, we may go to Italy. Isn’t it splendid?’
+
+‘Very--for you. But----’
+
+He stopped, almost frightened at the audacious thought that had come
+into his mind. His pulses leaped, his heart throbbed, and his cheek
+grew pale.
+
+Laura looked at him curiously.
+
+‘“But”--what?’ she asked.
+
+‘But it will be very lonely for me. Life does not seem worth living
+when you are not near me.’ And then, hardly knowing what he said, he
+poured out the story of his love. He seized her hands, as they lay idly
+in her lap, and seemed unconscious of the efforts she made to withdraw
+them. He gazed into her face, and repeated his words with passionate
+earnestness, again and again:--‘I love you, Laura; I love you; I love
+you!’
+
+Laura threw a glance around, to make sure that no one was in sight; and
+then, slipping her hands away, she covered with them her blushing face.
+When she looked up, she met Alec’s passionate gaze with a smile.
+
+‘Oh, hush! hush!’ she said. ‘Why do you speak so wildly?’
+
+‘Because I love you.’
+
+‘But we are far too young to think of such things. I don’t mean to get
+married for--oh! ever such a long time. And you--you have to take your
+degree, and choose a profession. We will forget all this, and we shall
+be friends still, just as before.’
+
+‘It can never be just as before,’ said Alec.
+
+‘Why not?’
+
+‘It is impossible. But you won’t refuse me, Laura?’ he pleaded. ‘If you
+only knew how much I love you! Don’t you love me a little in return?
+Sometimes I can’t help thinking you do.’
+
+‘Then all I can say is, you have a very strong imagination.’
+
+‘You don’t?’ cried Alec despairingly.
+
+Laura shook her head, but smiled at the same time.
+
+‘You must give me an answer,’ said Alec, rising to his feet. He was
+dreadfully in earnest.
+
+‘And I say that at your age and mine it is ridiculous to talk of such
+things.’
+
+‘Nonsense! We are not too young to love each other. _Can_ you love me,
+Laura? What you have said is no answer at all.’
+
+‘I’m afraid it’s the only answer I can give you,’ said Laura, with a
+saucy smile, rising in her turn, and gliding past her companion. ‘Don’t
+be absurd; and don’t be unkind or disagreeable when we meet again,
+after we come back from our tour. Good-bye.’
+
+He stood, looking after her, without saying another word. And she,
+turning when she reached the French window, and seeing him still
+standing there, waved her hand to bid him adieu, before she disappeared.
+
+
+
+
+                            END OF VOL. I.
+
+
+                 BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD.
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber’s Note:
+
+This book was written in a period when many words had not become
+standardized in their spelling. Words may have multiple spelling
+variations or inconsistent hyphenation in the text. These have been
+left unchanged. Dialect, obsolete and alternative spellings were left
+unchanged. Misspelled words were not corrected.
+
+Words and phrases in italics are surrounded by underscores, _like
+this_. Those in bold are surrounded by equal signs, =like this=.
+Footnotes were renumbered sequentially and were moved to the end
+of the chapter. Obvious printing errors, such as backwards, upside
+down, extraneous, or partially printed letters and punctuation,
+were corrected. Final stops missing at the end of sentences and
+abbreviations were added.
+
+
+
+
+
 *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LINDSAYS, VOLUME 1 (OF 3) ***
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-<body>

-<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LINDSAYS, VOLUME 1 (OF 3) ***</div>

-

-<div class="figcenter">

- <img src="images/cover_img.jpg"

- alt="color cover">

-</div><!--end figcenter-->

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h1>

-THE LINDSAYS.

-</h1>

-</div>

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

-

-

-<div class="chapter box">

-<p class="center">

-<span class="sansserif">NEW NOVELS AT EVERY LIBRARY.</span><br>

-</p>

-

-<p class="hanging"><b>KING OR KNAVE?</b> By <span class="smcap">R. E. Francillon</span>. 3 <abbr title="volumse">vols.</abbr>.</p>

-

-<p class="hanging"><b>EVERY INCH A SOLDIER.</b> By <span class="smcap">M. J. Colquhoun</span>.

-3 <abbr title="volumes">vols.</abbr>.</p>

-

-<p class="hanging"><b>THE PASSENGER FROM SCOTLAND YARD.</b> By

-<span class="smcap">H. F. Wood</span>. 1 <abbr title="volume">vol.</abbr></p>

-

-<p class="hanging"><b>THE HEIR OF LINNE.</b> By <span class="smcap">Robert Buchanan</span>. 1 <abbr title="volume">vol.</abbr></p>

-

-<p class="hanging"><b>IN EXCHANGE FOR A SOUL.</b> By <span class="smcap">Mary Linskill</span>.

-3 <abbr title="volumes">vols.</abbr>.</p>

-

-<p class="hanging"><b>SETH’S BROTHER’S WIFE.</b> By <span class="smcap">Harold Frederic</span>.

-2 <abbr title="volumes">vols.</abbr>.</p>

-

-<p class="hanging"><b>PINE AND PALM.</b> By <span class="smcap">Moncure D. Conway</span>. 2 <abbr title="volumes">vols.</abbr>.</p>

-

-<p class="hanging"><b>ONE TRAVELLER RETURNS.</b> By <span class="smcap">D. Christie

-Murray</span> and <span class="smcap">Henry Herman</span>. 1 <abbr title="volume">vol.</abbr></p>

-

-<p class="hanging"><b>OLD BLAZER’S HERO.</b> By <span class="smcap">D. Christie Murray</span>.

-1 <abbr title="volume">vol.</abbr></p>

-

-<p class="hanging"><b>A PHYLLIS OF THE SIERRAS, Etc.</b> By <span class="smcap">Bret Harte</span>.

-1 <abbr title="volume">vol.</abbr></p>

-

-<p class="hanging"><b>THE DEEMSTER.</b> By <span class="smcap">Hall Caine</span>. 1 <abbr title="volume">vol.</abbr></p>

-

-<p class="hanging"><b>RED SPIDER.</b> By the Author of ‘Mehalah.’ 1 <abbr title="volume">vol.</abbr></p>

-

-<p class="hanging"><b>PASTON CAREW.</b> By <span class="smcap">E. Lynn Linton</span>. 1 <abbr title="volume">vol.</abbr></p>

-

-<p class="hanging"><b>A ROMANCE OF THE QUEEN’S HOUNDS.</b> By

-<span class="smcap">Charles James</span>. 1 <abbr title="volume">vol.</abbr></p>

-

-<p class="center">

-LONDON: CHATTO &amp; WINDUS, PICCADILLY.<br>

-</p>

-</div><!--end box and chapter-->

-

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<p class="h1head center ls">

-THE LINDSAYS</p>

-

-<p class="p2 center">A Romance of Scottish Life</p>

-

-<p class="p4 center allsmcap">BY</p>

-

-<h2 class="no-break">JOHN K. LEYS</h2>

-

-<div class="figcenter">

- <img src="images/colophon.jpg"

- alt="colophon">

-</div><!--end figcenter-->

-

-

-<p class="center">

-<span class="allsmcap">IN THREE VOLUMES</span><br>

-<abbr title="Volume One"><span class="allsmcap">VOL. I.</span></abbr><br>

-<br>

-<br>

-<br>

-<br>

-London<br>

-CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY<br>

-1888<br>

-<br>

-<span class="muchsmaller">[<i>The right of translation is reserved</i>]</span><br>

-</p>

-

-</div>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

-

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h3>CONTENTS OF <abbr title="Volume One">VOL. I.</abbr></h3>

-</div>

-

-<table>

-<tr><td class="tdc allsmcap">CHAPTER</td>

-    <td></td>

-    <td class="tdr allsmcap">PAGE</td></tr>

-

-<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="One">I.</abbr></td>

-    <td class="tdh vlt">THE FIRST LETTER</td>

-    <td class="tdr vlb pad1"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr>

-

-<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Two">II.</abbr></td>

-    <td class="tdh vlt">THE SECOND LETTER</td>

-    <td class="tdr vlb pad1"><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td></tr>

-

-<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Three">III.</abbr></td>

-    <td class="tdh vlt">THE THIRD LETTER</td>

-    <td class="tdr vlb pad1"><a href="#Page_37">37</a></td></tr>

-

-<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Four">IV.</abbr></td>

-    <td class="tdh vlt">THE FOURTH LETTER</td>

-    <td class="tdr vlb pad1"><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td></tr>

-

-<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Five">V.</abbr></td>

-    <td class="tdh vlt">THE SHIP SETS SAIL </td>

-    <td class="tdr vlb pad1"><a href="#Page_80">80</a></td></tr>

-

-<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Six">VI.</abbr></td>

-    <td class="tdh vlt">A NEW EXPERIENCE</td>

-    <td class="tdr vlb pad1"><a href="#Page_106">106</a></td></tr>

-

-<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Seven">VII.</abbr></td>

-    <td class="tdh vlt">A SUNDAY IN GLASGOW</td>

-    <td class="tdr vlb pad1"><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td></tr>

-

-<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Eight">VIII.</abbr></td>

-    <td class="tdh vlt">THE ROARING GAME</td>

-    <td class="tdr vlb pad1"><a href="#Page_146">146</a></td></tr>

-

-<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Nine">IX.</abbr></td>

-    <td class="tdh vlt">THE END OF THE SESSION</td>

-    <td class="tdr vlb pad1"><a href="#Page_173">173</a></td></tr>

-

-<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Ten">X.</abbr></td>

-    <td class="tdh vlt">ARROCHAR</td>

-    <td class="tdr vlb pad1"><a href="#Page_193">193</a></td></tr>

-

-<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Eleven">XI.</abbr></td>

-    <td class="tdh vlt">A RIVAL</td>

-    <td class="tdr vlb pad1"><a href="#Page_215">215</a></td></tr>

-

-<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Twelve">XII.</abbr></td>

-    <td class="tdh vlt">‘YOU MUST GIVE ME AN ANSWER’</td>

-    <td class="tdr vlb pad1"><a href="#Page_232">232</a></td></tr>

-</table>

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

-

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</span>

-<p class="center h2head ls">

-THE LINDSAYS.</p>

-

-<p class="p2 center"><i>PROLOGUE.—FOUR LETTERS.</i></p>

-

-<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="One">I.</abbr></h3>

-<h4>THE FIRST LETTER.</h4>

-

-<p class="center"><i>Hubert Blake to Sophy Meredith.</i><br>

-</p>

-</div>

-

-<p class="right">

-<span class="smcap">The Castle Farm, Muirburn,</span>&emsp;<br>

-<span class="smcap">Kyleshire, N.B.</span>, <i>Sept. 12, 187-</i>.<br>

-</p>

-

-<p class="indent5">

-<span class="smcap">My dear Sophy</span>,

-</p>

-

-<p>I only arrived here last night, so you

-see I am losing no time in redeeming my

-promise. I can hardly tell you what I think

-of my new cousins; they are not to be known

-in a day, I can see that much. As for the

-country and its inhabitants generally—well,

-they are as different from an English county and

-English country-folks as if they were in different

-continents, and that is all I can say at present.</p>

-

-<p>I left the railway at a tiny station called

-Kilmartin, and found ‘the coach’ waiting in

-the station yard. It was not a coach, but a

-queer dumpy omnibus, about two-thirds of

-the size of a London ’bus, with three big, raw-boned

-horses harnessed to it. I was lucky

-enough to get a seat in front beside the driver.

-It was just a little before sunset; and I wish

-I could put before you in words the freshness

-of the scene. We were ascending a rising

-ground in a very leisurely fashion. On either

-side of the road was a steep bank thickly

-clothed with crowsfoot and wild thyme.

-Above us on either side stretched a belt of

-Scotch firs. The sunset rays shone red on

-the trunks of the pines, and here and there

-one could catch through them a sight of the

-ruddy west, showing like a great painted

-window in a cathedral. The air was soft, and

-laden with the sweet smell of the firs, and yet

-it was cool and exhilarating.</p>

-

-<p>As soon as we got to the top of the ridge

-we began to rattle down the other side at a

-great rate. It was really very pleasant, and

-thinking to conciliate the weather-beaten

-coachman at my side, I confided to him my

-opinion that of all species of travelling coaching

-was the most delightful.</p>

-

-<p>‘Specially on a winter’s nicht, wi’ yer feet

-twa lumps o’ ice, an’ a wee burn o’ snaw-watter

-runnin’ doon the nape o’ yer neck!’ responded

-the Scotch Jehu.</p>

-

-<p>I laughed, and glanced at the man sitting

-on my right, a big, brown-faced, gray-haired

-farmer, in a suit of heavy tweeds, who sat

-leaning his two hands on the top of an enormous

-stick. He was smiling grimly to himself,

-as if he enjoyed the stranger being set

-down.</p>

-

-<p>‘Fine country,’ I remarked, by way of conciliating

-<em>him</em>.</p>

-

-<p>‘Ay,’ said he, with a glance at the horizon

-out of the sides of his eyes, but without moving

-a muscle of his face.</p>

-

-<p>‘And a very fine evening,’ I persisted.</p>

-

-<p>‘Ay—micht be waur.’</p>

-

-<p>Upon this I gave it up, lighted a cigar, and

-set myself to study the landscape. We had

-got to a considerable elevation above the sea-level;

-and in spite of the glorious evening

-and the autumn colours just beginning to

-appear in the hedges, the country had a

-dreary look. Imagine one great stretch of

-pasture barely reclaimed from moorland, with

-the heather and stony ground cropping up

-every here and there, divided into fields, not

-by generous spreading hedgerows, but by low

-walls of blue stone, built without mortar. The

-only wood to be seen was narrow belts of firs,

-planted here and there behind a farmhouse, or

-between two fields, and somehow their long

-bare stems and heavy mournful foliage did

-not add to the brightness of the scene, though

-they gave it a character of its own. But the

-country is not all moor and pasture. It is

-broken every now and then by long, deep,

-winding ravines, clothed with the larch and

-the mountain ash, each one the home of a

-bright brawling stream.</p>

-

-<p>We had travelled for half an hour in

-silence, when the farmer suddenly spoke.</p>

-

-<p>‘Ye’ll be frae the sooth, I’m thinkin’.’</p>

-

-<p>He was not looking at me, but contemplating

-the road in front of us from under a

-pair of the bushiest eyebrows I ever saw.

-For a moment I thought of repaying his bad

-manners by giving him no answer, but thinking

-better of it I said ‘Ay,’ after the manner

-of the country.</p>

-

-<p>‘Ye’ll no hae mony beasts like they in

-England, I fancy,’ said he.</p>

-

-<p>We were passing some Ayrshire cows at

-the time, small, but splendid animals of their

-kind; and I soothed the old man’s feelings by

-admitting the fact.</p>

-

-<p>‘Are ye traivellin’ faur?’ he asked.</p>

-

-<p>‘Not much farther, I believe.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Ye’re no an agent, are ye?’</p>

-

-<p>‘No,’ I answered.</p>

-

-<p>‘Nor a factor?’</p>

-

-<p>‘No.’</p>

-

-<p>(He was evidently puzzled to make out what

-an Englishman was about in his country, and

-I determined not to gratify his curiosity.)</p>

-

-<p>‘Ye’ll maybe be the doctor?’</p>

-

-<p>‘No.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Sharely ye’re no the new minister?’ he

-exclaimed with an expression of unfeigned

-alarm.</p>

-

-<p>I calmed his fears, and again we proceeded

-on our way in silence.</p>

-

-<p>When we had gone perhaps some seven or

-eight miles from the railway station, I noticed

-a stout dog-cart standing at the corner of a by-road,

-under a tall, straggling thorn hedge.

-The youth who was seated in it made a sign

-to the coachman to stop, and I was made

-aware that the dog-cart had been sent for me.

-I got down, and as I bade good-night to the

-cross-questioning farmer, I observed a grim

-smile of triumph on his firmly compressed lips.

-He evidently knew the dog-cart, and would

-now be able to trace the mysterious stranger.</p>

-

-<p>I and my portmanteau were finally left on

-the side of the road, and the young man in

-the dog-cart civilly turned the vehicle round

-(with some difficulty on account of the narrow

-road), and drew up beside me, to save my

-carrying my luggage a dozen yards. At first

-I was a little uncertain whether I had one of

-my third (or fourth, which is it?) cousins

-before me, or simply a young man from Mr.

-Lindsay’s farm. He was dressed in very

-coarse tweeds, and his hands were rough, and

-spoke of manual labour, and he breathed the

-incense of the farm-yard; but I thought his

-finely-cut features and sensitive lips bespoke

-him to be of gentle blood, and, luckily, I

-made a hit in the right direction.</p>

-

-<p>‘You are one of Mr. Lindsay’s sons, I think—that

-is to say, one of my cousins,’ I said, as

-I shook hands with him.</p>

-

-<p>The youth’s face lighted up with a blush

-and a pleasant smile as he answered that he

-was, and held open the apron of the dog-cart

-for me to get in. In another moment we

-were off, the sturdy old mare between the

-shafts carrying us along at a very fair pace.</p>

-

-<p>There are some people, Sophy, who wear

-their characters written on their faces, and

-Alec Lindsay is one of them. I could see,

-even as we drove together along that solitary

-lane in the autumn twilight, that his was a

-frank, ingenuous nature, shy, sensitive, and

-reserved. I mean that his shyness made him

-reserved, but his thoughts and feelings showed

-themselves in his face without his knowing it,

-so little idea had he of purposely concealing

-himself. Such a face is always interesting;

-and besides, there was an under-expression of

-dissatisfaction, of unrest, I hardly know what

-to call it, in his eyes, which was scarcely

-natural in so young a lad. He could not

-be more than eighteen or nineteen.</p>

-

-<p>After half an hour’s drive we approached

-the little town, or village—it is rather too

-large for a village, and much too small to be

-called a town—of Muirburn. It consists of

-one long double row of two-storied houses

-built of stone and whitewashed, with one or

-two short cross streets at intervals. The

-houses had not a scrap of garden in front

-of them, nothing but a broad footpath, the

-playground of troops of children. The lower

-part of these dwellings had a bare, deserted

-appearance, but I found that they were used

-in almost every case as workrooms, being

-fitted up with looms. In one or two of the

-windows a light twinkled, and we could hear

-the noise of the shuttle as we passed.</p>

-

-<p>In the middle of the village stood a large

-square building, whitewashed all over, and

-provided with two rows of small square

-windows, placed at regular intervals, one

-above and one below.</p>

-

-<p>‘What is that building?’ I asked.</p>

-

-<p>‘The Free Church,’ answered my companion,

-with a touch of pride.</p>

-

-<p>A church! Why, it was hardly fit to be

-a school-house. A mean iron railing, which

-had been painted at some remote epoch, alone

-protected it from the street. It was the very

-embodiment of ugliness; its sole ornament

-being a stove-pipe which protruded from one

-corner of the roof. Never, in all my life,

-whether among Hindoos, Mahometans, or

-Irish peasants, had I seen so supremely ugly

-an edifice dedicated to the service of the

-Almighty.</p>

-

-<p>‘That’s the United Presbyterian one,’ said

-Alec, pointing with his whip to a building

-on the other side of the street, similar to

-the one we had just passed, but of less

-hideous aspect. It was smaller, and it could

-boast a front of hewn stone, and neat latticed

-windows, while a narrow belt of greensward

-fenced it off from the road.</p>

-

-<p>Just then we passed a knot of men, perhaps

-ten or a dozen, standing at the corner of one

-of the side streets. All had their hands in

-their pockets, all were in their shirt-sleeves,

-and all wore long white aprons. They were

-doing nothing whatever—not talking, nor

-laughing, nor quarrelling, but simply looking

-down the street. At present our humble

-equipage was evidently an object of supreme

-interest to them.</p>

-

-<p>‘What are these men doing there?’ I asked.</p>

-

-<p>‘They’re weavers,’ answered Alec, as if the

-fact contained a reason in itself for their

-conduct. ‘They always stand there when

-they are not working, in all weathers, wet

-and dry; it’s their chief diversion.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Diversion!’ I repeated; but at that moment

-the sweet tinkle of a church-bell fell upon

-my ears. I almost expected to see the people

-cross themselves, it sounded so much like the

-Angelus. It is the custom, I find, to ring

-the bell of the parish church at six in the

-morning and eight in the evening, though

-there is no service, and no apparent need

-for the ceremony. I wonder if it can be

-really a survival of the Vesper-bell?</p>

-

-<p>The bell was still ringing as we passed the

-church that possessed it. This was ‘the

-Established Church,’ my companion informed

-me—a building larger than either of its

-competitors, and boasting a belfry.</p>

-

-<p>‘What does a small town like this want

-with so many chapels?’ I asked my cousin.</p>

-

-<p>I could see that I had displeased him,

-whether by speaking of Muirburn as a small

-town, or by inadvertently calling the ‘churches’

-chapels, I was not sure. As he hesitated for

-an answer I hastened to add:</p>

-

-<p>‘You are all of the same religion—substantially,

-I mean?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Well, yes.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Then why don’t you club together and

-have one handsome place of worship instead

-of three very—well, plain buildings?’</p>

-

-<p>‘What?’ exclaimed Alec, and then he

-burst into a roar of laughter. ‘That’s a

-good joke,’ said he, as if I had said something

-superlatively witty; ‘but I say,’ he

-continued, with a serious look in his bonny

-blue eyes, ‘you’d better not say anything of

-that kind to my father.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Why not?’ I asked, but Alec did not

-answer me.</p>

-

-<p>His attention was attracted by a child

-which was playing in the road, right in

-front of us. He called out, but the little

-one did not seem to hear him, and he

-slackened the mare’s pace almost to a walk.

-We were just approaching the last of the

-side streets, and at that moment a gig, drawn

-by a powerful bay horse, appeared coming

-rapidly round the corner. It was evident

-that there must be a collision, though, owing

-to Alec’s having slackened his pace so much,

-it could not be a serious one.</p>

-

-<p>But the child? Before I could cry out,

-before I could think, Alec was out of the trap

-and snatching the little boy from under the

-horse’s very nose. I never saw a narrower

-escape; how he was not struck down himself,

-I cannot imagine.</p>

-

-<p>The next moment the gig, which had brushed

-against our vehicle without doing it much

-damage, had disappeared down the road; and

-a woman, clad in a short linsey petticoat and a

-wide sleeveless bodice of printed cotton, had

-rushed out of the opposite house and was

-roundly abusing Alec for having nearly killed

-her child. Without paying much attention to

-her, Alec walked round to the other side of the

-dog-cart to see what damage had been done,

-and muttering to himself, ‘I’m thankful it’s no

-worse,’ he climbed back into his place, and we

-resumed our journey, while the young Caledonian

-was acknowledging sundry tender

-marks of his mother’s affection with screams

-like those of a locomotive.</p>

-

-<p>Another half-hour’s drive brought us to a

-five-barred gate which admitted us to a narrow

-and particularly rough lane. We jolted on for

-a few minutes, and then the loud barking of

-several dogs announced that we had arrived at

-the farm. But I must keep my description of

-its inhabitants for my next epistle. I am too

-sleepy to write more. Good-night.</p>

-

-<p class="center">

-Your affectionate cousin,</p>

-<p class="right p0 r8"><span class="smcap">Hubert Blake.</span><br>

-</p>

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

-

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span>

-<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="Two">II.</abbr></h3>

-<h4>THE SECOND LETTER.</h4>

-

-<p class="center"><i>Hubert Blake to Sophy Meredith.</i><br>

-</p>

-</div>

-

-

-<p class="right">

-<span class="smcap">The Castle Farm, Muirburn</span>, N.B.<br>

-<span style="margin-right: 4em;"><i>September 15.</i></span><br>

-</p>

-

-<p class="indent5">

-<span class="smcap">Dear Sophy</span>,

-</p>

-

-<p>I think I shall like this place, and shall

-probably stay till the beginning of winter. I

-have begun a large picture of a really beautiful

-spot which I found close by two days ago, and

-I should like to see my painting well on to

-completion before I return, lest I should be

-tempted to leave it unfinished, like so many

-others, when I get back to town.</p>

-

-<p>I had a very hospitable welcome from Mr.

-Lindsay on the night I arrived. He met me

-at the door—a tall, broad-shouldered, upright

-man, perhaps sixty years of age, with the

-regular Scotch type of features, large nose, and

-high cheek-bones. I could see, even at first,

-that he is the sort of man it would not be

-pleasant to quarrel with.</p>

-

-<p>He led me into a wide passage, and thence

-into a large low-roofed kitchen with a stone

-floor. Here there were seated two or three

-men and as many women, whom I took to be

-farm-servants. There was no light in the place,

-except that which came from a bit of ‘cannel’

-coal, stuck in the peat fire. The women were

-knitting; the men were doing nothing. No

-one took the trouble of rising as we passed,

-except one of the young men who went to look

-after the mare.</p>

-

-<p>After crossing the kitchen we passed through

-a narrow passage, and entered a pleasant and

-good-sized room in which a large coal fire and

-a moderator lamp were burning.</p>

-

-<p>Did you ever see a perfectly beautiful woman,

-Sophy? I doubt it. I never did till I saw

-Margaret Lindsay. I was so astonished to see

-a lady at the Castle Farm that I positively

-stared at the girl for a moment, but she came

-forward and shook hands with the utmost self-possession.</p>

-

-<p>‘I’m afraid you have had a cold drive, Mr.

-Blake,’ she said; and though she spoke in a

-very decidedly Scotch accent, the words did

-not sound so harshly from her lips as they had

-done when spoken by her father. For the

-first time I thought that the Doric might have

-an agreeable sound.</p>

-

-<p>I will try to tell you what Margaret is like.

-She must be nearly twenty years of age, for she

-is evidently older than her brother, but her

-complexion is that of a girl of sixteen, by far

-the finest and softest I ever saw. She is tall,

-but not too tall for elegance. Her eyes are

-brown, like her father’s, and her hair is a dark

-chestnut. Her features are simply perfect—low

-forehead, beautifully moulded eyebrows,

-short upper lip—you can imagine the rest.

-You will say that my description would fit a

-marble bust nearly as well as a girl of nineteen,

-and your criticism would be just. Margaret’s

-face is rather wanting in expression. It is calm,

-reserved, not to say hard. But her deliberate

-almost proud manner suits her admirably.</p>

-

-<p>I can see you smiling to yourself, and saying

-that you understand now my anxiety to get

-my picture finished before I leave the farm.

-All I can say is, you never were more mistaken

-in your life. I am not falling in love with this

-newly-discovered beauty, and I certainly don’t

-intend to do anything so foolish. But I could

-look at her face by the hour together. I

-wonder whether there are any capabilities of

-passion under the cold exterior.</p>

-

-<p>I took an opportunity when Alec was out of

-the room to narrate our little adventure by the

-way, and just as I finished my recital the hero

-of the story came in.</p>

-

-<p>‘So you managed to get run into on the

-way home, Alec,’ said his father, with a look

-of displeasure. ‘I should think you might

-have learned to drive by this time.’</p>

-

-<p>The lad’s face flushed, but he made no

-answer.</p>

-

-<p>‘Is the mare hurt?’ asked the old man.</p>

-

-<p>‘No, she wasn’t touched,’ answered his son.

-‘One of the wheels will want a new spoke;

-that’s all.’</p>

-

-<p>‘And is that nothing, sir?’</p>

-

-<p>‘No one could possibly have avoided the

-collision, such as it was,’ said I; ‘and I’ve

-seldom seen a pluckier thing than Alec did.’</p>

-

-<p>The old man looked at me, and immediately

-changed the subject.</p>

-

-<p>When tea (a remarkably substantial meal,

-by the way) was over, the farm-servants and

-the old woman who acts as housemaid were

-called into the large parlour in which we were

-sitting for prayers, or, as they call it here,

-‘worship.’ I can’t say I was edified, Sophy.

-I dare say I am not a particularly good judge

-of these matters, but really there seemed to

-me a very slight infusion of worship about

-the ceremony. First of all Bibles were handed

-round, and Mr. Lindsay proceeded to read

-a few lines from a metrical version of the

-Psalms, beginning in the middle of a Psalm

-for the excellent reason that they had left off

-at that point on the preceding evening. Then

-they began to sing the same verses to a strange,

-pathetic melody. Margaret led the tune, and

-it was a pleasure to listen to her sweet unaffected

-notes, but the rough grumble of the

-old men and Betty’s discordant squeak produced

-a really ridiculous effect. Then a

-chapter was read from the Bible, and then we

-rose up, turned round, and knelt down. Mr.

-Lindsay began an extempore prayer, which

-was partly an exposition of the chapter we had

-just heard read, and partly an address to the

-Almighty, which I won’t shock you by describing.

-At the end of the prayer were

-some practical petitions, amongst them one on

-behalf of ‘the stranger within our gates,’ by

-which phrase your humble servant was indicated.

-The instant the word ‘Amen’ escaped

-from the lips of my host, there was a sudden

-shuffling of feet, and the little congregation

-had risen to their feet and were in full retreat

-before I had realized that the service was at

-an end. I fully expected that this conduct

-would have called down a reproof from Mr.

-Lindsay, but it seemed to be accepted on all

-hands as the ordinary custom. Half an hour

-afterwards I was in bed, and sound asleep.</p>

-

-<p>I awoke next morning to a glorious day.

-The harvest is late in these parts, you know,

-and the ‘happy autumn fields,’ some half cut,

-some filled with ‘stooks’ of corn, were stretching

-before my window down to a hollow,

-which I judged to be the bed of a river.</p>

-

-<p>After breakfast I had an interview with my

-host, and managed to get my future arrangements

-put upon a proper footing. Of course

-I could not stay here for an indefinite time at

-Mr. Lindsay’s expense; and though at first he

-scouted the proposal, I got him to consent

-that I should set up an establishment of my

-own in two half-empty rooms—the house is

-twice as large as the family requires—and be

-practically independent. I could see that the

-old man had a struggle between his pride and

-his love of hospitality on the one hand, and

-the prospect of letting part of his house to

-a good tenant on the other; but I smoothed

-matters a little by asking to be allowed to

-remain as his guest until Monday. Poor man,

-I am sorry for him. He used to be a well-to-do

-if not a wealthy ‘laird,’ and owned not

-only the Castle Farm, but one or two others.

-Now, in consequence of his having become

-surety for a friend who left him to pay the

-piper, and as a result of several bad seasons,

-he has been forced to sell one farm and

-mortgage the others so heavily that he is

-practically worse off than if he were a tenant

-of the mortgagees. This ‘come down’ in the

-world has soured his temper, and developed

-a stinginess which I think is foreign to his

-real nature. I fancy, too, he had a great loss

-when his wife died. She was a woman, I am

-told, of education and refinement. It must

-have been from her that Margaret got her

-beauty, and Alec his fine eyes.</p>

-

-<p>But I have not told you what the neighbourhood

-is like. Well, the farmhouse is

-built on the side of a knoll, and at the top is

-a very respectable ruin. The castle, from

-which the farm takes its name, must have been

-a strong place at one time. The keep is still

-standing, and its walls are quite five feet

-thick. Besides the keep, time has spared

-part of the front, some of the buttresses, and

-some half-ruined doorways and windows. But

-the whole place is overgrown with weeds and

-nettles. No one takes the slightest interest

-in this relic of another age: nobody could tell

-me who built it, or give me even a shred of

-a legend about its history.</p>

-

-<p>As I was wandering about the walls of the

-ruin, trying to select a point from which to

-sketch it, I was joined by Alec Lindsay.

-He had one or two books under his arm; and

-he stopped short on seeing me, as if he had

-not expected to find anyone there.</p>

-

-<p>‘Don’t let me interrupt you,’ I said, beginning

-to move away. ‘You make this place

-your study, I see.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Sometimes I bring my books up here,’ he

-replied. ‘There is a corner under the wall of

-the tower which is quite sheltered from the

-wind. Even the rain can hardly reach it, and

-I have a glorious view of the sunset when I sit

-there on fine evenings.’</p>

-

-<p>‘I should like to see the place,’ said I, anxious

-to put the lad at his ease; and he led me to a

-corner among the ruins, from which, as he

-said, a wide view was obtained.</p>

-

-<p>Near at hand were pastures and harvest-fields.

-Beyond them was the bed of the river,

-fringed with wood, and the horizon was

-bounded by low moorland hills.</p>

-

-<p>‘From the top of that one,’ said Alec, pointing

-to one of the hills, ‘you can catch a glint

-of the sea. It shines like a looking-glass. I

-would like to see it near at hand.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Have you never been to the seaside?’ I

-asked.</p>

-

-<p>I must have betrayed my surprise by my

-voice, for the boy blushed as he answered:</p>

-

-<p>‘No; I have been to Glasgow once or twice,

-but I have never been to the salt water.’

-(The seaside is always spoken of as ‘the

-coast’ or ‘the salt water’ in this part of

-the country.) ‘I have never been beyond

-Muirburn, except once or twice, in my life,’ he

-added, as the look of discontent which I

-fancied I had detected in his face grew

-stronger.</p>

-

-<p>‘May I look at your books?’ I asked, by

-way of changing the subject.</p>

-

-<p>‘Oh yes; they’re not much to look at,’ he

-said with a blush.</p>

-

-<p>I took them up—a Greek grammar, and a

-school-book containing simple passages of

-Greek for translation, with a vocabulary at

-the end of the volume.</p>

-

-<p>‘Is this how you spend your leisure time?’

-I asked.</p>

-

-<p>‘Not always—not very often,’ answered

-Alec. ‘Often I am lazy and go in for Euclid

-and algebra—I like them far better than

-Greek. And sometimes,’ he added with hesitation,

-as if he were confessing a fault—‘sometimes

-I waste my time with a novel.’</p>

-

-<p>‘I would not call it wasting time if you

-read good novels,’ said I. ‘What do you

-read?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Only Sir Walter and old volumes of <cite>Blackwood</cite>;

-they are all I have got.’</p>

-

-<p>‘You could not do better, in my opinion,’

-said I emphatically. ‘Such books are just

-as necessary for your education as a Greek

-delectus.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Do you think so?’ said the lad, with

-wondering eyes. ‘These are not my father’s

-notions.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Shall I leave you to your work now?’ I

-asked, rising from the heather on which we

-were lying.</p>

-

-<p>‘I like to have you to talk to,’ said Alec,

-half shyly, half frankly. ‘I seldom do get

-anyone to talk to.’</p>

-

-<p>‘You have your sister,’ I said involuntarily.</p>

-

-<p>‘Margaret is not like me. She has her own

-thoughts and her own ways; besides, she is a

-girl. Will you come and see the “Lover’s

-Leap?” It’s a bonny place.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Where is it?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Only half a mile up the Logan.’</p>

-

-<p>‘You mean the stream that runs through

-the valley down there?’</p>

-

-<p>‘No; that’s the Nethan. The Logan falls

-into it about a mile farther up.’</p>

-

-<p>We were descending the knoll as we talked;

-and on our way we saw a field where the

-reapers were at work. As we approached, we

-saw a tall form leave the field and come towards

-us. It was Alec’s father.</p>

-

-<p>‘I think, Alec,’ said the old man, ‘you

-would be better employed helping to stack the

-corn, if you’re too proud to take a hand at the

-shearing, rather than walking about doing

-nothing.’</p>

-

-<p>The lad blushed furiously, and made no

-answer.</p>

-

-<p>‘Alec meant to have been at work over his

-books,’ said I; ‘but he was kind enough to

-show me something of the neighbourhood.

-It doesn’t matter in the least, Alec; I can

-easily find my way alone.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Oh, if you have any need for the boy,

-that’s another matter,’ said Mr. Lindsay.</p>

-

-<p>I protested again that I could find my way

-perfectly well, and moved off, while Alec

-turned into the field with a set look about

-his mouth that was not pleasant to see.</p>

-

-<p>The cause of the discontent I had seen in

-the lad’s face was plain enough now. He is

-treated like a child, as if he had no mind or

-will of his own. I wonder how the boy will

-turn out. It seems to me a toss-up; or

-rather, the chances are that he will break

-away altogether, and ruin himself.</p>

-

-<p>I went on my way to the bank of the

-river, by the side of a double row of Scotch

-firs. It was one of those perfect September

-days when the air is still warm, when a thin

-haze is hanging over all the land, when there

-is no sound to be heard but now and then

-the chirp of a bird, or the far-off lowing of

-cattle—a day in which it is enough, and more

-than enough, to sit still and drink in the

-silent influences of earth and heaven, when

-anything like occupation seems an insult to

-the sweetness and beauty of nature. Across

-the little river was a large plantation of firs,

-growing almost to the water’s edge; and I

-could feel the balmy scent of them in the

-air.</p>

-

-<p>As I reached the river I overtook Margaret

-Lindsay, who was walking a little way in

-advance of me. She had a book under her

-arm, an old volume covered in brown leather.

-We greeted each other, and I soon found that

-she was bound, like myself, for the ‘Lover’s

-Leap.’</p>

-

-<p>‘I will show you the place,’ she said; ‘we

-must cross the river here.’</p>

-

-<p>As she spoke she stepped on a large flat

-stone that lay at the water’s edge; and I

-saw that a succession of such stones, placed

-at intervals of about a yard, made a path by

-which the river could be crossed. The current

-was pretty strong, and as the water was rushing

-fast between the stones (which barely

-showed their heads above the stream), I

-hastened to offer Margaret my hand. But

-the girl only glanced at me with a look of

-surprise, and with the nearest approach to a

-smile which I had seen in her face, she shook

-her head and began to walk over the stepping-stones

-with as much composure as if she had

-been moving across a floor. Now and then

-she had to make a slight spring to gain the

-next stone, and she did so with the ease and

-grace of a fawn. I followed a little way

-behind, and when we had gained the opposite

-side we walked in single file along the riverbank,

-till we came to the spot where the

-Logan came tumbling and dancing down the

-side of a rather steep hill to meet the larger

-stream. The hill was covered with brushwood

-and bracken, and a few scattered trees;

-but a path seemed to have been made through

-the bushes, and up this path we began to

-scramble. Once or twice I ventured to offer

-Margaret my hand, but she declined my help,

-saying that she could get on better alone.</p>

-

-<p>After a few minutes of this climbing,

-Margaret suddenly moved to one side, and

-sprang down to a tiny morsel of gravelly

-beach, at the side of the burn. I followed

-her, and was fairly entranced by what I saw.

-A little way above us the gorge widened,

-allowing us to see the trees, which, growing

-on either side of the brook, interlaced their

-branches above it. From beneath the trees

-the stream made a clear downward leap, of

-perhaps thirty or forty feet, into a pool—the

-pool at our feet—which was so deep that

-it seemed nearly as black as ink. The music

-of the waterfall filled the air so that we could

-hardly catch the sound of each other’s words;

-and if we moved to the farther end of the

-little margin of beach, we heard, instead of

-the noise of the waterfall, the sweet babbling

-of the burn over its stony bed.</p>

-

-<p>‘Do you often come here?’ I asked, as we

-stood at the edge of the stream, some little

-distance from the fall.</p>

-

-<p>‘Yes, pretty often when I wish to be alone,

-or to have an hour’s quiet reading.’</p>

-

-<p>‘As you do to-day,’ said I; ‘that’s as

-much as to say that you want to have an

-hour’s quiet reading now.’</p>

-

-<p>‘So I do,’ said the girl calmly.</p>

-

-<p>‘Or, in other words, that it is time for me

-to take myself off.’</p>

-

-<p>‘I did not mean that,’ said Margaret, with

-perfect placidity. ‘Would you like to go up

-to the top of the linn?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Very much,’ said I, and we scrambled up

-the bank to the upper level of the stream,

-and gazed down upon the black rushing water

-and the dark pool beneath, with its fringe of

-cream-coloured foam.</p>

-

-<p>‘So this is the “Lover’s Leap,”’ I remarked.</p>

-

-<p>‘Yes,’ said Margaret. ‘They say that once

-a young man was carrying off his sweetheart,

-when her father and brothers pursued them.

-The girl was riding on a pillion behind her

-lover. As the only way of escape, he put

-his horse at the gap over our heads—it must

-have been narrower in those days than it is

-now—missed it, and both himself and the

-lady were killed in the fall.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Dreadful!’ I exclaimed.</p>

-

-<p>‘Of course it isn’t true,’ pursued Margaret

-tranquilly.</p>

-

-<p>‘Why not?’ I asked.</p>

-

-<p>‘Oh, such stories never are; they are all

-romantic nonsense.’</p>

-

-<p>‘How different your streams are from those

-in the south,’ said I, after a pause; ‘Tennyson’s

-description of a brook would hardly suit

-this one.’</p>

-

-<p>‘What is that?’ she inquired.</p>

-

-<p>‘Don’t you know it?’ I asked, letting

-my surprise get the better of my good

-manners.</p>

-

-<p>‘No, I never heard it,’ she said, without

-the least tinge of embarrassment; so I repeated

-the well-known lines, to which Margaret

-listened with her eyes still fixed on the

-rushing water.</p>

-

-<p>‘They are very pretty,’ said the girl, when

-I had finished; ‘but I should not care for a

-brook like that. I should think it would be

-very much like a canal, wouldn’t it?—only

-smaller. I like my own brook better; and I

-like Burns’s description of one better than

-Tennyson’s.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Has Burns described a brook? I wish

-you would quote it to me,’ said I.</p>

-

-<p>‘Surely you know the lines,’ said Margaret;

-‘they are in “Hallowe’en.”’</p>

-

-<p>I assured her I did not, and in a low clear

-voice she repeated:</p>

-

-<div class="poetry-container">

-<div class="poetry">

-  <div class="stanza">

-    <div class="verse indent0a">‘Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays,</div>

-    <div class="verse indent2">As through the glen it wimples;</div>

-    <div class="verse indent0">Whyles round a rocky scaur it strays;</div>

-    <div class="verse indent2">Whyles in a wiel it dimples.</div>

-    <div class="verse indent0">Whyles glitterin’ to the noontide rays,</div>

-    <div class="verse indent2">Wi’ bickerin’, dancin’ dazzle,</div>

-    <div class="verse indent0">Whyles cookin’ underneath the braes,</div>

-    <div class="verse indent2">Below the spreading hazel.’</div>

-  </div>

-</div>

-</div>

-

-<p>‘I think they are beautiful lines, so far as I

-understand them,’ was my verdict. ‘What

-is “cookin’,” for example? I know it does

-not mean frying, or anything of that kind,

-<span class="lock">but——’</span></p>

-

-<p>I stopped, for the girl looked half offended

-at my poor little attempt to be funny at the

-expense of a Scotch word.</p>

-

-<p>‘There is no word for it in English, that I

-know of,’ she said. ‘It means crouching

-down, contentedly, in a comfortable place. If

-you saw a hen on a windy day under a stook of

-corn, you might say it was “cooking” there.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Thank you,’ I replied; ‘I won’t forget.

-And now I must be off, for I know you came

-here to read.’</p>

-

-<p>If in my vanity I had hoped for permission

-to remain, I was disappointed. Nothing of

-the kind was forthcoming.</p>

-

-<p>‘I hope you have got an interesting book,’

-said I, wondering what the old brown-leather

-volume could be.</p>

-

-<p>‘You might not think it very interesting,’

-answered Margaret, raising her lovely eyes to

-mine, as tranquilly as if she had been speaking

-of a newspaper. ‘It is only a volume of old

-sermons. Good-bye till dinner-time, Mr.

-Blake;’ and so saying she turned to seek her

-favourite nook, at the side of the waterfall.</p>

-

-<p>‘Old sermons!’ I exclaimed to myself as

-I left her. ‘What a singular girl she is.

-Fancy——’</p>

-

-<p>But my reflections were cut short, for

-I ‘lifted up mine eyes’ and saw a mountain

-ash—they call them ‘rowan trees’ here—full

-of berries.</p>

-

-<p>Sophy, such a tree is the most beautiful

-object in nature; there is no way of describing

-it, no way of putting its beauty into

-words. If you doubt what I say, look well at

-the next one you see, and then tell me if I am

-wrong. Good-night.</p>

-

-<p class="center">

-Ever yours affectionately,</p>

-<p class="p0 right r8"><span class="smcap">Hubert Blake</span>.

-</p>

-

-<p>P.S.—I mean to get M. to sit for her

-portrait to-morrow; but I see that in order

-to gain this end I shall have to use all my

-skill in diplomacy, both with the young lady

-and with her respected father.</p>

-

-<p class="right r4">

-H. B.<br>

-</p>

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

-

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span>

-<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="Three">III.</abbr></h3>

-<h4>THE THIRD LETTER.</h4>

-

-<p class="center"><i>Hubert Blake to Sophy Meredith.</i><br>

-</p>

-</div>

-

-

-<p class="right">

-<span class="smcap">The Castle Farm, Muirburn</span>, N.B.,<br>

-<span style="margin-right: 4em;"><i>September 17</i>.</span><br>

-</p>

-

-<p class="indent5">

-<span class="smcap">My dear Sophy</span>,

-</p>

-

-<p>It did not occur to me, when I agreed

-to consider myself Mr. Lindsay’s guest until

-to-day, that the arrangement would entail my

-spending the greater part of a glorious autumn

-day within the walls of the Muirburn Free

-Kirk—but you shall hear. I suspected, from

-something which fell from my host at breakfast,

-that the excuses which I intended to

-offer for my not accompanying the family to

-church would not be considered sufficient;

-but when I ventured to hint at something of

-the kind my remark was received by such

-a horrified stare (not to speak of the look of

-consternation on Margaret’s beautiful face),

-that I saw that to have made any further

-struggle for freedom would have been a positive

-breach of good manners. I submitted,

-therefore, with as good a grace as I could;

-and I was afterwards given to understand that

-to have absented myself from ‘ordinances’

-that Sunday would have been little short of a

-scandal, seeing that it happened to be ‘Sacrament

-Sunday.’</p>

-

-<p>If you ask a Scotchman how many sacraments

-there are, he will answer, if he remembers

-the Shorter Catechism, two. If,

-however, he is taken unawares, he will answer,

-one. Baptism is popularly considered to be a

-mere ceremony, of no practical importance to

-the infant recipient of it. It is regarded

-chiefly as an outward sign and token of the

-respectability of the parents, since it is only

-administered to the children of well-behaved

-people. ‘The Sacrament’ means the Lord’s

-Supper, which is administered in Presbyterian

-churches generally four times, but in country

-places often only twice a year. This, as it

-happened, was one of the ‘quarterly’ Communions,

-and as such popularly considered as

-of less dignity than those which occur at the

-old-fashioned seasons of July and January.</p>

-

-<p>We set off about a quarter-past ten in the

-heavy, two-wheeled dog-cart which brought

-me here. I manifested an intention of walking

-to the village, and asked Alec to accompany

-me, but Mr. Lindsay intervened and

-protested strongly against my proposal. He

-said it would not be ‘seemly,’ by which I

-suppose he meant that it would be inconsistent

-with the dignity of the family, if a guest

-of his house were to be seen going to church

-on foot; but I could not help suspecting that

-he envied Alec and myself the sinful pleasure

-which a four-mile walk on so lovely a morning

-would have afforded us.</p>

-

-<p>I can see that my elderly cousin (three

-times removed) is one of those people who are

-thoroughly unhappy unless they get their own

-way in everything, and never enjoy themselves

-more than when they have succeeded in

-spoiling somebody’s pleasure. I mentally resolved

-to have as little to do with the old

-gentleman as I possibly could, and mounted to

-the front seat of the dog-cart, which, as the

-place of honour, had been reserved for me.</p>

-

-<p>As the old mare trotted soberly along, I

-could not help noticing the silence that seemed

-to brood over the fields. I have remarked the

-same thing in England, but somehow a Scotch

-Sunday seems even more still and quiet than

-an English one. Is it merely a matter of

-association and sentiment? Or is it that we

-miss on Sundays hundreds of trifling noises

-which on week-days fall unconsciously upon

-our ears?</p>

-

-<p>Presently we began to pass little knots of

-people trudging along churchwards. The old

-women carried their Bibles wrapped up in

-their pocket-handkerchiefs to preserve them

-from the dust, along with the usual sprig of

-southern-wood. The men, without exception,

-wore suits of black, shiny broadcloth. They

-seemed to be all farmers. Very few of the

-weavers or labourers have any religion

-whatever (so far as outward rites go), any

-more than your unworthy cousin; and I can’t

-help thinking that the necessity for shiny

-black clothes has something to do with it.

-The women are different; as usual in all

-countries, and in all creeds, they are more

-devout than the men.</p>

-

-<p>On the way we passed a group of young

-women just inside a field not far from the

-town, who were sitting about and stooping in

-various attitudes. I could not conceive what

-they were about, and turned to my host for

-an explanation.</p>

-

-<p>He gravely informed me that they were

-putting on their shoes. Being accustomed

-throughout the week to dispense with these

-inventions of modern effeminacy, they find it

-extremely irksome to walk for miles over

-dusty roads in shoes and stockings. They

-therefore carry them in their hands till they

-reach some convenient field near the town

-which is the object of their journey, and then,

-sitting down on the grass, they array themselves

-in that part of their raiment before

-going into church.</p>

-

-<p>We were now close to the town, and the

-sweet-toned little bell which I had heard on

-the evening of my arrival, along with a larger

-one of peculiarly strident tone in the belfry of

-the United Presbyterian Kirk, were ‘doing

-their best.’ There were whole processions of

-gigs or dog-carts such as that in which we

-were seated. No other style of vehicle was to

-be seen.</p>

-

-<p>I was rather amused to see that the corner

-at which on week-days the weavers stand in

-their shirt-sleeves was not left unoccupied.

-The place was crowded with farmers, most of

-them highly respectable-looking men, clad in

-long black coats and tall hats. As to the hats,

-by the way, they were of all shapes which

-have been in fashion for the last twenty years,

-some of them taller than I should have supposed

-it possible for a hat to be.</p>

-

-<p>We alighted at the door of an inn, and I

-noticed that the inn yard was crowded with

-‘machines,’ <i>i.e.</i>, dog-carts and gigs, which I

-thought pretty fair evidence of the prosperity

-of the country. Then we proceeded to our

-place of worship. In the little vestibule was

-a tall three-legged stool covered with a white

-napkin, and upon this rested a large pewter

-plate to receive the contributions of the faithful.

-Two tall farmers, dressed in swallow-tail

-coats, tall hats, and white neckties of the old-fashioned,

-all-round description, were standing

-over the treasury, and in one of them I recognised

-my acquaintance of the coach. I was

-prepared to nod him a greeting, but he preserved

-the most complete immobility of countenance,

-and kept his gaze fixed on the horizon

-outside the church door, as if no nearer object

-were worthy of his attention.</p>

-

-<p>I found the church filled with dreadfully

-narrow pews of unpainted wood, and facing

-them an immensely tall pulpit, with a subsidiary

-pulpit in front of the other at a lower

-elevation. There were carpets on the staircase

-which led up to the pulpits, and the desks

-of both were covered with red cloth, with

-elaborate tassels. From either side of the

-upper pulpit there projected slender, curving

-brass rods about two feet long, terminating in

-broad pieces of brass, fixed at right angles to

-the rods. What the use of this apparatus was

-I could not imagine. A steep gallery ran

-round three sides of the little building; and in

-front of the pulpit was a table covered with a

-white cloth.</p>

-

-<p>I was not so uncharitable as to suppose that

-those who came here to worship were guilty of

-any intentional irreverence, but certainly they

-carried out the theory that no reverence ought

-to be paid to sacred places very completely.

-No male person removed his hat till he was

-well within the doors; and in many cases men

-did not uncover themselves till they were comfortably

-seated. No one so much as thought

-of engaging in any private devotions. I was

-surprised to see that the congregation (which

-was, for the size of the building, a large one)

-was composed almost entirely of women and

-children; but as soon as the bells stopped

-ringing, a great clatter of heavy boots was

-heard in the vestibule, and the heads of

-families, whom I had seen standing at the

-corner, poured into the place. Like wise men,

-they had been taking the benefit of the fresh

-air till the last available moment.</p>

-

-<p>Hardly had the farmers taken their seats

-when a man appeared, dressed entirely in black,

-carrying an enormous Bible, with two smaller

-books placed on the top of it. Ascending the

-pulpit stairs, he placed one of the smaller books

-on the desk of the lower pulpit; and then,

-going a few steps higher, he deposited the

-other two volumes on the desk of the higher

-one. He then retired, and immediately the

-minister, a tall, dark man, with very long

-black hair, wearing an immense gown of

-black silk, black gloves, and white bands

-such as barristers wear, entered the church

-and ascended to the pulpit. He was followed

-by an older man dressed in a stuff gown,

-who went into the lower pulpit. Last

-of all came the door-keeper, who also went

-up the pulpit stairs and carefully closed the

-pulpit door after the minister. The man in

-the stuff gown was left to shut his own door,

-and he did so with a bang, as if in protest at

-the want of respect shown to him, and his

-inferior position generally.</p>

-

-<p>The ritual part, as I may call it, of the service

-being over, the minister rose and gave out

-a psalm, just as old Mr. Lindsay does at

-prayers; and as he did so, the man in the stuff

-gown got up, and pulling out two thin black

-boards from under his desk, he skilfully fixed

-one of them on the end of the brass rod which

-projected from the right-hand side of the pulpit;

-and then, turning half round, he fixed the other

-upon the similar rod on the left-hand side. On

-each of these boards I read, in large gilt letters,

-the word ‘Martyrdom.’ I could not imagine,

-even then, the meaning of this ceremony; but

-Alec informed me afterwards that it was meant

-to convey to the congregation the name of the

-tune to which the psalm was to be sung, so that

-they might turn it up in their tune-books, if

-they felt so inclined.</p>

-

-<p>When the minister had read the verses

-which he wished to have sung, he gave out

-the number of the psalm again in a loud voice,

-and read the first line a second time, so that

-there might be no mistake. He then sat

-down, and the little man beneath him, rising

-up, began to sing. I very nearly got into

-trouble at this point by rising to my feet,

-forgetting for the moment that the orthodox

-Scotch fashion is to sit while singing and to

-stand at prayer. (I am told that in the towns

-a good many churches have adopted the habit

-of standing up to sing and keeping their seats

-during the prayer; but older Presbyterians

-look upon this custom, as, if not exactly

-heretical, yet objectionable, as tending in the

-direction of ritualism, prelacy, and other

-abominations.) For a line or two the precentor

-was left to sing by himself, then one or

-two joined in, and presently the whole body

-of the congregation took up the singing. I

-was surprised to find what a good effect

-resulted—it was at least infinitely better than

-that of an ordinary choir of mixed voices led

-by a vile harmonium or American organ.

-Many of the voices were rough, no doubt;

-and the precentor seemed to make it a point

-of honour to keep half a note ahead of everybody

-else; but, in spite of this, the general

-effect of so many sonorous voices singing in

-unison was decidedly impressive.</p>

-

-<p>As soon as the four prescribed verses had

-been sung, the minister rose up to pray, and

-everybody got up at the same time. You

-know I am not easily shocked, Sophy; and

-hitherto, though I had seen much that was

-ludicrous and strange, I had not seen anything

-that I considered specially objectionable; but

-I must say that the behaviour of these good

-folks at the prayer which followed did shock

-me. They simply stood up and stared at

-each other; perhaps I noticed it more particularly

-because I, being a stranger, came in

-for a good share of attention. Many of the

-men kept their hands in their pockets; some

-were occupied taking observations of the

-weather, through the little windows of plain

-glass, half the time. The minister, I noticed,

-kept his hands clasped and his eyes tightly

-closed; and some of his flock, among whom

-were my host and his daughter, followed his

-example; but the majority, as I have said,

-simply stared around them. They may have

-been giving, meanwhile, a mental assent to

-the truths which the minister was enunciating;

-I dare say some of them were; but as

-far as one could judge from outward appearances

-they were no more engaged in praying

-than they were engaged in ploughing. The

-prayer lasted a very long time; when it was

-over we heard a chapter read, and after another

-part of a psalm was sung the sermon began.

-This was evidently the event of the day, to

-which everything said or done hitherto had

-been only an accessory; and everybody settled

-himself down in his seat as comfortably as he

-could.</p>

-

-<p>From what I had heard of Scotch sermons

-I was prepared for a well-planned logical

-discourse, and the sermon to which I now

-listened fulfilled that description. But

-then it was, to my mind at least, entirely

-superfluous. Granting the premisses (as

-to which no one in the building, excepting

-perhaps my unworthy self, entertained the

-slightest doubt), the conclusion followed as a

-matter of course, and hardly needed a demonstration

-lasting fifty minutes by my watch.

-I was so tired with the confinement in a

-cramped position and a close atmosphere that

-I very nearly threw propriety to the winds

-and left the building. Fortunately, however,

-just before exhausted nature succumbed, the

-preacher began what he called the ‘practical

-application of the foregoing,’ and I knew that

-the time of deliverance was at hand. And I

-must say that, judging from the fervour with

-which the concluding verses of a psalm were

-sung, I was not alone in my feeling of relief.

-As soon as the psalm was ended everybody

-rose, and the preacher, stretching out his arms

-over his flock, pronounced a solemn benediction.

-The ‘Amen’ was hardly out of the good man’s

-mouth when a most refreshing clatter arose.

-No one resumed his seat. Everybody hurried

-into the narrow passages, which were in an

-instant so crammed that moving in them was

-hardly possible. Here, again, I am convinced

-that there was no intentional irreverence; it

-was merely a custom arising from the extremely

-natural desire of breathing the fresh

-air after the confinement we had undergone.

-As we passed out I overheard several casual

-remarks about the sermon, which was discussed

-with the utmost freedom.</p>

-

-<p>‘Maister McLeod was a wee thocht dry the

-day,’ said one farmer.</p>

-

-<p>‘But varra guid—varra soon’,’ responded

-his neighbour.</p>

-

-<p>‘I thocht he micht ha’ made raither mair

-o’ that last pint,’ said the first speaker.</p>

-

-<p>‘Weel—maybe,’ was the cautious reply.</p>

-

-<p>We went over to the inn for a little refreshment,

-and in three-quarters of an hour the

-bells began to jangle once more. This was

-more than I had bargained for; but there was

-no help for it. I could not offend my host by

-retreating; and besides, I was desirous of

-seeing for myself what a Scottish Communion

-Service was like.</p>

-

-<p>After the usual singing of a few verses of a

-psalm, and prayer, the minister descended

-from the pulpit, and took his place beside the

-table beneath, on which there had now been

-placed two loaves of bread, and four large

-pewter cups. From this position he delivered

-an address, and after it a prayer. He then

-took a slice from one of the loaves of bread

-which were ready cut before him, broke off a

-morsel for himself, and handed the piece of

-bread to one of several elderly men, called

-‘elders,’ who were seated near him. This

-man broke off a morsel in the same way, and

-handed the remainder of the bread to another,

-and so on till all the elders had partaken.

-Four of the elders then rose, and two went

-down one side of the church, and two down

-the other side, one of each pair bearing a

-plate covered with a napkin, and holding

-a loaf of bread cut in slices, which they

-distributed among those of the congregation

-who were sitting in the centre of the

-church, and who alone were about to

-take part in the rite. The ceremony is, in

-fact, very much, or altogether, the same

-as the ‘love-feasts’ among the Methodists;

-except that the Methodists use water while

-the Presbyterians use wine. There is nothing

-of the sacramental character left in the ordinance;

-it is avowedly a commemorative and

-symbolic rite, and nothing more.</p>

-

-<p>In the meantime perfect silence reigned in

-the little building. There was literally not

-a sound to be heard but the chirping of one

-or two sparrows outside the partly-opened

-windows. Have you ever noticed how impressive

-an interval of silence is at any meeting

-of men, especially when they are met

-together for a religious purpose? Silence is

-never vulgar; and it almost seems as if any

-form of worship in which intervals of silence

-form a part were redeemed thereby from

-vulgarity. Whatever may have been the

-reason, this service impressed me, I must

-confess, in a totally different way from that

-in which the long sermon in the morning

-had done.</p>

-

-<p>Suddenly a gentle falsetto voice fell upon

-my ear; and looking up, I saw that the

-elders, having finished their task, had returned

-to the table, and that a little white-haired

-man had risen to address the people.

