Chapter 4

THE HEATHER ON FIRE!THE HEATHER ON FIKE!The Land for the People!—Away with Sheep, Deer, and Landlords!—The Landlords must go!—Compulsory Emigration for Landlords!—Men of the Highlands, stand up for your rights!—Down with Southern Rack-Renters!To THETENANTS, CROFTERS, AND COTTARS OFLOCHGARRA AND NEIGHBOURHOOD:A PUBLIC MEETINGWill be held in Lochgarra Free Church, on Monday the 12th of August, at one o'clock. Addresses by Mr. JOSIAH OGDEN, M.P., Miss ERNESTINE SIMON, of Paris, and Mrs. ELIZABETH JACKSON NOYES, of the Connecticut Council of Liberty. Mr. JOHN FRASER, Vice-President of the Stratherrick Branch of the Highland Land League, will preside.ADMISSION FREE.Men of Lochgarra!—attend in your hundreds:"Who would be free themselves must strike the blow!"Well, Mary was not the least bit frightened."I don't see why they shouldn't hold a public meeting," said she, as she handed him back the bill."Why, there will be a public riot!" he said. "You haven't seen the great placards they have pasted up on the walls—done with a big brush—I suppose they were afraid to print them; but if you go down through the village you will see what they're after. 'Sweep the sheep off Meall-na-Fearn'—'Take back the land'—'A general march into Glen Orme.'""Glen Orme deer-forest has nothing to do with me," she said."Do you think they will draw such fine distinctions?" he retorted. "I can tell you, when once the march has begun, they won't stop to ask whose fences they are tearing down; and a shot or two fired through your windows is about the least you can expect. And that is what comes of coddling people: they think they can terrorise over you whenever they choose—they welcome any kind of agitator, and think they're going to have it all their own way. And can't you see who suggested the Twelfth to them? I'll bet it was that fellow Ross—a clever trick!—either we lose the opening day of the shooting—and that would make him laugh like a cat—or else we leave the place free for those parading blackguards to plunder at their will.""At all events, Miss Stanley," interposed Frank Meredyth, in a calmer manner, "there can be no harm in postponing our grouse shooting until the Tuesday. I think it will be better for Fred and myself to be about the premises—and the keepers too—until this little disturbance has blown over.""Who are those people?" she said, taking back the paper and regarding it. "Mr. Ogden I know something of—mostly from pictures of him inPunch; but I thought it was strikes and trade unions in the north of England that he busied himself with. What has brought him to Scotland?""Why, wherever there is mischief to be stirred up—and notoriety to be earned for himself—that is enough for a low Radical of that stamp!" her brother said. He was a young man, and his convictions were round and complete."And Miss Ernestine Simon—-who is she?""Oh, you don't know Ernestine?" said Frank Meredyth, with a smile. "Oh yes, surely! Ernestine, the famouspétroleuse, who fought at the Buttes Chaumont and got wounded in the scramble through Belleville? You must have heard of her, surely! Well, Ernestine is getting old now; but there is still something of the sacred fire about her—a sort ofmouton enragédesperation: she can use whirling words, as far as her broken English goes.""And Mrs. Noyes?" Mary continued. "Who is Mrs. Jackson Noyes, from Connecticut?""There I am done," he confessed. "I never heard of Mrs. Jackson Noyes in any capacity whatever. But I can imagine the sort of person she is likely to be.""And what do those people know about the Highlands?" Mary demanded again."What they have been told by the Land League, I suppose," was his answer—and therewithal Miss Stanley led the way back to the drawing-room, to carry these startling tidings to Kate Glendinning.But she was very silent and thoughtful all that evening; and when the two gentlemen, after dinner, had gone out on the terrace to smoke a cigar, she said—"Käthchen, I am going to confide in you; and you must not break faith with me. You hear what is likely to happen next Monday. Very well: Mr. Meredyth and Fred both want to remain about the house, along with the keepers, in case there should be any disturbance, any injury done to the place. Now I particularly wish that they should not; and you must back me up, if it is spoken of again. Why, what harm can the people do? I don't mind about a broken window, if one of the lads should become unruly in going by. And if they drive the sheep off Meall-na-Fearn, the sheep can be driven back the next day. I will warn Mr. Watson that he must not allow his men to show resistance. But, above all, I am anxious that Fred and Mr. Meredyth should leave in the morning for their shooting, as they had arranged. For the truth is, Käthchen, I mean to go to this meeting; and I mean to go alone.""Mamie!" Käthchen exclaimed, with dismay in her eyes."There are many reasons," Mary Stanley went on. "If those strangers know anything about the condition of the Highlands that I do not know, I shall be glad to hear it. If they have merely come to stir up mischief, I wish to make my protest. But there is more than that: perhaps the people about here have their grievances and resentments that they would speak of more freely at such a meeting; and if they have, I want to know what they are; and I want to show that I am not afraid to trust myself among my neighbours, and to listen to what they have got to say. For, after all, Käthchen, the more you think of it, the more that emigration scheme—the drafting of a lot of people from their own homes—seems such a complete confession of failure. I would rather try something else first—or many things—rather than have the people go away to Canada or Queensland.""Mamie," said Käthchen, rising to her feet, "I will not allow you to thrust yourself into this danger. You don't know what an excited crowd may not do. You are the representative here—the only representative—of the very class whom these strangers have come to denounce.""That is why I mean to go and show them that the relations between landlord and tenant need not necessarily be what they imagine them to be," Mary said, with a certain dignity and reserve. "Why, if there is any risk of a serious disturbance, is it not my place to be there, to do what I can to prevent it?""I will appeal to Mr. Meredyth," said Käthchen."You cannot," said Mary, calmly. "I have entrusted you with my secret—you cannot break faith."Käthchen looked disconcerted for a second."It is quite monstrous, Mamie, that you should expose yourself to such a risk. Is it because you are so anxious Mr. Ross should not take away a lot