CHAPTER VI.GILLEASBUIG MÒR.Käthchen was standing at the window, looking out upon the wild and wayward sea, that was all brilliantly dappled with sun and cloud, while Mary was at her dressing-table, preparing to go down to breakfast. It was a blowy and blusterous morning, after the storm; but the welcome sunlight was abroad again; and the heavens shone serene and fair."Never no more," Käthchen was solemnly remarking, as she regarded the wide plain of hurrying waves and the white sea-birds that dipped and sailed and circled in the light, "never no more shall I have a word to say against smuggled brandy. By rights, Mary, you and I ought both to be in a raging fever this morning; and you look as well as ever you did in your life, and I have only a little bit of a headache. Nor against poaching: I have nothing to say against poaching—when it suddenly produces somebody to get you out of a hideous and horrible morass, worse than any quicksand that ever I heard of. Do you know, I hardly dared put my foot to the floor this morning: I was afraid that frightful sensation would come back, as if I were standing on nothing, and just about to sink. Wasn't it terrible? I know I shall dream about it to my dying day." And then she said: "I wonder what took young Ross of Heimra up to that out-of-the-way place? Not poaching; for he had neither rod nor gun.""More likely selling brandy to that old woman," said Mary; and then she added, with a touch of scorn: "A pretty occupation for a Highland gentleman!""Well, Mary," said Käthchen, reflectively. "I confess that story does not sound to me true. I should like to have some proof before believing it. No doubt it is just possible he may have wanted to make up to these poor people for Mr. Purdie having banished the illicit stills; and perhaps he could not afford to get them spirits for nothing; and so he may charge them what he himself has paid. But it is not like what a Highland laird would do, however poor he might be—and in a kind of way he still stands in the position of laird towards these people. No, it does not sound probable; but anyhow I mean to find out—if we are going along to-day to thank the old woman for her kindness of last night. And whether it was poaching, or smuggling, or whatever it was, that took young Mr. Ross up to that hut, it was a very lucky thing for us: we should never have seen the morning if we had been left there.""That is true enough," Mary admitted; but then she went on to say, with some asperity: "At the same time, a favour is twice a favour when it is graciously conferred. He seemed to me a most ill-mannered young man. I doubt whether he would have come near us at all if he had known who we were.""Oh, I don't agree with you—not in the least!" said Käthchen, warmly. "I thought he was most courteous, and—and respectful. Remember, we were entirely strangers to him. And just think of his going all the way to Lochgarra to get the carriage sent for us—and very quickly he must have done it, too."But Mary had not a word in favour of this young man whom she suspected of far worse offences (in her eyes) than killing salmon or bringing smuggled brandy into the district: she suspected him, in truth, of stirring up wrath and ill-will, and setting these people against her."I suppose," she said, rather coldly, "we must thank him, if we should see him.""I, for one, mean to do so, and very heartily," Käthchen said at once. "I think he was most kind and considerate—if—if a little—a little reserved. And not at all the wild savage I had expected—most distinguished-looking, I should call him——""Come away down to breakfast, Käthchen," said Mary, taking her friend by the arm: she would hear no more on that subject.In the hall they encountered the little Highland lass who had been their guide on the previous night; and she, looking up with timid eyes towards this tall and beautiful lady whose smile was so gracious and winning, said—"Am I to be going home now?""Home?" said Mary. "Have you had your breakfast?""Oh, yes, indeed.""Very well, you need not go yet; you may as well wait and come with us in the carriage—for we want to thank your grandmother for her kindness to us. You can amuse yourself in the garden, if you like, until we are ready."She was obediently going away, but Käthchen stopped her."I don't think you ever told us your name.""Just Isabel," said the little maid, in her pretty fashion."Of course you know Mr. Ross?" was the next question."Oh, yes.""What was he doing up at your cottage last night?""Käthchen!" said Mary; but the little girl did not notice the interruption: she answered quite simply,—"He came up to ask about the cow.""What cow?"But here Isabel did begin to look a little frightened; and she glanced anxiously at Miss Stanley."Perhaps the lady will be angry—" she said, with shrinking eyes."Oh, no, she won't be angry," Käthchen interposed at once. "What about the cow? Tell me about the cow.""It was my mother's cow that got into the bog and was drowned—'"The bog we strayed into?" Käthchen exclaimed. "Do you mean to say that cattle have been swallowed up in that place?""Ay, many and many a one," said the little girl."I'll have it fenced round at once," said Mary, in her usual prompt and emphatic way, "no matter what it costs!""And the cow?" said Käthchen, encouragingly, to the little Highland lass. "What did Mr. Ross want to know about the cow?""Mr. Ross," continued Isabel, "he was sending a message that my mother would ask Mr. Purdie and the lady for a cow in place of that one, and the money to be paid back bit by bit as we could do it; yes, and Mr. Purdie was to be asked for the cow; and Mr. Ross he came up last night to see if we were to get the cow. But we were not hearing about it from any one."Mary's face flushed with vexation."Why was I not told about this?" she said, turning indignantly to Käthchen. "What right had Mr. Purdie to decide—and go away without saying a word? I suppose he refused?—and that was to be all of it!"But the little girl, hearing the lady talk in these altered tones, grew frightened; and tears started to her eyes."Please, I was not asking for the cow," she said, piteously; for she knew not what terrible mischief she had done. "I was not intending to make the lady angry——"Mary turned to the girl, and put her hand in a kindly way on the raven-black hair."Don't you be alarmed, Isabel," she said, with a reassuring smile. "You have done no harm; you were quite right to tell me the story. And you need not be afraid; your mother shall have the cow; perhaps even two of them, if the byre is big enough. Now go into the garden and amuse yourself, until you hear the carriage come round."However, it may here be said that in this instance Mr. Purdie was in no wise culpable. It appeared that the widow MacVean had two days before gone over to Cruagan, where she had a married daughter, in order to help in the fields; and her only chance of presenting the petition was by intercepting the factor on his way homeward. Whether she did or did not present the petition was of no immediate consequence: Mary had resolved upon offering up this cow, or perhaps even two cows, as a sort of sacrificial thanksgiving for her deliverance from the Meall-na-Fearn bog.After breakfast they set out, Isabel seated beside the driver. And once again they came in sight of the Minard township, with its poor little crofts on the rocky soil, and the long sweep of white sand where, the tide being out, the people were busy with their sickles cutting the seaweed from the rocks."I wonder," said Mary, meditatively, "if I couldn't revive the kelp-burning?""Oh, no," said Käthchen (who did not quite understand how indefatigable the young proprietress had been in qualifying herself for her new position). "That is all over now. Those were the grand days for the Highlands—for both the landlords and the people; but modern chemistry has spoiled all that.""You don't know, then," said Mary, quietly, "that kelp-burning is carried on in some places at this moment? It is, though. Over in South Uist the crofters get from £2 10s. to £3 a ton for kelp. But perhaps they need all the seaweed they can get here for their crofts, or perhaps it isn't the right kind of tangle: I must find out about that."They drove as far as they could along the road; and they had to descend from the carriage, to make the rest of their way on foot. And strange it was that the moment the two girls left the highway, and found themselves upon the yielding heather, they betrayed an unmistakeable alarm—looking all around them as if they feared to be betrayed into some hidden quagmire. But indeed at this point the land consisted chiefly of rocks and peat and stones; and gradually they got accustomed to following their sure-footed young guide who was going up the hill-side with the lightest of steps. Long before they had climbed to the cottage, they saw the old woman come out to scatter some remains of porridge to the hens: a pleasant-looking old dame she was, with silvery-grey hair and a rennet complexion; moreover (whether she had expected them or not) she was very tidily dressed—a clean white "mutch," a short-skirted blue gown, a white apron, and red stockings. When she saw the strangers, she remained outside; and when they came toiling up she saluted them with a grave and gentle "good moarning!" But beyond returning that salutation, Mary did not enter into further talk just then. Her eyes were drawn with a morbid fascination to the black morass that had so nearly proved fatal to her and her companion. She seemed to feel herself once more standing on that trembling soil, unable to move in any one direction, the darkness coming down. And had the darkness fallen, what would the morning have seen? The morning would have dawned upon that level waste just as it was now—silent, empty, all its secrets sucked down and buried for ever and ever. A hideous and lingering death: the slow torture of the long and sombre hours, before utter exhaustion came, and despair, and a swooning into the unknown. She shivered a little: then she turned to the old grandmother, who was talking to Käthchen with such English as she could muster."Yes," she was saying, "my daughter, she over at Cruagan——""And so perhaps she did not speak to Mr. Purdie about the cow?" Mary interposed. "Very well. That's all right. Little Isabel was telling me about the cow that was lost. Well, I will see that you have one in its place."The old woman could not speak; the withered, weather-wrinkled face wore a pained look, as if she were trying not to cry; and she furtively wiped her hand on her apron and timidly held it out—it was by shaking hands that she could best express her thanks. And here was an extraordinary thing!—here was actual gratitude, the very first symptom of it that Mary Stanley had encountered since she came to the place. But the next moment she was saying to herself bitterly:"Why? Why is this old woman friendly? Because she saw that Mr. Ross of Heimra condescended to be civil to me yesterday evening. If he throws a word to me, then I am to be tolerated! But if I had come here by myself, I might have offered to double the size of her byre, and give her two cows instead of one, and there would have been nothing but sullen looks and silence. Was I not warned the moment I set foot in the place? It's Donald Ross of Heimra who is their laird. I am a stranger, and an enemy."And now it was Kate Glendinning's turn to make a few discreet inquiries: for the allegation that a Highland gentleman would condescend to sale and barter was still rankling in her soul."Well, Mrs. MacVean," said she pleasantly, "that was very excellent brandy you gave us last night, and very welcome, too: I suppose we should have died of the cold and wet if you had not given us the hot drink. But where did you get brandy in an out-of-the-world place like this?"An alarmed expression came into the old woman's face, though she endeavoured to conceal it. She looked away down the hill-side, and said vaguely:"It was—in the house. Oh, ay—in the house.""Yes; but where did you get it?" Kate asked.There was a moment of silence—and distress."The brandy?—Mr. Ross—he ordering me to give it to you.""Oh, yes," said the young lady, in the same off-hand sort of way, "and it was very thoughtful of him—and very kind of you. It seemed to bring us back to life again. I don't know what we should have done without it. I was only wondering where you got such good brandy in this part of the Highlands."The old woman looked anxiously from the one to the other: were they trying to entrap her?—even after their generous promise that she should have the cow."Oh, ay," she said, still clinging desperately to those evasive phrases, "the brandy—it in the house—and—and Mr. Ross, he ordering me to give it—and any one very pleased, whatever he wishes. And the ladies—very, very wet and cold—and a long weh home to Lochgarra—""Come, come, Mrs. MacVean," Käthchen said, "you ought to know that we don't want to make any trouble—is it likely, just after Miss Stanley has promised to give you the cow? I am asking only out of curiosity; and I can keep a secret as well as any one. And of course we are quite aware that it is Mr. Ross who brings the brandy into the neighbourhood—and very properly, too, for good brandy is better than bad whisky, and you must have something in the house in case of sickness. Very well: tell me what he charges you for it.""Charges?" the old woman repeated, with a puzzled air."Yes," said Käthchen, encouragingly. "I only want to know for—for information; and I am not likely to tell any one. What do you pay him for it?"Then the old grandmother understood; and though she did not say much, there was something in her tone that showed how keenly she resented this imputation."Pay—Mr. Ross of Heimra—for the brandy?" said she, as if it was herself who had been insulted; and she was turning angrily away. "You think—the young master—tekkin money from the like of me?""Then he gives you the brandy for nothing?" said Kate,—and this question at once arrested the old dame, who made answer somewhat sulkily—"I not saying that—I not saying that at ahl.""Of course not," said Käthchen, with cheerful good humour. "It is not necessary for you to say anything. But now I understand; and I am glad of it; for I have Highland blood in my veins myself, and I did not like to think of a Highland gentleman taking money for little kindnesses of that sort. And indeed I did not believe it; and I am very pleased indeed that you have made it possible for me to contradict such a ridiculous story."Shortly thereafter—the old grandmother having been won into something of a more conciliatory mood by reiterated expressions of thanks and a circumstantial promise with regard to the cow—the two young women left; and as they descended the hill, Kate Glendinning was most triumphant about this refutation of what she considered a malignant slander. Mary, on the other hand, was inclined to be coldly severe in her judgment wherever young Ross of Heimra was concerned—though neither coldness nor severity formed part of her ordinary temperament."I don't see anything to be proud of, Käthchen," said she. "He is cheating the revenue, for one thing.""Cheating the revenue," said Käthchen, in her matter-of-fact way, "is not likely to trouble a Highlander's conscience much. But I dare say he thinks the Government can get along well enough without taking any more taxation from these poor people; and I have no doubt he says to himself that