CHAPTER III.A CROFTERS' COMMISSION.One morning Mary Stanley and her companion had been away on some distant errand, and when on their return they came to the summit of the hill overlooking the bay, Mary paused for a moment to take in the prospect—the wide, grey, wind-swept plain of the sea, the long headlands, and the lonely Heimra Island out in the west. But Käthchen did not cease her discourse—in which she was endeavouring to account for the comparative failure, so far, of her friend's fine philanthropic schemes."The truth is, Mamie," said she, "what has disappointed you here has been the prevalence of hard facts—very hard facts—facts as hard as the rocks on which the poor people try to live. You wanted to play the part of Lady Bountiful; and you yourself are just full of enthusiasm, and generous emotion, and ideals of duty and self-sacrifice, and—and—romanticism generally, if I may say so. And for all these qualities you find no exercise, no outlet. I can imagine you in very different circumstances—in London, perhaps, or in some English village: I can imagine your going into a squalid room where there is a poor widow by the bedside of her dying boy; and the Lady Bountiful brings little comforts for the sick child, and words of kindness and consolation for the mother; and the poor woman looks on you as an angel, and would kiss the hem of your gown; and it's all very pretty and touching. But, you see," continued the practical Käthchen, "how you are baffled and thwarted in this obdurate place; for there isn't a single case of illness in the whole district—not one—which is no doubt owing to the valuable antiseptic properties of peat-smoke!""Oh, well," said Mary, cheerfully, as they went on again. "I can put up with being disappointed on that score—and the longer the better. But, Käthchen, when you said there was nothing but hard facts about here—no pretty sentiment and sympathy—you weren't keeping your eyes open. Look down there at the bridge; what is that if not pretty sentiment?—two lovers talking—why, it is quite a charming picture!—and isn't there some rustic custom of pledging troth over a running stream?"Her face suddenly grew grave; and Käthchen, also regarding those two figures, was struck by the same surmise."It is Mr. Ross, Mamie!" she exclaimed, in an undertone—though they were still a long way off.Mary said nothing. She walked on calmly and indifferently, sometimes looking up to the hills, sometimes looking out to Heimra Island and the sea. It was Käthchen, keeping her eyes covertly on those two figures by the bridge, who observed that the girl suddenly separated herself from her companion, and disappeared into the woods by the side of the Garra. As for Donald Ross, he made no sign of going away: on the contrary, he remained idling by the rude stone parapet, occasionally looking into the water underneath. And he must have known that he was intercepting the two ladies from Lochgarra House—there was no escape for them.Mary maintained a perfect self-possession; and when they came up to him she was for passing with a little bow of recognition; but he spoke."I have a small petition to put before you," said he, with a smile (Käthchen thought that, though he looked extremely handsome, this pleasant and familiar smile was in the circumstances something of an impertinence)."Indeed," said Mary—and she waited."From a very humble petitioner," he continued (and Käthchen began to consider him a most unabashed young man—so easily and lightly he spoke), "one who has no English, and she has asked me to interfere and tell you all about her case. She was talking to me just now; but when she caught sight of you she fled off into the woods, like a hare.""Why?" said Mary, coldly."Because she is afraid of you," said he. "She thinks you are a friend of theTroich Bheag Dhearg—the Little Red Dwarf—as they call Mr. Purdie about here. And that is quite enough to frighten Anna——""Anna?" said Mary. "Do you mean Anna Chlannach—the half-witted girl?"—and as she guessed the simple and harmless truth an indescribable confusion appeared on her forehead and in the self-consciousness of her eyes."Yes," said he, apparently not noticing. "Anna says that you spoke to her once; but she has no English, and could not tell you anything; and she saw Purdie with you, and ran away. So much I made out, though she talks rather wildly, and mysteriously as well.""Oh, but Mr. Ross," said Mary, with some eagerness, "I wish you would tell Anna Chlannach that she has no reason to be afraid of me—surely not! Why, she was the first creature in the place who seemed a little friendly. Will you tell her I will do everything for her I can; and that she must come and see me; and there will be no fear of her meeting Mr. Purdie; and Barbara can be the interpreter between us? Will you tell her that? Could you find her now?""There's no one in this neighbourhood who could find Anna Chlannach if she wants to be hidden," he said, with a bit of a laugh that showed beautiful teeth—as Käthchen remarked. "But I shall come across her some other time, and of course, if you grant her petition, she must go to you and thank you.""What is her petition?" said Mary, who had recovered from her momentary confusion, and was now prepared to be entirely bland and magnanimous—which, indeed, was her natural mood."Well," said he, "Purdie—Mr. Purdie—has been threatening to have her shut up in some asylum for imbeciles—so they say—-and Anna is in a great state about the possibility of her being taken away from among the people she knows. I don't think it is true, myself; indeed I doubt whether he could do anything of the kind, without the consent of her relatives, and she has got none now; but I am not quite sure what the law is; anyhow, what I imagine to be the case is simply that Mr. Purdie has been making use of these threats to spite the people with whom Anna Chlannach is a favourite. For she is a general favourite—there is no harm in the girl——""Why, so Barbara said!" Mary exclaimed."It is quite true that she is rather useless about the place," Donald Ross went on. "Sometimes they have tried her with a bit of herding; but then, if she saw a boat out at sea, she would imagine her mother was coming back, and she would go away down to the shore to meet her, and spend her time in gathering white shells, that she thinks is money, to give to her mother. Well, you see, that is awkward. You couldn't leave sheep or cows under Anna's care without asking somebody to keep an eye on Anna herself. The truth is, she is useless. But there's no harm in the lass; and the people are fond of her; there's always a bit of food, or a corner for her to sleep in; so that she's not a cost to anyone except to those that are willing to pay it—a mere trifle—and in any case it does not come out of Mr. Purdie's pocket——""She shall not be shut up in any asylum, if I have any say in the matter!" Mary interposed, with a touch of indignation."I asked her to stay and appeal to yourself," he continued. "But she was frightened of you——""Yes," said Mary, "everyone is frightened of me—or set against me—in this place!""There is another thing I should mention," he proceeded—ignoring this taunt, if it was meant as a taunt; "the young girls and lads about here are not very considerate if there's any fun going on; and they've heard of this proposal of Purdie's; and so they amuse themselves by telling Anna Chlannach that she is going to be taken away and shut up in an asylum, and the poor girl is dreadfully frightened. But if you can assure her that you will not allow Purdie to do any such thing——""Well, of course I will, if you will only bring her to me!" said Mary, impetuously. "Why haven't you brought her to me before?"He hesitated. Then he said—"I am very much obliged to you. I will tell Anna Chlannach the first time I see her. Good morning, Miss Stanley!"But Mary would not have that; she said boldly—"Are you not going down to the village?—won't you walk with us?"He could hardly refuse the invitation; and as they went on towards the little township, what she was saying in her heart was this—'Here, you people, all of you, if you are at your cottage doors or working on your crofts, don't you see this now, that Mr. Ross of Heimra is walking with me, with all the world to witness? Do you understand what that means? It is true my uncle drained Loch Heimra and tore down Castle Heimra into a heap of ruins; and the Rosses of Heimra, and you also, may have had reason to hate the name of Stanley; But look at this—look at Young Donald walking with me—in a kind of a way proclaiming himself my friend—and consider what that means. A feud? There is no feud if he and I say there shall be none. I cannot restore Castle Heimra, but it is within his power to forgive and to forget.'That is what she was somewhat proudly saying to herself as they walked into the village—past the smithy—past the weaver's cottage—past the school-house—past the post-office—past the inn and its dependencies; and she hoped that everyone would see, and reflect. But of course she could not speak in that fashion to Donald Ross."You might have told me about Anna Chlannach before," she said."I did not like to interfere," he made answer."You seem very sensitive on that point!" she retorted."Well, it is natural," he said, with something of reserve; and instinctively she felt that she could go no further in that direction."Are you remaining long on the mainland at present?" she asked, in an ordinary kind of way."Until this afternoon only: I shall go back to Heimra after the mail-cart has come in.""It must be very lonely out there," she said—glancing towards the remote island among the grey and driven seas."It is lonely—now," he said.And then she hesitated. For he had never spoken to her of his circumstances in any way whatever; he had always been so distant and respectful; and she hardly knew whether she might venture to betray any interest. But at length she said—"I can very well understand that there must be a charm in living all by one's self in a lonely island like that—for a time, at least—and yet—yet—it does seem like throwing away one's opportunities. I think I should want some definite occupation—among my fellow creatures.""Oh, yes, no doubt," said he, in no wise taking her timorous suggestion as a reproach. "In my own case, I could not leave the island so long as my mother was alive; I never even thought of such a thing; so that being shut up in Eilean Heimra was not in the least irksome to me. Not in the least. She and I were sufficient companions for each other—anywhere. But now it is different. Now I am free to look about. And I am reading up for the Bar as a preliminary step.""Oh, indeed?" said she. "Do you mean to practise as a lawyer?""No, I think not," he made reply; and now Käthchen was indeed listening with interest—more interest than she usually displayed over rents and drains and sheriff's decrees. "But being a barrister is a necessary qualification for a good many appointments; and if I were once called to the Bar I might perhaps get some sort of post in one of the colonies.""In one of the colonies?" Mary repeated; "and leave Eilean Heimra for ever?""Well, I don't know about that," said he, absently. "At all events, I should not like to part with the island—I mean, I should not like to sell it. It is the last little bit of a foothold; and the name has been in our family for a long while; and—and there are other associations. No; rather than sell the bit of an island, I think I should be content to remain a prisoner there for the rest of my life. However, all that is in the air at present," he continued more lightly. "The main thing is that I am not quite so lonely out at Eilean Heimra as you might imagine—I have my books for companions any way.""Then you are very busy?" she said, thoughtfully. "I must not say I am sorry; and yet I was going to ask you——""I should be very busy indeed," said he, "if I could not find time to do anything for you that you wished me to do." (And here Käthchen said proudly to herself: 'Well, Mamie, and what do you think of that as a speech for a Highlander?')"Ah, but this is something rather serious," said she. "The fact is, I want to form a little private commission—a commission among ourselves—for the resettlement of the whole estate. I want every crofter's case fully investigated; every grievance, if he has any, inquired into; all the rents overhauled and reduced to what is quite easy and practicable and just; and a percentage of the arrears—perhaps all the arrears—cut off, if it is found desirable. I want to be able to say: 'There, now, I have done what is fair on my side: are you going to do what is fair on yours?' And I have got Mr. Watson to consent to give up the pasturage of Meall-na-Cruagan; and that must be valued and taken off his rent; and then when the pasturage is divided among the Cruagan crofters—oh, well, perhaps I shan't ask them for anything!""You seem to wish to act very generously by them," said he, with a grave simplicity."Oh, I tell you I have plenty of schemes!" she said, half laughing at her own enthusiasm. "But I get no sympathy—no encouragement. There is Miss Glendinning, who simply sits and mocks——""Mamie, how can you say such things!" Käthchen protested—for what would this handsome young gentleman from Heimra think of her?"I have two new hand-looms coming next week," Mary continued; "and I am going to send to the