-He wore no gown, but he had on a pair of

-bands, like his friend Mr. McLeod, which

-gave him a comical sort of air. This, however,

-as well as the curious falsetto or whining

-tone in which his voice was pitched, was forgotten

-when one began to listen. The old

-man had chosen for his text one of the most

-sacred of all possible subjects to a Christian;

-and no one who heard him could doubt that

-he was speaking from his heart. A deeper

-solemnity seemed to fall upon the silent

-gathering. I glanced round, but whatever

-emotions were excited by the touching address,

-none of them were suffered to appear

-on the faces of the people. On Alec Lindsay’s

-face, alone, I noticed a look of rapt

-attention; his sister’s beautiful features seemed

-as if they had been carved in marble.</p>

-

-<p>Before the old minister sat down he raised

-one of the large cups (which had been previously

-filled with wine from a flagon), and

-handed it to one of the elders, who, after

-drinking from it, passed it to his neighbour.

-After the ministers and elders had tasted the

-wine, two of the latter rose, and each proceeded

-down one of the passages, bearing

-a large pewter cup, while he was followed

-by one of his fellows carrying a flagon. The

-cups were handed to the people still sitting

-in the pews, exactly as the bread had been,

-and circulated from one to another till all

-the communicants had partaken of the wine.

-Then followed another address, from the black-haired

-gentleman this time; and with a prayer

-and a little more singing the ceremony came

-to an end.</p>

-

-<p>As we emerged into the afternoon sunshine,

-and waited for ‘the beast to be put

-in,’ as the innkeeper called it, I could not be

-sorry that I had sacrificed my inclinations

-and had seen something of the practice of

-religion in this country.</p>

-

-<p>But I dare say you have had enough of

-my experiences for the present—so, good-night.</p>

-

-<p class="center">

-Your affectionate cousin,</p>

-<p class="p0 right r8"><span class="smcap">Hubert Blake</span>.

-</p>

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

-

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span>

-<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="Four">IV.</abbr></h3>

-<h4>THE FOURTH LETTER.</h4>

-<p class="center"><i>Hubert Blake to Sophy Meredith.</i></p>

-</div>

-

-

-<p class="right">

-<span class="smcap">The Castle Farm, Muirburn, N.B.</span><br>

-<span style="margin-right: 4em;"><i>Oct. 5, 187-.</i></span><br>

-</p>

-

-<p class="unindent">

-<span class="smcap">My dear Sophy</span>,

-</p>

-

-<p>Yesterday there was a ‘feeing fair’

-at Muirburn, and under Alec’s guidance I

-paid a visit to the scene of dissipation.</p>

-

-<p>But, first of all, I wish to tell you of a

-curious Scotch custom that fell under my

-notice the evening before. Alec and I were

-returning from a short ramble in the ‘gloaming,’

-<i>i.e.</i>, the twilight, when we happened to

-meet a young couple walking side by side.

-As soon as they caught sight of us they

-separated, and walked on opposite sides of

-the road till we had passed. This, it seems,

-was according to local ideas of what is proper

-under such circumstances. As we went by I

-glanced at the girl, and saw that she was one

-of Mr. Lindsay’s farm-servants.</p>

-

-<p>‘So Jessie has got a sweetheart,’ I remarked.</p>

-

-<p>‘Very likely,’ said Alec, with a laugh; ‘but

-I don’t think Tom Archibald is her lad. He

-is only the “black-fuit.”’</p>

-

-<p>‘The <em>what</em>?’</p>

-

-<p>‘The “black-fuit.” Dae ye no ken—I

-mean, don’t ye know what that is?’</p>

-

-<p>On confessing my ignorance, I learned that

-the etiquette of courtship, as understood

-among the peasantry of south-west Scotland,

-demands that no young ploughman shall

-present himself at the farm on which the

-young woman who has taken his fancy may

-happen to be employed; if he did so, it would

-expose the girl to a good deal of bantering.

-He invariably secures the services of a friend,

-on whom he relies not only for moral support,

-but for actual assistance in his enterprise.</p>

-

-<p>At the end of the working-day, when the

-dairymaids, as we should call them in

-England, have ‘cleaned themselves,’ and are

-chatting together in a little group at the door

-of the byre, John, the friend, makes his appearance,

-and presently contrives to engage

-the attention of Jeanie, who is the object of

-his friend’s devotion. The other girls good-naturedly

-leave them alone, and John suggests

-that ‘they micht tak’ a bit daun’er as

-far as the yett’ (<i>i.e.</i>, the gate). Jeanie

-blushes, and picking up the corner of her

-apron as she goes, accompanies the ambassador

-to the gate and into the lane beyond.

-There, by pure accident, they meet Archie,

-and he and John greet each other in the same

-way as if they had not met each other for a

-week. The three saunter on together, under

-the hawthorn, till suddenly John remembers

-that he will be ‘expeckit hame,’ and takes his

-departure, leaving Archie to plead his cause as

-best he may.</p>

-

-<p>I declared my conviction that the custom

-sprang from unworthy fears of an action for

-breach of promise; but Alec was almost

-offended by this imputation on the good faith

-of his countrymen, and assured me most

-seriously that that kind of litigation was unheard

-of in Kyleshire.</p>

-

-<p>Next day we went to the fair. The object

-of this gathering is to enable farmers to meet

-and engage their farm-servants, male and

-female; it takes place twice a year, the

-hiring being always for six months.</p>

-

-<p>The village, or ‘the toon,’ as they always

-call it here, was in a state of great excitement.

-There was quite a crowd in the middle of the

-street, chiefly composed of young women in

-garments of many colours, in the most

-enviable condition of physical health; and

-young giants of ploughmen in their best

-clothes, with carefully oiled hair. On the

-outskirts of the crowd (which was as dense as

-four hundred people could possibly make it),

-were a few queys, <i>i.e.</i>, young cows, and a few

-rough farm-horses. The public-houses were

-simply crammed as full as they would hold.

-There was a swing, and a merry-go-round,

-and a cheap-Jack. There was also a sort of

-lottery, conducted on the most primitive principles.

-You paid sixpence, plunged your hand

-into a little wooden barrel revolving on a

-spindle, and pulled out a morsel of peculiarly

-dirty paper bearing a number. This entitled

-you to a comb, or an accordion with three

-notes, or a penny doll, as the case might be.</p>

-

-<p>What chiefly impressed me was the sober,

-not to say dismal, character of the whole thing.

-I saw no horse-play, no dancing, no kiss-in-the-ring,

-or games of any kind. One might have

-thought it was an ordinary market-day, but for

-the crowd and the cracking of the caps on the

-miniature rifles with which the lads were shooting

-for nuts. This, in fact, was the only

-popular amusement; and, as all the boys and

-young men took part in it, and all held the

-muzzle of their weapon within twelve or fourteen

-inches of the mark, I perceived that

-every proprietor of a nut-barrow would have

-been ruined if he had not secured himself

-against bankruptcy by prudently twisting the

-barrels of his firearms.</p>

-

-<p>There was, by the way, one other amusement

-besides the shooting for nuts: every

-young man presented every girl of his acquaintance

-with a handful of nuts or sweetmeats,

-the degree of his regard being indicated

-by the quantity offered. I convinced myself

-that some of the prettier and more popular

-girls must have carried home several pounds’

-weight of saccharine matter.</p>

-

-<p>We did not leave the village till it was

-getting dark and the naphtha lamps were

-blazing at the stalls. Probably the fun was

-only beginning, but we did not stay to witness

-it. Happily, the drinking seemed to be confined

-to great, large-limbed farmers, on whom

-half a bottle of whisky seemed to make not

-the slightest impression, beyond loosening

-their tongues. As the night advanced, however,

-a change must have occurred, for I was

-told afterwards that Hamilton of Burnfoot (my

-friend of the coach and of the offertory) had

-been seen sitting upright in his gig, thrashing

-with all his might, and in perfect silence, a

-saddler’s hobby-horse, which some wag had

-put between the shafts in place of his steady

-old ‘roadster.’</p>

-

-<p>On the way home Alec and I had some confidential

-conversation as to his future.</p>

-

-<p>‘Mr. Blake,’ he began, ‘what do you think

-I ought to be?’</p>

-

-<p>‘How can I tell, Alec?’ I answered; ‘what

-would you like to be?’</p>

-

-<p>‘That’s just what I don’t know,’ said the

-lad gloomily. ‘I don’t know what I am fit

-for, or whether I am fit for anything. How

-can I tell, before I have seen anything of the

-world, what part I should try to play in it?’</p>

-

-<p>‘You have no strong taste in any direction?’</p>

-

-<p>‘No; I can’t say that I have. I like the

-country, but I am sick of the loneliness of my

-life here. I long to be out in the world, to be

-up and doing something, I hardly know what.

-You see, I know so little. What I should like

-is to go to college for the next three or four

-years—to Glasgow, or Edinburgh—and by

-that time I would have an idea what I could

-do, and what I should not attempt.’</p>

-

-<p>‘But do you think,’ I said, with some

-hesitation, ‘that you are ready to go to

-college?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Why not? Don’t you think I am old

-enough? I am almost nineteen. I dare say

-you think I am too ignorant; but there are

-junior classes for beginners. I can do Virgil

-and Cicero, and I think I could manage

-Xenophon and Homer.’</p>

-

-<p>‘What is the difficulty then?’</p>

-

-<p>‘My father thinks it would be wasting

-money to send me to college, unless I were

-to be a minister or a doctor, and I don’t want

-to be either the one or the other.’</p>

-

-<p>‘But you must be something, you know.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Yes, but I won’t be a minister. Do you

-know that I was once very nearly in the way

-of making my fortune through paraffin oil.

-and lost my chance through an ugly bull-pup?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Really? How was that?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Mr. Lindsay of Drumleck——’</p>

-

-<p>‘Is <em>he</em> a relation of yours?’ I interposed.</p>

-

-<p>(It was a surprise to me to hear that I

-was, ever so distantly, related to a millionnaire.)</p>

-

-<p>‘He is my father’s uncle,’ said Alec. ‘Well,

-last year he sent for me to pay him a visit,

-and he had hinted to my father that if I

-pleased him he would “make a man of me.”

-I didn’t please him. The very day I went to

-his house, I happened to be standing near a

-table in the drawing-room on which there was

-a precious vase of some sort or other. There

-was a puppy under the table that I didn’t see;

-I trod on its tail, and the brute started up

-with a yowl and flew at my leg. I stooped

-down to drive it off, and managed to knock

-over the table, vase and all. You should

-have seen the old man’s face! He very

-nearly ordered me out of the house. I don’t

-believe he particularly cared for the thing,

-but then you see he had given five-and-twenty

-pounds for it. It ended my chances

-so far as he is concerned at any rate; and,

-to tell the truth, I wasn’t particularly sorry.

-I shouldn’t care to spend my life in making

-oil.’</p>

-

-<p>‘But, my dear fellow, it seems to me you

-are too particular. Take my advice, and if

-you have an opportunity of getting into

-your grand-uncle’s good books again, don’t

-lose it.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Oh! he has taken another in my place, a

-fellow Semple—I don’t think much of him.

-He is a grand-nephew, too. I shouldn’t

-wonder if he makes him his heir; and I

-don’t care. I don’t want to be a Glasgow

-merchant, any more than I want to be a

-Kyleshire farmer.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Ah! Alec, are you smitten too?’ I said.

-‘You want to climb, and you will not think

-that you may fall. I didn’t know you were

-ambitious.’</p>

-

-<p>‘I want to go into a wider world than this

-one;’ said the lad, and his eyes flashed, and

-his voice trembled with excitement. ‘I want

-to learn, first of all; then I want to find what

-I can do best, and try to make a name for

-myself. I want to rise to the level of—oh!

-what am I talking about?’</p>

-

-<p>He broke off abruptly, as if ashamed of his

-own enthusiasm.</p>

-

-<p>For my own part I felt sorry for him. I

-always do, somehow, when I see a brave

-young spirit eager to meet and conquer fortune—a

-ship setting sail from port, colours

-all flying, guns firing, crowds cheering. How

-many reach the harbour? How many founder

-at sea? One is wrecked in this way, another

-in that. One gallant bark meets with headwinds

-nearly all the way; another is run

-down by a rival and is heard of no more; a

-third, after baffling many a wintry gale, goes

-down in smooth water, within sight of land.

-How many unsuccessful men are there in the

-world for every one who succeeds? And of

-those who gain their heart’s desire, how many

-can say, ‘I am satisfied’?</p>

-

-

-<p class="p2 right">

-<i>October 29.</i><br>

-</p>

-

-<p>I was fairly amazed to find this unfinished

-letter, begun three weeks ago, between the

-leaves of my blotter this morning. Another

-example of my incurable laziness!</p>

-

-<p>My stay here is almost at an end. My

-large picture is nearly completed. My portrait

-of Margaret is finished; and though it

-is not what I would like it to be, I think it is

-the best thing I have done yet. I leave to-morrow

-morning, and hope to be with you in

-a day or two. Alec goes with me as far as

-Glasgow, for he has persuaded his father to

-send him to college—or rather, the old man

-has yielded to the lad’s discontent, backed by

-my expressions of the high opinion I hold of

-his abilities. I fancy Mr. Lindsay thinks his

-son will yet be an ornament to the Free Kirk,

-but, if I am not very much mistaken, Alec

-will never change his mind on this point.</p>

-

-<p>We had a regular family council, at which

-the matter was settled. The old man sat on

-his chair, bolt upright, his hands folded before

-him. Alec sat near by while his future was

-being decided, carelessly playing with a paper-knife

-on the table. Margaret was, as usual, at

-her sewing; but I could tell by little signs in

-her face, that for once her composure was more

-than half assumed.</p>

-

-<p>‘You had your chance a year ago,’ said the

-old man in a harsh unyielding tone, ‘and you

-threw it away. Why should I stint myself,

-and go back from my task of buying back the

-land, to give you another one?’</p>

-

-<p>‘I don’t wish you to stint yourself,’ said the

-boy half sullenly.</p>

-

-<p>‘I don’t want to injure your sister,’ said his

-father, in the same tone.</p>

-

-<p>‘Do you think <em>I</em> wish Margaret injured?

-If you cannot spare five-and-twenty pounds

-without inconvenience, there’s an end of it.’</p>

-

-<p>‘It’s not the first winter only,’ began Mr.

-Lindsay.</p>

-

-<p>‘But I can support myself after that,’ interrupted

-Alec; ‘I can get a bursary; I can

-get teaching——’</p>

-

-<p>‘You’ll have to give up idling away your

-time over <cite>Blackwood</cite> then,’ said the old man,

-with a grim smile.</p>

-

-<p>Alec’s face flushed, and he made no reply.</p>

-

-<p>Then, having proved that Alec’s wish was

-wholly unreasonable and impracticable, Mr.

-Lindsay gave his consent to the proposal, and,

-to cut short further discussion, told Margaret

-to bid the servants come to ‘worship.’</p>

-

-<p>I was rather surprised that Margaret had

-said nothing on her brother’s behalf, and a

-little disappointed that she had not declared

-that her own interests ought not to stand in

-the way of her brother’s education; but I

-found that I had misjudged her.</p>

-

-<p>‘Well, I owe this to Margaret,’ said Alec

-to me, as soon as we found ourselves alone

-together.</p>

-

-<p>‘To your sister?’ I said, with some surprise.</p>

-

-<p>‘Yes; my father thinks more of her

-opinion than he does of anybody else’s, and

-I know she has been urging him to let me

-go. As for that about injuring her, it is

-all stuff. Do you think I would take the

-money, if I didn’t know my father could

-afford it perfectly well?’</p>

-

-<p>I hardly knew what reply to make to this,

-and Alec went on:</p>

-

-<p>‘There will be a row between them one of

-these days. My father will want her to marry

-Semple. I know he is in love with her; and

-Margaret won’t have him.’</p>

-

-<p>‘I should think not, indeed!’ I exclaimed.</p>

-

-<p>I had seen this young fellow, and I confess

-I took a violent dislike to him. He came

-over to the farm one afternoon, and I thought

-I had never seen a more vulgar creature. He

-was dressed in the latest fashion—on a visit

-to a farmhouse, too! He had a coarse,

-commonplace face, a ready, officious manner,

-and the most awful accent I ever heard on the

-tongue of any human being. I cannot say I

-admire the Scotch accent; it is generally harsh

-and disagreeable; but when it is joined to an

-affectation of correctness, when every syllable

-is carefully articulated, and every <i>r</i> is given

-its full force and effect, the result is overpowering.

-The young man was good enough

-to give me a considerable share of his attention,

-and I could hardly conceal my dislike of him.

-He patronized old Mr. Lindsay, was loftily

-condescending to Alec, and treated Margaret

-as if she ought to have been highly flattered

-by the admiration of so fine a gentleman.</p>

-

-<p>‘Your respected cousin seemed to me as if

-he were greatly in need of a kicking,’ I said

-to Alec.</p>

-

-<p>‘If he gets even a share of Uncle James’s

-property he will be a rich man,’ said Alec

-thoughtfully. ‘My father would think it a

-sin for Maggie to refuse a man with a hundred

-thousand pounds.’</p>

-

-<p>‘So would a good many fathers, I suppose,’

-said I.</p>

-

-<p>I am sorry to see Alec’s attitude to his

-father; yet I fear he judges the old man only

-too accurately.</p>

-

-<p>For the last few days we have had nothing

-but rain. Rain, rain, rain, till the leaves

-were fairly washed off the trees, and the very

-earth seemed as if it must be sodden to the

-rocks beneath. Yesterday afternoon I felt

-tired of being shut up in the large bare

-room which I have been using as a studio,

-so I put on a thick suit, and went out for

-a stretch in the midst of a perfect deluge.

-I crossed the river by a stone bridge, about

-a mile lower down, as the stepping-stones were

-covered, and soon I got to a wide expanse of

-country, composed of large sodden green fields,

-barely reclaimed from the moor, and even now,

-in spite of drains, partly overgrown with

-rushes. There were no fences; and the hardy

-cattle wandered at will over the land.</p>

-

-<p>It was inexpressibly dreary. There was

-little or no wind—no clouds in the sky—only

-a lead-coloured heaven from which the

-rain fell incessantly. There was not a house,

-not a tree, not a hedgerow in sight; and the

-rain-laden atmosphere hid the horizon.</p>

-

-<p>Suddenly I heard the noise of singing, the

-singing of a child. I was fairly startled, and

-looked round, wondering where the sound

-could come from. I was on the border

-between the moor and the reclaimed land;

-and there was literally nothing in sight but

-the earth, the sky, and the rain, except what

-looked like a small heap of turf left by the

-peat-cutters. Could some stray child be

-hidden behind it? If so, I thought, its life

-must be in danger.</p>

-

-<p>I hurried up to the mound of peats, and as

-I did so, the sound of the song became

-stronger. Then it ceased, and the little

-singer began a fresh melody:</p>

-

-<div class="poetry-container">

-<div class="poetry">

-  <div class="stanza">

-    <div class="verse indent0a">‘Behind yon hills where Lugar flows,</div>

-    <div class="verse indent2">‘Mang muirs an’ mosses mony, O,</div>

-    <div class="verse indent0">The wintry sun the day has closed——’</div>

-  </div>

-</div>

-</div>

-

-<p>He stopped suddenly as he caught sight of

-me, and a fine collie which had been lying

-beside him made a dash at me.</p>

-

-<p>‘Doon, Swallow! Lie doon, sir!’ cried

-the child, and the dog obeyed at once.</p>

-

-<p>It was not a heap of peats, as I had supposed,

-but a tiny hut, just large enough to

-hold a boy sitting upright, ingeniously built

-of dry peats. It was open to the east, the

-lee side, and was quite impervious to the

-weather. The little fellow seemed to be

-about twelve years of age, a stout, rosy-cheeked

-laddie, clad in an immense Scotch

-bonnet and a tattered gray plaid; and his

-little red bare feet peeped out beneath his

-corduroys.</p>

-

-<p>‘What on earth are you doing here, child?’

-I exclaimed.</p>

-

-<p>‘Eh?’ asked the boy, looking up in my

-face with surprise.</p>

-

-<p>‘Why are you here? Why are you not at

-home?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Man, I’m herdin’.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Herding what?’</p>

-

-<p>‘The kye.’</p>

-

-<p>At that moment some of the young cattle

-took it into their heads to cross the ditch

-which separated their territory from the moor,

-and the boy with a ‘Here, Swallow!’ sent

-the dog bounding after the ‘stirks.’</p>

-

-<p>‘And do you stay here all alone?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Ay.’</p>

-

-<p>‘All day long?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Ou, ay.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Poor little fellow!’ was on my lips, but

-I did not utter the words. The child was

-healthy and strong, and not, apparently, unhappy.

-He held a ‘gully’ in one hand, and

-a bit of wood, which he had been whittling

-while he sang, in the other. Why should I,

-by expressing my pity for his solitary

-condition, make him discontented with his

-lot?</p>

-

-<p>Fortunately I had in my pocket a few

-coppers, which I presented to him. You

-should have seen the joy that lighted up

-the child’s face! He looked at the treasure

-shyly, as if afraid to touch it, so I had to

-force it into his hand. I don’t think I ever

-saw before such an expression of pure unalloyed

-delight on a human countenance.

-He was so happy that he forgot to thank

-me.</p>

-

-<p>‘What will you do with them?’ I

-asked.</p>

-

-<p>He opened his hand and pointed to the

-pennies one after another.</p>

-

-<p>‘I’ll buy sweeties wi’ that ane, an’—an’

-bools wi’ that ane, an’—an’—an’ a peerie wi’

-that ane; an’ I’ll gi’e ane to Annie, and I’ll

-lay by twa!’</p>

-

-<p>‘Prudent young Scotchman,’ said I; ‘and

-pray, what are “bools”? Marbles, I suppose.

-And what is a “peerie”?’</p>

-

-<p>The boy thought I was laughing at him.</p>

-

-<p>‘Div ye no ken that?’ he asked, with some

-suspiciousness and a dash of contempt.</p>

-

-<p>I assured him I did not.</p>

-

-<p>‘Ye tie’t up wi’ a string, an’ birl’t on the

-road, an’ it gangs soon’ soon’ asleep.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Oh, a top you mean.’</p>

-

-<p>‘A peerie,’ persisted he.</p>

-

-<p>‘Ah, well; it’s the same thing. Good-day,

-my boy,’ said I.</p>

-

-<p>The little fellow got up, draped as he was

-in his ragged plaid, and putting one hand

-with the precious pennies into his pocket,

-solemnly extended to me the other.</p>

-

-<p>‘I dare say,’ said I to myself, as I looked

-back and saw the child counting over his

-treasure once more with eager eyes, ‘I dare

-say there isn’t a happier creature this day

-between Land’s End and John O’Groats, than

-this herd-boy, in his lonely hut on the sodden,

-dreary moorland!’</p>

-

-<p>And so it is, all the world over. I should

-think myself very hardly used by fortune,

-if I had to live alone in a grimy city for six

-months on five-and-thirty pounds, and had to

-get up every day before dawn to grind away

-at Latin and Greek; yet here is young Lindsay

-with his blue eyes ready to leap out of

-his head with excitement and delight at the

-bare prospect of it! It is a curious world.

-But I must look after my packing; for in

-order to reach Glasgow to-morrow, we must

-be stirring long before daylight. Till we

-meet, then,</p>

-

-<p class="center">

-Your affectionate cousin,<p>

-<p class="p0 right r8"><span class="smcap">Hubert.</span></p>

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

-

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 180]</span>

-<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="Five">V.</abbr></h3>

-<h4>THE SHIP SETS SAIL.</h4>

-</div>

-

-

-<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">A sudden</span> change in the weather had whitened

-the fields of the Castle Farm, and covered the

-puddles in the narrow lane with thin clear

-sheets of ice. Little or nothing was said at

-the breakfast-table; but as Alec Lindsay went

-into the empty kitchen to fasten a card on his

-little cow-hide trunk, his sister followed him,

-and stood over him in silence till one of the

-men came in, lifted the box, and carried it

-away.</p>

-

-<p>‘You will write home every week, won’t

-you, Alec?’ she said.</p>

-

-<p>‘Every week, Maggie! what in the world

-shall I get to say?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Tell us what your life is like, whether

-your lodgings are comfortable, what sort of

-people you take up with.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Well; all right.’</p>

-

-<p>‘And, Alec, you had better write to father

-and me time about; and when you write to

-me you can send a little scrap for myself as

-well.’</p>

-

-<p>‘That you needn’t show to anybody? I

-thought that was against your principles,

-Meg. Don’t mind me, I was only making

-fun of you,’ he added, suddenly throwing his

-arms round his sister’s neck; ‘of course I will

-send you a little private note now and then.

-Don’t cry, Maggie.’</p>

-

-<p>‘I’m not crying.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Yes, you are.’</p>

-

-<p>‘It will be very lonely without you, Alec,

-all the long winter.’</p>

-

-<p>‘I almost wish I weren’t going, for your

-sake; but I know you have helped me to get

-away, Maggie, and it was awfully kind of

-you.’</p>

-

-<p>Here Mr. Lindsay’s voice was heard calling

-out that the travellers would miss the coach if

-they did not set off at once.</p>

-

-<p>‘Nonsense! We shall only have to wait

-at the roadside for twenty minutes,’ said Alec

-under his breath. But he gave his sister

-a last hug, shook hands with his father, and

-mounted the back-seat of the dog-cart, where

-his trunk and Blake’s portmanteau were already

-deposited.</p>

-

-<p>In another minute they were off; and Alec,

-looking back, saw the light of the lantern

-shine on the tall figures of his gray-haired

-father and his sister, framed in the old stone

-doorway as in a picture.</p>

-

-<p>The stable was passed, the long byre where

-the cows were already stirring, the stack-yard,

-the great hay-rick, the black peat-stack flanking

-the outmost gable; and as each familiar

-building and well-remembered corner faded in

-turn from view, Alec in his heart bade them

-good-bye. He felt as if he would never see

-the old place again—never, at least, would it

-be to him what it had been. When he came

-again it would be merely for a visit, like any

-other stranger. The subtle, invisible chains

-that bind us to this or that corner of mother

-earth, once broken, can hardly be reforged;

-and Alec felt that no future leave-taking of

-the Farm would be like this one; henceforth

-it would belong not to the present, but to the

-past.</p>

-

-<p>As the travellers had foreseen when they

-set out, they had a good twenty minutes to

-wait at the corner of the lane till the coach

-came up; then came the long, monotonous

-drive, the horses’ hoofs keeping time to ‘Auld

-Lang Syne’ in Alec’s head all the way; then

-the railway journey. Blake had, as a matter

-of course, taken a first-class ticket. Alec had,

-equally as a matter of course, taken a third-class

-one. When this was discovered, Blake

-took his seat beside his friend, laughing at the

-uneasiness depicted on Alec’s face, and declined

-without a second thought the lad’s

-proposal that he too should travel first-class

-and pay the difference of fare. But the

-incident caused Alec acute mental discomfort,

-which lasted till they reached Glasgow.</p>

-

-<p>When the train steamed into the terminus,

-it seemed as if it were entering a huge gloomy

-cavern, where the air was composed of smoke,

-mist, and particles of soot. The frost still

-held the fields in Kyleshire; but here the rain

-was dripping from every house-top, and the

-streets were covered with a thick layer of

-slimy mud.</p>

-

-<p>Blake shuddered.</p>

-

-<p>‘I’ve got nothing particular to do, Alec,’ said

-he; ‘let me help you to look for lodgings.’</p>

-

-<p>But Alec had no mind to let his friend see

-the sort of accommodation with which he

-would have to content himself; and the artist

-saw that the lad wanted to decline his offer,

-without very well knowing how.</p>

-

-<p>‘Or perhaps you’d rather hunt about by

-yourself?’ continued Blake. ‘Well, in that

-case, I think I’ll be off to Edinburgh at once,

-and go to London that way. Anything to be

-out of this.’</p>

-

-<p>He stopped suddenly, and hoped that his

-companion had not heard his last words.

-They took a cab to Queen Street; and after

-seeing his friend off to Edinburgh, Alec set

-out on his quest of a shelter. A few steps

-brought him to the district north of George

-Street, where, in those days, the poorer class

-of students had their habitations. The streets

-were not particularly broad, and the houses

-were of tremendous height, looking like great

-barracks placed one at the end of another,

-though their hewn-stone fronts saved them

-from the mean appearance of brick or stucco

-exteriors. After a good deal of running up

-and down steep staircases (for these houses are

-built in flats), Alec at last pitched upon a

-narrow but lofty sitting-room, with a still

-narrower bedroom opening from it. For this

-accommodation the charge was only eight

-shillings a week.</p>

-

-<p>After a peculiarly uncomfortable meal, Alec

-Lindsay set out for ‘The College.’</p>

-

-<p>The University of Glasgow, founded by

-a Bull of one of the mediæval Popes, had in

-those days its seat in the High Street, once

-the main thoroughfare of the city, but long

-since fallen from its old estate. The air

-seemed thicker, more full of smoke and soot,

-of acid vapours and abominable smells, in this

-quarter, than in any other part of the town.</p>

-

-<p>An ancient pile of buildings faced the street;

-and a quaint gateway gave access to the outer

-quadrangle or ‘first court,’ as Alec soon

-learned to call it. Here a solid stone staircase,

-guarded by a stone lion on one side and

-a unicorn on the other, led to the senate-room

-above; and an archway led to a quadrangle

-beyond.</p>

-

-<p>But Alec had scarcely time to observe as

-much as this. Hardly had he set foot within

-the gateway, when a gigantic man wearing

-a huge black beard stalked up to him, and

-without more ado caught him by the arm,

-while a small crowd of half a dozen lads of his

-own age, wearing gowns of red flannel, swarmed

-round him on the other side.</p>

-

-<p>‘I say!’ exclaimed the big man; ‘you’re

-going to matriculate, aren’t you?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Of course; that’s what I came here for.’</p>

-

-<p>‘And where were you born?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Where was I born?’ asked Alec, in bewilderment.</p>

-

-<p>‘Yes; be quick, man. Do you come from

-Highlands or Lowlands, or from beyond the

-Border?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Why do you want to know?’</p>

-

-<p>‘He comes from the county of Clackmannan;

-I know by the cut of his hair!’

-yelled a red-haired, freckled youth of some

-seventeen summers.</p>

-

-<p>‘Get out, you unmannerly young cub!’

-cried the big man, making a dash at the

-offender, without releasing his hold of Alec’s

-arm.</p>

-

-<p>‘Are you Transforthana?’ cried another.

-‘Oh, say if you’re Transforthana, like a good

-fellow, and don’t keep us in suspense.’</p>

-

-<p>‘He’s Rothseiana! I know it!’ bawled out

-a fourth.</p>

-

-<p>At this point a little man in spectacles

-darted from a low doorway on the left with a

-sheaf of papers printed in red ink, which he

-began to distribute as fast as he could.

-Instantly the men who had fastened upon

-Alec left him, and rushed off to secure one

-of the papers, and Alec followed their example.</p>

-

-<p>After some little trouble he got one, and then

-elbowing his way out of the crowd, began to

-read it. He found it was a not very comical

-parody of ‘Come into the garden, Maud,’ the

-allusions being half of a political, half of an

-academical character.</p>

-

-<p>Looking up with a puzzled air, Alec encountered

-the gaze of a man ten or twelve

-years his senior, who was regarding him with

-a look of mingled interest and amusement.

-He was considerably over six feet high, and

-broad in proportion. He wore a suit of

-tweeds, a blue Scotch bonnet, and a reddish-brown

-beard. He had the high cheek-bones

-and large limbs of the true Highlander, and

-one of his eyes had a slight cast. When he

-smiled, he had a cynical but not unkindly

-expression.</p>

-

-<p>‘I wish you would tell me what all this

-nonsense is about,’ said Alec.</p>

-

-<p>‘What nonsense would ye like to pe informed

-apoot?’ inquired the other in a strong

-Highland accent—‘the nonsense in that bit

-paper? Or the nonsense o’ these daft

-callants? Or the nonsense o’ this haill

-thing?’ and he waved his thick stick round

-the quadrangle.</p>

-

-<p>‘What is all this stir about? Why were a’

-these fellows so anxious to know where I was

-born?’</p>

-

-<p>‘One quastion at a time, my lad,’ answered

-the big Highlander. ‘They are electin’ a

-Lord Rector; the ploy will gang on for a

-week or ten days yet. And they vote in

-“nations,” according to the part o’ the

-country they belong to. I was born in the

-Duke’s country, and consequently my vote is

-worth conseederably more than that o’ yon

-wee spectacled callant who was kittled in the

-Gorbals, for example.’</p>

-

-<p>‘I was born in Kyleshire,’ said Alec.</p>

-

-<p>‘Then you’re Rothseiana,’ said the stranger,

-‘and your vote’s worth more than mine. I’d

-advise ye to choose at once, and put down

-your name at one club or the other, or they’ll

-tease your life out.’</p>

-

-<p>‘But who are the candidates?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Mr. Sharpe, and Lord Dummieden, of

-course.’</p>

-

-<p>Alec knew Mr. Sharpe’s name as that of an

-ex-Cabinet Minister on the Liberal side, who

-had the reputation of being a scholar, but who

-had never written anything beyond two or

-three pungent articles in <cite>The Debater</cite>.</p>

-

-<p>‘And who is Lord Dummieden?’</p>

-

-<p>‘What!’ answered the Highlander; ‘is it

-possible that you have never heard of the

-“History of the British Isles before the Roman

-Invasion,” in sixteen volumes, by the Right

-Honourable James Beattie, Viscount Dummieden,

-of Crumlachie?’</p>

-

-<p>Alec gave an incredulous look, and the

-other laughed outright.</p>

-

-<p>‘Don’t be offended,’ said the Highlander.</p>

-

-<p>‘Have you matriculated yet? No? Come

-awa’ then, and I’ll show you the way.’ He

-passed his arm through Alec’s as he spoke,

-and led him to a tiny office in a corner of

-the quadrangle which was half filled with

-students.</p>

-

-<p>‘What is your name?’ asked Alec’s new

-friend, as they stood waiting their turn to

-enter their names in the volume kept for the

-purpose. Alec told him. ‘Mine’s Cameron—Duncan

-Cameron. I’m a medical. This is

-my third year. Have you got lodgings?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Yes; at No. 210, Hanover Street.</p>

-

-<p>‘Does your landlady look a decent body?

-I’ll come round and see if she has a room to

-spare for me,’ he added, without waiting for an

-answer.</p>

-

-<p>Presently Alec obtained, in exchange for one

-of his father’s one-pound notes, a ticket bearing

-his name, and the words ‘<i lang="la">Civis Universitatis

-Glasguenis</i>’ printed in large letters underneath.</p>

-

-<p>‘That’s all right,’ said Cameron; ‘now come

-along, and I’ll show you the Professors’ Court.

-You have to call on the Latin and Greek

-professors, and get your class-tickets. The

-fee is three guineas each.’ He led Alec

-through an archway into a second and

-larger quadrangle, then across it and through

-another archway into a third. ‘That’s the

-museum,’ said Cameron, pointing to a building

-with handsome stone columns; ‘and

-that’s the library,’ he added, pointing to a

-narrow structure, built apparently of black

-stone, on the right.</p>

-

-<p>The two young men turned to the left,

-passed through an iron gateway, and found

-themselves in a gloomy and silent court,

-formed by the houses of the various professors,

-which, like the library, were black with smoke

-and soot-flakes.</p>

-

-<p>After the professors of ‘Humanity’ (as

-Latin is called in the north) and of Greek

-had been duly interviewed, Alec and his friend

-returned to the High Street without going

-back to the quadrangles; and in a few minutes

-they pulled Mrs. Macpherson’s brightly-polished

-bell-handle.</p>

-

-<p>‘I’ve brought a friend, a fellow-student,

-who wants to know if you have any more

-rooms to let,’ said Alec.</p>

-

-<p>‘Is he a medical?’ asked the good woman,

-knitting her brows.</p>

-

-<p>‘I am proud to say that I am,’ said

-Cameron.</p>

-

-<p>‘Then this is no the place for you ava.’</p>

-

-<p>‘An’ what for no?’</p>

-

-<p>‘I’ve had eneuch, an’ mair than eneuch, o’

-thae misguidet callants, wi’ their banes, an’

-their gases, an’ their gruesome talk, an’ their

-singin’ sangs, an’ playing cairds, an’ drinkin’,

-till twa, or maybe haulf-past on a Sabbath

-mornin’. Na, na; I’ll hae nae mair o’ the

-tribe, at no price.’</p>

-

-<p>But this opposition made Cameron determined

-that under that roof and no other

-would he take up his abode for the winter.

-He bound himself by a solemn promise to

-introduce neither bones, human or animal, nor

-chemicals of any kind, upon the premises, and

-to behave himself discreetly in other respects.

-He then remembered that his aunt’s husband’s

-cousin was a Macpherson; and when it

-came out that the landlady’s ‘forbears’ came

-from Auchintosh, which was within a day’s

-sail of the island where the Camerons

-had their home, all objections were withdrawn.</p>

-

-<p>A large dingy sitting-room, with a ‘concealed

-bed’ constructed in a recess, so that

-the room could also be used as a bedroom,

-was pronounced by Cameron to be too grand;

-and on Mrs. Macpherson saying that all her

-other rooms were let except an attic, he asked

-if he might see that apartment. They climbed

-up a steep and narrow staircase, and presently

-stood in a long narrow room, right under the

-slates, so low in the ceiling that Cameron

-could only walk along one side of it. It was

-furnished with a narrow bedstead, a small

-deal table, and two or three stout chairs.</p>

-

-<p>‘First-rate!’ exclaimed Cameron. ‘The

-very thing;’ and going to the skylight, he

-pushed it open and thrust out his head and

-shoulders. ‘Plenty of air here—not fresh,

-but better than nothing. What is the rent?’</p>

-

-<p>The rent was five shillings and sixpence a

-week, and after a vain effort to get rid of the

-sixpence, and an elaborate agreement on the

-subject of coals, the bargain was concluded.</p>

-

-<p>‘That’s settled,’ said Cameron; ‘and now

-I’m off to the Broomielaw to get my impedimenta

-oot o’ the <i>Dunolly Castle</i>. Will ye

-come?’</p>

-

-<p>Having nothing better to do, Alec readily

-acquiesced; and the two young men walked

-down Buchanan Street with its broad wet

-pavements, and through the more crowded

-Argyle Street and Jamaica Street, till they

-reached the wharf.</p>

-

-<p>Here all was damp and dismal. Coal-dust

-covered the ground; water, thick with coaldust

-and mud, dripped from the eaves of

-the huge open sheds; a smell of tar filled all

-the air. To Alec, however, nothing was

-dismal, nothing was depressing. All was new,

-strange, and interesting. A few vessels of

-light burden lay moored at the opposite side

-of the narrow river; a river steamer, her

-day’s work ended, was blowing off steam at

-the Broomielaw.</p>

-

-<p>‘You will hardly believe it, Cameron,’ said

-Alec, gazing with all his eyes at these

-commonplace sights, ‘but I never saw a ship

-or a steamer before.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Hoots, man,’ replied his companion; ‘I’ve

-been on the salt water ever since I can remember;

-but then, till I came here three

-years sin’, I had never seen a railway train—I

-used to spend hours at one of the stations

-watching them—and, what is more, I had

-never seen a tree.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Never seen a tree!’</p>

-

-<p>‘No; they won’t grow in some of the

-islands, you know, at least not above five

-or six feet high. But there’s the <i>Dunolly

-Castle</i>.’</p>

-

-<p>There lay the good vessel which had so lately

-ploughed the waters of the Outer Hebrides, a

-captive now, bound fast by stem and stern.</p>

-

-<p>Cameron jumped on board, and soon reappeared

-dragging a full sack behind him,

-while a seaman followed with a heavy wooden

-box on his shoulder, and a big earthenware

-jar in his left hand. Several porters with

-big two-wheeled barrows now proffered their

-services. Cameron selected one, and having

-loaded the barrow with a sack of oatmeal, a

-small barrel of salt herrings, two great jars

-which Alec rightly conjectured to contain

-whisky, and the wooden box, he proceeded to

-pilot the porter to Hanover Street.</p>

-

-<p>‘Tak’ care o’ the jaurs!’ he cried out in

-some alarm, as the porter knocked his barrow

-against a corner. ‘They’re just the maist

-precious bit o’ the haill cargo; and if ye

-preak ane o’ them, she’ll preak your heid, as

-I’m a leefin’ man!’</p>

-

-<p>‘Why do you bring your provisions instead

-of buying them here? Is it any cheaper?’

-asked Alec.</p>

-

-<p>‘Cheaper! Fat the teil do I care for the

-cheapness? I prefer my own whisky, and

-my own oatmeal, I tell you; it is better

-than any you can buy here,’ answered the

-proud and irate Highlandman.</p>

-

-<p>But when Alec and he were better acquainted,

-he acknowledged that the oatmeal

-and whisky were presented to him by relatives,

-as aids to the difficult task of living for six

-months on twenty pounds.</p>

-

-<p>Next morning Alec woke to a blinding,

-acrid, yellow fog, which the gaslight faintly

-illumined. It was still dark when he emerged

-into the street and took his way to the College,

-with a copy of one of Cicero’s orations and a

-note-book under his arm. As he reached his

-destination the clock struck eight, and immediately

-a bell began to tinkle in quick,

-sharp, imperative tones.</p>

-

-<p>The junior Latin class, he found, met in

-the centre of a long narrow hall, lit by a

-few gas-jets flaring here and there. On both

-sides of the hall were tall windows, outside

-of which was the yellow cloud of fog. There

-was no stove or heating apparatus whatever.

-A raised bench ran along one side of the long

-room, and there were black empty galleries

-at either end. In the centre stood a pulpit,

-raised about two feet above the floor, and in

-this the Professor was already standing.</p>

-

-<p>About two hundred men and boys were

-seated in the benches nearest the pulpit,

-some wearing the regulation red gown, and

-some without it, while beyond them the black

-empty benches stretched away to the farther

-end of the hall, which lay in complete darkness.</p>

-

-<p>All was stillness, but for the tinkling of

-the bell. Suddenly it stopped, and that

-instant a janitor banged the door, shutting

-out late comers inexorably.</p>

-

-<p>Everybody stood up, while the Professor

-repeated a collect and the Lord’s Prayer in

-English. Then he began to call the roll in

-Latin, and as each student answered ‘Adsum!’

-he was assigned a place on one of the benches,

-which was to be his for the rest of the session.

-Alec’s place was between a stout little fellow

-of sixteen, son of a wealthy Glasgow merchant,

-and a pale overworked teacher, who had set

-his heart on being able to write ‘M.A.’ after

-his name.</p>

-

-<p>The work of the class then began. The

-Professor gave a short explanation of the

-circumstances under which the oration which

-he had selected was made. He read and

-translated a few lines, explaining the various

-allusions, the nature of a Roman trial, and

-the meaning of the word ‘judices.’ He then,

-by way of illustrating the method of teaching,

-called on one of the students to construe

-a few lines, and proceeded to ask all sorts of

-questions, historical and philological, passing

-the questions from man to man and from

-bench to bench. He then prescribed a piece

-of English to be turned into Latin prose.

-Before he had ceased speaking the clock

-struck; the bell began to ring; the Professor

-finished his sentence and shut his book. The

-lecture was at an end.</p>

-

-<p>The next hour Alec spent chiefly in wandering

-round the College Green, a kind of

-neglected park thinly populated with soot-encrusted

-trees, which lay at the rear of the

-College buildings. At ten o’clock the junior

-Greek class met; and Alec entered a small

-room crammed with students, who were

-sitting on narrow, crescent-shaped benches

-raised one behind the other, and fronting a

-semicircular platform at the lower end of

-the room. The book-boards, Alec noticed,

-were extremely narrow, and neatly bound

-with iron. The procedure here was much

-the same as it had been in the Latin class,

-except that there were no prayers, the

-devotions being confined to the classes which

-happened to meet earliest in the day.</p>

-

-<p>At eleven there was another hour of Latin,

-Virgil being the text-book this time; and then

-lectures were over for the day, so far as Alec

-was concerned.</p>

-

-<p>All day long the committee-rooms of the

-rival Conservative and Liberal Associations

-were filled with men, consulting, smoking,

-enrolling pledges, and inditing ‘squibs’ and

-manifestoes; and as a Liberal meeting in support

-of Mr. Sharpe was to be held that evening

-in the Greek class-room, Alec determined to

-be present, hoping to hear some arguments

-which might help him to decide how he ought

-to vote on this momentous occasion.</p>

-

-<p>In this expectation, however, he was disappointed.

-Before he came in sight of the

-lighted-up windows of the class-room he heard

-a roar of singing—the factions were uniting

-their powers to render a stanza of ‘The Good

-Rhine Wine’ with proper emphasis. The

-place was packed as full as it would hold, the

-Professor’s platform being held by the committee-men

-of the Liberal Association. As

-soon as the song was ended, a small man in

-spectacles was voted into the chair. He

-opened the proceedings by calling upon a Mr.

-Macfarlane to move the first resolution, and

-(like a wise man) immediately sat down.</p>

-

-<p>Mr. Macfarlane, a young man of great size

-with a throat of brass, was not popular. Cries

-of ‘Sit down, sir!’ ‘Go home, sir!’ ‘Speak

-up, sir!’ were mingled with volleys of peas,

-Kentish fire, cheers for Lord Dummieden, and

-the usual noises of a noisy meeting.</p>

-

-<p>The little man in spectacles got up, and,

-speaking in a purposely low voice, obtained a

-hearing. He reminded his Conservative

-friends that the Liberals had not spoiled the

-Conservative meeting on the previous evening,

-and said it was only fair that they should have

-their turn. This was greeted with loud shouts

-of ‘Hear! hear!’ and Mr. Macfarlane began a

-second time. But soon he managed to set his

-audience in an uproar once more. His face

-was fairly battered with peas. Men got up

-and stood on the benches, then on the book-boards.

-One fellow had brought a policeman’s

-rattle, with which he created a din so intolerable

-that three or four others tried to deprive him

-of it. One or two stout Conservatives came

-to the rescue, and finally the whole group slid

-off their narrow foot-hold on the book-boards,

-and fell in a confused heap on the floor, amid

-loud cheers from both parties.</p>

-

-<p>After this episode order was restored, and a

-fresh orator held the attention of the audience

-for a few minutes. Unfortunately he stopped

-for a moment, and the pause was immediately

-filled by a student at the farther end of the

-room blowing a shrill, pitiful blast on a child’s

-penny trumpet. The effect was comical enough;

-and everybody laughed. At that moment a

-loud knock was heard at the door, which had

-been locked, the room being already as full

-as it could possibly hold. The knock was

-repeated.</p>

-

-<p>‘I believe the perambulator has come for

-the gentleman with the penny trumpet,’ said

-the chairman in gentle accents.</p>

-

-<p>This sally was greeted with a loud roar of

-laughter; and when it died away, comparative

-silence reigned for five minutes.</p>

-

-<p>Then came more cheers, songs, and volleys

-of peas; and when everybody was hoarse the

-meeting came to an end, the leading spirits

-on both sides adjourning to their committee-rooms,

-and afterwards to the hotels which

-they usually patronized.</p>

-

-<p>These meetings were continued for about

-ten days, and then the vote was taken. The

-four ‘nations’ had each one vote. Two voted

-for Mr. Sharpe, and two for Lord Dummieden.

-And then the Chancellor, in accordance with

-old established practice, gave his casting vote

-in favour of the Conservative candidate.</p>

-

-<p>It was over. The manifestoes and satirical

-ballads were swept away; and the twelve

-hundred men and boys settled down to six

-months’ labour.</p>

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

-

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span>

-<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="Six">VI.</abbr></h3>

-<h4>A NEW EXPERIENCE.</h4>

-</div>

-

-

-<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">For</span> the next six weeks Alec Lindsay’s life

-was one unvarying round of lectures, and

-preparation for lectures. For recreation he

-had football on the College Green, long walks

-on Saturday afternoons, and long debates

-with his friend Cameron. The debates,

-however, were not very frequent, for the

-Highlander was working twelve hours a

-day.</p>

-

-<p>‘I mean to get a first-class in surgery,’

-he said to Alec one Saturday night, as the

-two sat over their pipes in Alec’s sitting-room;

-‘and then perhaps the Professor will

-ask me to be an assistant. If he does, my

-fortune is made, for I know my work.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Ay, that’s the great thing,’ said Alec

-absently. ‘Don’t you ever go to church,

-Cameron?’ he added abruptly.</p>

-

-<p>‘As seldom as I can,’ said the other, with a

-side look at his companion; ‘but don’t take

-me for a guide.’</p>

-

-<p>‘I can’t help it,’ replied the lad, still gazing

-into the fire; ‘we all take our neighbours for

-guides, whether we acknowledge it or not.’</p>

-

-<p>‘More or less, no doubt.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Don’t you think one <em>ought</em> to go to

-church?’</p>

-

-<p>‘How can I tell? Every man for himself,

-my lad.’</p>

-

-<p>‘That won’t do,’ answered Alec, rousing

-himself and facing his friend; ‘right’s right,

-and wrong’s wrong; what is right for one

-man must be right for every man—under

-the same circumstances, I mean.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Will you just tell me,’ said Cameron, half

-defiantly, ‘what good going to church can do

-me? I know the psalms almost by heart, and

-I know the chapters the minister reads almost

-as well. As for the prayers, half of them

-aren’t prayers at all, and the other half I

-could say as weel at hame, if I had a mind.

-And the sermons!—man, Alec, ye canna say

-ye think they can do good to any living

-creature.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Some of them, perhaps.’</p>

-

-<p>‘When I find a minister that doesna tell us

-the same thing over, and over, and over again,

-and use fifty words to say what might be said

-in five, to spin out the time, I’ll reconsider the

-p’int,’ said Cameron.</p>

-

-<p>‘But you believe there’s a God,’ said

-Alec.</p>

-

-<p>‘That’s a lang stap furret,’ said the other.</p>

-

-<p>‘But do you?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Well, I do, and I dinna. I don’t believe

-in the Free Kirk God. It’s hard to think

-this warl could mak’ itsel’: but I hae my

-doots.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Then you’re an Agnostic?’</p>

-

-<p>‘What if I am? Are ye scunnered?’<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p>

-

-<p>‘No—and yet——’</p>

-

-<p>‘Or what if I should tell you I have chosen

-some other religion? Why should I be a

-Presbyterian? Because I was born in Scotland.

-That’s the only reason I’ve been able

-to think of, and it doesn’t seem to me to be

-up to much.’</p>

-

-<p>Alec was secretly shocked, though he thought

-it more manly not to show it.</p>

-

-<p>‘I believe in the Bible,’ he said at last.</p>

-

-<p>‘That doesna help you much,’ said Cameron,

-with some contempt. ‘Baptists, Independents,

-Episcopalians, the very Papists themsel’s, and

-thae half-heathen Russians, wad tell ye that

-they believe in the Bible. Ye micht as weel

-tell a judge, when he ca’ed on you for an

-argument, that ye believe in an Act o’ Parliament.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Hae ye an aitlas?’ he continued after a

-pause. ‘Here’s one.’</p>

-

-<p>He turned to a ‘Mercator’s projection’ at

-the beginning of the volume, and scratched

-the spot which represented Scotland with his

-pencil. He then slightly shaded England, the

-United States, and Holland, and put in a few

-dots in Germany and Switzerland.</p>

-

-<p>‘There!’ he said, as he pushed the map

-across the table; ‘that’s your Presbyterian

-notion o’ Christendom. There’s a glimmerin’

-in England and the States, but only in bonny

-Scotland does the true licht shine full and

-fair. As for Germany, Holland, an’ Switzerland,

-they’re unco dry, no tae say deid

-branches. The rest o’ mankind—total darkness!’</p>

-

-<p>‘But you might have said the same thing

-of Christianity itself at one time, and of every

-religion in the world, for that matter,’ protested

-Alec.</p>

-

-<p>‘Nae doot,’ retorted Cameron, ‘but that

-was at the beginning. This is Christianity,

-according to the gospel o’ John Knox and

-Company after nineteen centuries! A poor

-show for nineteen hunder’ years—a mighty

-poor show!’</p>

-

-<p>He got up as he spoke, and knocking the

-ashes out of his pipe, prepared to move to his

-own quarters.</p>

-

-<p>‘Let’s change the subject,’ said Alec. ‘Here’s

-a letter I got this morning, and I don’t know

-how to answer it.’</p>

-

-<p>‘What’s this?’ said the older man, taking

-the thick sheet of paper between the tips of

-his fingers. ‘“Mr. James Lindsay presents his

-compliments to Mr. Alexander Lindsay, and

-requests the pleasure of his company at dinner

-on Tuesday the 27th inst., at half-past six.

-Blythswood Square, December, 187-.” Is

-this old James Lindsay o’ Drumleck?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Yes.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Are you a connection of his?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Grand-nephew.’</p>

-

-<p>‘And why can’t you answer the note?’</p>

-

-<p>‘I don’t want to go. I haven’t been brought

-up to this sort of thing, and I don’t care to go

-out of my way to make myself ridiculous in a

-rich man’s house. Besides, I don’t want to go

-to the expense of a suit of dress clothes. And

-then, my uncle and I were not particularly

-smitten with each other when I saw him

-last.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Don’t be a fool, Alec,’ said Cameron

-quietly. ‘You can’t afford to throw away

-the friendship of a man worth twenty thousand

-a year.’</p>

-

-<p>‘That phrase always reminds me,’ remarked

-Alec, ‘of what one of the Erskines—I don’t

-remember which of them it was—once said,

-when some one said in his company that so-and-so

-had died worth three hundred thousand

-pounds—“Did he indeed, sir? And a very

-pretty sum, too, to begin the next world

-with.”’</p>

-

-<p>Cameron smiled grimly.</p>

-

-<p>‘You’ll have to go, Alec,’ he repeated; ‘and

-you needn’t be afraid of appearing ridiculous.

-Do as you see others do, and keep a lown sail;

-better seem blate than impident.’</p>

-

-<p>‘My father would be in a fine way if he

-heard that my uncle had invited me, and that

-I had refused the invitation,’ said Lindsay.</p>

-

-<p>‘And quite right too,’ rejoined Cameron.

-‘Besides, Alec, the old man is your father’s

-uncle, and you ought to show him some

-respect.’</p>

-

-<p>‘That wasn’t the reason you put in the forefront,’

-said Alec slyly.</p>

-

-<p>For reply Cameron, who had reached the

-door, picked up a Greek grammar, flung it at

-his friend’s head as he muttered something in

-Gaelic, and banging the door behind him,

-ascended to his own domicile.</p>

-

-<p>Exactly at the appointed hour Alec presented

-himself at his grand-uncle’s house in

-Blythswood Square. The square had once been

-fashionable, and was still something more than

-respectable, because the houses were too large

-to be inhabited by people of moderate means;

-but the situation was dull and gloomy to the

-last degree. Within, however, there was a

-very different scene. Entrance-hall, staircase,

-drawing-room, were all as brilliant as gas-jets

-could make them. The walls, even of the

-passages, were lined with pictures, good, bad,

-and indifferent. Every landing, every corner,

-held a statue, or at least a statuette, or a bust

-upon a pedestal.</p>

-

-<p>When Alec was ushered into the drawing-room,

-he could hardly see for the blaze of

-light; he could hardly move for little tables

-laden with china, ormolu, and bronzes. Fortunately,

-Sir Peter and Lady Colquhoun were

-entering the reception-room just as Alec

-reached it, so that he made his entrance in

-their wake, and, as it were, under their lee.</p>

-

-<p>The room was already pretty well filled, and

-more guests were continually arriving. On

-the hearth-rug stood a little old man, with a

-mean, inexpressive face, scanty hair which

-was still gray, thin gray whiskers, small eyes,

-and a fussy consequential air. When he

-spoke, it was in a high-pitched, rasping voice;

-and he invariably gave one the impression

-that he was insisting upon being noticed and

-attended to.</p>

-

-<p>This was Mr. Lindsay of Drumleck. He

-stared at Alec for an instant, then gave him

-his hand in silence, and, without addressing a

-word to him, continued his conversation with

-the Lord Provost’s wife. Alec’s face flushed.

-His first impulse was to walk out of the room,

-and out of the house; but on second thoughts

-he saw that that course would not even be

-dignified. He retreated to a corner, and set

-himself to watch the company.</p>

-

-<p>For the most part they sat nearly silent—fat

-baillies and their well-nourished wives—hard-featured

-damsels of thirty or forty

-summers, in high-necked dresses and Brussels

-lace collars—one or two stout ministers—such

-was the assembly. Alec was astonished. He

-had expected, somehow, that he should meet

-people of a different type.</p>

-

-<p>‘Take one or two dozen people from behind

-the shop-counters in Argyle Street,’ he said to

-himself (with boyish contempt for the disappointing),

-‘or even a few Muirburn ploughmen

-and weavers, give them plenty of money,

-and in three weeks they would be quite as fine

-ladies and gentlemen as any I see here.’</p>

-

-<p>As the thought passed through the boy’s

-mind, the door was thrown open, and the

-names of ‘Professor Taylor and Miss Mowbray’

-were announced. A tall, lean man,

-with long hair and crumpled old-fashioned

-garments, entered, and beside him walked a

-young lady with her eyes on the ground.</p>

-

-<p>She was dressed in a cream-coloured

-costume, with just a fleck of colour here and

-there. She was indeed remarkably pretty,

-and possessed a soft, childlike grace which was

-more captivating than beauty alone would

-have been. She had a small, well-rounded

-figure—a little more and it would have been

-plump—abundant dark-brown hair, and a soft,

-peach-like complexion. Her eyelashes were

-unusually long; and when, reaching her host,

-she half-timidly raised her eyes to his, Alec

-(who was sitting in the background) felt a

-little thrill of pleasure at the mere sight of

-their dark loveliness.</p>

-

-<p>She was the first lady, the first young lady,

-at least, whom he had seen, and he looked at

-her as if she were a being to be worshipped.

-But Laura Mowbray was indeed pretty enough

-to have turned the head of a more experienced

-person than the laird’s son.</p>

-

-<p>Professor Taylor and his niece moved to

-one side; her dress almost brushed against

-Alec. She glanced at him for an instant;

-without intending it he dropped his eyes, and

-the girl looked in another direction with a

-little inward smile.</p>

-

-<p>In three or four minutes dinner was announced,

-and Laura fell to the care of James

-Semple (the cousin who had taken Alec’s

-place at the oil-works), who had just come in.

-There were more men than women in the

-party, and Alec and one or two of the less

-wealthy guests were left to find their way into

-the dining-room by themselves at the end of

-the procession. Fortune, however, favoured

-Alec. When he took his seat, he found that

-he was sitting between a pale, inoffensive-looking

-youth and—Laura Mowbray.</p>

-

-<p>He literally did not dare to look at her,

-much less to address her; he was not sure,

-indeed, whether the rules of society allowed

-him to do so in the absence of an introduction.