if he pays for a bottle of good brandy for some poor woman with ague or rheumatism in her old joints, the Government can afford to let her have it without the duty. In a climate like this you must have spirits of some kind; and as I was saying to Mrs. MacVean, good brandy is better than bad whisky filled with fusel oil.""I know perfectly well what his object is," Mary said, proudly and indignantly. "His object is simply to steal away the hearts of the people—and to stir up ill-will between them and whoever happens to be at Lochgarra House. They are all his friends—and my enemies. He can shoot and fish wherever he pleases; he has the run of the whole estate; he is welcome at every fireside; whilst I, when I want to lower the rents, and better the condition of the people in every way, and be their friend—well, I am kept outside at the door, and if I say 'Am I welcome?' there is no answer. For him—everything: for me—nothing. And I think it is hardly fair."She spoke in a proud and hurt way, and her lips trembled for an instant: it was clear that she considered she had not deserved this ill-usage."No, no, no, Mary," her friend protested. "You are unjust, as far as Mr. Ross is concerned anyway. For one thing it is very likely that the poor people about here were accustomed to look to his mother for little comforts when they fell ill; and he may be trying to carry out the same kind of thing, in the only way that would occur to a man." Then a demure smile came into Käthchen's eyes. "But I will be honest with you, Mary. I don't think it is done to spite you at all: although your family have wrought him and his sufficient wrong. But if you were to ask me if it wasn't done with a determination to spite Mr. Purdie—in return for the destruction of the illicit stills—well, you see, people may act from various motives, and I shouldn't be surprised if that had something to do with it. As for stealing the hearts of the people—if you knew the curious loyalty and devotion of the Highlanders towards the old families, you would hardly think it necessary that Mr. Ross should have to make use of any bribe——""But why should they hate me?" Mary exclaimed—and Käthchen had no answer.However, if Miss Stanley had on one or two occasions suspected that the presence of the detested factor might have something to do with the failure of her efforts to cultivate amicable relations with her tenants, here was an opportunity of seeing what she could do by herself; for on their way back they again came to the small township of Minard, where the amphibious population were busy in the crofts and along the shore. She dismissed the carriage; and proceeded to make a few friendly little calls—guarding carefully against any appearance of intrusion, and, indeed, almost humbly begging for something of consideration and good-will. And she was resolved to take no heed of any surly manners or uncivil speech; for she was of a large, bland, magnanimous nature; and she had a considerable fund of patience, and gentleness, and sweetness, to draw upon. Then she had to remember that her uncle had been unpopular, and had no doubt amply earned his unpopularity. Moreover, a factor who stands between a wilful and domineering landlord and a tenantry not in the happiest condition, is most invidiously situated: he is the universal scapegoat, and is bound to be hated as well as feared. But here was she willing to make what atonement was possible; ready to sacrifice her own interests for the general good; and above all things anxious to make friends. With gifts in both hands, ought she not to have been welcome at every door? Then she was pleasant to look upon; her manner was gracious and winning; her eyes were kind. With the small children she could get on well enough: they knew nothing of any deep-slumbering feud.But her charm of manner, her wonder-working smile, her unfailing good-humour, that had made life easy for her elsewhere, seemed to be of no avail here—with the grown-up folk, at all events. Not that they were rude: they were merely obdurate and silent. Of course, when she got this one or that pinned by a direct question, he did not absolutely refuse to reply; but their answers were so contradictory, and their demands in most cases so impossible, that no practical enlightenment was possible. One man wanted more boats from the Government; another said that more boats were of no use unless the Government supplied nets as well; a third said boats and nets were valueless unless they had a steamer calling daily. There was also a demand that the Government should build more harbours; and when Mary said, in reply to this, that she understood the harbours they had got—Lochgarra, that is to say, and Camus Bheag—to be about as excellent as any in the West Highlands, she was answered that the harbours were perhaps good enough—if there was a railway. Then there were some who did not seem to have any occupation at all."Don't you have anything to work at?" she said, to one tall and rather good-looking young fellow, who was standing looking on at the women and girls gathering the sea-tangle."My father has a croft," he made answer, in a listless way."But wouldn't you," she said, in a very gentle and hesitating manner, so as not to seem impertinent, "wouldn't you rather go away and find some work for yourself?""Aw, well, I was at Glasgow, and I was getting twenty shillings a week there.""And you did not stay?""Well, I could not live there," he said, simply enough. "It is no use getting twenty shillings a week if you cannot live in a place; and in a few years I would be dead, if I was living in Glasgow. I am better to be alive here than dead in Glasgow.""Then perhaps you go to the East Coast fishing?" she suggested."No, I am not going there now. I was there one or two years, but it did not pay me.""And don't you do anything?" she asked again."Well, in January I am in the Naval Reserve.""And the rest of the year you don't do anything?""Well, my father has a croft"—and that was about all the information she could extract from him.As a final attempt she said to him, timidly—"If I were to try to get you a boat and nets from the Government, would it be of service to you?""It would need eight of a crew," said he, with an obvious lack of interest, "and I would not be knowing where to find them."However, a great surprise was in store for her: before getting back to Lochgarra on this occasion she actually encountered a human being who received her proffered friendliness and good-will with cheerful and unhesitating gratitude, and responded with a frank comradeship that quite won her heart. It is true the man was drunk; but at first she did not perceive that; and indeed she was ready to make ample allowances in her eager desire to establish pleasant relations with anybody, after the disheartening coldness she had just experienced at Minard. This man whom she and Käthchen overtook on their homeward way was a huge, lumbering, heavy-shouldered giant, with a prodigious brown beard and thick eyebrows, whose deep-set grey eyes (though a little bemused) looked at once intelligent and amiable. On his shoulder he had hoisted a rough wooden box; and as he trudged along he smoked a small black clay pipe."Good-day to you!" said Mary to the giant."Aw, good-deh, good-deh, mem!" said he, with a broad grin of welcome, and he instantly put the pipe in his pocket."That is a heavy box you are carrying," said she; "I wish I were driving, and I would take it along for you.""Aw, it's glad I am I hef something to carry," said he, in a strong Argyllshire accent, "and I wass thinking that mebbe Miss Stanley herself would be for tekkin a lobster or two from me, for the house. Aw, I'll not be charging Miss Stanley mich for them—no, nor anything at ahl, if Miss Stanley would be for tekkin a lobster or two from me——""Oh, these are lobsters?" said she, with the most friendly interest."Ay, chist that," said the giant."And you will be sending them away by the mail-cart?" she asked."Ay, chist that—it's to London I am sending them.""Oh, really," she said. "All the way to London? Well, now, I wonder if you would think me inquisitive or impertinent if I asked you how much you get for them?""How much? Aw, chist two-and-sixpence the dissen," said he, in a good-natured fashion, as if he hardly expected to get anything.But Mary was most indignant."What?" she said. "Two-and-sixpence the dozen? It's monstrous! Why, it's downright robbery! I will write to the London papers. Two-and-sixpence a dozen?—and a single lobster selling in London for eighteenpence or two shillings, and that a small one, too. Isn't it too bad, Käthchen? I will write to the newspapers—I will not allow such robbery.""It is a long weh of communigation," said the big, heavy-shouldered, good-humoured-looking man; "and Mr. Corstorphine he paying ahl the carriage, and sending me the boxes.""I will get you twice as much as that for the lobsters," said Mary, with decision, "if I sell them among my own friends. I will guarantee you twice as much as that, and I will pay the carriage, and get you the boxes. What is your name?""Archie MacNicol, mem," said he; but the whisky had made him talkative, and he went on: "I am from Tarbert on Loch Fyne; I am not from among these people here at ahl. These people, they are not proper fishermen—aw, they are afraid of the sea—they will not go far out—I hef seen the East Coast men coming along here and tekkin the herring from under their very eyes. There is one of the Government boats that they got; and it is not paid for yet; and it is lying half-covered with sand at Achnacross, and no one using it at ahl. Ay, and the curers willing to give elevenpence a piece for ling. Ay, and I wass into Loch Hourn, and I got fifty crans of herring, and I wass curing them myself—"But wait a moment," said Mary, to whom this information seemed a little confused. "If you are not tired, won't you keep on your way to the village, and we will walk with you? You see, I am anxious to get all the information I can about this place; and the people here don't seem to be very communicative—although it is altogether in their own interests that I should like to make inquiries. But they appear to be afraid of me—or there is some quarrely or ill-will, that I don't understand——""A quarrel with Miss Stanley?" said the lobster-fisherman, deprecatingly—for he was in a mellow and generous mood. "No, no—he would be a foolish man that would be saying that!""Very well," said Mary, as they were all three going on to the village, "tell me about your own circumstances. I want to know how I can be of help to the people about here. I have not come to Lochgarra to raise rents, and collect money, and take it away and spend it in London. I want to live here—if the people will let me; but I don't want to live among continuous enmity and ill-will.""Aw, yes, yes, to be sure, to be sure now!" said Archie, in the most amiable way, and Mary was entirely grateful to him for his sympathy—it was so unexpected."Tell me about your own circumstances," she went on. "Is there anything I can do for you and the other lobster-fishermen?""Aw, Cosh!" he cried (but it was the whisky that was responsible: Archie himself meant to be most polite). "Would Miss Stanley be doing this for us, now—would she be writing a letter for us to the Fishery Board?""Oh, certainly," she answered with promptitude, "if that will be of any service to you. What about?"And here Big Archie (Gilleasbuig Mòr, as they called him) in his eagerness to tell his tale, stopped short, and deposited the lobster-box in the road."It's this way now—that there will be many a brokken head before long if something is not done. For they are coming from ahl quarters to the lobster-fishing—stranchers that hef no business here at ahl; and they are building huts; and where there is a hut there will soon be a house; and it does not require the wise man of Mull to tell any one the truth of that. Yes, and they will be saying they hef the right from the Fishery Board; but as I am thinking that is nothing but lies; for how can the Fishery Board give stranchers the right to come here and build huts on the crofts above the shore—ay, and going on, and paying no rent, either to Miss Stanley, or the crofter, or to any one? And Gillie Ciotach and me, ay, and two or three of the young lads, we were saying we would tek sticks and stones, and drive them into the sea—ay, though there might be a bluidy nawse here and there; and others would be saying no, that it was dancherous to do anything against the Fishery Board. And would Miss Stanley be for sending a letter to the Board, to ask if it is lies those people are telling us, and whether they can come and build a hut whenever they like?""Certainly I will," said she. "Only, there is to be no fighting and bloodshed, mind. Of course, the space occupied by a hut is a very trifling matter: I suppose what you really object to is those strangers coming to your lobster-ground?""Ay, chist that!" said Big Archie, eagerly."Very well. It seems to me quite absurd to think that the Fishery Board should have given any one the right to build huts; however, I will inquire; and then, if I get the answer I expect, you must go peaceably and quietly to those people, and tell them they are mistaken, that they have no right from the Fishery Board or from any one else, and that they must leave——""Evictions!" said Käthchen, under her breath: she saw trouble coming."Quite peaceably and quietly, you understand," Mary continued; "there must be no broken heads or anything of that kind; you must tell the people what the Fishery Board says, and then they will see that they are bound to go.""Ay, ay, chist whatever Miss Stanley pleases," said Big Archie; and therewith he shouldered the heavy lobster-box again, and resumed his patient trudge, while he proceeded to give Miss Stanley some further information about those marauding fishermen and their evil ways.But when they were nearing Lochgarra, Mary, who had been rather silent and abstracted for some little time back, said to him,—"I suppose you have a boat, Mr. MacNicol?""Aw, ay, and a fine boat too," said Archie. "And if Miss Stanley herself would be wishing for a sail, I would bring the boat round from Camus Bheag.""That is just what I have been thinking of," Mary said: they were now come in sight of the sea, and she was absently looking out towards the horizon."Ay, chist any time that Miss Stanley pleases, and I will not be charging anything," said the good-natured giant with the friendly (and bemused) eyes. "Aw, naw, there would be no charge at ahl—but chist a gless of whisky when we come ashore.""Oh, I must pay you for your time, of course," said she, briefly. "I suppose you could bring your boat round this evening so that my friend and myself might start pretty early to-morrow morning? We should be ready by ten."Käthchen turned wondering eyes upon her."But where are you going, Mamie?""I am going out to Heimra Island," she said.CHAPTER VII.THE PIRATE'S LAIR.It was a bold undertaking; and Käthchen hardly concealed her dismay; but Mary Stanley was resolute."I must see my enemy face to face," she said. "I want to know what he means. Why should he stir up enmity and malignity against me? If he had any thought for those people who seem to regard him with such devotion, he would be on my side, for I wish to do everything I can for them. He ought to welcome me, instead of trying to drive me out of the place. And if he fishes and shoots over the Lochgarra estate