Inverness Exhibition, and to Dudley House, if there is another bazaar held there; and I am going to give local prizes, too; and I may get over some of the Harris people to show them the best dyes, and so forth. But all that will take time; and in the meanwhile I am chiefly anxious to put myself right with the tenants by means of this commission and a complete revision of the rents. A commission they can trust—formed of people they know——""They will be ill to please if they don't meet you half way—and gladly," said young Ross.Mary Stanley's eyes shone with pleasure at these hopeful words: she had not met with much encouragement hitherto."Does Mr. Watson know Gaelic?" was her next question."In a kind of a way, I should imagine," he said. "He is a south countryman; but I should think he knew as much Gaelic as was necessary for his business.""And to talk to the people about general things—about their crops—and their rents?" she asked again."In a kind of a way he might.""But you—you know Gaelic very well?" she said."I think I may fairly say that I do," he confessed frankly enough."Then," said she, "if you could find the time, would not that be sufficient to form a commission—Mr. Watson, and you, and I? There would be no kind of conflicting interests; and we should all want to do what was equitable and right by the people.""Oh," said he, in a wondering sort of way, "there would be only these three—Mr. Watson, yourself, and I?""Mr. Purdie," said she, "would simply be a kind of clerk——"And instantly his face changed."Mr. Purdie," said he, "is he coming to take part in it?""Only as a kind of clerk," she said quickly. "He would merely register our decisions. And of course he knows the people and all the circumstances; he could give us what information we wanted, and we could form our own judgment."But there was no return to his face of that sympathetic interest that she had read there for a brief moment or two. His manner had entirely altered; and as they were now close to Lochgarra House, he had to take his leave."As far as I am concerned, Miss Stanley," said he, "I would rather leave this resettlement in Mr. Purdie's hands. Intermeddlers only make mischief, and get little thanks for their pains."She was disappointed and hurt; and yet too proud to appeal further. He bade them good-bye—a little coldly, as Käthchen thought—and left; and Mary Stanley and her friend went into the house. All that Mary said was—"Well, we must do the best we can, Mr. Watson, Mr. Purdie, and myself. I don't suppose Mr. Watson has any reason to be stiff-necked, and malevolent, and revengeful."A couple of days thereafter Mr. Purdie arrived; and the Little Red Dwarf appeared to bear with much equanimity the rating that Miss Stanley administered to him over his action in the James Macdonald case."Oh, ay," said he, "Macdonald will find out now who is master—the law, or himself. He is the most ill-condeetioned man in the whole district—an ill-condeetioned, thrawn, contentious rascal, and the worst example possible for his neighbours; but he'll find out now; he'll find out that the law is not to be defied with impunity——""What do you mean?" said she. "I told you to stop all proceedings.""I cannot stop the Procurator-Fiscal," said the Troich Bheag Dhearg, grimly, "when he institutes a prosecution for deforcement of the sheriff's officer.""But I got the sheriff's officer to go away peaceably," said she; "and I told him that the case would be inquired into.""Just that," replied Mr. Purdie, with a certain self-assurance. "But it was not the business of the sheriff's officer to inquire into the case at all. He had merely to execute the sheriff's warrant; and in doing that, as he now declares, he was deforced. Macdonald will find out whether he can set the law at defiance—even with that mischief-making ne'er-do-weel Donald Ross at his elbow egging him on.""Mr. Ross did not egg him on!" said Mary Stanley, indignantly; "for I was there, and saw the whole transaction. Mr. Ross interfered for the sake of peace, or there would have been murder done.""Ay? and I wonder what right has Mr. Ross to interfere wi' the Lochgarra tenants!" said Mr. Purdie, rather scornfully—but with an angry light twinkling in his small blue eyes."Because I asked him," said Mary, drawing herself up. "And I will ask him again, when it suits me."Mr. Purdie said nothing. His heavily down-drawn mouth was more than usually dogged in expression; and it was with difficulty Mary extracted from him the information that the punishment the sheriff would most likely inflict on Macdonald was a fine of forty shillings, with the alternative of three weeks' imprisonment."I will pay the fine," said she, promptly. "I did not authorise you to have that man turned out of his croft; and I won't have anyone turned out until I have a thorough investigation made, and the rents revised, and the arrears cancelled."But when she proceeded to place before him the comprehensive project she had formed—to carry out which he had been summoned from Inverness—the factor abandoned his obstinate attitude, and became almost plaintive."Ye'll ruin the estate, Miss Stanley; and ye'll not make these people one whit more contented. Have I not had experience of them, years and years before you ever came to the place? And now that the Land League is their god, nothing will satisfy them but getting crofts and farms, arable land and pasture, all rent free, and the landlords taking the first train for the South. The poor, deluded craytures—if it was not for their spite and ill-will—one could almost peety them; for what would be the advantage to them of a lot of useless land, with no stock to put on it? But maybe they expect to have the stock bought and given to them as well?—I would not wonder! There's they scoundrels in the newspapers, that do not know the difference between a barn-door and a peat-stack, they've filled the heads o' the ignorant craytures with all kinds of nonsense, and they would have the deer-forests divided up—the deer-forests!—they might as well try to plough, sow, and reap the Atlantic—""All that does not concern me," she said, interrupting him without scruple. "What does concern me is to have myself put right, in the first place. That is to say, I wish to have rents fixed that the people can pay without getting into arrears—just rents, so that they can have no right to complain.""Ay, and ye'll go on remitting this and remitting that," said the factor; "and if ye remitted everything they would still grumble! I tell ye, Miss Stanley, I've had experience; and it's not the way to treat these people. The more ye give them, the more they'll ask. What you consider justice, they will consider weakness; they will expect more and more; and complain if they do not get it. I'm telling ye the truth, Miss Stanley, about these idle, and ill-willed, and ill-thrawn craytures: what you propose is no the way to deal wi' them at all——""But I propose to take that way none the less," said Mary. And Käthchen, sitting there, and listening, and regarding the Troich Bheag Dhearg, said to herself: 'My good friend, you have tremendous shoulders, and a powerful mouth, and suspicious and vindictive eyes; but you don't in the least know with whom you have to do. Your obstinacy won't answer; and if you are discreet, you will allow it to subside.'"I have done my best for the estate," he said, with some stiffness."Yes," said Mary, "no doubt. But then the result that has been arrived at is not quite satisfactory—according to modern notions. Perhaps the old way was the best; but I am going to try the new—and I suppose I can do what I like with my own, as the saying is. And so, Mr. Purdie, I wish you to go out to-morrow morning and call on Mr. Watson, and give him my compliments—oh, no," she said, interrupting herself: "on second thoughts I will drive out to Craiglarig myself—for it is a great favour I have to ask. Will you dine with us this evening, Mr. Purdie?""I thank ye, but I hope ye'll excuse me," said the factor. "I have some various things to look into, and I'll just give the evening to them at the inn.""Then we shall see you in the morning"—and therewithal the Little Red Dwarf took his departure.Now to tell the truth, when the sheep-farmer of Craiglarig was asked to assist in this scheme, he did not express himself very hopefully as to the issue; but he was a good-natured man; and he said he would place as much of his time at Miss Stanley's disposal as he reasonably could. And so they set to work to revalue the crofts. No doubt the composition of this amateur court might have been impugned; for it consisted of the owner of the estate, her factor, and her chief tenant; but then again Mary constituted herself, from the very outset, the champion of the occupants of the smaller holdings, Mr. Purdie took the side of the landlords, while Mr. Watson, apart from his services as interpreter, maintained a benevolent neutrality. It was slow and not inspiriting work; for the crofters did not seem to believe that any amelioration of their condition was really meant; they were too afraid to speak, or too sullen to speak; and when they did speak, in many cases their demands were preposterous. But Mary stuck to her task."I must put myself right, to begin with," she said, as she had said all along. "Thereafter we will see."And sometimes she would look out towards Heimra Island; and there was a kind of reproach in her heart. How much easier would all this have been for them, if only young Ross had consented to put aside for the moment that fierce internecine feud between him and the factor! Was Mr. Purdie, she asked herself, the sort of man that Donald Ross of Heimra should raise to the rank of being his enemy? However, the days passed, and there was no sign—no glimmer of the white sails of theSirènecoming away from the distant shores—no mention of the young master having been seen anywhere on the mainland."I warrant," said Mr. Purdie, when some remark chanced to be made, "I warrant I can tell where that cheat-the-gallows is off to—away to France for more o' that smuggled brandy so that he can spend his days and nights in drunkenness and debauchery!""You forget, Mr. Purdie," said Käthchen, with something very nearly approaching disdain, "that we have made the acquaintance of Mr. Ross, and know something of himself and his habits.""Do ye?" he said, turning upon her. "I tell ye, ye do not! And a good thing ye do not! A smooth-tongued hypocrite—specious—sly—it is well for ye that ye are ignorant of what that poaching, mischief-making dare-devil really is; but ye'll find out in time—ye'll find out in time."And indeed it was not until the self-appointed commission had done its work, and Mr. Purdie had gone away to the south again, that young Ross of Heimra reappeared: he said he had heard of what had been arranged; and he thought Miss Stanley had been most generous. This casual encounter took place just as Mary and Kate Glendinning were nearing Lochgarra House; and when they had gone inside, Käthchen said—"Well, I don't know what has come over you, Mamie. You used always to be so self-possessed—to seem as if you were conferring a favour by merely looking at anyone. And now, when you stand for a few minutes talking to Mr. Ross, you are quite nervous and shamefaced—and apparently anxious for the smallest sign of approval——""You have far too much imagination, Käthchen," said Mary, as she went off to her own room.And then again, that same night, Käthchen was at one of the windows, looking out. She could not distinguish anything, for it was quite dark; she could only hear the wind howling in from the sea."Do you know where you should be at this moment, Mamie?" she said. "You ought to be going up the grand staircase of some great opera-house—your cloak of crimson velvet, white-furred—the diamonds in your hair shining through your lace hood—and you should have at least three gentlemen to escort you to your box, carrying opera-glasses, and flowers. That's more like you. And yet here you banish yourself away to this out-of-the-world place—you seek for no amusement—you busy yourself all day about peats, and drains, and seed-potatoes—and the highest reward you set before yourself is to get a half-hearted 'Thank you' from a sulky crofter——""Käthchen," said Mary, "I would advise you to read the third chapter of the General Epistle of James.""Ah, well," said Käthchen—and she was not deeply offended by that hint about the bridling of the tongue—"wait till your brother and Mr. Frank Meredyth come up—and you'll find them saying the same thing. Philanthropy is all very well; but you need not make yourself a white slave." And then she turned to the black window again, and to her visions. "There's one thing, Mamie: I wish Mr. Ross could see you going up that grand staircase."CHAPTER IV.HER GUEST."It will be all different now," said Käthchen, one evening, when they were come to within a week of the arrival of Mary's brother and his friend Frank Meredyth. "And you deserve some little rest, Mamie, and some little amusement, after all your hard work. And I want you to be considerate—towards Mr. Meredyth, I mean. It isn't merely grouse and grilse that are bringing him here. You know what your brother says—that there is no one in such request for shooting parties; he could just have his pick of invitations, all over Scotland, every autumn; so you may be sure it isn't merely for the grouse and the