-In a little time, however, his shyness

-wore off; he watched his opportunity; but

-before he found one, his neighbour remarked

-in her soft English accent, and in the sweetest

-of tones:</p>

-

-<p>‘What dreadful fogs you have in Glasgow!’</p>

-

-<p>Alec made some reply, and the ice once

-broken, he made rapid progress.</p>

-

-<p>‘Everybody I meet seems to be related to

-somebody else, or connected with some one I

-have met before,’ said Miss Mowbray. ‘You

-have all so many relations in this part of the

-country, and you seem never to forget any

-of them. In London it is different. People

-seldom know their next-door neighbours; and

-it is just a chance whether they keep up

-cousinships, and so on, or not.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Really? I think that is very unnatural.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Oh! <em>so</em> unnatural! Life in London is so

-dreadfully conventional and superficial. Don’t

-you think so?’</p>

-

-<p>‘I dare say; but I have never been in

-London.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Have you, Mr. Semple?’ she asked of the

-gentleman on her left.</p>

-

-<p>‘No, I haven’t,’ he answered shortly.</p>

-

-<p>He did not approve of Miss Mowbray paying

-any attention to Alec, regarding her as

-for the time being his property. On this

-Laura left off talking to Alec, and devoted

-herself to the amusement of Mr. Semple.</p>

-

-<p>Soon, however, she took advantage of his

-attention being claimed by the lady on his

-left, to turn again with a smile to Alec.</p>

-

-<p>‘Mr. Semple tells me you are at College.

-My uncle is a professor there, but he has

-hardly any students, because history is not a

-compulsory subject in the examinations. How

-do you like being at College?’</p>

-

-<p>Alec was grateful for her interest in him,

-and gave her his impressions of College life.

-Then she turned once more to her legitimate

-entertainer, who was by that time at

-liberty.</p>

-

-<p>Alec had already had far more intercourse

-with his lovely neighbour than he had dared

-to hope for; but the dinner was a long one;

-and as Mr. Semple’s left-hand neighbour

-happened to be a maiden aunt with money,

-she was able to compel his attention once

-more before the close of the meal.</p>

-

-<p>‘You live in a beautiful part of the country,

-I believe,’ Miss Mowbray remarked to Alec.</p>

-

-<p>‘I don’t know; I like it, of course; but I

-don’t know that it is finer than any country

-with wood and a river.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Oh, you <em>have</em> a river? I am so passionately

-fond of river scenery.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Yes, and we have a castle,’ replied Alec;

-and before the ladies rose he had described

-not only the castle, but the moorland and the

-romantic dell which was his sister’s favourite

-retreat, to his much-interested neighbour.</p>

-

-<p>When at length the ladies followed Miss

-Lindsay—a distant relation who superintended

-Mr. Lindsay’s establishment—out of the room,

-Alec felt as if the evening had suddenly come

-to an end.</p>

-

-<p>Semple, who had vouchsafed him rather a

-cool nod in the evening, tried in vain to

-make him talk.</p>

-

-<p>‘How do you like College?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Pretty well.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Dreadful underbred set. Why don’t you

-go to Oxford?’</p>

-

-<p>Alec made no reply.</p>

-

-<p>‘Or Edinburgh—they are a much better

-class of men at Edinburgh, I’m told.’</p>

-

-<p>And Mr. Semple turned away to join a

-conversation about ‘warrants,’ and ‘premiums,’

-and ‘vendor’s shares,’ ‘corners,’ ‘contangos,’

-and ‘quotations,’ which to Alec was simply

-unintelligible.</p>

-

-<p>At the other end of the table a conversation

-of another character was in progress—one

-hardly less interesting to those who took

-part in it, and hardly more interesting to an

-outsider. It seemed that a wealthy congregation

-of United Presbyterians had built

-themselves an organ at considerable expense,

-without obtaining the sanction of their co-religionists;

-and an edict had gone forth that

-the organ must be silent on Sundays, but

-might be used for the delectation of those

-who attended the prayer-meeting on Wednesday

-evenings.</p>

-

-<p>‘I look upon it as the thin end of the

-wedge,’ said the Reverend Hector MacTavish,

-D.D., striking his fist on his knee.

-‘You begin with hymns, many of them wish-washy

-trash, some of them positively unscriptural.

-Then you must have a choir for

-the tunes, as if the old-fashioned long metre

-and common metre were not good enough;

-then comes an organ; then the Lord’s Prayer

-is used as a part of the ritual—mark you, as

-a part of the ritual—I have no objection to

-the Lord’s Prayer when it is not used on

-formal, stated occasions. After that, you

-have a liturgy.’</p>

-

-<p>‘No, no, Doctor; you are going too fast,’

-murmured one of the audience.</p>

-

-<p>‘And I maintain that with a liturgy there

-is an end to the distinctively Presbyterian

-form of worship.’</p>

-

-<p>‘But where would you draw the line?’

-inquired a mild, sallow-faced young man who

-had imbibed his theological opinions at Heidelberg,

-and was in consequence suspected of

-latitudinarianism, if not of actual heresy.</p>

-

-<p>‘Where our fathers drew it, at the Psalms

-of Tavid!’ thundered Mr. MacTavish, striking

-his unoffending knee once more.</p>

-

-<p>‘Then I fear you render Union impossible,’

-said the young minister.</p>

-

-<p>‘And what if I do, sir?’ said Dr. MacTavish

-loftily; ‘in my opinion we Free

-Churchmen are ferry well as we are, and

-need no new lights to illuminate us.’</p>

-

-<p>The young man received the covert sneer

-at his German training and his liberal ideas

-with a smile; and Alec listened no longer,

-but relapsed into dreamland. The dispute,

-however, continued long after most of the

-men had returned to the drawing-room, and

-Alec rose from his chair while an animated

-discussion was in progress on the point whether

-the use of an organ was favourable to spiritual

-worship or tended to sensuousness, and whether

-the fact that the New Testament was silent

-on the subject, condemned the organ and its

-followers by anticipation.</p>

-

-<p>When Alec entered the drawing-room, Miss

-Mowbray was singing. He retreated to a

-corner and stood as one spell-bound. He

-watched for an opportunity of speaking to

-her again, but there was none; however, on

-passing him on her way to the door on her

-uncle’s arm, she gave him a little bow and

-smile, which he regarded as another proof of

-her sweetness of disposition.</p>

-

-<p>The theologians had not finished their

-disputations, and were continuing them in a

-corner of the drawing-room, when Alec took

-his departure.</p>

-

-<p>He walked back to his poor and empty

-room with his head among the stars. She

-had talked with him, smiled upon him, treated

-him as an equal. He would find out where

-she lived, and contrive to meet her again.

-How lovely she was, how sweet, how pure,

-how good! The wide earth, Alec Lindsay

-was firmly convinced, contained no mortal

-fit for one moment to be compared with the

-girl whose soft brown eyes and gentle, almost

-appealing, looks still made his heart beat as

-he remembered them.</p>

-

-

-<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>

-<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> Disgusted.</p>

-</div>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

-

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span>

-<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="Seven">VII.</abbr></h3>

-<h4>A SUNDAY IN GLASGOW.</h4>

-</div>

-

-

-<p class="unindent">‘<span class="smcap">Well</span>, Alec, how did you get on last night?’

-asked Duncan Cameron of his friend, when

-they met as usual the day after the dinner at

-Blythswood Square.</p>

-

-<p>‘Oh, all right. It was rather a stupid

-affair.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Rather stupid—not quite worth the trouble

-of attending? And yet you were half afraid

-of going! Don’t deny it.’</p>

-

-<p>‘I said it was stupid; and so it was,’ said

-Alec, reddening. ‘Nobody said anything

-worth listening to, so far as I heard.’</p>

-

-<p>‘That means nobody took much notice of

-<em>you</em>, eh?’</p>

-

-<p>‘What an ill-conditioned, sneering fellow

-you are, Cameron,’ replied Alec tranquilly.

-‘You’ll never get on in the world unless you

-learn to be civil.’</p>

-

-<p>‘It isn’t worth my while to be civil to you,’

-said Cameron. ‘Wait till I’m in practice and

-have to flatter and humour rich old women.

-What did your uncle say to you?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Hardly anything—just a word or two, as I

-was coming away.’</p>

-

-<p>‘You ought to cultivate him, Alec.’</p>

-

-<p>‘I wish you wouldn’t speak like that,

-Duncan,’ said Alec roughly. ‘Do you think

-I’m the sort of fellow to flatter and fawn upon

-an old man I don’t like, simply because he is

-rich?’</p>

-

-<p>‘There’s no need for flattering and fawning,’

-replied Cameron; ‘but you’ve no right to

-throw away such a chance at the very outset

-of your life.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Do you think, then, that it’s manly or

-honourable to visit a man as it were out of

-pure friendship, when your only object is to

-make him useful to you?’</p>

-

-<p>‘There’s no question of friendship, ye gowk;

-he’s your relation, and the head of your house.

-It’s your duty to pay him your respects

-occasionally.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Paying my respects wouldn’t be of much

-use,’ retorted Alec. ‘You’re shirking the

-question. Is it honourable to—I don’t know

-the right word—to try to ingratiate yourself

-with anyone in the hope of getting something

-out of him?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Why not?’</p>

-

-<p>‘It’s not honourable; and I would not

-respect myself if I were to do such a thing,’

-said Alec, with much dignity.</p>

-

-<p>Cameron laughed inwardly, but he made no

-response, and there was silence for a few

-minutes between the two friends. The older

-man was thinking how absurd the boy was,

-and how a little experience of life would rub

-off his ‘high-fantastical’ notions. Then he

-wished that he had a grand-uncle who was a

-millionnaire. And then he fell to wondering

-whether, on the whole, it was best to despise

-wealth, as Alec Lindsay did, or to acquire

-it.</p>

-

-<p>‘I suppose it is too late now to take another

-class?’ said Alec, half absently.</p>

-

-<p>‘I should think so,’ responded his friend.

-‘What class did you think of taking? Mathematics?’</p>

-

-<p>‘No; History.’</p>

-

-<p>‘History! That isn’t wanted for a degree.

-What put that into your head?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Oh, I don’t know. I only thought of

-it.’</p>

-

-<p>Cameron did not know that the learned

-Professor of History had a niece named Laura

-Mowbray.</p>

-

-<p>That evening about ten o’clock, when the

-medical student went down to his friend’s

-room, as was his custom at that hour, he found

-Alec poring over some papers, which he pushed

-aside as Cameron entered.</p>

-

-<p>‘Come in,’ he cried, as the other paused in

-the doorway. ‘I’m not working.’</p>

-

-<p>The Highlander took up his usual position,

-standing on the hearth-rug with his back

-to the fire, and proceeded to light his

-pipe.</p>

-

-<p>‘They tell me you’re doing very well in

-the Latin class—sure of a prize, if you keep

-on as you’re doing,’ he said, after smoking

-for a minute in silence.</p>

-

-<p>‘Oh, it’s no use; I can’t do Latin prose,’

-answered Alec discontentedly. ‘How can I?

-I’ve never had any practice. Just look at

-this—my last exercise—no frightful blunders,

-but, as the Professor said, full of inelegancies;’

-and he handed his friend a sheet of paper

-from his table as he spoke.</p>

-

-<p>Cameron took the paper, and regarded it

-through a cloud of smoke.</p>

-

-<p>‘What’s this?’ he exclaimed. ‘Poetry, as

-I’m a livin’ Heelandman! Just listen!’ and

-he waved his hand, as if addressing an

-imaginary audience.</p>

-

-<p>Alec’s face burned, as he rose and hastily

-snatched the paper from his friend’s grasp.

-Cameron would have carried his bantering

-further, but he saw that in the lad’s face

-which restrained him.</p>

-

-<p>‘Already!’ he muttered, as he turned away

-to hide his laughter.</p>

-

-<p>‘Are you going home for the New Year?’

-asked Alec, when his embarrassment had subsided.</p>

-

-<p>‘Me? No! We have only a week’s

-vacation, or ten days at most. The <i>Dunolly

-Castle</i> sails only once a week in winter; and

-if the sailings didn’t suit, I should have hardly

-time to go there before I had to come away

-again. And if a storm came on I should be

-weather-bound, and might not get south for

-another week.’</p>

-

-<p>‘It must be very dreary in the north in

-winter,’ said Alec.</p>

-

-<p>‘Ay—but you must come and see for yourself

-some day.’</p>

-

-<p>Alec was silent; he was thinking that he

-should like to ask his friend to spend the

-vacation week with him at the Castle Farm;

-but he did not care to take the responsibility

-of giving the invitation.</p>

-

-<p>The following Sunday was one of those

-dismal days which are common in the west of

-Scotland during the winter months. It was

-nearly cold enough for snow, but instead of snow

-a continuous drizzle fell slowly throughout the

-day. There was no fog; but in the streets of

-Glasgow it was dark soon after midday.</p>

-

-<p>Alec Lindsay went to church in the forenoon

-as usual; then he came home and ate

-a cold dinner which would have been very

-trying to any appetite less robust than that

-of a young Scotchman.</p>

-

-<p>Finding that he had a few minutes to spare

-before setting out for the afternoon service

-(which takes the place of an evening service in

-England), he ran upstairs to his friend’s room.</p>

-

-<p>‘I wish you would come to church with me,

-Duncan,’ he said, as he seated himself on the

-medical student’s trunk.</p>

-

-<p>The invitation implied a reproach; but

-Cameron was not offended at this interference

-with his private concerns. In the north a

-man who ‘neglects ordinances’ is supposed to

-lay himself open to the reproof of any better-disposed

-person who assumes an interest in

-his spiritual welfare. For reply he muttered

-something in Gaelic, which Alec conjectured,

-rightly enough, to be an exclamation too

-improper to be said conveniently in English.</p>

-

-<p>‘Fat can ye no leaf a man alone for?’ he

-said aloud, reverting, as he did when he was

-excited, to his strong Highland accent.</p>

-

-<p>Alec said no more; but Cameron, whose

-conscience was not quite at rest, chose to

-continue the subject.</p>

-

-<p>‘I go to the kirk when I’m at home,’ he

-said, ‘an’ that’s enough. I go to please my

-mother, an’ keep folk from talking—but it’s

-weary work. I often ask myself what is the

-good of it?—the whole thing, I mean. There’s

-old Mr. Macfarlane, the parish minister of

-Glenstruan—we went to live on the mainland

-two years ago, you know. He’s a decent man—a

-<em>ferry</em> decent man. He ladles oot castor

-oil an’ cod-liver oil as occasion requires, to

-the haill parish, an’ the next ane tae, without

-fee or reward. He’s a great botanist, and

-spends half his time in his gairden—grows a’

-sorts o’ fruit—even peaches, I’ve been told.

-When the weather’s suitable he gangs fishin’.

-On Sabbath he has apoot forty folk in his big

-barn o’ a kirk. He talks tae them for an

-oor, an’ lets them gang. He’s aye ready to

-baptize a wean, or pray wi’ a deein’ botoch,<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a>

-but it’s seldom he has the chance. I’m no

-blamin’ the man. It’s no his faut that the

-folk gaed ower bodily to the Free Kirk at the

-Disruption, an’ left him, a shepherd wi’ ne’er

-a flock, but a wheen auld rams, wha——’</p>

-

-<p>‘But there’s the Free Kirk,’ interrupted

-Alec, ‘and it’s your own kirk, I suppose.’</p>

-

-<p>‘No,’ said Cameron. ‘If anything, I belong

-to the Establishment. Save me, is my daily

-an’ nichtly prayer, frae the bitter birr o’ the

-Dissenters.’</p>

-

-<p>Alec laughed, and the other went on:</p>

-<p>‘There’s Maister MacPhairson, the Free

-Kirk minister. He’s a wee, soor, black-avised

-crater, wi’ a wife an’ nine weans. Hoo

-he manages to gie them parritch an’ milk I

-can <em>not</em> imagine. He’s jist eaten up wi’ envy

-an’ spite that the parish minister has the big

-hoose, and he has the wee ane. He mak’s his

-sermons dooble as lang to let folk see that he

-does a’ the wark——’</p>

-

-<p>‘A very good reason for not belonging to the

-Free Church,’ interposed Alec; ‘but I don’t see

-what all this has got to do with the question.’</p>

-

-<p>‘I’m only showing that the religious system

-of this country is in a state of petrifaction,’

-said Cameron, abandoning the Doric—‘fossilization,

-if you like it better.’</p>

-

-<p>Alec laughed.</p>

-

-<p>‘A pretty proof,’ he cried.</p>

-

-<p>‘Oh, of course, the state of religion in one

-corner of the Hielans is only an illustration;

-but it’s much the same everywhere. I don’t

-see, to put the thing plainly, that we should

-be very much worse off without any kirks,

-and what we want with so many is a mystery

-to me. What was the use of building a new

-one in every parish at the Disruption, I should

-like to know?’</p>

-

-<p>‘You know as well as I do,’ answered Alec.

-‘A great principle was at stake.’</p>

-

-<p>‘“The sacred right o’ the nowte<a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> to chuse

-their ain herd,” as Burns puts it,’ interposed

-Cameron.</p>

-

-<p>‘Not only that; the question was whether

-the Church should submit to interference on

-the part of the State,’ said Alec.</p>

-

-<p>‘And by way of showing that she never

-would submit, she rent herself in twa, and one

-half has spent the best part of her pith ever

-since in keeping up the fight wi’ the tither

-half. What sense is there in that, can ye tell

-me?’</p>

-

-<p>‘That’s all very well,’ said Alec, ‘but it

-seems to me that if a man finds a poor religion

-around him, he ought to stick to it as well as

-he can till he finds a better one.’</p>

-<p>‘There’s sense in that, Alec,’ said Cameron;

-‘and I’ll no just say I’ve no had my endeavours

-to find a better.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Where can ye find a better?’ asked Alec,

-shocked at this latitudinarianism.</p>

-

-<p>‘I didna say I had succeeded, did I? But

-I’ve tried. I went a good deal among

-the Methodists in my first year at College. I

-was wonderfully taken with them at first—thought

-them just the very salt of the earth.

-But in six months, I found they groaned and

-cried “Amen” a little too often—for nothing

-at all. Then, my next session, I wandered

-about from one kirk to another, and then I

-stayed still. Sometimes I’ve even gone to

-the Catholics.’</p>

-

-<p>‘The Catholics!’ exclaimed Alec, with

-horror. If his friend had said that he had

-occasionally joined in the rites of pagans, and

-had witnessed human sacrifices, he could

-hardly have shocked this son of the Covenanters

-more seriously.</p>

-

-<p>‘Hoots, ay!’ said the Highlander, with a

-half-affected carelessness. ‘There’s a lot o’

-them in Glenstruan.’</p>

-

-<p>‘At home? In the north?’ asked Alec, in

-astonishment.</p>

-

-<p>‘Yes; in out-of-the-way corners there are

-many Catholics. In some parishes there are

-but few Protestants.’</p>

-

-<p>‘How did they come there?’</p>

-

-<p>‘They have always been there.’</p>

-

-<p>It was news to Alec, Scotchman as he was,

-that there are to this day little communities of

-Catholics hidden among the mountains of Ross

-and Inverness, living in glens so secluded that

-one might almost fancy that the fierce storms

-of the sixteenth century had never reached

-them.</p>

-

-<p>Wondering in his heart how it was possible

-that even unlettered Highlanders should have

-clung so long to degrading superstitions, Alec

-descended from his friend’s garret, and set off

-alone for St. Simon’s Free Church. The Free

-Churchmen in the Scotch towns frequently

-name their places of worship after the Apostles,

-not with any idea of honouring the Apostles’

-memory, but solely by way of keeping up a

-healthful and stimulating rivalry with the

-Establishment. Thus we have ‘St. Paul’s,’

-and ‘Free St. Paul’s’—‘St. John’s,’ and ‘Free

-St. John’s’—and so forth.</p>

-

-<p>Alec set out alone, and he felt very lonely

-as he made his way over the sloppy pavements.

-Among all these crowds of respectably-dressed

-people, there was not one face he knew, not

-the least possibility that anyone would give

-him a greeting. He would much rather have

-stayed at home over a pipe and a book, like

-Duncan Cameron; but his conscience would

-have made him miserable for a month if he

-had been guilty of such a crime. The jangling

-of bells filled the murky air. Most places of

-worship in Scotland have a bell, but very few

-have more than one. There is, therefore, no

-reason why each church should not have as

-large and as loud a bell as is consistent with

-the safety of the belfry.</p>

-

-<p>In a short time Alec reached ‘Free St.

-Simon’s,’ a building which outwardly resembled

-an Egyptian temple on a small scale,

-and inwardly a Methodist chapel on a large

-scale. In all essential points the worship was

-exactly a counterpart of that to which he had

-always been accustomed at Muirburn; but the

-details were different. Here the passages were

-covered with matting, and the pews were

-carpeted and cushioned. Hassocks were also

-provided, not for kneeling upon, but for the

-greater comfort of the audience during the

-sermon.</p>

-

-<p>The tall windows on either side of the pulpit

-were composed of painted glass. There were

-no idolatrous representations in the windows;

-only geometrical figures—Alec knew their

-number, and the colour of each one of them,

-intimately.</p>

-

-<p>At Free St. Simon’s the modern habit of

-standing during psalm-singing had been introduced.

-The attitude to be observed at

-prayer was as yet a moot question. Custom

-varied upon the point. The older members

-of the congregation stood up and severely

-regarded their fellow-worshippers, who kept

-their seats, propped their feet on their hassocks,

-put their arms on the book-boards, and

-leant their heads upon their arms. This

-posture Alec found to be highly conducive to

-slumber; and he had much difficulty in keeping

-awake, but he did not care to proclaim

-himself one of the ‘unco guid’ by rising to his

-feet, and protesting in that way against the

-modern laxity of manners.</p>

-

-<p>The prayer was a very long one, but at last

-it was over; and then came a chapter read

-from the Bible, another portion of a psalm,

-and the sermon. The preacher was both a

-good man and a learned one, but oratory was

-not his strong point; and if it had been, he

-might well have been excused for making no

-attempt to exert it at such a time and under

-such circumstances. The text, Alec remembered

-afterwards, was ‘One Lord, one Father

-of all,’ and the sermon was an elaborate

-attempt to prove that the Creator was in no

-proper sense the ‘Father’ of all men, but of

-the elect only. The young student listened

-for a time, and then fell to castle-building,

-an occupation of which he was perilously

-fond.</p>

-

-<p>When the regulation hour-and-a-half had

-come to a close, the congregation was dismissed;

-and Alec Lindsay went back to his

-lodgings, weary, depressed, and discontented.

-After tea there was absolutely nothing for him

-to do. He did not feel inclined to read a

-religious book; and recreations of any kind

-were absolutely forbidden by the religion in

-which he had been brought up. After an

-hour spent in idling about his room, he set

-out to find a church at which there was evening

-service, thinking that to hear another

-sermon would be less wearisome than solitude.</p>

-

-<p>Wandering through the streets, which at

-that hour were almost deserted, he at last

-heard a church bell begin to ring, and following

-the sound he came to a stone building,

-surmounted by a belfry. After a little hesitation,

-Alec Lindsay entered, and was conducted

-by the pew-opener to a seat. The

-area of the building was filled with very high-backed

-pews, set close together, and a large

-gallery ran round three of the walls; but the

-chapel was evidently not a Presbyterian place

-of worship, for on either side of the lofty

-pulpit was a reading-desk, nearly as high as

-the pulpit itself.</p>

-

-<p>Presently the bell stopped, and an organ

-placed in the gallery opposite the pulpit began

-to sound. Then a clergyman in white surplice

-and black stole ascended to the reading-desk

-on the right of the central pulpit, and Alec

-Lindsay knew that he was, for the first time

-in his life, in an ‘Episcopal’ chapel.</p>

-

-<p>The service was conducted in the plainest

-manner possible. The psalms were read, the

-canticles alone being chanted; and the clergyman,

-as he read the prayers, faced the congregation.

-The hymns were of a pronounced

-Evangelical type, and the sternest Calvinist

-could have found no fault with the sermon.

-But to Alec all was so entirely new and

-strange that he sometimes found it difficult to

-remember that he was supposed to be engaged

-in worship.</p>

-

-<p>The prayers were over, and the sermon had

-begun, when Alec noticed, at some little distance,

-a face, the sight of which made his

-hand tremble and his heart beat. It was

-Laura Mowbray. She was sitting alone in

-her corner, her only companion being a maidservant,

-who sat at the door of the pew. Her

-profile was turned towards Alec, its clear white

-outline showing against the dark panelling

-behind her. Almost afraid to look in her

-direction, for fear of attracting her attention,

-or of allowing those sitting near him to guess

-what was passing in his mind, he took only a

-glance now and then at the object of his worship.

-It was worship, rather than love, with

-Alec Lindsay. Courtship, and marriage, and

-the practical considerations which these things

-entail, never entered the boy’s mind. He had

-seen his ideal of beauty, of refinement, of

-feminine grace; and he was content, for the

-present at least, to worship her at a distance,

-himself unseen.</p>

-

-<p>When the service was over, he left the

-chapel, and placed himself at an angle outside

-the gateway, where he could see her as she

-passed out. He recognised her figure as soon

-as it appeared, but to his great disappointment

-her face was turned from him. By chance,

-however, she looked back to see if the maid

-were following her, and for one instant he had

-a full view of her face. It was enough, and

-without a thought of accosting her, Alec went

-home satisfied.</p>

-

-

-<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>

-<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">[2]</a> Old man.</p>

-

-<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="label">[3]</a> Cattle.</p>

-</div>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

-

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span>

-<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="Eight">VIII.</abbr></h3>

-<h4>THE ROARING GAME.</h4>

-</div>

-

-

-<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">When</span> the Christmas holidays drew near, Alec

-obtained his father’s permission to ask his

-friend, Duncan Cameron, to spend a week at

-the Castle Farm; and, after a little hesitation,

-Cameron accepted the proposal.</p>

-

-<p>‘There’s just one thing, Duncan, I would

-like you to mind,’ said Alec, as they drew

-near the farm; ‘my father’s an old man, and

-he doesn’t like to be contradicted. More than

-that, he doesn’t care to hear anyone express

-opinions contrary to his own, at least on two

-subjects—politics and religion. If you can’t

-agree with him on these points, and I dare say

-you won’t, hold your tongue, like a good fellow.

-And my sister—you’d better keep off religion

-in her case too.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’ was

-Cameron’s inward thought; but he only said

-he would of course be careful not to wound

-the old gentleman’s susceptibilities.</p>

-

-<p>Mr. Lindsay received his guest with a

-hearty welcome—it was not one of his faults

-to fail in hospitality—indeed, a stranger might

-have thought that he was better pleased to

-see his guest than his son. He led the way

-through the great stone-floored kitchen to the

-parlour, where an enormous fire of coals was

-blazing, and where the evening meal was

-already laid out on the snowy table-cloth.</p>

-

-<p>‘You had better warm your hands before

-going upstairs,’ he said to Duncan. ‘You

-must have had a very cold drive. Margaret!’

-he called out, finding that his daughter was

-not in the sitting-room. ‘Margaret! where

-are you? Come away at once.’</p>

-

-<p>In his eyes Margaret was a child still. He

-was a little annoyed that she should have

-been out of the way, and not in her place,

-ready to welcome the guest.</p>

-

-<p>Margaret, however, had taken her stand in

-the dairy, which was on the opposite side of

-the passage from the kitchen. She wanted to

-greet her brother in her own way. And Alec,

-as soon as he saw that she was not with his

-father, knew where she was. The dairy had

-been a favourite refuge in their childish days.

-It was a little out of the way, and seldom

-visited, while it commanded a way of retreat

-through the cheese-house.</p>

-

-<p>As soon as his father had taken charge of

-Cameron, Alec hurried back through the

-kitchen, ran along the passage, opened the

-dairy-door, and there, sure enough, was Margaret.</p>

-

-<p>‘Maggie!’ he cried; and the two were fast

-locked in each other’s embrace.</p>

-

-<p>It was but eight weeks since they had

-parted; but they had never been separated

-before.</p>

-

-<p>For a moment neither spoke.</p>

-

-

-<p>‘What made you come here, Maggie?’

-asked Alec, with boyish inconsiderateness.</p>

-

-<p>‘I came for the cream for tea,’ said Margaret.</p>

-

-<p>‘Oh, Maggie!’</p>

-

-<p>‘I did indeed. Go and get me a light.

-Oh, Alec! it has been so lonely without

-you!’</p>

-

-<p>She kissed him again, and pushed him out

-of the dairy. Then she burst into tears. He

-was not so glad to see her as she had been to

-see him. He was changed; she knew he was

-changed, though she had not really seen him.

-He was going to be a man, to grow beyond

-her, to forget, perhaps to despise her. Why

-had he asked why she had come there?

-Surely he might have——</p>

-

-<p>At this point in Margaret’s reflections, Alec

-returned with a candle, and seeing the traces

-of tears on his sister’s cheeks, he turned and

-gave her another hug. She tenderly returned

-the caress; but her first words were:</p>

-

-<p>‘Why did you bring a stranger home with

-you, Alec? And we are to be together such a

-short time, too!’</p>

-

-<p>‘Oh, nonsense, Maggie! Cameron is a great

-friend of mine, and you’ll like him, I’m sure.

-But there’s father calling; we must go.’</p>

-

-<p>Mr. Lindsay had divined what his daughter

-had been doing; but he thought it was now

-quite time that she should come forward and

-play her part as hostess.</p>

-

-<p>‘You go first, Alec,’ she said, taking up the

-cream-jug which she had brought as her excuse

-for her visit to the dairy.</p>

-

-<p>‘And I tell you, sir, that till we have the

-ballot we can have no security against persecution,’

-Mr. Lindsay was exclaiming, as they

-entered the sitting-room. ‘A man cannot

-vote now according to his conscience unless he

-is prepared to risk being driven from his

-home, to lose his very livelihood. Let me

-give you an instance——’</p>

-

-<p>But here Margaret came forward, calm and

-serene as usual. Cameron rose to meet her;

-and the political harangue was cut short by

-the appearance of a stout damsel with cheeks

-like peonies, bearing an enormous silver

-teapot.</p>

-

-<p>Cameron was struck by Margaret Lindsay’s

-beauty, as everyone was who saw her; but

-the effect was to render him shy and ill

-at ease. He felt inferior to her; and the

-calm indifference of her manner made him

-fancy that she treated him with disdain. Mr.

-Lindsay did most of the talking; Cameron,

-mindful of his friend’s warning, sat almost

-dumb, totally unlike his usual self. Alec

-began to think that he had made a mistake in

-inviting him to the Castle Farm.</p>

-

-<p>As it happened, a keen frost had set in some

-days before, and farm operations were at a

-standstill. Margaret was busy next morning

-in superintending matters in the dairy and the

-kitchen; but the three men had nothing to

-do. Mr. Lindsay fastened on his guest, and

-extracted from him a full and particular

-account of the state of agriculture and of

-religion in the island of Scalpa and the

-neighbouring mainland before the one o’clock

-dinner.</p>

-

-<p>In the evening, however, there was a promise

-of a little break in the monotony of life

-at the farm. A message was brought to Alec

-enjoining him to be at ‘The Lang Loch’ by

-half-past nine next morning, and take part in

-a curling-match between the Muirburn parish

-and the players of the neighbouring parish of

-Auchinbyres.</p>

-

-<p>‘You can’t possibly go, Alec,’ said the

-laird, when the message was delivered; ‘Mr.

-Cameron won’t care to hang about here alone

-all day.’</p>

-

-<p>Mr. Lindsay was secretly proud of his son’s

-reputation as a curler; but he did not wish

-him to go to the match, because he did not

-care that he should be exposed to the contaminating

-influences of a very mixed company,

-and he did not relish the prospect of Alec’s

-carrying away his friend and leaving him

-alone for the day. But when Duncan heard

-of the match he declared that he must see it—there

-was hardly ever any frost worth

-speaking of in the Hebrides; and he had

-never seen a curling-match.</p>

-

-<p>‘You’ll want the dog-cart to take your

-stones to the loch, Alec,’ said Mr. Lindsay.

-‘I think I will go with you, and go on to

-Netherburn about those tiles.’</p>

-

-<p>‘I wish you would come with us, Maggie,’

-said Alec. ‘Father will be passing the loch

-on his way back in half an hour, and he can

-pick you up and bring you home. The drive

-will do you good.’</p>

-

-<p>To this arrangement Margaret consented,

-and early next morning the little party set

-out in the keen wintry air. The sun, not

-long risen, was making the snow sparkle on

-the fields, and turning the desolate scene into

-fairyland.</p>

-

-<p>After an hour’s drive they arrived at the

-scene of the match—a sheet of water, on one

-side of which the open moor stretched away to

-the horizon, while on the other side there was

-a thin belt of fir-trees. The ice, two or three

-acres in extent, was covered with a sprinkling

-of snow, which had been carefully cleared from

-the ‘rinks.’ The rinks were sixty or seventy

-yards long by six or eight wide, and they

-showed like pools of black water beside the

-clear white snow.</p>

-

-<p>Already the surface of the little lake was

-dotted with boys on ‘skeitchers,’ as skates

-are called in that part of the country; and

-the margin was fringed with dog-carts from

-which the horses had been removed. The

-stones, circular blocks of granite, nearly a

-foot in diameter, and about five inches thick,

-fitted with brass handles, were lying in order

-on the bank on beds of straw.</p>

-

-<p>Quite a little crowd of farmers, farm-servants,

-and schoolboys were assembled

-beside the stones, waiting till the match

-should begin. Lord Bantock, the chief landowner

-in that part of Kyleshire, was there,

-his red, good-humoured face beaming on

-everybody, his hands thrust into the pockets

-of his knickerbockers, the regulation green

-broom under his arm. Next him stood a

-little spare man in a tall hat. This was

-Johnnie Fergus, draper, ironmonger, guardian

-of the poor, and Free Church deacon in the

-neighbouring village of Auchinbyres.</p>

-

-<p>Nothing was ever done at Auchinbyres

-without Johnnie Fergus having a hand in it.

-He was a man of importance, and he knew

-it. No man had ever seen Johnnie in a

-round hat. He always carried his chin very

-much in the air, and kept his lips well

-pursed up, and spoke in a peremptory tone

-of voice—especially when (as on the present

-occasion) he was in the company of his

-betters.</p>

-

-<p>Next to him stood Hamilton of the Holme,

-a great giant of a man, slow in his movements,

-slow in his speech, wearing the roughest of

-rough tweeds, and boots whose soles were at

-least an inch in thickness. At present, however,

-he was encased as to his lower man in

-enormous stockings, drawn over boots and

-trousers, to prevent him from slipping about

-on the ice; and many of the players were

-arrayed in a similar fashion.</p>

-

-<p>‘Come awa’, Castle Fairm!’ cried one of

-the crowd as Mr. Lindsay drove up. ‘Aw’m

-glaid to see ye; ye play a hantle better nor

-yer son.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Na, na, Muirfuit,’ responded the laird;

-‘my playin’-days are by.’</p>

-

-<p>Meantime Lord Bantock strolled over to

-the dog-cart, his ostensible reason being to

-shake hands with Mr. Lindsay, whom he

-recognised in his fallen state as one of the

-small gentry of the county.</p>

-

-<p>‘Are you going to honour us with your

-presence, Miss Lindsay?’ he asked, as he

-helped Margaret to alight.</p>

-

-<p>‘Only for half an hour,’ she answered, as

-she sprang lightly to the ground. ‘You will

-be back by that time?’ she continued, addressing

-her father.</p>

-

-<p>‘In less than an hour, at any rate,’ he

-answered as he drove away; and Margaret,

-seeing some schoolgirls whom she knew engaged

-in sliding, went off to speak to

-them.</p>

-

-<p>At this point a loud roar of laughter came

-from the group of men standing at the side

-of the loch; and Lord Bantock, who dearly

-loved a joke, hurried back to them.</p>

-

-<p>‘Old Simpson is telling some of his stories;

-let us go and hear him,’ said Alec Lindsay,

-as, passing his arm through his friend’s, he led

-him up to the little crowd.</p>

-

-<p>A tall man with a lean, smooth face, dressed

-in a high hat and black frock-coat, and wearing

-an old-fashioned black silk handkerchief

-round his neck, was standing in a slouching

-attitude, his hands half out of his pockets,

-while the others hung around in silence, waiting

-for his next anecdote.</p>

-

-<p>‘That minds me,’ he was saying, as Alec

-and Cameron came up, ‘that minds me o’

-what auld Craig o’ the Burn-Fuit said to wee

-Jamieson the writer.<a id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> Craig was a dour,<a id="FNanchor_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a>

-ill-tempered man; and though he had never

-fashed the kirk muckle, the minister cam’ to

-see him on one occasion when it was thocht

-he was near his hinner-en’.</p>

-

-<p>‘“Ye’re deein’, Burn-Fuit,” says Maister

-Symie.</p>

-

-<p>‘“No jist yet, minister,” says Craig.</p>

-

-<p>‘“I doot ye’re deein’; an’ it behoves ye to

-mak’ your peace wi’ the haill warl’,” says the

-minister.</p>

-

-<p>‘Craig gied a sigh, as if it was the hardest

-job he could set himself tae. After a heap o’

-talkin’ the minister got him persuaded to see

-Jamieson, who just then was his great enemy—he

-aye had ane or twa o’ them—an’ forgie

-him for some ill-turn the writer had dune

-him. An’ wi’ jist as much persuasion he got

-Jamieson to come to the deein’ man’s bedside,

-and be a pairty to the reconciliation.</p>

-

-<p>‘Sae the twa met, and had a freenly crack

-i’ the minister’s presence. Guid Mr. Symie

-was delighted. As the writer was depairtin’,

-they shook hands.</p>

-

-<p>‘“Guid-day, Maister Jamieson,” says Craig.

-“Ye’ve done me many an ill-turn, but I

-forgie ye. But mind—mind, if I get weel, a’

-this gangs for nowt!”’</p>

-

-<p>A laugh followed the schoolmaster’s story;

-and the group dispersed to see that the

-preparations which were being made on the

-ice were duly performed. A small hole had

-already been bored at each end of the principal

-rink. Each of these was to be in its turn the

-‘tee,’ or mark. At some distance from each

-of the tees, a line called the ‘hog-score’ was

-drawn across the ice. Stones which did not

-pass this line were not to be allowed to count,

-and were to be removed at once from the ice.

-A long piece of wood, with nails driven

-through it at fixed intervals, was now placed

-with one of its ends resting on the tee, and

-held there firmly, while it was slowly turned

-round on the ice. The result of this operation

-was that the ice was marked by circles drawn

-at equal distances from the tee, by which the

-relative distances of two stones from the

-central point could be easily determined.</p>

-

-

-<p>The players having been already selected,

-the match began as soon as this was done.</p>

-

-<p>Alec Lindsay, being one of the youngest

-men present, was told to begin, his adversary

-being Simpson the schoolmaster.</p>

-

-<p>Cameron and Margaret, standing together

-on one side of the players, who assembled at

-one end of the rink, watched Alec, who

-went forward, lifted one of his father’s heavy

-granite stones, and swung it lightly in his

-hand. Meanwhile one of the players from

-his own side had gone to the other side of

-the rink, and holding his broom upright in

-the tee-hole, enabled Alec to form a more

-accurate idea of the distance.</p>

-

-<p>Swinging his stone, Alec stooped down,

-and with no apparent effort ‘placed’ it on

-the ice. Away it sailed with a loud humming

-sound, sweet to a curler’s ear.</p>

-

-<p>Every man eagerly watched its rate of

-speed, while some, running alongside, accompanied

-it on its course.</p>

-

-<p>‘Soop it up! Soop it up!’ cried some of

-the younger members of the Muirburn side;

-and they began to sweep the ice in front of

-the stone with their brooms, so as to expedite

-its progress.</p>

-

-<p>‘Let her alane! She’s comin’ on brawly!’

-cried Hamilton, from the other end of the

-rink, in an authoritative tone. They immediately

-left off sweeping; and two of the

-Auchinbyres men, acting on the principle that

-if the stone had, from the Muirburn players’

-point of view, just enough way on it, they had

-better give it a little more, began to ply their

-brooms vigorously in front of it.</p>

-

-<p>These attentions, however, did no harm.

-The stone glided up towards the tee, slackened

-its speed, and finally stopped, exactly where it

-ought to have stopped, about a foot in front

-of the mark.</p>

-

-<p>A slight cheer greeted this good shot; and

-‘Ye’ll mak’ as guid a player as your faither,

-Alec!’ from one of the bystanders made Margaret’s

-face flush with pleasure.</p>

-

-<p>It was now the schoolmaster’s turn. One of

-his side took Hamilton’s place as pilot; and

-the old man, playing with even less apparent

-effort than Alec had used, sent his stone right

-in the face of his adversary’s. The speed was

-so nicely graduated that Alec’s stone was

-disposed of for good, while Simpson’s stone

-occupied almost exactly the spot on which

-Alec’s had formerly rested.</p>

-

-<p>Again Hamilton advanced to lend the young

-player his advice, while Alec took up his

-remaining stone, and went to the front. He

-sent a well-aimed shot, but rather too powerfully

-delivered, and the adversaries of course

-hastened to make it worse by sweeping. The

-stone struck Simpson’s slightly on one side,

-sending it to the left, while it went on towards

-the right, and finally stopped considerably to

-the right of the tee, but near enough to make

-it worth guarding. The schoolmaster’s next

-shot was not a success. His stone went between

-the two which were already on the ice,

-and passing over the tee landed about two

-feet beyond it.</p>

-

-

-<p>This gave a chance to the Muirburn men.

-Their next player placed his stone a long way

-from the tee, but right in front of Alec’s, so

-that it was impossible, or almost impossible,

-to dislodge the latter without first getting rid

-of the former. To him succeeded Johnnie

-Fergus; and he, preferring his own judgment

-before that of the official guide, played the

-guard full on, with the result that he sent it

-well into the inner circle, while his own stone

-formed a very efficient guard for that of his

-enemy. As every stone which, at the end of

-the round, is found nearer the tee than anyone

-belonging to a player of the opposite side

-counts for one point, the Muirburn men had

-now two stones in a position to score; and

-they patiently surrounded them with guards,

-which the Auchinbyres players knocked away

-whenever they could. So the game went

-with varying success, till only one pair of

-players was left for that round—Hamilton,

-playing for Muirburn, and Lord Bantock, who

-belonged to the enemy.</p>

-

-

-<p>Things at that moment were very bad for

-the Muirburn men. Four stones belonging

-to the opposite side were nearer the tee than

-any one of their own; while a formidable

-array of guards lined the ice in front of

-them.</p>

-

-<p>Hamilton went and studied the situation

-carefully. Then he went back, and played

-his first shot.</p>

-

-<p>‘Soop it! Soop it! Soop it!’ roared the

-schoolmaster, flourishing his broom, and dancing

-like a maniac. He alone, of the Auchinbyres

-players, understood the object of the

-shot, and saw that it could only be defeated,

-if at all, by giving it a little extra impetus.

-But the advice came too late. The brooms

-were plied before it like lightning, but the

-stone came stealing up like a live thing, and

-just avoiding an outlying guard, gave a knock

-to one stone at such an angle that the impetus

-was communicated to a second and from it to

-a third, while it took the third place, thus

-cutting off two of the adversaries’ points.</p>

-

-

-<p>‘Noo, m’ lord, a wee thocht tae the richt o’

-this,’ said Johnnie Fergus, as he stooped down

-and held his broom over the spot where he

-desired Lord Bantock’s stone should come in.</p>

-

-<p>But Lord Bantock had been given the place

-of honour as last player more out of consideration

-for his rank than for his skill. He

-played with far too much force, and sent his

-stone smashing on one of the outside guards,

-from which it rushed to the side of the rink

-and disappeared.</p>

-

-<p>‘Did I no tell ye no to pit that sumph at the

-tail?’ quoth Johnnie in an undertone of deep

-disgust, as he rose from his stooping posture.</p>

-

-<p>‘Haud your tongue, man! I’ve seen his

-lordship play as weel as ony deacon amang

-ye,’ said the leader, angry at being suspected

-of unduly favouring the great man.</p>

-

-<p>But with a cry of expectation from the

-crowd, Hamilton’s second stone left his hand

-and came spinning over the ice, right in the

-track of its predecessor. A roar went up

-from the players, as the Muirburn men rushed

-forward, and distributing themselves over the

-path which the stone had to traverse, polished

-it till the ice was like glass. The stone came

-in beautifully, displaced the best stone, and

-took the first place, by cannoning off another

-of the enemy.</p>

-

-<p>A loud hurrah greeted this feat, and Lord

-Bantock stepped forward, determined to do

-something to redeem his reputation, which he

-knew had suffered from the result of his

-former effort.</p>

-

-<p>An old farmer ran as fast as his years

-would permit to offer his lordship a word of

-advice before the last shot was fired.</p>

-

-<p>‘All right, Blackwater,’ said Lord Bantock,

-with a nod, as he planted his feet firmly on

-the ice, and gripped the handle of his stone,

-as if he would bend the brass. Away went

-the stone with a rush, and a roar from the

-crowd. Crash—crash—it struck against one

-and another; but it had force enough to go

-on. Smash it came among the group of

-stones, sending them flying in all directions,

-while everybody jumped aside to avoid a

-collision. It was not a first-rate shot; but it

-was successful. The first, second, third, fourth,

-and fifth stones were knocked, or rather knocked

-one another, out of the way. Lord Bantock’s

-stone itself went right ahead, ploughing a

-path for itself in the snow beyond the rink.

-Alec’s second stone, long since considered to

-be out of the running, was found to be half

-an inch nearer the tee than any one belonging

-to the other side; and the Muirburn men

-accordingly scored one towards the game.</p>

-

-<p>At the other rinks, meanwhile, subsidiary

-contests were in full progress, and the scene

-was a very animated one. It was, however,

-very cold work for bystanders, and Cameron,

-as he saw that his companion was shivering

-in spite of her winter clothing, proposed to

-Alec that Margaret and himself should set out

-at once for the farm, leaving Mr. Lindsay to

-overtake them when he returned. To this

-arrangement Alec of course assented, and

-Margaret and Cameron set off together.</p>

-

-

-<p>Most young men would have been glad to

-be in Cameron’s place; but the Highlander

-felt very ill at ease. He began to seek for

-a subject which might be supposed to be

-interesting to a girl, and dismissed one after

-another as totally unsuitable. The silence

-continued, and the young man was nearly in

-despair, when Margaret, totally unconscious of

-any embarrassment, came to his assistance.</p>

-

-<p>‘That is the way to Drumclog,’ she said,

-pointing to a moorland road which crossed

-their path; ‘Alec and you ought to walk

-over some day.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Is there anything to see there?’ inquired

-her companion.</p>

-

-<p>‘Have you never heard of the Battle of

-Drumclog?’ asked the girl in surprise.</p>

-

-<p>The Highlander was obliged to confess that

-he had not.</p>

-

-<p>‘Have you never read of the persecutions of

-the Covenanters, and Graham of Claverhouse,

-and the martyrs?’ asked Margaret again, with

-wonder in her eyes.</p>

-

-

-<p>‘Oh yes, of course; but I didn’t know that

-these things happened in this part of the

-country.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Yes,’ said Margaret. ‘The Martyrs’ Cairn

-is only a little way beyond Blackwater. You

-know the Covenanters were not allowed to

-worship in their own way, and they used to

-meet in hollows of the hills and on the open

-moors. The country was full of soldiers, sent

-to keep down the people; and when the

-Covenanters went to the preaching, they used

-to take arms with them. One Sabbath morning

-a large number of them were attending a

-service on the lonely moor at Drumclog when

-the English soldiers, who had somehow heard

-of the gathering, bore down upon them. They

-were dragoons, led by “the bloody Claverhouse,”

-as they call him to this day. Providentially

-there was a bog in front of the

-Covenanters. The horses of the dragoons

-could not cross it; and those soldiers who did

-cross at last were beaten off by the Covenanters,

-and many of them were killed.’</p>

-

-

-<p>‘I remember it now,’ said Cameron; ‘I have

-read about it in “Old Mortality.”’</p>

-

-<p>‘The most unfair book that ever was

-written!’ exclaimed Margaret with some heat—‘a

-book that every true Scotchman should

-be ashamed of.’</p>

-

-<p>‘I don’t see that,’ returned Cameron; ‘I

-think Sir Walter held the balance very fairly.’</p>

-

-<p>‘He simply turns the Covenanters into

-ridicule and tries to make his readers

-sympathize with the persecutors,’ said Margaret.</p>

-

-<p>‘Well, you can’t deny that a good many of

-them <em>were</em> ridiculous,’ said Cameron lightly.</p>

-

-<p>‘And you have no sympathy for these

-brave men who won our liberties for us with

-their blood!’ exclaimed the girl.</p>

-

-<p>‘I don’t say that,’ said the young Highlander

-cautiously; ‘but I’m not so sure about

-their having won our liberties for us,’ he

-added with a laugh. ‘There wasn’t much

-liberty in the Highlands when <em>their</em> King got

-the upper hand.’</p>

-

-

-<p>Then he tried to change the subject; but

-Margaret answered him only in monosyllables.

-This daughter of the Covenanters could not

-forgive anyone who refused to consider those

-who took part in the petty rebellion of the

-west as heroes and martyrs. She made their

-cause her own, and decided that Cameron was

-thenceforth to be regarded as a ‘malignant.’</p>

-

-<p>As for Cameron, he mentally banned the

-whole tribe of Covenanters, as well as his own

-folly in offering any opposition to Margaret’s

-prejudices; and before he could make his

-peace with her Mr. Lindsay drove up, and the

-<i lang="fr">tête-à-tête</i> came to an end.</p>

-

-<p>Duncan Cameron had felt the spell of

-Margaret’s beauty, as everyone did who

-approached her. But he had made a bad

-beginning in his intercourse with her, and he

-now felt a strong sense of repulsion mingling

-with his admiration. It was not only that he

-despised her narrowness of mind; there was

-between the two something of the old antagonism

-between Cavalier and Puritan. For

-the rest of his stay at Castle Farm he avoided

-meeting her alone, and only spoke to her

-when ordinary politeness required it. And

-yet, whenever she addressed him, he felt that

-the fascination of her beauty was as strong as

-ever. When Alec came home on the day of

-the curling-match, and shouted out in triumph

-that Muirburn had won, Margaret’s eyes

-flashed, and her cheek flushed in sympathy;

-and Cameron, watching her, forgot that she

-had not forgiven him for his lack of sympathy

-with the men of Drumclog.</p>

-

-

-<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>

-<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="label">[4]</a> A lawyer.</p>

-

-<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_5" href="#FNanchor_5" class="label">[5]</a> Hard.</p>

-</div>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

-

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span>

-<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="Nine">IX.</abbr></h3>

-<h4>THE END OF THE SESSION.</h4>

-</div>

-

-

-<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">At</span> the end of the appointed week the two

-young men returned to Glasgow, and braced

-themselves up for the remaining four months

-of work. At the northern Universities the

-academic year ends (except for a few supplementary

-medical classes) with the 1st of May.

-Alec Lindsay had a great deal of leeway to

-make up, as he had never had a proper

-grounding in either Latin or Greek; but he

-did his best, and felt pretty sure of being able

-to take at least one prize.</p>

-

-<p>Of course he found his way back to the

-Church of England chapel at which he had

-seen Miss Mowbray; and on more than one

-occasion he was gratified by a sight of her.

-As to the Anglican form of worship, he regarded

-it with very mixed feelings. He was

-pleased by the stately simplicity of the collects,

-and by the rhythm of the chants. The

-service was free from the monotony of the

-Presbyterian form, and it was more ‘congregational’

-than anything to which he had been

-accustomed. But it was some time before he

-could divest himself of the idea that he was

-witnessing a kind of religious entertainment,

-ingeniously devised and interesting, but by no

-means tending to edification. He felt like his

-countrywoman, who when taken to a service

-at Westminster Abbey said afterwards: ‘It

-was very fine—but eh! that was an awfu’ way

-o’ spending the Sabbath!’ The voice of conscience

-is as loud when it condemns the

-infraction of a rule founded only in prejudice

-as when it protests against a breach of the

-moral law itself; and for several Sunday

-evenings Alec Lindsay left the chapel with

-the feeling that he had been guilty of a misdemeanour—he

-had been playing at worship.

-The unexpressed idea in his mind (a result of

-his Presbyterian training) was that collects, and

-chants, and ceremonial observances in general,

-were too interesting, too pleasing to the natural

-man, to be acceptable to the Almighty. But

-by degrees this feeling wore off; and when he

-became familiar with the Prayer-book, he

-found that it was an aid rather than a hindrance

-to devotion.</p>

-

-<p>The end of the session drew near; and the

-April sun shone clear and fair through the

-smoke-cloud of Glasgow. It was a Saturday

-afternoon, and Alec determined to console

-himself for the loss of a long walk, for which

-he could not afford time, by putting a book in

-his pocket, and taking a stroll in the park.</p>

-

-<p>Those who are most attached to the country

-care least for parks. A piece of enclosed and

-tended pleasure-ground, whether it is large or

-small, always affects the lover of nature with a

-sense of restraint, of formality, of the substitution

-of an imitation for a reality. Trim

-gravelled walks are but a poor substitute for a

-grass-grown lane; a neglected hedgerow, a bit

-of moorland, or even a corner of a common,

-will hold more that is beautiful, more that is

-interesting to one who loves the open country,

-than acres of park, with all their flower-plots

-and ticketed specimens of foreign shrubs; for

-in a thorn hedge or a mound of furze one

-recognises the inexpressible charm that Nature

-only possesses when she is left to work by

-herself.</p>

-

-<p>Yet, to a dweller in cities, parks are worth

-having. They are, at least, infinitely better than

-the streets. So, at least, thought Alec Lindsay

-this April afternoon, as he wandered along the

-deserted pathway, under the budding trees.

-Glasgow is fortunate in at least one of its

-parks. The enclosure is of small extent, but

-then it is not merely a square of ground

-planted with weedy young trees and intersected

-by roads. It is a bit of the valley of the

-Kelvin; and it includes one side of a steep

-rising-ground which is crowned by handsome

-houses of stone. The little river itself is

-always dirty, and in summer is little better

-than a sewer with the roof off; but seen from

-a little distance it is picturesque, and lends

-variety to the scene.</p>

-

-<p>Alec was wandering along one of the pathways,

-watching the sunlight playing in the

-yet leafless branches, and trying to cheat

-himself into the idea that his mind was filled

-with Roman history; when suddenly he found

-himself face to face with—Laura Mowbray.

-She was dressed, not in winter garments,

-though the air was cold, but in light, soft

-colours, which made her look different from

-the Scotch damsels whom Alec had seen in

-the streets. She seemed the impersonation

-of the spring as she slowly approached Alec

-with a smile on her face. Of course he stopped

-to speak to her.</p>

-

-<p>‘I have come out for a turn in the park, for

-I really couldn’t bear to stay shut up in the

-house on such a glorious day,’ said Laura.

-‘Uncle wouldn’t come with me, though I

-teased him ever so long. He said he was

-very busy; but I think people sometimes

-make a pretence of being studious,’ and she

-glanced at Alec’s note-book as she spoke.</p>

-

-<p>Alec laughed and thrust the book into his

-pocket, and turning round walked on slowly

-by the girl’s side.</p>

-

-<p>‘If you had an exam. to prepare for, you

-wouldn’t much care whether people thought

-you studious or not,’ he said.</p>

-

-<p>‘How is your uncle?’ asked Laura.</p>

-

-<p>‘I’m sure I can’t tell.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Can’t tell! You wicked, unnatural creature!

-I am quite shocked at you.’</p>

-

-<p>‘He was very well when I saw him last—that

-is, about three months ago—with the

-exception of a fearfully bad temper.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Don’t you know that it is highly unbecoming

-of you to speak of anyone older than

-yourself in that disrespectful way?’</p>

-

-<p>But Laura’s look hardly seconded her words;

-and Alec went on:</p>

-

-<p>‘It is quite true, though. I wonder Aunt

-Jean can put up with him.’</p>

-

-

-<p>‘Who is Aunt Jean? Miss Lindsay? The

-lady who lives with your uncle and keeps

-house for him?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Yes.’</p>

-

-<p>‘She is a relation of your uncle’s, isn’t she?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Oh yes; a cousin in some degree or other.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Mr. Lindsay never married, I believe,’

-said Miss Mowbray.</p>

-

-<p>‘No; he has no relations nearer than’—‘nearer

-than I am,’ he was going to have

-said; but he stopped and substituted—‘nearer

-than nephews and nieces.’</p>

-

-<p>‘And he has plenty of them, I suppose?

-All Scotch people seem to have so many

-relations; it is quite bewildering.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Uncle James is my father’s uncle, you

-understand,’ said Alec; ‘and there are only

-two in our family, my sister and I; that is

-not so very many.’</p>

-

-<p>‘No. But have you really a sister?’ exclaimed

-Laura, turning round so as to face

-her companion for an instant.</p>

-

-<p>‘Yes, one sister: Margaret.’</p>

-

-

-<p>‘How lucky you are! I have no brothers

-or sisters; I have only my uncle. How I

-wish I knew your sister! And Margaret is

-such a pretty name.’</p>

-

-<p>‘It is common enough, anyway.’</p>

-

-<p>‘But not commonplace; oh! not at all

-commonplace. If I had a sister I would call

-her Margaret, whatever her real name might

-be. By the way, have you seen Mr. Semple

-since that night of the dinner-party?’</p>

-

-<p>‘No.’</p>

-

-<p>‘And you don’t seem very sorry for it?’

-said the girl, with a little smile.</p>

-

-<p>‘No; I can’t say I care much for Cousin

-James.’</p>

-

-<p>‘<em>He</em> is a relation of Mr. Lindsay, too, isn’t

-he?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Yes; his mother was a Lindsay, a niece

-of my grand-uncle’s. He is in the oil-works;

-and I dare say he will become manager of

-them some day.’</p>

-

-<p>Miss Mowbray was silent for a few moments;

-then she stopped and hesitated.</p>

-

-

-<p>‘Do you know, I don’t think I ought to

-allow you to walk with me in this way.

-Suppose we were to meet anyone we

-knew!’</p>

-

-<p>Alec flushed to the roots of his hair.</p>

-

-<p>‘I beg your pardon!’ he exclaimed.</p>

-

-<p>‘Oh, I don’t mind; but—Mrs. Grundy,

-you know.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Do you know that you can see Ben Lomond

-from the top of the hill?’ said Alec, suddenly

-changing the subject.</p>

-

-<p>‘No; <em>really</em>?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Yes; won’t you let me show it to you?