simply to spite me, suppose I refuse to be spited? Suppose I present him with the shooting and fishing, on condition that he allows me to be kind to these people? How would that do, Käthchen? Wouldn't that be a fine revenge? I think that ought to make his face burn, if he has anything of gentle blood left in him!"There was a vibrant chord of indignation in her tone, as there generally was when she spoke of this young man; for she did not think she was being fairly treated. But Käthchen, ignoring the true sources of her dismay, began to urge objections to this proposed visit, on the ground of social observances."I do really think, Mamie, it will look strange for two unmarried girls to go away out and pay such a visit—and—to that lonely island. Now if you would only wait until the Free Church Minister comes home, he might go with us, and then it would be all right. Not that the Free Church Minister is certain of a welcome—if the young man is what he is said to be; but at all events he would be a chaperon for us."But Mary would not hear of waiting; she would challenge her secret antagonist forthwith."Very well, then," said Kate Glendinning, more seriously than was her wont, "if we do go, we must have some excuse; and you must tell him you have come to thank him for having got us out of that frightful bog."Nor did the uninviting look of the next morning cause Miss Stanley to alter her resolve. It was hardly a day for a pleasure sail. The wind, it is true, had abated during the night; and there was not much of a sea on; but the skies were heavy and lowering; and dark and sombre were those long headlands running out into the leaden-hued main. But there was the lobster-boat lying at anchor, in charge of a young lad; and the dinghy was drawn up on the beach; and a message had just come in that Big Archie was waiting below to carry wraps and rugs."Käthchen," said Mary, sitting hastily down to her writing-desk, "I have discovered that the Fishery Board sits at Edinburgh; but I can't find out who are the members. Do you think I should begin 'My Lords and Gentlemen' or only 'Gentlemen'?""I don't know," said Käthchen; "I should think 'Gentlemen' would be safer."So, in happy singleness of purpose, Mary proceeded to write her letter about the alien lobster-fishermen—little thinking to what that innocent action was to lead; then she went and quickly got ready; and by and by the two girls were on their way down to the beach, accompanied by the gigantic and massive-shouldered Gilleasbuig Mòr. Big Archie, if the truth must be told, was moodily silent this morning: the fact being that on the previous evening he had wound up the day's promiscuous indulgence by "drinking sore," as they say in those parts; and now his physical conscience was troubling him. But if his conversation was limited to monosyllables, and if he wore a sad and depressed look, he was, nevertheless, most kind and assiduous in his attentions to the two ladies; and when he had rowed them out in the dinghy, and got them ensconced in the stern of the bigger boat, he did everything he could for their comfort, considering the rudeness of their surroundings. And presently, when the anchor was got up, Big Archie came aft to the tiller; the young lad lay prone on the bit of deck forward, to keep a look-out; and Mary and her companion knew they were now pledged to the enterprise, whatever might come of it.Indeed the two girls were themselves rather inclined to silence. It was a gloomy sort of morning; there was even a threatening of rain brooding over the distant headlands; and the dark sea lapped mournfully around them, with not a single swift-glancing flash of white. But the light breeze was favourable, and they made steady progress, unfamiliar features of the coast-line becoming visible on right hand and on left as they made further and further out to sea.It seemed a long and weary time—given over to dreamings, and doubtings, and somewhat anxious forecasts. But all of a sudden Mary was startled by the voice of the skipper."Will Miss Stanley be for going in to Heimra?"And then for the moment her courage failed her."What do you say, Käthchen? Do you think—we should send a message—before calling——?""Oh, yes, certainly," said Käthchen, with eagerness. "That is certainly what we ought to do.""Oh, very well, then," said Mary, turning to the steersman (but there was a flush of self-conscious shame on her cheeks), "you need not take us to the house—we will merely have a look at the island—and some other day we will come out, when we have told Mr. Ross beforehand.""Very well, mem," said Big Archie, holding on the same course, which was taking them by the south side of the island.It was an angry-looking coast—steep and sheer—a long, low, heavy surge breaking monotonously along the black rocks. But when they got round the westward-trending headland, they gradually came in sight of the sheltered waters of the little bay, and of the sweep of silver beach, and the solitary cottage perched on its small plateau. And of course Käthchen's eyes were full of intensest interest, with something, too, of apprehension; for this (according to Mr. Purdie) was the pirate's den; this was the home of the outlaw whose deeds by night and day, by sea and shore, had gained him so dark a renown. But Mary's attention had been attracted elsewhither. She was regarding a white marble slab, placed high on the top of the cliff, facing the western seas."Look, Käthchen," she said, in rather a low voice. And then she turned to the silent little bay before her. "Poor woman!" she said. "It was a lonely place to live all those years."Presently Mary bethought her of the errand that had brought her so far; and she repented of her irresolution."Can you take us into the bay, Mr. MacNicol?" said she, without staying to consult Käthchen."Aw, yes, mem, zurely.""For it is a long way to have come—and—and I am anxious to see Mr. Ross.""Aw, very well, mem," said Archie, at once altering his course.And then she said, looking all round the bay:"But where is the yacht?""Is it Mr. Ross's yat, mem? It wass lying in Camus Bheag when I wass coming aweh last evening.""And was Mr. Ross on board?" Käthchen asked, with a quick sense of relief."Indeed I am not zure of that," said Archie. "For mebbe he wass sending the men over to the mainland, and himself staying on the island.""In any case, Käthchen, that need not matter to you," Mary interposed. "You can remain where you are, and I will go up to the house by myself. Why should you bother about my business affairs?"This was a view of the case that was not likely to commend itself to Kate Glendinning, who could nerve herself on occasion. When the lobster-boat had come to anchor, and they had gone ashore in the dinghy, she proceeded to walk up to the house along with her friend just as if nothing unusual was happening to her. She kept watch—furtively; but her outward air was one of perfect self-possession. As for Mary, she was too deeply engaged in thinking how her complaints and demands were to be framed to heed anything else at this moment.They knocked at the door, and again knocked; after a little while the old woman Martha appeared—the surprise in her face being obvious testimony to the rarity of visitors to this remote island."Is Mr. Ross at home?" Mary asked.It was a second or so before Martha recovered from her amazement—for she had not seen the lobster-boat appear in the bay, nor yet the strangers come ashore."Oh, no—he is over on the mainland," said the trimly-dressed old woman. "What a peety—what a peety!"Mary was rather taken aback; however, she said:"It is not of much consequence, for, if he is on the mainland—or if he is in the neighbourhood—I daresay I shall be able to see him before he returns to Heimra."And then she was about coming away when Martha interposed, with Highland courtesy."But would not the leddies come in and sit down for a little while—and hef some tea, or a little milk, or something of that kind? Mr. Ross very sorry when he knows—to be sure—and a great peety him not here—""Oh, thank you," said Käthchen (whose face had lightened considerably when she heard of Donald Ross being absent), "it is very kind of you; and I am sure I shall be very glad to have a glass of milk, if you will be so kind."Käthchen wanted no milk; but she suddenly saw before her a chance of having her curiosity satisfied without risk: she would be allowed to see what kind of lair this was in which the savage outlaw lived. And so the unsuspecting Martha led the way; and the two young ladies followed her into the passage, and into the first room leading therefrom, which was a kind of morning-apartment and study combined. They seated themselves, and she left to get them such refreshment as the out-of-the-world cottage could afford.The two girls were silent; but their eyes were busy. The first thing that attracted their notice was a portrait over the mantelpiece—the portrait of a very beautiful woman, pale somewhat and dark, with refined and impressive features, and of a simple yet dignified bearing. A sad face, perhaps; but a face full of character and distinction: the first glance told you this was no common person who looked at you so calmly. Mary said nothing; Käthchen said nothing; but they knew who this was—the likeness was too obvious.And as for the other contents of the room?—well, there were neither guns, nor rods, nor splash-nets, nor anything else connected with fishing or shooting, legal or illegal; but there was an abundance of books in the shelves that lined three walls of the apartment. Moreover, there was one volume lying on the table before them—beside a wooden pipe. They regarded this for some little time; but it was Käthchen who spoke first."Mary, would it be very impertinent if I looked?"Mary Stanley laughed."I don't know," she said. "Most people do pick up things when they are left in a room. But we are in a peculiar position. We are here without the consent of the owner.""Yes, that is so," said Käthchen, resignedly, and she remained still.But she continued looking towards the book in a wistful way."It's only the title I should like to see," she began again. "What harm can there be in that? If Mr. Ross were here himself, I would take up the book in a minute—yes, I would! What do you say, Mary?""Well," said Mary, frankly, "I really should like to know what kind of literature commends itself to any one living in a strange place such as this. But at the same time we are not his guests—we are intruders—or if we are guests, we are the housekeeper's guests, and it is but fair to her we shouldn't pry into secrets."Käthchen had risen and gone across to the table: perhaps it would not be breaking the laws of hospitality if she could get a glimpse of the title of the book without actually laying hands on it? But the back of it was away from the light. In these desperate circumstances, Käthchen yielded to temptation; she hastily snatched up the volume, glanced at the title, and as quickly returned to her seat again."Good gracious!" said she. "That is fine entertainment for a lonely island—Joshua Williams's 'Real Property'!""A law book?" said Mary, with her face becoming suddenly grave. "I hope there is not going to be—any trouble—a lawsuit is such a dreadful thing——""Oh, no; I understand what that means," said Käthchen, "I know quite well. That is one of the books my brother had when he was reading up for the bar—I remember it because I spilt some ink over it, and he made me buy him another. I wonder, now, if Mr. Ross is reading up for the bar? Wouldn't that be a blessed dispensation of Providence for you, Mamie—if he were to go away and shut himself up in the Temple, and leave you Lochgarra entirely in your own hands, shooting, and fishing, and everything? Only," she added, "I don't quite understand how such a wild savage as Mr. Purdie described to us would be likely to get on with the Judges. I am afraid there would be scenes in court. What do they call dismissing a barrister?—not cashiering?—unfrocking?——"Käthchen had suddenly to cease; for here was the elderly Martha, carrying a large tray amply provided with homely and wholesome fare—oatmeal cake, soda scones, marmalade, strawberry jam, fresh butter, and a jug of milk. And Mary did not pause before breaking bread in the house of her enemy; for she saw that the old housekeeper was anxious that her bounties should be appreciated; and besides, oat-cake and marmalade and fresh milk ought to recommend themselves to any healthily-constituted young woman. By and by, when Martha had left the room, Miss Stanley said—"What shall I give her as we are going away, Käthchen? Half-a-sovereign?""Oh, for goodness' sake, Mamie, don't think of such a thing!" Käthchen exclaimed. "At any other time give her anything you like; but you must not pay for food in this house; you cannot imagine how offended she would be. She would take it as an insult offered to her master: she represents Mr. Ross in his absence—it is Mr. Ross who is entertaining us now——""Oh, it is Mr. Ross who is entertaining us?—yes of course," said Mary, thoughtfully; and—perhaps without noticing the coincidence—she put down the piece of oat-cake she held in her hand, nor did she take it up again.And furthermore, as they were going down to the boat—having made due acknowledgments to Martha for her hospitality—Mary walked as one in a dream; while Käthchen, rejoiced to have come through this dreaded ordeal with such unexpected ease, was in the gayest of humours. She did not notice her friend's reverie; she was chattering away about their foolhardiness in entering the savage's lair—about her surprise in finding no skulls and bones lying in corners—about the quiet and studious aspect of the place being a pretty cover for all kinds of dark and lawless deeds. Mary did not reply; once or twice she looked up to the white grave on the hill—she was thinking of other things.But when they had all got into the larger boat again, and set out on their return voyage, Käthchen found a companion more of her own mood. The truth is that while the young ladies were being entertained in the front part of the house, Big Archie had slipped up to the back, had paid his respects to Martha, and had been presented, as is the custom in the west, with his morning dram. This welcome mitigation of hisKatzenjammerhad made a new man of him; and he was now disposed to be as talkative as hitherto he had been morose; so that, as he sate with his arm on the tiller, he was cheerfully telling the young lady all about himself, and his doings, and circumstances. And Käthchen, finding him thus sociable, and friendly, affected much interest, and plied him with appropriate questions."Do you keep a cow, Mr. MacNicol?" said she."Aw, now," said he, deprecatingly, "the young leddy will be mekkin me ashamed. It's chist Archie they'll be calling me.""Very well, Archie—do you keep a cow?""I starve one," said Archie, with ironical humour."And a kitchen garden?""Aw, is it a garden? And you will not know that I wass tekken the prize for the garden, ay, more as three or four years? Well, well, now, there is no longer a prize given for the best garden, and it's a peety, too——""But tell me," said Käthchen, with some astonishment, "why was the prize stopped? It seems a very reasonable thing, a prize for the best kitchen garden among the crofters and fishermen—I'm quite sure Miss Stanley would give such a prize. Why was it stopped?"Big Archie hesitated for a second or two; then he said, with a grin of