salmon-fishing he is coming to a little place like Lochgarra. Oh, you need not pretend to deny it, Mamie! And all I want is that you should be a little considerate. He may be very anxious to have you, and yet not quite so anxious to take over your hobby as well. He may not even be interested in the price of home-knitted stockings."Mary Stanley did not answer just at once. The two girls were slowly walking up and down the stone terrace outside the house. It was ten o'clock at night; but it was not yet dark, nor anything approaching to dark. All the world was of a pale, clear, wan lilac colour: and in this coldly luminous twilight any white object—the front of a cottage, for example, or the little Free Church building across the bay—appeared startlingly distinct. There was an absolute silence; the sea was still; two hours ago the sun had gone down behind what seemed a vast and motionless lake of molten copper; and now there was a far-reaching expanse of pearly grey, with the long headlands and Eilean Heimra gathering shadows around them. The heavens were cloudless and serene; over the sombre hills in the east a star throbbed here and there, but it had to be sought for. There appeared to be neither lamp nor candle down in the village—there was no need of them on these magical summer nights."I do not see that it will be so different," said Mary, presently. "Fred will have to look after Mr. Meredyth. No doubt there will be something of a commotion in so quiet a place—the dogs, and keepers, and ponies; by the way, there will be gillies wanted for the fishing as well as for the shooting later on——"Käthchen began to snigger a little."I do believe, Mamie," she said, "that that is all the interest you have in the shooting—it will provide so much more employment for your beloved crofters.""Oh, yes, I suppose the place will be a little more brisk and lively," Mary continued, "though that won't improve it much in my estimation. I wonder what made Fred hire that wretched little steam-launch." She looked towards the tiny vessel that was lying close to the quay: the small white funnel and the decks forward were visible in the mystic twilight; the hull was less clearly defined. "Fancy that thing coming sputtering and crackling into the bay on a beautiful night like this!""It would be very handy to take a message out to Heimra Island," said Käthchen, demurely.Mary glanced at her, and laughed."My dear Käthchen, curiosity is a humiliating weakness; but I will tell you what is in the letter that is lying on the hall table—and that is likely to lie there, unless a wind springs up from some quarter to-morrow. It is an invitation to Mr. Ross to come and dine with us on Monday next.""Monday?" said Kate Glendinning, looking surprised. "The very day your brother and Mr. Meredyth come here?""For that very reason," said Mary. "I wish Mr. Ross to understand why we have never asked him to dine with us—well, of course he would understand for himself—two girls, living by themselves—and—and knowing him only for so short a time. But now, you see, I ask him for the very first evening that my brother is in the house—and that's all right and correct—if there's any Mrs. Grundy in Lochgarra.""The Free Church Minister!" said Käthchen, spitefully—for she had never forgiven the good man for his having kept aloof from the fray at Ru-Minard."Mr. Ross has been very kind to me—in his reserved and distant way," Mary said, "and I should not like him to think me ungrateful——""He cannot do that," said Käthchen, "if he hasn't been blind to what your eyes have said to him again and again.""What do you mean, Käthchen?" Mary demanded—at once alarmed and resentful.Käthchen retreated quickly: it had been a careless remark."Oh, I don't mean anything. I mean your eyes have said 'Thank you,' again and again; and it is but right they should. He has indeed been very thoughtful and kind—and always so respectful—keeping himself in the background. Oh, you need not be afraid, Mamie: you won't find me suggesting that you shouldn't have the most frank and friendly relations with Mr. Ross. At the same time——""Yes, at the same time?""I was wondering," said Käthchen, with a little hesitation, "how he might get on with your brother and Mr. Meredyth—or, rather, how they might get on with him——""My brother and Mr. Meredyth," said Mary, a little proudly, "will remember that Mr. Ross is my guest: that will be enough."But Kate Glendinning's uneasy forecast was not without some justification—as Mary was soon to discover. The two visitors from the South arrived on the Monday afternoon, and there were many curious eyes covertly following the waggonette as it drove through the village. Of the two strangers, the taller, who was Mary Stanley's brother, was a young fellow of about four or five-and-twenty, good looking rather, of the fair English type, with an aquiline nose, a pretty little yellow-white moustache, and calm grey eyes. His companion, some eight or ten years older, was of middle height, or perhaps a trifle under, active and wiry-looking, with a sun-tanned face, a firm mouth, and shrewd eyes, that on the whole were also good-natured. Both of the travellers were in high spirits—and no wonder: they had heard good accounts of the grouse; they had just caught a glimpse of the Garra, which had plenty of water after the recent rains; over there was the little steam launch that could amuse them now and again for an idle hour; and beyond the bay the big, odd-looking house, against its background of fir and larch, seemed to offer them a hospitable welcome.Mary was at the top of the semicircular flight of stairs to greet them; but even as she accompanied them into the great oak hall she instinctively felt that there was something unusual in her brother's manner towards her. And when, presently, Mr. Meredyth had been taken away to be shown his own room, Fred Stanley remained behind: Käthchen had not yet put in an appearance, for some reason or another."Well, what's the matter, Fred?" Mary said at once.He had been kicking about the drawing-room in a discontented fashion, staring out of the windows or glancing at the engravings while his friend was there; but now these two were alone."The matter?" said he. "Plenty the matter! I don't like to find that you have been making a fool of yourself, and that you are still bent on making a fool of yourself.""But we can't help it if we are born that way," she said, sweetly."Oh, you know quite well what I mean," said this tall young gentleman with the boyish moustache. "I had heard something of it before; but I thought we might as well stop the night at Inverness on the way north; and I saw Mr. Purdie. Now, mind you, Mamie, don't you take it into your head that Purdie said anything against you—he did not. He's a shrewd-headed fellow, and knows which side his bread is buttered. But he answered my questions. And I find you have just been ruining this place—turning the whole neighbourhood into a pauper asylum—and—and flinging the thing away, as you might call it.""But it wasn't left to you, Fred," she reminded him, gently. "And I have been doing my best—after inquiry.""Oh, I know," he said impatiently; "you've been got at by a lot of sentimentalists in London—faddists—slummers—popularity-hunters; and now, here in the Highlands, you have been working into the hands of those agitator fellows who are trying to stir up anarchy and rebellion everywhere; and you let yourself be imposed upon by a parcel of scheming and cunning crofters, who don't thank you, to begin with, and who would pull down this house to the ground and burn it the moment your back was turned if they dared.""You haven't been very long in Lochgarra," said she, with much good humour, "but you seem to have used your time industriously. You know all about it——""Oh, it isn't only this place!" he said. "Everyone who reads the papers—who knows anything of the Highlands—is aware of what is going on. And you have allowed yourself to be taken in! For the credit of the family—for the sake of your own common sense—you might have waited a little. Here was Mr. Purdie, who knew the place, who knew the people; but you must needs take the whole matter in your own hands, and begin to throw away your money right and left, as if you had come into a dukedom! What do you suppose is the rental now—after all your abatements?""Well, I don't exactly know," said she. "But isn't it better to take what the people can really give you than nothing at all? You can't live on arrears? And, my dear Fred, what cause have you to grumble? The amount of rent affects me only; whereas I offer you the shooting and fishing, which has nothing to do with these matters. Why can't you amuse yourself and let me alone? What I have done I have considered. I have inquired into the condition of these people. To make rents practicable is not to throw away money. Indeed—but I am not going to discuss the question with you at all. Go away and get out your fly-book, and take Mr. Meredyth down to the Garra, and see if you can pick up a grilse before dinner."But he was not to be put off by her bland amiability."Of course," said he, "it is very kind of you to offer me the fishing and the shooting; but I should have been better pleased to have had them without encumbrances.""What do you mean?" said she."Why, who has the fishing and shooting here?" said he. "This poaching scoundrel, Ross. I am told the whole place is in league with him. He can do what he likes.""And what further information did you gather at Inverness?" she asked, rather contemptuously."Well, but look here, Mamie," he remonstrated, with a sense of his wrongs gaining upon him. "Consider the position you have put me in. You know how Frank is in request at this time of the year—a thundering good shot—and used to managing things about country-houses——""As well as leading cotillons in London," she interposed, with smiling eyes."And why not?" said he, boldly. "Oh, I suppose you consider that effeminate: you would rather have him living among rocks and caves, like this smuggling fellow, and shooting seagulls for his dinner? However, look at my position. I ask him to come down with me, at your suggestion. I tell him it isn't a grand shooting—and that he'll get more sea-trout than salmon in the river—but he comes all the same; and then we discover that the whole place is at the mercy of this idling blackguard of a fellow—if we get a few birds or find a pool undisturbed, it is with his sufferance——""So you have acquired all this information at Inverness?" said she. "But I wouldn't entirely trust it if I were you. I am afraid Mr. Purdie is rather prejudiced. He may have been exaggerating. However, if there is any truth in what he says, I'll tell you what you ought to do: ask Mr. Ross to join your shooting and fishing parties. You'll meet him to-night at dinner.""Here—in this house?" he exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "Mamie, are you mad?""I hope not," she said quietly. "But Mr. Ross has been very kind to me of late, in helping me in various little ways; and as I couldn't well ask him to dinner when only Kate and I were in the house, I took the first opportunity after your arrival——""And so Frank and I, after being warned that the great annoyance and vexation we should find in the place is this fellow Ross, are coolly informed that we are to meet him at dinner, and I suppose we are expected to be civil to him!""I certainly do expect you to be civil to him," said Mary."Oh, but it's too bad!" he said, impatiently, and he went to the window and turned his back on her. And then he faced round again. "I wonder what Frank will think! I was almost ashamed to ask him to come here, even as it was—a small shooting, not much fishing, and the stalking merely a chance; but, all the same, he accepts; then the first thing we hear of on reaching Inverness is all about this vexation and underhand going on; and the next thing is that we are asked to meet at dinner the very person who causes all the trouble! Now, Mamie, I appeal to yourself, don't you think it is a little too hard?"She hesitated. She began to fear she had been thoughtless—indiscreet—too much taken up with her own plans and projects."At all events, Fred," she pleaded, "your meeting Mr. Ross at dinner can't matter one way or the other—and you will be able to judge for yourself. To me he does not seem the kind of young man you would suspect of spending his time in poaching; in fact, as I understand it, he is looking forward to being called to the Bar, and I should think he was busier with books than with cartridges or salmon flies.""You are sure he said he would come to-night?" asked this young Fred Stanley, looking at his sister."Yes.""Definitely promised?""Yes.""Well, I don't think he will.""Why?""Because," said the young man, as he went leisurely towards the door, "there might be a question of evening dress. You haven't a Court tailor at Lochgarra, have you?"Mary flushed slightly."I don't care whether he appears in evening dress or not," said she. "Most likely he will come along from his yacht; and a yachting suit is as good as any—in my eyes."That evening, when the young hostess came downstairs, the large drawing-room was all suffused with a soft warmth of colour, for the sun was just sinking behind the violet-grey Atlantic, and the glory of the western skies streamed in through the several windows. Käthchen was here; and Käthchen's eyes lighted up