-It’s a beautiful view, and only a few steps

-off.’</p>

-

-<p>Miss Mowbray seemed to forget her scruples,

-for she allowed herself to be led up a narrow

-winding path, fringed with young trees, which

-led to the top of the rising ground.</p>

-

-<p>‘If I had known you a little longer,’ began

-Laura, with some hesitation, ‘I think I would

-have ventured to give you a little bit of my

-mind.’</p>

-

-

-<p>‘About what?’ asked Alec with sudden

-eagerness.</p>

-

-<p>Laura shook her head gravely.</p>

-

-<p>‘I fear you would be offended if I were to

-speak of it,’ she said.</p>

-

-<p>‘Indeed I would not. Nothing you could

-say could offend me.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Well, if you will promise to forgive me if

-I <em>should</em> offend you——’</p>

-

-<p>‘You couldn’t offend me if you tried,’ said

-Alec warmly.</p>

-

-<p>‘Then I will tell you what I was thinking

-of. I don’t think you should neglect your

-grand-uncle as you do.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Neglect!’</p>

-

-<p>‘Yes. It is not kind or dutiful.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Neglect! My dear Miss Mowbray, you

-are altogether mistaken. We can’t neglect

-those who don’t want us. He hasn’t the

-slightest wish, I assure you, to see me dangling

-about him.’</p>

-

-<p>‘There! You promised not to be offended;

-and you are!’</p>

-

-

-<p>‘Indeed I am not.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Yes, you are. I won’t say another word.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Oh, Miss Mowbray! How can you think

-I am offended? What have I said to make

-you fancy such a thing? On the contrary,

-I think it so very, very good of you to take

-so much interest——’</p>

-

-<p>Here Alec stopped, for he saw that his

-companion was blushing, and that somehow

-he had made a mess of things. He had not

-yet learned that some species of gratitude

-cannot find fitting expression in words.</p>

-

-<p>‘I think it is my turn to say that I have

-offended you,’ he said after a pause.</p>

-

-<p>Laura laughed—such a pleasant, rippling

-laugh!</p>

-

-<p>‘It is getting quite too involved. Let us

-pass an Act of Oblivion, and forget all about

-it.’</p>

-

-<p>‘But if you think I ought to call on my

-uncle,’ began Alec—‘no; don’t shake your

-head. Tell me what you really think I ought

-to do.’</p>

-

-

-<p>‘Do you like Miss Lindsay?’ asked Laura,

-without replying to the question.</p>

-

-<p>‘Aunt Jean? Yes; much better than I

-like Uncle James.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Then you can go to see <em>her</em> now and then;

-and when you are in the house go into your

-uncle’s room and ask how he is, if he is at

-home. We ought not only to visit people for

-our own pleasure, but sometimes because it is

-our duty to do so.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Yes, you are quite right; and I will do

-what you say. But here we are at the top

-of the hill. What a delightful breeze, isn’t

-it? Do you see that blue cloud in the

-distance, just a little deeper in tint than those

-about it?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Yes; I see it.’</p>

-

-<p>‘That is Ben Lomond, nearly four thousand

-feet high.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Really?’ said Miss Mowbray; but there

-was not much enthusiasm in her voice.</p>

-

-<p>Alec, on the contrary, stood, in a kind of

-rapture which made him forget for the moment

-even the girl at his side. The sight of distant

-mountains always affected him with a kind of

-strange, delicious melancholy—unrest mingling

-with satisfaction, such as that which filled the

-heart of Christian when from afar he caught

-a glimpse of the shining towers of the celestial

-city.</p>

-

-<p>The English girl watched the look in the

-young Scotchman’s face with wonder not unmixed

-with amusement. When with a sigh

-Alec turned to his companion, she, too, was

-gazing on the far-off mountain-top.</p>

-

-<p>‘I really must go now,’ she said softly,

-holding out her hand.</p>

-

-<p>‘May I not go to the park-gate with

-you?’</p>

-

-<p>Laura shook her head; but her smile was

-bright enough to take the sting from her

-refusal.</p>

-

-<p>‘Good-bye.’</p>

-

-<p>And in another moment Alec was alone.</p>

-

-<p>The sun had gone out of his sky. He sat

-down on a bench, and began to wonder how

-he had dared to converse familiarly with one

-so beautiful, so refined, so far removed from

-his ordinary friends, as Laura Mowbray.

-Then he recalled her great goodness in

-interesting herself in his concerns, and of

-course he resolved to follow her advice. He

-could think of nothing but Laura Mowbray

-the whole afternoon. He recalled her looks,

-her smile, her lightest word. To him they

-were treasures, to be hidden for ever from

-every human eye but his own; and in every

-look and word he found a new ground for

-admiration, a new proof of Miss Mowbray’s

-intelligence, sweetness, and goodness.</p>

-

-<p>Next week he acted upon her suggestion,

-and paid a visit to Blythswood Square. He

-was received by Miss Lindsay, a tall, spare,

-large-featured woman, whose gray hair was

-bound down severely under her old-fashioned

-cap.</p>

-

-<p>‘Weel, Alec; an’ what brings you here?’

-was her greeting, as she held out her hand

-without troubling herself to rise.</p>

-

-

-<p>‘Nothing particular: why do you ask?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Ye come sae seldom; it’s no often we hae

-the pleasure o’ a veesit frae you.’</p>

-

-<p>‘I canna say much for my attentions, Aunt

-Jean; but then I canna say much for your

-welcome,’ returned Alec, flushing as he

-spoke.</p>

-

-<p>‘Hoots, laddie! sit doon an’ behave yersel’.

-My bark’s waur nor my bite.’</p>

-

-<p>‘And how’s my uncle?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Much as usual. I don’t think he’s overly

-weel pleased wi’ you, Alec, my man.’</p>

-

-<p>‘What have I done now?’</p>

-

-<p>‘It’s no your daein’; it’s your no-daein’.

-Ye never look near him.’</p>

-

-<p>‘He doesn’t want to be bothered with me.’</p>

-

-<p>The door opened, and the master of the

-house came in. He gave Alec his hand with

-his usual dry, consequential air, and hardly

-looking at him, made some indifferent remark

-to his cousin.</p>

-

-<p>‘Here’s Alec sayin’ he doesna believe you

-want to be bothered wi’ him,’ she said.</p>

-

-

-<p>The old man seated himself deliberately,

-and made no disclaimer of the imputation.</p>

-

-<p>‘You’ll be going home for the summer?’

-he asked.</p>

-

-<p>‘Yes; I am going home at the end of the

-month; but I should like to get a tutorship

-for the summer, if I could.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Humph!’</p>

-

-<p>‘What are you going to be?’ asked Mr.

-Lindsay after a pause—‘a doctor, or a

-minister, or what?’</p>

-

-<p>‘I don’t know yet,’ said Alec.</p>

-

-<p>His uncle sniffed contemptuously.</p>

-

-<p>‘A rowin’ stane gethers nae fog,’<a id="FNanchor_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> put in

-Aunt Jean.</p>

-

-<p>Alec changed the subject; but his grand-uncle

-soon returned to it.</p>

-

-<p>‘The sooner ye mak’ up yer mind the

-better, my lad,’ said the old man. ‘Would

-you like to go into the oil-works?’ he added,

-as if it were an after-thought.</p>

-<p>‘I hardly know, sir. I would like another

-year at College first,’ said Alec. ‘But thank

-you all the same, Uncle James;’ and as he

-spoke he rose to take his leave.</p>

-

-<p>Mr. Lindsay paid no sort of attention to

-the latter part of the reply. He took up a

-newspaper, and adjusting his spectacles began

-to read it, almost before the lad had turned

-his back.</p>

-

-<p>In another week the session was practically

-at an end. The prize-list, settled by the

-votes of the students themselves, showed

-that Alec had won the fourth prize, which

-in a class numbering nearly two hundred

-was a proof of at least a fair amount of application;

-and he also won an extra prize for

-Roman History.</p>

-

-<p>‘You don’t seem much elated,’ said Cameron

-to his friend, when he brought home the

-splendidly-bound volumes of nothing in

-particular. ‘You’ve either less ambition or

-more sense than I gave you credit for.’</p>

-

-<p>‘I expected something better,’ said Alec.

-‘Self-conceit, you should have said, not sense,

-Duncan.’</p>

-

-<p>If Alec were conceited he got little to feed

-his vanity at home. His father looked at

-the books, praised the binding, asked how

-many prizes were given in the class, and said

-no more. Secretly he was gratified by his

-son’s success; but it was one of his principles

-to discourage vainglory in his children by

-never, under any circumstances, speaking

-favourably of their performances. No one

-would have guessed from Alec’s manner that

-he cared a straw whether any praise was

-awarded to him or not; but he felt none

-the less keenly the absence of his father’s

-commendation.</p>

-

-<p>The month of May went by slowly at the

-Castle Farm. Alec was longing for change

-of occupation and change of scene. One

-morning he chanced to notice an advertisement

-which he thought it worth while to

-answer. A Glasgow merchant, whose wife

-and daughters had persuaded him to spend

-four months of the year at the seaside, wished

-to find some one to read with his boys three

-hours a day, that they might not forget in

-summer all that they had learned in winter.

-For this service he was prepared to pay the

-munificent sum of five guineas a month. As

-it happened, the merchant’s address was a

-tiny watering-place on the Frith of Clyde,

-where Mr. James Lindsay had a large ‘marine

-villa.’</p>

-

-<p>In reply to Alec’s letter, the advertiser,

-Mr. Fraser, asked only one question, whether

-the applicant were a relation of Mr. James

-Lindsay of Drumleck. Alec replied that he

-was, and was forthwith engaged.</p>

-

-<p>For once Alec had taken a step which

-pleased his father. The laird commended

-his son’s intention of earning his own living

-during the summer; and Alec fancied that

-his father used towards him a tone of greater

-consideration than he had ever adopted before.

-Margaret was much chagrined at her brother

-leaving home so soon after his return; but

-she did not say a word on the subject. She

-knew she had not reason on her side; and

-she was too proud to show her mortification.

-It might have been better if she had spoken

-her mind; for a coolness sprang up between

-brother and sister, which even the parting

-did not quite remove.</p>

-

-

-<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>

-<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_6" href="#FNanchor_6" class="label">[6]</a> Moss.</p>

-</div>

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

-

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</span>

-<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="Ten">X.</abbr></h3>

-<h4>ARROCHAR.</h4>

-</div>

-

-

-<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">The</span> Clyde is not, except in the neighbourhood

-of Lanark, a particularly interesting river.

-When Scotchmen talk of the scenery of the

-Clyde they are thinking, not of the river, but

-of the frith which bears its name. When

-Alec Lindsay set out for Arrochar to enter

-upon his duties as tutor to Mr. Fraser’s boys,

-he embarked at Glasgow; and he was much

-disappointed to find that for the first part of

-his journey there was little to satisfy his love

-of the picturesque.</p>

-

-<p>The day was gloomy; there were but few

-passengers on board the <i>Chancellor</i>. For a

-long way the narrow stream flowed between

-dull level fields. When it became broader

-there appeared a long dyke adorned with red

-posts surmounted by barrels, built in the

-channel to mark the passage. This did not

-add to the beauty of the scene. Now and

-then the steamer met one of her own class on

-its homeward journey; sometimes she overtook

-a queer, melancholy-looking, floating

-dredger, or a vessel outward-bound, towed by

-a small and abominably dirty tug-boat.</p>

-

-<p>But about twenty miles below Glasgow the

-scene changed. A wide expanse of water

-stretched away to the horizon. On the left

-lay a large town over which hung a dense

-cloud of smoke, but away to the west, beyond

-the blue water, could be seen the bold bases

-of steep hills rising from the sea itself, their

-summits being hidden in the clouds. At

-Greenock all was life and bustle. Several

-steamers plying to different points of the coast

-lay at the pier, and a crowd of passengers who

-had come by train from Glasgow streamed

-down from the railway-station to meet them.</p>

-

-<p>Alec stood on the bridge watching them

-with considerable amusement. Here was a

-group of elderly maiden ladies, sisters probably,

-to whom their month ‘at the salt

-water’ was the great event of the year.

-After much debate they had decided to go to

-Kilcreggan this year, instead of to Rothesay.

-Each carried an armful of wraps, small baskets,

-and brown-paper parcels, and each rushed to a

-separate steamer, as if thinking it more desirable

-that one at least should be right than

-that all should be wrong. Each appealed

-excitedly to a porter for directions, and eventually

-all assembled at the gangway of the

-proper steamer. But the combined evidence

-of the porters was insufficient. Each of the

-three travellers made a separate demand, one

-on the master, another on the chief officer, and

-a third upon the steward, in order to know

-whether the steamer was really going to Kilcreggan.

-At last they were satisfied, settled

-themselves with their belongings in a sheltered

-corner, and began to eat Abernethy biscuits.</p>

-

-<p>Then came a whole family—an anxious

-mother, an aunt more anxious than the

-mother, two servants, and six children, who

-were running in different ways at once, and

-had to be manœuvred on board like so many

-young pigs. As soon as they were shipped,

-two of them immediately made for the engine-room,

-while the others rushed to the bulwarks,

-and craned their necks over the side as far

-as they possibly could without losing their

-balance.</p>

-

-<p>In one corner was a little band of rosy

-school-girls in tweed frocks and straw hats,

-cumbered with a collection of novels, tennis-bats,

-and fishing-rods. Here and there were

-one or two gigantic Celts returning to the hill

-country, while a few pale-faced young men

-stepped on board with knapsacks on their

-shoulders. But the male passengers were few

-at this hour of the day. A few hours later

-the steamers would be black with men leaving

-the roar and worry of the city to sleep under

-the shadow of the hills.</p>

-

-<p>At length the bells clanged for the last

-time; the gangways were pushed on shore;

-the old lady who always delays her departure

-till that period made her appearance, and was

-somehow hoisted on board; the escape-pipes

-ceased their roaring; and one after another

-the steamers glided off upon the bosom of the

-frith.</p>

-

-<p>And now, suddenly, the sun shone out,

-showing that the sea was not a level plain of

-water, but covered with a million dancing

-wavelets. The sunshine travelled westward

-over the sea, and Alec followed it with his

-eyes. It rested on the distant hills, and then

-the haze that covered them melted away, and

-they revealed themselves, dim in outline,

-violet-coloured, magnified in the mist. As

-the steamer drew nearer them it became plain

-that the nearer hills were much lower than

-those beyond, and that many of them were

-covered with pines up to a certain height.

-Above the woods they were often black—that

-was where the old heather had been

-burnt to make room for the young shoots, or

-light brown—that was where masses of last

-year’s bracken lay; sometimes they were white

-with glistening rocks, or green from never-failing

-springs.</p>

-

-<p>And now it could be seen that between the

-woods and the seashore ran a white road, and

-that the coast was dotted for miles with

-houses, of all shapes and sizes, each standing

-in its own ground, and sheltered by its own

-green leaves. There was no town anywhere—nothing

-approaching to one; but every

-three or four miles a few houses were built

-in a little row, affording accommodation for

-a grocer’s and a baker’s shop; and opposite

-the shops there was invariably a white wooden

-pier, affording an outlet to the rest of the world.</p>

-

-<p>Soon after crossing the frith, the <i>Chancellor</i>

-made for one of these landing-places. Round

-the pier there swarmed half a dozen pleasure-boats

-of all sizes, some the merest cockleshells,

-navigated (not unskilfully) by mariners

-who were barely big enough to make the oars

-move through the water.</p>

-

-

-<p>The rocky shore was adorned with groups

-of girls who were drying their hair after their

-morning’s dip in the sea, and dividing their

-attention between their novels, their little

-brothers in the boats just mentioned, and the

-approaching steamer. The water being deep

-close to the edge of the rocky coast, the pier

-was a very short one; and Alec Lindsay,

-looking over the edge, through the green

-water swirling round the piles of the pier,

-could see the pebbles on the shore twenty

-feet below.</p>

-

-<p>Ropes were thrown out and caught, and

-hawsers were dragged ashore by their aid.

-With these the steamer was made fast at

-stem and stern, gangways were run on board,

-and a score of passengers disembarked. In

-another minute the steamer had been cast

-loose and had gone on her way. The pier,

-the pleasure-boats, the girls on the rocks,

-the white dusty road, the hedges of fuchsia,

-had disappeared. In a quarter of an hour

-another pier had been reached where exactly

-the same scene presented itself. No town, no

-promenade, no large hotels—not even a row

-of public bathing-machines, or a German

-band.</p>

-

-<p>After three or four stoppages the <i>Chancellor</i>

-began to get fairly into Loch Long. The

-hills on either side were not high, and were

-covered only with grass and heather; but

-they had, nevertheless, a certain quiet beauty.

-It seemed as if they made a world of their

-own, and as if they were contemptuously indifferent

-to the foolish beings who came among

-them for an hour in their impudent, puffing

-steamer, and were gone like a cloud. Right

-in front was one bold eminence, perhaps a

-thousand or twelve hundred feet high, which

-divided the waters of the upper part of Loch

-Long from those of Loch Goil on the west.

-Gazing at its weather-beaten rocks and its

-sketches of silent moorland, one could hardly

-help tasting that renovating draught—the

-sense that one has reached a place where man

-is as nothing, a sphere which is but nominally

-under his sway, where he comes and goes, but

-leaves behind him no mark upon the face of

-nature.</p>

-

-<p>Leaving this eminence upon the left, the

-channel became narrower, and the inlet seemed

-to be completely land-locked. In front the

-nearer hills seemed to lie one behind another,

-fold upon fold, while beyond some much loftier

-peaks raised their blue summits to heaven.

-Alec Lindsay never tired of gazing on them.

-If he turned away his eyes, it was that he

-might refresh them with a change of scene—the

-low green rock, the salt water washing

-the white stones under the heather on the

-hillside, the tiny rainbow in the foam of the

-paddle-wheels—and return with new desire

-to the sight of the everlasting hills. Strange,

-he thought to himself, as he gazed on the

-shadow of a cloud passing like a spirit over a

-lonely peak—strange that the sight of masses

-of mere dead earth and stone, the dullest and

-lowest forms of matter, should be able to

-touch us more profoundly than all the lovely

-sights and sweet sounds of the animated

-world!</p>

-

-<p>In a few miles the top of the loch was

-reached. The mountains, standing like giants

-‘to sentinel enchanted land,’ rose almost from

-the water’s edge. A few cottages stood

-clustering together at the mouth of a defile

-which gave access to Loch Lomond on the

-east. One or two large houses (of which

-‘Glendhu,’ Mr. James Lindsay’s seaside

-residence, was one) stood at intervals along

-the shore.</p>

-

-<p>Alec’s first care after landing was to provide

-himself with a lodging, as (much to his

-satisfaction) he was not required to live in

-Mr. Fraser’s house; and he was fortunate

-enough to find the accommodation he wanted

-in a cottage close to the seashore.</p>

-

-<p>In the afternoon he called on Mrs. Fraser,

-and found her a fat, florid, good-natured looking

-woman, ostentatiously dressed, and surrounded

-by a troop of her progeny.</p>

-

-<p>‘Come away, Mr. Lindsay,’ she said graciously,

-as she extended to him a remarkably

-well-developed hand and arm. ‘I’m just

-fairly delighted to see you. It will be an

-extraordinary pleasure to get rid of Hector

-and John Thompson, though it should be but

-for three hours in the day. You wouldn’t

-believe, Mr. Lindsay, what these two, not to

-speak of Douglas and Phemie—I often tell her

-father she should have been a boy—cost me in

-anxiety. I wonder I’m not worn to a shadow.

-The day before yesterday, now, not content

-with going in to bathe four times, they

-managed to drop Jamsie—that’s the one next

-to Douglas, Mr. Lindsay—over the edge of

-the boat, and the bairn wasn’t able to speak

-when they pulled him in again.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Oh, ma!’ protested the young gentleman

-referred to, ‘I could have got in again by myself,

-only John Thompson hit me a whack on

-the head with his oar, trying to pull me nearer

-the boat.’</p>

-

-<p>‘I don’t think it’s safe for the boys to be

-out in the little boat by themselves, without

-either me or their father to look after them.

-I don’t mind their being in the four-oar.

-What do you think, Mr. Lindsay?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Really, I can hardly say, Mrs. Fraser,

-seeing that I know nothing of boating. I

-haven’t had a chance of learning; I hope you

-will give me a lesson,’ he added, turning to his

-new pupils.</p>

-

-<p>The boys, who had been staring at Alec

-with a suspicious expression, brightened up

-at this; and it was arranged that the first

-lesson in boating should be given next day.</p>

-

-<p>On the following afternoon Alec called at

-Glendhu, his uncle’s house, to inquire whether

-any of the family had arrived; and was told

-that they intended to come down in about a

-fortnight. In the evening, as he looked over

-his newspaper, his eyes fell upon a paragraph

-which informed him that Mr. Taylor, Professor

-of History in the University of Glasgow, had

-died suddenly the day before. Alec was

-shocked and surprised at the news; but the

-thought that was uppermost in his mind was

-that in all probability he would never see

-Laura Mowbray again. Now that her uncle

-was dead she would go back to her friends in

-London; and in a few months she would forget

-him. Not until that moment had Alec

-realized how constantly the thought of this

-girl had been in his mind, how he had made

-her image play a part in all his dreams. And

-now it was over! The world which had seemed

-so fair and bright but an hour ago was dull and

-lifeless now.</p>

-

-<p>But the companionship of Mrs. Fraser’s boys

-and girls saved him from sinking into a foolish

-melancholy. He tried hard for three hours

-every day to make them learn a little Latin

-grammar and history, and a great part of

-every afternoon was spent in their company.

-They taught him to row and steer, and to

-manage a sail. But his chief delight was in

-the mountains. He was never tired of wandering

-among their lonely recesses; he loved the

-bare granite rocks and crags even better than

-the sheltered dell where the silver birches

-clustered round the rapid stream. He learned

-to know the hills from every point of view, to

-select at a glance the practicable side for an

-ascent; and before a fortnight was over he

-had set his foot on the top of every peak

-within walking distance of Arrochar.</p>

-

-<p>About three weeks after his arrival, Alec

-heard that his uncle and Miss Lindsay had

-come down; and one evening soon afterwards

-he went to see them.</p>

-

-<p>From the windows of the drawing-room at

-Glendhu the view was magnificent. Under

-the low garden-wall were the still, blue waters

-of the loch; and right in front ‘The Cobbler’

-lifted his head against the glowing western

-sky.</p>

-

-<p>Alec was waiting there in silence, absorbed

-in the spectacle, when he suddenly heard a

-soft voice behind him.</p>

-

-<p>‘Mr. Lindsay!’</p>

-

-<p>No need for him to turn round. The tones

-of her voice thrilled through every fibre of his

-body.</p>

-

-

-<p>Yes; it was she, simply dressed in black,

-standing with a smile on her face, holding out

-her hand.</p>

-

-<p>‘Why don’t you speak to me? Won’t you

-shake hands?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Lau—— Miss Mowbray!’</p>

-

-<p>‘Certainly. Am I a ghost?’</p>

-

-<p>‘I thought you were far away—gone back

-to your friends in England.’</p>

-

-<p>‘No,’ said Laura tranquilly, seating herself

-on a couch; ‘my poor uncle left me as a

-legacy to Mr. Lindsay; and here I am.

-You have not even said you are glad to see

-me.’</p>

-

-<p>‘You know I am glad. But I was sorry to

-hear of your loss, and sorry to think of your

-grief.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Yes; it was very sad, and <em>so</em> sudden,’

-answered Laura, casting down her eyes.

-‘And how did you come to be here?’ she

-asked, lifting them again to her companion’s

-face. Alec told her; and then his uncle and

-Miss Lindsay came into the room.</p>

-

-

-<p>‘So you’ve got a veesitor?’ said the old lady

-to Laura, as she came forward.</p>

-

-<p>‘Oh no!’ answered the girl. ‘I had no

-idea anyone was in the room when I came in;

-and your nephew stared at me as if I had been

-an apparition.’</p>

-

-<p>She smiled as she spoke; but Alec noticed

-that as soon as the elder lady turned away the

-smile suddenly faded.</p>

-

-<p>Nothing worth mentioning was said in the

-conversation that followed. Alec hoped that

-before he took his leave he would receive a

-general invitation to the house; but nothing

-of the kind was forthcoming. That, however,

-mattered little. Laura was here, close to him;

-they would be sure to meet; and of course he

-was at liberty to go to Glendhu occasionally.

-He went home to his lodgings wondering at

-his good fortune. The rosy hue had returned

-to the earth, and Arrochar was the most

-delightful spot on the habitable globe.</p>

-

-<p>The one event of the day in the village was

-the arrival of the steamer and the departure of

-the coach which carried passengers to Tarbert

-on Loch Lomond. It was a favourite amusement

-of the inhabitants to lounge about the

-landing-place on these occasions, ostensibly

-coming for their letters and newspapers, but

-really pleased to see new faces and make

-comments about the appearance of the tourists.

-Laura Mowbray generally found it necessary

-to go to the post-office about the time of the

-steamer’s arrival; and Alec was not long in

-turning the custom to his own advantage.</p>

-

-<p>As he was walking back with her to Glendhu

-one day, he noticed that she was rather abstracted.</p>

-

-<p>‘I wonder what you are thinking of, Miss

-Mowbray,’ he said. ‘You have not answered

-me once since we left the pier.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Haven’t I? I’m sure I beg your pardon.’</p>

-

-<p>‘See that patch of sunlight on the hill

-across the loch!’ cried Alec enthusiastically.

-‘See how it brings out the rich yellow colour

-of the moss, while all the rest of the hill is in

-shadow.’</p>

-

-

-<p>‘You ought to have been a painter,’ said

-his companion.</p>

-

-<p>‘Don’t you think Arrochar is a perfectly

-<em>lovely</em> place?’ returned Alec.</p>

-

-<p>‘Yes; very pretty. But it is very dull.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Dull?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Yes; there is no life—no gaiety. It is

-said that the English take their pleasures

-sadly; but they are gaiety itself compared

-with you Scotch. You shut yourselves up in

-your own houses and don’t mix with your

-neighbours at all. At least you have no

-amusements in which anyone can share. The

-boating, tennis, bathing, everything is done

-<i lang="fr">en famille</i>. There is no fun, no mixing with

-the rest of the world. In an English watering-place

-people stay at hotels, or in lodgings; and

-if they tire of one place they can go to

-another. Then they have parties of all kinds,

-and dances at the hotels. Here everyone

-takes a house for two months, and moves

-down with servants, plate, linen, groceries,

-perhaps even the family piano. I only wonder

-they don’t bring the bedsteads. Having got

-to their houses, they stay there, and perhaps

-never see a strange face till it is time to go

-back to town. It’s a frightfully narrowing

-system, not to speak of the dulness of it.’</p>

-

-<p>‘I never thought of it before,’ said Alec.

-‘I don’t care to know more people myself; I

-am never at my ease with people till I know

-them pretty well. But I am sorry if you find it

-dull.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Well, of course I couldn’t go to dances or

-anything of that kind just yet; but it is dreadfully

-tiresome to see no one from one day to

-another, to have no games or amusements of

-any kind.’</p>

-

-<p>‘There are always the hills, you know,’ said

-Alec.</p>

-

-<p>Laura glanced at her companion to see

-whether he was laughing, and perceiving that

-he was perfectly serious, she turned away her

-face with a little <i lang="fr">moue</i>.</p>

-

-<p>‘The hills don’t amuse me; they weary me;

-and sometimes, when I get up in the night

-and look at them, they terrify me. Think

-what it would be to be up among those rocks

-on a winter’s night, with the snowflakes

-whirling around you, and the wind roaring—ugh!

-Let us talk of something else.’</p>

-

-<p>They did so, but there was little spirit in

-the conversation. Alec could not conceive of

-anyone with a heart and a pair of eyes who

-should not love these mountain-tops as he did

-himself. He had already endowed Laura with

-every conceivable grace, and he had taken it

-for granted that the power to appreciate

-mountain scenery was among her gifts. Here,

-at least, was a deficiency, a point on which his

-mind and hers were not in harmony.</p>

-

-<p>With feminine tact Laura saw that she had

-disappointed her companion in some way, and

-she easily guessed at the cause.</p>

-

-<p>‘I see you don’t appreciate my straightforwardness,’

-she said, after a little pause.

-‘Knowing that you have such a passion for

-mountain scenery, I ought to have pretended

-that I was as fond of it as you are yourself.’</p>

-

-

-<p>‘No, indeed.’</p>

-

-<p>‘That would have been polite; but it would

-not have been quite straightforward. I always

-say the thing that comes uppermost, you

-know; I can’t help it.’</p>

-

-<p>Of course she did; and of course her simple

-honesty was infinitely better than even a love

-of Scotch scenery. The latter would no doubt

-come with more familiar acquaintance with it.

-And was she not herself the most charming

-thing that the sun shone down upon that

-summer day?</p>

-

-<p>Laura knew very well that this, or something

-like it, was the thought in the lad’s

-mind as he bade her good-day with lingering

-eyes. Perhaps she would not have been ill

-pleased if he had said what he was thinking;

-but it never entered into his head to pay the

-girl a compliment: he would have fancied it

-an impertinence.</p>

-

-<p>‘What a queer, stupid boy he is!’ said

-Laura to herself, as she peeped back at him

-while she closed the gate behind her. ‘I

-can’t help liking him, but he is so provoking,

-with his enthusiastic, sentimental nonsense.

-Heigh-ho! There’s the luncheon-bell. And

-after that there are four hours to be spent

-somehow before dinner!’</p>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

-

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</span>

-<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="Eleven">XI.</abbr></h3>

-<h4>A RIVAL.</h4>

-</div>

-

-

-<p class="unindent">‘<span class="smcap">Hullo</span>! Semple!’</p>

-

-<p>‘Hullo! Alec!’</p>

-

-<p>‘Didn’t expect to see <em>you</em> here.’</p>

-

-<p>‘As little did I expect to see <em>you</em>.’</p>

-

-<p>‘When did you come?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Only last night; by an excursion steamer.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Staying with Uncle James?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Yes: he asked me to spend my holidays

-down here, and I thought I might as well

-come.’</p>

-

-<p>‘How long do you get?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Three weeks; but I may take a month.’</p>

-

-<p>An unreasonable jealousy of his cousin

-sprang up in Alec’s breast at that moment.

-Five minutes before he was perfectly satisfied

-with his lot; now, because another occupied

-a more favourable position than himself, he

-was miserable. He had been able to meet

-Laura nearly every day; but this fellow was

-to live under the same roof with her, to eat at

-the same table, to breathe the same air. To

-see her and talk to her would be his rival’s

-daily, hourly privilege.</p>

-

-<p>‘Splendid hills!’ said Semple.</p>

-

-<p>Alec made no reply. The scenery was too

-sacred a subject to be discussed with one like

-Semple.</p>

-

-<p>‘What do you do with yourself all day?’

-asked the new-comer.</p>

-

-<p>‘Oh, I take a swim in the morning, give

-the boys their lessons from ten to one; then I

-generally take a row, or a walk, or read some

-Horace.’</p>

-

-<p>‘I should think you’d get dreadfully tired

-of it, after a bit. There are no places where

-they play tennis, I suppose?’</p>

-

-

-<p>‘Not that I know of.’</p>

-

-<p>‘I expect I shall find it rather dull.’</p>

-

-<p>Another jealous pang shot through Alec’s

-heart. Laura and his cousin were agreed on

-this point. What more natural than that

-they should amuse each other? In a day or

-two Semple would be on better terms with

-Laura than he was himself. Of course he

-would fall in love with her—and she?</p>

-

-<p>Anyone watching the course of affairs at

-Glendhu would have thought that Alec’s foreboding

-was in a fair way of being realized.

-Laura was very gracious to her guardian’s

-nephew, and overlooked in the prettiest

-manner his little vulgarities. The two were

-constantly together, and neither seemed to

-feel the want of a more extended circle of

-acquaintance. It was nobody’s fault, for

-Semple had been invited to Glendhu before

-Mr. Taylor’s death had caused Laura to become

-a member of Mr. Lindsay’s family; but

-Miss Lindsay determined that she would at

-least introduce another guest into the house.

-She wrote to Alec’s sister, and asked her to

-spend a fortnight at Loch Long.</p>

-

-<p>When the invitation reached the Castle

-Farm, Margaret’s first impulse was to decline

-it without saying anything to her father,

-partly out of shyness and a sense of the

-deficiencies in her wardrobe, partly because

-she could not easily at that season be spared

-from the farm. But when Mr. Lindsay asked

-if there was anything in her aunt’s letter,

-Margaret felt bound to mention the matter

-to him; and he at once insisted upon her

-going.</p>

-

-<p>Margaret’s advent, however, made little

-practical difference in the usual order of

-things at Glendhu. Mr. Semple at first

-offered her a share of his attentions; but she

-received them so coldly that he soon ceased

-to trouble himself about her, and devoted

-himself to Laura as before, while Margaret

-seemed perfectly contented with her own

-society when Miss Lindsay was not with her

-guests.</p>

-

-

-<p>There was little intimacy between the two

-girls, and the blame of this could not fairly be

-attributed to Laura.</p>

-

-<p>‘I am so glad you have come, Miss Lindsay,’

-she had said on the first occasion when

-they were left alone together. ‘May I call

-you “Margaret”? I think it is such a perfectly

-lovely name.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Of course you may,’ said the matter-of-fact

-Margaret.</p>

-

-<p>‘And you will call me “Laura,” of course.’</p>

-

-<p>But Margaret avoided making any reply to

-this, and practically declined to adopt the

-more familiar style of address; and Laura

-soon returned to the more formal ‘Miss

-Lindsay.’</p>

-

-<p>Alec was, of course, more frequently at his

-uncle’s, now that his sister was staying there;

-but his visits did not afford him much satisfaction.

-With Semple he had little in common.

-There was a natural want of sympathy between

-the two; and besides, Semple looked down

-upon Alec as being ‘countrified,’ while Alec

-was disposed to hold his cousin in contempt

-for his ignorance of everything unconnected

-with the making and the sale of paraffin oil.

-As to Laura, he seldom had a chance of saying

-much to her; while his intercourse with his

-sister was more constrained than it had ever

-been before. Margaret saw quite plainly that

-as her brother was talking to her, his eyes and

-his heart were hankering after Laura Mowbray;

-and she felt mortified by his want of

-interest in what she said to him, though she

-was too proud to show her feeling, except by

-an additional coldness of manner.</p>

-

-<p>One evening Alec called at Glendhu, and, as

-usual, he found the younger portion of the

-family in the garden. Margaret was sitting

-by herself on a bench overlooking the sea,

-with some knitting in her hand, while the

-other two were sauntering along one of the

-paths at a little distance. Alec waited till

-they came up, and then he said:</p>

-

-<p>‘I have borrowed Mr. Fraser’s light skiff;

-suppose we all go for a row? You can row

-one skiff and I the other,’ he added, turning

-to Semple.</p>

-

-<p>‘Oh, delightful!’ cried Laura. ‘It is just

-the evening for a row. You will come, Miss

-Lindsay, won’t you?’</p>

-

-<p>‘I have no objections,’ said Margaret, quite

-indifferently.</p>

-

-<p>Laura turned and ran into the house for

-wraps, while a rather awkward silence fell

-upon the rest of the party. Semple moved

-away from Margaret almost at once, and hung

-about the French window, so as to be ready to

-intercept Laura as soon as she issued from the

-house. Alec felt in a manner bound to remain

-with his sister; and she would not see his

-evident desire to follow Semple to the house,

-and so have a chance of securing Laura for his

-companion. When at length the English girl

-appeared, with a dark-green plaid thrown over

-her shoulder, Semple sprang at once to her

-side; and, without paying the slightest attention

-to Alec or his sister, they hurried down

-to the water’s edge. In a few minutes more

-they had appropriated the best of the two

-boats (the one Alec had borrowed) and were

-floating far out on the loch.</p>

-

-<p>Alec could not help his disappointment

-appearing in his face; and his sister noticed

-and resented it.</p>

-

-<p>‘Don’t row at such a furious rate; you’ll

-snap the oars,’ she said tranquilly, as her

-brother sent the boat careering over the

-waves.</p>

-

-<p>He stopped, and tried to look pleasant, but

-he could not shut his ears to the gay laughter

-that came to him across the water from the

-other boat.</p>

-

-<p>‘They seem merry enough,’ said Alec.</p>

-

-<p>‘Yes,’ said Margaret spitefully. ‘Miss

-Mowbray seems in very good spirits, considering

-that her uncle has not been dead much

-more than a month.’</p>

-

-<p>‘How unjust you are!’ cried Alec hotly.

-‘As if she ought to shut herself up, and never

-laugh, because her uncle died! It would be

-hypocrisy if she did.’</p>

-

-

-<p>‘There I quite agree with you,’ said Margaret,

-with an ill-natured smile.</p>

-

-<p>‘You mean that Laura could not be

-sincerely sorry?’</p>

-

-<p>‘I think she is very shallow and heartless,’

-said Margaret, sweetly tranquil as

-ever.</p>

-

-<p>Alec was furious.</p>

-

-<p>‘You girls are all alike,’ he said with suppressed

-passion. ‘Either you are always

-kissing and praising one another, or running

-each other down. And the more refinement,

-and delicacy, and beauty another girl has, the

-more you depreciate her.’</p>

-

-<p>Margaret merely curled her lip contemptuously,

-and sat trailing her hand through the

-water, without making any reply.</p>

-

-<p>Nothing more was said till Alec was helping

-his sister out of the boat on their returning

-to land.</p>

-

-<p>‘Don’t let us quarrel. I am sorry if I have

-vexed you, Maggie,’ he said.</p>

-

-<p>‘I’m not vexed,’ she answered, in a not

-very reassuring tone, keeping her eyes upon

-the rocks at her feet.</p>

-

-<p>Her brother’s real offence was that he had

-fallen in love with Laura, and that she now

-occupied a very secondary place in his heart.

-And that she could not forgive.</p>

-

-<p>‘Won’t you come up to the house?’ she

-asked.</p>

-

-<p>‘No; and you can tell that cad that the

-next time he wants Mr. Fraser’s boat he had

-better borrow it himself.’</p>

-

-<p>So saying, Alec shouldered the oars and

-strode away.</p>

-

-<p>Though he had defended Laura passionately

-when his sister spoke her mind about that

-young lady, Alec felt that he had been badly

-used. He had certainly made the proposal

-to the whole party, but he had pointedly

-looked at Laura and spoken to her; and she

-had replied in the same way. There was,

-indeed, a tacit understanding between them

-at the moment, that she would be his partner

-for the evening; and it was chiefly from a

-spirit of coquetry that she had chosen to

-ignore it afterwards.</p>

-

-<p>But Laura showed no trace of embarrassment

-when she met Alec in the village next

-day.</p>

-

-<p>‘Why didn’t you come into the house last

-night?’ she said with a smile.</p>

-

-<p>‘I didn’t think it mattered.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Why are you so cross? I suppose I have

-managed to offend you again. I never saw

-anyone so touchy and unreasonable!’</p>

-

-<p>‘It doesn’t very much matter—does it?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Why?’</p>

-

-<p>‘I mean, you don’t really care whether—oh!—never

-mind.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Now, I really believe you are annoyed

-because I went in your cousin’s boat last

-night, instead of yours. But what could I

-do? I couldn’t say, “I prefer to go with

-Mr. Lindsay”—could I?’</p>

-

-<p>‘No; but—but you never seem to think of

-me at all now, Miss Mowbray.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Nonsense!’ answered the girl, as a pleased

-blush came over her face. ‘And to prove

-my goodwill, I’ll tell you what I will do.

-I will let you take me for a row this evening.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Will you?’</p>

-

-<p>This was said so eagerly that Laura could

-not help blushing again.</p>

-

-<p>‘The others are going to dine at Mr.

-Grainger’s to-night, over at Loch Lomond

-side.’</p>

-

-<p>‘But I am to be with the Frasers to-night!’

-exclaimed Alec in dismay. ‘Would not to-morrow

-night do as well?’ Then, seeing

-that his companion did not seem to care for

-this change of plans, he added: ‘But I dare

-say I can manage to get away by half-past

-eight. That would not be too late, would it?

-It is quite light until after nine.’</p>

-

-<p>‘I will be in the garden, then; but I must

-go now,’ said Laura hurriedly, as she bade

-him good-day.</p>

-

-<p>The evening went by as on leaden feet with

-Alec Lindsay, as he talked to Mr. Fraser, or

-listened to his wife’s interminable easy-going

-complaints about her children and her servants,

-and tried to appear interested, and at his ease.

-He could not keep the thought of the coming

-meeting out of his mind.</p>

-

-<p>With rather a lame excuse he left Mr.

-Fraser’s house not many minutes after the

-appointed time, and very soon afterwards he

-was gliding under the garden-wall of Glendhu.

-For some minutes no one was visible, and

-Alec began to fear that a new disappointment

-was in store for him. But presently a figure

-began to move through the shadows of the

-trees. It was Laura! She stepped without a

-word over the loose rocks and stones; then,

-hardly touching Alec’s outstretched hand, she

-lightly took her place at the stern, and met

-Alec’s gaze with a smile.</p>

-

-<p>‘Do you know, I feel horribly guilty, and

-all through you,’ she said, as the boat moved

-swiftly out into the loch.</p>

-

-<p>‘Why should it make any difference that

-there is no discontented fellow-creature in

-another boat behind us?’ asked Alec gaily.</p>

-

-

-<p>Laura shook her head, but made no

-reply. Leaning back in the stern she took

-off her hat, and let the cool breeze blow

-upon her face. Alec thought he had never

-seen her look so beautiful. The delicate

-curves of her features, the peach-like complexion,

-the melting look in her eyes, made

-him feel as if the girl seated near him was

-something more than human.</p>

-

-<p>‘Don’t you think we have gone far

-enough?’ said Laura gently, when Alec had

-rowed some way in silence.</p>

-

-<p>He stopped, resting on his oars.</p>

-

-<p>‘How still it is—and how beautiful!’ she

-exclaimed in the same low voice.</p>

-

-<p>Not a sound but the faint lapping of the

-water on the boat fell upon their ears. The

-hills were by this time in darkness, and the

-stars were beginning to glimmer in the

-twilight sky. Beyond the western hills the

-sky was still bright, with a glow that seemed

-less that of the sunken sun, than some

-mysterious halo of the northern night. A

-faint phosphorescence lingered about the

-drops of sea-water upon the oars. Nothing

-but the distant lights in the cottage windows

-seemed to be in any way connected with the

-commonplace, everyday world.</p>

-

-<p>‘Hadn’t we better go back? It is really

-getting dark,’ said Laura, as gently as before;

-and Alec obediently dipped his oars and

-turned the bow of the boat towards Glendhu.</p>

-

-<p>All his life long Alec remembered that

-silent row in the dim, unearthly twilight.

-There was no need for words. They were

-sitting, as it were, ‘on the shores of old

-romance,’ and tasting the dew of fairyland.

-That hidden land was for this short hour

-revealed to them; they were breathing the

-enchanted air.</p>

-

-<p>It was almost dark when Alec shipped his

-oars and drew the boat along the rocks

-outside the garden-wall.</p>

-

-<p>‘How dreadfully late it is! I hope they

-have not come back,’ said Laura, as she rose

-to go ashore.</p>

-

-

-<p>Alec took her hand, so small and white,

-with the tiny blue veins crossing it, in his

-own rough brown fingers, and when he had

-helped the girl ashore he stooped and

-kissed it.</p>

-

-<p>A moment afterwards, a soft ‘good-night’

-from the garden assured him that the act of

-homage had not been taken amiss. If he

-had lingered a minute or two longer he would

-have heard Miss Lindsay’s voice calling out

-in some anxiety, and Laura Mowbray’s

-silvery accents replying:</p>

-

-<p>‘Yes; here I am, Miss Lindsay—it is so

-much cooler out of doors. My headache is

-almost quite gone, thank you; the cool sea-breeze

-has driven it away. How did you

-enjoy your party? How I wish I could have

-gone with you!’</p>

-

-<p>But before Laura reached the house, Alec

-was once more far out in the loch. He

-wished to be alone, to indulge the sweet

-intoxication which was burning in his veins.</p>

-

-<p>When at last he returned to his little room

-he found a letter awaiting him which had been

-sent on from home. The address was in an

-unfamiliar handwriting, and breaking the seal

-he read as follows:</p>

-

-<div class="blockquot">

-<p class="right">

-‘<span class="smcap">Caen Lodge, Highgate, N.</span>,<br>

-<span style="margin-right: 3em;">‘<i>July 10, 187-</i>.</span><br>

-</p>

-

-<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Lindsay</span>,</p>

-

-<p>‘You will be surprised to hear that

-you may see me the day after this reaches

-you. I want to see how your beautiful river

-scenery looks in this glorious summer

-weather. If it is not convenient for me to

-stay at the farm, I can easily find quarters

-elsewhere.</p>

-

-<p class="center">‘Ever yours,</p>

-<p class="p0 right r4">‘<span class="smcap">Hubert Blake</span>.’</p>

-</div>

-

-<p>As Alec foresaw, when he read this note,

-Blake found existence at the Castle Farm

-with the sole companionship of Mr. Lindsay

-to be quite impracticable; and next day he

-arrived at Arrochar and took up his quarters

-in the little inn at the head of the pier.</p>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

-

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</span>

-<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="Twelve">XII.</abbr></h3>

-<h4>‘YOU MUST GIVE ME AN ANSWER.’</h4>

-</div>

-

-

-<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">Margaret Lindsay</span>, not the scenery of the

-Nethan, was the real attraction which drew

-Hubert Blake to the north. He was not in

-love with her; certainly, at least, he felt for

-her nothing of the rapturous passion which

-Alec felt for Laura Mowbray. But he

-admired her immensely. He undertook the

-long journey from London that he might

-feast his eyes on her beauty once more; and

-when he found that she was at Arrochar he

-straightway betook himself thither.</p>

-

-<p>Blake was by this time a man nearer forty

-than thirty years of age, who was still without

-an aim in life. He had an income which

-rendered it unnecessary for him to devote

-himself to the ordinary aim of an Englishman—the

-making of money; and to set

-himself to charm sovereigns which he did

-not need out of the pockets of his fellow-creatures

-into his own, for the mere love of

-gold or of luxury, was an idea which he

-would have despised as heartily as Alec Lindsay

-himself would have done. Blake had

-also great contempt for the brassy self-importance

-and self-conceit which is the most

-useful of all attributes for one who means to

-get on in the world. He looked at men

-struggling for political or social distinction,

-as he might have gazed at a crowd of lunatics

-fighting for a tinsel crown. ‘And after all,’

-he would say to himself, ‘if I am idle, my

-idleness hurts no one but myself. At least,

-I do not trample down my fellow-men on my

-journey through life.’</p>

-

-<p>He was not satisfied; but he was not

-energetic enough to find a career in which

-he could turn his talents and his money to

-good advantage. He was a great lover of

-nature, and he had a wide and tolerant

-sympathy for his fellow-men. The one thing

-he loved in the world was art.</p>

-

-<p>It was not long, of course, before he was a

-member of the little circle at Glendhu, and he

-looked on at the little comedy that was being

-played there with good-natured amusement.

-Laura Mowbray soon discovered that the

-stranger was insensible to her charms, that

-he quite understood her little allurements,

-and regarded them with a good-humoured

-smile. He saw quite plainly that she was

-enjoying a double triumph; and on the whole

-he thought that though she devoted by far

-the greater part of her time to Semple, she

-had a secret preference for his friend Alec.

-He spent most of his time in making sketches

-of the surrounding scenery; and though he

-was not an enthusiastic climber, Alec was often

-able to persuade him to accompany him to

-some of the loftier peaks.</p>

-

-<p>One day before Margaret’s visit came to an

-end, Alec proposed that the whole party—that

-is, Blake, Laura Mowbray, his sister, Semple,

-and himself—should make an ascent of ‘The

-Cobbler.’ He described the view which was

-to be obtained from the top of the mountain

-in terms which fired even Laura’s enthusiasm;

-and the ascent was fixed for the following forenoon.</p>

-

-<p>The morning was rather cloudy, but not

-sufficiently so to make the party abandon the

-expedition, especially as Alec pointed out that

-they would find it much easier to climb than

-they would have done if the day had been one

-of brilliant sunshine. They rowed over to the

-foot of the hill, so as to save walking round

-the head of the loch; and were soon in a wilderness

-of heather and wild juniper.</p>

-

-<p>The ascent, they found, though by no means

-difficult, was long and tiresome. The girls,

-indeed, if they had consulted merely their own

-inclination, would have turned back at the end

-of the first hour; but it never occurred to

-Margaret to give way to her feeling of fatigue,

-and Laura was too proud to be the first to

-complain.</p>

-

-<p>Everyone was glad, however, when Blake

-proposed a halt about half-way up. They

-threw themselves down on the heather, and

-tasted the delicious sense of rest to strained

-muscles and panting lungs.</p>

-

-<p>‘I am afraid this is rather too much for

-you,’ said Alec to Laura, noticing her look of

-weariness.</p>

-

-<p>‘Oh, I shall get on after I have rested,’ she

-replied; ‘but it is so tiresome to imagine,

-every now and then, that the crest before you

-is the top of the hill, and to find when you

-arrive there that the real summit seems farther

-off than ever.’</p>

-

-<p>‘The finest views are always to be had half-way

-up a mountain,’ said Blake. ‘How much

-we can see from this knoll! There is Loch

-Lomond, Ben Lomond, Ben Venue, and I

-don’t know how many Bens besides—a perfect

-crowd of them. Then we can see right down

-the loch and out into the frith. Let us be

-content with what we have. Miss Mowbray

-and your sister would prefer, I think, to wait

-here with me, Alec, while you and your cousin

-get to the top and back again.’</p>

-

-<p>But this proposal was not entertained; and

-in a quarter of an hour the whole party were

-on foot once more.</p>

-

-<p>Up to this point Semple had succeeded in

-monopolizing the society of Laura; but he

-had found that to guide the steps of a delicately

-nurtured girl over a rough Scotch

-mountain, and help her whenever she came to

-a steep place, was no light labour. For the

-rest of the climb he was content to leave her a

-good deal to Alec, while it fell to Blake’s lot

-to look after Margaret.</p>

-

-<p>One after another the ridges were overcome,

-the prospect widening with every step, till the

-last grassy knoll was surmounted, and the bare

-rocky peak stood full in view at a little distance.

-It was, indeed, so steep that Laura

-was secretly terrified, and had to be hauled up

-for a good part of the way.</p>

-

-

-<p>An involuntary cry burst from the lips of

-each, as one by one they set foot upon the

-windy summit. Far away, as it were upon

-the limits of the world, the sun was shining on

-a sea of gold. The two peaks of Jura lifted

-up their heads, illumined by the radiance. All

-around them was a billowy sea of mountain-tops—Ben

-Crois, Ben Ime, Ben Donich, Ben

-Vane, Ben Voirlich, and a hundred more, with

-many a lonely tarn, and many a glen without

-a name. At their feet lay the black waters

-of the lochs; and far in the south were the

-rugged hills of Arran.</p>

-

-<p>‘Look!’ cried Laura, ‘the steamer is no

-bigger than a toy-boat; and the road is like a

-thin white thread drawn across the moor!’</p>

-

-<p>‘Come here,’ said Alec to Blake with a

-laugh, beckoning as he spoke.</p>

-

-<p>Blake followed him, and found that on one

-side, where there was a sheer descent of many

-hundred feet, a rock, which was pierced with a

-natural archway, jutted out from the body of

-the mountain.</p>

-

-

-<p>‘This is the “needle-eye,”’ said Alec, ‘and

-everybody who comes up here is expected to

-go through it.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Nonsense! Why, man, a false step there

-would mean——’</p>

-

-<p>‘There’s not the slightest danger, if you

-have a good head. I have been through twice

-already,’ returned Alec, as he disappeared

-behind the rock.</p>

-

-<p>A cry from Laura told Blake that she had

-witnessed the danger. Margaret, whose cheek

-had suddenly grown pale, gripped her tightly

-by the arm.</p>

-

-<p>‘Don’t speak,’ she said hoarsely; ‘it may

-make his foot slip.’</p>

-

-<p>In a minute he reappeared, having passed

-through the crevice.</p>

-

-<p>‘Alec, you shouldn’t do a thing like that;

-it’s a sin to risk your life for nothing,’ said

-Margaret, in a tone of cold displeasure.</p>

-

-<p>‘There’s not the slightest danger in it,’ protested

-Alec.</p>

-

-<p>‘None whatever,’ echoed Semple; but he

-did not think it necessary to prove the truth

-of his opinion.</p>

-

-<p>‘I think we ought to be off,’ said Alec;

-‘there’s a cloud coming right upon us; and if

-we don’t make haste we shall have to stay

-here till it passes.’</p>

-

-<p>His meaning was not quite plain to his companions;

-but they soon saw the force of his

-remark. They had accomplished but a small

-part of the descent when they found themselves

-suddenly in the midst of a cold, thick,

-white vapour. It was not safe to go on, so

-the little company crouched together under a

-boulder, and watched the great wreaths of

-mist moving in the stillness from crag to

-crag.</p>

-

-<p>As soon as the mist got a little thinner,

-they recommenced the descent, for their position

-was not a very pleasant one. Semple

-was in front, while Blake and Margaret

-followed, and Alec and Laura brought up the

-rear, when it happened that they came to an

-unusually steep part of the hillside which

-they thought it best to cross in a slanting

-direction. The soil was of loose, crumbling

-stone, with here and there a narrow patch of

-short, dry grass, and, at intervals, narrow beds

-or courses of loose stones. A short distance

-below there was an unbroken precipice of at

-least five hundred feet.</p>

-

-<p>Alec was helping Laura across one of those

-narrow beds of stones, the others being

-some little way in advance, when they were

-startled by a deep rumbling noise, and a

-tremulous motion under their feet. The

-whole layer of stones, loosened by the rain

-and frost, was sliding down towards the precipice!

-With a cry Alec hurried his companion

-on; but her trembling feet could

-hardly support her. The movement of the

-stones, slow at first, was becoming faster

-every moment; and Alec’s only hope lay in

-crossing them before they were carried down

-to the edge of the cliff. For a minute it

-seemed doubtful whether they would be able

-to cross in time; but Alec succeeded in struggling,

-along with his half-fainting companion,

-to the edge of the sliding stones, and placed

-her, just in time, upon a sloping but solid

-bank of earth.</p>

-

-<p>In a few minutes more the stones had

-swept past them, and had disappeared over

-the cliff.</p>

-

-<p>But the position which Alec had reached

-was hardly less dangerous than the one they

-had escaped from. Behind them was a deep

-chasm which the treacherous stones had left.

-In front the mountain rose at a terrible slope.

-Alec scanned it closely, and it seemed to him

-that though he might have scaled it at a considerable

-risk, it was quite impracticable for

-Laura without help from above. If he were

-to make the attempt, and fall, he knew he

-would infallibly dash her as well as himself

-over the precipice.</p>

-

-<p>Some feet above their heads there was a

-ledge of rock from which it might be possible

-to assist them; but where were Blake and the

-others? They were out of sight, and the

-sound of Alec’s shouts, cut off by the rocks

-above, could not reach them. Worst of all,

-the mist seemed to be closing upon them

-more thickly than ever.</p>

-

-<p>The question was, Could they maintain

-their position till help could reach them?

-Soon it became evident that they could not.

-The ledge of grass-covered rock on which they

-stood was so narrow that they could not even

-sit down; and it was plain that Laura could

-not stand much longer.</p>

-

-<p>There was only one way of escape. Eight

-or ten feet below was a shelf of rock, frightfully

-narrow, and, what was worse, sloping

-downwards and covered with slippery dry

-grass. But Alec saw that if he could reach it,

-he could make his way round to the top of

-the rock, and then he could stretch down his

-hand so as to help Laura up the steep.</p>

-

-<p>‘Oh, Mr. Lindsay, what <em>shall</em> we do?’ cried

-Laura, turning to Alec her white, despairing

-face. ‘Oh, look down there! What a dreadful

-death!’</p>

-

-

-<p>‘Death! Nonsense! There is no danger—not

-much, at least. See, now, I am going to

-drop down on that bit of grassy rock, and

-climb round to the top. Then I’ll be able to

-help you up.’</p>

-

-<p>‘But I could never climb up there! I

-should fall, and be killed in a moment!’</p>

-

-<p>‘Not a bit, if you have hold of my hand.’</p>

-

-<p>‘But you won’t leave me?’ cried Laura,

-clutching Alec by the arm as she spoke; ‘you

-won’t leave me all alone in this dreadful

-place?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Only for a minute.’</p>

-

-<p>‘But I can’t stand any longer.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Yes, you can. Turn your face to the rock,

-and lean against it. Don’t look downwards

-on any account.’</p>

-

-<p>And with these words Alec slipped off his

-shoes, slung them round his neck, and let himself

-hang over the cliff. It was an awful

-moment, and for a second or two the lad’s

-courage failed him. But it was only for an

-instant. Setting his teeth hard, he let go,

-and dropped upon the little shelf beneath.

-His feet slid; but he clung to the rock and

-just saved himself from slipping over the

-precipice. Then, with great exertion, he

-managed to climb round where the ascent

-was not quite so steep, and gained the

-ledge above that on which he had left his

-companion.</p>

-

-<p>‘All right!’ he cried cheerily, looking over

-the ledge; and, lying down, he grasped the

-rock with one hand, and stretched the other

-downwards as far as he could.</p>

-

-<p>But by this time Laura was almost paralyzed

-with terror.</p>

-

-<p>‘I can’t—I can’t move!’ she exclaimed in a

-voice of agony, while her eyes wandered as if

-seeking the abyss she dreaded.</p>

-

-<p>Alec stretched himself downwards till he

-could almost touch her hat, while the beads of

-perspiration stood out on his forehead.</p>

-

-<p>‘Give me your hand at once!’ he shouted

-imperiously.</p>

-

-<p>Almost mechanically the girl put her hand

-in his, and the firm clasp immediately made

-her more calm.</p>

-

-<p>‘Now put your foot on that tuft of grass at

-your knee. Don’t be afraid. I tell you, you

-<em>can’t</em> fall, if you do as I bid you!’</p>

-

-<p>Laura felt as if her arm were being pulled

-out of its socket; but she obeyed, and in

-another moment she was in safety.</p>

-

-<p>Then came a flood of hysterical tears.</p>

-

-<p>‘Oh, how cruel you are! Why did you

-ever bring me to this horrible place? Where

-are the others? What will become of us?

-Don’t leave me; take me back! Oh, take me

-back!’ And she clung to her companion as if

-she were still in danger of her life.</p>

-

-<p>Alec soothed and encouraged her as well as

-he was able; and by hurrying forward they

-managed in half an hour to overtake the rest

-of the party.</p>

-

-<p>‘What in the world have you been about?’

-cried Semple. ‘We began to think you had

-lost your way in the mist, or had tumbled

-over a precipice.’</p>

-

-

-<p>‘So we did, very nearly,’ said Laura; and

-Margaret, seeing that the girl was pale and

-trembling, went up to her, threw her arms

-round her, and promised not to leave her till

-they were safe at Glendhu.</p>

-

-<p>‘You needn’t have taken <em>her</em> into danger,’

-growled Semple.</p>

-

-<p>‘I did nothing of the kind,’ said Alec

-angrily. Then he bit his lip, and vouchsafed

-no further explanation.</p>

-

-<p>Without further accident they reached the

-foot of the mountain, and half an hour later

-landed at Glendhu.</p>

-

-<p>Laura had not quite recovered from her

-fright on the following morning, when an

-extremely welcome piece of news restored her

-to her usual spirits. Mr. Lindsay had suddenly

-determined to transfer himself and his family

-to Paris; and Laura was overjoyed. When

-Alec called, therefore, in the afternoon, to ask

-how she was, he found her in the garden,

-dreaming of the coming pleasure, and in high

-good-humour.</p>

-

-

-<p>‘You know, I was so dreadfully sorry for

-that accident,’ said Alec. ‘I almost felt as if

-I had been to blame. But I couldn’t help the

-landslip, could I?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Oh, of course not. And you must forget

-all the foolish things I said when I was in that

-terrible place. How brave you were! I am

-sure I owe you my life.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Next time we go a-climbing, we shan’t go

-where there are any precipices,’ said Alec.</p>

-

-<p>‘But we can’t go climbing any more,’ said

-Laura, with visible satisfaction. ‘Haven’t

-you heard? We are all to set out for Paris

-the day after to-morrow.’</p>

-

-<p>‘For Paris!’</p>

-

-<p>‘Yes; and perhaps, after that, we may go

-to Italy. Isn’t it splendid?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Very—for you. But——’</p>

-

-<p>He stopped, almost frightened at the audacious

-thought that had come into his mind.