confession—"Well, now, I will tell you the God's truth, mem; for there's two ways about every story; and there's my way of it, and there's Mr. Purdie's way of it; and mebbe the one is true or the other. And this is my way of it: I wass gettin the prize—oh, yes, I will not deny that—year by year, and very proud I wass, too, of the cabbages, and the scarlet beans, and the like of that, and the thirty shullins of the prize a very good thing for me. And then kem the time the Minard crofters they were for sending an appligation to Mr. Stanley for to have the rents revised, and I put my name to the paper too; but Mr. Stanley he would do nothing at ahl—he said 'Go to Mr. Purdie.' Then Mr. Purdie he sees my name on the paper; and he says, 'Very well, there will be no more prize for the garden, and you can do without your thirty shullins.' It wass a punishment for me, that I wass putting my name on the paper. Now, mem, that is my story about the prize——""I think it was very shabby treatment!" Käthchen exclaimed."And that is the way I see my side of it," continued Big Archie, honestly; "but I am not denying there may be another way. Aw naw, mem, I want to tell you fair; and Mr. Purdie he would hef another version for you, if you were to believe it——""Well, then, what is his version?" said Käthchen—for the time being rather priding herself on playing Mary Stanley's part."Well, I wass speaking to Mr. Pettigrew, the minister, and he wass speaking to Mr. Purdie, about getting the prize back, and Mr. Purdie he says to Mr. Pettigrew 'No, I will not give the prize back; for there was not enough competition, and Archie MacNicol he wass always tekkin the prize, and it wass the same as thirty shullins a year off his rent. The prize,' he wass saying, 'wass to encourache ahl the people to attend to their gardens, and not to give Archie MacNicol thirty shullins a year.' And that's the God's truth, mem, and both ways of the story; but what I will be thinking to myself is that there wass no talk of stopping the prize till Mr. Purdie found my name on the paper. That's what I would be thinking to myself sometimes."Käthchen glanced rather timidly at her friend. But Mary was still in that curiously abstracted reverie—her eyes turned wistfully towards the now receding Eilean Heimra—her thoughts remote. So Käthchen merely said in an undertone—"Very well, Archie, I will put both versions of the story before Miss Stanley, and I have no doubt she will do what is right. For my own part, I don't see why you should be deprived of the prize simply because you keep a smarter garden than the other people."A great event happened this afternoon—nothing less than the arrival from the South of Mr. Watson, the sheep-farmer, Miss Stanley's principal tenant. The two girls had landed from the boat, walked along the shore, and were just about turning off towards Lochgarra House, when they were overtaken by some one riding a stout and serviceable little cob; and Mary instantly guessed who this must be—for persons on horseback are rare at Lochgarra. The stranger lifted his hat, but did not draw rein."Mr. Watson," said she—looking towards him with a plain intimation that she desired to speak with him.Mr. Watson immediately pulled up, dismounted, and came towards her, leading the cob by the bridle. He was a middle-aged man with a fresh complexion, grizzled hair, short whiskers, and shrewd blue eyes—looking prosperous and well-satisfied with himself, and with some little turn for jocosity about his firmly-set lips."I beg your pardon," she said, with a little embarrassment, "but—I wished to speak with you——""Miss Stanley?—I am glad to make your acquaintance," said he, in a marked south-country accent. And he bowed to Miss Stanley's companion."Won't you come into the house for a moment or two?" said Mary, with a vague notion that she ought to be polite to a tenant who paid her £1400 a year: moreover, she had ulterior ends in view. Mr. Watson consented; Mary went and called a gardener, who took charge of the cob; and then the two young ladies and the farmer proceeded up the stone steps, and through the hall, and into the wide hexagonal drawing-room in the tower. Then she asked him to be seated, adding some vague suggestion about a glass of wine and a biscuit after his ride."No, I thank ye," said Mr. Watson. "I am a teetotaller—not an ordinary thing in these parts. Ay, and a vegetarian. But I practise—I don't preach," he explained, with a complacent smile; "so I do no harm to other folk. Both things suit me; but I let other people alone. That's the fair way in the world.""I wanted to ask you, Mr. Watson," said she, with a certain timidity, "whether you would be disposed to give up the pasturage of Meall-na-Cruagan?"In a second the shrewd and humorous blue eyes had become strictly observant and business-like."To give it up?" he said, slowly."I mean," she interposed, "at a valuation. I know it is yours under the lease; we cannot disturb you; nor should I wish to do so, except entirely with your own goodwill.""Miss Stanley," said he, "I will ask ye a plain question: what for do ye want me to give up the Meall-na-Cruagan?""The crofters——""Ay, ay, just that," said he, without much ceremony. "They've been at ye, in the absence of Mr. Purdie. Well, let me tell ye this: I am willing on my part to give up the Meall-na-Cruagan, at a fair valuation; but I warn ye that if ye hand it over to the crofters, they'll be not one penny the better off, and you'll be just so much the worse. Where are they to get the stock to put on it? They've enough grazing for what stock they've got.""Yes, but it is not wholly that," said Mary. "I want to have them satisfied.""Ye'll never see them satisfied, though ye gave them the whole Lochgarra estate for nothing," said this very plain-spoken person. "Surely ye are aware that the agents of the Highland Land League have been here, as they have been in every hole and corner of the Highlands; and while some of them have been making reasonable enough demands, others of them have been showing themselves nothing but irresponsible mischief-makers, firing the brains of these poor creatures with revolutionary nonsense, and trying to turn the whole place into another Ireland. Well, well, it's not my business; it's not for me to speak; but I warn ye, Miss Stanley, that giving up Meall-na-Cruagan will not satisfy them. What many of them want—especially what the more ignorant among them want—is for the landlords to quit the country altogether, and leave them the entire stock, lock, and barrel of the estates—the land and all that belongs to it.""I know," said Mary, quietly, "what the Land League have been doing; but if there had not been widespread discontent and distress they could not have done anything at all. And surely there was reason for the discontent; look at the reductions the Crofters' Commission have made—thirty and forty per cent. in some places. However, I am not concerned with the economic question of the Highlands generally; I am concerned merely with Lochgarra; and I want to do what is fair by the tenants; I want to see them satisfied, and as well-to-do and comfortable as the circumstances will allow. But what has been puzzling me since I came here," she continued—for this seemed a frank and well-wishing kind of man, and she was glad to have any sort of help or advice—"is that when I have spoken about lowering the rent, they have had nothing to say in reply. They seem rather to look to the Government for aid. Yet you would imagine that the lowering of the rent would be the first and all-important thing."Mr. Watson smiled, in a condescending way."I think ye might understand why they would not complain to you about the rent.""Why?" she demanded.He hesitated—and there was an odd look on his face."I do not wish to say anything against friend Purdie," he observed."But I want to know the truth," she insisted. "How am I to do anything at all unless I know the exact and literal truth?""Well, well, let us put it this way," said Mr. Watson, good-naturedly. "There's some that would call Mr. Purdie a hard man; and there's some that would call him an excellent factor, business-like, thoroughgoing, and skilled in his work. It's not a nice position to be in at the best; it's not possible to please everybody. And there's different ways of dealing with people."All this sounded very enigmatic. Mary could not in the least understand what he meant."I wish you to speak plainly, Mr. Watson," said she. "You may be sure it will be in absolute confidence."He considered for a moment. Then he said:"It's of little consequence to me. Friend Purdie and I get on very well, considering; and besides I have my lease. But I'll just give ye an instance of what has happened on this estate, and you'll judge for yourself whether it's likely the tenants would come to you for a reduction of rent, or ask ye to interfere in any way whatever. It was about four years ago that one of the crofts over at Cruagan fell vacant. Very well. Then Mr. Purdie would have it that the pasture of that croft should be taken by the other Cruagan crofters, each one paying his share of the rent; while the arable land of the croft should be added to the Glen Sanna farm, which was also vacant just then. The Cruagan crofters objected to that arrangement; Mr. Purdie insisted; and at last the crofters sent a petition to Mr. Stanley, asking to have the arable land of the croft as well, or else to be let alone. I am not saying anything against your uncle, Miss Stanley.""But I want to get at the truth of the story, Mr. Watson," said Mary, firmly. "That is the main point. What happened?""I may explain that your uncle never interfered with Mr. Purdie," the farmer continued, rather apologetically, "and that's no to be wondered at. Many landlords make it a rule not to interfere with their factor, for of course he's doing the best he can for the estate, and knows about it better than they can know themselves. Then what happened, do ye say? What happened was this—at the very next term every crofter that had signed the petition was served with a notice to quit; and that was only withdrawn when they undertook to pay, each man of them, £3 a year additional rent—that is 15s. for their share of the added pasture, and £2 5s. as a fine for having objected to Mr. Purdie's arrangements. That's just what happened, Miss Stanley."Mary was silent for a second or so—looking towards Käthchen, her eyes full of indignation."Why, it is one of the most abominable pieces of tyranny I ever heard of!" she exclaimed. And then she turned to Mr. Watson. "If people are treated like that, can you wonder if the Land League should find it easy to put revolutionary ideas into their head?""At all events," said Mr. Watson, with a shrewd and cautious smile, "ye will understand that they are not likely to apply to you for any lowering of rent. They know the consequences.""Ah, do they?" said she quickly. "Well, I must show them that they are mistaken. I must convince them they have nothing to fear. They must learn that they can come to me, without dread of Mr. Purdie or anyone else. But," she added, with a bit of a sigh, "I suppose it will take a long time."Alter some little further conversation, of no great moment, but marked by much civility on both sides, the farmer rose."Any time ye're passing Craiglarig, Miss Stanley, I should be proud if ye'd look in.""Indeed I will," said she, going with him to the door. "But I must tell you now how deeply I am indebted to you. And of course what you have said shall be kept in the strictest confidence.""I have told ye the truth," said he, "since ye asked for it. But just mind this, Miss Stanley—good factors are no that common; and friend Purdie understands his business. He drives a hard bargain; but it's on your behalf.""Yes," said she, "and now I am beginning to see why it is the people hate me."That same evening the two girls, who had been out for a long walk, were coming down the Minard road towards Lochgarra. The twilight was deepening; the solemn inland hills were growing slowly and slowly darker, and losing their individual features; the softly lilac skies overhead were waiting for the coming night. Silence had fallen over the woods, where the birches showed their spectral arms in the dusk, and where the russet bracken and withered grey grass were now almost indistinguishable. It was a still and tranquil hour; sleep stealing upon the tired world; a little while, and the far, wide, mysteriously-moving sea would be alone with the stars.But for Mary Stanley there was no sense of soothing quiet, even amidst this all-prevailing repose. On the contrary, her heart was full of turmoil and perplexity; insomuch that at times her courage was like to give way; and she was almost ready to abandon the task she had undertaken, as something beyond her strength. And then again a voice seemed to say to her "Patience—patience—hold on your way—dark as the present hour may be, the day will dawn at last." And in Käthchen she had an excellent counsellor; for Käthchen had an admirable habit of making light of troubles—especially those that did not concern herself; and she was practical, and matter-of-fact, neither over-sanguine nor liable to fits of black despondency. On the present occasion this was what she was saying, in her cool and self-possessed way:"You see, Mamie, I understand the Highland character better than you do. All that sullenness and ill-will doesn't arise merely from high rent and Mr. Purdie's tyranny—though that no doubt has something to do with it. There are sentimental influences at work as well. There is the strong attachment towards the old family—very unreasoning, perhaps, but there it is; and there is resentment against those who have displaced them. Then there may be anger about your uncle having destroyed the ancient landmarks; and injuries of that kind are not easily forgotten or forgiven. But every hour that I am in this place," continued Käthchen, as they were making home through the strangely-silent dusk, "I am more and more convinced that what Mr. Purdie said was perfectly correct—that young Donald Ross of Heimra is just everybody and everything to those people. He is all-powerful with them. Very well. I cannot believe that he has stirred up ill-will against you, or even that he wishes it to continue. He may do everything he can to thwart and madden Mr. Purdie—-why not?—I would do that myself, if I were in his place!—but how can he have any wish to injure you? Then what I say is this: if you really mean to go and see him, put entirely out of your mind what you may have heard about his private character, and his poaching and smuggling, and remember only that his influence over those people could make everything quite pleasant to you. Don't go to him as you did this morning, as an enemy to be challenged and reproached: no, what you have to do is just to lower your pride a little, and tell him that you have come to beg for a favour. In fact, I am convinced that a word from him would entirely change the situation. Mamie, are you going to ask for it?"Mary Stanley did not answer: she walked on in silence.
CHAPTER VI.
GILLEASBUIG MÒR.
Käthchen was standing at the window, looking out upon the wild and wayward sea, that was all brilliantly dappled with sun and cloud, while Mary was at her dressing-table, preparing to go down to breakfast. It was a blowy and blusterous morning, after the storm; but the welcome sunlight was abroad again; and the heavens shone serene and fair.