with pleasure when she saw how Mary was attired. And yet could any costume have been simpler than this dress of cream-coloured China silk, its only ornamentation being a bunch of deep crimson fuchsias at the opening of the bodice, with another cluster of the same flowers at her belt? She wore no jewellery of any kind whatsoever."That is more like you, Mamie," said Käthchen, coming forward with a proud and admiring scrutiny. "I want Mr. Ross to see you in something different from your ordinary workaday things. And you look taller, too, somehow. And fairer—or is that the light from the windows?"At this very moment the door was opened, and Mr. Ross was announced. Mary turned—with some little self-conscious expectation. And here was Young Donald of Heimra, in faultless evening dress; and there was a quiet look of friendliness in his eyes as he came forward and took the hand that was offered him. Käthchen said to herself: "Why is it that the full shirt-front and white tie suit dark men so well? And why doesn't he dress like that every evening?" For Käthchen did not know that that was precisely what Donald Ross had been in the habit of doing all the years that his mother and he had lived out in that remote island; it was a little compliment he paid her; and she liked that bit of make-believe of ceremony in the monotony of their isolated life.The new-comers who had arrived that afternoon were somewhat late; for they had gone down to the river to have a cast or two—a futile proceeding in the blazing sunlight; but presently they made their appearance, and were in due course introduced to Donald Ross. Käthchen, who was as usual a keen and interested observer, and who had heard of Fred Stanley's indignant protest, could not but admire the perfect good breeding he displayed on being thus brought face to face with his enemy. But indeed the ordinary every-day manner of a well-educated young Englishman—its curious impassivity, its lack of self-assertion—is a standing puzzle for foreigners and for Americans. What is the origin of it? Blank stupidity? Or a serene contempt for the opinion of others? Or a determination not to commit one's self? Or an affectation of having already seen and done everything worth seeing and doing? Anyhow, Fred Stanley's demeanour towards this stranger and intruder was perfect in its negative way; and so was that of his friend, though Frank Meredyth, by virtue of his superior years, allowed himself to be a little more careless and off-hand. However, there was not much time for forming surmises or jumping to conclusions; for presently dinner was announced."Mr. Meredyth, will you take in Miss Glendinning?" Mary said. "Fred, I'm sorry we've nobody for you." And therewithal she turned to Donald Ross, and took his arm, and these two followed the first couple into the dining-room. Young Ross sate at her right hand, of course; he was her chief guest; the others belonged to the house.It was rather an animated little party; for if the Twelfth was as yet some way off, there were plenty of speculations as to what the Garra was likely to yield in the way of grilse and sea-trout. Käthchen noticed that Donald Ross spoke but little, and that they seldom appealed to him; indeed, Mr. Meredyth, professing to have met with unvarying ill-luck on every stream he had ever fished, was devising an ideal salmon-river on which the sportsman would not be continually exposed to the evil strokes of fate."What you want first of all," said he, "is to regulate the water-supply. At present when I go to a salmon-river, one of two things is certain to happen: either it's in roaring flood, and quite unfishable, or else—and this is the more common—it has dwindled away all to nothing, and you might as well begin and throw a fly over a pavement in Piccadilly. Very well; what you want is to turn the mountain-lochs into reservoirs; you bank up the surplus water in the hills; and then, in times of drought, when the river has got low, and would be otherwise unfishable, you send up the keepers to the sluices, turn on a supply, and freshen the pools, so that the fish wake up, and wonder what's going to happen. That is one thing. Then there's another. You know that even when the water is in capital order, you may go down day by day, and find it impossible to get a single cast because of the blazing sunlight. That is a terrible misfortune; for you are all the time aware, as you sit on the bank, and hopelessly watch for clouds, that the fine weather is drying up the hills, and that very soon the stream will have dwindled away again. Very well; what you want for that is en enormous awning, that can be moved from pool to pool, and high enough not to interfere with the casting. By that means, you see, you could transfer any portion of a Highland stream into the land where it is always afternoon; and the fish, thinking the cool of the evening had already come, would begin to disport themselves and play with the pretty little coloured things that the current brought down. Look at the saving of time! Generally, in the middle of the day, there is a horrible long interval when nothing will move in a river. Whether it is the heat, or the sunlight, or the general drowsiness of nature, there's hardly ever anything stirring between twelve o'clock and four; and you lie on the bank, and consume a frightful amount of tobacco; and you may even fall asleep, if you have been doing a good deal of night-work in London. But if you have this great canvas screen, that can be stretched from the trees on one side to the poles on the other—very gradually and slowly, like the coming over of the evening—then the little fishes will begin to say to themselves, 'Here, boys, it's time to go out and have some fun,' and you can have fine sport, in spite of all the sunlight that ever blazed. However, I'm afraid you'd want the revenue of some half-a-dozen dukes before you could secure the ideal salmon-river.""They're doing so many things with electricity now: couldn't you bring that in?" said Käthchen. "Couldn't you have an electric shock running out from the butt of the rod the moment the salmon touched the fly?"But this was sheer frivolity. Frank Meredyth suddenly turned to young Ross and said—"Oh, you can tell me, Mr. Ross—is the Garra a difficult river to fish?"Now this was a perfectly innocent question—not meant as a trap at all; but Fred Stanley, whose mind had been brooding over the fact that the poacher was actually sitting at table with them, looked startled, and even frightened. Young Ross, on the other hand, appeared in no wise disconcerted."Really, I can hardly tell you," he said, "I am not much of a fisherman myself—there is no fishing at all on Heimra Island. But I should say it was not a very difficult river. Perhaps some of the pools under the woods—just above the bridge, I mean, where the banks are steep—might be a little awkward; but further up it is much opener; and further up still you come to long stretches where there isn't a bush on either side.""Then, perhaps, you can't tell me what are the best sea-trout flies for this water?" was the next question—with no evil intent in it."I'm afraid you would find me an untrustworthy guide," said Donald Ross. "If I were you I would take Hector's advice."So there was an end of this matter—and Fred Stanley was much relieved. What he said to himself was this: "If that Spaniard-looking fellow is lying, he has a splendid nerve and can do it well. A magnificent piece of cheek—if it is so!"On the whole, at this unpretentious little banquet, Frank Meredyth did most of the talking; and naturally it was addressed in the first place to Miss Stanley as being at the head of the table. He had had a considerable experience of country houses; he was gifted with a certain sense of humour; and he told his stories fairly well—Käthchen rewarding him now and again with a covert little giggle. As for Donald Ross, he sate silent, and reserved, and attentive. He was distinctly the stranger. Not that he betrayed any embarrassment, or was ill at ease; but he seemed to prefer to listen, especially when Mary Stanley happened to be speaking. For, indeed, more than once she let the others go their own way, and turned to him, and engaged him in conversation with herself alone. She found herself timid in doing so. If his manner was always most respectful—and even submissive—his eyes looked uncompromisingly straight at her, and they had a strange, subdued fire in them. When she happened to find his gaze thus fixed on her, she would suddenly grow nervous—stammer—perhaps even forget what she had been saying; while the joyous chatter of the other three at table went gaily on, fortunately for her. Sometimes she would think it was hardly fair of those others to leave her alone in this way: then again she would remind herself that it was she who was responsible for her guest.It was not that he confused her by an awkward or obstinate silence; on the contrary, he answered her freely enough, in a gravely courteous way; but he seemed to attach too much importance to what she said—he seemed to be too grateful for this special attention she was bestowing upon him. And then again she dared hardly look up; for those black eyes burned so—in a timid, startled way—regarding her as if they would read something behind the mere prettiness of her face and complexion and hair, and apparently quite unconscious of their own power.At last the ladies rose from the table; and Mary said—"I suppose you gentlemen will be going out on the terrace to smoke? I wish you would let us come with you. I have not smelt a cigar for months—and it is so delicious in the evening air."There was not very much objection. Chairs were brought out from the hall; Frank Meredyth perched himself on the stone parapet; the evening air became odorous, for there was hardly a breath of wind coming up from the bay. And as they sate and looked at the wide expanse of water—with only a chance remark breaking the silence from time to time—it may have occurred to one or other of them that the summer twilight that lay over land and sea was growing somewhat warmer in tone. It was Mary who discovered the cause: the golden moon was behind them—just over the low, birch-crowned hill; and the pale radiance lay on the still water in front of them, and on the long spur of land on the other side of the bay, where there were one or two crofters' cottages and fishermen's huts just above the shore. And while they were thus looking abroad over the mystic and sleeping world, a still stranger thing appeared—a more unusual thing for Loch-garra, that is to say—certain moving lights out beyond the point of the headland."Look, Mary!" Käthchen cried. "But that can't be the steamer—she is not due till next Thursday!"Whatever the vessel was, she was obviously making in for the harbour; for presently they could see both port and starboard lights—a red star and a green star, coming slowly into the still, moonlit bay."It is theConsuelo," Donald Ross said to Mary. "It is Lord Mount-Grattan's yacht: she has come down from Loch Laxford."They watched her slow progress—this big dark thing stealing almost noiselessly into the spectral grey world; they saw her gradually rounding; the green light disappeared; there was a sudden noise of the reversal of the screw; then a space of quiet again; and at last the roar of the anchor. The rare visitor had chosen her position for the night.Almost directly thereafter young Ross of Heimra rose and took leave of his hostess—saying a few words of thanks for so pleasant an evening. The others did not go indoors, however; the still, balmy, moonlight night was too great a temptation. They remained on the terrace, looking at the big black steam-yacht that now lay motionless on the silver-grey water, and listening for the occasional distant sounds that came from it.But presently they saw a small boat put off from the shore, rowed by two men, with a third figure in the stern."That is Mr. Ross!" Käthchen exclaimed. "I know it is—that is his light overcoat.""Can he be going away in the yacht?" Mary said suddenly."Not likely!" her brother struck in. "When you start off on a yachting cruise you don't go on board in evening dress." And then the young man turned to his male companion. "I say, Frank, don't you think that fellow was lying when he pretended not to know anything about the fishing in the Garra?"It was an idle and careless question—perhaps not even meant to be impertinent; but Mary Stanley flamed up instantly—into white heat."Mr. Ross is—is a gentleman," she said, quite breathlessly. "And—he was my guest this evening—though you—you did not seem to treat him as such!"Käthchen put her hand gently on her friend's arm."Mamie!" she said.And Frank Meredyth never answered the question: this little incident—and a swift and covert glance he had directed towards the young lady herself—had given him something to think about.
CHAPTER III.
A CROFTERS' COMMISSION.
One morning Mary Stanley and her companion had been away on some distant errand, and when on their return they came to the summit of the hill overlooking the bay, Mary paused for a moment to take in the prospect—the wide, grey, wind-swept plain of the sea, the long headlands, and the lonely Heimra Island out in the west. But Käthchen did not cease her discourse—in which she was endeavouring to account for the comparative failure, so far, of her friend's fine philanthropic schemes.