of the people to Canada—and you want them to declare openly that they are on good terms with you? At all events, you shall not be there alone. I will go with you.""It is quite needless, Käthchen!""I don't care about that," said Kate Glendinning; and then she added, vindictively: "and when I get hold of that Mr. Pettigrew, I will give him a bit of my mind! The man of peace—always sighing and praying that people should live together inahmity—and here he goes and lends his church to these professional mischief-makers. Wait till I get hold of Mr. Pettigrew!"CHAPTER VII."KAIN TO THE KING THE MORN!"The night was dark and yet clear; the sea still; not a whisper stirred in the birch-woods nor along the shores; the small red points of fire, that told of the distant village, burned steadily. And here, down near the edge of the water, were Coinneach and Calum-a-bhata, hidden under the shadow of the projecting rocks."Oh, yes, Calum," the elder sailor was saying in his native tongue—and he spoke in something of an undertone—"maybe we will get a few sea-trout this night; and a good basket of sea-trout is a fine thing to take away with us to Heimra; and who has a better right to the sea-trout than our master? Perhaps you do not know what in other days they used to callKain; for you are a young man, and not hearing of many things; but I will tell you now. It was in the days when there were very good relations between the people and the proprietors—""When the birds sang in Gaelic, Coinneach!" said Calum."Oh, you may laugh; for you are a young man, and ignorant of many things; but I tell you there was that time; and the tenants and the people at the Big House were very friendly. And the tenants they paid part of their rent in things that were useful for the Big House—such things as hens, and butter, and eggs, and the like; but it was not taken as rent; not at all; it was taken as a present; and the people at the Big House they would have the tenant sit down, and drink a glass of whisky, and hear the news. And now do you understand that there's many a one about here knows well of that custom; and they may pay their money-rent to the English family; but they would rather send theirKainto the old family, that is, to our master; and that is why the Gillie Ciotach and the rest of them are very glad when they can take out a hare or a brace of birds or something of that kind to Heimra. And why should not the sea payKainto Donald Ross of Heimra?—I will ask you that question, Calum. If the sea about here belongs to any one, it belongs to the old family, and not to the English family——""But if they catch us with the scringe-net, Coinneach?" said the younger man, ruefully. "Aw,Dyeea, I was never in a prison.""The scringe-net!—a prison!" said Coinneach with contempt. "How little you know about such things! Do they put the dukes and the lords in prison that come round the coast in their big yachts? and in nearly every one of the yachts you will see a scringe-net hung out to dry, and no one concealing it. Do you think I have no eyes, Calum? When theConsuelocame round to Camus Bheag, and the master was sending to us for his other clothes before he went away to the south, did I not see them taking down a scringe-net from the boom? It is very frightened you are, Calum, whether it is putting a few kegs into a cave, or putting a scringe-net round a shore. Now if there was something really to frighten you—like the card-playing the young man saw——"What was that, Coinneach?" said Calum quickly.Conneach paused for a second or two, and his face became grave and thoughtful."That was enough to frighten anyone," he continued presently—in this mysterious chillness, while he kept his eyes watching the vague, dark plain that lay between him and the distant lights of the village. "And if I tell you the story, Calum, it is to show you there are many things we do not understand, and that it is wise not to speak too confidently, in case someone might overhear—someone that we cannot see. For sometimes they show themselves; and at other times they are not visible; butthey may be there. Now I must tell you it happened in a great castle in the north; I am not remembering the name of it; maybe it was up in Caithness; I am not remembering that; but the story is well known, and I was hearing that someone was putting it in a book as well. Now I must tell you that the owner of the castle is the head of the clan, and of a very old and great family; and it is the custom, whenever he goes away from home, that one of the other gentlemen of the clan goes to the castle to keep watch. It is not needful in these days, as you can guess for yourself; but it is a compliment to the head of the clan, and an old custom; and maybe it is kept up to this present time—though I am not swearing that to you, Calum. What I am telling you took place a good many years ago; that is what I have heard; maybe sixty years, maybe fifty years, maybe a hundred years; I am not swearing to that. But the chief had to go away from home; and according to the custom, one of the gentlemen went to keep watch; and he took with him a young country lad, one of his own servants. Now I must tell you there was a fire put in the great hall of the castle; for it was in the winter time; and they had to sit up all night, the one keeping the other awake—for no one likes to be left alone in a strange place like that, in the night-time, and not knowing what things have been experienced by others.""You are not needing to tell me that, Coinneach," the other assented."Very well. But as I was saying, the master he sate close to the fire in the great hall; and the young man he remained some distance away, by one of the windows; and there was no speaking between them. So one hour after another hour went by; and there was nothing happening; and it was not until the dead of the night, or towards the morning, that the young man noticed that his master had fallen asleep. He did not like that, I can tell you, Calum; for if you are left alone, the evil beings may appear and come upon you; and there is no question about it. Very well. The young man he thought he would go over to the fire and waken his master; but what do you think of this now, Calum, that when he tried to rise from his seat he could not do that—something was holding him back—he tried seven times over and seven times more, as I have heard, for he was trembling with the fear of being held. And then—what do you think of this, Calum?