"Never no more," Käthchen was solemnly remarking, as she regarded the wide plain of hurrying waves and the white sea-birds that dipped and sailed and circled in the light, "never no more shall I have a word to say against smuggled brandy. By rights, Mary, you and I ought both to be in a raging fever this morning; and you look as well as ever you did in your life, and I have only a little bit of a headache. Nor against poaching: I have nothing to say against poaching—when it suddenly produces somebody to get you out of a hideous and horrible morass, worse than any quicksand that ever I heard of. Do you know, I hardly dared put my foot to the floor this morning: I was afraid that frightful sensation would come back, as if I were standing on nothing, and just about to sink. Wasn't it terrible? I know I shall dream about it to my dying day." And then she said: "I wonder what took young Ross of Heimra up to that out-of-the-way place? Not poaching; for he had neither rod nor gun."
"More likely selling brandy to that old woman," said Mary; and then she added, with a touch of scorn: "A pretty occupation for a Highland gentleman!"
"Well, Mary," said Käthchen, reflectively. "I confess that story does not sound to me true. I should like to have some proof before believing it. No doubt it is just possible he may have wanted to make up to these poor people for Mr. Purdie having banished the illicit stills; and perhaps he could not afford to get them spirits for nothing; and so he may charge them what he himself has paid. But it is not like what a Highland laird would do, however poor he might be—and in a kind of way he still stands in the position of laird towards these people. No, it does not sound probable; but anyhow I mean to find out—if we are going along to-day to thank the old woman for her kindness of last night. And whether it was poaching, or smuggling, or whatever it was, that took young Mr. Ross up to that hut, it was a very lucky thing for us: we should never have seen the morning if we had been left there."
"That is true enough," Mary admitted; but then she went on to say, with some asperity: "At the same time, a favour is twice a favour when it is graciously conferred. He seemed to me a most ill-mannered young man. I doubt whether he would have come near us at all if he had known who we were."
"Oh, I don't agree with you—not in the least!" said Käthchen, warmly. "I thought he was most courteous, and—and respectful. Remember, we were entirely strangers to him. And just think of his going all the way to Lochgarra to get the carriage sent for us—and very quickly he must have done it, too."
But Mary had not a word in favour of this young man whom she suspected of far worse offences (in her eyes) than killing salmon or bringing smuggled brandy into the district: she suspected him, in truth, of stirring up wrath and ill-will, and setting these people against her.
"I suppose," she said, rather coldly, "we must thank him, if we should see him."
"I, for one, mean to do so, and very heartily," Käthchen said at once. "I think he was most kind and considerate—if—if a little—a little reserved. And not at all the wild savage I had expected—most distinguished-looking, I should call him——"
"Come away down to breakfast, Käthchen," said Mary, taking her friend by the arm: she would hear no more on that subject.
In the hall they encountered the little Highland lass who had been their guide on the previous night; and she, looking up with timid eyes towards this tall and beautiful lady whose smile was so gracious and winning, said—
"Am I to be going home now?"
"Home?" said Mary. "Have you had your breakfast?"
"Oh, yes, indeed."
"Very well, you need not go yet; you may as well wait and come with us in the carriage—for we want to thank your grandmother for her kindness to us. You can amuse yourself in the garden, if you like, until we are ready."
She was obediently going away, but Käthchen stopped her.
"I don't think you ever told us your name."
"Just Isabel," said the little maid, in her pretty fashion.
"Of course you know Mr. Ross?" was the next question.
"Oh, yes."
"What was he doing up at your cottage last night?"
"Käthchen!" said Mary; but the little girl did not notice the interruption: she answered quite simply,—
"He came up to ask about the cow."
"What cow?"
But here Isabel did begin to look a little frightened; and she glanced anxiously at Miss Stanley.
"Perhaps the lady will be angry—" she said, with shrinking eyes.
"Oh, no, she won't be angry," Käthchen interposed at once. "What about the cow? Tell me about the cow."
"It was my mother's cow that got into the bog and was drowned—'
"The bog we strayed into?" Käthchen exclaimed. "Do you mean to say that cattle have been swallowed up in that place?"
"Ay, many and many a one," said the little girl.
"I'll have it fenced round at once," said Mary, in her usual prompt and emphatic way, "no matter what it costs!"
"And the cow?" said Käthchen, encouragingly, to the little Highland lass. "What did Mr. Ross want to know about the cow?"
"Mr. Ross," continued Isabel, "he was sending a message that my mother would ask Mr. Purdie and the lady for a cow in place of that one, and the money to be paid back bit by bit as we could do it; yes, and Mr. Purdie was to be asked for the cow; and Mr. Ross he came up last night to see if we were to get the cow. But we were not hearing about it from any one."
Mary's face flushed with vexation.
"Why was I not told about this?" she said, turning indignantly to Käthchen. "What right had Mr. Purdie to decide—and go away without saying a word? I suppose he refused?—and that was to be all of it!"
But the little girl, hearing the lady talk in these altered tones, grew frightened; and tears started to her eyes.
"Please, I was not asking for the cow," she said, piteously; for she knew not what terrible mischief she had done. "I was not intending to make the lady angry——"
Mary turned to the girl, and put her hand in a kindly way on the raven-black hair.
"Don't you be alarmed, Isabel," she said, with a reassuring smile. "You have done no harm; you were quite right to tell me the story. And you need not be afraid; your mother shall have the cow; perhaps even two of them, if the byre is big enough. Now go into the garden and amuse yourself, until you hear the carriage come round."
However, it may here be said that in this instance Mr. Purdie was in no wise culpable. It appeared that the widow MacVean had two days before gone over to Cruagan, where she had a married daughter, in order to help in the fields; and her only chance of presenting the petition was by intercepting the factor on his way homeward. Whether she did or did not present the petition was of no immediate consequence: Mary had resolved upon offering up this cow, or perhaps even two cows, as a sort of sacrificial thanksgiving for her deliverance from the Meall-na-Fearn bog.
After breakfast they set out, Isabel seated beside the driver. And once again they came in sight of the Minard township, with its poor little crofts on the rocky soil, and the long sweep of white sand where, the tide being out, the people were busy with their sickles cutting the seaweed from the rocks.
"I wonder," said Mary, meditatively, "if I couldn't revive the kelp-burning?"
"Oh, no," said Käthchen (who did not quite understand how indefatigable the young proprietress had been in qualifying herself for her new position). "That is all over now. Those were the grand days for the Highlands—for both the landlords and the people; but modern chemistry has spoiled all that."
"You don't know, then," said Mary, quietly, "that kelp-burning is carried on in some places at this moment? It is, though. Over in South Uist the crofters get from £2 10s. to £3 a ton for kelp. But perhaps they need all the seaweed they can get here for their crofts, or perhaps it isn't the right kind of tangle: I must find out about that."
They drove as far as they could along the road; and they had to descend from the carriage, to make the rest of their way on foot. And strange it was that the moment the two girls left the highway, and found themselves upon the yielding heather, they betrayed an unmistakeable alarm—looking all around them as if they feared to be betrayed into some hidden quagmire. But indeed at this point the land consisted chiefly of rocks and peat and stones; and gradually they got accustomed to following their sure-footed young guide who was going up the hill-side with the lightest of steps. Long before they had climbed to the cottage, they saw the old woman come out to scatter some remains of porridge to the hens: a pleasant-looking old dame she was, with silvery-grey hair and a rennet complexion; moreover (whether she had expected them or not) she was very tidily dressed—a clean white "mutch," a short-skirted blue gown, a white apron, and red stockings. When she saw the strangers, she remained outside; and when they came toiling up she saluted them with a grave and gentle "good moarning!" But beyond returning that salutation, Mary did not enter into further talk just then. Her eyes were drawn with a morbid fascination to the black morass that had so nearly proved fatal to her and her companion. She seemed to feel herself once more standing on that trembling soil, unable to move in any one direction, the darkness coming down. And had the darkness fallen, what would the morning have seen? The morning would have dawned upon that level waste just as it was now—silent, empty, all its secrets sucked down and buried for ever and ever. A hideous and lingering death: the slow torture of the long and sombre hours, before utter exhaustion came, and despair, and a swooning into the unknown. She shivered a little: then she turned to the old grandmother, who was talking to Käthchen with such English as she could muster.
"Yes," she was saying, "my daughter, she over at Cruagan——"
"And so perhaps she did not speak to Mr. Purdie about the cow?" Mary interposed. "Very well. That's all right. Little Isabel was telling me about the cow that was lost. Well, I will see that you have one in its place."
The old woman could not speak; the withered, weather-wrinkled face wore a pained look, as if she were trying not to cry; and she furtively wiped her hand on her apron and timidly held it out—it was by shaking hands that she could best express her thanks. And here was an extraordinary thing!—here was actual gratitude, the very first symptom of it that Mary Stanley had encountered since she came to the place. But the next moment she was saying to herself bitterly:
"Why? Why is this old woman friendly? Because she saw that Mr. Ross of Heimra condescended to be civil to me yesterday evening. If he throws a word to me, then I am to be tolerated! But if I had come here by myself, I might have offered to double the size of her byre, and give her two cows instead of one, and there would have been nothing but sullen looks and silence. Was I not warned the moment I set foot in the place? It's Donald Ross of Heimra who is their laird. I am a stranger, and an enemy."
And now it was Kate Glendinning's turn to make a few discreet inquiries: for the allegation that a Highland gentleman would condescend to sale and barter was still rankling in her soul.
"Well, Mrs. MacVean," said she pleasantly, "that was very excellent brandy you gave us last night, and very welcome, too: I suppose we should have died of the cold and wet if you had not given us the hot drink. But where did you get brandy in an out-of-the-world place like this?"
An alarmed expression came into the old woman's face, though she endeavoured to conceal it. She looked away down the hill-side, and said vaguely:
"It was—in the house. Oh, ay—in the house."
"Yes; but where did you get it?" Kate asked.
There was a moment of silence—and distress.
"The brandy?—Mr. Ross—he ordering me to give it to you."
"Oh, yes," said the young lady, in the same off-hand sort of way, "and it was very thoughtful of him—and very kind of you. It seemed to bring us back to life again. I don't know what we should have done without it. I was only wondering where you got such good brandy in this part of the Highlands."
The old woman looked anxiously from the one to the other: were they trying to entrap her?—even after their generous promise that she should have the cow.
"Oh, ay," she said, still clinging desperately to those evasive phrases, "the brandy—it in the house—and—and Mr. Ross, he ordering me to give it—and any one very pleased, whatever he wishes. And the ladies—very, very wet and cold—and a long weh home to Lochgarra—"
"Come, come, Mrs. MacVean," Käthchen said, "you ought to know that we don't want to make any trouble—is it likely, just after Miss Stanley has promised to give you the cow? I am asking only out of curiosity; and I can keep a secret as well as any one. And of course we are quite aware that it is Mr. Ross who brings the brandy into the neighbourhood—and very properly, too, for good brandy is better than bad whisky, and you must have something in the house in case of sickness. Very well: tell me what he charges you for it."
"Charges?" the old woman repeated, with a puzzled air.
"Yes," said Käthchen, encouragingly. "I only want to know for—for information; and I am not likely to tell any one. What do you pay him for it?"
Then the old grandmother understood; and though she did not say much, there was something in her tone that showed how keenly she resented this imputation.
"Pay—Mr. Ross of Heimra—for the brandy?" said she, as if it was herself who had been insulted; and she was turning angrily away. "You think—the young master—tekkin money from the like of me?"
"Then he gives you the brandy for nothing?" said Kate,—and this question at once arrested the old dame, who made answer somewhat sulkily—
"I not saying that—I not saying that at ahl."
"Of course not," said Käthchen, with cheerful good humour. "It is not necessary for you to say anything. But now I understand; and I am glad of it; for I have Highland blood in my veins myself, and I did not like to think of a Highland gentleman taking money for little kindnesses of that sort. And indeed I did not believe it; and I am very pleased indeed that you have made it possible for me to contradict such a ridiculous story."
Shortly thereafter—the old grandmother having been won into something of a more conciliatory mood by reiterated expressions of thanks and a circumstantial promise with regard to the cow—the two young women left; and as they descended the hill, Kate Glendinning was most triumphant about this refutation of what she considered a malignant slander. Mary, on the other hand, was inclined to be coldly severe in her judgment wherever young Ross of Heimra was concerned—though neither coldness nor severity formed part of her ordinary temperament.
"I don't see anything to be proud of, Käthchen," said she. "He is cheating the revenue, for one thing."
"Cheating the revenue," said Käthchen, in her matter-of-fact way, "is not likely to trouble a Highlander's conscience much. But I dare say he thinks the Government can get along well enough without taking any more taxation from these poor people; and I have no doubt he says to himself that if he pays for a bottle of good brandy for some poor woman with ague or rheumatism in her old joints, the Government can afford to let her have it without the duty. In a climate like this you must have spirits of some kind; and as I was saying to Mrs. MacVean, good brandy is better than bad whisky filled with fusel oil."