-His pulses leaped, his heart throbbed, and his

-cheek grew pale.</p>

-

-<p>Laura looked at him curiously.</p>

-

-

-<p>‘“But”—what?’ she asked.</p>

-

-<p>‘But it will be very lonely for me. Life

-does not seem worth living when you are not

-near me.’ And then, hardly knowing what he

-said, he poured out the story of his love. He

-seized her hands, as they lay idly in her lap,

-and seemed unconscious of the efforts she

-made to withdraw them. He gazed into her

-face, and repeated his words with passionate

-earnestness, again and again:—‘I love you,

-Laura; I love you; I love you!’</p>

-

-<p>Laura threw a glance around, to make sure

-that no one was in sight; and then, slipping

-her hands away, she covered with them her

-blushing face. When she looked up, she met

-Alec’s passionate gaze with a smile.</p>

-

-<p>‘Oh, hush! hush!’ she said. ‘Why do you

-speak so wildly?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Because I love you.’</p>

-

-<p>‘But we are far too young to think of such

-things. I don’t mean to get married for—oh!

-ever such a long time. And you—you have

-to take your degree, and choose a profession.

-We will forget all this, and we shall be friends

-still, just as before.’</p>

-

-<p>‘It can never be just as before,’ said Alec.</p>

-

-<p>‘Why not?’</p>

-

-<p>‘It is impossible. But you won’t refuse me,

-Laura?’ he pleaded. ‘If you only knew how

-much I love you! Don’t you love me a little

-in return? Sometimes I can’t help thinking

-you do.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Then all I can say is, you have a very

-strong imagination.’</p>

-

-<p>‘You don’t?’ cried Alec despairingly.</p>

-

-<p>Laura shook her head, but smiled at the

-same time.</p>

-

-<p>‘You must give me an answer,’ said Alec,

-rising to his feet. He was dreadfully in

-earnest.</p>

-

-<p>‘And I say that at your age and mine it is

-ridiculous to talk of such things.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Nonsense! We are not too young to love

-each other. <em>Can</em> you love me, Laura? What

-you have said is no answer at all.’</p>

-

-<p>‘I’m afraid it’s the only answer I can give

-you,’ said Laura, with a saucy smile, rising in

-her turn, and gliding past her companion.

-‘Don’t be absurd; and don’t be unkind or

-disagreeable when we meet again, after we

-come back from our tour. Good-bye.’</p>

-

-<p>He stood, looking after her, without saying

-another word. And she, turning when she

-reached the French window, and seeing him

-still standing there, waved her hand to bid

-him adieu, before she disappeared.</p>

-

-

-<p class="p4 center">END OF <abbr title="Volume One">VOL. I.</abbr></p>

-

-<p class="p4 center o allsmcap">BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD.</p>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h3>Transcriber’s Note:</h3>

-</div>

-

-<p>This book was written in a period when many words had not become

-standardized in their spelling. Words may have multiple spelling

-variations or inconsistent hyphenation in the text. These have been

-left unchanged. Dialect, obsolete and alternative

-spellings were left unchanged. Misspelled words were not corrected.</p>

-

-<p>Footnotes were renumbered sequentially and were

-moved to the end of the chapter. Obvious printing errors, such as

-backwards, upside down, extraneous, or partially printed letters and punctuation, were corrected.

-Final stops missing at the end of sentences and abbreviations were

-added.</p>

-

-<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LINDSAYS, VOLUME 1 (OF 3) ***</div>