—and it is the truth I am telling you—he saw what few men have ever seen, and what few would ever wish to see: the folding-doors at the end of the hall were opened wide; and there were two footmen bringing in lights; and then there was a procession of ladies and gentlemen all dressed in a way that was strange to him; and they came into the hall so that you could not hear a sound. They took no notice of him or his master; and he could see everything they were doing, for all that his eyes were starting out of his head with fright; and I tell you he was so terrified he could not cry out to wake his master. But he was watching—oh, yes, he was watching with all his eyes, you may be sure of that; and he saw the footmen bring forward the tables; and those people in the strange clothes sate down and began to play at cards; and they were talking to each other—but never any sound of their talking. He could see their lips moving; but there was no sound. What do you think of that now, Calum?—was it not a dreadful thing for a young man to see?—even if they were not doing him any harm, or even knowing he was there? There's many a one would have sprung up and shrieked out; but as I tell you, there was no strength in his bones and he could not move; and his master was fast asleep; and all those people—the gentlemen with their small swords by their side, and the ladies in their silks—they were playing away at the cards, and talking to each other across the table, and not a sound to be heard. He watched and watched—aw, God, I suppose he was more dead than alive with trembling, and not being able to call on his master—until the windows began to grow grey with the morning light; and then he saw that the people were sometimes looking at the windows, and sometimes at each other, and they were talking less. Then they rose; and he could not see the candles any more because of the light in the hall; and they were going away in that noiseless manner, when one of them happened to spy the young man; and he came along and looked at him. He looked at him for a moment—and seemed to breathe on him—so that it was like a cold air touching him—and the young man knew that the hand of death had been put upon him. There was no sound; the strange person only looked; and the young man felt the cold air on his forehead, so that he was for sinking to the floor; for he thought that death was on him already, and that he must go with them wherever they were going. Calum, I have told you what I felt when I was coming back from Ru Grobhar, and when the Woman came behind me; it was like that with the young man, as I have heard. And then all of a sudden a cock crew outside; and his master woke up and looked round; and there was no one in the hall but their two selves.""Did he cry out then?—did he tell his master what he had seen?" Calum asked, in a low voice."He was not caring much to tell any one," Coinneach replied. "It was what he felt within him that concerned him; and he knew that the touch of death had been put upon him. Oh, yes, he told the story, though they found him so weak that he could not say much; and they put him to bed—but he was shivering all the time; and he had no heart for living left in him. He was not caring to speak much about it. When they asked him what the people were like, he said the gentlemen had velvet coats, and white hair tied with black ribbons behind; and the ladies were rich in their dresses; but he could not say what language they were speaking, for he could see their lips moving, but there was no sound. He was not caring to speak much about it. The life seemed to have been taken out of his body; he said he would never rise again from his bed. He said more than once, 'It was that one that breathed on me; he wanted me to go with them to be one of the servants; and if the cock had not crowed I would have gone with them. But now I am going.' And he got weaker and weaker, until about the end of the third day; and then it was all over with the poor lad; and there was no struggle—he knew that the death-touch had been put upon his heart.""And I suppose now," said Calum, meditatively, "they will have him bringing in the tables for them every time they come to play cards in the middle of the night. Aw,Dyeea, I know what I would do if I was the master of that place: I would have the keepers hidden, and when those people came in I would have three or four guns go off at them all at once: would not that settle them?""You are a foolish lad, Calum, to think you can harm people like that with a gun," said Coinneach. "No, if it was I, I would say the Lord's Prayer to myself, very low, so that they could not hear; and if they did hear, and still came towards me, I would cry out, 'God on the cross!'—and that would put the people away from me, as it made the Woman take her hands from my throat the dreadful night I was coming by the Black Bay.""Ay, but tell me this, Coinneach," said the younger of the two men. "I have heard that in great terror your tongue will cleave to your mouth; and you cannot cry out. And what is to happen to you then, if one of those people came near to put a cold breath on you?"Coinneach did not answer this question: for the last few seconds he had been carefully scanning the darkened plain before him."The boat is coming now, Calum," he whispered. "And it is just as noiseless as any ghost she is." And with that the two men got up from the rock on which they had been sitting, and went down to the water's edge, where they waited in silence.There was a low whistle; Coinneach answered it. Presently a dark object became dimly visible in the gloom. It was a rowing-boat; and as she slowly drew near the prow sent ripples of phosphorescence trembling away into the dusk, while the blades of the muffled oars, each time they dipped, struck white fire down into the sea. It looked as if some huge and strange creature, with gauzy silver wings, was coming shoreward from out of the unknown deeps. Not a word was uttered by anyone. When the bow of the boat came near Coinneach caught it and checked it, so that it should not grate on the shingle. Then he and his companion tumbled in; two other oars, also muffled, were put in the rowlocks; and silently she went away again, under the guidance of a fifth man, who sate at the helm. Very soon the lights of Lochgarra were lost to view; they had got round one of the promontories. Out to seaward there was nothing visible at all; while the 'loom' of the land was hardly to be distinguished from the overhanging; heavens that did not show a single star.And yet the steersman seemed to be sufficiently sure of his course. There was no calling a halt for consultation, nor any other sign of uncertainty. Noiselessly the four oars kept measured time; there were simultaneously the four sudden