"I know perfectly well what his object is," Mary said, proudly and indignantly. "His object is simply to steal away the hearts of the people—and to stir up ill-will between them and whoever happens to be at Lochgarra House. They are all his friends—and my enemies. He can shoot and fish wherever he pleases; he has the run of the whole estate; he is welcome at every fireside; whilst I, when I want to lower the rents, and better the condition of the people in every way, and be their friend—well, I am kept outside at the door, and if I say 'Am I welcome?' there is no answer. For him—everything: for me—nothing. And I think it is hardly fair."
She spoke in a proud and hurt way, and her lips trembled for an instant: it was clear that she considered she had not deserved this ill-usage.
"No, no, no, Mary," her friend protested. "You are unjust, as far as Mr. Ross is concerned anyway. For one thing it is very likely that the poor people about here were accustomed to look to his mother for little comforts when they fell ill; and he may be trying to carry out the same kind of thing, in the only way that would occur to a man." Then a demure smile came into Käthchen's eyes. "But I will be honest with you, Mary. I don't think it is done to spite you at all: although your family have wrought him and his sufficient wrong. But if you were to ask me if it wasn't done with a determination to spite Mr. Purdie—in return for the destruction of the illicit stills—well, you see, people may act from various motives, and I shouldn't be surprised if that had something to do with it. As for stealing the hearts of the people—if you knew the curious loyalty and devotion of the Highlanders towards the old families, you would hardly think it necessary that Mr. Ross should have to make use of any bribe——"
"But why should they hate me?" Mary exclaimed—and Käthchen had no answer.
However, if Miss Stanley had on one or two occasions suspected that the presence of the detested factor might have something to do with the failure of her efforts to cultivate amicable relations with her tenants, here was an opportunity of seeing what she could do by herself; for on their way back they again came to the small township of Minard, where the amphibious population were busy in the crofts and along the shore. She dismissed the carriage; and proceeded to make a few friendly little calls—guarding carefully against any appearance of intrusion, and, indeed, almost humbly begging for something of consideration and good-will. And she was resolved to take no heed of any surly manners or uncivil speech; for she was of a large, bland, magnanimous nature; and she had a considerable fund of patience, and gentleness, and sweetness, to draw upon. Then she had to remember that her uncle had been unpopular, and had no doubt amply earned his unpopularity. Moreover, a factor who stands between a wilful and domineering landlord and a tenantry not in the happiest condition, is most invidiously situated: he is the universal scapegoat, and is bound to be hated as well as feared. But here was she willing to make what atonement was possible; ready to sacrifice her own interests for the general good; and above all things anxious to make friends. With gifts in both hands, ought she not to have been welcome at every door? Then she was pleasant to look upon; her manner was gracious and winning; her eyes were kind. With the small children she could get on well enough: they knew nothing of any deep-slumbering feud.
But her charm of manner, her wonder-working smile, her unfailing good-humour, that had made life easy for her elsewhere, seemed to be of no avail here—with the grown-up folk, at all events. Not that they were rude: they were merely obdurate and silent. Of course, when she got this one or that pinned by a direct question, he did not absolutely refuse to reply; but their answers were so contradictory, and their demands in most cases so impossible, that no practical enlightenment was possible. One man wanted more boats from the Government; another said that more boats were of no use unless the Government supplied nets as well; a third said boats and nets were valueless unless they had a steamer calling daily. There was also a demand that the Government should build more harbours; and when Mary said, in reply to this, that she understood the harbours they had got—Lochgarra, that is to say, and Camus Bheag—to be about as excellent as any in the West Highlands, she was answered that the harbours were perhaps good enough—if there was a railway. Then there were some who did not seem to have any occupation at all.
"Don't you have anything to work at?" she said, to one tall and rather good-looking young fellow, who was standing looking on at the women and girls gathering the sea-tangle.
"My father has a croft," he made answer, in a listless way.
"But wouldn't you," she said, in a very gentle and hesitating manner, so as not to seem impertinent, "wouldn't you rather go away and find some work for yourself?"
"Aw, well, I was at Glasgow, and I was getting twenty shillings a week there."
"And you did not stay?"
"Well, I could not live there," he said, simply enough. "It is no use getting twenty shillings a week if you cannot live in a place; and in a few years I would be dead, if I was living in Glasgow. I am better to be alive here than dead in Glasgow."
"Then perhaps you go to the East Coast fishing?" she suggested.
"No, I am not going there now. I was there one or two years, but it did not pay me."
"And don't you do anything?" she asked again.
"Well, in January I am in the Naval Reserve."
"And the rest of the year you don't do anything?"
"Well, my father has a croft"—and that was about all the information she could extract from him.
As a final attempt she said to him, timidly—
"If I were to try to get you a boat and nets from the Government, would it be of service to you?"
"It would need eight of a crew," said he, with an obvious lack of interest, "and I would not be knowing where to find them."
However, a great surprise was in store for her: before getting back to Lochgarra on this occasion she actually encountered a human being who received her proffered friendliness and good-will with cheerful and unhesitating gratitude, and responded with a frank comradeship that quite won her heart. It is true the man was drunk; but at first she did not perceive that; and indeed she was ready to make ample allowances in her eager desire to establish pleasant relations with anybody, after the disheartening coldness she had just experienced at Minard. This man whom she and Käthchen overtook on their homeward way was a huge, lumbering, heavy-shouldered giant, with a prodigious brown beard and thick eyebrows, whose deep-set grey eyes (though a little bemused) looked at once intelligent and amiable. On his shoulder he had hoisted a rough wooden box; and as he trudged along he smoked a small black clay pipe.
"Good-day to you!" said Mary to the giant.
"Aw, good-deh, good-deh, mem!" said he, with a broad grin of welcome, and he instantly put the pipe in his pocket.
"That is a heavy box you are carrying," said she; "I wish I were driving, and I would take it along for you."
"Aw, it's glad I am I hef something to carry," said he, in a strong Argyllshire accent, "and I wass thinking that mebbe Miss Stanley herself would be for tekkin a lobster or two from me, for the house. Aw, I'll not be charging Miss Stanley mich for them—no, nor anything at ahl, if Miss Stanley would be for tekkin a lobster or two from me——"
"Oh, these are lobsters?" said she, with the most friendly interest.
"Ay, chist that," said the giant.
"And you will be sending them away by the mail-cart?" she asked.
"Ay, chist that—it's to London I am sending them."
"Oh, really," she said. "All the way to London? Well, now, I wonder if you would think me inquisitive or impertinent if I asked you how much you get for them?"
"How much? Aw, chist two-and-sixpence the dissen," said he, in a good-natured fashion, as if he hardly expected to get anything.
But Mary was most indignant.
"What?" she said. "Two-and-sixpence the dozen? It's monstrous! Why, it's downright robbery! I will write to the London papers. Two-and-sixpence a dozen?—and a single lobster selling in London for eighteenpence or two shillings, and that a small one, too. Isn't it too bad, Käthchen? I will write to the newspapers—I will not allow such robbery."
"It is a long weh of communigation," said the big, heavy-shouldered, good-humoured-looking man; "and Mr. Corstorphine he paying ahl the carriage, and sending me the boxes."
"I will get you twice as much as that for the lobsters," said Mary, with decision, "if I sell them among my own friends. I will guarantee you twice as much as that, and I will pay the carriage, and get you the boxes. What is your name?"
"Archie MacNicol, mem," said he; but the whisky had made him talkative, and he went on: "I am from Tarbert on Loch Fyne; I am not from among these people here at ahl. These people, they are not proper fishermen—aw, they are afraid of the sea—they will not go far out—I hef seen the East Coast men coming along here and tekkin the herring from under their very eyes. There is one of the Government boats that they got; and it is not paid for yet; and it is lying half-covered with sand at Achnacross, and no one using it at ahl. Ay, and the curers willing to give elevenpence a piece for ling. Ay, and I wass into Loch Hourn, and I got fifty crans of herring, and I wass curing them myself—
"But wait a moment," said Mary, to whom this information seemed a little confused. "If you are not tired, won't you keep on your way to the village, and we will walk with you? You see, I am anxious to get all the information I can about this place; and the people here don't seem to be very communicative—although it is altogether in their own interests that I should like to make inquiries. But they appear to be afraid of me—or there is some quarrely or ill-will, that I don't understand——"
"A quarrel with Miss Stanley?" said the lobster-fisherman, deprecatingly—for he was in a mellow and generous mood. "No, no—he would be a foolish man that would be saying that!"
"Very well," said Mary, as they were all three going on to the village, "tell me about your own circumstances. I want to know how I can be of help to the people about here. I have not come to Lochgarra to raise rents, and collect money, and take it away and spend it in London. I want to live here—if the people will let me; but I don't want to live among continuous enmity and ill-will."
"Aw, yes, yes, to be sure, to be sure now!" said Archie, in the most amiable way, and Mary was entirely grateful to him for his sympathy—it was so unexpected.
"Tell me about your own circumstances," she went on. "Is there anything I can do for you and the other lobster-fishermen?"
"Aw, Cosh!" he cried (but it was the whisky that was responsible: Archie himself meant to be most polite). "Would Miss Stanley be doing this for us, now—would she be writing a letter for us to the Fishery Board?"
"Oh, certainly," she answered with promptitude, "if that will be of any service to you. What about?"
And here Big Archie (Gilleasbuig Mòr, as they called him) in his eagerness to tell his tale, stopped short, and deposited the lobster-box in the road.
"It's this way now—that there will be many a brokken head before long if something is not done. For they are coming from ahl quarters to the lobster-fishing—stranchers that hef no business here at ahl; and they are building huts; and where there is a hut there will soon be a house; and it does not require the wise man of Mull to tell any one the truth of that. Yes, and they will be saying they hef the right from the Fishery Board; but as I am thinking that is nothing but lies; for how can the Fishery Board give stranchers the right to come here and build huts on the crofts above the shore—ay, and going on, and paying no rent, either to Miss Stanley, or the crofter, or to any one? And Gillie Ciotach and me, ay, and two or three of the young lads, we were saying we would tek sticks and stones, and drive them into the sea—ay, though there might be a bluidy nawse here and there; and others would be saying no, that it was dancherous to do anything against the Fishery Board. And would Miss Stanley be for sending a letter to the Board, to ask if it is lies those people are telling us, and whether they can come and build a hut whenever they like?"
"Certainly I will," said she. "Only, there is to be no fighting and bloodshed, mind. Of course, the space occupied by a hut is a very trifling matter: I suppose what you really object to is those strangers coming to your lobster-ground?"
"Ay, chist that!" said Big Archie, eagerly.
"Very well. It seems to me quite absurd to think that the Fishery Board should have given any one the right to build huts; however, I will inquire; and then, if I get the answer I expect, you must go peaceably and quietly to those people, and tell them they are mistaken, that they have no right from the Fishery Board or from any one else, and that they must leave——"
"Evictions!" said Käthchen, under her breath: she saw trouble coming.
"Quite peaceably and quietly, you understand," Mary continued; "there must be no broken heads or anything of that kind; you must tell the people what the Fishery Board says, and then they will see that they are bound to go."
"Ay, ay, chist whatever Miss Stanley pleases," said Big Archie; and therewith he shouldered the heavy lobster-box again, and resumed his patient trudge, while he proceeded to give Miss Stanley some further information about those marauding fishermen and their evil ways.
But when they were nearing Lochgarra, Mary, who had been rather silent and abstracted for some little time back, said to him,—
"I suppose you have a boat, Mr. MacNicol?"
"Aw, ay, and a fine boat too," said Archie. "And if Miss Stanley herself would be wishing for a sail, I would bring the boat round from Camus Bheag."
"That is just what I have been thinking of," Mary said: they were now come in sight of the sea, and she was absently looking out towards the horizon.
"Ay, chist any time that Miss Stanley pleases, and I will not be charging anything," said the good-natured giant with the friendly (and bemused) eyes. "Aw, naw, there would be no charge at ahl—but chist a gless of whisky when we come ashore."
"Oh, I must pay you for your time, of course," said she, briefly. "I suppose you could bring your boat round this evening so that my friend and myself might start pretty early to-morrow morning? We should be ready by ten."
Käthchen turned wondering eyes upon her.
"But where are you going, Mamie?"
"I am going out to Heimra Island," she said.
CHAPTER VII.
THE PIRATE'S LAIR.
It was a bold undertaking; and Käthchen hardly concealed her dismay; but Mary Stanley was resolute.
"I must see my enemy face to face," she said. "I want to know what he means. Why should he stir up enmity and malignity against me? If he had any thought for those people who seem to regard him with such devotion, he would be on my side, for I wish to do everything I can for them. He ought to welcome me, instead of trying to drive me out of the place. And if he fishes and shoots over the Lochgarra estate simply to spite me, suppose I refuse to be spited? Suppose I present him with the shooting and fishing, on condition that he allows me to be kind to these people? How would that do, Käthchen? Wouldn't that be a fine revenge? I think that ought to make his face burn, if he has anything of gentle blood left in him!"