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+    </style>
+ </head>
+<body>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LINDSAYS, VOLUME 1 (OF 3) ***</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+ <img src="images/cover_img.jpg"
+ alt="color cover">
+</div><!--end figcenter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h1>
+THE LINDSAYS.
+</h1>
+</div>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+
+<div class="chapter box">
+<p class="center">
+<span class="sansserif">NEW NOVELS AT EVERY LIBRARY.</span><br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="hanging"><b>KING OR KNAVE?</b> By <span class="smcap">R. E. Francillon</span>. 3 <abbr title="volumse">vols.</abbr>.</p>
+
+<p class="hanging"><b>EVERY INCH A SOLDIER.</b> By <span class="smcap">M. J. Colquhoun</span>.
+3 <abbr title="volumes">vols.</abbr>.</p>
+
+<p class="hanging"><b>THE PASSENGER FROM SCOTLAND YARD.</b> By
+<span class="smcap">H. F. Wood</span>. 1 <abbr title="volume">vol.</abbr></p>
+
+<p class="hanging"><b>THE HEIR OF LINNE.</b> By <span class="smcap">Robert Buchanan</span>. 1 <abbr title="volume">vol.</abbr></p>
+
+<p class="hanging"><b>IN EXCHANGE FOR A SOUL.</b> By <span class="smcap">Mary Linskill</span>.
+3 <abbr title="volumes">vols.</abbr>.</p>
+
+<p class="hanging"><b>SETH’S BROTHER’S WIFE.</b> By <span class="smcap">Harold Frederic</span>.
+2 <abbr title="volumes">vols.</abbr>.</p>
+
+<p class="hanging"><b>PINE AND PALM.</b> By <span class="smcap">Moncure D. Conway</span>. 2 <abbr title="volumes">vols.</abbr>.</p>
+
+<p class="hanging"><b>ONE TRAVELLER RETURNS.</b> By <span class="smcap">D. Christie
+Murray</span> and <span class="smcap">Henry Herman</span>. 1 <abbr title="volume">vol.</abbr></p>
+
+<p class="hanging"><b>OLD BLAZER’S HERO.</b> By <span class="smcap">D. Christie Murray</span>.
+1 <abbr title="volume">vol.</abbr></p>
+
+<p class="hanging"><b>A PHYLLIS OF THE SIERRAS, Etc.</b> By <span class="smcap">Bret Harte</span>.
+1 <abbr title="volume">vol.</abbr></p>
+
+<p class="hanging"><b>THE DEEMSTER.</b> By <span class="smcap">Hall Caine</span>. 1 <abbr title="volume">vol.</abbr></p>
+
+<p class="hanging"><b>RED SPIDER.</b> By the Author of ‘Mehalah.’ 1 <abbr title="volume">vol.</abbr></p>
+
+<p class="hanging"><b>PASTON CAREW.</b> By <span class="smcap">E. Lynn Linton</span>. 1 <abbr title="volume">vol.</abbr></p>
+
+<p class="hanging"><b>A ROMANCE OF THE QUEEN’S HOUNDS.</b> By
+<span class="smcap">Charles James</span>. 1 <abbr title="volume">vol.</abbr></p>
+
+<p class="center">
+LONDON: CHATTO &amp; WINDUS, PICCADILLY.<br>
+</p>
+</div><!--end box and chapter-->
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p class="h1head center ls">
+THE LINDSAYS</p>
+
+<p class="p2 center">A Romance of Scottish Life</p>
+
+<p class="p4 center allsmcap">BY</p>
+
+<h2 class="no-break">JOHN K. LEYS</h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+ <img src="images/colophon.jpg"
+ alt="colophon">
+</div><!--end figcenter-->
+
+
+<p class="center">
+<span class="allsmcap">IN THREE VOLUMES</span><br>
+<abbr title="Volume One"><span class="allsmcap">VOL. I.</span></abbr><br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+London<br>
+CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY<br>
+1888<br>
+<br>
+<span class="muchsmaller">[<i>The right of translation is reserved</i>]</span><br>
+</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h3>CONTENTS OF <abbr title="Volume One">VOL. I.</abbr></h3>
+</div>
+
+<table>
+<tr><td class="tdc allsmcap">CHAPTER</td>
+    <td></td>
+    <td class="tdr allsmcap">PAGE</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="One">I.</abbr></td>
+    <td class="tdh vlt">THE FIRST LETTER</td>
+    <td class="tdr vlb pad1"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Two">II.</abbr></td>
+    <td class="tdh vlt">THE SECOND LETTER</td>
+    <td class="tdr vlb pad1"><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Three">III.</abbr></td>
+    <td class="tdh vlt">THE THIRD LETTER</td>
+    <td class="tdr vlb pad1"><a href="#Page_37">37</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Four">IV.</abbr></td>
+    <td class="tdh vlt">THE FOURTH LETTER</td>
+    <td class="tdr vlb pad1"><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Five">V.</abbr></td>
+    <td class="tdh vlt">THE SHIP SETS SAIL </td>
+    <td class="tdr vlb pad1"><a href="#Page_80">80</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Six">VI.</abbr></td>
+    <td class="tdh vlt">A NEW EXPERIENCE</td>
+    <td class="tdr vlb pad1"><a href="#Page_106">106</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Seven">VII.</abbr></td>
+    <td class="tdh vlt">A SUNDAY IN GLASGOW</td>
+    <td class="tdr vlb pad1"><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Eight">VIII.</abbr></td>
+    <td class="tdh vlt">THE ROARING GAME</td>
+    <td class="tdr vlb pad1"><a href="#Page_146">146</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Nine">IX.</abbr></td>
+    <td class="tdh vlt">THE END OF THE SESSION</td>
+    <td class="tdr vlb pad1"><a href="#Page_173">173</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Ten">X.</abbr></td>
+    <td class="tdh vlt">ARROCHAR</td>
+    <td class="tdr vlb pad1"><a href="#Page_193">193</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Eleven">XI.</abbr></td>
+    <td class="tdh vlt">A RIVAL</td>
+    <td class="tdr vlb pad1"><a href="#Page_215">215</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Twelve">XII.</abbr></td>
+    <td class="tdh vlt">‘YOU MUST GIVE ME AN ANSWER’</td>
+    <td class="tdr vlb pad1"><a href="#Page_232">232</a></td></tr>
+</table>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</span>
+<p class="center h2head ls">
+THE LINDSAYS.</p>
+
+<p class="p2 center"><i>PROLOGUE.—FOUR LETTERS.</i></p>
+
+<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="One">I.</abbr></h3>
+<h4>THE FIRST LETTER.</h4>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Hubert Blake to Sophy Meredith.</i><br>
+</p>
+</div>
+
+<p class="right">
+<span class="smcap">The Castle Farm, Muirburn,</span>&emsp;<br>
+<span class="smcap">Kyleshire, N.B.</span>, <i>Sept. 12, 187-</i>.<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="indent5">
+<span class="smcap">My dear Sophy</span>,
+</p>
+
+<p>I only arrived here last night, so you
+see I am losing no time in redeeming my
+promise. I can hardly tell you what I think
+of my new cousins; they are not to be known
+in a day, I can see that much. As for the
+country and its inhabitants generally—well,
+they are as different from an English county and
+English country-folks as if they were in different
+continents, and that is all I can say at present.</p>
+
+<p>I left the railway at a tiny station called
+Kilmartin, and found ‘the coach’ waiting in
+the station yard. It was not a coach, but a
+queer dumpy omnibus, about two-thirds of
+the size of a London ’bus, with three big, raw-boned
+horses harnessed to it. I was lucky
+enough to get a seat in front beside the driver.
+It was just a little before sunset; and I wish
+I could put before you in words the freshness
+of the scene. We were ascending a rising
+ground in a very leisurely fashion. On either
+side of the road was a steep bank thickly
+clothed with crowsfoot and wild thyme.
+Above us on either side stretched a belt of
+Scotch firs. The sunset rays shone red on
+the trunks of the pines, and here and there
+one could catch through them a sight of the
+ruddy west, showing like a great painted
+window in a cathedral. The air was soft, and
+laden with the sweet smell of the firs, and yet
+it was cool and exhilarating.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as we got to the top of the ridge
+we began to rattle down the other side at a
+great rate. It was really very pleasant, and
+thinking to conciliate the weather-beaten
+coachman at my side, I confided to him my
+opinion that of all species of travelling coaching
+was the most delightful.</p>
+
+<p>‘Specially on a winter’s nicht, wi’ yer feet
+twa lumps o’ ice, an’ a wee burn o’ snaw-watter
+runnin’ doon the nape o’ yer neck!’ responded
+the Scotch Jehu.</p>
+
+<p>I laughed, and glanced at the man sitting
+on my right, a big, brown-faced, gray-haired
+farmer, in a suit of heavy tweeds, who sat
+leaning his two hands on the top of an enormous
+stick. He was smiling grimly to himself,
+as if he enjoyed the stranger being set
+down.</p>
+
+<p>‘Fine country,’ I remarked, by way of conciliating
+<em>him</em>.</p>
+
+<p>‘Ay,’ said he, with a glance at the horizon
+out of the sides of his eyes, but without moving
+a muscle of his face.</p>
+
+<p>‘And a very fine evening,’ I persisted.</p>
+
+<p>‘Ay—micht be waur.’</p>
+
+<p>Upon this I gave it up, lighted a cigar, and
+set myself to study the landscape. We had
+got to a considerable elevation above the sea-level;
+and in spite of the glorious evening
+and the autumn colours just beginning to
+appear in the hedges, the country had a
+dreary look. Imagine one great stretch of
+pasture barely reclaimed from moorland, with
+the heather and stony ground cropping up
+every here and there, divided into fields, not
+by generous spreading hedgerows, but by low
+walls of blue stone, built without mortar. The
+only wood to be seen was narrow belts of firs,
+planted here and there behind a farmhouse, or
+between two fields, and somehow their long
+bare stems and heavy mournful foliage did
+not add to the brightness of the scene, though
+they gave it a character of its own. But the
+country is not all moor and pasture. It is
+broken every now and then by long, deep,
+winding ravines, clothed with the larch and
+the mountain ash, each one the home of a
+bright brawling stream.</p>
+
+<p>We had travelled for half an hour in
+silence, when the farmer suddenly spoke.</p>
+
+<p>‘Ye’ll be frae the sooth, I’m thinkin’.’</p>
+
+<p>He was not looking at me, but contemplating
+the road in front of us from under a
+pair of the bushiest eyebrows I ever saw.
+For a moment I thought of repaying his bad
+manners by giving him no answer, but thinking
+better of it I said ‘Ay,’ after the manner
+of the country.</p>
+
+<p>‘Ye’ll no hae mony beasts like they in
+England, I fancy,’ said he.</p>
+
+<p>We were passing some Ayrshire cows at
+the time, small, but splendid animals of their
+kind; and I soothed the old man’s feelings by
+admitting the fact.</p>
+
+<p>‘Are ye traivellin’ faur?’ he asked.</p>
+
+<p>‘Not much farther, I believe.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Ye’re no an agent, are ye?’</p>
+
+<p>‘No,’ I answered.</p>
+
+<p>‘Nor a factor?’</p>
+
+<p>‘No.’</p>
+
+<p>(He was evidently puzzled to make out what
+an Englishman was about in his country, and
+I determined not to gratify his curiosity.)</p>
+
+<p>‘Ye’ll maybe be the doctor?’</p>
+
+<p>‘No.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Sharely ye’re no the new minister?’ he
+exclaimed with an expression of unfeigned
+alarm.</p>
+
+<p>I calmed his fears, and again we proceeded
+on our way in silence.</p>
+
+<p>When we had gone perhaps some seven or
+eight miles from the railway station, I noticed
+a stout dog-cart standing at the corner of a by-road,
+under a tall, straggling thorn hedge.
+The youth who was seated in it made a sign
+to the coachman to stop, and I was made
+aware that the dog-cart had been sent for me.
+I got down, and as I bade good-night to the
+cross-questioning farmer, I observed a grim
+smile of triumph on his firmly compressed lips.
+He evidently knew the dog-cart, and would
+now be able to trace the mysterious stranger.</p>
+
+<p>I and my portmanteau were finally left on
+the side of the road, and the young man in
+the dog-cart civilly turned the vehicle round
+(with some difficulty on account of the narrow
+road), and drew up beside me, to save my
+carrying my luggage a dozen yards. At first
+I was a little uncertain whether I had one of
+my third (or fourth, which is it?) cousins
+before me, or simply a young man from Mr.
+Lindsay’s farm. He was dressed in very
+coarse tweeds, and his hands were rough, and
+spoke of manual labour, and he breathed the
+incense of the farm-yard; but I thought his
+finely-cut features and sensitive lips bespoke
+him to be of gentle blood, and, luckily, I
+made a hit in the right direction.</p>
+
+<p>‘You are one of Mr. Lindsay’s sons, I think—that
+is to say, one of my cousins,’ I said, as
+I shook hands with him.</p>
+
+<p>The youth’s face lighted up with a blush
+and a pleasant smile as he answered that he
+was, and held open the apron of the dog-cart
+for me to get in. In another moment we
+were off, the sturdy old mare between the
+shafts carrying us along at a very fair pace.</p>
+
+<p>There are some people, Sophy, who wear
+their characters written on their faces, and
+Alec Lindsay is one of them. I could see,
+even as we drove together along that solitary
+lane in the autumn twilight, that his was a
+frank, ingenuous nature, shy, sensitive, and
+reserved. I mean that his shyness made him
+reserved, but his thoughts and feelings showed
+themselves in his face without his knowing it,
+so little idea had he of purposely concealing
+himself. Such a face is always interesting;
+and besides, there was an under-expression of
+dissatisfaction, of unrest, I hardly know what
+to call it, in his eyes, which was scarcely
+natural in so young a lad. He could not
+be more than eighteen or nineteen.</p>
+
+<p>After half an hour’s drive we approached
+the little town, or village—it is rather too
+large for a village, and much too small to be
+called a town—of Muirburn. It consists of
+one long double row of two-storied houses
+built of stone and whitewashed, with one or
+two short cross streets at intervals. The
+houses had not a scrap of garden in front
+of them, nothing but a broad footpath, the
+playground of troops of children. The lower
+part of these dwellings had a bare, deserted
+appearance, but I found that they were used
+in almost every case as workrooms, being
+fitted up with looms. In one or two of the
+windows a light twinkled, and we could hear
+the noise of the shuttle as we passed.</p>
+
+<p>In the middle of the village stood a large
+square building, whitewashed all over, and
+provided with two rows of small square
+windows, placed at regular intervals, one
+above and one below.</p>
+
+<p>‘What is that building?’ I asked.</p>
+
+<p>‘The Free Church,’ answered my companion,
+with a touch of pride.</p>
+
+<p>A church! Why, it was hardly fit to be
+a school-house. A mean iron railing, which
+had been painted at some remote epoch, alone
+protected it from the street. It was the very
+embodiment of ugliness; its sole ornament
+being a stove-pipe which protruded from one
+corner of the roof. Never, in all my life,
+whether among Hindoos, Mahometans, or
+Irish peasants, had I seen so supremely ugly
+an edifice dedicated to the service of the
+Almighty.</p>
+
+<p>‘That’s the United Presbyterian one,’ said
+Alec, pointing with his whip to a building
+on the other side of the street, similar to
+the one we had just passed, but of less
+hideous aspect. It was smaller, and it could
+boast a front of hewn stone, and neat latticed
+windows, while a narrow belt of greensward
+fenced it off from the road.</p>
+
+<p>Just then we passed a knot of men, perhaps
+ten or a dozen, standing at the corner of one
+of the side streets. All had their hands in
+their pockets, all were in their shirt-sleeves,
+and all wore long white aprons. They were
+doing nothing whatever—not talking, nor
+laughing, nor quarrelling, but simply looking
+down the street. At present our humble
+equipage was evidently an object of supreme
+interest to them.</p>
+
+<p>‘What are these men doing there?’ I asked.</p>
+
+<p>‘They’re weavers,’ answered Alec, as if the
+fact contained a reason in itself for their
+conduct. ‘They always stand there when
+they are not working, in all weathers, wet
+and dry; it’s their chief diversion.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Diversion!’ I repeated; but at that moment
+the sweet tinkle of a church-bell fell upon
+my ears. I almost expected to see the people
+cross themselves, it sounded so much like the
+Angelus. It is the custom, I find, to ring
+the bell of the parish church at six in the
+morning and eight in the evening, though
+there is no service, and no apparent need
+for the ceremony. I wonder if it can be
+really a survival of the Vesper-bell?</p>
+
+<p>The bell was still ringing as we passed the
+church that possessed it. This was ‘the
+Established Church,’ my companion informed
+me—a building larger than either of its
+competitors, and boasting a belfry.</p>
+
+<p>‘What does a small town like this want
+with so many chapels?’ I asked my cousin.</p>
+
+<p>I could see that I had displeased him,
+whether by speaking of Muirburn as a small
+town, or by inadvertently calling the ‘churches’
+chapels, I was not sure. As he hesitated for
+an answer I hastened to add:</p>
+
+<p>‘You are all of the same religion—substantially,
+I mean?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Well, yes.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Then why don’t you club together and
+have one handsome place of worship instead
+of three very—well, plain buildings?’</p>
+
+<p>‘What?’ exclaimed Alec, and then he
+burst into a roar of laughter. ‘That’s a
+good joke,’ said he, as if I had said something
+superlatively witty; ‘but I say,’ he
+continued, with a serious look in his bonny
+blue eyes, ‘you’d better not say anything of
+that kind to my father.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Why not?’ I asked, but Alec did not
+answer me.</p>
+
+<p>His attention was attracted by a child
+which was playing in the road, right in
+front of us. He called out, but the little
+one did not seem to hear him, and he
+slackened the mare’s pace almost to a walk.
+We were just approaching the last of the
+side streets, and at that moment a gig, drawn
+by a powerful bay horse, appeared coming
+rapidly round the corner. It was evident
+that there must be a collision, though, owing
+to Alec’s having slackened his pace so much,
+it could not be a serious one.</p>
+
+<p>But the child? Before I could cry out,
+before I could think, Alec was out of the trap
+and snatching the little boy from under the
+horse’s very nose. I never saw a narrower
+escape; how he was not struck down himself,
+I cannot imagine.</p>
+
+<p>The next moment the gig, which had brushed
+against our vehicle without doing it much
+damage, had disappeared down the road; and
+a woman, clad in a short linsey petticoat and a
+wide sleeveless bodice of printed cotton, had
+rushed out of the opposite house and was
+roundly abusing Alec for having nearly killed
+her child. Without paying much attention to
+her, Alec walked round to the other side of the
+dog-cart to see what damage had been done,
+and muttering to himself, ‘I’m thankful it’s no
+worse,’ he climbed back into his place, and we
+resumed our journey, while the young Caledonian
+was acknowledging sundry tender
+marks of his mother’s affection with screams
+like those of a locomotive.</p>
+
+<p>Another half-hour’s drive brought us to a
+five-barred gate which admitted us to a narrow
+and particularly rough lane. We jolted on for
+a few minutes, and then the loud barking of
+several dogs announced that we had arrived at
+the farm. But I must keep my description of
+its inhabitants for my next epistle. I am too
+sleepy to write more. Good-night.</p>
+
+<p class="center">
+Your affectionate cousin,</p>
+<p class="right p0 r8"><span class="smcap">Hubert Blake.</span><br>
+</p>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span>
+<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="Two">II.</abbr></h3>
+<h4>THE SECOND LETTER.</h4>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Hubert Blake to Sophy Meredith.</i><br>
+</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="right">
+<span class="smcap">The Castle Farm, Muirburn</span>, N.B.<br>
+<span style="margin-right: 4em;"><i>September 15.</i></span><br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="indent5">
+<span class="smcap">Dear Sophy</span>,
+</p>
+
+<p>I think I shall like this place, and shall
+probably stay till the beginning of winter. I
+have begun a large picture of a really beautiful
+spot which I found close by two days ago, and
+I should like to see my painting well on to
+completion before I return, lest I should be
+tempted to leave it unfinished, like so many
+others, when I get back to town.</p>
+
+<p>I had a very hospitable welcome from Mr.
+Lindsay on the night I arrived. He met me
+at the door—a tall, broad-shouldered, upright
+man, perhaps sixty years of age, with the
+regular Scotch type of features, large nose, and
+high cheek-bones. I could see, even at first,
+that he is the sort of man it would not be
+pleasant to quarrel with.</p>
+
+<p>He led me into a wide passage, and thence
+into a large low-roofed kitchen with a stone
+floor. Here there were seated two or three
+men and as many women, whom I took to be
+farm-servants. There was no light in the place,
+except that which came from a bit of ‘cannel’
+coal, stuck in the peat fire. The women were
+knitting; the men were doing nothing. No
+one took the trouble of rising as we passed,
+except one of the young men who went to look
+after the mare.</p>
+
+<p>After crossing the kitchen we passed through
+a narrow passage, and entered a pleasant and
+good-sized room in which a large coal fire and
+a moderator lamp were burning.</p>
+
+<p>Did you ever see a perfectly beautiful woman,
+Sophy? I doubt it. I never did till I saw
+Margaret Lindsay. I was so astonished to see
+a lady at the Castle Farm that I positively
+stared at the girl for a moment, but she came
+forward and shook hands with the utmost self-possession.</p>
+
+<p>‘I’m afraid you have had a cold drive, Mr.
+Blake,’ she said; and though she spoke in a
+very decidedly Scotch accent, the words did
+not sound so harshly from her lips as they had
+done when spoken by her father. For the
+first time I thought that the Doric might have
+an agreeable sound.</p>
+
+<p>I will try to tell you what Margaret is like.
+She must be nearly twenty years of age, for she
+is evidently older than her brother, but her
+complexion is that of a girl of sixteen, by far
+the finest and softest I ever saw. She is tall,
+but not too tall for elegance. Her eyes are
+brown, like her father’s, and her hair is a dark
+chestnut. Her features are simply perfect—low
+forehead, beautifully moulded eyebrows,
+short upper lip—you can imagine the rest.
+You will say that my description would fit a
+marble bust nearly as well as a girl of nineteen,
+and your criticism would be just. Margaret’s
+face is rather wanting in expression. It is calm,
+reserved, not to say hard. But her deliberate
+almost proud manner suits her admirably.</p>
+
+<p>I can see you smiling to yourself, and saying
+that you understand now my anxiety to get
+my picture finished before I leave the farm.
+All I can say is, you never were more mistaken
+in your life. I am not falling in love with this
+newly-discovered beauty, and I certainly don’t
+intend to do anything so foolish. But I could
+look at her face by the hour together. I
+wonder whether there are any capabilities of
+passion under the cold exterior.</p>
+
+<p>I took an opportunity when Alec was out of
+the room to narrate our little adventure by the
+way, and just as I finished my recital the hero
+of the story came in.</p>
+
+<p>‘So you managed to get run into on the
+way home, Alec,’ said his father, with a look
+of displeasure. ‘I should think you might
+have learned to drive by this time.’</p>
+
+<p>The lad’s face flushed, but he made no
+answer.</p>
+
+<p>‘Is the mare hurt?’ asked the old man.</p>
+
+<p>‘No, she wasn’t touched,’ answered his son.
+‘One of the wheels will want a new spoke;
+that’s all.’</p>
+
+<p>‘And is that nothing, sir?’</p>
+
+<p>‘No one could possibly have avoided the
+collision, such as it was,’ said I; ‘and I’ve
+seldom seen a pluckier thing than Alec did.’</p>
+
+<p>The old man looked at me, and immediately
+changed the subject.</p>
+
+<p>When tea (a remarkably substantial meal,
+by the way) was over, the farm-servants and
+the old woman who acts as housemaid were
+called into the large parlour in which we were
+sitting for prayers, or, as they call it here,
+‘worship.’ I can’t say I was edified, Sophy.
+I dare say I am not a particularly good judge
+of these matters, but really there seemed to
+me a very slight infusion of worship about
+the ceremony. First of all Bibles were handed
+round, and Mr. Lindsay proceeded to read
+a few lines from a metrical version of the
+Psalms, beginning in the middle of a Psalm
+for the excellent reason that they had left off
+at that point on the preceding evening. Then
+they began to sing the same verses to a strange,
+pathetic melody. Margaret led the tune, and
+it was a pleasure to listen to her sweet unaffected
+notes, but the rough grumble of the
+old men and Betty’s discordant squeak produced
+a really ridiculous effect. Then a
+chapter was read from the Bible, and then we
+rose up, turned round, and knelt down. Mr.
+Lindsay began an extempore prayer, which
+was partly an exposition of the chapter we had
+just heard read, and partly an address to the
+Almighty, which I won’t shock you by describing.
+At the end of the prayer were
+some practical petitions, amongst them one on
+behalf of ‘the stranger within our gates,’ by
+which phrase your humble servant was indicated.
+The instant the word ‘Amen’ escaped
+from the lips of my host, there was a sudden
+shuffling of feet, and the little congregation
+had risen to their feet and were in full retreat
+before I had realized that the service was at
+an end. I fully expected that this conduct
+would have called down a reproof from Mr.
+Lindsay, but it seemed to be accepted on all
+hands as the ordinary custom. Half an hour
+afterwards I was in bed, and sound asleep.</p>
+
+<p>I awoke next morning to a glorious day.
+The harvest is late in these parts, you know,
+and the ‘happy autumn fields,’ some half cut,
+some filled with ‘stooks’ of corn, were stretching
+before my window down to a hollow,
+which I judged to be the bed of a river.</p>
+
+<p>After breakfast I had an interview with my
+host, and managed to get my future arrangements
+put upon a proper footing. Of course
+I could not stay here for an indefinite time at
+Mr. Lindsay’s expense; and though at first he
+scouted the proposal, I got him to consent
+that I should set up an establishment of my
+own in two half-empty rooms—the house is
+twice as large as the family requires—and be
+practically independent. I could see that the
+old man had a struggle between his pride and
+his love of hospitality on the one hand, and
+the prospect of letting part of his house to
+a good tenant on the other; but I smoothed
+matters a little by asking to be allowed to
+remain as his guest until Monday. Poor man,
+I am sorry for him. He used to be a well-to-do
+if not a wealthy ‘laird,’ and owned not
+only the Castle Farm, but one or two others.
+Now, in consequence of his having become
+surety for a friend who left him to pay the
+piper, and as a result of several bad seasons,
+he has been forced to sell one farm and
+mortgage the others so heavily that he is
+practically worse off than if he were a tenant
+of the mortgagees. This ‘come down’ in the
+world has soured his temper, and developed
+a stinginess which I think is foreign to his
+real nature. I fancy, too, he had a great loss
+when his wife died. She was a woman, I am
+told, of education and refinement. It must
+have been from her that Margaret got her
+beauty, and Alec his fine eyes.</p>
+
+<p>But I have not told you what the neighbourhood
+is like. Well, the farmhouse is
+built on the side of a knoll, and at the top is
+a very respectable ruin. The castle, from
+which the farm takes its name, must have been
+a strong place at one time. The keep is still
+standing, and its walls are quite five feet
+thick. Besides the keep, time has spared
+part of the front, some of the buttresses, and
+some half-ruined doorways and windows. But
+the whole place is overgrown with weeds and
+nettles. No one takes the slightest interest
+in this relic of another age: nobody could tell
+me who built it, or give me even a shred of
+a legend about its history.</p>
+
+<p>As I was wandering about the walls of the
+ruin, trying to select a point from which to
+sketch it, I was joined by Alec Lindsay.
+He had one or two books under his arm; and
+he stopped short on seeing me, as if he had
+not expected to find anyone there.</p>
+
+<p>‘Don’t let me interrupt you,’ I said, beginning
+to move away. ‘You make this place
+your study, I see.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Sometimes I bring my books up here,’ he
+replied. ‘There is a corner under the wall of
+the tower which is quite sheltered from the
+wind. Even the rain can hardly reach it, and
+I have a glorious view of the sunset when I sit
+there on fine evenings.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I should like to see the place,’ said I, anxious
+to put the lad at his ease; and he led me to a
+corner among the ruins, from which, as he
+said, a wide view was obtained.</p>
+
+<p>Near at hand were pastures and harvest-fields.
+Beyond them was the bed of the river,
+fringed with wood, and the horizon was
+bounded by low moorland hills.</p>
+
+<p>‘From the top of that one,’ said Alec, pointing
+to one of the hills, ‘you can catch a glint
+of the sea. It shines like a looking-glass. I
+would like to see it near at hand.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Have you never been to the seaside?’ I
+asked.</p>
+
+<p>I must have betrayed my surprise by my
+voice, for the boy blushed as he answered:</p>
+
+<p>‘No; I have been to Glasgow once or twice,
+but I have never been to the salt water.’
+(The seaside is always spoken of as ‘the
+coast’ or ‘the salt water’ in this part of
+the country.) ‘I have never been beyond
+Muirburn, except once or twice, in my life,’ he
+added, as the look of discontent which I
+fancied I had detected in his face grew
+stronger.</p>
+
+<p>‘May I look at your books?’ I asked, by
+way of changing the subject.</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh yes; they’re not much to look at,’ he
+said with a blush.</p>
+
+<p>I took them up—a Greek grammar, and a
+school-book containing simple passages of
+Greek for translation, with a vocabulary at
+the end of the volume.</p>
+
+<p>‘Is this how you spend your leisure time?’
+I asked.</p>
+
+<p>‘Not always—not very often,’ answered
+Alec. ‘Often I am lazy and go in for Euclid
+and algebra—I like them far better than
+Greek. And sometimes,’ he added with hesitation,
+as if he were confessing a fault—‘sometimes
+I waste my time with a novel.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I would not call it wasting time if you
+read good novels,’ said I. ‘What do you
+read?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Only Sir Walter and old volumes of <cite>Blackwood</cite>;
+they are all I have got.’</p>
+
+<p>‘You could not do better, in my opinion,’
+said I emphatically. ‘Such books are just
+as necessary for your education as a Greek
+delectus.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Do you think so?’ said the lad, with
+wondering eyes. ‘These are not my father’s
+notions.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Shall I leave you to your work now?’ I
+asked, rising from the heather on which we
+were lying.</p>
+
+<p>‘I like to have you to talk to,’ said Alec,
+half shyly, half frankly. ‘I seldom do get
+anyone to talk to.’</p>
+
+<p>‘You have your sister,’ I said involuntarily.</p>
+
+<p>‘Margaret is not like me. She has her own
+thoughts and her own ways; besides, she is a
+girl. Will you come and see the “Lover’s
+Leap?” It’s a bonny place.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Where is it?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Only half a mile up the Logan.’</p>
+
+<p>‘You mean the stream that runs through
+the valley down there?’</p>
+
+<p>‘No; that’s the Nethan. The Logan falls
+into it about a mile farther up.’</p>
+
+<p>We were descending the knoll as we talked;
+and on our way we saw a field where the
+reapers were at work. As we approached, we
+saw a tall form leave the field and come towards
+us. It was Alec’s father.</p>
+
+<p>‘I think, Alec,’ said the old man, ‘you
+would be better employed helping to stack the
+corn, if you’re too proud to take a hand at the
+shearing, rather than walking about doing
+nothing.’</p>
+
+<p>The lad blushed furiously, and made no
+answer.</p>
+
+<p>‘Alec meant to have been at work over his
+books,’ said I; ‘but he was kind enough to
+show me something of the neighbourhood.
+It doesn’t matter in the least, Alec; I can
+easily find my way alone.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, if you have any need for the boy,
+that’s another matter,’ said Mr. Lindsay.</p>
+
+<p>I protested again that I could find my way
+perfectly well, and moved off, while Alec
+turned into the field with a set look about
+his mouth that was not pleasant to see.</p>
+
+<p>The cause of the discontent I had seen in
+the lad’s face was plain enough now. He is
+treated like a child, as if he had no mind or
+will of his own. I wonder how the boy will
+turn out. It seems to me a toss-up; or
+rather, the chances are that he will break
+away altogether, and ruin himself.</p>
+
+<p>I went on my way to the bank of the
+river, by the side of a double row of Scotch
+firs. It was one of those perfect September
+days when the air is still warm, when a thin
+haze is hanging over all the land, when there
+is no sound to be heard but now and then
+the chirp of a bird, or the far-off lowing of
+cattle—a day in which it is enough, and more
+than enough, to sit still and drink in the
+silent influences of earth and heaven, when
+anything like occupation seems an insult to
+the sweetness and beauty of nature. Across
+the little river was a large plantation of firs,
+growing almost to the water’s edge; and I
+could feel the balmy scent of them in the
+air.</p>
+
+<p>As I reached the river I overtook Margaret
+Lindsay, who was walking a little way in
+advance of me. She had a book under her
+arm, an old volume covered in brown leather.
+We greeted each other, and I soon found that
+she was bound, like myself, for the ‘Lover’s
+Leap.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I will show you the place,’ she said; ‘we
+must cross the river here.’</p>
+
+<p>As she spoke she stepped on a large flat
+stone that lay at the water’s edge; and I
+saw that a succession of such stones, placed
+at intervals of about a yard, made a path by
+which the river could be crossed. The current
+was pretty strong, and as the water was rushing
+fast between the stones (which barely
+showed their heads above the stream), I
+hastened to offer Margaret my hand. But
+the girl only glanced at me with a look of
+surprise, and with the nearest approach to a
+smile which I had seen in her face, she shook
+her head and began to walk over the stepping-stones
+with as much composure as if she had
+been moving across a floor. Now and then
+she had to make a slight spring to gain the
+next stone, and she did so with the ease and
+grace of a fawn. I followed a little way
+behind, and when we had gained the opposite
+side we walked in single file along the riverbank,
+till we came to the spot where the
+Logan came tumbling and dancing down the
+side of a rather steep hill to meet the larger
+stream. The hill was covered with brushwood
+and bracken, and a few scattered trees;
+but a path seemed to have been made through
+the bushes, and up this path we began to
+scramble. Once or twice I ventured to offer
+Margaret my hand, but she declined my help,
+saying that she could get on better alone.</p>
+
+<p>After a few minutes of this climbing,
+Margaret suddenly moved to one side, and
+sprang down to a tiny morsel of gravelly
+beach, at the side of the burn. I followed
+her, and was fairly entranced by what I saw.
+A little way above us the gorge widened,
+allowing us to see the trees, which, growing
+on either side of the brook, interlaced their
+branches above it. From beneath the trees
+the stream made a clear downward leap, of
+perhaps thirty or forty feet, into a pool—the
+pool at our feet—which was so deep that
+it seemed nearly as black as ink. The music
+of the waterfall filled the air so that we could
+hardly catch the sound of each other’s words;
+and if we moved to the farther end of the
+little margin of beach, we heard, instead of
+the noise of the waterfall, the sweet babbling
+of the burn over its stony bed.</p>
+
+<p>‘Do you often come here?’ I asked, as we
+stood at the edge of the stream, some little
+distance from the fall.</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes, pretty often when I wish to be alone,
+or to have an hour’s quiet reading.’</p>
+
+<p>‘As you do to-day,’ said I; ‘that’s as
+much as to say that you want to have an
+hour’s quiet reading now.’</p>
+
+<p>‘So I do,’ said the girl calmly.</p>
+
+<p>‘Or, in other words, that it is time for me
+to take myself off.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I did not mean that,’ said Margaret, with
+perfect placidity. ‘Would you like to go up
+to the top of the linn?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Very much,’ said I, and we scrambled up
+the bank to the upper level of the stream,
+and gazed down upon the black rushing water
+and the dark pool beneath, with its fringe of
+cream-coloured foam.</p>
+
+<p>‘So this is the “Lover’s Leap,”’ I remarked.</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes,’ said Margaret. ‘They say that once
+a young man was carrying off his sweetheart,
+when her father and brothers pursued them.
+The girl was riding on a pillion behind her
+lover. As the only way of escape, he put
+his horse at the gap over our heads—it must
+have been narrower in those days than it is
+now—missed it, and both himself and the
+lady were killed in the fall.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Dreadful!’ I exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>‘Of course it isn’t true,’ pursued Margaret
+tranquilly.</p>
+
+<p>‘Why not?’ I asked.</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, such stories never are; they are all
+romantic nonsense.’</p>
+
+<p>‘How different your streams are from those
+in the south,’ said I, after a pause; ‘Tennyson’s
+description of a brook would hardly suit
+this one.’</p>
+
+<p>‘What is that?’ she inquired.</p>
+
+<p>‘Don’t you know it?’ I asked, letting
+my surprise get the better of my good
+manners.</p>
+
+<p>‘No, I never heard it,’ she said, without
+the least tinge of embarrassment; so I repeated
+the well-known lines, to which Margaret
+listened with her eyes still fixed on the
+rushing water.</p>
+
+<p>‘They are very pretty,’ said the girl, when
+I had finished; ‘but I should not care for a
+brook like that. I should think it would be
+very much like a canal, wouldn’t it?—only
+smaller. I like my own brook better; and I
+like Burns’s description of one better than
+Tennyson’s.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Has Burns described a brook? I wish
+you would quote it to me,’ said I.</p>
+
+<p>‘Surely you know the lines,’ said Margaret;
+‘they are in “Hallowe’en.”’</p>
+
+<p>I assured her I did not, and in a low clear
+voice she repeated:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0a">‘Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">As through the glen it wimples;</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Whyles round a rocky scaur it strays;</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">Whyles in a wiel it dimples.</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Whyles glitterin’ to the noontide rays,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">Wi’ bickerin’, dancin’ dazzle,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Whyles cookin’ underneath the braes,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">Below the spreading hazel.’</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>‘I think they are beautiful lines, so far as I
+understand them,’ was my verdict. ‘What
+is “cookin’,” for example? I know it does
+not mean frying, or anything of that kind,
+<span class="lock">but——’</span></p>
+
+<p>I stopped, for the girl looked half offended
+at my poor little attempt to be funny at the
+expense of a Scotch word.</p>
+
+<p>‘There is no word for it in English, that I
+know of,’ she said. ‘It means crouching
+down, contentedly, in a comfortable place. If
+you saw a hen on a windy day under a stook of
+corn, you might say it was “cooking” there.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Thank you,’ I replied; ‘I won’t forget.
+And now I must be off, for I know you came
+here to read.’</p>
+
+<p>If in my vanity I had hoped for permission
+to remain, I was disappointed. Nothing of
+the kind was forthcoming.</p>
+
+<p>‘I hope you have got an interesting book,’
+said I, wondering what the old brown-leather
+volume could be.</p>
+
+<p>‘You might not think it very interesting,’
+answered Margaret, raising her lovely eyes to
+mine, as tranquilly as if she had been speaking
+of a newspaper. ‘It is only a volume of old
+sermons. Good-bye till dinner-time, Mr.
+Blake;’ and so saying she turned to seek her
+favourite nook, at the side of the waterfall.</p>
+
+<p>‘Old sermons!’ I exclaimed to myself as
+I left her. ‘What a singular girl she is.
+Fancy——’</p>
+
+<p>But my reflections were cut short, for
+I ‘lifted up mine eyes’ and saw a mountain
+ash—they call them ‘rowan trees’ here—full
+of berries.</p>
+
+<p>Sophy, such a tree is the most beautiful
+object in nature; there is no way of describing
+it, no way of putting its beauty into
+words. If you doubt what I say, look well at
+the next one you see, and then tell me if I am
+wrong. Good-night.</p>
+
+<p class="center">
+Ever yours affectionately,</p>
+<p class="p0 right r8"><span class="smcap">Hubert Blake</span>.
+</p>
+
+<p>P.S.—I mean to get M. to sit for her
+portrait to-morrow; but I see that in order
+to gain this end I shall have to use all my
+skill in diplomacy, both with the young lady
+and with her respected father.</p>
+
+<p class="right r4">
+H. B.<br>
+</p>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span>
+<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="Three">III.</abbr></h3>
+<h4>THE THIRD LETTER.</h4>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Hubert Blake to Sophy Meredith.</i><br>
+</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="right">
+<span class="smcap">The Castle Farm, Muirburn</span>, N.B.,<br>
+<span style="margin-right: 4em;"><i>September 17</i>.</span><br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="indent5">
+<span class="smcap">My dear Sophy</span>,
+</p>
+
+<p>It did not occur to me, when I agreed
+to consider myself Mr. Lindsay’s guest until
+to-day, that the arrangement would entail my
+spending the greater part of a glorious autumn
+day within the walls of the Muirburn Free
+Kirk—but you shall hear. I suspected, from
+something which fell from my host at breakfast,
+that the excuses which I intended to
+offer for my not accompanying the family to
+church would not be considered sufficient;
+but when I ventured to hint at something of
+the kind my remark was received by such
+a horrified stare (not to speak of the look of
+consternation on Margaret’s beautiful face),
+that I saw that to have made any further
+struggle for freedom would have been a positive
+breach of good manners. I submitted,
+therefore, with as good a grace as I could;
+and I was afterwards given to understand that
+to have absented myself from ‘ordinances’
+that Sunday would have been little short of a
+scandal, seeing that it happened to be ‘Sacrament
+Sunday.’</p>
+
+<p>If you ask a Scotchman how many sacraments
+there are, he will answer, if he remembers
+the Shorter Catechism, two. If,
+however, he is taken unawares, he will answer,
+one. Baptism is popularly considered to be a
+mere ceremony, of no practical importance to
+the infant recipient of it. It is regarded
+chiefly as an outward sign and token of the
+respectability of the parents, since it is only
+administered to the children of well-behaved
+people. ‘The Sacrament’ means the Lord’s
+Supper, which is administered in Presbyterian
+churches generally four times, but in country
+places often only twice a year. This, as it
+happened, was one of the ‘quarterly’ Communions,
+and as such popularly considered as
+of less dignity than those which occur at the
+old-fashioned seasons of July and January.</p>
+
+<p>We set off about a quarter-past ten in the
+heavy, two-wheeled dog-cart which brought
+me here. I manifested an intention of walking
+to the village, and asked Alec to accompany
+me, but Mr. Lindsay intervened and
+protested strongly against my proposal. He
+said it would not be ‘seemly,’ by which I
+suppose he meant that it would be inconsistent
+with the dignity of the family, if a guest
+of his house were to be seen going to church
+on foot; but I could not help suspecting that
+he envied Alec and myself the sinful pleasure
+which a four-mile walk on so lovely a morning
+would have afforded us.</p>
+
+<p>I can see that my elderly cousin (three
+times removed) is one of those people who are
+thoroughly unhappy unless they get their own
+way in everything, and never enjoy themselves
+more than when they have succeeded in
+spoiling somebody’s pleasure. I mentally resolved
+to have as little to do with the old
+gentleman as I possibly could, and mounted to
+the front seat of the dog-cart, which, as the
+place of honour, had been reserved for me.</p>
+
+<p>As the old mare trotted soberly along, I
+could not help noticing the silence that seemed
+to brood over the fields. I have remarked the
+same thing in England, but somehow a Scotch
+Sunday seems even more still and quiet than
+an English one. Is it merely a matter of
+association and sentiment? Or is it that we
+miss on Sundays hundreds of trifling noises
+which on week-days fall unconsciously upon
+our ears?</p>
+
+<p>Presently we began to pass little knots of
+people trudging along churchwards. The old
+women carried their Bibles wrapped up in
+their pocket-handkerchiefs to preserve them
+from the dust, along with the usual sprig of
+southern-wood. The men, without exception,
+wore suits of black, shiny broadcloth. They
+seemed to be all farmers. Very few of the
+weavers or labourers have any religion
+whatever (so far as outward rites go), any
+more than your unworthy cousin; and I can’t
+help thinking that the necessity for shiny
+black clothes has something to do with it.
+The women are different; as usual in all
+countries, and in all creeds, they are more
+devout than the men.</p>
+
+<p>On the way we passed a group of young
+women just inside a field not far from the
+town, who were sitting about and stooping in
+various attitudes. I could not conceive what
+they were about, and turned to my host for
+an explanation.</p>
+
+<p>He gravely informed me that they were
+putting on their shoes. Being accustomed
+throughout the week to dispense with these
+inventions of modern effeminacy, they find it
+extremely irksome to walk for miles over
+dusty roads in shoes and stockings. They
+therefore carry them in their hands till they
+reach some convenient field near the town
+which is the object of their journey, and then,
+sitting down on the grass, they array themselves
+in that part of their raiment before
+going into church.</p>
+
+<p>We were now close to the town, and the
+sweet-toned little bell which I had heard on
+the evening of my arrival, along with a larger
+one of peculiarly strident tone in the belfry of
+the United Presbyterian Kirk, were ‘doing
+their best.’ There were whole processions of
+gigs or dog-carts such as that in which we
+were seated. No other style of vehicle was to
+be seen.</p>
+
+<p>I was rather amused to see that the corner
+at which on week-days the weavers stand in
+their shirt-sleeves was not left unoccupied.
+The place was crowded with farmers, most of
+them highly respectable-looking men, clad in
+long black coats and tall hats. As to the hats,
+by the way, they were of all shapes which
+have been in fashion for the last twenty years,
+some of them taller than I should have supposed
+it possible for a hat to be.</p>
+
+<p>We alighted at the door of an inn, and I
+noticed that the inn yard was crowded with
+‘machines,’ <i>i.e.</i>, dog-carts and gigs, which I
+thought pretty fair evidence of the prosperity
+of the country. Then we proceeded to our
+place of worship. In the little vestibule was
+a tall three-legged stool covered with a white
+napkin, and upon this rested a large pewter
+plate to receive the contributions of the faithful.
+Two tall farmers, dressed in swallow-tail
+coats, tall hats, and white neckties of the old-fashioned,
+all-round description, were standing
+over the treasury, and in one of them I recognised
+my acquaintance of the coach. I was
+prepared to nod him a greeting, but he preserved
+the most complete immobility of countenance,
+and kept his gaze fixed on the horizon
+outside the church door, as if no nearer object
+were worthy of his attention.</p>
+
+<p>I found the church filled with dreadfully
+narrow pews of unpainted wood, and facing
+them an immensely tall pulpit, with a subsidiary
+pulpit in front of the other at a lower
+elevation. There were carpets on the staircase
+which led up to the pulpits, and the desks
+of both were covered with red cloth, with
+elaborate tassels. From either side of the
+upper pulpit there projected slender, curving
+brass rods about two feet long, terminating in
+broad pieces of brass, fixed at right angles to
+the rods. What the use of this apparatus was
+I could not imagine. A steep gallery ran
+round three sides of the little building; and in
+front of the pulpit was a table covered with a
+white cloth.</p>
+
+<p>I was not so uncharitable as to suppose that
+those who came here to worship were guilty of
+any intentional irreverence, but certainly they
+carried out the theory that no reverence ought
+to be paid to sacred places very completely.
+No male person removed his hat till he was
+well within the doors; and in many cases men
+did not uncover themselves till they were comfortably
+seated. No one so much as thought
+of engaging in any private devotions. I was
+surprised to see that the congregation (which
+was, for the size of the building, a large one)
+was composed almost entirely of women and
+children; but as soon as the bells stopped
+ringing, a great clatter of heavy boots was
+heard in the vestibule, and the heads of
+families, whom I had seen standing at the
+corner, poured into the place. Like wise men,
+they had been taking the benefit of the fresh
+air till the last available moment.</p>
+
+<p>Hardly had the farmers taken their seats
+when a man appeared, dressed entirely in black,
+carrying an enormous Bible, with two smaller
+books placed on the top of it. Ascending the
+pulpit stairs, he placed one of the smaller books
+on the desk of the lower pulpit; and then,
+going a few steps higher, he deposited the
+other two volumes on the desk of the higher
+one. He then retired, and immediately the
+minister, a tall, dark man, with very long
+black hair, wearing an immense gown of
+black silk, black gloves, and white bands
+such as barristers wear, entered the church
+and ascended to the pulpit. He was followed
+by an older man dressed in a stuff gown,
+who went into the lower pulpit. Last
+of all came the door-keeper, who also went
+up the pulpit stairs and carefully closed the
+pulpit door after the minister. The man in
+the stuff gown was left to shut his own door,
+and he did so with a bang, as if in protest at
+the want of respect shown to him, and his
+inferior position generally.</p>
+
+<p>The ritual part, as I may call it, of the service
+being over, the minister rose and gave out
+a psalm, just as old Mr. Lindsay does at
+prayers; and as he did so, the man in the stuff
+gown got up, and pulling out two thin black
+boards from under his desk, he skilfully fixed
+one of them on the end of the brass rod which
+projected from the right-hand side of the pulpit;
+and then, turning half round, he fixed the other
+upon the similar rod on the left-hand side. On
+each of these boards I read, in large gilt letters,
+the word ‘Martyrdom.’ I could not imagine,
+even then, the meaning of this ceremony; but
+Alec informed me afterwards that it was meant
+to convey to the congregation the name of the
+tune to which the psalm was to be sung, so that
+they might turn it up in their tune-books, if
+they felt so inclined.</p>
+
+<p>When the minister had read the verses
+which he wished to have sung, he gave out
+the number of the psalm again in a loud voice,
+and read the first line a second time, so that
+there might be no mistake. He then sat
+down, and the little man beneath him, rising
+up, began to sing. I very nearly got into
+trouble at this point by rising to my feet,
+forgetting for the moment that the orthodox
+Scotch fashion is to sit while singing and to
+stand at prayer. (I am told that in the towns
+a good many churches have adopted the habit
+of standing up to sing and keeping their seats
+during the prayer; but older Presbyterians
+look upon this custom, as, if not exactly
+heretical, yet objectionable, as tending in the
+direction of ritualism, prelacy, and other
+abominations.) For a line or two the precentor
+was left to sing by himself, then one or
+two joined in, and presently the whole body
+of the congregation took up the singing. I
+was surprised to find what a good effect
+resulted—it was at least infinitely better than
+that of an ordinary choir of mixed voices led
+by a vile harmonium or American organ.
+Many of the voices were rough, no doubt;
+and the precentor seemed to make it a point
+of honour to keep half a note ahead of everybody
+else; but, in spite of this, the general
+effect of so many sonorous voices singing in
+unison was decidedly impressive.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as the four prescribed verses had
+been sung, the minister rose up to pray, and
+everybody got up at the same time. You
+know I am not easily shocked, Sophy; and
+hitherto, though I had seen much that was
+ludicrous and strange, I had not seen anything
+that I considered specially objectionable; but
+I must say that the behaviour of these good
+folks at the prayer which followed did shock
+me. They simply stood up and stared at
+each other; perhaps I noticed it more particularly
+because I, being a stranger, came in
+for a good share of attention. Many of the
+men kept their hands in their pockets; some
+were occupied taking observations of the
+weather, through the little windows of plain
+glass, half the time. The minister, I noticed,
+kept his hands clasped and his eyes tightly
+closed; and some of his flock, among whom
+were my host and his daughter, followed his
+example; but the majority, as I have said,
+simply stared around them. They may have
+been giving, meanwhile, a mental assent to
+the truths which the minister was enunciating;
+I dare say some of them were; but as
+far as one could judge from outward appearances
+they were no more engaged in praying
+than they were engaged in ploughing. The
+prayer lasted a very long time; when it was
+over we heard a chapter read, and after another
+part of a psalm was sung the sermon began.
+This was evidently the event of the day, to
+which everything said or done hitherto had
+been only an accessory; and everybody settled
+himself down in his seat as comfortably as he
+could.</p>
+
+<p>From what I had heard of Scotch sermons
+I was prepared for a well-planned logical
+discourse, and the sermon to which I now
+listened fulfilled that description. But
+then it was, to my mind at least, entirely
+superfluous. Granting the premisses (as
+to which no one in the building, excepting
+perhaps my unworthy self, entertained the
+slightest doubt), the conclusion followed as a
+matter of course, and hardly needed a demonstration
+lasting fifty minutes by my watch.
+I was so tired with the confinement in a
+cramped position and a close atmosphere that
+I very nearly threw propriety to the winds
+and left the building. Fortunately, however,
+just before exhausted nature succumbed, the
+preacher began what he called the ‘practical
+application of the foregoing,’ and I knew that
+the time of deliverance was at hand. And I
+must say that, judging from the fervour with
+which the concluding verses of a psalm were
+sung, I was not alone in my feeling of relief.
+As soon as the psalm was ended everybody
+rose, and the preacher, stretching out his arms
+over his flock, pronounced a solemn benediction.
+The ‘Amen’ was hardly out of the good man’s
+mouth when a most refreshing clatter arose.
+No one resumed his seat. Everybody hurried
+into the narrow passages, which were in an
+instant so crammed that moving in them was
+hardly possible. Here, again, I am convinced
+that there was no intentional irreverence; it
+was merely a custom arising from the extremely
+natural desire of breathing the fresh
+air after the confinement we had undergone.
+As we passed out I overheard several casual
+remarks about the sermon, which was discussed
+with the utmost freedom.</p>
+
+<p>‘Maister McLeod was a wee thocht dry the
+day,’ said one farmer.</p>
+
+<p>‘But varra guid—varra soon’,’ responded
+his neighbour.</p>
+
+<p>‘I thocht he micht ha’ made raither mair
+o’ that last pint,’ said the first speaker.</p>
+
+<p>‘Weel—maybe,’ was the cautious reply.</p>
+
+<p>We went over to the inn for a little refreshment,
+and in three-quarters of an hour the
+bells began to jangle once more. This was
+more than I had bargained for; but there was
+no help for it. I could not offend my host by
+retreating; and besides, I was desirous of
+seeing for myself what a Scottish Communion
+Service was like.</p>
+
+<p>After the usual singing of a few verses of a
+psalm, and prayer, the minister descended
+from the pulpit, and took his place beside the
+table beneath, on which there had now been
+placed two loaves of bread, and four large
+pewter cups. From this position he delivered
+an address, and after it a prayer. He then
+took a slice from one of the loaves of bread
+which were ready cut before him, broke off a
+morsel for himself, and handed the piece of
+bread to one of several elderly men, called
+‘elders,’ who were seated near him. This
+man broke off a morsel in the same way, and
+handed the remainder of the bread to another,
+and so on till all the elders had partaken.
+Four of the elders then rose, and two went
+down one side of the church, and two down
+the other side, one of each pair bearing a
+plate covered with a napkin, and holding
+a loaf of bread cut in slices, which they
+distributed among those of the congregation
+who were sitting in the centre of the
+church, and who alone were about to
+take part in the rite. The ceremony is, in
+fact, very much, or altogether, the same
+as the ‘love-feasts’ among the Methodists;
+except that the Methodists use water while
+the Presbyterians use wine. There is nothing
+of the sacramental character left in the ordinance;
+it is avowedly a commemorative and
+symbolic rite, and nothing more.</p>
+
+<p>In the meantime perfect silence reigned in
+the little building. There was literally not
+a sound to be heard but the chirping of one
+or two sparrows outside the partly-opened
+windows. Have you ever noticed how impressive
+an interval of silence is at any meeting
+of men, especially when they are met
+together for a religious purpose? Silence is
+never vulgar; and it almost seems as if any
+form of worship in which intervals of silence
+form a part were redeemed thereby from
+vulgarity. Whatever may have been the
+reason, this service impressed me, I must
+confess, in a totally different way from that
+in which the long sermon in the morning
+had done.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly a gentle falsetto voice fell upon
+my ear; and looking up, I saw that the
+elders, having finished their task, had returned
+to the table, and that a little white-haired
+man had risen to address the people.
+He wore no gown, but he had on a pair of
+bands, like his friend Mr. McLeod, which
+gave him a comical sort of air. This, however,
+as well as the curious falsetto or whining
+tone in which his voice was pitched, was forgotten
+when one began to listen. The old
+man had chosen for his text one of the most
+sacred of all possible subjects to a Christian;
+and no one who heard him could doubt that
+he was speaking from his heart. A deeper
+solemnity seemed to fall upon the silent
+gathering. I glanced round, but whatever
+emotions were excited by the touching address,
+none of them were suffered to appear
+on the faces of the people. On Alec Lindsay’s
+face, alone, I noticed a look of rapt
+attention; his sister’s beautiful features seemed
+as if they had been carved in marble.</p>
+
+<p>Before the old minister sat down he raised
+one of the large cups (which had been previously
+filled with wine from a flagon), and
+handed it to one of the elders, who, after
+drinking from it, passed it to his neighbour.
+After the ministers and elders had tasted the
+wine, two of the latter rose, and each proceeded
+down one of the passages, bearing
+a large pewter cup, while he was followed
+by one of his fellows carrying a flagon. The
+cups were handed to the people still sitting
+in the pews, exactly as the bread had been,
+and circulated from one to another till all
+the communicants had partaken of the wine.
+Then followed another address, from the black-haired
+gentleman this time; and with a prayer
+and a little more singing the ceremony came
+to an end.</p>
+
+<p>As we emerged into the afternoon sunshine,
+and waited for ‘the beast to be put
+in,’ as the innkeeper called it, I could not be
+sorry that I had sacrificed my inclinations
+and had seen something of the practice of
+religion in this country.</p>
+
+<p>But I dare say you have had enough of
+my experiences for the present—so, good-night.</p>
+
+<p class="center">
+Your affectionate cousin,</p>
+<p class="p0 right r8"><span class="smcap">Hubert Blake</span>.
+</p>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span>
+<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="Four">IV.</abbr></h3>
+<h4>THE FOURTH LETTER.</h4>
+<p class="center"><i>Hubert Blake to Sophy Meredith.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="right">
+<span class="smcap">The Castle Farm, Muirburn, N.B.</span><br>
+<span style="margin-right: 4em;"><i>Oct. 5, 187-.</i></span><br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="unindent">
+<span class="smcap">My dear Sophy</span>,
+</p>
+
+<p>Yesterday there was a ‘feeing fair’
+at Muirburn, and under Alec’s guidance I
+paid a visit to the scene of dissipation.</p>
+
+<p>But, first of all, I wish to tell you of a
+curious Scotch custom that fell under my
+notice the evening before. Alec and I were
+returning from a short ramble in the ‘gloaming,’
+<i>i.e.</i>, the twilight, when we happened to
+meet a young couple walking side by side.
+As soon as they caught sight of us they
+separated, and walked on opposite sides of
+the road till we had passed. This, it seems,
+was according to local ideas of what is proper
+under such circumstances. As we went by I
+glanced at the girl, and saw that she was one
+of Mr. Lindsay’s farm-servants.</p>
+
+<p>‘So Jessie has got a sweetheart,’ I remarked.</p>
+
+<p>‘Very likely,’ said Alec, with a laugh; ‘but
+I don’t think Tom Archibald is her lad. He
+is only the “black-fuit.”’</p>
+
+<p>‘The <em>what</em>?’</p>
+
+<p>‘The “black-fuit.” Dae ye no ken—I
+mean, don’t ye know what that is?’</p>
+
+<p>On confessing my ignorance, I learned that
+the etiquette of courtship, as understood
+among the peasantry of south-west Scotland,
+demands that no young ploughman shall
+present himself at the farm on which the
+young woman who has taken his fancy may
+happen to be employed; if he did so, it would
+expose the girl to a good deal of bantering.
+He invariably secures the services of a friend,
+on whom he relies not only for moral support,
+but for actual assistance in his enterprise.</p>
+
+<p>At the end of the working-day, when the
+dairymaids, as we should call them in
+England, have ‘cleaned themselves,’ and are
+chatting together in a little group at the door
+of the byre, John, the friend, makes his appearance,
+and presently contrives to engage
+the attention of Jeanie, who is the object of
+his friend’s devotion. The other girls good-naturedly
+leave them alone, and John suggests
+that ‘they micht tak’ a bit daun’er as
+far as the yett’ (<i>i.e.</i>, the gate). Jeanie
+blushes, and picking up the corner of her
+apron as she goes, accompanies the ambassador
+to the gate and into the lane beyond.
+There, by pure accident, they meet Archie,
+and he and John greet each other in the same
+way as if they had not met each other for a
+week. The three saunter on together, under
+the hawthorn, till suddenly John remembers
+that he will be ‘expeckit hame,’ and takes his
+departure, leaving Archie to plead his cause as
+best he may.</p>
+
+<p>I declared my conviction that the custom
+sprang from unworthy fears of an action for
+breach of promise; but Alec was almost
+offended by this imputation on the good faith
+of his countrymen, and assured me most
+seriously that that kind of litigation was unheard
+of in Kyleshire.</p>
+
+<p>Next day we went to the fair. The object
+of this gathering is to enable farmers to meet
+and engage their farm-servants, male and
+female; it takes place twice a year, the
+hiring being always for six months.</p>
+
+<p>The village, or ‘the toon,’ as they always
+call it here, was in a state of great excitement.
+There was quite a crowd in the middle of the
+street, chiefly composed of young women in
+garments of many colours, in the most
+enviable condition of physical health; and
+young giants of ploughmen in their best
+clothes, with carefully oiled hair. On the
+outskirts of the crowd (which was as dense as
+four hundred people could possibly make it),
+were a few queys, <i>i.e.</i>, young cows, and a few
+rough farm-horses. The public-houses were
+simply crammed as full as they would hold.
+There was a swing, and a merry-go-round,
+and a cheap-Jack. There was also a sort of
+lottery, conducted on the most primitive principles.
+You paid sixpence, plunged your hand
+into a little wooden barrel revolving on a
+spindle, and pulled out a morsel of peculiarly
+dirty paper bearing a number. This entitled
+you to a comb, or an accordion with three
+notes, or a penny doll, as the case might be.</p>
+
+<p>What chiefly impressed me was the sober,
+not to say dismal, character of the whole thing.
+I saw no horse-play, no dancing, no kiss-in-the-ring,
+or games of any kind. One might have
+thought it was an ordinary market-day, but for
+the crowd and the cracking of the caps on the
+miniature rifles with which the lads were shooting
+for nuts. This, in fact, was the only
+popular amusement; and, as all the boys and
+young men took part in it, and all held the
+muzzle of their weapon within twelve or fourteen
+inches of the mark, I perceived that
+every proprietor of a nut-barrow would have
+been ruined if he had not secured himself
+against bankruptcy by prudently twisting the
+barrels of his firearms.</p>
+
+<p>There was, by the way, one other amusement
+besides the shooting for nuts: every
+young man presented every girl of his acquaintance
+with a handful of nuts or sweetmeats,
+the degree of his regard being indicated
+by the quantity offered. I convinced myself
+that some of the prettier and more popular
+girls must have carried home several pounds’
+weight of saccharine matter.</p>
+
+<p>We did not leave the village till it was
+getting dark and the naphtha lamps were
+blazing at the stalls. Probably the fun was
+only beginning, but we did not stay to witness
+it. Happily, the drinking seemed to be confined
+to great, large-limbed farmers, on whom
+half a bottle of whisky seemed to make not
+the slightest impression, beyond loosening
+their tongues. As the night advanced, however,
+a change must have occurred, for I was
+told afterwards that Hamilton of Burnfoot (my
+friend of the coach and of the offertory) had
+been seen sitting upright in his gig, thrashing
+with all his might, and in perfect silence, a
+saddler’s hobby-horse, which some wag had
+put between the shafts in place of his steady
+old ‘roadster.’</p>
+
+<p>On the way home Alec and I had some confidential
+conversation as to his future.</p>
+
+<p>‘Mr. Blake,’ he began, ‘what do you think
+I ought to be?’</p>
+
+<p>‘How can I tell, Alec?’ I answered; ‘what
+would you like to be?’</p>
+
+<p>‘That’s just what I don’t know,’ said the
+lad gloomily. ‘I don’t know what I am fit
+for, or whether I am fit for anything. How
+can I tell, before I have seen anything of the
+world, what part I should try to play in it?’</p>
+
+<p>‘You have no strong taste in any direction?’</p>
+
+<p>‘No; I can’t say that I have. I like the
+country, but I am sick of the loneliness of my
+life here. I long to be out in the world, to be
+up and doing something, I hardly know what.
+You see, I know so little. What I should like
+is to go to college for the next three or four
+years—to Glasgow, or Edinburgh—and by
+that time I would have an idea what I could
+do, and what I should not attempt.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But do you think,’ I said, with some
+hesitation, ‘that you are ready to go to
+college?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Why not? Don’t you think I am old
+enough? I am almost nineteen. I dare say
+you think I am too ignorant; but there are
+junior classes for beginners. I can do Virgil
+and Cicero, and I think I could manage
+Xenophon and Homer.’</p>
+
+<p>‘What is the difficulty then?’</p>
+
+<p>‘My father thinks it would be wasting
+money to send me to college, unless I were
+to be a minister or a doctor, and I don’t want
+to be either the one or the other.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But you must be something, you know.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes, but I won’t be a minister. Do you
+know that I was once very nearly in the way
+of making my fortune through paraffin oil.
+and lost my chance through an ugly bull-pup?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Really? How was that?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Mr. Lindsay of Drumleck——’</p>
+
+<p>‘Is <em>he</em> a relation of yours?’ I interposed.</p>
+
+<p>(It was a surprise to me to hear that I
+was, ever so distantly, related to a millionnaire.)</p>
+
+<p>‘He is my father’s uncle,’ said Alec. ‘Well,
+last year he sent for me to pay him a visit,
+and he had hinted to my father that if I
+pleased him he would “make a man of me.”
+I didn’t please him. The very day I went to
+his house, I happened to be standing near a
+table in the drawing-room on which there was
+a precious vase of some sort or other. There
+was a puppy under the table that I didn’t see;
+I trod on its tail, and the brute started up
+with a yowl and flew at my leg. I stooped
+down to drive it off, and managed to knock
+over the table, vase and all. You should
+have seen the old man’s face! He very
+nearly ordered me out of the house. I don’t
+believe he particularly cared for the thing,
+but then you see he had given five-and-twenty
+pounds for it. It ended my chances
+so far as he is concerned at any rate; and,
+to tell the truth, I wasn’t particularly sorry.
+I shouldn’t care to spend my life in making
+oil.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But, my dear fellow, it seems to me you
+are too particular. Take my advice, and if
+you have an opportunity of getting into
+your grand-uncle’s good books again, don’t
+lose it.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh! he has taken another in my place, a
+fellow Semple—I don’t think much of him.
+He is a grand-nephew, too. I shouldn’t
+wonder if he makes him his heir; and I
+don’t care. I don’t want to be a Glasgow
+merchant, any more than I want to be a
+Kyleshire farmer.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Ah! Alec, are you smitten too?’ I said.
+‘You want to climb, and you will not think
+that you may fall. I didn’t know you were
+ambitious.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I want to go into a wider world than this
+one;’ said the lad, and his eyes flashed, and
+his voice trembled with excitement. ‘I want
+to learn, first of all; then I want to find what
+I can do best, and try to make a name for
+myself. I want to rise to the level of—oh!
+what am I talking about?’</p>
+
+<p>He broke off abruptly, as if ashamed of his
+own enthusiasm.</p>
+
+<p>For my own part I felt sorry for him. I
+always do, somehow, when I see a brave
+young spirit eager to meet and conquer fortune—a
+ship setting sail from port, colours
+all flying, guns firing, crowds cheering. How
+many reach the harbour? How many founder
+at sea? One is wrecked in this way, another
+in that. One gallant bark meets with headwinds
+nearly all the way; another is run
+down by a rival and is heard of no more; a
+third, after baffling many a wintry gale, goes
+down in smooth water, within sight of land.
+How many unsuccessful men are there in the
+world for every one who succeeds? And of
+those who gain their heart’s desire, how many
+can say, ‘I am satisfied’?</p>
+
+
+<p class="p2 right">
+<i>October 29.</i><br>
+</p>
+
+<p>I was fairly amazed to find this unfinished
+letter, begun three weeks ago, between the
+leaves of my blotter this morning. Another
+example of my incurable laziness!</p>
+
+<p>My stay here is almost at an end. My
+large picture is nearly completed. My portrait
+of Margaret is finished; and though it
+is not what I would like it to be, I think it is
+the best thing I have done yet. I leave to-morrow
+morning, and hope to be with you in
+a day or two. Alec goes with me as far as
+Glasgow, for he has persuaded his father to
+send him to college—or rather, the old man
+has yielded to the lad’s discontent, backed by
+my expressions of the high opinion I hold of
+his abilities. I fancy Mr. Lindsay thinks his
+son will yet be an ornament to the Free Kirk,
+but, if I am not very much mistaken, Alec
+will never change his mind on this point.</p>
+
+<p>We had a regular family council, at which
+the matter was settled. The old man sat on
+his chair, bolt upright, his hands folded before
+him. Alec sat near by while his future was
+being decided, carelessly playing with a paper-knife
+on the table. Margaret was, as usual, at
+her sewing; but I could tell by little signs in
+her face, that for once her composure was more
+than half assumed.</p>
+
+<p>‘You had your chance a year ago,’ said the
+old man in a harsh unyielding tone, ‘and you
+threw it away. Why should I stint myself,
+and go back from my task of buying back the
+land, to give you another one?’</p>
+
+<p>‘I don’t wish you to stint yourself,’ said the
+boy half sullenly.</p>
+
+<p>‘I don’t want to injure your sister,’ said his
+father, in the same tone.</p>
+
+<p>‘Do you think <em>I</em> wish Margaret injured?
+If you cannot spare five-and-twenty pounds
+without inconvenience, there’s an end of it.’</p>
+
+<p>‘It’s not the first winter only,’ began Mr.
+Lindsay.</p>
+
+<p>‘But I can support myself after that,’ interrupted
+Alec; ‘I can get a bursary; I can
+get teaching——’</p>
+
+<p>‘You’ll have to give up idling away your
+time over <cite>Blackwood</cite> then,’ said the old man,
+with a grim smile.</p>
+
+<p>Alec’s face flushed, and he made no reply.</p>
+
+<p>Then, having proved that Alec’s wish was
+wholly unreasonable and impracticable, Mr.
+Lindsay gave his consent to the proposal, and,
+to cut short further discussion, told Margaret
+to bid the servants come to ‘worship.’</p>
+
+<p>I was rather surprised that Margaret had
+said nothing on her brother’s behalf, and a
+little disappointed that she had not declared
+that her own interests ought not to stand in
+the way of her brother’s education; but I
+found that I had misjudged her.</p>
+
+<p>‘Well, I owe this to Margaret,’ said Alec
+to me, as soon as we found ourselves alone
+together.</p>
+
+<p>‘To your sister?’ I said, with some surprise.</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes; my father thinks more of her
+opinion than he does of anybody else’s, and
+I know she has been urging him to let me
+go. As for that about injuring her, it is
+all stuff. Do you think I would take the
+money, if I didn’t know my father could
+afford it perfectly well?’</p>
+
+<p>I hardly knew what reply to make to this,
+and Alec went on:</p>
+
+<p>‘There will be a row between them one of
+these days. My father will want her to marry
+Semple. I know he is in love with her; and
+Margaret won’t have him.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I should think not, indeed!’ I exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>I had seen this young fellow, and I confess
+I took a violent dislike to him. He came
+over to the farm one afternoon, and I thought
+I had never seen a more vulgar creature. He
+was dressed in the latest fashion—on a visit
+to a farmhouse, too! He had a coarse,
+commonplace face, a ready, officious manner,
+and the most awful accent I ever heard on the
+tongue of any human being. I cannot say I
+admire the Scotch accent; it is generally harsh
+and disagreeable; but when it is joined to an
+affectation of correctness, when every syllable
+is carefully articulated, and every <i>r</i> is given
+its full force and effect, the result is overpowering.
+The young man was good enough
+to give me a considerable share of his attention,
+and I could hardly conceal my dislike of him.
+He patronized old Mr. Lindsay, was loftily
+condescending to Alec, and treated Margaret
+as if she ought to have been highly flattered
+by the admiration of so fine a gentleman.</p>
+
+<p>‘Your respected cousin seemed to me as if
+he were greatly in need of a kicking,’ I said
+to Alec.</p>
+
+<p>‘If he gets even a share of Uncle James’s
+property he will be a rich man,’ said Alec
+thoughtfully. ‘My father would think it a
+sin for Maggie to refuse a man with a hundred
+thousand pounds.’</p>
+
+<p>‘So would a good many fathers, I suppose,’
+said I.</p>
+
+<p>I am sorry to see Alec’s attitude to his
+father; yet I fear he judges the old man only
+too accurately.</p>
+
+<p>For the last few days we have had nothing
+but rain. Rain, rain, rain, till the leaves
+were fairly washed off the trees, and the very
+earth seemed as if it must be sodden to the
+rocks beneath. Yesterday afternoon I felt
+tired of being shut up in the large bare
+room which I have been using as a studio,
+so I put on a thick suit, and went out for
+a stretch in the midst of a perfect deluge.
+I crossed the river by a stone bridge, about
+a mile lower down, as the stepping-stones were
+covered, and soon I got to a wide expanse of
+country, composed of large sodden green fields,
+barely reclaimed from the moor, and even now,
+in spite of drains, partly overgrown with
+rushes. There were no fences; and the hardy
+cattle wandered at will over the land.</p>
+
+<p>It was inexpressibly dreary. There was
+little or no wind—no clouds in the sky—only
+a lead-coloured heaven from which the
+rain fell incessantly. There was not a house,
+not a tree, not a hedgerow in sight; and the
+rain-laden atmosphere hid the horizon.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly I heard the noise of singing, the
+singing of a child. I was fairly startled, and
+looked round, wondering where the sound
+could come from. I was on the border
+between the moor and the reclaimed land;
+and there was literally nothing in sight but
+the earth, the sky, and the rain, except what
+looked like a small heap of turf left by the
+peat-cutters. Could some stray child be
+hidden behind it? If so, I thought, its life
+must be in danger.</p>
+
+<p>I hurried up to the mound of peats, and as
+I did so, the sound of the song became
+stronger. Then it ceased, and the little
+singer began a fresh melody:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0a">‘Behind yon hills where Lugar flows,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">‘Mang muirs an’ mosses mony, O,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">The wintry sun the day has closed——’</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>He stopped suddenly as he caught sight of
+me, and a fine collie which had been lying
+beside him made a dash at me.</p>
+
+<p>‘Doon, Swallow! Lie doon, sir!’ cried
+the child, and the dog obeyed at once.</p>
+
+<p>It was not a heap of peats, as I had supposed,
+but a tiny hut, just large enough to
+hold a boy sitting upright, ingeniously built
+of dry peats. It was open to the east, the
+lee side, and was quite impervious to the
+weather. The little fellow seemed to be
+about twelve years of age, a stout, rosy-cheeked
+laddie, clad in an immense Scotch
+bonnet and a tattered gray plaid; and his
+little red bare feet peeped out beneath his
+corduroys.</p>
+
+<p>‘What on earth are you doing here, child?’
+I exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>‘Eh?’ asked the boy, looking up in my
+face with surprise.</p>
+
+<p>‘Why are you here? Why are you not at
+home?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Man, I’m herdin’.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Herding what?’</p>
+
+<p>‘The kye.’</p>
+
+<p>At that moment some of the young cattle
+took it into their heads to cross the ditch
+which separated their territory from the moor,
+and the boy with a ‘Here, Swallow!’ sent
+the dog bounding after the ‘stirks.’</p>
+
+<p>‘And do you stay here all alone?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Ay.’</p>
+
+<p>‘All day long?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Ou, ay.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Poor little fellow!’ was on my lips, but
+I did not utter the words. The child was
+healthy and strong, and not, apparently, unhappy.
+He held a ‘gully’ in one hand, and
+a bit of wood, which he had been whittling
+while he sang, in the other. Why should I,
+by expressing my pity for his solitary
+condition, make him discontented with his
+lot?</p>
+
+<p>Fortunately I had in my pocket a few
+coppers, which I presented to him. You
+should have seen the joy that lighted up
+the child’s face! He looked at the treasure
+shyly, as if afraid to touch it, so I had to
+force it into his hand. I don’t think I ever
+saw before such an expression of pure unalloyed
+delight on a human countenance.
+He was so happy that he forgot to thank
+me.</p>
+
+<p>‘What will you do with them?’ I
+asked.</p>
+
+<p>He opened his hand and pointed to the
+pennies one after another.</p>
+
+<p>‘I’ll buy sweeties wi’ that ane, an’—an’
+bools wi’ that ane, an’—an’—an’ a peerie wi’
+that ane; an’ I’ll gi’e ane to Annie, and I’ll
+lay by twa!’</p>
+
+<p>‘Prudent young Scotchman,’ said I; ‘and
+pray, what are “bools”? Marbles, I suppose.
+And what is a “peerie”?’</p>
+
+<p>The boy thought I was laughing at him.</p>
+
+<p>‘Div ye no ken that?’ he asked, with some
+suspiciousness and a dash of contempt.</p>
+
+<p>I assured him I did not.</p>
+
+<p>‘Ye tie’t up wi’ a string, an’ birl’t on the
+road, an’ it gangs soon’ soon’ asleep.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, a top you mean.’</p>
+
+<p>‘A peerie,’ persisted he.</p>
+
+<p>‘Ah, well; it’s the same thing. Good-day,
+my boy,’ said I.</p>
+
+<p>The little fellow got up, draped as he was
+in his ragged plaid, and putting one hand
+with the precious pennies into his pocket,
+solemnly extended to me the other.</p>
+
+<p>‘I dare say,’ said I to myself, as I looked
+back and saw the child counting over his
+treasure once more with eager eyes, ‘I dare
+say there isn’t a happier creature this day
+between Land’s End and John O’Groats, than
+this herd-boy, in his lonely hut on the sodden,
+dreary moorland!’</p>
+
+<p>And so it is, all the world over. I should
+think myself very hardly used by fortune,
+if I had to live alone in a grimy city for six
+months on five-and-thirty pounds, and had to
+get up every day before dawn to grind away
+at Latin and Greek; yet here is young Lindsay
+with his blue eyes ready to leap out of
+his head with excitement and delight at the