"The truth is, Mamie," said she, "what has disappointed you here has been the prevalence of hard facts—very hard facts—facts as hard as the rocks on which the poor people try to live. You wanted to play the part of Lady Bountiful; and you yourself are just full of enthusiasm, and generous emotion, and ideals of duty and self-sacrifice, and—and—romanticism generally, if I may say so. And for all these qualities you find no exercise, no outlet. I can imagine you in very different circumstances—in London, perhaps, or in some English village: I can imagine your going into a squalid room where there is a poor widow by the bedside of her dying boy; and the Lady Bountiful brings little comforts for the sick child, and words of kindness and consolation for the mother; and the poor woman looks on you as an angel, and would kiss the hem of your gown; and it's all very pretty and touching. But, you see," continued the practical Käthchen, "how you are baffled and thwarted in this obdurate place; for there isn't a single case of illness in the whole district—not one—which is no doubt owing to the valuable antiseptic properties of peat-smoke!"
"Oh, well," said Mary, cheerfully, as they went on again. "I can put up with being disappointed on that score—and the longer the better. But, Käthchen, when you said there was nothing but hard facts about here—no pretty sentiment and sympathy—you weren't keeping your eyes open. Look down there at the bridge; what is that if not pretty sentiment?—two lovers talking—why, it is quite a charming picture!—and isn't there some rustic custom of pledging troth over a running stream?"
Her face suddenly grew grave; and Käthchen, also regarding those two figures, was struck by the same surmise.
"It is Mr. Ross, Mamie!" she exclaimed, in an undertone—though they were still a long way off.
Mary said nothing. She walked on calmly and indifferently, sometimes looking up to the hills, sometimes looking out to Heimra Island and the sea. It was Käthchen, keeping her eyes covertly on those two figures by the bridge, who observed that the girl suddenly separated herself from her companion, and disappeared into the woods by the side of the Garra. As for Donald Ross, he made no sign of going away: on the contrary, he remained idling by the rude stone parapet, occasionally looking into the water underneath. And he must have known that he was intercepting the two ladies from Lochgarra House—there was no escape for them.
Mary maintained a perfect self-possession; and when they came up to him she was for passing with a little bow of recognition; but he spoke.
"I have a small petition to put before you," said he, with a smile (Käthchen thought that, though he looked extremely handsome, this pleasant and familiar smile was in the circumstances something of an impertinence).
"Indeed," said Mary—and she waited.
"From a very humble petitioner," he continued (and Käthchen began to consider him a most unabashed young man—so easily and lightly he spoke), "one who has no English, and she has asked me to interfere and tell you all about her case. She was talking to me just now; but when she caught sight of you she fled off into the woods, like a hare."
"Why?" said Mary, coldly.
"Because she is afraid of you," said he. "She thinks you are a friend of theTroich Bheag Dhearg—the Little Red Dwarf—as they call Mr. Purdie about here. And that is quite enough to frighten Anna——"
"Anna?" said Mary. "Do you mean Anna Chlannach—the half-witted girl?"—and as she guessed the simple and harmless truth an indescribable confusion appeared on her forehead and in the self-consciousness of her eyes.
"Yes," said he, apparently not noticing. "Anna says that you spoke to her once; but she has no English, and could not tell you anything; and she saw Purdie with you, and ran away. So much I made out, though she talks rather wildly, and mysteriously as well."
"Oh, but Mr. Ross," said Mary, with some eagerness, "I wish you would tell Anna Chlannach that she has no reason to be afraid of me—surely not! Why, she was the first creature in the place who seemed a little friendly. Will you tell her I will do everything for her I can; and that she must come and see me; and there will be no fear of her meeting Mr. Purdie; and Barbara can be the interpreter between us? Will you tell her that? Could you find her now?"
"There's no one in this neighbourhood who could find Anna Chlannach if she wants to be hidden," he said, with a bit of a laugh that showed beautiful teeth—as Käthchen remarked. "But I shall come across her some other time, and of course, if you grant her petition, she must go to you and thank you."
"What is her petition?" said Mary, who had recovered from her momentary confusion, and was now prepared to be entirely bland and magnanimous—which, indeed, was her natural mood.
"Well," said he, "Purdie—Mr. Purdie—has been threatening to have her shut up in some asylum for imbeciles—so they say—-and Anna is in a great state about the possibility of her being taken away from among the people she knows. I don't think it is true, myself; indeed I doubt whether he could do anything of the kind, without the consent of her relatives, and she has got none now; but I am not quite sure what the law is; anyhow, what I imagine to be the case is simply that Mr. Purdie has been making use of these threats to spite the people with whom Anna Chlannach is a favourite. For she is a general favourite—there is no harm in the girl——"
"Why, so Barbara said!" Mary exclaimed.
"It is quite true that she is rather useless about the place," Donald Ross went on. "Sometimes they have tried her with a bit of herding; but then, if she saw a boat out at sea, she would imagine her mother was coming back, and she would go away down to the shore to meet her, and spend her time in gathering white shells, that she thinks is money, to give to her mother. Well, you see, that is awkward. You couldn't leave sheep or cows under Anna's care without asking somebody to keep an eye on Anna herself. The truth is, she is useless. But there's no harm in the lass; and the people are fond of her; there's always a bit of food, or a corner for her to sleep in; so that she's not a cost to anyone except to those that are willing to pay it—a mere trifle—and in any case it does not come out of Mr. Purdie's pocket——"
"She shall not be shut up in any asylum, if I have any say in the matter!" Mary interposed, with a touch of indignation.
"I asked her to stay and appeal to yourself," he continued. "But she was frightened of you——"
"Yes," said Mary, "everyone is frightened of me—or set against me—in this place!"
"There is another thing I should mention," he proceeded—ignoring this taunt, if it was meant as a taunt; "the young girls and lads about here are not very considerate if there's any fun going on; and they've heard of this proposal of Purdie's; and so they amuse themselves by telling Anna Chlannach that she is going to be taken away and shut up in an asylum, and the poor girl is dreadfully frightened. But if you can assure her that you will not allow Purdie to do any such thing——"
"Well, of course I will, if you will only bring her to me!" said Mary, impetuously. "Why haven't you brought her to me before?"
He hesitated. Then he said—
"I am very much obliged to you. I will tell Anna Chlannach the first time I see her. Good morning, Miss Stanley!"
But Mary would not have that; she said boldly—
"Are you not going down to the village?—won't you walk with us?"
He could hardly refuse the invitation; and as they went on towards the little township, what she was saying in her heart was this—'Here, you people, all of you, if you are at your cottage doors or working on your crofts, don't you see this now, that Mr. Ross of Heimra is walking with me, with all the world to witness? Do you understand what that means? It is true my uncle drained Loch Heimra and tore down Castle Heimra into a heap of ruins; and the Rosses of Heimra, and you also, may have had reason to hate the name of Stanley; But look at this—look at Young Donald walking with me—in a kind of a way proclaiming himself my friend—and consider what that means. A feud? There is no feud if he and I say there shall be none. I cannot restore Castle Heimra, but it is within his power to forgive and to forget.'
That is what she was somewhat proudly saying to herself as they walked into the village—past the smithy—past the weaver's cottage—past the school-house—past the post-office—past the inn and its dependencies; and she hoped that everyone would see, and reflect. But of course she could not speak in that fashion to Donald Ross.
"You might have told me about Anna Chlannach before," she said.
"I did not like to interfere," he made answer.
"You seem very sensitive on that point!" she retorted.
"Well, it is natural," he said, with something of reserve; and instinctively she felt that she could go no further in that direction.
"Are you remaining long on the mainland at present?" she asked, in an ordinary kind of way.
"Until this afternoon only: I shall go back to Heimra after the mail-cart has come in."
"It must be very lonely out there," she said—glancing towards the remote island among the grey and driven seas.
"It is lonely—now," he said.
And then she hesitated. For he had never spoken to her of his circumstances in any way whatever; he had always been so distant and respectful; and she hardly knew whether she might venture to betray any interest. But at length she said—
"I can very well understand that there must be a charm in living all by one's self in a lonely island like that—for a time, at least—and yet—yet—it does seem like throwing away one's opportunities. I think I should want some definite occupation—among my fellow creatures."
"Oh, yes, no doubt," said he, in no wise taking her timorous suggestion as a reproach. "In my own case, I could not leave the island so long as my mother was alive; I never even thought of such a thing; so that being shut up in Eilean Heimra was not in the least irksome to me. Not in the least. She and I were sufficient companions for each other—anywhere. But now it is different. Now I am free to look about. And I am reading up for the Bar as a preliminary step."
"Oh, indeed?" said she. "Do you mean to practise as a lawyer?"
"No, I think not," he made reply; and now Käthchen was indeed listening with interest—more interest than she usually displayed over rents and drains and sheriff's decrees. "But being a barrister is a necessary qualification for a good many appointments; and if I were once called to the Bar I might perhaps get some sort of post in one of the colonies."
"In one of the colonies?" Mary repeated; "and leave Eilean Heimra for ever?"
"Well, I don't know about that," said he, absently. "At all events, I should not like to part with the island—I mean, I should not like to sell it. It is the last little bit of a foothold; and the name has been in our family for a long while; and—and there are other associations. No; rather than sell the bit of an island, I think I should be content to remain a prisoner there for the rest of my life. However, all that is in the air at present," he continued more lightly. "The main thing is that I am not quite so lonely out at Eilean Heimra as you might imagine—I have my books for companions any way."
"Then you are very busy?" she said, thoughtfully. "I must not say I am sorry; and yet I was going to ask you——"
"I should be very busy indeed," said he, "if I could not find time to do anything for you that you wished me to do." (And here Käthchen said proudly to herself: 'Well, Mamie, and what do you think of that as a speech for a Highlander?')
"Ah, but this is something rather serious," said she. "The fact is, I want to form a little private commission—a commission among ourselves—for the resettlement of the whole estate. I want every crofter's case fully investigated; every grievance, if he has any, inquired into; all the rents overhauled and reduced to what is quite easy and practicable and just; and a percentage of the arrears—perhaps all the arrears—cut off, if it is found desirable. I want to be able to say: 'There, now, I have done what is fair on my side: are you going to do what is fair on yours?' And I have got Mr. Watson to consent to give up the pasturage of Meall-na-Cruagan; and that must be valued and taken off his rent; and then when the pasturage is divided among the Cruagan crofters—oh, well, perhaps I shan't ask them for anything!"
"You seem to wish to act very generously by them," said he, with a grave simplicity.
"Oh, I tell you I have plenty of schemes!" she said, half laughing at her own enthusiasm. "But I get no sympathy—no encouragement. There is Miss Glendinning, who simply sits and mocks——"
"Mamie, how can you say such things!" Käthchen protested—for what would this handsome young gentleman from Heimra think of her?