There was a vibrant chord of indignation in her tone, as there generally was when she spoke of this young man; for she did not think she was being fairly treated. But Käthchen, ignoring the true sources of her dismay, began to urge objections to this proposed visit, on the ground of social observances.
"I do really think, Mamie, it will look strange for two unmarried girls to go away out and pay such a visit—and—to that lonely island. Now if you would only wait until the Free Church Minister comes home, he might go with us, and then it would be all right. Not that the Free Church Minister is certain of a welcome—if the young man is what he is said to be; but at all events he would be a chaperon for us."
But Mary would not hear of waiting; she would challenge her secret antagonist forthwith.
"Very well, then," said Kate Glendinning, more seriously than was her wont, "if we do go, we must have some excuse; and you must tell him you have come to thank him for having got us out of that frightful bog."
Nor did the uninviting look of the next morning cause Miss Stanley to alter her resolve. It was hardly a day for a pleasure sail. The wind, it is true, had abated during the night; and there was not much of a sea on; but the skies were heavy and lowering; and dark and sombre were those long headlands running out into the leaden-hued main. But there was the lobster-boat lying at anchor, in charge of a young lad; and the dinghy was drawn up on the beach; and a message had just come in that Big Archie was waiting below to carry wraps and rugs.
"Käthchen," said Mary, sitting hastily down to her writing-desk, "I have discovered that the Fishery Board sits at Edinburgh; but I can't find out who are the members. Do you think I should begin 'My Lords and Gentlemen' or only 'Gentlemen'?"
"I don't know," said Käthchen; "I should think 'Gentlemen' would be safer."
So, in happy singleness of purpose, Mary proceeded to write her letter about the alien lobster-fishermen—little thinking to what that innocent action was to lead; then she went and quickly got ready; and by and by the two girls were on their way down to the beach, accompanied by the gigantic and massive-shouldered Gilleasbuig Mòr. Big Archie, if the truth must be told, was moodily silent this morning: the fact being that on the previous evening he had wound up the day's promiscuous indulgence by "drinking sore," as they say in those parts; and now his physical conscience was troubling him. But if his conversation was limited to monosyllables, and if he wore a sad and depressed look, he was, nevertheless, most kind and assiduous in his attentions to the two ladies; and when he had rowed them out in the dinghy, and got them ensconced in the stern of the bigger boat, he did everything he could for their comfort, considering the rudeness of their surroundings. And presently, when the anchor was got up, Big Archie came aft to the tiller; the young lad lay prone on the bit of deck forward, to keep a look-out; and Mary and her companion knew they were now pledged to the enterprise, whatever might come of it.
Indeed the two girls were themselves rather inclined to silence. It was a gloomy sort of morning; there was even a threatening of rain brooding over the distant headlands; and the dark sea lapped mournfully around them, with not a single swift-glancing flash of white. But the light breeze was favourable, and they made steady progress, unfamiliar features of the coast-line becoming visible on right hand and on left as they made further and further out to sea.
It seemed a long and weary time—given over to dreamings, and doubtings, and somewhat anxious forecasts. But all of a sudden Mary was startled by the voice of the skipper.
"Will Miss Stanley be for going in to Heimra?"
And then for the moment her courage failed her.
"What do you say, Käthchen? Do you think—we should send a message—before calling——?"
"Oh, yes, certainly," said Käthchen, with eagerness. "That is certainly what we ought to do."
"Oh, very well, then," said Mary, turning to the steersman (but there was a flush of self-conscious shame on her cheeks), "you need not take us to the house—we will merely have a look at the island—and some other day we will come out, when we have told Mr. Ross beforehand."
"Very well, mem," said Big Archie, holding on the same course, which was taking them by the south side of the island.
It was an angry-looking coast—steep and sheer—a long, low, heavy surge breaking monotonously along the black rocks. But when they got round the westward-trending headland, they gradually came in sight of the sheltered waters of the little bay, and of the sweep of silver beach, and the solitary cottage perched on its small plateau. And of course Käthchen's eyes were full of intensest interest, with something, too, of apprehension; for this (according to Mr. Purdie) was the pirate's den; this was the home of the outlaw whose deeds by night and day, by sea and shore, had gained him so dark a renown. But Mary's attention had been attracted elsewhither. She was regarding a white marble slab, placed high on the top of the cliff, facing the western seas.
"Look, Käthchen," she said, in rather a low voice. And then she turned to the silent little bay before her. "Poor woman!" she said. "It was a lonely place to live all those years."
Presently Mary bethought her of the errand that had brought her so far; and she repented of her irresolution.
"Can you take us into the bay, Mr. MacNicol?" said she, without staying to consult Käthchen.
"Aw, yes, mem, zurely."
"For it is a long way to have come—and—and I am anxious to see Mr. Ross."
"Aw, very well, mem," said Archie, at once altering his course.
And then she said, looking all round the bay:
"But where is the yacht?"
"Is it Mr. Ross's yat, mem? It wass lying in Camus Bheag when I wass coming aweh last evening."
"And was Mr. Ross on board?" Käthchen asked, with a quick sense of relief.
"Indeed I am not zure of that," said Archie. "For mebbe he wass sending the men over to the mainland, and himself staying on the island."
"In any case, Käthchen, that need not matter to you," Mary interposed. "You can remain where you are, and I will go up to the house by myself. Why should you bother about my business affairs?"
This was a view of the case that was not likely to commend itself to Kate Glendinning, who could nerve herself on occasion. When the lobster-boat had come to anchor, and they had gone ashore in the dinghy, she proceeded to walk up to the house along with her friend just as if nothing unusual was happening to her. She kept watch—furtively; but her outward air was one of perfect self-possession. As for Mary, she was too deeply engaged in thinking how her complaints and demands were to be framed to heed anything else at this moment.
They knocked at the door, and again knocked; after a little while the old woman Martha appeared—the surprise in her face being obvious testimony to the rarity of visitors to this remote island.
"Is Mr. Ross at home?" Mary asked.
It was a second or so before Martha recovered from her amazement—for she had not seen the lobster-boat appear in the bay, nor yet the strangers come ashore.
"Oh, no—he is over on the mainland," said the trimly-dressed old woman. "What a peety—what a peety!"
Mary was rather taken aback; however, she said:
"It is not of much consequence, for, if he is on the mainland—or if he is in the neighbourhood—I daresay I shall be able to see him before he returns to Heimra."
And then she was about coming away when Martha interposed, with Highland courtesy.
"But would not the leddies come in and sit down for a little while—and hef some tea, or a little milk, or something of that kind? Mr. Ross very sorry when he knows—to be sure—and a great peety him not here—"
"Oh, thank you," said Käthchen (whose face had lightened considerably when she heard of Donald Ross being absent), "it is very kind of you; and I am sure I shall be very glad to have a glass of milk, if you will be so kind."
Käthchen wanted no milk; but she suddenly saw before her a chance of having her curiosity satisfied without risk: she would be allowed to see what kind of lair this was in which the savage outlaw lived. And so the unsuspecting Martha led the way; and the two young ladies followed her into the passage, and into the first room leading therefrom, which was a kind of morning-apartment and study combined. They seated themselves, and she left to get them such refreshment as the out-of-the-world cottage could afford.
The two girls were silent; but their eyes were busy. The first thing that attracted their notice was a portrait over the mantelpiece—the portrait of a very beautiful woman, pale somewhat and dark, with refined and impressive features, and of a simple yet dignified bearing. A sad face, perhaps; but a face full of character and distinction: the first glance told you this was no common person who looked at you so calmly. Mary said nothing; Käthchen said nothing; but they knew who this was—the likeness was too obvious.
And as for the other contents of the room?—well, there were neither guns, nor rods, nor splash-nets, nor anything else connected with fishing or shooting, legal or illegal; but there was an abundance of books in the shelves that lined three walls of the apartment. Moreover, there was one volume lying on the table before them—beside a wooden pipe. They regarded this for some little time; but it was Käthchen who spoke first.
"Mary, would it be very impertinent if I looked?"
Mary Stanley laughed.
"I don't know," she said. "Most people do pick up things when they are left in a room. But we are in a peculiar position. We are here without the consent of the owner."
"Yes, that is so," said Käthchen, resignedly, and she remained still.
But she continued looking towards the book in a wistful way.
"It's only the title I should like to see," she began again. "What harm can there be in that? If Mr. Ross were here himself, I would take up the book in a minute—yes, I would! What do you say, Mary?"
"Well," said Mary, frankly, "I really should like to know what kind of literature commends itself to any one living in a strange place such as this. But at the same time we are not his guests—we are intruders—or if we are guests, we are the housekeeper's guests, and it is but fair to her we shouldn't pry into secrets."
Käthchen had risen and gone across to the table: perhaps it would not be breaking the laws of hospitality if she could get a glimpse of the title of the book without actually laying hands on it? But the back of it was away from the light. In these desperate circumstances, Käthchen yielded to temptation; she hastily snatched up the volume, glanced at the title, and as quickly returned to her seat again.
"Good gracious!" said she. "That is fine entertainment for a lonely island—Joshua Williams's 'Real Property'!"
"A law book?" said Mary, with her face becoming suddenly grave. "I hope there is not going to be—any trouble—a lawsuit is such a dreadful thing——"
"Oh, no; I understand what that means," said Käthchen, "I know quite well. That is one of the books my brother had when he was reading up for the bar—I remember it because I spilt some ink over it, and he made me buy him another. I wonder, now, if Mr. Ross is reading up for the bar? Wouldn't that be a blessed dispensation of Providence for you, Mamie—if he were to go away and shut himself up in the Temple, and leave you Lochgarra entirely in your own hands, shooting, and fishing, and everything? Only," she added, "I don't quite understand how such a wild savage as Mr. Purdie described to us would be likely to get on with the Judges. I am afraid there would be scenes in court. What do they call dismissing a barrister?—not cashiering?—unfrocking?——"
Käthchen had suddenly to cease; for here was the elderly Martha, carrying a large tray amply provided with homely and wholesome fare—oatmeal cake, soda scones, marmalade, strawberry jam, fresh butter, and a jug of milk. And Mary did not pause before breaking bread in the house of her enemy; for she saw that the old housekeeper was anxious that her bounties should be appreciated; and besides, oat-cake and marmalade and fresh milk ought to recommend themselves to any healthily-constituted young woman. By and by, when Martha had left the room, Miss Stanley said—
"What shall I give her as we are going away, Käthchen? Half-a-sovereign?"
"Oh, for goodness' sake, Mamie, don't think of such a thing!" Käthchen exclaimed. "At any other time give her anything you like; but you must not pay for food in this house; you cannot imagine how offended she would be. She would take it as an insult offered to her master: she represents Mr. Ross in his absence—it is Mr. Ross who is entertaining us now——"
"Oh, it is Mr. Ross who is entertaining us?—yes of course," said Mary, thoughtfully; and—perhaps without noticing the coincidence—she put down the piece of oat-cake she held in her hand, nor did she take it up again.
And furthermore, as they were going down to the boat—having made due acknowledgments to Martha for her hospitality—Mary walked as one in a dream; while Käthchen, rejoiced to have come through this dreaded ordeal with such unexpected ease, was in the gayest of humours. She did not notice her friend's reverie; she was chattering away about their foolhardiness in entering the savage's lair—about her surprise in finding no skulls and bones lying in corners—about the quiet and studious aspect of the place being a pretty cover for all kinds of dark and lawless deeds. Mary did not reply; once or twice she looked up to the white grave on the hill—she was thinking of other things.
But when they had all got into the larger boat again, and set out on their return voyage, Käthchen found a companion more of her own mood. The truth is that while the young ladies were being entertained in the front part of the house, Big Archie had slipped up to the back, had paid his respects to Martha, and had been presented, as is the custom in the west, with his morning dram. This welcome mitigation of hisKatzenjammerhad made a new man of him; and he was now disposed to be as talkative as hitherto he had been morose; so that, as he sate with his arm on the tiller, he was cheerfully telling the young lady all about himself, and his doings, and circumstances. And Käthchen, finding him thus sociable, and friendly, affected much interest, and plied him with appropriate questions.
"Do you keep a cow, Mr. MacNicol?" said she.
"Aw, now," said he, deprecatingly, "the young leddy will be mekkin me ashamed. It's chist Archie they'll be calling me."
"Very well, Archie—do you keep a cow?"
"I starve one," said Archie, with ironical humour.
"And a kitchen garden?"
"Aw, is it a garden? And you will not know that I wass tekken the prize for the garden, ay, more as three or four years? Well, well, now, there is no longer a prize given for the best garden, and it's a peety, too——"
"But tell me," said Käthchen, with some astonishment, "why was the prize stopped? It seems a very reasonable thing, a prize for the best kitchen garden among the crofters and fishermen—I'm quite sure Miss Stanley would give such a prize. Why was it stopped?"