downward flashes of white—followed by a kind of seething of silver radiance deep in the dark water; then, here and there on the surface, a large and lambent jewel would shine keenly for a second or two, floating away on the ripples as the boat left it behind. Not one of the men smoked: that of itself showed that something unusual was happening. They kept their eyes on the sombre features of the adjacent shore—of which a landsman could have made next to nothing; or they turned to the dimly-descried outline of the low range of hills, where that could be made out against the sky. It was a long and monotonous pull—with absolute silence reigning. But at length a whispered "Easy, boys, easy!" told them that this part of their labour was about over; and now they proceeded with greater caution—merely dipping the tips of their oars in the water, while all their attention was concentrated on the blurred and vague shadows of the land.They were now in a small and sheltered bay, the stillness of which was so intense that they could distinctly hear the murmur of some mountain burn. On the face of the hill rising from the sea there were certain darker patches—perhaps these were birch-woods: also down by the shore there were spaces of deeper gloom—these might be clumps of trees. No light was visible anywhere: this part of the coast was clearly uninhabited, or else the people were asleep. And yet, before venturing nearer, they ceased rowing altogether; and watched; and listened. Not a sound: save for that continuous murmur of the stream, that at times became remote, and then grew more distinct again—as some wandering breath of wind passed across the face of the hill. The world around them lay in a trance as deep as death: the bark of a dog, the call of a heron, would have been a startling thing. Meanwhile two of the oars had been stealthily shipped; the remaining two were sufficient to paddle the boat nearer to the rocks, when that might be deemed safe.And at last the steersman, who appeared to be in command, gave the word. As gently as might be, the boat was headed in for the shore, until Coinneach, who was up at the bow, whispered "That'll do now;" the rowing ceased; there was a pause, and some further anxious scrutinising of that amorphous gloom; then two black figures stepped over the side into the water, taking with them the lug-line of the net that was carefully arranged in the stern. They were almost immediately lost sight of; for the boat was again noiselessly paddled away, until the full length of the line was exhausted; while he in the stern began to pay out the net—each cork float that dropped into the water sending a shower of tremulous white stars spreading from it, and all the meshes shivering in silver as they were straightened out. A wonderful sight it was; but not the most likely to procure a good fishing; for, of course, that quivering, lustrous, far-extended web would be visible at some little distance. However, out went the net easily and steadily—with just the faintest possible "swish" as each successive armful soused into the sea; and then, as quick as was consistent with silence, the boat was pulled ashore, and two of the men jumped out with the other lug-line. They, too, vanished in the impenetrable dusk. The solitary occupant of the mysterious craft, standing up at the bow, was now left to watch the result of these operations and to direct, in low and eager whispers, his unseen comrades. Slowly, slowly the semicircular net was being hauled in; as it got nearer and nearer the men at the lug-lines splashed the water with them, so as to frighten the fish into the meshes; the sea glimmered nebulous in white fire; here and there a larger star burned clear on the black surface for a moment, and then gradually faded away. The commotion increased—in the water and out of it; it was evident from the fluttering and seething that there was a good haul; and in their excitement the scringers who were ashore forgot the danger of their situation—there were muttered exclamations in Gaelic as the net was narrowed in and in. And then, behold!—in the dark meshes those shining silver things—each entangled fish a gleaming, scintillating wonder—a radiant prize, here in the deep night. If this wasKainfor Donald Ross of Heimra, it wasKainfit to be paid to a king.It was at this moment that three men came across the rocky headland guarding the bay on its northern side. They had just completed a careful inspection of the neighbouring creek—as careful as the darkness would allow; they had followed the windings of the coast, searching every inlet; and so far their quest had been in vain. Now they stood on this promontory, peering and listening."No, sir, I do not see or hear anything," said Hector, the tall keeper, who had a gun over his shoulder; and he seemed inclined to give up further pursuit."But I tell you they must be somewhere," said Fred Stanley, in an excited fashion. "There was no mistake about what they were after. What would they be going out in a boat for at this time of the night, if it wasn't for scringeing?""Maybe they would be for setting night-lines," said the keeper, evasively."Not a bit of it!" the young man retorted with impatience. "I know better than that. And I know who is in that boat—I know perfectly well. It isn't for nothing that theSirèneis lying in Camus Bheag: I know who is out with those poaching nets—and I'm going to catch him if I can. I want to have certain things made public: I want an explanation: I want to have the Sheriff at Dingwall called in to settle this matter.""Are you quite sure you saw the boat, sir?" said the keeper—all this conversation taking place in lowered tones, except when Fred Stanley grew angry and indignant."Why," said he, turning to his friend Meredyth, "how far was she from the steam-launch when she passed—not half a dozen yards, I'll swear! It was a marvellous stroke of luck we thought of going out for that draught-board; they little thought there would be any one on the launch at that hour; and I tell you, if the punt had been a bit bigger, I would have given chase to them there and then. Never mind, we ought to be able to catch them yet—catch them in the act—and I mean to see it out——""Yes, but we haven't caught them," said Frank Meredyth, discontentedly; for he had stumbled again and again, and knocked his ankles against the rocks; and he would far rather have been at home, talking to Mary Stanley. "And it's beastly dark: we shall be slipping down into the water sooner or later. What's the use of going on, Fred? What about a few sea-trout? Everybody does it——""But it's against the law all