"I have two new hand-looms coming next week," Mary continued; "and I am going to send to the Inverness Exhibition, and to Dudley House, if there is another bazaar held there; and I am going to give local prizes, too; and I may get over some of the Harris people to show them the best dyes, and so forth. But all that will take time; and in the meanwhile I am chiefly anxious to put myself right with the tenants by means of this commission and a complete revision of the rents. A commission they can trust—formed of people they know——"
"They will be ill to please if they don't meet you half way—and gladly," said young Ross.
Mary Stanley's eyes shone with pleasure at these hopeful words: she had not met with much encouragement hitherto.
"Does Mr. Watson know Gaelic?" was her next question.
"In a kind of a way, I should imagine," he said. "He is a south countryman; but I should think he knew as much Gaelic as was necessary for his business."
"And to talk to the people about general things—about their crops—and their rents?" she asked again.
"In a kind of a way he might."
"But you—you know Gaelic very well?" she said.
"I think I may fairly say that I do," he confessed frankly enough.
"Then," said she, "if you could find the time, would not that be sufficient to form a commission—Mr. Watson, and you, and I? There would be no kind of conflicting interests; and we should all want to do what was equitable and right by the people."
"Oh," said he, in a wondering sort of way, "there would be only these three—Mr. Watson, yourself, and I?"
"Mr. Purdie," said she, "would simply be a kind of clerk——"
And instantly his face changed.
"Mr. Purdie," said he, "is he coming to take part in it?"
"Only as a kind of clerk," she said quickly. "He would merely register our decisions. And of course he knows the people and all the circumstances; he could give us what information we wanted, and we could form our own judgment."
But there was no return to his face of that sympathetic interest that she had read there for a brief moment or two. His manner had entirely altered; and as they were now close to Lochgarra House, he had to take his leave.
"As far as I am concerned, Miss Stanley," said he, "I would rather leave this resettlement in Mr. Purdie's hands. Intermeddlers only make mischief, and get little thanks for their pains."
She was disappointed and hurt; and yet too proud to appeal further. He bade them good-bye—a little coldly, as Käthchen thought—and left; and Mary Stanley and her friend went into the house. All that Mary said was—
"Well, we must do the best we can, Mr. Watson, Mr. Purdie, and myself. I don't suppose Mr. Watson has any reason to be stiff-necked, and malevolent, and revengeful."
A couple of days thereafter Mr. Purdie arrived; and the Little Red Dwarf appeared to bear with much equanimity the rating that Miss Stanley administered to him over his action in the James Macdonald case.
"Oh, ay," said he, "Macdonald will find out now who is master—the law, or himself. He is the most ill-condeetioned man in the whole district—an ill-condeetioned, thrawn, contentious rascal, and the worst example possible for his neighbours; but he'll find out now; he'll find out that the law is not to be defied with impunity——"
"What do you mean?" said she. "I told you to stop all proceedings."
"I cannot stop the Procurator-Fiscal," said the Troich Bheag Dhearg, grimly, "when he institutes a prosecution for deforcement of the sheriff's officer."
"But I got the sheriff's officer to go away peaceably," said she; "and I told him that the case would be inquired into."
"Just that," replied Mr. Purdie, with a certain self-assurance. "But it was not the business of the sheriff's officer to inquire into the case at all. He had merely to execute the sheriff's warrant; and in doing that, as he now declares, he was deforced. Macdonald will find out whether he can set the law at defiance—even with that mischief-making ne'er-do-weel Donald Ross at his elbow egging him on."
"Mr. Ross did not egg him on!" said Mary Stanley, indignantly; "for I was there, and saw the whole transaction. Mr. Ross interfered for the sake of peace, or there would have been murder done."
"Ay? and I wonder what right has Mr. Ross to interfere wi' the Lochgarra tenants!" said Mr. Purdie, rather scornfully—but with an angry light twinkling in his small blue eyes.
"Because I asked him," said Mary, drawing herself up. "And I will ask him again, when it suits me."
Mr. Purdie said nothing. His heavily down-drawn mouth was more than usually dogged in expression; and it was with difficulty Mary extracted from him the information that the punishment the sheriff would most likely inflict on Macdonald was a fine of forty shillings, with the alternative of three weeks' imprisonment.
"I will pay the fine," said she, promptly. "I did not authorise you to have that man turned out of his croft; and I won't have anyone turned out until I have a thorough investigation made, and the rents revised, and the arrears cancelled."
But when she proceeded to place before him the comprehensive project she had formed—to carry out which he had been summoned from Inverness—the factor abandoned his obstinate attitude, and became almost plaintive.
"Ye'll ruin the estate, Miss Stanley; and ye'll not make these people one whit more contented. Have I not had experience of them, years and years before you ever came to the place? And now that the Land League is their god, nothing will satisfy them but getting crofts and farms, arable land and pasture, all rent free, and the landlords taking the first train for the South. The poor, deluded craytures—if it was not for their spite and ill-will—one could almost peety them; for what would be the advantage to them of a lot of useless land, with no stock to put on it? But maybe they expect to have the stock bought and given to them as well?—I would not wonder! There's they scoundrels in the newspapers, that do not know the difference between a barn-door and a peat-stack, they've filled the heads o' the ignorant craytures with all kinds of nonsense, and they would have the deer-forests divided up—the deer-forests!—they might as well try to plough, sow, and reap the Atlantic—"
"All that does not concern me," she said, interrupting him without scruple. "What does concern me is to have myself put right, in the first place. That is to say, I wish to have rents fixed that the people can pay without getting into arrears—just rents, so that they can have no right to complain."
"Ay, and ye'll go on remitting this and remitting that," said the factor; "and if ye remitted everything they would still grumble! I tell ye, Miss Stanley, I've had experience; and it's not the way to treat these people. The more ye give them, the more they'll ask. What you consider justice, they will consider weakness; they will expect more and more; and complain if they do not get it. I'm telling ye the truth, Miss Stanley, about these idle, and ill-willed, and ill-thrawn craytures: what you propose is no the way to deal wi' them at all——"
"But I propose to take that way none the less," said Mary. And Käthchen, sitting there, and listening, and regarding the Troich Bheag Dhearg, said to herself: 'My good friend, you have tremendous shoulders, and a powerful mouth, and suspicious and vindictive eyes; but you don't in the least know with whom you have to do. Your obstinacy won't answer; and if you are discreet, you will allow it to subside.'
"I have done my best for the estate," he said, with some stiffness.
"Yes," said Mary, "no doubt. But then the result that has been arrived at is not quite satisfactory—according to modern notions. Perhaps the old way was the best; but I am going to try the new—and I suppose I can do what I like with my own, as the saying is. And so, Mr. Purdie, I wish you to go out to-morrow morning and call on Mr. Watson, and give him my compliments—oh, no," she said, interrupting herself: "on second thoughts I will drive out to Craiglarig myself—for it is a great favour I have to ask. Will you dine with us this evening, Mr. Purdie?"
"I thank ye, but I hope ye'll excuse me," said the factor. "I have some various things to look into, and I'll just give the evening to them at the inn."
"Then we shall see you in the morning"—and therewithal the Little Red Dwarf took his departure.
Now to tell the truth, when the sheep-farmer of Craiglarig was asked to assist in this scheme, he did not express himself very hopefully as to the issue; but he was a good-natured man; and he said he would place as much of his time at Miss Stanley's disposal as he reasonably could. And so they set to work to revalue the crofts. No doubt the composition of this amateur court might have been impugned; for it consisted of the owner of the estate, her factor, and her chief tenant; but then again Mary constituted herself, from the very outset, the champion of the occupants of the smaller holdings, Mr. Purdie took the side of the landlords, while Mr. Watson, apart from his services as interpreter, maintained a benevolent neutrality. It was slow and not inspiriting work; for the crofters did not seem to believe that any amelioration of their condition was really meant; they were too afraid to speak, or too sullen to speak; and when they did speak, in many cases their demands were preposterous. But Mary stuck to her task.
"I must put myself right, to begin with," she said, as she had said all along. "Thereafter we will see."
And sometimes she would look out towards Heimra Island; and there was a kind of reproach in her heart. How much easier would all this have been for them, if only young Ross had consented to put aside for the moment that fierce internecine feud between him and the factor! Was Mr. Purdie, she asked herself, the sort of man that Donald Ross of Heimra should raise to the rank of being his enemy? However, the days passed, and there was no sign—no glimmer of the white sails of theSirènecoming away from the distant shores—no mention of the young master having been seen anywhere on the mainland.
"I warrant," said Mr. Purdie, when some remark chanced to be made, "I warrant I can tell where that cheat-the-gallows is off to—away to France for more o' that smuggled brandy so that he can spend his days and nights in drunkenness and debauchery!"
"You forget, Mr. Purdie," said Käthchen, with something very nearly approaching disdain, "that we have made the acquaintance of Mr. Ross, and know something of himself and his habits."
"Do ye?" he said, turning upon her. "I tell ye, ye do not! And a good thing ye do not! A smooth-tongued hypocrite—specious—sly—it is well for ye that ye are ignorant of what that poaching, mischief-making dare-devil really is; but ye'll find out in time—ye'll find out in time."
And indeed it was not until the self-appointed commission had done its work, and Mr. Purdie had gone away to the south again, that young Ross of Heimra reappeared: he said he had heard of what had been arranged; and he thought Miss Stanley had been most generous. This casual encounter took place just as Mary and Kate Glendinning were nearing Lochgarra House; and when they had gone inside, Käthchen said—
"Well, I don't know what has come over you, Mamie. You used always to be so self-possessed—to seem as if you were conferring a favour by merely looking at anyone. And now, when you stand for a few minutes talking to Mr. Ross, you are quite nervous and shamefaced—and apparently anxious for the smallest sign of approval——"
"You have far too much imagination, Käthchen," said Mary, as she went off to her own room.
And then again, that same night, Käthchen was at one of the windows, looking out. She could not distinguish anything, for it was quite dark; she could only hear the wind howling in from the sea.
"Do you know where you should be at this moment, Mamie?" she said. "You ought to be going up the grand staircase of some great opera-house—your cloak of crimson velvet, white-furred—the diamonds in your hair shining through your lace hood—and you should have at least three gentlemen to escort you to your box, carrying opera-glasses, and flowers. That's more like you. And yet here you banish yourself away to this out-of-the-world place—you seek for no amusement—you busy yourself all day about peats, and drains, and seed-potatoes—and the highest reward you set before yourself is to get a half-hearted 'Thank you' from a sulky crofter——"
"Käthchen," said Mary, "I would advise you to read the third chapter of the General Epistle of James."
"Ah, well," said Käthchen—and she was not deeply offended by that hint about the bridling of the tongue—"wait till your brother and Mr. Frank Meredyth come up—and you'll find them saying the same thing. Philanthropy is all very well; but you need not make yourself a white slave." And then she turned to the black window again, and to her visions. "There's one thing, Mamie: I wish Mr. Ross could see you going up that grand staircase."
CHAPTER IV.
HER GUEST.