+bare prospect of it! It is a curious world.
+But I must look after my packing; for in
+order to reach Glasgow to-morrow, we must
+be stirring long before daylight. Till we
+meet, then,</p>
+
+<p class="center">
+Your affectionate cousin,<p>
+<p class="p0 right r8"><span class="smcap">Hubert.</span></p>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 180]</span>
+<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="Five">V.</abbr></h3>
+<h4>THE SHIP SETS SAIL.</h4>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">A sudden</span> change in the weather had whitened
+the fields of the Castle Farm, and covered the
+puddles in the narrow lane with thin clear
+sheets of ice. Little or nothing was said at
+the breakfast-table; but as Alec Lindsay went
+into the empty kitchen to fasten a card on his
+little cow-hide trunk, his sister followed him,
+and stood over him in silence till one of the
+men came in, lifted the box, and carried it
+away.</p>
+
+<p>‘You will write home every week, won’t
+you, Alec?’ she said.</p>
+
+<p>‘Every week, Maggie! what in the world
+shall I get to say?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Tell us what your life is like, whether
+your lodgings are comfortable, what sort of
+people you take up with.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Well; all right.’</p>
+
+<p>‘And, Alec, you had better write to father
+and me time about; and when you write to
+me you can send a little scrap for myself as
+well.’</p>
+
+<p>‘That you needn’t show to anybody? I
+thought that was against your principles,
+Meg. Don’t mind me, I was only making
+fun of you,’ he added, suddenly throwing his
+arms round his sister’s neck; ‘of course I will
+send you a little private note now and then.
+Don’t cry, Maggie.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I’m not crying.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes, you are.’</p>
+
+<p>‘It will be very lonely without you, Alec,
+all the long winter.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I almost wish I weren’t going, for your
+sake; but I know you have helped me to get
+away, Maggie, and it was awfully kind of
+you.’</p>
+
+<p>Here Mr. Lindsay’s voice was heard calling
+out that the travellers would miss the coach if
+they did not set off at once.</p>
+
+<p>‘Nonsense! We shall only have to wait
+at the roadside for twenty minutes,’ said Alec
+under his breath. But he gave his sister
+a last hug, shook hands with his father, and
+mounted the back-seat of the dog-cart, where
+his trunk and Blake’s portmanteau were already
+deposited.</p>
+
+<p>In another minute they were off; and Alec,
+looking back, saw the light of the lantern
+shine on the tall figures of his gray-haired
+father and his sister, framed in the old stone
+doorway as in a picture.</p>
+
+<p>The stable was passed, the long byre where
+the cows were already stirring, the stack-yard,
+the great hay-rick, the black peat-stack flanking
+the outmost gable; and as each familiar
+building and well-remembered corner faded in
+turn from view, Alec in his heart bade them
+good-bye. He felt as if he would never see
+the old place again—never, at least, would it
+be to him what it had been. When he came
+again it would be merely for a visit, like any
+other stranger. The subtle, invisible chains
+that bind us to this or that corner of mother
+earth, once broken, can hardly be reforged;
+and Alec felt that no future leave-taking of
+the Farm would be like this one; henceforth
+it would belong not to the present, but to the
+past.</p>
+
+<p>As the travellers had foreseen when they
+set out, they had a good twenty minutes to
+wait at the corner of the lane till the coach
+came up; then came the long, monotonous
+drive, the horses’ hoofs keeping time to ‘Auld
+Lang Syne’ in Alec’s head all the way; then
+the railway journey. Blake had, as a matter
+of course, taken a first-class ticket. Alec had,
+equally as a matter of course, taken a third-class
+one. When this was discovered, Blake
+took his seat beside his friend, laughing at the
+uneasiness depicted on Alec’s face, and declined
+without a second thought the lad’s
+proposal that he too should travel first-class
+and pay the difference of fare. But the
+incident caused Alec acute mental discomfort,
+which lasted till they reached Glasgow.</p>
+
+<p>When the train steamed into the terminus,
+it seemed as if it were entering a huge gloomy
+cavern, where the air was composed of smoke,
+mist, and particles of soot. The frost still
+held the fields in Kyleshire; but here the rain
+was dripping from every house-top, and the
+streets were covered with a thick layer of
+slimy mud.</p>
+
+<p>Blake shuddered.</p>
+
+<p>‘I’ve got nothing particular to do, Alec,’ said
+he; ‘let me help you to look for lodgings.’</p>
+
+<p>But Alec had no mind to let his friend see
+the sort of accommodation with which he
+would have to content himself; and the artist
+saw that the lad wanted to decline his offer,
+without very well knowing how.</p>
+
+<p>‘Or perhaps you’d rather hunt about by
+yourself?’ continued Blake. ‘Well, in that
+case, I think I’ll be off to Edinburgh at once,
+and go to London that way. Anything to be
+out of this.’</p>
+
+<p>He stopped suddenly, and hoped that his
+companion had not heard his last words.
+They took a cab to Queen Street; and after
+seeing his friend off to Edinburgh, Alec set
+out on his quest of a shelter. A few steps
+brought him to the district north of George
+Street, where, in those days, the poorer class
+of students had their habitations. The streets
+were not particularly broad, and the houses
+were of tremendous height, looking like great
+barracks placed one at the end of another,
+though their hewn-stone fronts saved them
+from the mean appearance of brick or stucco
+exteriors. After a good deal of running up
+and down steep staircases (for these houses are
+built in flats), Alec at last pitched upon a
+narrow but lofty sitting-room, with a still
+narrower bedroom opening from it. For this
+accommodation the charge was only eight
+shillings a week.</p>
+
+<p>After a peculiarly uncomfortable meal, Alec
+Lindsay set out for ‘The College.’</p>
+
+<p>The University of Glasgow, founded by
+a Bull of one of the mediæval Popes, had in
+those days its seat in the High Street, once
+the main thoroughfare of the city, but long
+since fallen from its old estate. The air
+seemed thicker, more full of smoke and soot,
+of acid vapours and abominable smells, in this
+quarter, than in any other part of the town.</p>
+
+<p>An ancient pile of buildings faced the street;
+and a quaint gateway gave access to the outer
+quadrangle or ‘first court,’ as Alec soon
+learned to call it. Here a solid stone staircase,
+guarded by a stone lion on one side and
+a unicorn on the other, led to the senate-room
+above; and an archway led to a quadrangle
+beyond.</p>
+
+<p>But Alec had scarcely time to observe as
+much as this. Hardly had he set foot within
+the gateway, when a gigantic man wearing
+a huge black beard stalked up to him, and
+without more ado caught him by the arm,
+while a small crowd of half a dozen lads of his
+own age, wearing gowns of red flannel, swarmed
+round him on the other side.</p>
+
+<p>‘I say!’ exclaimed the big man; ‘you’re
+going to matriculate, aren’t you?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Of course; that’s what I came here for.’</p>
+
+<p>‘And where were you born?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Where was I born?’ asked Alec, in bewilderment.</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes; be quick, man. Do you come from
+Highlands or Lowlands, or from beyond the
+Border?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Why do you want to know?’</p>
+
+<p>‘He comes from the county of Clackmannan;
+I know by the cut of his hair!’
+yelled a red-haired, freckled youth of some
+seventeen summers.</p>
+
+<p>‘Get out, you unmannerly young cub!’
+cried the big man, making a dash at the
+offender, without releasing his hold of Alec’s
+arm.</p>
+
+<p>‘Are you Transforthana?’ cried another.
+‘Oh, say if you’re Transforthana, like a good
+fellow, and don’t keep us in suspense.’</p>
+
+<p>‘He’s Rothseiana! I know it!’ bawled out
+a fourth.</p>
+
+<p>At this point a little man in spectacles
+darted from a low doorway on the left with a
+sheaf of papers printed in red ink, which he
+began to distribute as fast as he could.
+Instantly the men who had fastened upon
+Alec left him, and rushed off to secure one
+of the papers, and Alec followed their example.</p>
+
+<p>After some little trouble he got one, and then
+elbowing his way out of the crowd, began to
+read it. He found it was a not very comical
+parody of ‘Come into the garden, Maud,’ the
+allusions being half of a political, half of an
+academical character.</p>
+
+<p>Looking up with a puzzled air, Alec encountered
+the gaze of a man ten or twelve
+years his senior, who was regarding him with
+a look of mingled interest and amusement.
+He was considerably over six feet high, and
+broad in proportion. He wore a suit of
+tweeds, a blue Scotch bonnet, and a reddish-brown
+beard. He had the high cheek-bones
+and large limbs of the true Highlander, and
+one of his eyes had a slight cast. When he
+smiled, he had a cynical but not unkindly
+expression.</p>
+
+<p>‘I wish you would tell me what all this
+nonsense is about,’ said Alec.</p>
+
+<p>‘What nonsense would ye like to pe informed
+apoot?’ inquired the other in a strong
+Highland accent—‘the nonsense in that bit
+paper? Or the nonsense o’ these daft
+callants? Or the nonsense o’ this haill
+thing?’ and he waved his thick stick round
+the quadrangle.</p>
+
+<p>‘What is all this stir about? Why were a’
+these fellows so anxious to know where I was
+born?’</p>
+
+<p>‘One quastion at a time, my lad,’ answered
+the big Highlander. ‘They are electin’ a
+Lord Rector; the ploy will gang on for a
+week or ten days yet. And they vote in
+“nations,” according to the part o’ the
+country they belong to. I was born in the
+Duke’s country, and consequently my vote is
+worth conseederably more than that o’ yon
+wee spectacled callant who was kittled in the
+Gorbals, for example.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I was born in Kyleshire,’ said Alec.</p>
+
+<p>‘Then you’re Rothseiana,’ said the stranger,
+‘and your vote’s worth more than mine. I’d
+advise ye to choose at once, and put down
+your name at one club or the other, or they’ll
+tease your life out.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But who are the candidates?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Mr. Sharpe, and Lord Dummieden, of
+course.’</p>
+
+<p>Alec knew Mr. Sharpe’s name as that of an
+ex-Cabinet Minister on the Liberal side, who
+had the reputation of being a scholar, but who
+had never written anything beyond two or
+three pungent articles in <cite>The Debater</cite>.</p>
+
+<p>‘And who is Lord Dummieden?’</p>
+
+<p>‘What!’ answered the Highlander; ‘is it
+possible that you have never heard of the
+“History of the British Isles before the Roman
+Invasion,” in sixteen volumes, by the Right
+Honourable James Beattie, Viscount Dummieden,
+of Crumlachie?’</p>
+
+<p>Alec gave an incredulous look, and the
+other laughed outright.</p>
+
+<p>‘Don’t be offended,’ said the Highlander.</p>
+
+<p>‘Have you matriculated yet? No? Come
+awa’ then, and I’ll show you the way.’ He
+passed his arm through Alec’s as he spoke,
+and led him to a tiny office in a corner of
+the quadrangle which was half filled with
+students.</p>
+
+<p>‘What is your name?’ asked Alec’s new
+friend, as they stood waiting their turn to
+enter their names in the volume kept for the
+purpose. Alec told him. ‘Mine’s Cameron—Duncan
+Cameron. I’m a medical. This is
+my third year. Have you got lodgings?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes; at No. 210, Hanover Street.</p>
+
+<p>‘Does your landlady look a decent body?
+I’ll come round and see if she has a room to
+spare for me,’ he added, without waiting for an
+answer.</p>
+
+<p>Presently Alec obtained, in exchange for one
+of his father’s one-pound notes, a ticket bearing
+his name, and the words ‘<i lang="la">Civis Universitatis
+Glasguenis</i>’ printed in large letters underneath.</p>
+
+<p>‘That’s all right,’ said Cameron; ‘now come
+along, and I’ll show you the Professors’ Court.
+You have to call on the Latin and Greek
+professors, and get your class-tickets. The
+fee is three guineas each.’ He led Alec
+through an archway into a second and
+larger quadrangle, then across it and through
+another archway into a third. ‘That’s the
+museum,’ said Cameron, pointing to a building
+with handsome stone columns; ‘and
+that’s the library,’ he added, pointing to a
+narrow structure, built apparently of black
+stone, on the right.</p>
+
+<p>The two young men turned to the left,
+passed through an iron gateway, and found
+themselves in a gloomy and silent court,
+formed by the houses of the various professors,
+which, like the library, were black with smoke
+and soot-flakes.</p>
+
+<p>After the professors of ‘Humanity’ (as
+Latin is called in the north) and of Greek
+had been duly interviewed, Alec and his friend
+returned to the High Street without going
+back to the quadrangles; and in a few minutes
+they pulled Mrs. Macpherson’s brightly-polished
+bell-handle.</p>
+
+<p>‘I’ve brought a friend, a fellow-student,
+who wants to know if you have any more
+rooms to let,’ said Alec.</p>
+
+<p>‘Is he a medical?’ asked the good woman,
+knitting her brows.</p>
+
+<p>‘I am proud to say that I am,’ said
+Cameron.</p>
+
+<p>‘Then this is no the place for you ava.’</p>
+
+<p>‘An’ what for no?’</p>
+
+<p>‘I’ve had eneuch, an’ mair than eneuch, o’
+thae misguidet callants, wi’ their banes, an’
+their gases, an’ their gruesome talk, an’ their
+singin’ sangs, an’ playing cairds, an’ drinkin’,
+till twa, or maybe haulf-past on a Sabbath
+mornin’. Na, na; I’ll hae nae mair o’ the
+tribe, at no price.’</p>
+
+<p>But this opposition made Cameron determined
+that under that roof and no other
+would he take up his abode for the winter.
+He bound himself by a solemn promise to
+introduce neither bones, human or animal, nor
+chemicals of any kind, upon the premises, and
+to behave himself discreetly in other respects.
+He then remembered that his aunt’s husband’s
+cousin was a Macpherson; and when it
+came out that the landlady’s ‘forbears’ came
+from Auchintosh, which was within a day’s
+sail of the island where the Camerons
+had their home, all objections were withdrawn.</p>
+
+<p>A large dingy sitting-room, with a ‘concealed
+bed’ constructed in a recess, so that
+the room could also be used as a bedroom,
+was pronounced by Cameron to be too grand;
+and on Mrs. Macpherson saying that all her
+other rooms were let except an attic, he asked
+if he might see that apartment. They climbed
+up a steep and narrow staircase, and presently
+stood in a long narrow room, right under the
+slates, so low in the ceiling that Cameron
+could only walk along one side of it. It was
+furnished with a narrow bedstead, a small
+deal table, and two or three stout chairs.</p>
+
+<p>‘First-rate!’ exclaimed Cameron. ‘The
+very thing;’ and going to the skylight, he
+pushed it open and thrust out his head and
+shoulders. ‘Plenty of air here—not fresh,
+but better than nothing. What is the rent?’</p>
+
+<p>The rent was five shillings and sixpence a
+week, and after a vain effort to get rid of the
+sixpence, and an elaborate agreement on the
+subject of coals, the bargain was concluded.</p>
+
+<p>‘That’s settled,’ said Cameron; ‘and now
+I’m off to the Broomielaw to get my impedimenta
+oot o’ the <i>Dunolly Castle</i>. Will ye
+come?’</p>
+
+<p>Having nothing better to do, Alec readily
+acquiesced; and the two young men walked
+down Buchanan Street with its broad wet
+pavements, and through the more crowded
+Argyle Street and Jamaica Street, till they
+reached the wharf.</p>
+
+<p>Here all was damp and dismal. Coal-dust
+covered the ground; water, thick with coaldust
+and mud, dripped from the eaves of
+the huge open sheds; a smell of tar filled all
+the air. To Alec, however, nothing was
+dismal, nothing was depressing. All was new,
+strange, and interesting. A few vessels of
+light burden lay moored at the opposite side
+of the narrow river; a river steamer, her
+day’s work ended, was blowing off steam at
+the Broomielaw.</p>
+
+<p>‘You will hardly believe it, Cameron,’ said
+Alec, gazing with all his eyes at these
+commonplace sights, ‘but I never saw a ship
+or a steamer before.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Hoots, man,’ replied his companion; ‘I’ve
+been on the salt water ever since I can remember;
+but then, till I came here three
+years sin’, I had never seen a railway train—I
+used to spend hours at one of the stations
+watching them—and, what is more, I had
+never seen a tree.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Never seen a tree!’</p>
+
+<p>‘No; they won’t grow in some of the
+islands, you know, at least not above five
+or six feet high. But there’s the <i>Dunolly
+Castle</i>.’</p>
+
+<p>There lay the good vessel which had so lately
+ploughed the waters of the Outer Hebrides, a
+captive now, bound fast by stem and stern.</p>
+
+<p>Cameron jumped on board, and soon reappeared
+dragging a full sack behind him,
+while a seaman followed with a heavy wooden
+box on his shoulder, and a big earthenware
+jar in his left hand. Several porters with
+big two-wheeled barrows now proffered their
+services. Cameron selected one, and having
+loaded the barrow with a sack of oatmeal, a
+small barrel of salt herrings, two great jars
+which Alec rightly conjectured to contain
+whisky, and the wooden box, he proceeded to
+pilot the porter to Hanover Street.</p>
+
+<p>‘Tak’ care o’ the jaurs!’ he cried out in
+some alarm, as the porter knocked his barrow
+against a corner. ‘They’re just the maist
+precious bit o’ the haill cargo; and if ye
+preak ane o’ them, she’ll preak your heid, as
+I’m a leefin’ man!’</p>
+
+<p>‘Why do you bring your provisions instead
+of buying them here? Is it any cheaper?’
+asked Alec.</p>
+
+<p>‘Cheaper! Fat the teil do I care for the
+cheapness? I prefer my own whisky, and
+my own oatmeal, I tell you; it is better
+than any you can buy here,’ answered the
+proud and irate Highlandman.</p>
+
+<p>But when Alec and he were better acquainted,
+he acknowledged that the oatmeal
+and whisky were presented to him by relatives,
+as aids to the difficult task of living for six
+months on twenty pounds.</p>
+
+<p>Next morning Alec woke to a blinding,
+acrid, yellow fog, which the gaslight faintly
+illumined. It was still dark when he emerged
+into the street and took his way to the College,
+with a copy of one of Cicero’s orations and a
+note-book under his arm. As he reached his
+destination the clock struck eight, and immediately
+a bell began to tinkle in quick,
+sharp, imperative tones.</p>
+
+<p>The junior Latin class, he found, met in
+the centre of a long narrow hall, lit by a
+few gas-jets flaring here and there. On both
+sides of the hall were tall windows, outside
+of which was the yellow cloud of fog. There
+was no stove or heating apparatus whatever.
+A raised bench ran along one side of the long
+room, and there were black empty galleries
+at either end. In the centre stood a pulpit,
+raised about two feet above the floor, and in
+this the Professor was already standing.</p>
+
+<p>About two hundred men and boys were
+seated in the benches nearest the pulpit,
+some wearing the regulation red gown, and
+some without it, while beyond them the black
+empty benches stretched away to the farther
+end of the hall, which lay in complete darkness.</p>
+
+<p>All was stillness, but for the tinkling of
+the bell. Suddenly it stopped, and that
+instant a janitor banged the door, shutting
+out late comers inexorably.</p>
+
+<p>Everybody stood up, while the Professor
+repeated a collect and the Lord’s Prayer in
+English. Then he began to call the roll in
+Latin, and as each student answered ‘Adsum!’
+he was assigned a place on one of the benches,
+which was to be his for the rest of the session.
+Alec’s place was between a stout little fellow
+of sixteen, son of a wealthy Glasgow merchant,
+and a pale overworked teacher, who had set
+his heart on being able to write ‘M.A.’ after
+his name.</p>
+
+<p>The work of the class then began. The
+Professor gave a short explanation of the
+circumstances under which the oration which
+he had selected was made. He read and
+translated a few lines, explaining the various
+allusions, the nature of a Roman trial, and
+the meaning of the word ‘judices.’ He then,
+by way of illustrating the method of teaching,
+called on one of the students to construe
+a few lines, and proceeded to ask all sorts of
+questions, historical and philological, passing
+the questions from man to man and from
+bench to bench. He then prescribed a piece
+of English to be turned into Latin prose.
+Before he had ceased speaking the clock
+struck; the bell began to ring; the Professor
+finished his sentence and shut his book. The
+lecture was at an end.</p>
+
+<p>The next hour Alec spent chiefly in wandering
+round the College Green, a kind of
+neglected park thinly populated with soot-encrusted
+trees, which lay at the rear of the
+College buildings. At ten o’clock the junior
+Greek class met; and Alec entered a small
+room crammed with students, who were
+sitting on narrow, crescent-shaped benches
+raised one behind the other, and fronting a
+semicircular platform at the lower end of
+the room. The book-boards, Alec noticed,
+were extremely narrow, and neatly bound
+with iron. The procedure here was much
+the same as it had been in the Latin class,
+except that there were no prayers, the
+devotions being confined to the classes which
+happened to meet earliest in the day.</p>
+
+<p>At eleven there was another hour of Latin,
+Virgil being the text-book this time; and then
+lectures were over for the day, so far as Alec
+was concerned.</p>
+
+<p>All day long the committee-rooms of the
+rival Conservative and Liberal Associations
+were filled with men, consulting, smoking,
+enrolling pledges, and inditing ‘squibs’ and
+manifestoes; and as a Liberal meeting in support
+of Mr. Sharpe was to be held that evening
+in the Greek class-room, Alec determined to
+be present, hoping to hear some arguments
+which might help him to decide how he ought
+to vote on this momentous occasion.</p>
+
+<p>In this expectation, however, he was disappointed.
+Before he came in sight of the
+lighted-up windows of the class-room he heard
+a roar of singing—the factions were uniting
+their powers to render a stanza of ‘The Good
+Rhine Wine’ with proper emphasis. The
+place was packed as full as it would hold, the
+Professor’s platform being held by the committee-men
+of the Liberal Association. As
+soon as the song was ended, a small man in
+spectacles was voted into the chair. He
+opened the proceedings by calling upon a Mr.
+Macfarlane to move the first resolution, and
+(like a wise man) immediately sat down.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Macfarlane, a young man of great size
+with a throat of brass, was not popular. Cries
+of ‘Sit down, sir!’ ‘Go home, sir!’ ‘Speak
+up, sir!’ were mingled with volleys of peas,
+Kentish fire, cheers for Lord Dummieden, and
+the usual noises of a noisy meeting.</p>
+
+<p>The little man in spectacles got up, and,
+speaking in a purposely low voice, obtained a
+hearing. He reminded his Conservative
+friends that the Liberals had not spoiled the
+Conservative meeting on the previous evening,
+and said it was only fair that they should have
+their turn. This was greeted with loud shouts
+of ‘Hear! hear!’ and Mr. Macfarlane began a
+second time. But soon he managed to set his
+audience in an uproar once more. His face
+was fairly battered with peas. Men got up
+and stood on the benches, then on the book-boards.
+One fellow had brought a policeman’s
+rattle, with which he created a din so intolerable
+that three or four others tried to deprive him
+of it. One or two stout Conservatives came
+to the rescue, and finally the whole group slid
+off their narrow foot-hold on the book-boards,
+and fell in a confused heap on the floor, amid
+loud cheers from both parties.</p>
+
+<p>After this episode order was restored, and a
+fresh orator held the attention of the audience
+for a few minutes. Unfortunately he stopped
+for a moment, and the pause was immediately
+filled by a student at the farther end of the
+room blowing a shrill, pitiful blast on a child’s
+penny trumpet. The effect was comical enough;
+and everybody laughed. At that moment a
+loud knock was heard at the door, which had
+been locked, the room being already as full
+as it could possibly hold. The knock was
+repeated.</p>
+
+<p>‘I believe the perambulator has come for
+the gentleman with the penny trumpet,’ said
+the chairman in gentle accents.</p>
+
+<p>This sally was greeted with a loud roar of
+laughter; and when it died away, comparative
+silence reigned for five minutes.</p>
+
+<p>Then came more cheers, songs, and volleys
+of peas; and when everybody was hoarse the
+meeting came to an end, the leading spirits
+on both sides adjourning to their committee-rooms,
+and afterwards to the hotels which
+they usually patronized.</p>
+
+<p>These meetings were continued for about
+ten days, and then the vote was taken. The
+four ‘nations’ had each one vote. Two voted
+for Mr. Sharpe, and two for Lord Dummieden.
+And then the Chancellor, in accordance with
+old established practice, gave his casting vote
+in favour of the Conservative candidate.</p>
+
+<p>It was over. The manifestoes and satirical
+ballads were swept away; and the twelve
+hundred men and boys settled down to six
+months’ labour.</p>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span>
+<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="Six">VI.</abbr></h3>
+<h4>A NEW EXPERIENCE.</h4>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">For</span> the next six weeks Alec Lindsay’s life
+was one unvarying round of lectures, and
+preparation for lectures. For recreation he
+had football on the College Green, long walks
+on Saturday afternoons, and long debates
+with his friend Cameron. The debates,
+however, were not very frequent, for the
+Highlander was working twelve hours a
+day.</p>
+
+<p>‘I mean to get a first-class in surgery,’
+he said to Alec one Saturday night, as the
+two sat over their pipes in Alec’s sitting-room;
+‘and then perhaps the Professor will
+ask me to be an assistant. If he does, my
+fortune is made, for I know my work.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Ay, that’s the great thing,’ said Alec
+absently. ‘Don’t you ever go to church,
+Cameron?’ he added abruptly.</p>
+
+<p>‘As seldom as I can,’ said the other, with a
+side look at his companion; ‘but don’t take
+me for a guide.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I can’t help it,’ replied the lad, still gazing
+into the fire; ‘we all take our neighbours for
+guides, whether we acknowledge it or not.’</p>
+
+<p>‘More or less, no doubt.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Don’t you think one <em>ought</em> to go to
+church?’</p>
+
+<p>‘How can I tell? Every man for himself,
+my lad.’</p>
+
+<p>‘That won’t do,’ answered Alec, rousing
+himself and facing his friend; ‘right’s right,
+and wrong’s wrong; what is right for one
+man must be right for every man—under
+the same circumstances, I mean.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Will you just tell me,’ said Cameron, half
+defiantly, ‘what good going to church can do
+me? I know the psalms almost by heart, and
+I know the chapters the minister reads almost
+as well. As for the prayers, half of them
+aren’t prayers at all, and the other half I
+could say as weel at hame, if I had a mind.
+And the sermons!—man, Alec, ye canna say
+ye think they can do good to any living
+creature.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Some of them, perhaps.’</p>
+
+<p>‘When I find a minister that doesna tell us
+the same thing over, and over, and over again,
+and use fifty words to say what might be said
+in five, to spin out the time, I’ll reconsider the
+p’int,’ said Cameron.</p>
+
+<p>‘But you believe there’s a God,’ said
+Alec.</p>
+
+<p>‘That’s a lang stap furret,’ said the other.</p>
+
+<p>‘But do you?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Well, I do, and I dinna. I don’t believe
+in the Free Kirk God. It’s hard to think
+this warl could mak’ itsel’: but I hae my
+doots.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Then you’re an Agnostic?’</p>
+
+<p>‘What if I am? Are ye scunnered?’<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p>
+
+<p>‘No—and yet——’</p>
+
+<p>‘Or what if I should tell you I have chosen
+some other religion? Why should I be a
+Presbyterian? Because I was born in Scotland.
+That’s the only reason I’ve been able
+to think of, and it doesn’t seem to me to be
+up to much.’</p>
+
+<p>Alec was secretly shocked, though he thought
+it more manly not to show it.</p>
+
+<p>‘I believe in the Bible,’ he said at last.</p>
+
+<p>‘That doesna help you much,’ said Cameron,
+with some contempt. ‘Baptists, Independents,
+Episcopalians, the very Papists themsel’s, and
+thae half-heathen Russians, wad tell ye that
+they believe in the Bible. Ye micht as weel
+tell a judge, when he ca’ed on you for an
+argument, that ye believe in an Act o’ Parliament.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Hae ye an aitlas?’ he continued after a
+pause. ‘Here’s one.’</p>
+
+<p>He turned to a ‘Mercator’s projection’ at
+the beginning of the volume, and scratched
+the spot which represented Scotland with his
+pencil. He then slightly shaded England, the
+United States, and Holland, and put in a few
+dots in Germany and Switzerland.</p>
+
+<p>‘There!’ he said, as he pushed the map
+across the table; ‘that’s your Presbyterian
+notion o’ Christendom. There’s a glimmerin’
+in England and the States, but only in bonny
+Scotland does the true licht shine full and
+fair. As for Germany, Holland, an’ Switzerland,
+they’re unco dry, no tae say deid
+branches. The rest o’ mankind—total darkness!’</p>
+
+<p>‘But you might have said the same thing
+of Christianity itself at one time, and of every
+religion in the world, for that matter,’ protested
+Alec.</p>
+
+<p>‘Nae doot,’ retorted Cameron, ‘but that
+was at the beginning. This is Christianity,
+according to the gospel o’ John Knox and
+Company after nineteen centuries! A poor
+show for nineteen hunder’ years—a mighty
+poor show!’</p>
+
+<p>He got up as he spoke, and knocking the
+ashes out of his pipe, prepared to move to his
+own quarters.</p>
+
+<p>‘Let’s change the subject,’ said Alec. ‘Here’s
+a letter I got this morning, and I don’t know
+how to answer it.’</p>
+
+<p>‘What’s this?’ said the older man, taking
+the thick sheet of paper between the tips of
+his fingers. ‘“Mr. James Lindsay presents his
+compliments to Mr. Alexander Lindsay, and
+requests the pleasure of his company at dinner
+on Tuesday the 27th inst., at half-past six.
+Blythswood Square, December, 187-.” Is
+this old James Lindsay o’ Drumleck?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Are you a connection of his?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Grand-nephew.’</p>
+
+<p>‘And why can’t you answer the note?’</p>
+
+<p>‘I don’t want to go. I haven’t been brought
+up to this sort of thing, and I don’t care to go
+out of my way to make myself ridiculous in a
+rich man’s house. Besides, I don’t want to go
+to the expense of a suit of dress clothes. And
+then, my uncle and I were not particularly
+smitten with each other when I saw him
+last.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Don’t be a fool, Alec,’ said Cameron
+quietly. ‘You can’t afford to throw away
+the friendship of a man worth twenty thousand
+a year.’</p>
+
+<p>‘That phrase always reminds me,’ remarked
+Alec, ‘of what one of the Erskines—I don’t
+remember which of them it was—once said,
+when some one said in his company that so-and-so
+had died worth three hundred thousand
+pounds—“Did he indeed, sir? And a very
+pretty sum, too, to begin the next world
+with.”’</p>
+
+<p>Cameron smiled grimly.</p>
+
+<p>‘You’ll have to go, Alec,’ he repeated; ‘and
+you needn’t be afraid of appearing ridiculous.
+Do as you see others do, and keep a lown sail;
+better seem blate than impident.’</p>
+
+<p>‘My father would be in a fine way if he
+heard that my uncle had invited me, and that
+I had refused the invitation,’ said Lindsay.</p>
+
+<p>‘And quite right too,’ rejoined Cameron.
+‘Besides, Alec, the old man is your father’s
+uncle, and you ought to show him some
+respect.’</p>
+
+<p>‘That wasn’t the reason you put in the forefront,’
+said Alec slyly.</p>
+
+<p>For reply Cameron, who had reached the
+door, picked up a Greek grammar, flung it at
+his friend’s head as he muttered something in
+Gaelic, and banging the door behind him,
+ascended to his own domicile.</p>
+
+<p>Exactly at the appointed hour Alec presented
+himself at his grand-uncle’s house in
+Blythswood Square. The square had once been
+fashionable, and was still something more than
+respectable, because the houses were too large
+to be inhabited by people of moderate means;
+but the situation was dull and gloomy to the
+last degree. Within, however, there was a
+very different scene. Entrance-hall, staircase,
+drawing-room, were all as brilliant as gas-jets
+could make them. The walls, even of the
+passages, were lined with pictures, good, bad,
+and indifferent. Every landing, every corner,
+held a statue, or at least a statuette, or a bust
+upon a pedestal.</p>
+
+<p>When Alec was ushered into the drawing-room,
+he could hardly see for the blaze of
+light; he could hardly move for little tables
+laden with china, ormolu, and bronzes. Fortunately,
+Sir Peter and Lady Colquhoun were
+entering the reception-room just as Alec
+reached it, so that he made his entrance in
+their wake, and, as it were, under their lee.</p>
+
+<p>The room was already pretty well filled, and
+more guests were continually arriving. On
+the hearth-rug stood a little old man, with a
+mean, inexpressive face, scanty hair which
+was still gray, thin gray whiskers, small eyes,
+and a fussy consequential air. When he
+spoke, it was in a high-pitched, rasping voice;
+and he invariably gave one the impression
+that he was insisting upon being noticed and
+attended to.</p>
+
+<p>This was Mr. Lindsay of Drumleck. He
+stared at Alec for an instant, then gave him
+his hand in silence, and, without addressing a
+word to him, continued his conversation with
+the Lord Provost’s wife. Alec’s face flushed.
+His first impulse was to walk out of the room,
+and out of the house; but on second thoughts
+he saw that that course would not even be
+dignified. He retreated to a corner, and set
+himself to watch the company.</p>
+
+<p>For the most part they sat nearly silent—fat
+baillies and their well-nourished wives—hard-featured
+damsels of thirty or forty
+summers, in high-necked dresses and Brussels
+lace collars—one or two stout ministers—such
+was the assembly. Alec was astonished. He
+had expected, somehow, that he should meet
+people of a different type.</p>
+
+<p>‘Take one or two dozen people from behind
+the shop-counters in Argyle Street,’ he said to
+himself (with boyish contempt for the disappointing),
+‘or even a few Muirburn ploughmen
+and weavers, give them plenty of money,
+and in three weeks they would be quite as fine
+ladies and gentlemen as any I see here.’</p>
+
+<p>As the thought passed through the boy’s
+mind, the door was thrown open, and the
+names of ‘Professor Taylor and Miss Mowbray’
+were announced. A tall, lean man,
+with long hair and crumpled old-fashioned
+garments, entered, and beside him walked a
+young lady with her eyes on the ground.</p>
+
+<p>She was dressed in a cream-coloured
+costume, with just a fleck of colour here and
+there. She was indeed remarkably pretty,
+and possessed a soft, childlike grace which was
+more captivating than beauty alone would
+have been. She had a small, well-rounded
+figure—a little more and it would have been
+plump—abundant dark-brown hair, and a soft,
+peach-like complexion. Her eyelashes were
+unusually long; and when, reaching her host,
+she half-timidly raised her eyes to his, Alec
+(who was sitting in the background) felt a
+little thrill of pleasure at the mere sight of
+their dark loveliness.</p>
+
+<p>She was the first lady, the first young lady,
+at least, whom he had seen, and he looked at
+her as if she were a being to be worshipped.
+But Laura Mowbray was indeed pretty enough
+to have turned the head of a more experienced
+person than the laird’s son.</p>
+
+<p>Professor Taylor and his niece moved to
+one side; her dress almost brushed against
+Alec. She glanced at him for an instant;
+without intending it he dropped his eyes, and
+the girl looked in another direction with a
+little inward smile.</p>
+
+<p>In three or four minutes dinner was announced,
+and Laura fell to the care of James
+Semple (the cousin who had taken Alec’s
+place at the oil-works), who had just come in.
+There were more men than women in the
+party, and Alec and one or two of the less
+wealthy guests were left to find their way into
+the dining-room by themselves at the end of
+the procession. Fortune, however, favoured
+Alec. When he took his seat, he found that
+he was sitting between a pale, inoffensive-looking
+youth and—Laura Mowbray.</p>
+
+<p>He literally did not dare to look at her,
+much less to address her; he was not sure,
+indeed, whether the rules of society allowed
+him to do so in the absence of an introduction.
+In a little time, however, his shyness
+wore off; he watched his opportunity; but
+before he found one, his neighbour remarked
+in her soft English accent, and in the sweetest
+of tones:</p>
+
+<p>‘What dreadful fogs you have in Glasgow!’</p>
+
+<p>Alec made some reply, and the ice once
+broken, he made rapid progress.</p>
+
+<p>‘Everybody I meet seems to be related to
+somebody else, or connected with some one I
+have met before,’ said Miss Mowbray. ‘You
+have all so many relations in this part of the
+country, and you seem never to forget any
+of them. In London it is different. People
+seldom know their next-door neighbours; and
+it is just a chance whether they keep up
+cousinships, and so on, or not.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Really? I think that is very unnatural.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh! <em>so</em> unnatural! Life in London is so
+dreadfully conventional and superficial. Don’t
+you think so?’</p>
+
+<p>‘I dare say; but I have never been in
+London.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Have you, Mr. Semple?’ she asked of the
+gentleman on her left.</p>
+
+<p>‘No, I haven’t,’ he answered shortly.</p>
+
+<p>He did not approve of Miss Mowbray paying
+any attention to Alec, regarding her as
+for the time being his property. On this
+Laura left off talking to Alec, and devoted
+herself to the amusement of Mr. Semple.</p>
+
+<p>Soon, however, she took advantage of his
+attention being claimed by the lady on his
+left, to turn again with a smile to Alec.</p>
+
+<p>‘Mr. Semple tells me you are at College.
+My uncle is a professor there, but he has
+hardly any students, because history is not a
+compulsory subject in the examinations. How
+do you like being at College?’</p>
+
+<p>Alec was grateful for her interest in him,
+and gave her his impressions of College life.
+Then she turned once more to her legitimate
+entertainer, who was by that time at
+liberty.</p>
+
+<p>Alec had already had far more intercourse
+with his lovely neighbour than he had dared
+to hope for; but the dinner was a long one;
+and as Mr. Semple’s left-hand neighbour
+happened to be a maiden aunt with money,
+she was able to compel his attention once
+more before the close of the meal.</p>
+
+<p>‘You live in a beautiful part of the country,
+I believe,’ Miss Mowbray remarked to Alec.</p>
+
+<p>‘I don’t know; I like it, of course; but I
+don’t know that it is finer than any country
+with wood and a river.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, you <em>have</em> a river? I am so passionately
+fond of river scenery.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes, and we have a castle,’ replied Alec;
+and before the ladies rose he had described
+not only the castle, but the moorland and the
+romantic dell which was his sister’s favourite
+retreat, to his much-interested neighbour.</p>
+
+<p>When at length the ladies followed Miss
+Lindsay—a distant relation who superintended
+Mr. Lindsay’s establishment—out of the room,
+Alec felt as if the evening had suddenly come
+to an end.</p>
+
+<p>Semple, who had vouchsafed him rather a
+cool nod in the evening, tried in vain to
+make him talk.</p>
+
+<p>‘How do you like College?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Pretty well.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Dreadful underbred set. Why don’t you
+go to Oxford?’</p>
+
+<p>Alec made no reply.</p>
+
+<p>‘Or Edinburgh—they are a much better
+class of men at Edinburgh, I’m told.’</p>
+
+<p>And Mr. Semple turned away to join a
+conversation about ‘warrants,’ and ‘premiums,’
+and ‘vendor’s shares,’ ‘corners,’ ‘contangos,’
+and ‘quotations,’ which to Alec was simply
+unintelligible.</p>
+
+<p>At the other end of the table a conversation
+of another character was in progress—one
+hardly less interesting to those who took
+part in it, and hardly more interesting to an
+outsider. It seemed that a wealthy congregation
+of United Presbyterians had built
+themselves an organ at considerable expense,
+without obtaining the sanction of their co-religionists;
+and an edict had gone forth that
+the organ must be silent on Sundays, but
+might be used for the delectation of those
+who attended the prayer-meeting on Wednesday
+evenings.</p>
+
+<p>‘I look upon it as the thin end of the
+wedge,’ said the Reverend Hector MacTavish,
+D.D., striking his fist on his knee.
+‘You begin with hymns, many of them wish-washy
+trash, some of them positively unscriptural.
+Then you must have a choir for
+the tunes, as if the old-fashioned long metre
+and common metre were not good enough;
+then comes an organ; then the Lord’s Prayer
+is used as a part of the ritual—mark you, as
+a part of the ritual—I have no objection to
+the Lord’s Prayer when it is not used on
+formal, stated occasions. After that, you
+have a liturgy.’</p>
+
+<p>‘No, no, Doctor; you are going too fast,’
+murmured one of the audience.</p>
+
+<p>‘And I maintain that with a liturgy there
+is an end to the distinctively Presbyterian
+form of worship.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But where would you draw the line?’
+inquired a mild, sallow-faced young man who
+had imbibed his theological opinions at Heidelberg,
+and was in consequence suspected of
+latitudinarianism, if not of actual heresy.</p>
+
+<p>‘Where our fathers drew it, at the Psalms
+of Tavid!’ thundered Mr. MacTavish, striking
+his unoffending knee once more.</p>
+
+<p>‘Then I fear you render Union impossible,’
+said the young minister.</p>
+
+<p>‘And what if I do, sir?’ said Dr. MacTavish
+loftily; ‘in my opinion we Free
+Churchmen are ferry well as we are, and
+need no new lights to illuminate us.’</p>
+
+<p>The young man received the covert sneer
+at his German training and his liberal ideas
+with a smile; and Alec listened no longer,
+but relapsed into dreamland. The dispute,
+however, continued long after most of the
+men had returned to the drawing-room, and
+Alec rose from his chair while an animated
+discussion was in progress on the point whether
+the use of an organ was favourable to spiritual
+worship or tended to sensuousness, and whether
+the fact that the New Testament was silent
+on the subject, condemned the organ and its
+followers by anticipation.</p>
+
+<p>When Alec entered the drawing-room, Miss
+Mowbray was singing. He retreated to a
+corner and stood as one spell-bound. He
+watched for an opportunity of speaking to
+her again, but there was none; however, on
+passing him on her way to the door on her
+uncle’s arm, she gave him a little bow and
+smile, which he regarded as another proof of
+her sweetness of disposition.</p>
+
+<p>The theologians had not finished their
+disputations, and were continuing them in a
+corner of the drawing-room, when Alec took
+his departure.</p>
+
+<p>He walked back to his poor and empty
+room with his head among the stars. She
+had talked with him, smiled upon him, treated
+him as an equal. He would find out where
+she lived, and contrive to meet her again.
+How lovely she was, how sweet, how pure,
+how good! The wide earth, Alec Lindsay
+was firmly convinced, contained no mortal
+fit for one moment to be compared with the
+girl whose soft brown eyes and gentle, almost
+appealing, looks still made his heart beat as
+he remembered them.</p>
+
+
+<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
+<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> Disgusted.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span>
+<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="Seven">VII.</abbr></h3>
+<h4>A SUNDAY IN GLASGOW.</h4>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="unindent">‘<span class="smcap">Well</span>, Alec, how did you get on last night?’
+asked Duncan Cameron of his friend, when
+they met as usual the day after the dinner at
+Blythswood Square.</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, all right. It was rather a stupid
+affair.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Rather stupid—not quite worth the trouble
+of attending? And yet you were half afraid
+of going! Don’t deny it.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I said it was stupid; and so it was,’ said
+Alec, reddening. ‘Nobody said anything
+worth listening to, so far as I heard.’</p>
+
+<p>‘That means nobody took much notice of
+<em>you</em>, eh?’</p>
+
+<p>‘What an ill-conditioned, sneering fellow
+you are, Cameron,’ replied Alec tranquilly.
+‘You’ll never get on in the world unless you
+learn to be civil.’</p>
+
+<p>‘It isn’t worth my while to be civil to you,’
+said Cameron. ‘Wait till I’m in practice and
+have to flatter and humour rich old women.
+What did your uncle say to you?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Hardly anything—just a word or two, as I
+was coming away.’</p>
+
+<p>‘You ought to cultivate him, Alec.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I wish you wouldn’t speak like that,
+Duncan,’ said Alec roughly. ‘Do you think
+I’m the sort of fellow to flatter and fawn upon
+an old man I don’t like, simply because he is
+rich?’</p>
+
+<p>‘There’s no need for flattering and fawning,’
+replied Cameron; ‘but you’ve no right to
+throw away such a chance at the very outset
+of your life.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Do you think, then, that it’s manly or
+honourable to visit a man as it were out of
+pure friendship, when your only object is to
+make him useful to you?’</p>
+
+<p>‘There’s no question of friendship, ye gowk;
+he’s your relation, and the head of your house.
+It’s your duty to pay him your respects
+occasionally.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Paying my respects wouldn’t be of much
+use,’ retorted Alec. ‘You’re shirking the
+question. Is it honourable to—I don’t know
+the right word—to try to ingratiate yourself
+with anyone in the hope of getting something
+out of him?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Why not?’</p>
+
+<p>‘It’s not honourable; and I would not
+respect myself if I were to do such a thing,’
+said Alec, with much dignity.</p>
+
+<p>Cameron laughed inwardly, but he made no
+response, and there was silence for a few
+minutes between the two friends. The older
+man was thinking how absurd the boy was,
+and how a little experience of life would rub
+off his ‘high-fantastical’ notions. Then he
+wished that he had a grand-uncle who was a
+millionnaire. And then he fell to wondering
+whether, on the whole, it was best to despise
+wealth, as Alec Lindsay did, or to acquire
+it.</p>
+
+<p>‘I suppose it is too late now to take another
+class?’ said Alec, half absently.</p>
+
+<p>‘I should think so,’ responded his friend.
+‘What class did you think of taking? Mathematics?’</p>
+
+<p>‘No; History.’</p>
+
+<p>‘History! That isn’t wanted for a degree.
+What put that into your head?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, I don’t know. I only thought of
+it.’</p>
+
+<p>Cameron did not know that the learned
+Professor of History had a niece named Laura
+Mowbray.</p>
+
+<p>That evening about ten o’clock, when the
+medical student went down to his friend’s
+room, as was his custom at that hour, he found
+Alec poring over some papers, which he pushed
+aside as Cameron entered.</p>
+
+<p>‘Come in,’ he cried, as the other paused in
+the doorway. ‘I’m not working.’</p>
+
+<p>The Highlander took up his usual position,
+standing on the hearth-rug with his back
+to the fire, and proceeded to light his
+pipe.</p>
+
+<p>‘They tell me you’re doing very well in
+the Latin class—sure of a prize, if you keep
+on as you’re doing,’ he said, after smoking
+for a minute in silence.</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, it’s no use; I can’t do Latin prose,’
+answered Alec discontentedly. ‘How can I?
+I’ve never had any practice. Just look at
+this—my last exercise—no frightful blunders,
+but, as the Professor said, full of inelegancies;’
+and he handed his friend a sheet of paper
+from his table as he spoke.</p>
+
+<p>Cameron took the paper, and regarded it
+through a cloud of smoke.</p>
+
+<p>‘What’s this?’ he exclaimed. ‘Poetry, as
+I’m a livin’ Heelandman! Just listen!’ and
+he waved his hand, as if addressing an
+imaginary audience.</p>
+
+<p>Alec’s face burned, as he rose and hastily
+snatched the paper from his friend’s grasp.
+Cameron would have carried his bantering
+further, but he saw that in the lad’s face
+which restrained him.</p>
+
+<p>‘Already!’ he muttered, as he turned away
+to hide his laughter.</p>
+
+<p>‘Are you going home for the New Year?’
+asked Alec, when his embarrassment had subsided.</p>
+
+<p>‘Me? No! We have only a week’s
+vacation, or ten days at most. The <i>Dunolly
+Castle</i> sails only once a week in winter; and
+if the sailings didn’t suit, I should have hardly
+time to go there before I had to come away
+again. And if a storm came on I should be
+weather-bound, and might not get south for
+another week.’</p>
+
+<p>‘It must be very dreary in the north in
+winter,’ said Alec.</p>
+
+<p>‘Ay—but you must come and see for yourself
+some day.’</p>
+
+<p>Alec was silent; he was thinking that he
+should like to ask his friend to spend the
+vacation week with him at the Castle Farm;
+but he did not care to take the responsibility
+of giving the invitation.</p>
+
+<p>The following Sunday was one of those
+dismal days which are common in the west of
+Scotland during the winter months. It was
+nearly cold enough for snow, but instead of snow
+a continuous drizzle fell slowly throughout the
+day. There was no fog; but in the streets of
+Glasgow it was dark soon after midday.</p>
+
+<p>Alec Lindsay went to church in the forenoon
+as usual; then he came home and ate
+a cold dinner which would have been very
+trying to any appetite less robust than that
+of a young Scotchman.</p>
+
+<p>Finding that he had a few minutes to spare
+before setting out for the afternoon service
+(which takes the place of an evening service in
+England), he ran upstairs to his friend’s room.</p>
+
+<p>‘I wish you would come to church with me,
+Duncan,’ he said, as he seated himself on the
+medical student’s trunk.</p>
+
+<p>The invitation implied a reproach; but
+Cameron was not offended at this interference
+with his private concerns. In the north a
+man who ‘neglects ordinances’ is supposed to
+lay himself open to the reproof of any better-disposed
+person who assumes an interest in
+his spiritual welfare. For reply he muttered
+something in Gaelic, which Alec conjectured,
+rightly enough, to be an exclamation too
+improper to be said conveniently in English.</p>
+
+<p>‘Fat can ye no leaf a man alone for?’ he
+said aloud, reverting, as he did when he was
+excited, to his strong Highland accent.</p>
+
+<p>Alec said no more; but Cameron, whose
+conscience was not quite at rest, chose to
+continue the subject.</p>
+
+<p>‘I go to the kirk when I’m at home,’ he
+said, ‘an’ that’s enough. I go to please my
+mother, an’ keep folk from talking—but it’s
+weary work. I often ask myself what is the
+good of it?—the whole thing, I mean. There’s
+old Mr. Macfarlane, the parish minister of
+Glenstruan—we went to live on the mainland
+two years ago, you know. He’s a decent man—a
+<em>ferry</em> decent man. He ladles oot castor
+oil an’ cod-liver oil as occasion requires, to
+the haill parish, an’ the next ane tae, without
+fee or reward. He’s a great botanist, and
+spends half his time in his gairden—grows a’
+sorts o’ fruit—even peaches, I’ve been told.
+When the weather’s suitable he gangs fishin’.
+On Sabbath he has apoot forty folk in his big
+barn o’ a kirk. He talks tae them for an
+oor, an’ lets them gang. He’s aye ready to
+baptize a wean, or pray wi’ a deein’ botoch,<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a>
+but it’s seldom he has the chance. I’m no
+blamin’ the man. It’s no his faut that the
+folk gaed ower bodily to the Free Kirk at the
+Disruption, an’ left him, a shepherd wi’ ne’er
+a flock, but a wheen auld rams, wha——’</p>
+
+<p>‘But there’s the Free Kirk,’ interrupted
+Alec, ‘and it’s your own kirk, I suppose.’</p>
+
+<p>‘No,’ said Cameron. ‘If anything, I belong
+to the Establishment. Save me, is my daily
+an’ nichtly prayer, frae the bitter birr o’ the
+Dissenters.’</p>
+
+<p>Alec laughed, and the other went on:</p>
+<p>‘There’s Maister MacPhairson, the Free
+Kirk minister. He’s a wee, soor, black-avised
+crater, wi’ a wife an’ nine weans. Hoo
+he manages to gie them parritch an’ milk I
+can <em>not</em> imagine. He’s jist eaten up wi’ envy
+an’ spite that the parish minister has the big
+hoose, and he has the wee ane. He mak’s his
+sermons dooble as lang to let folk see that he
+does a’ the wark——’</p>
+
+<p>‘A very good reason for not belonging to the
+Free Church,’ interposed Alec; ‘but I don’t see
+what all this has got to do with the question.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I’m only showing that the religious system
+of this country is in a state of petrifaction,’
+said Cameron, abandoning the Doric—‘fossilization,
+if you like it better.’</p>
+
+<p>Alec laughed.</p>
+
+<p>‘A pretty proof,’ he cried.</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, of course, the state of religion in one
+corner of the Hielans is only an illustration;
+but it’s much the same everywhere. I don’t
+see, to put the thing plainly, that we should
+be very much worse off without any kirks,
+and what we want with so many is a mystery
+to me. What was the use of building a new
+one in every parish at the Disruption, I should
+like to know?’</p>
+
+<p>‘You know as well as I do,’ answered Alec.
+‘A great principle was at stake.’</p>
+
+<p>‘“The sacred right o’ the nowte<a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> to chuse
+their ain herd,” as Burns puts it,’ interposed
+Cameron.</p>
+
+<p>‘Not only that; the question was whether
+the Church should submit to interference on
+the part of the State,’ said Alec.</p>
+
+<p>‘And by way of showing that she never
+would submit, she rent herself in twa, and one
+half has spent the best part of her pith ever
+since in keeping up the fight wi’ the tither
+half. What sense is there in that, can ye tell
+me?’</p>
+
+<p>‘That’s all very well,’ said Alec, ‘but it
+seems to me that if a man finds a poor religion
+around him, he ought to stick to it as well as
+he can till he finds a better one.’</p>
+<p>‘There’s sense in that, Alec,’ said Cameron;
+‘and I’ll no just say I’ve no had my endeavours
+to find a better.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Where can ye find a better?’ asked Alec,
+shocked at this latitudinarianism.</p>
+
+<p>‘I didna say I had succeeded, did I? But
+I’ve tried. I went a good deal among
+the Methodists in my first year at College. I
+was wonderfully taken with them at first—thought
+them just the very salt of the earth.
+But in six months, I found they groaned and
+cried “Amen” a little too often—for nothing
+at all. Then, my next session, I wandered
+about from one kirk to another, and then I
+stayed still. Sometimes I’ve even gone to
+the Catholics.’</p>
+
+<p>‘The Catholics!’ exclaimed Alec, with
+horror. If his friend had said that he had
+occasionally joined in the rites of pagans, and
+had witnessed human sacrifices, he could
+hardly have shocked this son of the Covenanters
+more seriously.</p>
+
+<p>‘Hoots, ay!’ said the Highlander, with a
+half-affected carelessness. ‘There’s a lot o’
+them in Glenstruan.’</p>
+
+<p>‘At home? In the north?’ asked Alec, in
+astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes; in out-of-the-way corners there are
+many Catholics. In some parishes there are
+but few Protestants.’</p>
+
+<p>‘How did they come there?’</p>
+
+<p>‘They have always been there.’</p>
+
+<p>It was news to Alec, Scotchman as he was,
+that there are to this day little communities of
+Catholics hidden among the mountains of Ross
+and Inverness, living in glens so secluded that
+one might almost fancy that the fierce storms
+of the sixteenth century had never reached
+them.</p>
+
+<p>Wondering in his heart how it was possible
+that even unlettered Highlanders should have
+clung so long to degrading superstitions, Alec
+descended from his friend’s garret, and set off
+alone for St. Simon’s Free Church. The Free
+Churchmen in the Scotch towns frequently
+name their places of worship after the Apostles,
+not with any idea of honouring the Apostles’
+memory, but solely by way of keeping up a
+healthful and stimulating rivalry with the
+Establishment. Thus we have ‘St. Paul’s,’
+and ‘Free St. Paul’s’—‘St. John’s,’ and ‘Free
+St. John’s’—and so forth.</p>
+
+<p>Alec set out alone, and he felt very lonely
+as he made his way over the sloppy pavements.
+Among all these crowds of respectably-dressed
+people, there was not one face he knew, not
+the least possibility that anyone would give
+him a greeting. He would much rather have
+stayed at home over a pipe and a book, like
+Duncan Cameron; but his conscience would
+have made him miserable for a month if he
+had been guilty of such a crime. The jangling
+of bells filled the murky air. Most places of
+worship in Scotland have a bell, but very few
+have more than one. There is, therefore, no
+reason why each church should not have as
+large and as loud a bell as is consistent with
+the safety of the belfry.</p>
+
+<p>In a short time Alec reached ‘Free St.
+Simon’s,’ a building which outwardly resembled
+an Egyptian temple on a small scale,
+and inwardly a Methodist chapel on a large
+scale. In all essential points the worship was
+exactly a counterpart of that to which he had
+always been accustomed at Muirburn; but the
+details were different. Here the passages were
+covered with matting, and the pews were
+carpeted and cushioned. Hassocks were also
+provided, not for kneeling upon, but for the
+greater comfort of the audience during the
+sermon.</p>
+
+<p>The tall windows on either side of the pulpit
+were composed of painted glass. There were
+no idolatrous representations in the windows;
+only geometrical figures—Alec knew their
+number, and the colour of each one of them,
+intimately.</p>
+
+<p>At Free St. Simon’s the modern habit of
+standing during psalm-singing had been introduced.
+The attitude to be observed at
+prayer was as yet a moot question. Custom
+varied upon the point. The older members
+of the congregation stood up and severely
+regarded their fellow-worshippers, who kept
+their seats, propped their feet on their hassocks,
+put their arms on the book-boards, and
+leant their heads upon their arms. This
+posture Alec found to be highly conducive to
+slumber; and he had much difficulty in keeping
+awake, but he did not care to proclaim
+himself one of the ‘unco guid’ by rising to his
+feet, and protesting in that way against the
+modern laxity of manners.</p>
+
+<p>The prayer was a very long one, but at last
+it was over; and then came a chapter read
+from the Bible, another portion of a psalm,
+and the sermon. The preacher was both a
+good man and a learned one, but oratory was
+not his strong point; and if it had been, he
+might well have been excused for making no
+attempt to exert it at such a time and under
+such circumstances. The text, Alec remembered
+afterwards, was ‘One Lord, one Father
+of all,’ and the sermon was an elaborate
+attempt to prove that the Creator was in no
+proper sense the ‘Father’ of all men, but of
+the elect only. The young student listened
+for a time, and then fell to castle-building,
+an occupation of which he was perilously
+fond.</p>
+
+<p>When the regulation hour-and-a-half had
+come to a close, the congregation was dismissed;
+and Alec Lindsay went back to his
+lodgings, weary, depressed, and discontented.
+After tea there was absolutely nothing for him
+to do. He did not feel inclined to read a
+religious book; and recreations of any kind
+were absolutely forbidden by the religion in
+which he had been brought up. After an
+hour spent in idling about his room, he set
+out to find a church at which there was evening
+service, thinking that to hear another
+sermon would be less wearisome than solitude.</p>
+
+<p>Wandering through the streets, which at
+that hour were almost deserted, he at last
+heard a church bell begin to ring, and following
+the sound he came to a stone building,
+surmounted by a belfry. After a little hesitation,
+Alec Lindsay entered, and was conducted
+by the pew-opener to a seat. The
+area of the building was filled with very high-backed
+pews, set close together, and a large
+gallery ran round three of the walls; but the
+chapel was evidently not a Presbyterian place
+of worship, for on either side of the lofty
+pulpit was a reading-desk, nearly as high as
+the pulpit itself.</p>
+
+<p>Presently the bell stopped, and an organ
+placed in the gallery opposite the pulpit began
+to sound. Then a clergyman in white surplice
+and black stole ascended to the reading-desk
+on the right of the central pulpit, and Alec
+Lindsay knew that he was, for the first time
+in his life, in an ‘Episcopal’ chapel.</p>
+
+<p>The service was conducted in the plainest
+manner possible. The psalms were read, the
+canticles alone being chanted; and the clergyman,
+as he read the prayers, faced the congregation.
+The hymns were of a pronounced
+Evangelical type, and the sternest Calvinist
+could have found no fault with the sermon.
+But to Alec all was so entirely new and
+strange that he sometimes found it difficult to
+remember that he was supposed to be engaged
+in worship.</p>
+
+<p>The prayers were over, and the sermon had
+begun, when Alec noticed, at some little distance,
+a face, the sight of which made his
+hand tremble and his heart beat. It was
+Laura Mowbray. She was sitting alone in
+her corner, her only companion being a maidservant,
+who sat at the door of the pew. Her
+profile was turned towards Alec, its clear white
+outline showing against the dark panelling
+behind her. Almost afraid to look in her
+direction, for fear of attracting her attention,
+or of allowing those sitting near him to guess
+what was passing in his mind, he took only a
+glance now and then at the object of his worship.
+It was worship, rather than love, with
+Alec Lindsay. Courtship, and marriage, and
+the practical considerations which these things
+entail, never entered the boy’s mind. He had
+seen his ideal of beauty, of refinement, of
+feminine grace; and he was content, for the
+present at least, to worship her at a distance,
+himself unseen.</p>
+
+<p>When the service was over, he left the
+chapel, and placed himself at an angle outside
+the gateway, where he could see her as she
+passed out. He recognised her figure as soon
+as it appeared, but to his great disappointment
+her face was turned from him. By chance,
+however, she looked back to see if the maid
+were following her, and for one instant he had
+a full view of her face. It was enough, and
+without a thought of accosting her, Alec went
+home satisfied.</p>
+
+
+<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
+<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">[2]</a> Old man.</p>
+
+<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="label">[3]</a> Cattle.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span>
+<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="Eight">VIII.</abbr></h3>
+<h4>THE ROARING GAME.</h4>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">When</span> the Christmas holidays drew near, Alec
+obtained his father’s permission to ask his
+friend, Duncan Cameron, to spend a week at
+the Castle Farm; and, after a little hesitation,
+Cameron accepted the proposal.</p>
+
+<p>‘There’s just one thing, Duncan, I would
+like you to mind,’ said Alec, as they drew
+near the farm; ‘my father’s an old man, and
+he doesn’t like to be contradicted. More than
+that, he doesn’t care to hear anyone express
+opinions contrary to his own, at least on two
+subjects—politics and religion. If you can’t
+agree with him on these points, and I dare say
+you won’t, hold your tongue, like a good fellow.
+And my sister—you’d better keep off religion
+in her case too.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’ was
+Cameron’s inward thought; but he only said
+he would of course be careful not to wound
+the old gentleman’s susceptibilities.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Lindsay received his guest with a
+hearty welcome—it was not one of his faults
+to fail in hospitality—indeed, a stranger might
+have thought that he was better pleased to
+see his guest than his son. He led the way
+through the great stone-floored kitchen to the
+parlour, where an enormous fire of coals was
+blazing, and where the evening meal was
+already laid out on the snowy table-cloth.</p>
+
+<p>‘You had better warm your hands before
+going upstairs,’ he said to Duncan. ‘You
+must have had a very cold drive. Margaret!’
+he called out, finding that his daughter was
+not in the sitting-room. ‘Margaret! where
+are you? Come away at once.’</p>
+
+<p>In his eyes Margaret was a child still. He
+was a little annoyed that she should have
+been out of the way, and not in her place,
+ready to welcome the guest.</p>
+
+<p>Margaret, however, had taken her stand in
+the dairy, which was on the opposite side of
+the passage from the kitchen. She wanted to
+greet her brother in her own way. And Alec,
+as soon as he saw that she was not with his
+father, knew where she was. The dairy had
+been a favourite refuge in their childish days.
+It was a little out of the way, and seldom
+visited, while it commanded a way of retreat
+through the cheese-house.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as his father had taken charge of
+Cameron, Alec hurried back through the
+kitchen, ran along the passage, opened the
+dairy-door, and there, sure enough, was Margaret.</p>
+
+<p>‘Maggie!’ he cried; and the two were fast
+locked in each other’s embrace.</p>
+
+<p>It was but eight weeks since they had
+parted; but they had never been separated
+before.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment neither spoke.</p>
+
+
+<p>‘What made you come here, Maggie?’
+asked Alec, with boyish inconsiderateness.</p>
+
+<p>‘I came for the cream for tea,’ said Margaret.</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, Maggie!’</p>
+
+<p>‘I did indeed. Go and get me a light.
+Oh, Alec! it has been so lonely without
+you!’</p>
+
+<p>She kissed him again, and pushed him out
+of the dairy. Then she burst into tears. He
+was not so glad to see her as she had been to
+see him. He was changed; she knew he was
+changed, though she had not really seen him.
+He was going to be a man, to grow beyond
+her, to forget, perhaps to despise her. Why
+had he asked why she had come there?
+Surely he might have——</p>
+
+<p>At this point in Margaret’s reflections, Alec
+returned with a candle, and seeing the traces
+of tears on his sister’s cheeks, he turned and
+gave her another hug. She tenderly returned
+the caress; but her first words were:</p>
+
+<p>‘Why did you bring a stranger home with
+you, Alec? And we are to be together such a
+short time, too!’</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, nonsense, Maggie! Cameron is a great
+friend of mine, and you’ll like him, I’m sure.
+But there’s father calling; we must go.’</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Lindsay had divined what his daughter
+had been doing; but he thought it was now
+quite time that she should come forward and
+play her part as hostess.</p>
+
+<p>‘You go first, Alec,’ she said, taking up the
+cream-jug which she had brought as her excuse
+for her visit to the dairy.</p>
+
+<p>‘And I tell you, sir, that till we have the
+ballot we can have no security against persecution,’
+Mr. Lindsay was exclaiming, as they
+entered the sitting-room. ‘A man cannot
+vote now according to his conscience unless he
+is prepared to risk being driven from his
+home, to lose his very livelihood. Let me
+give you an instance——’</p>
+
+<p>But here Margaret came forward, calm and
+serene as usual. Cameron rose to meet her;
+and the political harangue was cut short by
+the appearance of a stout damsel with cheeks
+like peonies, bearing an enormous silver
+teapot.</p>
+
+<p>Cameron was struck by Margaret Lindsay’s
+beauty, as everyone was who saw her; but
+the effect was to render him shy and ill
+at ease. He felt inferior to her; and the
+calm indifference of her manner made him
+fancy that she treated him with disdain. Mr.
+Lindsay did most of the talking; Cameron,
+mindful of his friend’s warning, sat almost
+dumb, totally unlike his usual self. Alec
+began to think that he had made a mistake in
+inviting him to the Castle Farm.</p>
+
+<p>As it happened, a keen frost had set in some
+days before, and farm operations were at a
+standstill. Margaret was busy next morning
+in superintending matters in the dairy and the
+kitchen; but the three men had nothing to
+do. Mr. Lindsay fastened on his guest, and
+extracted from him a full and particular
+account of the state of agriculture and of
+religion in the island of Scalpa and the
+neighbouring mainland before the one o’clock
+dinner.</p>
+
+<p>In the evening, however, there was a promise
+of a little break in the monotony of life
+at the farm. A message was brought to Alec
+enjoining him to be at ‘The Lang Loch’ by
+half-past nine next morning, and take part in
+a curling-match between the Muirburn parish
+and the players of the neighbouring parish of
+Auchinbyres.</p>
+
+<p>‘You can’t possibly go, Alec,’ said the
+laird, when the message was delivered; ‘Mr.
+Cameron won’t care to hang about here alone
+all day.’</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Lindsay was secretly proud of his son’s
+reputation as a curler; but he did not wish
+him to go to the match, because he did not
+care that he should be exposed to the contaminating
+influences of a very mixed company,
+and he did not relish the prospect of Alec’s
+carrying away his friend and leaving him
+alone for the day. But when Duncan heard
+of the match he declared that he must see it—there
+was hardly ever any frost worth
+speaking of in the Hebrides; and he had
+never seen a curling-match.</p>
+
+<p>‘You’ll want the dog-cart to take your
+stones to the loch, Alec,’ said Mr. Lindsay.
+‘I think I will go with you, and go on to
+Netherburn about those tiles.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I wish you would come with us, Maggie,’
+said Alec. ‘Father will be passing the loch
+on his way back in half an hour, and he can
+pick you up and bring you home. The drive
+will do you good.’</p>
+
+<p>To this arrangement Margaret consented,
+and early next morning the little party set
+out in the keen wintry air. The sun, not
+long risen, was making the snow sparkle on
+the fields, and turning the desolate scene into
+fairyland.</p>
+
+<p>After an hour’s drive they arrived at the
+scene of the match—a sheet of water, on one
+side of which the open moor stretched away to
+the horizon, while on the other side there was
+a thin belt of fir-trees. The ice, two or three
+acres in extent, was covered with a sprinkling
+of snow, which had been carefully cleared from
+the ‘rinks.’ The rinks were sixty or seventy
+yards long by six or eight wide, and they
+showed like pools of black water beside the
+clear white snow.</p>
+
+<p>Already the surface of the little lake was
+dotted with boys on ‘skeitchers,’ as skates
+are called in that part of the country; and
+the margin was fringed with dog-carts from
+which the horses had been removed. The
+stones, circular blocks of granite, nearly a
+foot in diameter, and about five inches thick,
+fitted with brass handles, were lying in order
+on the bank on beds of straw.</p>
+
+<p>Quite a little crowd of farmers, farm-servants,
+and schoolboys were assembled
+beside the stones, waiting till the match
+should begin. Lord Bantock, the chief landowner
+in that part of Kyleshire, was there,
+his red, good-humoured face beaming on
+everybody, his hands thrust into the pockets
+of his knickerbockers, the regulation green
+broom under his arm. Next him stood a
+little spare man in a tall hat. This was
+Johnnie Fergus, draper, ironmonger, guardian
+of the poor, and Free Church deacon in the
+neighbouring village of Auchinbyres.</p>
+
+<p>Nothing was ever done at Auchinbyres
+without Johnnie Fergus having a hand in it.
+He was a man of importance, and he knew
+it. No man had ever seen Johnnie in a
+round hat. He always carried his chin very
+much in the air, and kept his lips well
+pursed up, and spoke in a peremptory tone
+of voice—especially when (as on the present
+occasion) he was in the company of his
+betters.</p>
+
+<p>Next to him stood Hamilton of the Holme,
+a great giant of a man, slow in his movements,
+slow in his speech, wearing the roughest of
+rough tweeds, and boots whose soles were at
+least an inch in thickness. At present, however,
+he was encased as to his lower man in
+enormous stockings, drawn over boots and
+trousers, to prevent him from slipping about
+on the ice; and many of the players were
+arrayed in a similar fashion.</p>
+
+<p>‘Come awa’, Castle Fairm!’ cried one of
+the crowd as Mr. Lindsay drove up. ‘Aw’m
+glaid to see ye; ye play a hantle better nor
+yer son.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Na, na, Muirfuit,’ responded the laird;
+‘my playin’-days are by.’</p>
+
+<p>Meantime Lord Bantock strolled over to
+the dog-cart, his ostensible reason being to
+shake hands with Mr. Lindsay, whom he
+recognised in his fallen state as one of the
+small gentry of the county.</p>
+
+<p>‘Are you going to honour us with your
+presence, Miss Lindsay?’ he asked, as he
+helped Margaret to alight.</p>
+
+<p>‘Only for half an hour,’ she answered, as
+she sprang lightly to the ground. ‘You will
+be back by that time?’ she continued, addressing
+her father.</p>
+
+<p>‘In less than an hour, at any rate,’ he
+answered as he drove away; and Margaret,
+seeing some schoolgirls whom she knew engaged
+in sliding, went off to speak to
+them.</p>
+
+<p>At this point a loud roar of laughter came
+from the group of men standing at the side
+of the loch; and Lord Bantock, who dearly
+loved a joke, hurried back to them.</p>
+
+<p>‘Old Simpson is telling some of his stories;
+let us go and hear him,’ said Alec Lindsay,
+as, passing his arm through his friend’s, he led
+him up to the little crowd.</p>
+
+<p>A tall man with a lean, smooth face, dressed
+in a high hat and black frock-coat, and wearing
+an old-fashioned black silk handkerchief
+round his neck, was standing in a slouching
+attitude, his hands half out of his pockets,
+while the others hung around in silence, waiting
+for his next anecdote.</p>
+
+<p>‘That minds me,’ he was saying, as Alec
+and Cameron came up, ‘that minds me o’
+what auld Craig o’ the Burn-Fuit said to wee
+Jamieson the writer.<a id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> Craig was a dour,<a id="FNanchor_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a>
+ill-tempered man; and though he had never
+fashed the kirk muckle, the minister cam’ to
+see him on one occasion when it was thocht
+he was near his hinner-en’.</p>
+
+<p>‘“Ye’re deein’, Burn-Fuit,” says Maister
+Symie.</p>
+
+<p>‘“No jist yet, minister,” says Craig.</p>
+
+<p>‘“I doot ye’re deein’; an’ it behoves ye to
+mak’ your peace wi’ the haill warl’,” says the
+minister.</p>
+
+<p>‘Craig gied a sigh, as if it was the hardest
+job he could set himself tae. After a heap o’
+talkin’ the minister got him persuaded to see
+Jamieson, who just then was his great enemy—he
+aye had ane or twa o’ them—an’ forgie
+him for some ill-turn the writer had dune
+him. An’ wi’ jist as much persuasion he got
+Jamieson to come to the deein’ man’s bedside,
+and be a pairty to the reconciliation.</p>
+
+<p>‘Sae the twa met, and had a freenly crack
+i’ the minister’s presence. Guid Mr. Symie
+was delighted. As the writer was depairtin’,
+they shook hands.</p>
+
+<p>‘“Guid-day, Maister Jamieson,” says Craig.
+“Ye’ve done me many an ill-turn, but I
+forgie ye. But mind—mind, if I get weel, a’
+this gangs for nowt!”’</p>
+
+<p>A laugh followed the schoolmaster’s story;
+and the group dispersed to see that the
+preparations which were being made on the
+ice were duly performed. A small hole had
+already been bored at each end of the principal
+rink. Each of these was to be in its turn the
+‘tee,’ or mark. At some distance from each
+of the tees, a line called the ‘hog-score’ was
+drawn across the ice. Stones which did not
+pass this line were not to be allowed to count,
+and were to be removed at once from the ice.
+A long piece of wood, with nails driven
+through it at fixed intervals, was now placed
+with one of its ends resting on the tee, and
+held there firmly, while it was slowly turned
+round on the ice. The result of this operation
+was that the ice was marked by circles drawn
+at equal distances from the tee, by which the
+relative distances of two stones from the
+central point could be easily determined.</p>
+
+
+<p>The players having been already selected,
+the match began as soon as this was done.</p>
+
+<p>Alec Lindsay, being one of the youngest
+men present, was told to begin, his adversary
+being Simpson the schoolmaster.</p>
+
+<p>Cameron and Margaret, standing together
+on one side of the players, who assembled at
+one end of the rink, watched Alec, who
+went forward, lifted one of his father’s heavy
+granite stones, and swung it lightly in his
+hand. Meanwhile one of the players from
+his own side had gone to the other side of
+the rink, and holding his broom upright in
+the tee-hole, enabled Alec to form a more
+accurate idea of the distance.</p>
+
+<p>Swinging his stone, Alec stooped down,
+and with no apparent effort ‘placed’ it on
+the ice. Away it sailed with a loud humming
+sound, sweet to a curler’s ear.</p>
+
+<p>Every man eagerly watched its rate of
+speed, while some, running alongside, accompanied
+it on its course.</p>
+
+<p>‘Soop it up! Soop it up!’ cried some of
+the younger members of the Muirburn side;
+and they began to sweep the ice in front of
+the stone with their brooms, so as to expedite
+its progress.</p>
+
+<p>‘Let her alane! She’s comin’ on brawly!’
+cried Hamilton, from the other end of the
+rink, in an authoritative tone. They immediately
+left off sweeping; and two of the
+Auchinbyres men, acting on the principle that
+if the stone had, from the Muirburn players’
+point of view, just enough way on it, they had
+better give it a little more, began to ply their
+brooms vigorously in front of it.</p>
+
+<p>These attentions, however, did no harm.
+The stone glided up towards the tee, slackened
+its speed, and finally stopped, exactly where it
+ought to have stopped, about a foot in front
+of the mark.</p>
+
+<p>A slight cheer greeted this good shot; and
+‘Ye’ll mak’ as guid a player as your faither,
+Alec!’ from one of the bystanders made Margaret’s
+face flush with pleasure.</p>
+
+<p>It was now the schoolmaster’s turn. One of
+his side took Hamilton’s place as pilot; and
+the old man, playing with even less apparent
+effort than Alec had used, sent his stone right
+in the face of his adversary’s. The speed was
+so nicely graduated that Alec’s stone was
+disposed of for good, while Simpson’s stone
+occupied almost exactly the spot on which
+Alec’s had formerly rested.</p>
+
+<p>Again Hamilton advanced to lend the young
+player his advice, while Alec took up his
+remaining stone, and went to the front. He
+sent a well-aimed shot, but rather too powerfully
+delivered, and the adversaries of course
+hastened to make it worse by sweeping. The
+stone struck Simpson’s slightly on one side,
+sending it to the left, while it went on towards
+the right, and finally stopped considerably to
+the right of the tee, but near enough to make
+it worth guarding. The schoolmaster’s next
+shot was not a success. His stone went between
+the two which were already on the ice,
+and passing over the tee landed about two
+feet beyond it.</p>
+
+
+<p>This gave a chance to the Muirburn men.
+Their next player placed his stone a long way
+from the tee, but right in front of Alec’s, so
+that it was impossible, or almost impossible,
+to dislodge the latter without first getting rid
+of the former. To him succeeded Johnnie
+Fergus; and he, preferring his own judgment
+before that of the official guide, played the
+guard full on, with the result that he sent it
+well into the inner circle, while his own stone
+formed a very efficient guard for that of his
+enemy. As every stone which, at the end of
+the round, is found nearer the tee than anyone
+belonging to a player of the opposite side
+counts for one point, the Muirburn men had
+now two stones in a position to score; and
+they patiently surrounded them with guards,
+which the Auchinbyres players knocked away
+whenever they could. So the game went
+with varying success, till only one pair of
+players was left for that round—Hamilton,
+playing for Muirburn, and Lord Bantock, who
+belonged to the enemy.</p>
+
+
+<p>Things at that moment were very bad for
+the Muirburn men. Four stones belonging
+to the opposite side were nearer the tee than
+any one of their own; while a formidable
+array of guards lined the ice in front of
+them.</p>
+
+<p>Hamilton went and studied the situation
+carefully. Then he went back, and played
+his first shot.</p>
+
+<p>‘Soop it! Soop it! Soop it!’ roared the
+schoolmaster, flourishing his broom, and dancing
+like a maniac. He alone, of the Auchinbyres
+players, understood the object of the
+shot, and saw that it could only be defeated,
+if at all, by giving it a little extra impetus.
+But the advice came too late. The brooms
+were plied before it like lightning, but the
+stone came stealing up like a live thing, and
+just avoiding an outlying guard, gave a knock
+to one stone at such an angle that the impetus
+was communicated to a second and from it to
+a third, while it took the third place, thus
+cutting off two of the adversaries’ points.</p>
+
+
+<p>‘Noo, m’ lord, a wee thocht tae the richt o’
+this,’ said Johnnie Fergus, as he stooped down
+and held his broom over the spot where he
+desired Lord Bantock’s stone should come in.</p>
+
+<p>But Lord Bantock had been given the place
+of honour as last player more out of consideration
+for his rank than for his skill. He
+played with far too much force, and sent his
+stone smashing on one of the outside guards,
+from which it rushed to the side of the rink
+and disappeared.</p>
+
+<p>‘Did I no tell ye no to pit that sumph at the
+tail?’ quoth Johnnie in an undertone of deep
+disgust, as he rose from his stooping posture.</p>
+
+<p>‘Haud your tongue, man! I’ve seen his
+lordship play as weel as ony deacon amang
+ye,’ said the leader, angry at being suspected
+of unduly favouring the great man.</p>
+
+<p>But with a cry of expectation from the
+crowd, Hamilton’s second stone left his hand
+and came spinning over the ice, right in the
+track of its predecessor. A roar went up
+from the players, as the Muirburn men rushed