the same; and I mean to catch this poaching scoundrel red-handed, if I can," was the young man's answer. "Come, Hector, you must know perfectly well where they put out the scringe-nets. What's this place before us now?""It's the Camus Mhor, sir," said Hector, "in there towards the land.""Well, is it any use scringeing in this bay?" the young man demanded."There's the mouth of the burn that comes down by the plantation," was the reply."Very well, take us there!" Fred Stanley said, impatiently. "Those fellows must be somewhere; and I'll bet you they're not far off. I must say, Hector, you don't seem particularly anxious to get hold of them. Are there any of them friends of yours?"Hector did not answer this taunt. He merely said—"It is a dark night, sir, to make any one out."And then they went on again, but with caution; for besides the danger of breaking a leg among the rocks, they knew that the yawning gulfs of the sea were by their side. Hector led the way, Fred Stanley coming next, Meredyth—with muttered grumblings—bringing up the rear. In this wise they followed the inward bend of the bay, until the keeper leapt from the rocks into a drifted mass of seaweed: they were at the corner of the semi-circular beach.Suddenly Fred Stanley caught Hector's arm, and held him for a second."Do you hear that?" he said, in an eager whisper. "They are there—right ahead of us—fire a shot at them, Hector!—give them a peppering—give their coats a dusting!""Oh, no, sir," said the serious-mannered keeper, "I cannot do that. But I will go forward and challenge them. When you get to know who they are, then you will apply for a summons afterwards.""Come on, then!—come along!" the young man said, and he began to run—stumbling over seaweed, stones, and shingle—but guided by the subdued commotion in front of him.All at once that scuffle ceased. There was another sound—slight and yet distinct: it was the hurried dip of oars. Nay, was not that the "loom" of a boat, not twenty yards away from them—the dark hull receding from the land?"Here, Hector!" the young man cried—furious that his prey had just escaped him. "Fire, man!—give them a charge!—give the thieving scoundrels a dose of shot amongst them!"Hector made no answer to this appeal. He called aloud—"Who are you? Whose is that boat?"There was no word in reply—only the slight sound of the dipping oars. Fred Stanley caught at the gun; but the keeper held it away from him."No, sir, no," he said gravely. "We must keep within the law, whatever they do.""Yes—and now they're off—and laughing at us!" the young man angrily exclaimed. And then he said: "Do you mean to tell me you don't know who these men are? Do you mean to tell me you don't know quite well that it is Ross of Heimra who is in that boat?""I am not thinking that, sir," Hector answered slowly."You took precious good care not to find out!" Fred Stanley said, for he was grievously disappointed. "If you had come up with me you might have compelled them to stop and declare themselves: even if you had fired in the air, that would have brought them to reason fast enough. When shall we get such another chance? I knew things like this were going on—knew it quite well. And it's your place to stop it—it's your business. It is a monstrous thing that the fishing in the rivers should be destroyed by those thieves."He continued looking out to sea; but the boat had disappeared in the dark."No, we shall not get another chance like that," said he, turning to his friend Meredyth. "And it is a thousand pities—for I would have given anything to have caught that fellow red-handed: I hate to think of my sister being imposed upon.""Well, I suppose we'd better be getting back," said Frank Meredyth, who had displayed no great interest in this expedition. "And I dare say Hector can show us some inland way—I don't want to go round those infernal rocks again.""Hector?" said Fred Stanley, in a savage undertone, "I'm pretty sure of this—that when Hector took us all round those rocks, he knew precious well where the scringers were!"And very indignant was he, and sullenly resentful, when he carried this story home to Lochgarra House and to his sister. He roundly accused the keepers of connivance. They could put down the scringeing if they chose; but it was all part and parcel of the poaching system that existed for the benefit of Donald Ross. He it was who had the fishing and shooting of this estate. A fine condition of affairs, truly!"I am afraid," said Mary Stanley, who seemed to take this stormy complaint with much composure, "that Mr. Ross has not quite enough skill to make much of a poacher, even if he were inclined that way. If you had been here yesterday, you would have heard himself say that he was a very indifferent shot, and a very poor fisherman also——""And you believed him, of course!" her brother said, with contempt. "Of course he would say that! That is the very thing he would profess——""But, you see, Fred," she continued, without taking any offence, "he gave us a very good reason why he should be but a poor sportsman. There is neither fishing nor shooting on Heimra Island."He laughed scornfully."Fishing and shooting on Heimra Island?" he repeated. "What need has he of them, when he has the fishing and shooting of Lochgarra?""You may be mistaken, Fred," Frank Meredyth interposed—careful to be on Miss Stanley's side, as usual. "You may be going too much by what Purdie said that evening at Inverness. At the same time, I quite know this, that when once you suspect any one of poaching, it is desperately difficult to get the idea out of your head. All kinds of small things are constantly happening that seem to offer confirmation——""I will bet you twenty pounds to five shillings," said the young man hotly, "that if we go out to Heimra to-morrow, and stay to luncheon, we shall find sea-trout on the table. There may be no fishing on the island—that is quite possible; but I tell you there will be sea-trout in Ross's house. I dare you all to put it to the proof. It is a fair offer. We can run out in the steam-launch if the sea is as calm as it is now—Mamie, you can come too, and Miss Glendinning; and my bet is twenty pounds to five shillings that you will find sea-trout produced.""Surely it would be rather shabby to go and ask a man to give you lunch in order to prove something against him?" she made answer. "And even then that would not show he had been himself in the boat. As for any of the people about here using a scringe-net now and again to pick up a few fish—well, that is not a very heinous offence.""If it is," said Meredyth (still siding with her), "it is committed every