"It will be all different now," said Käthchen, one evening, when they were come to within a week of the arrival of Mary's brother and his friend Frank Meredyth. "And you deserve some little rest, Mamie, and some little amusement, after all your hard work. And I want you to be considerate—towards Mr. Meredyth, I mean. It isn't merely grouse and grilse that are bringing him here. You know what your brother says—that there is no one in such request for shooting parties; he could just have his pick of invitations, all over Scotland, every autumn; so you may be sure it isn't merely for the grouse and the salmon-fishing he is coming to a little place like Lochgarra. Oh, you need not pretend to deny it, Mamie! And all I want is that you should be a little considerate. He may be very anxious to have you, and yet not quite so anxious to take over your hobby as well. He may not even be interested in the price of home-knitted stockings."
Mary Stanley did not answer just at once. The two girls were slowly walking up and down the stone terrace outside the house. It was ten o'clock at night; but it was not yet dark, nor anything approaching to dark. All the world was of a pale, clear, wan lilac colour: and in this coldly luminous twilight any white object—the front of a cottage, for example, or the little Free Church building across the bay—appeared startlingly distinct. There was an absolute silence; the sea was still; two hours ago the sun had gone down behind what seemed a vast and motionless lake of molten copper; and now there was a far-reaching expanse of pearly grey, with the long headlands and Eilean Heimra gathering shadows around them. The heavens were cloudless and serene; over the sombre hills in the east a star throbbed here and there, but it had to be sought for. There appeared to be neither lamp nor candle down in the village—there was no need of them on these magical summer nights.
"I do not see that it will be so different," said Mary, presently. "Fred will have to look after Mr. Meredyth. No doubt there will be something of a commotion in so quiet a place—the dogs, and keepers, and ponies; by the way, there will be gillies wanted for the fishing as well as for the shooting later on——"
Käthchen began to snigger a little.
"I do believe, Mamie," she said, "that that is all the interest you have in the shooting—it will provide so much more employment for your beloved crofters."
"Oh, yes, I suppose the place will be a little more brisk and lively," Mary continued, "though that won't improve it much in my estimation. I wonder what made Fred hire that wretched little steam-launch." She looked towards the tiny vessel that was lying close to the quay: the small white funnel and the decks forward were visible in the mystic twilight; the hull was less clearly defined. "Fancy that thing coming sputtering and crackling into the bay on a beautiful night like this!"
"It would be very handy to take a message out to Heimra Island," said Käthchen, demurely.
Mary glanced at her, and laughed.
"My dear Käthchen, curiosity is a humiliating weakness; but I will tell you what is in the letter that is lying on the hall table—and that is likely to lie there, unless a wind springs up from some quarter to-morrow. It is an invitation to Mr. Ross to come and dine with us on Monday next."
"Monday?" said Kate Glendinning, looking surprised. "The very day your brother and Mr. Meredyth come here?"
"For that very reason," said Mary. "I wish Mr. Ross to understand why we have never asked him to dine with us—well, of course he would understand for himself—two girls, living by themselves—and—and knowing him only for so short a time. But now, you see, I ask him for the very first evening that my brother is in the house—and that's all right and correct—if there's any Mrs. Grundy in Lochgarra."
"The Free Church Minister!" said Käthchen, spitefully—for she had never forgiven the good man for his having kept aloof from the fray at Ru-Minard.
"Mr. Ross has been very kind to me—in his reserved and distant way," Mary said, "and I should not like him to think me ungrateful——"
"He cannot do that," said Käthchen, "if he hasn't been blind to what your eyes have said to him again and again."
"What do you mean, Käthchen?" Mary demanded—at once alarmed and resentful.
Käthchen retreated quickly: it had been a careless remark.
"Oh, I don't mean anything. I mean your eyes have said 'Thank you,' again and again; and it is but right they should. He has indeed been very thoughtful and kind—and always so respectful—keeping himself in the background. Oh, you need not be afraid, Mamie: you won't find me suggesting that you shouldn't have the most frank and friendly relations with Mr. Ross. At the same time——"
"Yes, at the same time?"
"I was wondering," said Käthchen, with a little hesitation, "how he might get on with your brother and Mr. Meredyth—or, rather, how they might get on with him——"
"My brother and Mr. Meredyth," said Mary, a little proudly, "will remember that Mr. Ross is my guest: that will be enough."
But Kate Glendinning's uneasy forecast was not without some justification—as Mary was soon to discover. The two visitors from the South arrived on the Monday afternoon, and there were many curious eyes covertly following the waggonette as it drove through the village. Of the two strangers, the taller, who was Mary Stanley's brother, was a young fellow of about four or five-and-twenty, good looking rather, of the fair English type, with an aquiline nose, a pretty little yellow-white moustache, and calm grey eyes. His companion, some eight or ten years older, was of middle height, or perhaps a trifle under, active and wiry-looking, with a sun-tanned face, a firm mouth, and shrewd eyes, that on the whole were also good-natured. Both of the travellers were in high spirits—and no wonder: they had heard good accounts of the grouse; they had just caught a glimpse of the Garra, which had plenty of water after the recent rains; over there was the little steam launch that could amuse them now and again for an idle hour; and beyond the bay the big, odd-looking house, against its background of fir and larch, seemed to offer them a hospitable welcome.
Mary was at the top of the semicircular flight of stairs to greet them; but even as she accompanied them into the great oak hall she instinctively felt that there was something unusual in her brother's manner towards her. And when, presently, Mr. Meredyth had been taken away to be shown his own room, Fred Stanley remained behind: Käthchen had not yet put in an appearance, for some reason or another.
"Well, what's the matter, Fred?" Mary said at once.
He had been kicking about the drawing-room in a discontented fashion, staring out of the windows or glancing at the engravings while his friend was there; but now these two were alone.
"The matter?" said he. "Plenty the matter! I don't like to find that you have been making a fool of yourself, and that you are still bent on making a fool of yourself."
"But we can't help it if we are born that way," she said, sweetly.
"Oh, you know quite well what I mean," said this tall young gentleman with the boyish moustache. "I had heard something of it before; but I thought we might as well stop the night at Inverness on the way north; and I saw Mr. Purdie. Now, mind you, Mamie, don't you take it into your head that Purdie said anything against you—he did not. He's a shrewd-headed fellow, and knows which side his bread is buttered. But he answered my questions. And I find you have just been ruining this place—turning the whole neighbourhood into a pauper asylum—and—and flinging the thing away, as you might call it."
"But it wasn't left to you, Fred," she reminded him, gently. "And I have been doing my best—after inquiry."
"Oh, I know," he said impatiently; "you've been got at by a lot of sentimentalists in London—faddists—slummers—popularity-hunters; and now, here in the Highlands, you have been working into the hands of those agitator fellows who are trying to stir up anarchy and rebellion everywhere; and you let yourself be imposed upon by a parcel of scheming and cunning crofters, who don't thank you, to begin with, and who would pull down this house to the ground and burn it the moment your back was turned if they dared."
"You haven't been very long in Lochgarra," said she, with much good humour, "but you seem to have used your time industriously. You know all about it——"
"Oh, it isn't only this place!" he said. "Everyone who reads the papers—who knows anything of the Highlands—is aware of what is going on. And you have allowed yourself to be taken in! For the credit of the family—for the sake of your own common sense—you might have waited a little. Here was Mr. Purdie, who knew the place, who knew the people; but you must needs take the whole matter in your own hands, and begin to throw away your money right and left, as if you had come into a dukedom! What do you suppose is the rental now—after all your abatements?"
"Well, I don't exactly know," said she. "But isn't it better to take what the people can really give you than nothing at all? You can't live on arrears? And, my dear Fred, what cause have you to grumble? The amount of rent affects me only; whereas I offer you the shooting and fishing, which has nothing to do with these matters. Why can't you amuse yourself and let me alone? What I have done I have considered. I have inquired into the condition of these people. To make rents practicable is not to throw away money. Indeed—but I am not going to discuss the question with you at all. Go away and get out your fly-book, and take Mr. Meredyth down to the Garra, and see if you can pick up a grilse before dinner."
But he was not to be put off by her bland amiability.
"Of course," said he, "it is very kind of you to offer me the fishing and the shooting; but I should have been better pleased to have had them without encumbrances."
"What do you mean?" said she.
"Why, who has the fishing and shooting here?" said he. "This poaching scoundrel, Ross. I am told the whole place is in league with him. He can do what he likes."
"And what further information did you gather at Inverness?" she asked, rather contemptuously.
"Well, but look here, Mamie," he remonstrated, with a sense of his wrongs gaining upon him. "Consider the position you have put me in. You know how Frank is in request at this time of the year—a thundering good shot—and used to managing things about country-houses——"
"As well as leading cotillons in London," she interposed, with smiling eyes.
"And why not?" said he, boldly. "Oh, I suppose you consider that effeminate: you would rather have him living among rocks and caves, like this smuggling fellow, and shooting seagulls for his dinner? However, look at my position. I ask him to come down with me, at your suggestion. I tell him it isn't a grand shooting—and that he'll get more sea-trout than salmon in the river—but he comes all the same; and then we discover that the whole place is at the mercy of this idling blackguard of a fellow—if we get a few birds or find a pool undisturbed, it is with his sufferance——"
"So you have acquired all this information at Inverness?" said she. "But I wouldn't entirely trust it if I were you. I am afraid Mr. Purdie is rather prejudiced. He may have been exaggerating. However, if there is any truth in what he says, I'll tell you what you ought to do: ask Mr. Ross to join your shooting and fishing parties. You'll meet him to-night at dinner."
"Here—in this house?" he exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "Mamie, are you mad?"
"I hope not," she said quietly. "But Mr. Ross has been very kind to me of late, in helping me in various little ways; and as I couldn't well ask him to dinner when only Kate and I were in the house, I took the first opportunity after your arrival——"
"And so Frank and I, after being warned that the great annoyance and vexation we should find in the place is this fellow Ross, are coolly informed that we are to meet him at dinner, and I suppose we are expected to be civil to him!"
"I certainly do expect you to be civil to him," said Mary.
"Oh, but it's too bad!" he said, impatiently, and he went to the window and turned his back on her. And then he faced round again. "I wonder what Frank will think! I was almost ashamed to ask him to come here, even as it was—a small shooting, not much fishing, and the stalking merely a chance; but, all the same, he accepts; then the first thing we hear of on reaching Inverness is all about this vexation and underhand going on; and the next thing is that we are asked to meet at dinner the very person who causes all the trouble! Now, Mamie, I appeal to yourself, don't you think it is a little too hard?"
She hesitated. She began to fear she had been thoughtless—indiscreet—too much taken up with her own plans and projects.
"At all events, Fred," she pleaded, "your meeting Mr. Ross at dinner can't matter one way or the other—and you will be able to judge for yourself. To me he does not seem the kind of young man you would suspect of spending his time in poaching; in fact, as I understand it, he is looking forward to being called to the Bar, and I should think he was busier with books than with cartridges or salmon flies."
"You are sure he said he would come to-night?" asked this young Fred Stanley, looking at his sister.
"Yes."
"Definitely promised?"
"Yes."
"Well, I don't think he will."
"Why?"