+forward, and distributing themselves over the
+path which the stone had to traverse, polished
+it till the ice was like glass. The stone came
+in beautifully, displaced the best stone, and
+took the first place, by cannoning off another
+of the enemy.</p>
+
+<p>A loud hurrah greeted this feat, and Lord
+Bantock stepped forward, determined to do
+something to redeem his reputation, which he
+knew had suffered from the result of his
+former effort.</p>
+
+<p>An old farmer ran as fast as his years
+would permit to offer his lordship a word of
+advice before the last shot was fired.</p>
+
+<p>‘All right, Blackwater,’ said Lord Bantock,
+with a nod, as he planted his feet firmly on
+the ice, and gripped the handle of his stone,
+as if he would bend the brass. Away went
+the stone with a rush, and a roar from the
+crowd. Crash—crash—it struck against one
+and another; but it had force enough to go
+on. Smash it came among the group of
+stones, sending them flying in all directions,
+while everybody jumped aside to avoid a
+collision. It was not a first-rate shot; but it
+was successful. The first, second, third, fourth,
+and fifth stones were knocked, or rather knocked
+one another, out of the way. Lord Bantock’s
+stone itself went right ahead, ploughing a
+path for itself in the snow beyond the rink.
+Alec’s second stone, long since considered to
+be out of the running, was found to be half
+an inch nearer the tee than any one belonging
+to the other side; and the Muirburn men
+accordingly scored one towards the game.</p>
+
+<p>At the other rinks, meanwhile, subsidiary
+contests were in full progress, and the scene
+was a very animated one. It was, however,
+very cold work for bystanders, and Cameron,
+as he saw that his companion was shivering
+in spite of her winter clothing, proposed to
+Alec that Margaret and himself should set out
+at once for the farm, leaving Mr. Lindsay to
+overtake them when he returned. To this
+arrangement Alec of course assented, and
+Margaret and Cameron set off together.</p>
+
+
+<p>Most young men would have been glad to
+be in Cameron’s place; but the Highlander
+felt very ill at ease. He began to seek for
+a subject which might be supposed to be
+interesting to a girl, and dismissed one after
+another as totally unsuitable. The silence
+continued, and the young man was nearly in
+despair, when Margaret, totally unconscious of
+any embarrassment, came to his assistance.</p>
+
+<p>‘That is the way to Drumclog,’ she said,
+pointing to a moorland road which crossed
+their path; ‘Alec and you ought to walk
+over some day.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Is there anything to see there?’ inquired
+her companion.</p>
+
+<p>‘Have you never heard of the Battle of
+Drumclog?’ asked the girl in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>The Highlander was obliged to confess that
+he had not.</p>
+
+<p>‘Have you never read of the persecutions of
+the Covenanters, and Graham of Claverhouse,
+and the martyrs?’ asked Margaret again, with
+wonder in her eyes.</p>
+
+
+<p>‘Oh yes, of course; but I didn’t know that
+these things happened in this part of the
+country.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes,’ said Margaret. ‘The Martyrs’ Cairn
+is only a little way beyond Blackwater. You
+know the Covenanters were not allowed to
+worship in their own way, and they used to
+meet in hollows of the hills and on the open
+moors. The country was full of soldiers, sent
+to keep down the people; and when the
+Covenanters went to the preaching, they used
+to take arms with them. One Sabbath morning
+a large number of them were attending a
+service on the lonely moor at Drumclog when
+the English soldiers, who had somehow heard
+of the gathering, bore down upon them. They
+were dragoons, led by “the bloody Claverhouse,”
+as they call him to this day. Providentially
+there was a bog in front of the
+Covenanters. The horses of the dragoons
+could not cross it; and those soldiers who did
+cross at last were beaten off by the Covenanters,
+and many of them were killed.’</p>
+
+
+<p>‘I remember it now,’ said Cameron; ‘I have
+read about it in “Old Mortality.”’</p>
+
+<p>‘The most unfair book that ever was
+written!’ exclaimed Margaret with some heat—‘a
+book that every true Scotchman should
+be ashamed of.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I don’t see that,’ returned Cameron; ‘I
+think Sir Walter held the balance very fairly.’</p>
+
+<p>‘He simply turns the Covenanters into
+ridicule and tries to make his readers
+sympathize with the persecutors,’ said Margaret.</p>
+
+<p>‘Well, you can’t deny that a good many of
+them <em>were</em> ridiculous,’ said Cameron lightly.</p>
+
+<p>‘And you have no sympathy for these
+brave men who won our liberties for us with
+their blood!’ exclaimed the girl.</p>
+
+<p>‘I don’t say that,’ said the young Highlander
+cautiously; ‘but I’m not so sure about
+their having won our liberties for us,’ he
+added with a laugh. ‘There wasn’t much
+liberty in the Highlands when <em>their</em> King got
+the upper hand.’</p>
+
+
+<p>Then he tried to change the subject; but
+Margaret answered him only in monosyllables.
+This daughter of the Covenanters could not
+forgive anyone who refused to consider those
+who took part in the petty rebellion of the
+west as heroes and martyrs. She made their
+cause her own, and decided that Cameron was
+thenceforth to be regarded as a ‘malignant.’</p>
+
+<p>As for Cameron, he mentally banned the
+whole tribe of Covenanters, as well as his own
+folly in offering any opposition to Margaret’s
+prejudices; and before he could make his
+peace with her Mr. Lindsay drove up, and the
+<i lang="fr">tête-à-tête</i> came to an end.</p>
+
+<p>Duncan Cameron had felt the spell of
+Margaret’s beauty, as everyone did who
+approached her. But he had made a bad
+beginning in his intercourse with her, and he
+now felt a strong sense of repulsion mingling
+with his admiration. It was not only that he
+despised her narrowness of mind; there was
+between the two something of the old antagonism
+between Cavalier and Puritan. For
+the rest of his stay at Castle Farm he avoided
+meeting her alone, and only spoke to her
+when ordinary politeness required it. And
+yet, whenever she addressed him, he felt that
+the fascination of her beauty was as strong as
+ever. When Alec came home on the day of
+the curling-match, and shouted out in triumph
+that Muirburn had won, Margaret’s eyes
+flashed, and her cheek flushed in sympathy;
+and Cameron, watching her, forgot that she
+had not forgiven him for his lack of sympathy
+with the men of Drumclog.</p>
+
+
+<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
+<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="label">[4]</a> A lawyer.</p>
+
+<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_5" href="#FNanchor_5" class="label">[5]</a> Hard.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span>
+<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="Nine">IX.</abbr></h3>
+<h4>THE END OF THE SESSION.</h4>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">At</span> the end of the appointed week the two
+young men returned to Glasgow, and braced
+themselves up for the remaining four months
+of work. At the northern Universities the
+academic year ends (except for a few supplementary
+medical classes) with the 1st of May.
+Alec Lindsay had a great deal of leeway to
+make up, as he had never had a proper
+grounding in either Latin or Greek; but he
+did his best, and felt pretty sure of being able
+to take at least one prize.</p>
+
+<p>Of course he found his way back to the
+Church of England chapel at which he had
+seen Miss Mowbray; and on more than one
+occasion he was gratified by a sight of her.
+As to the Anglican form of worship, he regarded
+it with very mixed feelings. He was
+pleased by the stately simplicity of the collects,
+and by the rhythm of the chants. The
+service was free from the monotony of the
+Presbyterian form, and it was more ‘congregational’
+than anything to which he had been
+accustomed. But it was some time before he
+could divest himself of the idea that he was
+witnessing a kind of religious entertainment,
+ingeniously devised and interesting, but by no
+means tending to edification. He felt like his
+countrywoman, who when taken to a service
+at Westminster Abbey said afterwards: ‘It
+was very fine—but eh! that was an awfu’ way
+o’ spending the Sabbath!’ The voice of conscience
+is as loud when it condemns the
+infraction of a rule founded only in prejudice
+as when it protests against a breach of the
+moral law itself; and for several Sunday
+evenings Alec Lindsay left the chapel with
+the feeling that he had been guilty of a misdemeanour—he
+had been playing at worship.
+The unexpressed idea in his mind (a result of
+his Presbyterian training) was that collects, and
+chants, and ceremonial observances in general,
+were too interesting, too pleasing to the natural
+man, to be acceptable to the Almighty. But
+by degrees this feeling wore off; and when he
+became familiar with the Prayer-book, he
+found that it was an aid rather than a hindrance
+to devotion.</p>
+
+<p>The end of the session drew near; and the
+April sun shone clear and fair through the
+smoke-cloud of Glasgow. It was a Saturday
+afternoon, and Alec determined to console
+himself for the loss of a long walk, for which
+he could not afford time, by putting a book in
+his pocket, and taking a stroll in the park.</p>
+
+<p>Those who are most attached to the country
+care least for parks. A piece of enclosed and
+tended pleasure-ground, whether it is large or
+small, always affects the lover of nature with a
+sense of restraint, of formality, of the substitution
+of an imitation for a reality. Trim
+gravelled walks are but a poor substitute for a
+grass-grown lane; a neglected hedgerow, a bit
+of moorland, or even a corner of a common,
+will hold more that is beautiful, more that is
+interesting to one who loves the open country,
+than acres of park, with all their flower-plots
+and ticketed specimens of foreign shrubs; for
+in a thorn hedge or a mound of furze one
+recognises the inexpressible charm that Nature
+only possesses when she is left to work by
+herself.</p>
+
+<p>Yet, to a dweller in cities, parks are worth
+having. They are, at least, infinitely better than
+the streets. So, at least, thought Alec Lindsay
+this April afternoon, as he wandered along the
+deserted pathway, under the budding trees.
+Glasgow is fortunate in at least one of its
+parks. The enclosure is of small extent, but
+then it is not merely a square of ground
+planted with weedy young trees and intersected
+by roads. It is a bit of the valley of the
+Kelvin; and it includes one side of a steep
+rising-ground which is crowned by handsome
+houses of stone. The little river itself is
+always dirty, and in summer is little better
+than a sewer with the roof off; but seen from
+a little distance it is picturesque, and lends
+variety to the scene.</p>
+
+<p>Alec was wandering along one of the pathways,
+watching the sunlight playing in the
+yet leafless branches, and trying to cheat
+himself into the idea that his mind was filled
+with Roman history; when suddenly he found
+himself face to face with—Laura Mowbray.
+She was dressed, not in winter garments,
+though the air was cold, but in light, soft
+colours, which made her look different from
+the Scotch damsels whom Alec had seen in
+the streets. She seemed the impersonation
+of the spring as she slowly approached Alec
+with a smile on her face. Of course he stopped
+to speak to her.</p>
+
+<p>‘I have come out for a turn in the park, for
+I really couldn’t bear to stay shut up in the
+house on such a glorious day,’ said Laura.
+‘Uncle wouldn’t come with me, though I
+teased him ever so long. He said he was
+very busy; but I think people sometimes
+make a pretence of being studious,’ and she
+glanced at Alec’s note-book as she spoke.</p>
+
+<p>Alec laughed and thrust the book into his
+pocket, and turning round walked on slowly
+by the girl’s side.</p>
+
+<p>‘If you had an exam. to prepare for, you
+wouldn’t much care whether people thought
+you studious or not,’ he said.</p>
+
+<p>‘How is your uncle?’ asked Laura.</p>
+
+<p>‘I’m sure I can’t tell.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Can’t tell! You wicked, unnatural creature!
+I am quite shocked at you.’</p>
+
+<p>‘He was very well when I saw him last—that
+is, about three months ago—with the
+exception of a fearfully bad temper.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Don’t you know that it is highly unbecoming
+of you to speak of anyone older than
+yourself in that disrespectful way?’</p>
+
+<p>But Laura’s look hardly seconded her words;
+and Alec went on:</p>
+
+<p>‘It is quite true, though. I wonder Aunt
+Jean can put up with him.’</p>
+
+
+<p>‘Who is Aunt Jean? Miss Lindsay? The
+lady who lives with your uncle and keeps
+house for him?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes.’</p>
+
+<p>‘She is a relation of your uncle’s, isn’t she?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh yes; a cousin in some degree or other.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Mr. Lindsay never married, I believe,’
+said Miss Mowbray.</p>
+
+<p>‘No; he has no relations nearer than’—‘nearer
+than I am,’ he was going to have
+said; but he stopped and substituted—‘nearer
+than nephews and nieces.’</p>
+
+<p>‘And he has plenty of them, I suppose?
+All Scotch people seem to have so many
+relations; it is quite bewildering.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Uncle James is my father’s uncle, you
+understand,’ said Alec; ‘and there are only
+two in our family, my sister and I; that is
+not so very many.’</p>
+
+<p>‘No. But have you really a sister?’ exclaimed
+Laura, turning round so as to face
+her companion for an instant.</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes, one sister: Margaret.’</p>
+
+
+<p>‘How lucky you are! I have no brothers
+or sisters; I have only my uncle. How I
+wish I knew your sister! And Margaret is
+such a pretty name.’</p>
+
+<p>‘It is common enough, anyway.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But not commonplace; oh! not at all
+commonplace. If I had a sister I would call
+her Margaret, whatever her real name might
+be. By the way, have you seen Mr. Semple
+since that night of the dinner-party?’</p>
+
+<p>‘No.’</p>
+
+<p>‘And you don’t seem very sorry for it?’
+said the girl, with a little smile.</p>
+
+<p>‘No; I can’t say I care much for Cousin
+James.’</p>
+
+<p>‘<em>He</em> is a relation of Mr. Lindsay, too, isn’t
+he?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes; his mother was a Lindsay, a niece
+of my grand-uncle’s. He is in the oil-works;
+and I dare say he will become manager of
+them some day.’</p>
+
+<p>Miss Mowbray was silent for a few moments;
+then she stopped and hesitated.</p>
+
+
+<p>‘Do you know, I don’t think I ought to
+allow you to walk with me in this way.
+Suppose we were to meet anyone we
+knew!’</p>
+
+<p>Alec flushed to the roots of his hair.</p>
+
+<p>‘I beg your pardon!’ he exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, I don’t mind; but—Mrs. Grundy,
+you know.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Do you know that you can see Ben Lomond
+from the top of the hill?’ said Alec, suddenly
+changing the subject.</p>
+
+<p>‘No; <em>really</em>?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes; won’t you let me show it to you?
+It’s a beautiful view, and only a few steps
+off.’</p>
+
+<p>Miss Mowbray seemed to forget her scruples,
+for she allowed herself to be led up a narrow
+winding path, fringed with young trees, which
+led to the top of the rising ground.</p>
+
+<p>‘If I had known you a little longer,’ began
+Laura, with some hesitation, ‘I think I would
+have ventured to give you a little bit of my
+mind.’</p>
+
+
+<p>‘About what?’ asked Alec with sudden
+eagerness.</p>
+
+<p>Laura shook her head gravely.</p>
+
+<p>‘I fear you would be offended if I were to
+speak of it,’ she said.</p>
+
+<p>‘Indeed I would not. Nothing you could
+say could offend me.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Well, if you will promise to forgive me if
+I <em>should</em> offend you——’</p>
+
+<p>‘You couldn’t offend me if you tried,’ said
+Alec warmly.</p>
+
+<p>‘Then I will tell you what I was thinking
+of. I don’t think you should neglect your
+grand-uncle as you do.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Neglect!’</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes. It is not kind or dutiful.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Neglect! My dear Miss Mowbray, you
+are altogether mistaken. We can’t neglect
+those who don’t want us. He hasn’t the
+slightest wish, I assure you, to see me dangling
+about him.’</p>
+
+<p>‘There! You promised not to be offended;
+and you are!’</p>
+
+
+<p>‘Indeed I am not.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes, you are. I won’t say another word.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, Miss Mowbray! How can you think
+I am offended? What have I said to make
+you fancy such a thing? On the contrary,
+I think it so very, very good of you to take
+so much interest——’</p>
+
+<p>Here Alec stopped, for he saw that his
+companion was blushing, and that somehow
+he had made a mess of things. He had not
+yet learned that some species of gratitude
+cannot find fitting expression in words.</p>
+
+<p>‘I think it is my turn to say that I have
+offended you,’ he said after a pause.</p>
+
+<p>Laura laughed—such a pleasant, rippling
+laugh!</p>
+
+<p>‘It is getting quite too involved. Let us
+pass an Act of Oblivion, and forget all about
+it.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But if you think I ought to call on my
+uncle,’ began Alec—‘no; don’t shake your
+head. Tell me what you really think I ought
+to do.’</p>
+
+
+<p>‘Do you like Miss Lindsay?’ asked Laura,
+without replying to the question.</p>
+
+<p>‘Aunt Jean? Yes; much better than I
+like Uncle James.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Then you can go to see <em>her</em> now and then;
+and when you are in the house go into your
+uncle’s room and ask how he is, if he is at
+home. We ought not only to visit people for
+our own pleasure, but sometimes because it is
+our duty to do so.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes, you are quite right; and I will do
+what you say. But here we are at the top
+of the hill. What a delightful breeze, isn’t
+it? Do you see that blue cloud in the
+distance, just a little deeper in tint than those
+about it?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes; I see it.’</p>
+
+<p>‘That is Ben Lomond, nearly four thousand
+feet high.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Really?’ said Miss Mowbray; but there
+was not much enthusiasm in her voice.</p>
+
+<p>Alec, on the contrary, stood, in a kind of
+rapture which made him forget for the moment
+even the girl at his side. The sight of distant
+mountains always affected him with a kind of
+strange, delicious melancholy—unrest mingling
+with satisfaction, such as that which filled the
+heart of Christian when from afar he caught
+a glimpse of the shining towers of the celestial
+city.</p>
+
+<p>The English girl watched the look in the
+young Scotchman’s face with wonder not unmixed
+with amusement. When with a sigh
+Alec turned to his companion, she, too, was
+gazing on the far-off mountain-top.</p>
+
+<p>‘I really must go now,’ she said softly,
+holding out her hand.</p>
+
+<p>‘May I not go to the park-gate with
+you?’</p>
+
+<p>Laura shook her head; but her smile was
+bright enough to take the sting from her
+refusal.</p>
+
+<p>‘Good-bye.’</p>
+
+<p>And in another moment Alec was alone.</p>
+
+<p>The sun had gone out of his sky. He sat
+down on a bench, and began to wonder how
+he had dared to converse familiarly with one
+so beautiful, so refined, so far removed from
+his ordinary friends, as Laura Mowbray.
+Then he recalled her great goodness in
+interesting herself in his concerns, and of
+course he resolved to follow her advice. He
+could think of nothing but Laura Mowbray
+the whole afternoon. He recalled her looks,
+her smile, her lightest word. To him they
+were treasures, to be hidden for ever from
+every human eye but his own; and in every
+look and word he found a new ground for
+admiration, a new proof of Miss Mowbray’s
+intelligence, sweetness, and goodness.</p>
+
+<p>Next week he acted upon her suggestion,
+and paid a visit to Blythswood Square. He
+was received by Miss Lindsay, a tall, spare,
+large-featured woman, whose gray hair was
+bound down severely under her old-fashioned
+cap.</p>
+
+<p>‘Weel, Alec; an’ what brings you here?’
+was her greeting, as she held out her hand
+without troubling herself to rise.</p>
+
+
+<p>‘Nothing particular: why do you ask?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Ye come sae seldom; it’s no often we hae
+the pleasure o’ a veesit frae you.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I canna say much for my attentions, Aunt
+Jean; but then I canna say much for your
+welcome,’ returned Alec, flushing as he
+spoke.</p>
+
+<p>‘Hoots, laddie! sit doon an’ behave yersel’.
+My bark’s waur nor my bite.’</p>
+
+<p>‘And how’s my uncle?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Much as usual. I don’t think he’s overly
+weel pleased wi’ you, Alec, my man.’</p>
+
+<p>‘What have I done now?’</p>
+
+<p>‘It’s no your daein’; it’s your no-daein’.
+Ye never look near him.’</p>
+
+<p>‘He doesn’t want to be bothered with me.’</p>
+
+<p>The door opened, and the master of the
+house came in. He gave Alec his hand with
+his usual dry, consequential air, and hardly
+looking at him, made some indifferent remark
+to his cousin.</p>
+
+<p>‘Here’s Alec sayin’ he doesna believe you
+want to be bothered wi’ him,’ she said.</p>
+
+
+<p>The old man seated himself deliberately,
+and made no disclaimer of the imputation.</p>
+
+<p>‘You’ll be going home for the summer?’
+he asked.</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes; I am going home at the end of the
+month; but I should like to get a tutorship
+for the summer, if I could.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Humph!’</p>
+
+<p>‘What are you going to be?’ asked Mr.
+Lindsay after a pause—‘a doctor, or a
+minister, or what?’</p>
+
+<p>‘I don’t know yet,’ said Alec.</p>
+
+<p>His uncle sniffed contemptuously.</p>
+
+<p>‘A rowin’ stane gethers nae fog,’<a id="FNanchor_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> put in
+Aunt Jean.</p>
+
+<p>Alec changed the subject; but his grand-uncle
+soon returned to it.</p>
+
+<p>‘The sooner ye mak’ up yer mind the
+better, my lad,’ said the old man. ‘Would
+you like to go into the oil-works?’ he added,
+as if it were an after-thought.</p>
+<p>‘I hardly know, sir. I would like another
+year at College first,’ said Alec. ‘But thank
+you all the same, Uncle James;’ and as he
+spoke he rose to take his leave.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Lindsay paid no sort of attention to
+the latter part of the reply. He took up a
+newspaper, and adjusting his spectacles began
+to read it, almost before the lad had turned
+his back.</p>
+
+<p>In another week the session was practically
+at an end. The prize-list, settled by the
+votes of the students themselves, showed
+that Alec had won the fourth prize, which
+in a class numbering nearly two hundred
+was a proof of at least a fair amount of application;
+and he also won an extra prize for
+Roman History.</p>
+
+<p>‘You don’t seem much elated,’ said Cameron
+to his friend, when he brought home the
+splendidly-bound volumes of nothing in
+particular. ‘You’ve either less ambition or
+more sense than I gave you credit for.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I expected something better,’ said Alec.
+‘Self-conceit, you should have said, not sense,
+Duncan.’</p>
+
+<p>If Alec were conceited he got little to feed
+his vanity at home. His father looked at
+the books, praised the binding, asked how
+many prizes were given in the class, and said
+no more. Secretly he was gratified by his
+son’s success; but it was one of his principles
+to discourage vainglory in his children by
+never, under any circumstances, speaking
+favourably of their performances. No one
+would have guessed from Alec’s manner that
+he cared a straw whether any praise was
+awarded to him or not; but he felt none
+the less keenly the absence of his father’s
+commendation.</p>
+
+<p>The month of May went by slowly at the
+Castle Farm. Alec was longing for change
+of occupation and change of scene. One
+morning he chanced to notice an advertisement
+which he thought it worth while to
+answer. A Glasgow merchant, whose wife
+and daughters had persuaded him to spend
+four months of the year at the seaside, wished
+to find some one to read with his boys three
+hours a day, that they might not forget in
+summer all that they had learned in winter.
+For this service he was prepared to pay the
+munificent sum of five guineas a month. As
+it happened, the merchant’s address was a
+tiny watering-place on the Frith of Clyde,
+where Mr. James Lindsay had a large ‘marine
+villa.’</p>
+
+<p>In reply to Alec’s letter, the advertiser,
+Mr. Fraser, asked only one question, whether
+the applicant were a relation of Mr. James
+Lindsay of Drumleck. Alec replied that he
+was, and was forthwith engaged.</p>
+
+<p>For once Alec had taken a step which
+pleased his father. The laird commended
+his son’s intention of earning his own living
+during the summer; and Alec fancied that
+his father used towards him a tone of greater
+consideration than he had ever adopted before.
+Margaret was much chagrined at her brother
+leaving home so soon after his return; but
+she did not say a word on the subject. She
+knew she had not reason on her side; and
+she was too proud to show her mortification.
+It might have been better if she had spoken
+her mind; for a coolness sprang up between
+brother and sister, which even the parting
+did not quite remove.</p>
+
+
+<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
+<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_6" href="#FNanchor_6" class="label">[6]</a> Moss.</p>
+</div>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</span>
+<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="Ten">X.</abbr></h3>
+<h4>ARROCHAR.</h4>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">The</span> Clyde is not, except in the neighbourhood
+of Lanark, a particularly interesting river.
+When Scotchmen talk of the scenery of the
+Clyde they are thinking, not of the river, but
+of the frith which bears its name. When
+Alec Lindsay set out for Arrochar to enter
+upon his duties as tutor to Mr. Fraser’s boys,
+he embarked at Glasgow; and he was much
+disappointed to find that for the first part of
+his journey there was little to satisfy his love
+of the picturesque.</p>
+
+<p>The day was gloomy; there were but few
+passengers on board the <i>Chancellor</i>. For a
+long way the narrow stream flowed between
+dull level fields. When it became broader
+there appeared a long dyke adorned with red
+posts surmounted by barrels, built in the
+channel to mark the passage. This did not
+add to the beauty of the scene. Now and
+then the steamer met one of her own class on
+its homeward journey; sometimes she overtook
+a queer, melancholy-looking, floating
+dredger, or a vessel outward-bound, towed by
+a small and abominably dirty tug-boat.</p>
+
+<p>But about twenty miles below Glasgow the
+scene changed. A wide expanse of water
+stretched away to the horizon. On the left
+lay a large town over which hung a dense
+cloud of smoke, but away to the west, beyond
+the blue water, could be seen the bold bases
+of steep hills rising from the sea itself, their
+summits being hidden in the clouds. At
+Greenock all was life and bustle. Several
+steamers plying to different points of the coast
+lay at the pier, and a crowd of passengers who
+had come by train from Glasgow streamed
+down from the railway-station to meet them.</p>
+
+<p>Alec stood on the bridge watching them
+with considerable amusement. Here was a
+group of elderly maiden ladies, sisters probably,
+to whom their month ‘at the salt
+water’ was the great event of the year.
+After much debate they had decided to go to
+Kilcreggan this year, instead of to Rothesay.
+Each carried an armful of wraps, small baskets,
+and brown-paper parcels, and each rushed to a
+separate steamer, as if thinking it more desirable
+that one at least should be right than
+that all should be wrong. Each appealed
+excitedly to a porter for directions, and eventually
+all assembled at the gangway of the
+proper steamer. But the combined evidence
+of the porters was insufficient. Each of the
+three travellers made a separate demand, one
+on the master, another on the chief officer, and
+a third upon the steward, in order to know
+whether the steamer was really going to Kilcreggan.
+At last they were satisfied, settled
+themselves with their belongings in a sheltered
+corner, and began to eat Abernethy biscuits.</p>
+
+<p>Then came a whole family—an anxious
+mother, an aunt more anxious than the
+mother, two servants, and six children, who
+were running in different ways at once, and
+had to be manœuvred on board like so many
+young pigs. As soon as they were shipped,
+two of them immediately made for the engine-room,
+while the others rushed to the bulwarks,
+and craned their necks over the side as far
+as they possibly could without losing their
+balance.</p>
+
+<p>In one corner was a little band of rosy
+school-girls in tweed frocks and straw hats,
+cumbered with a collection of novels, tennis-bats,
+and fishing-rods. Here and there were
+one or two gigantic Celts returning to the hill
+country, while a few pale-faced young men
+stepped on board with knapsacks on their
+shoulders. But the male passengers were few
+at this hour of the day. A few hours later
+the steamers would be black with men leaving
+the roar and worry of the city to sleep under
+the shadow of the hills.</p>
+
+<p>At length the bells clanged for the last
+time; the gangways were pushed on shore;
+the old lady who always delays her departure
+till that period made her appearance, and was
+somehow hoisted on board; the escape-pipes
+ceased their roaring; and one after another
+the steamers glided off upon the bosom of the
+frith.</p>
+
+<p>And now, suddenly, the sun shone out,
+showing that the sea was not a level plain of
+water, but covered with a million dancing
+wavelets. The sunshine travelled westward
+over the sea, and Alec followed it with his
+eyes. It rested on the distant hills, and then
+the haze that covered them melted away, and
+they revealed themselves, dim in outline,
+violet-coloured, magnified in the mist. As
+the steamer drew nearer them it became plain
+that the nearer hills were much lower than
+those beyond, and that many of them were
+covered with pines up to a certain height.
+Above the woods they were often black—that
+was where the old heather had been
+burnt to make room for the young shoots, or
+light brown—that was where masses of last
+year’s bracken lay; sometimes they were white
+with glistening rocks, or green from never-failing
+springs.</p>
+
+<p>And now it could be seen that between the
+woods and the seashore ran a white road, and
+that the coast was dotted for miles with
+houses, of all shapes and sizes, each standing
+in its own ground, and sheltered by its own
+green leaves. There was no town anywhere—nothing
+approaching to one; but every
+three or four miles a few houses were built
+in a little row, affording accommodation for
+a grocer’s and a baker’s shop; and opposite
+the shops there was invariably a white wooden
+pier, affording an outlet to the rest of the world.</p>
+
+<p>Soon after crossing the frith, the <i>Chancellor</i>
+made for one of these landing-places. Round
+the pier there swarmed half a dozen pleasure-boats
+of all sizes, some the merest cockleshells,
+navigated (not unskilfully) by mariners
+who were barely big enough to make the oars
+move through the water.</p>
+
+
+<p>The rocky shore was adorned with groups
+of girls who were drying their hair after their
+morning’s dip in the sea, and dividing their
+attention between their novels, their little
+brothers in the boats just mentioned, and the
+approaching steamer. The water being deep
+close to the edge of the rocky coast, the pier
+was a very short one; and Alec Lindsay,
+looking over the edge, through the green
+water swirling round the piles of the pier,
+could see the pebbles on the shore twenty
+feet below.</p>
+
+<p>Ropes were thrown out and caught, and
+hawsers were dragged ashore by their aid.
+With these the steamer was made fast at
+stem and stern, gangways were run on board,
+and a score of passengers disembarked. In
+another minute the steamer had been cast
+loose and had gone on her way. The pier,
+the pleasure-boats, the girls on the rocks,
+the white dusty road, the hedges of fuchsia,
+had disappeared. In a quarter of an hour
+another pier had been reached where exactly
+the same scene presented itself. No town, no
+promenade, no large hotels—not even a row
+of public bathing-machines, or a German
+band.</p>
+
+<p>After three or four stoppages the <i>Chancellor</i>
+began to get fairly into Loch Long. The
+hills on either side were not high, and were
+covered only with grass and heather; but
+they had, nevertheless, a certain quiet beauty.
+It seemed as if they made a world of their
+own, and as if they were contemptuously indifferent
+to the foolish beings who came among
+them for an hour in their impudent, puffing
+steamer, and were gone like a cloud. Right
+in front was one bold eminence, perhaps a
+thousand or twelve hundred feet high, which
+divided the waters of the upper part of Loch
+Long from those of Loch Goil on the west.
+Gazing at its weather-beaten rocks and its
+sketches of silent moorland, one could hardly
+help tasting that renovating draught—the
+sense that one has reached a place where man
+is as nothing, a sphere which is but nominally
+under his sway, where he comes and goes, but
+leaves behind him no mark upon the face of
+nature.</p>
+
+<p>Leaving this eminence upon the left, the
+channel became narrower, and the inlet seemed
+to be completely land-locked. In front the
+nearer hills seemed to lie one behind another,
+fold upon fold, while beyond some much loftier
+peaks raised their blue summits to heaven.
+Alec Lindsay never tired of gazing on them.
+If he turned away his eyes, it was that he
+might refresh them with a change of scene—the
+low green rock, the salt water washing
+the white stones under the heather on the
+hillside, the tiny rainbow in the foam of the
+paddle-wheels—and return with new desire
+to the sight of the everlasting hills. Strange,
+he thought to himself, as he gazed on the
+shadow of a cloud passing like a spirit over a
+lonely peak—strange that the sight of masses
+of mere dead earth and stone, the dullest and
+lowest forms of matter, should be able to
+touch us more profoundly than all the lovely
+sights and sweet sounds of the animated
+world!</p>
+
+<p>In a few miles the top of the loch was
+reached. The mountains, standing like giants
+‘to sentinel enchanted land,’ rose almost from
+the water’s edge. A few cottages stood
+clustering together at the mouth of a defile
+which gave access to Loch Lomond on the
+east. One or two large houses (of which
+‘Glendhu,’ Mr. James Lindsay’s seaside
+residence, was one) stood at intervals along
+the shore.</p>
+
+<p>Alec’s first care after landing was to provide
+himself with a lodging, as (much to his
+satisfaction) he was not required to live in
+Mr. Fraser’s house; and he was fortunate
+enough to find the accommodation he wanted
+in a cottage close to the seashore.</p>
+
+<p>In the afternoon he called on Mrs. Fraser,
+and found her a fat, florid, good-natured looking
+woman, ostentatiously dressed, and surrounded
+by a troop of her progeny.</p>
+
+<p>‘Come away, Mr. Lindsay,’ she said graciously,
+as she extended to him a remarkably
+well-developed hand and arm. ‘I’m just
+fairly delighted to see you. It will be an
+extraordinary pleasure to get rid of Hector
+and John Thompson, though it should be but
+for three hours in the day. You wouldn’t
+believe, Mr. Lindsay, what these two, not to
+speak of Douglas and Phemie—I often tell her
+father she should have been a boy—cost me in
+anxiety. I wonder I’m not worn to a shadow.
+The day before yesterday, now, not content
+with going in to bathe four times, they
+managed to drop Jamsie—that’s the one next
+to Douglas, Mr. Lindsay—over the edge of
+the boat, and the bairn wasn’t able to speak
+when they pulled him in again.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, ma!’ protested the young gentleman
+referred to, ‘I could have got in again by myself,
+only John Thompson hit me a whack on
+the head with his oar, trying to pull me nearer
+the boat.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I don’t think it’s safe for the boys to be
+out in the little boat by themselves, without
+either me or their father to look after them.
+I don’t mind their being in the four-oar.
+What do you think, Mr. Lindsay?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Really, I can hardly say, Mrs. Fraser,
+seeing that I know nothing of boating. I
+haven’t had a chance of learning; I hope you
+will give me a lesson,’ he added, turning to his
+new pupils.</p>
+
+<p>The boys, who had been staring at Alec
+with a suspicious expression, brightened up
+at this; and it was arranged that the first
+lesson in boating should be given next day.</p>
+
+<p>On the following afternoon Alec called at
+Glendhu, his uncle’s house, to inquire whether
+any of the family had arrived; and was told
+that they intended to come down in about a
+fortnight. In the evening, as he looked over
+his newspaper, his eyes fell upon a paragraph
+which informed him that Mr. Taylor, Professor
+of History in the University of Glasgow, had
+died suddenly the day before. Alec was
+shocked and surprised at the news; but the
+thought that was uppermost in his mind was
+that in all probability he would never see
+Laura Mowbray again. Now that her uncle
+was dead she would go back to her friends in
+London; and in a few months she would forget
+him. Not until that moment had Alec
+realized how constantly the thought of this
+girl had been in his mind, how he had made
+her image play a part in all his dreams. And
+now it was over! The world which had seemed
+so fair and bright but an hour ago was dull and
+lifeless now.</p>
+
+<p>But the companionship of Mrs. Fraser’s boys
+and girls saved him from sinking into a foolish
+melancholy. He tried hard for three hours
+every day to make them learn a little Latin
+grammar and history, and a great part of
+every afternoon was spent in their company.
+They taught him to row and steer, and to
+manage a sail. But his chief delight was in
+the mountains. He was never tired of wandering
+among their lonely recesses; he loved the
+bare granite rocks and crags even better than
+the sheltered dell where the silver birches
+clustered round the rapid stream. He learned
+to know the hills from every point of view, to
+select at a glance the practicable side for an
+ascent; and before a fortnight was over he
+had set his foot on the top of every peak
+within walking distance of Arrochar.</p>
+
+<p>About three weeks after his arrival, Alec
+heard that his uncle and Miss Lindsay had
+come down; and one evening soon afterwards
+he went to see them.</p>
+
+<p>From the windows of the drawing-room at
+Glendhu the view was magnificent. Under
+the low garden-wall were the still, blue waters
+of the loch; and right in front ‘The Cobbler’
+lifted his head against the glowing western
+sky.</p>
+
+<p>Alec was waiting there in silence, absorbed
+in the spectacle, when he suddenly heard a
+soft voice behind him.</p>
+
+<p>‘Mr. Lindsay!’</p>
+
+<p>No need for him to turn round. The tones
+of her voice thrilled through every fibre of his
+body.</p>
+
+
+<p>Yes; it was she, simply dressed in black,
+standing with a smile on her face, holding out
+her hand.</p>
+
+<p>‘Why don’t you speak to me? Won’t you
+shake hands?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Lau—— Miss Mowbray!’</p>
+
+<p>‘Certainly. Am I a ghost?’</p>
+
+<p>‘I thought you were far away—gone back
+to your friends in England.’</p>
+
+<p>‘No,’ said Laura tranquilly, seating herself
+on a couch; ‘my poor uncle left me as a
+legacy to Mr. Lindsay; and here I am.
+You have not even said you are glad to see
+me.’</p>
+
+<p>‘You know I am glad. But I was sorry to
+hear of your loss, and sorry to think of your
+grief.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes; it was very sad, and <em>so</em> sudden,’
+answered Laura, casting down her eyes.
+‘And how did you come to be here?’ she
+asked, lifting them again to her companion’s
+face. Alec told her; and then his uncle and
+Miss Lindsay came into the room.</p>
+
+
+<p>‘So you’ve got a veesitor?’ said the old lady
+to Laura, as she came forward.</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh no!’ answered the girl. ‘I had no
+idea anyone was in the room when I came in;
+and your nephew stared at me as if I had been
+an apparition.’</p>
+
+<p>She smiled as she spoke; but Alec noticed
+that as soon as the elder lady turned away the
+smile suddenly faded.</p>
+
+<p>Nothing worth mentioning was said in the
+conversation that followed. Alec hoped that
+before he took his leave he would receive a
+general invitation to the house; but nothing
+of the kind was forthcoming. That, however,
+mattered little. Laura was here, close to him;
+they would be sure to meet; and of course he
+was at liberty to go to Glendhu occasionally.
+He went home to his lodgings wondering at
+his good fortune. The rosy hue had returned
+to the earth, and Arrochar was the most
+delightful spot on the habitable globe.</p>
+
+<p>The one event of the day in the village was
+the arrival of the steamer and the departure of
+the coach which carried passengers to Tarbert
+on Loch Lomond. It was a favourite amusement
+of the inhabitants to lounge about the
+landing-place on these occasions, ostensibly
+coming for their letters and newspapers, but
+really pleased to see new faces and make
+comments about the appearance of the tourists.
+Laura Mowbray generally found it necessary
+to go to the post-office about the time of the
+steamer’s arrival; and Alec was not long in
+turning the custom to his own advantage.</p>
+
+<p>As he was walking back with her to Glendhu
+one day, he noticed that she was rather abstracted.</p>
+
+<p>‘I wonder what you are thinking of, Miss
+Mowbray,’ he said. ‘You have not answered
+me once since we left the pier.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Haven’t I? I’m sure I beg your pardon.’</p>
+
+<p>‘See that patch of sunlight on the hill
+across the loch!’ cried Alec enthusiastically.
+‘See how it brings out the rich yellow colour
+of the moss, while all the rest of the hill is in
+shadow.’</p>
+
+
+<p>‘You ought to have been a painter,’ said
+his companion.</p>
+
+<p>‘Don’t you think Arrochar is a perfectly
+<em>lovely</em> place?’ returned Alec.</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes; very pretty. But it is very dull.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Dull?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes; there is no life—no gaiety. It is
+said that the English take their pleasures
+sadly; but they are gaiety itself compared
+with you Scotch. You shut yourselves up in
+your own houses and don’t mix with your
+neighbours at all. At least you have no
+amusements in which anyone can share. The
+boating, tennis, bathing, everything is done
+<i lang="fr">en famille</i>. There is no fun, no mixing with
+the rest of the world. In an English watering-place
+people stay at hotels, or in lodgings; and
+if they tire of one place they can go to
+another. Then they have parties of all kinds,
+and dances at the hotels. Here everyone
+takes a house for two months, and moves
+down with servants, plate, linen, groceries,
+perhaps even the family piano. I only wonder
+they don’t bring the bedsteads. Having got
+to their houses, they stay there, and perhaps
+never see a strange face till it is time to go
+back to town. It’s a frightfully narrowing
+system, not to speak of the dulness of it.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I never thought of it before,’ said Alec.
+‘I don’t care to know more people myself; I
+am never at my ease with people till I know
+them pretty well. But I am sorry if you find it
+dull.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Well, of course I couldn’t go to dances or
+anything of that kind just yet; but it is dreadfully
+tiresome to see no one from one day to
+another, to have no games or amusements of
+any kind.’</p>
+
+<p>‘There are always the hills, you know,’ said
+Alec.</p>
+
+<p>Laura glanced at her companion to see
+whether he was laughing, and perceiving that
+he was perfectly serious, she turned away her
+face with a little <i lang="fr">moue</i>.</p>
+
+<p>‘The hills don’t amuse me; they weary me;
+and sometimes, when I get up in the night
+and look at them, they terrify me. Think
+what it would be to be up among those rocks
+on a winter’s night, with the snowflakes
+whirling around you, and the wind roaring—ugh!
+Let us talk of something else.’</p>
+
+<p>They did so, but there was little spirit in
+the conversation. Alec could not conceive of
+anyone with a heart and a pair of eyes who
+should not love these mountain-tops as he did
+himself. He had already endowed Laura with
+every conceivable grace, and he had taken it
+for granted that the power to appreciate
+mountain scenery was among her gifts. Here,
+at least, was a deficiency, a point on which his
+mind and hers were not in harmony.</p>
+
+<p>With feminine tact Laura saw that she had
+disappointed her companion in some way, and
+she easily guessed at the cause.</p>
+
+<p>‘I see you don’t appreciate my straightforwardness,’
+she said, after a little pause.
+‘Knowing that you have such a passion for
+mountain scenery, I ought to have pretended
+that I was as fond of it as you are yourself.’</p>
+
+
+<p>‘No, indeed.’</p>
+
+<p>‘That would have been polite; but it would
+not have been quite straightforward. I always
+say the thing that comes uppermost, you
+know; I can’t help it.’</p>
+
+<p>Of course she did; and of course her simple
+honesty was infinitely better than even a love
+of Scotch scenery. The latter would no doubt
+come with more familiar acquaintance with it.
+And was she not herself the most charming
+thing that the sun shone down upon that
+summer day?</p>
+
+<p>Laura knew very well that this, or something
+like it, was the thought in the lad’s
+mind as he bade her good-day with lingering
+eyes. Perhaps she would not have been ill
+pleased if he had said what he was thinking;
+but it never entered into his head to pay the
+girl a compliment: he would have fancied it
+an impertinence.</p>
+
+<p>‘What a queer, stupid boy he is!’ said
+Laura to herself, as she peeped back at him
+while she closed the gate behind her. ‘I
+can’t help liking him, but he is so provoking,
+with his enthusiastic, sentimental nonsense.
+Heigh-ho! There’s the luncheon-bell. And
+after that there are four hours to be spent
+somehow before dinner!’</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</span>
+<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="Eleven">XI.</abbr></h3>
+<h4>A RIVAL.</h4>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="unindent">‘<span class="smcap">Hullo</span>! Semple!’</p>
+
+<p>‘Hullo! Alec!’</p>
+
+<p>‘Didn’t expect to see <em>you</em> here.’</p>
+
+<p>‘As little did I expect to see <em>you</em>.’</p>
+
+<p>‘When did you come?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Only last night; by an excursion steamer.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Staying with Uncle James?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes: he asked me to spend my holidays
+down here, and I thought I might as well
+come.’</p>
+
+<p>‘How long do you get?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Three weeks; but I may take a month.’</p>
+
+<p>An unreasonable jealousy of his cousin
+sprang up in Alec’s breast at that moment.
+Five minutes before he was perfectly satisfied
+with his lot; now, because another occupied
+a more favourable position than himself, he
+was miserable. He had been able to meet
+Laura nearly every day; but this fellow was
+to live under the same roof with her, to eat at
+the same table, to breathe the same air. To
+see her and talk to her would be his rival’s
+daily, hourly privilege.</p>
+
+<p>‘Splendid hills!’ said Semple.</p>
+
+<p>Alec made no reply. The scenery was too
+sacred a subject to be discussed with one like
+Semple.</p>
+
+<p>‘What do you do with yourself all day?’
+asked the new-comer.</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, I take a swim in the morning, give
+the boys their lessons from ten to one; then I
+generally take a row, or a walk, or read some
+Horace.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I should think you’d get dreadfully tired
+of it, after a bit. There are no places where
+they play tennis, I suppose?’</p>
+
+
+<p>‘Not that I know of.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I expect I shall find it rather dull.’</p>
+
+<p>Another jealous pang shot through Alec’s
+heart. Laura and his cousin were agreed on
+this point. What more natural than that
+they should amuse each other? In a day or
+two Semple would be on better terms with
+Laura than he was himself. Of course he
+would fall in love with her—and she?</p>
+
+<p>Anyone watching the course of affairs at
+Glendhu would have thought that Alec’s foreboding
+was in a fair way of being realized.
+Laura was very gracious to her guardian’s
+nephew, and overlooked in the prettiest
+manner his little vulgarities. The two were
+constantly together, and neither seemed to
+feel the want of a more extended circle of
+acquaintance. It was nobody’s fault, for
+Semple had been invited to Glendhu before
+Mr. Taylor’s death had caused Laura to become
+a member of Mr. Lindsay’s family; but
+Miss Lindsay determined that she would at
+least introduce another guest into the house.
+She wrote to Alec’s sister, and asked her to
+spend a fortnight at Loch Long.</p>
+
+<p>When the invitation reached the Castle
+Farm, Margaret’s first impulse was to decline
+it without saying anything to her father,
+partly out of shyness and a sense of the
+deficiencies in her wardrobe, partly because
+she could not easily at that season be spared
+from the farm. But when Mr. Lindsay asked
+if there was anything in her aunt’s letter,
+Margaret felt bound to mention the matter
+to him; and he at once insisted upon her
+going.</p>
+
+<p>Margaret’s advent, however, made little
+practical difference in the usual order of
+things at Glendhu. Mr. Semple at first
+offered her a share of his attentions; but she
+received them so coldly that he soon ceased
+to trouble himself about her, and devoted
+himself to Laura as before, while Margaret
+seemed perfectly contented with her own
+society when Miss Lindsay was not with her
+guests.</p>
+
+
+<p>There was little intimacy between the two
+girls, and the blame of this could not fairly be
+attributed to Laura.</p>
+
+<p>‘I am so glad you have come, Miss Lindsay,’
+she had said on the first occasion when
+they were left alone together. ‘May I call
+you “Margaret”? I think it is such a perfectly
+lovely name.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Of course you may,’ said the matter-of-fact
+Margaret.</p>
+
+<p>‘And you will call me “Laura,” of course.’</p>
+
+<p>But Margaret avoided making any reply to
+this, and practically declined to adopt the
+more familiar style of address; and Laura
+soon returned to the more formal ‘Miss
+Lindsay.’</p>
+
+<p>Alec was, of course, more frequently at his
+uncle’s, now that his sister was staying there;
+but his visits did not afford him much satisfaction.
+With Semple he had little in common.
+There was a natural want of sympathy between
+the two; and besides, Semple looked down
+upon Alec as being ‘countrified,’ while Alec
+was disposed to hold his cousin in contempt
+for his ignorance of everything unconnected
+with the making and the sale of paraffin oil.
+As to Laura, he seldom had a chance of saying
+much to her; while his intercourse with his
+sister was more constrained than it had ever
+been before. Margaret saw quite plainly that
+as her brother was talking to her, his eyes and
+his heart were hankering after Laura Mowbray;
+and she felt mortified by his want of
+interest in what she said to him, though she
+was too proud to show her feeling, except by
+an additional coldness of manner.</p>
+
+<p>One evening Alec called at Glendhu, and, as
+usual, he found the younger portion of the
+family in the garden. Margaret was sitting
+by herself on a bench overlooking the sea,
+with some knitting in her hand, while the
+other two were sauntering along one of the
+paths at a little distance. Alec waited till
+they came up, and then he said:</p>
+
+<p>‘I have borrowed Mr. Fraser’s light skiff;
+suppose we all go for a row? You can row
+one skiff and I the other,’ he added, turning
+to Semple.</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, delightful!’ cried Laura. ‘It is just
+the evening for a row. You will come, Miss
+Lindsay, won’t you?’</p>
+
+<p>‘I have no objections,’ said Margaret, quite
+indifferently.</p>
+
+<p>Laura turned and ran into the house for
+wraps, while a rather awkward silence fell
+upon the rest of the party. Semple moved
+away from Margaret almost at once, and hung
+about the French window, so as to be ready to
+intercept Laura as soon as she issued from the
+house. Alec felt in a manner bound to remain
+with his sister; and she would not see his
+evident desire to follow Semple to the house,
+and so have a chance of securing Laura for his
+companion. When at length the English girl
+appeared, with a dark-green plaid thrown over
+her shoulder, Semple sprang at once to her
+side; and, without paying the slightest attention
+to Alec or his sister, they hurried down
+to the water’s edge. In a few minutes more
+they had appropriated the best of the two
+boats (the one Alec had borrowed) and were
+floating far out on the loch.</p>
+
+<p>Alec could not help his disappointment
+appearing in his face; and his sister noticed
+and resented it.</p>
+
+<p>‘Don’t row at such a furious rate; you’ll
+snap the oars,’ she said tranquilly, as her
+brother sent the boat careering over the
+waves.</p>
+
+<p>He stopped, and tried to look pleasant, but
+he could not shut his ears to the gay laughter
+that came to him across the water from the
+other boat.</p>
+
+<p>‘They seem merry enough,’ said Alec.</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes,’ said Margaret spitefully. ‘Miss
+Mowbray seems in very good spirits, considering
+that her uncle has not been dead much
+more than a month.’</p>
+
+<p>‘How unjust you are!’ cried Alec hotly.
+‘As if she ought to shut herself up, and never
+laugh, because her uncle died! It would be
+hypocrisy if she did.’</p>
+
+
+<p>‘There I quite agree with you,’ said Margaret,
+with an ill-natured smile.</p>
+
+<p>‘You mean that Laura could not be
+sincerely sorry?’</p>
+
+<p>‘I think she is very shallow and heartless,’
+said Margaret, sweetly tranquil as
+ever.</p>
+
+<p>Alec was furious.</p>
+
+<p>‘You girls are all alike,’ he said with suppressed
+passion. ‘Either you are always
+kissing and praising one another, or running
+each other down. And the more refinement,
+and delicacy, and beauty another girl has, the
+more you depreciate her.’</p>
+
+<p>Margaret merely curled her lip contemptuously,
+and sat trailing her hand through the
+water, without making any reply.</p>
+
+<p>Nothing more was said till Alec was helping
+his sister out of the boat on their returning
+to land.</p>
+
+<p>‘Don’t let us quarrel. I am sorry if I have
+vexed you, Maggie,’ he said.</p>
+
+<p>‘I’m not vexed,’ she answered, in a not
+very reassuring tone, keeping her eyes upon
+the rocks at her feet.</p>
+
+<p>Her brother’s real offence was that he had
+fallen in love with Laura, and that she now
+occupied a very secondary place in his heart.
+And that she could not forgive.</p>
+
+<p>‘Won’t you come up to the house?’ she
+asked.</p>
+
+<p>‘No; and you can tell that cad that the
+next time he wants Mr. Fraser’s boat he had
+better borrow it himself.’</p>
+
+<p>So saying, Alec shouldered the oars and
+strode away.</p>
+
+<p>Though he had defended Laura passionately
+when his sister spoke her mind about that
+young lady, Alec felt that he had been badly
+used. He had certainly made the proposal
+to the whole party, but he had pointedly
+looked at Laura and spoken to her; and she
+had replied in the same way. There was,
+indeed, a tacit understanding between them
+at the moment, that she would be his partner
+for the evening; and it was chiefly from a
+spirit of coquetry that she had chosen to
+ignore it afterwards.</p>
+
+<p>But Laura showed no trace of embarrassment
+when she met Alec in the village next
+day.</p>
+
+<p>‘Why didn’t you come into the house last
+night?’ she said with a smile.</p>
+
+<p>‘I didn’t think it mattered.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Why are you so cross? I suppose I have
+managed to offend you again. I never saw
+anyone so touchy and unreasonable!’</p>
+
+<p>‘It doesn’t very much matter—does it?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Why?’</p>
+
+<p>‘I mean, you don’t really care whether—oh!—never
+mind.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Now, I really believe you are annoyed
+because I went in your cousin’s boat last
+night, instead of yours. But what could I
+do? I couldn’t say, “I prefer to go with
+Mr. Lindsay”—could I?’</p>
+
+<p>‘No; but—but you never seem to think of
+me at all now, Miss Mowbray.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Nonsense!’ answered the girl, as a pleased
+blush came over her face. ‘And to prove
+my goodwill, I’ll tell you what I will do.
+I will let you take me for a row this evening.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Will you?’</p>
+
+<p>This was said so eagerly that Laura could
+not help blushing again.</p>
+
+<p>‘The others are going to dine at Mr.
+Grainger’s to-night, over at Loch Lomond
+side.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But I am to be with the Frasers to-night!’
+exclaimed Alec in dismay. ‘Would not to-morrow
+night do as well?’ Then, seeing
+that his companion did not seem to care for
+this change of plans, he added: ‘But I dare
+say I can manage to get away by half-past
+eight. That would not be too late, would it?
+It is quite light until after nine.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I will be in the garden, then; but I must
+go now,’ said Laura hurriedly, as she bade
+him good-day.</p>
+
+<p>The evening went by as on leaden feet with
+Alec Lindsay, as he talked to Mr. Fraser, or
+listened to his wife’s interminable easy-going
+complaints about her children and her servants,
+and tried to appear interested, and at his ease.
+He could not keep the thought of the coming
+meeting out of his mind.</p>
+
+<p>With rather a lame excuse he left Mr.
+Fraser’s house not many minutes after the
+appointed time, and very soon afterwards he
+was gliding under the garden-wall of Glendhu.
+For some minutes no one was visible, and
+Alec began to fear that a new disappointment
+was in store for him. But presently a figure
+began to move through the shadows of the
+trees. It was Laura! She stepped without a
+word over the loose rocks and stones; then,
+hardly touching Alec’s outstretched hand, she
+lightly took her place at the stern, and met
+Alec’s gaze with a smile.</p>
+
+<p>‘Do you know, I feel horribly guilty, and
+all through you,’ she said, as the boat moved
+swiftly out into the loch.</p>
+
+<p>‘Why should it make any difference that
+there is no discontented fellow-creature in
+another boat behind us?’ asked Alec gaily.</p>
+
+
+<p>Laura shook her head, but made no
+reply. Leaning back in the stern she took
+off her hat, and let the cool breeze blow
+upon her face. Alec thought he had never
+seen her look so beautiful. The delicate
+curves of her features, the peach-like complexion,
+the melting look in her eyes, made
+him feel as if the girl seated near him was
+something more than human.</p>
+
+<p>‘Don’t you think we have gone far
+enough?’ said Laura gently, when Alec had
+rowed some way in silence.</p>
+
+<p>He stopped, resting on his oars.</p>
+
+<p>‘How still it is—and how beautiful!’ she
+exclaimed in the same low voice.</p>
+
+<p>Not a sound but the faint lapping of the
+water on the boat fell upon their ears. The
+hills were by this time in darkness, and the
+stars were beginning to glimmer in the
+twilight sky. Beyond the western hills the
+sky was still bright, with a glow that seemed
+less that of the sunken sun, than some
+mysterious halo of the northern night. A
+faint phosphorescence lingered about the
+drops of sea-water upon the oars. Nothing
+but the distant lights in the cottage windows
+seemed to be in any way connected with the
+commonplace, everyday world.</p>
+
+<p>‘Hadn’t we better go back? It is really
+getting dark,’ said Laura, as gently as before;
+and Alec obediently dipped his oars and
+turned the bow of the boat towards Glendhu.</p>
+
+<p>All his life long Alec remembered that
+silent row in the dim, unearthly twilight.
+There was no need for words. They were
+sitting, as it were, ‘on the shores of old
+romance,’ and tasting the dew of fairyland.
+That hidden land was for this short hour
+revealed to them; they were breathing the
+enchanted air.</p>
+
+<p>It was almost dark when Alec shipped his
+oars and drew the boat along the rocks
+outside the garden-wall.</p>
+
+<p>‘How dreadfully late it is! I hope they
+have not come back,’ said Laura, as she rose
+to go ashore.</p>
+
+
+<p>Alec took her hand, so small and white,
+with the tiny blue veins crossing it, in his
+own rough brown fingers, and when he had
+helped the girl ashore he stooped and
+kissed it.</p>
+
+<p>A moment afterwards, a soft ‘good-night’
+from the garden assured him that the act of
+homage had not been taken amiss. If he
+had lingered a minute or two longer he would
+have heard Miss Lindsay’s voice calling out
+in some anxiety, and Laura Mowbray’s
+silvery accents replying:</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes; here I am, Miss Lindsay—it is so
+much cooler out of doors. My headache is
+almost quite gone, thank you; the cool sea-breeze
+has driven it away. How did you
+enjoy your party? How I wish I could have
+gone with you!’</p>
+
+<p>But before Laura reached the house, Alec
+was once more far out in the loch. He
+wished to be alone, to indulge the sweet
+intoxication which was burning in his veins.</p>
+
+<p>When at last he returned to his little room
+he found a letter awaiting him which had been
+sent on from home. The address was in an
+unfamiliar handwriting, and breaking the seal
+he read as follows:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p class="right">
+‘<span class="smcap">Caen Lodge, Highgate, N.</span>,<br>
+<span style="margin-right: 3em;">‘<i>July 10, 187-</i>.</span><br>
+</p>
+
+<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Lindsay</span>,</p>
+
+<p>‘You will be surprised to hear that
+you may see me the day after this reaches
+you. I want to see how your beautiful river
+scenery looks in this glorious summer
+weather. If it is not convenient for me to
+stay at the farm, I can easily find quarters
+elsewhere.</p>
+
+<p class="center">‘Ever yours,</p>
+<p class="p0 right r4">‘<span class="smcap">Hubert Blake</span>.’</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>As Alec foresaw, when he read this note,
+Blake found existence at the Castle Farm
+with the sole companionship of Mr. Lindsay
+to be quite impracticable; and next day he
+arrived at Arrochar and took up his quarters
+in the little inn at the head of the pier.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</span>
+<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="Twelve">XII.</abbr></h3>
+<h4>‘YOU MUST GIVE ME AN ANSWER.’</h4>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">Margaret Lindsay</span>, not the scenery of the
+Nethan, was the real attraction which drew
+Hubert Blake to the north. He was not in
+love with her; certainly, at least, he felt for
+her nothing of the rapturous passion which
+Alec felt for Laura Mowbray. But he
+admired her immensely. He undertook the
+long journey from London that he might
+feast his eyes on her beauty once more; and
+when he found that she was at Arrochar he
+straightway betook himself thither.</p>
+
+<p>Blake was by this time a man nearer forty
+than thirty years of age, who was still without
+an aim in life. He had an income which
+rendered it unnecessary for him to devote
+himself to the ordinary aim of an Englishman—the
+making of money; and to set
+himself to charm sovereigns which he did
+not need out of the pockets of his fellow-creatures
+into his own, for the mere love of
+gold or of luxury, was an idea which he
+would have despised as heartily as Alec Lindsay
+himself would have done. Blake had
+also great contempt for the brassy self-importance
+and self-conceit which is the most
+useful of all attributes for one who means to
+get on in the world. He looked at men
+struggling for political or social distinction,
+as he might have gazed at a crowd of lunatics
+fighting for a tinsel crown. ‘And after all,’
+he would say to himself, ‘if I am idle, my
+idleness hurts no one but myself. At least,
+I do not trample down my fellow-men on my
+journey through life.’</p>
+
+<p>He was not satisfied; but he was not
+energetic enough to find a career in which
+he could turn his talents and his money to
+good advantage. He was a great lover of
+nature, and he had a wide and tolerant
+sympathy for his fellow-men. The one thing
+he loved in the world was art.</p>
+
+<p>It was not long, of course, before he was a
+member of the little circle at Glendhu, and he
+looked on at the little comedy that was being
+played there with good-natured amusement.
+Laura Mowbray soon discovered that the
+stranger was insensible to her charms, that
+he quite understood her little allurements,
+and regarded them with a good-humoured
+smile. He saw quite plainly that she was
+enjoying a double triumph; and on the whole
+he thought that though she devoted by far
+the greater part of her time to Semple, she
+had a secret preference for his friend Alec.
+He spent most of his time in making sketches
+of the surrounding scenery; and though he
+was not an enthusiastic climber, Alec was often
+able to persuade him to accompany him to
+some of the loftier peaks.</p>
+
+<p>One day before Margaret’s visit came to an
+end, Alec proposed that the whole party—that
+is, Blake, Laura Mowbray, his sister, Semple,
+and himself—should make an ascent of ‘The
+Cobbler.’ He described the view which was
+to be obtained from the top of the mountain
+in terms which fired even Laura’s enthusiasm;
+and the ascent was fixed for the following forenoon.</p>
+
+<p>The morning was rather cloudy, but not
+sufficiently so to make the party abandon the
+expedition, especially as Alec pointed out that
+they would find it much easier to climb than
+they would have done if the day had been one
+of brilliant sunshine. They rowed over to the
+foot of the hill, so as to save walking round
+the head of the loch; and were soon in a wilderness
+of heather and wild juniper.</p>
+
+<p>The ascent, they found, though by no means
+difficult, was long and tiresome. The girls,
+indeed, if they had consulted merely their own
+inclination, would have turned back at the end
+of the first hour; but it never occurred to
+Margaret to give way to her feeling of fatigue,
+and Laura was too proud to be the first to
+complain.</p>
+
+<p>Everyone was glad, however, when Blake
+proposed a halt about half-way up. They
+threw themselves down on the heather, and
+tasted the delicious sense of rest to strained
+muscles and panting lungs.</p>
+
+<p>‘I am afraid this is rather too much for
+you,’ said Alec to Laura, noticing her look of
+weariness.</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, I shall get on after I have rested,’ she
+replied; ‘but it is so tiresome to imagine,
+every now and then, that the crest before you
+is the top of the hill, and to find when you
+arrive there that the real summit seems farther
+off than ever.’</p>
+
+<p>‘The finest views are always to be had half-way
+up a mountain,’ said Blake. ‘How much
+we can see from this knoll! There is Loch
+Lomond, Ben Lomond, Ben Venue, and I
+don’t know how many Bens besides—a perfect
+crowd of them. Then we can see right down
+the loch and out into the frith. Let us be
+content with what we have. Miss Mowbray
+and your sister would prefer, I think, to wait
+here with me, Alec, while you and your cousin
+get to the top and back again.’</p>
+
+<p>But this proposal was not entertained; and
+in a quarter of an hour the whole party were
+on foot once more.</p>
+
+<p>Up to this point Semple had succeeded in
+monopolizing the society of Laura; but he
+had found that to guide the steps of a delicately
+nurtured girl over a rough Scotch
+mountain, and help her whenever she came to
+a steep place, was no light labour. For the
+rest of the climb he was content to leave her a
+good deal to Alec, while it fell to Blake’s lot
+to look after Margaret.</p>
+
+<p>One after another the ridges were overcome,
+the prospect widening with every step, till the
+last grassy knoll was surmounted, and the bare
+rocky peak stood full in view at a little distance.
+It was, indeed, so steep that Laura
+was secretly terrified, and had to be hauled up
+for a good part of the way.</p>
+
+
+<p>An involuntary cry burst from the lips of
+each, as one by one they set foot upon the
+windy summit. Far away, as it were upon
+the limits of the world, the sun was shining on
+a sea of gold. The two peaks of Jura lifted
+up their heads, illumined by the radiance. All
+around them was a billowy sea of mountain-tops—Ben
+Crois, Ben Ime, Ben Donich, Ben
+Vane, Ben Voirlich, and a hundred more, with
+many a lonely tarn, and many a glen without
+a name. At their feet lay the black waters
+of the lochs; and far in the south were the
+rugged hills of Arran.</p>
+
+<p>‘Look!’ cried Laura, ‘the steamer is no
+bigger than a toy-boat; and the road is like a
+thin white thread drawn across the moor!’</p>
+
+<p>‘Come here,’ said Alec to Blake with a
+laugh, beckoning as he spoke.</p>
+
+<p>Blake followed him, and found that on one
+side, where there was a sheer descent of many
+hundred feet, a rock, which was pierced with a
+natural archway, jutted out from the body of
+the mountain.</p>
+
+
+<p>‘This is the “needle-eye,”’ said Alec, ‘and
+everybody who comes up here is expected to
+go through it.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Nonsense! Why, man, a false step there
+would mean——’</p>
+
+<p>‘There’s not the slightest danger, if you
+have a good head. I have been through twice
+already,’ returned Alec, as he disappeared
+behind the rock.</p>
+
+<p>A cry from Laura told Blake that she had
+witnessed the danger. Margaret, whose cheek
+had suddenly grown pale, gripped her tightly
+by the arm.</p>
+
+<p>‘Don’t speak,’ she said hoarsely; ‘it may
+make his foot slip.’</p>
+
+<p>In a minute he reappeared, having passed
+through the crevice.</p>
+
+<p>‘Alec, you shouldn’t do a thing like that;
+it’s a sin to risk your life for nothing,’ said
+Margaret, in a tone of cold displeasure.</p>
+
+<p>‘There’s not the slightest danger in it,’ protested
+Alec.</p>
+
+<p>‘None whatever,’ echoed Semple; but he
+did not think it necessary to prove the truth
+of his opinion.</p>
+
+<p>‘I think we ought to be off,’ said Alec;
+‘there’s a cloud coming right upon us; and if
+we don’t make haste we shall have to stay
+here till it passes.’</p>
+
+<p>His meaning was not quite plain to his companions;
+but they soon saw the force of his
+remark. They had accomplished but a small
+part of the descent when they found themselves
+suddenly in the midst of a cold, thick,
+white vapour. It was not safe to go on, so
+the little company crouched together under a
+boulder, and watched the great wreaths of
+mist moving in the stillness from crag to
+crag.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as the mist got a little thinner,
+they recommenced the descent, for their position
+was not a very pleasant one. Semple
+was in front, while Blake and Margaret
+followed, and Alec and Laura brought up the
+rear, when it happened that they came to an
+unusually steep part of the hillside which
+they thought it best to cross in a slanting
+direction. The soil was of loose, crumbling
+stone, with here and there a narrow patch of
+short, dry grass, and, at intervals, narrow beds
+or courses of loose stones. A short distance
+below there was an unbroken precipice of at
+least five hundred feet.</p>
+
+<p>Alec was helping Laura across one of those
+narrow beds of stones, the others being
+some little way in advance, when they were
+startled by a deep rumbling noise, and a
+tremulous motion under their feet. The
+whole layer of stones, loosened by the rain
+and frost, was sliding down towards the precipice!
+With a cry Alec hurried his companion
+on; but her trembling feet could
+hardly support her. The movement of the
+stones, slow at first, was becoming faster
+every moment; and Alec’s only hope lay in
+crossing them before they were carried down
+to the edge of the cliff. For a minute it
+seemed doubtful whether they would be able
+to cross in time; but Alec succeeded in struggling,
+along with his half-fainting companion,
+to the edge of the sliding stones, and placed
+her, just in time, upon a sloping but solid
+bank of earth.</p>
+
+<p>In a few minutes more the stones had
+swept past them, and had disappeared over
+the cliff.</p>
+
+<p>But the position which Alec had reached
+was hardly less dangerous than the one they
+had escaped from. Behind them was a deep
+chasm which the treacherous stones had left.
+In front the mountain rose at a terrible slope.
+Alec scanned it closely, and it seemed to him
+that though he might have scaled it at a considerable
+risk, it was quite impracticable for
+Laura without help from above. If he were
+to make the attempt, and fall, he knew he
+would infallibly dash her as well as himself
+over the precipice.</p>
+
+<p>Some feet above their heads there was a
+ledge of rock from which it might be possible
+to assist them; but where were Blake and the
+others? They were out of sight, and the
+sound of Alec’s shouts, cut off by the rocks
+above, could not reach them. Worst of all,
+the mist seemed to be closing upon them
+more thickly than ever.</p>
+
+<p>The question was, Could they maintain
+their position till help could reach them?
+Soon it became evident that they could not.
+The ledge of grass-covered rock on which they
+stood was so narrow that they could not even
+sit down; and it was plain that Laura could
+not stand much longer.</p>
+
+<p>There was only one way of escape. Eight
+or ten feet below was a shelf of rock, frightfully
+narrow, and, what was worse, sloping
+downwards and covered with slippery dry
+grass. But Alec saw that if he could reach it,
+he could make his way round to the top of
+the rock, and then he could stretch down his
+hand so as to help Laura up the steep.</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, Mr. Lindsay, what <em>shall</em> we do?’ cried
+Laura, turning to Alec her white, despairing
+face. ‘Oh, look down there! What a dreadful
+death!’</p>
+
+
+<p>‘Death! Nonsense! There is no danger—not
+much, at least. See, now, I am going to
+drop down on that bit of grassy rock, and
+climb round to the top. Then I’ll be able to
+help you up.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But I could never climb up there! I
+should fall, and be killed in a moment!’</p>
+
+<p>‘Not a bit, if you have hold of my hand.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But you won’t leave me?’ cried Laura,
+clutching Alec by the arm as she spoke; ‘you
+won’t leave me all alone in this dreadful
+place?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Only for a minute.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But I can’t stand any longer.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes, you can. Turn your face to the rock,
+and lean against it. Don’t look downwards
+on any account.’</p>
+
+<p>And with these words Alec slipped off his
+shoes, slung them round his neck, and let himself
+hang over the cliff. It was an awful
+moment, and for a second or two the lad’s
+courage failed him. But it was only for an
+instant. Setting his teeth hard, he let go,
+and dropped upon the little shelf beneath.
+His feet slid; but he clung to the rock and
+just saved himself from slipping over the
+precipice. Then, with great exertion, he
+managed to climb round where the ascent
+was not quite so steep, and gained the
+ledge above that on which he had left his
+companion.</p>
+
+<p>‘All right!’ he cried cheerily, looking over
+the ledge; and, lying down, he grasped the
+rock with one hand, and stretched the other
+downwards as far as he could.</p>
+
+<p>But by this time Laura was almost paralyzed
+with terror.</p>
+
+<p>‘I can’t—I can’t move!’ she exclaimed in a
+voice of agony, while her eyes wandered as if
+seeking the abyss she dreaded.</p>
+
+<p>Alec stretched himself downwards till he
+could almost touch her hat, while the beads of
+perspiration stood out on his forehead.</p>
+
+<p>‘Give me your hand at once!’ he shouted
+imperiously.</p>
+
+<p>Almost mechanically the girl put her hand
+in his, and the firm clasp immediately made
+her more calm.</p>
+
+<p>‘Now put your foot on that tuft of grass at
+your knee. Don’t be afraid. I tell you, you
+<em>can’t</em> fall, if you do as I bid you!’</p>
+
+<p>Laura felt as if her arm were being pulled
+out of its socket; but she obeyed, and in
+another moment she was in safety.</p>
+
+<p>Then came a flood of hysterical tears.</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, how cruel you are! Why did you
+ever bring me to this horrible place? Where
+are the others? What will become of us?
+Don’t leave me; take me back! Oh, take me
+back!’ And she clung to her companion as if
+she were still in danger of her life.</p>
+
+<p>Alec soothed and encouraged her as well as
+he was able; and by hurrying forward they
+managed in half an hour to overtake the rest
+of the party.</p>
+
+<p>‘What in the world have you been about?’
+cried Semple. ‘We began to think you had
+lost your way in the mist, or had tumbled
+over a precipice.’</p>
+
+
+<p>‘So we did, very nearly,’ said Laura; and
+Margaret, seeing that the girl was pale and
+trembling, went up to her, threw her arms
+round her, and promised not to leave her till
+they were safe at Glendhu.</p>
+
+<p>‘You needn’t have taken <em>her</em> into danger,’
+growled Semple.</p>
+
+<p>‘I did nothing of the kind,’ said Alec
+angrily. Then he bit his lip, and vouchsafed
+no further explanation.</p>
+
+<p>Without further accident they reached the
+foot of the mountain, and half an hour later
+landed at Glendhu.</p>
+
+<p>Laura had not quite recovered from her
+fright on the following morning, when an
+extremely welcome piece of news restored her
+to her usual spirits. Mr. Lindsay had suddenly
+determined to transfer himself and his family
+to Paris; and Laura was overjoyed. When
+Alec called, therefore, in the afternoon, to ask
+how she was, he found her in the garden,
+dreaming of the coming pleasure, and in high
+good-humour.</p>
+
+
+<p>‘You know, I was so dreadfully sorry for
+that accident,’ said Alec. ‘I almost felt as if
+I had been to blame. But I couldn’t help the
+landslip, could I?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, of course not. And you must forget
+all the foolish things I said when I was in that
+terrible place. How brave you were! I am
+sure I owe you my life.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Next time we go a-climbing, we shan’t go
+where there are any precipices,’ said Alec.</p>
+
+<p>‘But we can’t go climbing any more,’ said
+Laura, with visible satisfaction. ‘Haven’t
+you heard? We are all to set out for Paris
+the day after to-morrow.’</p>
+
+<p>‘For Paris!’</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes; and perhaps, after that, we may go
+to Italy. Isn’t it splendid?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Very—for you. But——’</p>
+
+<p>He stopped, almost frightened at the audacious
+thought that had come into his mind.
+His pulses leaped, his heart throbbed, and his
+cheek grew pale.</p>
+
+<p>Laura looked at him curiously.</p>
+
+
+<p>‘“But”—what?’ she asked.</p>
+
+<p>‘But it will be very lonely for me. Life
+does not seem worth living when you are not
+near me.’ And then, hardly knowing what he
+said, he poured out the story of his love. He
+seized her hands, as they lay idly in her lap,
+and seemed unconscious of the efforts she
+made to withdraw them. He gazed into her
+face, and repeated his words with passionate
+earnestness, again and again:—‘I love you,
+Laura; I love you; I love you!’</p>
+
+<p>Laura threw a glance around, to make sure
+that no one was in sight; and then, slipping
+her hands away, she covered with them her
+blushing face. When she looked up, she met
+Alec’s passionate gaze with a smile.</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, hush! hush!’ she said. ‘Why do you
+speak so wildly?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Because I love you.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But we are far too young to think of such
+things. I don’t mean to get married for—oh!
+ever such a long time. And you—you have
+to take your degree, and choose a profession.
+We will forget all this, and we shall be friends
+still, just as before.’</p>
+
+<p>‘It can never be just as before,’ said Alec.</p>
+
+<p>‘Why not?’</p>
+
+<p>‘It is impossible. But you won’t refuse me,
+Laura?’ he pleaded. ‘If you only knew how
+much I love you! Don’t you love me a little
+in return? Sometimes I can’t help thinking
+you do.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Then all I can say is, you have a very
+strong imagination.’</p>
+
+<p>‘You don’t?’ cried Alec despairingly.</p>
+
+<p>Laura shook her head, but smiled at the
+same time.</p>
+
+<p>‘You must give me an answer,’ said Alec,
+rising to his feet. He was dreadfully in
+earnest.</p>
+
+<p>‘And I say that at your age and mine it is
+ridiculous to talk of such things.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Nonsense! We are not too young to love
+each other. <em>Can</em> you love me, Laura? What
+you have said is no answer at all.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I’m afraid it’s the only answer I can give
+you,’ said Laura, with a saucy smile, rising in
+her turn, and gliding past her companion.
+‘Don’t be absurd; and don’t be unkind or
+disagreeable when we meet again, after we
+come back from our tour. Good-bye.’</p>
+
+<p>He stood, looking after her, without saying
+another word. And she, turning when she
+reached the French window, and seeing him
+still standing there, waved her hand to bid
+him adieu, before she disappeared.</p>
+
+
+<p class="p4 center">END OF <abbr title="Volume One">VOL. I.</abbr></p>
+
+<p class="p4 center o allsmcap">BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h3>Transcriber’s Note:</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>This book was written in a period when many words had not become
+standardized in their spelling. Words may have multiple spelling
+variations or inconsistent hyphenation in the text. These have been
+left unchanged. Dialect, obsolete and alternative
+spellings were left unchanged. Misspelled words were not corrected.</p>
+
+<p>Footnotes were renumbered sequentially and were
+moved to the end of the chapter. Obvious printing errors, such as
+backwards, upside down, extraneous, or partially printed letters and punctuation, were corrected.
+Final stops missing at the end of sentences and abbreviations were
+added.</p>
+
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LINDSAYS, VOLUME 1 (OF 3) ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>