summer by a large number of highly respectable persons. Why, only the other day the Fishery Board had to issue a circular reminding owners of yachts that netting in territorial seas wasn't allowed.""Oh, very well," said Fred Stanley, with a sort of affected resignation. "Very well. It is no concern of mine. The place does not belong to me. And of course, Mamie, you are only following out the programme which will be laid before the free and independent—the very free and independent—natives of this parish, on Monday. No doubt they will be told they have the right to take salmon and sea-trout wherever they can find them, either in the rivers, or round the mouths of the rivers, or in the sea.Theyhave that right, you understand, butyouhaven't; ifyoutry to catch a salmon, you will have a stone hurled into the pool in front of you! And what will be the rest of the programme when the English demagogue, and the French anarchist, and the Yankee platform-woman, come to set the heather on fire? How much more are you going to surrender, Mamie? You've cut down the rents everywhere—given up more pasture—given up more peat-land. What next? Don't you think it's an awful shame you should be living in a great big house like this, when those poor people are living in thatched hovels——""Well," said Mary, with an honest laugh, "if I must tell you the truth, I do sometimes think so. Sometimes, when I go outside, and look at the contrast, it does seem to me too great——""Oh, very well!" he said ironically. "When these are your sentiments, I don't wonder that the place is considered ripe for a general riot. But whatever your theories may be, I'm going to draw the line at personal violence and destruction of property. I shall have my six-chambered Colt loaded on Monday; and if any impudent blackguard dares to come near this place——""You are going up the hill on Monday," said she briefly. "Both you and Mr. Meredyth. I want some grouse for the kitchen; and as many more to send away as you can get for me.""Pardon me, Miss Stanley," Meredyth said, and he spoke with a certain quiet decision, "you are asking a little too much. It is impossible for us to go away shooting and leave you at the mercy of what may turn out to be a riotous mob. It is quite impossible: you have no right to ask it.""Yes, but I do ask it!" she said, somewhat petulantly—for she wished to be left free to follow her own designs on that fateful Monday. "You are my guest; you are here for the Twelfth; and I particularly want you—both you and Fred—to go away after the grouse; and never mind about this—this lecture, or whatever it is——""I for one, cannot," he said, firmly; "and I know Fred will not."Mary glanced half-imploringly at Käthchen. But Käthchen sate mute. Perhaps she was considering that, whether Mary went to the meeting or not, it was just as well the two gentlemen were to be within hail. Besides, before then it was just possible Mary might be induced to confess to them her mad resolve: in which case it would become their duty to reason and remonstrate, seeing that Käthchen's protests had been of no avail. Or would they insist on accompanying her to the meeting, if she was determined to go? For one thing, Käthchen did not at all like Fred Stanley's reference to his Colt's revolver; if there was going to be any serious disturbance, that was not likely to prove a satisfactory means of quelling it.CHAPTER VIII.A REVOLUTION THAT FAILED.But at first the two young men—especially when they were in the society of the young women—professed to make light of the threatened invasion. What harm could come of allowing a parcel of notoriety-hunting adventurers to air their eloquence—and their ignorance? The crofters would at once perceive that Ogden, M.P., knew no more about them and their ways of life than he knew about the inhabitants of the moon. As for Mademoiselle Ernestine—the fiery Ernestine would find it difficult to set the Highland peat-bogs in a blaze with her little tin can of paraffin. And as for Mrs. Jackson Noyes of Connecticut—but here the young men had to confess that they knew nothing of Mrs. Jackson Noyes; and so, to amuse themselves, at dinner, they set to work to construct an imaginary Mrs. Noyes out of a series of guesses."She is a passionate sympathiser with all suffering races—especially married women," said Mr. Meredyth, confidently."Men are brutes," observed Fred Stanley."She will denounce the hideous cruelty of landlords stalking grouse with express rifles," said Meredyth, keeping the ball rolling."She will call on the crofters to arise in their wrath and demand that of every stag killed two haunches must be delivered over to them, the remaining two to be retained by the landlord.""But doesn't that sound reasonable?" said Käthchen, innocently—whereat there was a roar."Miss Glendinning," said Meredyth, apologetically, "you forget: the haunches of a stag are limited in number. It was Mrs. Jackson Noyes's idea of a stag we were dealing with. Well, Fred, what next?""Any landlord or farmer," continued the younger man, with a matter-of-fact air, "found guilty of killing a sheep without the aid of chloroform to be sent to jail for twenty-five years. No lamb to be taken away from its mother without the mother's consent—in writing, stamped, sealed, and delivered before the Sheriff of Dingwall.""A compulsory rate," suggested Frank Meredyth, "levied on landlords, of course—for the relief of bed-ridden peat-hags——""Oh, stop that nonsense!" Mary interposed, laughing in a shamefaced kind of way. "They can't be as ignorant as all that.""Oh, can't they?" said he, coolly. "I've seen lots of worse things—accompanied by eloquent, if occasionally ungrammatical, denunciations of the brutal landlords. You are a landlord, Miss Stanley; and you have taken the wages of blood and sin. If I were you I should feel inclined to throw down the thirty pieces of silver and depart and go and hang myself.""She won't do that," said her brother. "But what she is more likely to do is to give up the pasture of Meall-na-Fearn that those people demand. And then Mrs. Jackson Noyes will telegraph to theConnecticut Radiatorthat a great triumph has been achieved, and that the American banner has begun to wave over the benighted Highlands.""I wish the American banner didn't wave over so many Highland deer-forests," said Meredyth, briefly; and there an end for the moment.But the talk of the two young men when they were by themselves was very different."What ought to be done, and done at once," said Fred Stanley, "is to send over to Dingwall for a body of police. Indeed, the meeting should be suppressed altogether: it is a clear instigation to riot. I don't see how a riot can be avoided—if those howlers are allowed to rave. But my sister won't hear of it. Oh, no! Everything is to be amiable and friendly and pleasant. She is quite sure that the crofters are grateful to her for their lowered rents and all that. Grateful!