Big Archie hesitated for a second or two; then he said, with a grin of confession—
"Well, now, I will tell you the God's truth, mem; for there's two ways about every story; and there's my way of it, and there's Mr. Purdie's way of it; and mebbe the one is true or the other. And this is my way of it: I wass gettin the prize—oh, yes, I will not deny that—year by year, and very proud I wass, too, of the cabbages, and the scarlet beans, and the like of that, and the thirty shullins of the prize a very good thing for me. And then kem the time the Minard crofters they were for sending an appligation to Mr. Stanley for to have the rents revised, and I put my name to the paper too; but Mr. Stanley he would do nothing at ahl—he said 'Go to Mr. Purdie.' Then Mr. Purdie he sees my name on the paper; and he says, 'Very well, there will be no more prize for the garden, and you can do without your thirty shullins.' It wass a punishment for me, that I wass putting my name on the paper. Now, mem, that is my story about the prize——"
"I think it was very shabby treatment!" Käthchen exclaimed.
"And that is the way I see my side of it," continued Big Archie, honestly; "but I am not denying there may be another way. Aw naw, mem, I want to tell you fair; and Mr. Purdie he would hef another version for you, if you were to believe it——"
"Well, then, what is his version?" said Käthchen—for the time being rather priding herself on playing Mary Stanley's part.
"Well, I wass speaking to Mr. Pettigrew, the minister, and he wass speaking to Mr. Purdie, about getting the prize back, and Mr. Purdie he says to Mr. Pettigrew 'No, I will not give the prize back; for there was not enough competition, and Archie MacNicol he wass always tekkin the prize, and it wass the same as thirty shullins a year off his rent. The prize,' he wass saying, 'wass to encourache ahl the people to attend to their gardens, and not to give Archie MacNicol thirty shullins a year.' And that's the God's truth, mem, and both ways of the story; but what I will be thinking to myself is that there wass no talk of stopping the prize till Mr. Purdie found my name on the paper. That's what I would be thinking to myself sometimes."
Käthchen glanced rather timidly at her friend. But Mary was still in that curiously abstracted reverie—her eyes turned wistfully towards the now receding Eilean Heimra—her thoughts remote. So Käthchen merely said in an undertone—
"Very well, Archie, I will put both versions of the story before Miss Stanley, and I have no doubt she will do what is right. For my own part, I don't see why you should be deprived of the prize simply because you keep a smarter garden than the other people."
A great event happened this afternoon—nothing less than the arrival from the South of Mr. Watson, the sheep-farmer, Miss Stanley's principal tenant. The two girls had landed from the boat, walked along the shore, and were just about turning off towards Lochgarra House, when they were overtaken by some one riding a stout and serviceable little cob; and Mary instantly guessed who this must be—for persons on horseback are rare at Lochgarra. The stranger lifted his hat, but did not draw rein.
"Mr. Watson," said she—looking towards him with a plain intimation that she desired to speak with him.
Mr. Watson immediately pulled up, dismounted, and came towards her, leading the cob by the bridle. He was a middle-aged man with a fresh complexion, grizzled hair, short whiskers, and shrewd blue eyes—looking prosperous and well-satisfied with himself, and with some little turn for jocosity about his firmly-set lips.
"I beg your pardon," she said, with a little embarrassment, "but—I wished to speak with you——"
"Miss Stanley?—I am glad to make your acquaintance," said he, in a marked south-country accent. And he bowed to Miss Stanley's companion.
"Won't you come into the house for a moment or two?" said Mary, with a vague notion that she ought to be polite to a tenant who paid her £1400 a year: moreover, she had ulterior ends in view. Mr. Watson consented; Mary went and called a gardener, who took charge of the cob; and then the two young ladies and the farmer proceeded up the stone steps, and through the hall, and into the wide hexagonal drawing-room in the tower. Then she asked him to be seated, adding some vague suggestion about a glass of wine and a biscuit after his ride.
"No, I thank ye," said Mr. Watson. "I am a teetotaller—not an ordinary thing in these parts. Ay, and a vegetarian. But I practise—I don't preach," he explained, with a complacent smile; "so I do no harm to other folk. Both things suit me; but I let other people alone. That's the fair way in the world."
"I wanted to ask you, Mr. Watson," said she, with a certain timidity, "whether you would be disposed to give up the pasturage of Meall-na-Cruagan?"
In a second the shrewd and humorous blue eyes had become strictly observant and business-like.
"To give it up?" he said, slowly.
"I mean," she interposed, "at a valuation. I know it is yours under the lease; we cannot disturb you; nor should I wish to do so, except entirely with your own goodwill."
"Miss Stanley," said he, "I will ask ye a plain question: what for do ye want me to give up the Meall-na-Cruagan?"
"The crofters——"
"Ay, ay, just that," said he, without much ceremony. "They've been at ye, in the absence of Mr. Purdie. Well, let me tell ye this: I am willing on my part to give up the Meall-na-Cruagan, at a fair valuation; but I warn ye that if ye hand it over to the crofters, they'll be not one penny the better off, and you'll be just so much the worse. Where are they to get the stock to put on it? They've enough grazing for what stock they've got."
"Yes, but it is not wholly that," said Mary. "I want to have them satisfied."
"Ye'll never see them satisfied, though ye gave them the whole Lochgarra estate for nothing," said this very plain-spoken person. "Surely ye are aware that the agents of the Highland Land League have been here, as they have been in every hole and corner of the Highlands; and while some of them have been making reasonable enough demands, others of them have been showing themselves nothing but irresponsible mischief-makers, firing the brains of these poor creatures with revolutionary nonsense, and trying to turn the whole place into another Ireland. Well, well, it's not my business; it's not for me to speak; but I warn ye, Miss Stanley, that giving up Meall-na-Cruagan will not satisfy them. What many of them want—especially what the more ignorant among them want—is for the landlords to quit the country altogether, and leave them the entire stock, lock, and barrel of the estates—the land and all that belongs to it."
"I know," said Mary, quietly, "what the Land League have been doing; but if there had not been widespread discontent and distress they could not have done anything at all. And surely there was reason for the discontent; look at the reductions the Crofters' Commission have made—thirty and forty per cent. in some places. However, I am not concerned with the economic question of the Highlands generally; I am concerned merely with Lochgarra; and I want to do what is fair by the tenants; I want to see them satisfied, and as well-to-do and comfortable as the circumstances will allow. But what has been puzzling me since I came here," she continued—for this seemed a frank and well-wishing kind of man, and she was glad to have any sort of help or advice—"is that when I have spoken about lowering the rent, they have had nothing to say in reply. They seem rather to look to the Government for aid. Yet you would imagine that the lowering of the rent would be the first and all-important thing."
Mr. Watson smiled, in a condescending way.
"I think ye might understand why they would not complain to you about the rent."
"Why?" she demanded.
He hesitated—and there was an odd look on his face.
"I do not wish to say anything against friend Purdie," he observed.
"But I want to know the truth," she insisted. "How am I to do anything at all unless I know the exact and literal truth?"
"Well, well, let us put it this way," said Mr. Watson, good-naturedly. "There's some that would call Mr. Purdie a hard man; and there's some that would call him an excellent factor, business-like, thoroughgoing, and skilled in his work. It's not a nice position to be in at the best; it's not possible to please everybody. And there's different ways of dealing with people."
All this sounded very enigmatic. Mary could not in the least understand what he meant.
"I wish you to speak plainly, Mr. Watson," said she. "You may be sure it will be in absolute confidence."
He considered for a moment. Then he said:
"It's of little consequence to me. Friend Purdie and I get on very well, considering; and besides I have my lease. But I'll just give ye an instance of what has happened on this estate, and you'll judge for yourself whether it's likely the tenants would come to you for a reduction of rent, or ask ye to interfere in any way whatever. It was about four years ago that one of the crofts over at Cruagan fell vacant. Very well. Then Mr. Purdie would have it that the pasture of that croft should be taken by the other Cruagan crofters, each one paying his share of the rent; while the arable land of the croft should be added to the Glen Sanna farm, which was also vacant just then. The Cruagan crofters objected to that arrangement; Mr. Purdie insisted; and at last the crofters sent a petition to Mr. Stanley, asking to have the arable land of the croft as well, or else to be let alone. I am not saying anything against your uncle, Miss Stanley."
"But I want to get at the truth of the story, Mr. Watson," said Mary, firmly. "That is the main point. What happened?"
"I may explain that your uncle never interfered with Mr. Purdie," the farmer continued, rather apologetically, "and that's no to be wondered at. Many landlords make it a rule not to interfere with their factor, for of course he's doing the best he can for the estate, and knows about it better than they can know themselves. Then what happened, do ye say? What happened was this—at the very next term every crofter that had signed the petition was served with a notice to quit; and that was only withdrawn when they undertook to pay, each man of them, £3 a year additional rent—that is 15s. for their share of the added pasture, and £2 5s. as a fine for having objected to Mr. Purdie's arrangements. That's just what happened, Miss Stanley."
Mary was silent for a second or so—looking towards Käthchen, her eyes full of indignation.
"Why, it is one of the most abominable pieces of tyranny I ever heard of!" she exclaimed. And then she turned to Mr. Watson. "If people are treated like that, can you wonder if the Land League should find it easy to put revolutionary ideas into their head?"
"At all events," said Mr. Watson, with a shrewd and cautious smile, "ye will understand that they are not likely to apply to you for any lowering of rent. They know the consequences."
"Ah, do they?" said she quickly. "Well, I must show them that they are mistaken. I must convince them they have nothing to fear. They must learn that they can come to me, without dread of Mr. Purdie or anyone else. But," she added, with a bit of a sigh, "I suppose it will take a long time."
Alter some little further conversation, of no great moment, but marked by much civility on both sides, the farmer rose.
"Any time ye're passing Craiglarig, Miss Stanley, I should be proud if ye'd look in."
"Indeed I will," said she, going with him to the door. "But I must tell you now how deeply I am indebted to you. And of course what you have said shall be kept in the strictest confidence."
"I have told ye the truth," said he, "since ye asked for it. But just mind this, Miss Stanley—good factors are no that common; and friend Purdie understands his business. He drives a hard bargain; but it's on your behalf."
"Yes," said she, "and now I am beginning to see why it is the people hate me."
That same evening the two girls, who had been out for a long walk, were coming down the Minard road towards Lochgarra. The twilight was deepening; the solemn inland hills were growing slowly and slowly darker, and losing their individual features; the softly lilac skies overhead were waiting for the coming night. Silence had fallen over the woods, where the birches showed their spectral arms in the dusk, and where the russet bracken and withered grey grass were now almost indistinguishable. It was a still and tranquil hour; sleep stealing upon the tired world; a little while, and the far, wide, mysteriously-moving sea would be alone with the stars.
But for Mary Stanley there was no sense of soothing quiet, even amidst this all-prevailing repose. On the contrary, her heart was full of turmoil and perplexity; insomuch that at times her courage was like to give way; and she was almost ready to abandon the task she had undertaken, as something beyond her strength. And then again a voice seemed to say to her "Patience—patience—hold on your way—dark as the present hour may be, the day will dawn at last." And in Käthchen she had an excellent counsellor; for Käthchen had an admirable habit of making light of troubles—especially those that did not concern herself; and she was practical, and matter-of-fact, neither over-sanguine nor liable to fits of black despondency. On the present occasion this was what she was saying, in her cool and self-possessed way:
"You see, Mamie, I understand the Highland character better than you do. All that sullenness and ill-will doesn't arise merely from high rent and Mr. Purdie's tyranny—though that no doubt has something to do with it. There are sentimental influences at work as well. There is the strong attachment towards the old family—very unreasoning, perhaps, but there it is; and there is resentment against those who have displaced them. Then there may be anger about your uncle having destroyed the ancient landmarks; and injuries of that kind are not easily forgotten or forgiven. But every hour that I am in this place," continued Käthchen, as they were making home through the strangely-silent dusk, "I am more and more convinced that what Mr. Purdie said was perfectly correct—that young Donald Ross of Heimra is just everybody and everything to those people. He is all-powerful with them. Very well. I cannot believe that he has stirred up ill-will against you, or even that he wishes it to continue. He may do everything he can to thwart and madden Mr. Purdie—-why not?—I would do that myself, if I were in his place!—but how can he have any wish to injure you? Then what I say is this: if you really mean to go and see him, put entirely out of your mind what you may have heard about his private character, and his poaching and smuggling, and remember only that his influence over those people could make everything quite pleasant to you. Don't go to him as you did this morning, as an enemy to be challenged and reproached: no, what you have to do is just to lower your pride a little, and tell him that you have come to beg for a favour. In fact, I am convinced that a word from him would entirely change the situation. Mamie, are you going to ask for it?"
Mary Stanley did not answer: she walked on in silence.