"Because," said the young man, as he went leisurely towards the door, "there might be a question of evening dress. You haven't a Court tailor at Lochgarra, have you?"
Mary flushed slightly.
"I don't care whether he appears in evening dress or not," said she. "Most likely he will come along from his yacht; and a yachting suit is as good as any—in my eyes."
That evening, when the young hostess came downstairs, the large drawing-room was all suffused with a soft warmth of colour, for the sun was just sinking behind the violet-grey Atlantic, and the glory of the western skies streamed in through the several windows. Käthchen was here; and Käthchen's eyes lighted up with pleasure when she saw how Mary was attired. And yet could any costume have been simpler than this dress of cream-coloured China silk, its only ornamentation being a bunch of deep crimson fuchsias at the opening of the bodice, with another cluster of the same flowers at her belt? She wore no jewellery of any kind whatsoever.
"That is more like you, Mamie," said Käthchen, coming forward with a proud and admiring scrutiny. "I want Mr. Ross to see you in something different from your ordinary workaday things. And you look taller, too, somehow. And fairer—or is that the light from the windows?"
At this very moment the door was opened, and Mr. Ross was announced. Mary turned—with some little self-conscious expectation. And here was Young Donald of Heimra, in faultless evening dress; and there was a quiet look of friendliness in his eyes as he came forward and took the hand that was offered him. Käthchen said to herself: "Why is it that the full shirt-front and white tie suit dark men so well? And why doesn't he dress like that every evening?" For Käthchen did not know that that was precisely what Donald Ross had been in the habit of doing all the years that his mother and he had lived out in that remote island; it was a little compliment he paid her; and she liked that bit of make-believe of ceremony in the monotony of their isolated life.
The new-comers who had arrived that afternoon were somewhat late; for they had gone down to the river to have a cast or two—a futile proceeding in the blazing sunlight; but presently they made their appearance, and were in due course introduced to Donald Ross. Käthchen, who was as usual a keen and interested observer, and who had heard of Fred Stanley's indignant protest, could not but admire the perfect good breeding he displayed on being thus brought face to face with his enemy. But indeed the ordinary every-day manner of a well-educated young Englishman—its curious impassivity, its lack of self-assertion—is a standing puzzle for foreigners and for Americans. What is the origin of it? Blank stupidity? Or a serene contempt for the opinion of others? Or a determination not to commit one's self? Or an affectation of having already seen and done everything worth seeing and doing? Anyhow, Fred Stanley's demeanour towards this stranger and intruder was perfect in its negative way; and so was that of his friend, though Frank Meredyth, by virtue of his superior years, allowed himself to be a little more careless and off-hand. However, there was not much time for forming surmises or jumping to conclusions; for presently dinner was announced.
"Mr. Meredyth, will you take in Miss Glendinning?" Mary said. "Fred, I'm sorry we've nobody for you." And therewithal she turned to Donald Ross, and took his arm, and these two followed the first couple into the dining-room. Young Ross sate at her right hand, of course; he was her chief guest; the others belonged to the house.
It was rather an animated little party; for if the Twelfth was as yet some way off, there were plenty of speculations as to what the Garra was likely to yield in the way of grilse and sea-trout. Käthchen noticed that Donald Ross spoke but little, and that they seldom appealed to him; indeed, Mr. Meredyth, professing to have met with unvarying ill-luck on every stream he had ever fished, was devising an ideal salmon-river on which the sportsman would not be continually exposed to the evil strokes of fate.
"What you want first of all," said he, "is to regulate the water-supply. At present when I go to a salmon-river, one of two things is certain to happen: either it's in roaring flood, and quite unfishable, or else—and this is the more common—it has dwindled away all to nothing, and you might as well begin and throw a fly over a pavement in Piccadilly. Very well; what you want is to turn the mountain-lochs into reservoirs; you bank up the surplus water in the hills; and then, in times of drought, when the river has got low, and would be otherwise unfishable, you send up the keepers to the sluices, turn on a supply, and freshen the pools, so that the fish wake up, and wonder what's going to happen. That is one thing. Then there's another. You know that even when the water is in capital order, you may go down day by day, and find it impossible to get a single cast because of the blazing sunlight. That is a terrible misfortune; for you are all the time aware, as you sit on the bank, and hopelessly watch for clouds, that the fine weather is drying up the hills, and that very soon the stream will have dwindled away again. Very well; what you want for that is en enormous awning, that can be moved from pool to pool, and high enough not to interfere with the casting. By that means, you see, you could transfer any portion of a Highland stream into the land where it is always afternoon; and the fish, thinking the cool of the evening had already come, would begin to disport themselves and play with the pretty little coloured things that the current brought down. Look at the saving of time! Generally, in the middle of the day, there is a horrible long interval when nothing will move in a river. Whether it is the heat, or the sunlight, or the general drowsiness of nature, there's hardly ever anything stirring between twelve o'clock and four; and you lie on the bank, and consume a frightful amount of tobacco; and you may even fall asleep, if you have been doing a good deal of night-work in London. But if you have this great canvas screen, that can be stretched from the trees on one side to the poles on the other—very gradually and slowly, like the coming over of the evening—then the little fishes will begin to say to themselves, 'Here, boys, it's time to go out and have some fun,' and you can have fine sport, in spite of all the sunlight that ever blazed. However, I'm afraid you'd want the revenue of some half-a-dozen dukes before you could secure the ideal salmon-river."
"They're doing so many things with electricity now: couldn't you bring that in?" said Käthchen. "Couldn't you have an electric shock running out from the butt of the rod the moment the salmon touched the fly?"
But this was sheer frivolity. Frank Meredyth suddenly turned to young Ross and said—
"Oh, you can tell me, Mr. Ross—is the Garra a difficult river to fish?"
Now this was a perfectly innocent question—not meant as a trap at all; but Fred Stanley, whose mind had been brooding over the fact that the poacher was actually sitting at table with them, looked startled, and even frightened. Young Ross, on the other hand, appeared in no wise disconcerted.
"Really, I can hardly tell you," he said, "I am not much of a fisherman myself—there is no fishing at all on Heimra Island. But I should say it was not a very difficult river. Perhaps some of the pools under the woods—just above the bridge, I mean, where the banks are steep—might be a little awkward; but further up it is much opener; and further up still you come to long stretches where there isn't a bush on either side."
"Then, perhaps, you can't tell me what are the best sea-trout flies for this water?" was the next question—with no evil intent in it.
"I'm afraid you would find me an untrustworthy guide," said Donald Ross. "If I were you I would take Hector's advice."
So there was an end of this matter—and Fred Stanley was much relieved. What he said to himself was this: "If that Spaniard-looking fellow is lying, he has a splendid nerve and can do it well. A magnificent piece of cheek—if it is so!"
On the whole, at this unpretentious little banquet, Frank Meredyth did most of the talking; and naturally it was addressed in the first place to Miss Stanley as being at the head of the table. He had had a considerable experience of country houses; he was gifted with a certain sense of humour; and he told his stories fairly well—Käthchen rewarding him now and again with a covert little giggle. As for Donald Ross, he sate silent, and reserved, and attentive. He was distinctly the stranger. Not that he betrayed any embarrassment, or was ill at ease; but he seemed to prefer to listen, especially when Mary Stanley happened to be speaking. For, indeed, more than once she let the others go their own way, and turned to him, and engaged him in conversation with herself alone. She found herself timid in doing so. If his manner was always most respectful—and even submissive—his eyes looked uncompromisingly straight at her, and they had a strange, subdued fire in them. When she happened to find his gaze thus fixed on her, she would suddenly grow nervous—stammer—perhaps even forget what she had been saying; while the joyous chatter of the other three at table went gaily on, fortunately for her. Sometimes she would think it was hardly fair of those others to leave her alone in this way: then again she would remind herself that it was she who was responsible for her guest.
It was not that he confused her by an awkward or obstinate silence; on the contrary, he answered her freely enough, in a gravely courteous way; but he seemed to attach too much importance to what she said—he seemed to be too grateful for this special attention she was bestowing upon him. And then again she dared hardly look up; for those black eyes burned so—in a timid, startled way—regarding her as if they would read something behind the mere prettiness of her face and complexion and hair, and apparently quite unconscious of their own power.
At last the ladies rose from the table; and Mary said—
"I suppose you gentlemen will be going out on the terrace to smoke? I wish you would let us come with you. I have not smelt a cigar for months—and it is so delicious in the evening air."
There was not very much objection. Chairs were brought out from the hall; Frank Meredyth perched himself on the stone parapet; the evening air became odorous, for there was hardly a breath of wind coming up from the bay. And as they sate and looked at the wide expanse of water—with only a chance remark breaking the silence from time to time—it may have occurred to one or other of them that the summer twilight that lay over land and sea was growing somewhat warmer in tone. It was Mary who discovered the cause: the golden moon was behind them—just over the low, birch-crowned hill; and the pale radiance lay on the still water in front of them, and on the long spur of land on the other side of the bay, where there were one or two crofters' cottages and fishermen's huts just above the shore. And while they were thus looking abroad over the mystic and sleeping world, a still stranger thing appeared—a more unusual thing for Loch-garra, that is to say—certain moving lights out beyond the point of the headland.
"Look, Mary!" Käthchen cried. "But that can't be the steamer—she is not due till next Thursday!"
Whatever the vessel was, she was obviously making in for the harbour; for presently they could see both port and starboard lights—a red star and a green star, coming slowly into the still, moonlit bay.
"It is theConsuelo," Donald Ross said to Mary. "It is Lord Mount-Grattan's yacht: she has come down from Loch Laxford."
They watched her slow progress—this big dark thing stealing almost noiselessly into the spectral grey world; they saw her gradually rounding; the green light disappeared; there was a sudden noise of the reversal of the screw; then a space of quiet again; and at last the roar of the anchor. The rare visitor had chosen her position for the night.
Almost directly thereafter young Ross of Heimra rose and took leave of his hostess—saying a few words of thanks for so pleasant an evening. The others did not go indoors, however; the still, balmy, moonlight night was too great a temptation. They remained on the terrace, looking at the big black steam-yacht that now lay motionless on the silver-grey water, and listening for the occasional distant sounds that came from it.
But presently they saw a small boat put off from the shore, rowed by two men, with a third figure in the stern.
"That is Mr. Ross!" Käthchen exclaimed. "I know it is—that is his light overcoat."
"Can he be going away in the yacht?" Mary said suddenly.
"Not likely!" her brother struck in. "When you start off on a yachting cruise you don't go on board in evening dress." And then the young man turned to his male companion. "I say, Frank, don't you think that fellow was lying when he pretended not to know anything about the fishing in the Garra?"
It was an idle and careless question—perhaps not even meant to be impertinent; but Mary Stanley flamed up instantly—into white heat.
"Mr. Ross is—is a gentleman," she said, quite breathlessly. "And—he was my guest this evening—though you—you did not seem to treat him as such!"
Käthchen put her hand gently on her friend's arm.
"Mamie!" she said.
And Frank Meredyth never answered the question: this little incident—and a swift and covert glance he had directed towards the young lady herself—had given him something to think about.