—they don't know what gratitude is!""But at all events you must remember this," said Meredyth, "that your sister has been here a much longer time than you; and she has been doing her best to get to understand these people and their wants and their habits of thinking. She may be a little too confident: in that case, it is for you and me to see that she is kept out of harm's way. And as far as I can judge, the main event of the day is to be a raid into Glen Orme forest——""By the Lord, they'll get a warm reception if they try that!" young Stanley broke in. "I can tell you, from what I've heard of him, Colonel Tomlins isn't the sort of man to let a lot of vagabonds march past Glen Orme Lodge and take possession of the forest—I should think not. The ragged army will find a sufficient force awaiting them—keepers, foresters, gillies, and the guns of the house-party: there may be driving—but it won't be the deer that will be driven off.""That as it may be," said Meredyth, with much calmness. "But even if there is a scrimmage up there, what has that got to do with us? I don't care a brass farthing about the Glen Orme deer; I want to see your sister safe. And if the torrent of revolution flows peacefully past this house, and goes to expend itself in Glen Orme—let it, and welcome!""Yes, but that is too much to expect," Fred Stanley said, gloomily. "It is my sister who will be preached against by those fanatics. It is she who is the representative here of the landlord interest. Gratitude!—it's precious little gratitude they'll show, when they have this fellow Donald Ross secretly egging them on. Of course, he is annoyed that you and I should have come up to interfere with him; he thought he would only have a woman to deal with; and that the keepers could make all kinds of excuses to her. But now he finds it different. I imagine he knows very well that he is suspected and watched, and that there is a chance of his being caught at any moment—a chance that I mean to make a certainty of before I leave this place!""My young friend," said Meredyth, dispassionately, "I'm afraid you are becomingentêtéabout this Donald Ross. And yet I don't wonder at it. I've seen a similar state of affairs, many a time, before now. The fact is, when once you suspect poaching, the suspicion becomes a sort of mania, and all your comfort in the shooting is gone. It is precisely the same on board a yacht. If you once suspect your skipper or your steward of drinking, it's all over with you; you are always looking out—mistrusting—imagining; you may as well go ashore at once, or get another skipper or steward. Of course, the poaching is still more vexatious; for you feel you are being defied and cheated at the same time; and you want revenge; and the poacher is generally a devil of a clever fellow. But, after all, Fred, your sister is right: even if you are convinced that there is poaching going on—as there has certainly been some little ill-will shown against us now and then—still, you have nothing to prove that Donald Ross is the culprit—nothing.""I will catch him yet," said Fred Stanley under his breath.Next morning being Sunday morning, they all went to church. In going down through the village they could perceive no sign of excitement, anticipatory of the next day: on the contrary, all was decorous quiet. Shutters were shut; in some cases the blinds were drawn down; the few people they saw were dressed in black, and were certainly not breaking the Lord's day by idle or frivolous conversation. But here was John the policeman."Well, John," said Mary, to the plump and placid Iain, who smiled good-naturedly when she addressed him, "are we to have civil war to-morrow?""Mem?" said John—not understanding."Is there going to be a riot to-morrow?" she repeated."Aw, no, mem," said John, in a mildly deprecating way. "I am not thinking that. The meeting it will be in the church, and there is the Minister.""And what are you going to do?" said she. "I suppose you know they threaten to drive the sheep off Meall-na-Fearn, and there is a proposal to go into Glen Orme forest. Well, what are you going to do?""I am not sure," said Iain, with a vague, propitiatory grin."You have taken no steps to preserve the peace, then?" she demanded—but, indeed, she was well aware of John's comfortable, easy-going optimism."Aw, well," said the round-cheeked representative of the law, "mebbe the lads will no do anything at ahl; and if they go into the forest, mebbe they will no do mich harm.""But I suppose you have heard that Colonel Tomlins's keepers and foresters mean to stop them, if they should attempt any such thing; and it isn't at all likely that Mr. Watson's shepherds will let them drive the sheep off Meall-na-Fearn without some kind of resistance. What then? What are you going to do?""Aw, well," said John—letting his eyes rove aimlessly away towards Heimra Island, and then to the little white Free Church beyond the bay, and then back to the ground in front of Miss Stanley's feet, "mebbe there will be no mich harm; and the Minister will be in charge whatever——""Look here, John," Fred Stanley broke in, peremptorily, "it is quite clear to me that you mean to stand by and let anything happen that is likely to happen. Very well, I wish to give you notice—and I wish the people about here to understand—that if there's any demonstration made against Lochgarra House, we've got a gun or two there—half a dozen of them—and we don't mean to stand any nonsense.""Fred!" said she, and she drew her head up: he was put to silence in a moment. Then she turned to the phlegmatic Iain. "You must do what you can to give good advice to any of the young men you may hear talking. These strangers that are coming—what do they know about Lochgarra? They only wish to stir up strife, for their own purposes. And it would be a very bad thing for any of the men about here to be sent for trial to Edinburgh, merely because these strangers were bent on making mischief."Yes, mem," answered Iain, obediently—but in a vague way: perhaps he did not quite comprehend."John," said Fred Stanley, coming to the front again, "do you know anything about the scringeing that goes on about here?"This time John did understand."Me, sir?" he replied—as if such a question were an insult to the dignity of his office. And perhaps he would have gone on to protest as earnestly as his good-humoured laziness would allow, that he had no knowledge of any such illegal practices, but that Mary Stanley intervened, and carried her party off with her to church.Of course it was the English portion of the day's services that they attended, in the little, plain, ill-ventilated building. The sermon was so severely doctrinal that they could not follow it very well; while the occasional appeals to the heart, uttered in that high falsetto sing-song, fell with a somewhat unnatural note on the ear. Yet the small congregation listened devoutly—with an occasional sigh. Mary Stanley's attention was not occupied much with the pulpit: she was looking rather at the sad, withered, weather-worn faces of certain of the older people—and thinking what their lot in life had been. She recalled a saying she had heard somewhere in the Black Forest—"The world grows every day harder for us poor folk that are so old;" and she was wondering when her modest, but at least assiduous and sincere, efforts to somewhat better their condition and introduce a measure of cheerfulness into their surroundings would be accepted with a little goodwill. As for the middle-aged and younger men, she was less concerned about them. If they meant to break the windows of Lochgarra House next day, or pillage the garden, or set fire to the kennels, she would stand by and let them do their worst. But she did not think she had deserved such treatment at their hands. When they came out of church again Miss Stanley and her friends lingered awhile, for she wished to intercept the Minister; and eventually Mr. Pettigrew made his appearance. As he approached them, Mr. Pettigrew's gaunt and grey-hued face wore a certain look of apprehension, and he was nervously stroking his long and straggling beard. But Mary received him pleasantly enough."How do you do, Mr. Pettigrew?" said she. "I thought I should like to know whether you are going to the gathering to-morrow. If these placards that are scattered about mean anything, it may be necessary for someone who is well acquainted with the people to be present to speak a quieting word; and as you have lent the church for the purposes of the meeting, I suppose you accept a certain responsibility——""Oh, no, Miss Stanley, I would not say that," the Minister responded, rather anxiously, "I would not say that. I think it is a wise thing and a just thing that the people should have an opportunity of conferring one with another about their temporal interests; but it is not for me to be a partisan. I would fain see all men's minds contented as regards their worldly affairs, so that they might the more readily turn to their spiritual requirements and needs. Ay. It is hardly for me to give counsel—either the counsel of Ahitophel or the counsel of Hushai the Archite—""And so," said Käthchen, striking in (for she had not yet had a chance of opening her mind to Mr. Pettigrew), "you invite these strangers to come here and stir up contention and mischief—you give them your pulpit to preach from—and then you step aside, and wash your hands of all responsibility! I should have thought a minister of the gospel would have been on the side of peace, not on the side of disturbance and riot——""Dear me—dear me—it is all a mistake!" the bewildered Minister exclaimed. "I assure ye it is all a mistake. I did not invite them—Mr. Fraser wrote to me—and I thought I was justified in giving them permission—so that all men's minds might be leeberated. Is not that on the side of peace? Let the truth be spoken, though the heavens fall!—it's a noble axiom—a noble axiom. If the message that these people bring with them have not the truth in it, it will perish; if it have the truth in it, it will endure——""Yes, that's all very well," said the intrepid Käthchen. "But in the meantime? What's going to happen in the meantime? And if there is a general riot to-morrow, and property destroyed, and people injured—the truth of the message won't mend that. And what do those people know about Lochgarra? How can they know anything? They are coming here merely to incite a lot of ignorant crofters and cottars to break the law; and you lend them your pulpit, so that the people about here will think the church is on their side, even if they should take it into their heads to set fire to Lochgarra House!""Dear me!" said the Minister—who had not expected any such attack from this amiable and rather nice-looking young lady, "I hope nothing of the kind will happen.""At all events, Mr. Pettigrew," said Mary, interposing, "I understand you don't mean to be present at this meeting? You will let those strangers talk whatever inflammatory stuff they choose without any word of protest or caution. Well, I suppose you have the right to decide for yourself. But I mean to go. If they have anything to say against me, I want to hear it. If I have no one to defend me, I must defend myself——""Oh, but I beg your pardon, Miss Stanley!" Frank Meredyth broke in. "You are not quite so defenceless—not at all! For my own part, I don't think you ought to go to this meeting—I think it will be unwise and uncalled for; but if you do go, you sha'n't go alone—I will see to that."And again, after they had left the Minister, and were on their way back to Lochgarra House, he urgently begged her to abandon this enterprise; and her brother joined in, and quite as warmly."Why, you are the very person they have come to denounce!" Fred Stanley exclaimed. "You are the representative of the landlords. And what will they think of your appearing at the meeting? They will take it as an open challenge!""I mean it as an open challenge," she said, proudly. "I want to know what I am accused of. I want to ask what more I could have done—with my limited means. For of course my means are limited. I can't build breakwaters, and buy fleets of fishing-boats, and make railways; for I haven't the money. And I can't change the soil, or alter the climate, or even alter the habits of the people.""What did I tell you, Mamie, at Invershin Station?" said Käthchen; but Mary Stanley went on unheeding—"If there are grievances still to be redressed, I want to hear of them.""Their real grievance is that they haven't got the land for nothing," observed her brother, who had a short and summary way of dealing with such questions."Well, if you must go, at least we can promise you a body-guard," said Frank Meredyth, as they were ascending the wide stone steps. "At the same time, I think you would be very much better advised to stay at home."That afternoon the ordinary dull somnolence of a Lochgarra Sunday gave way to a quite unusual, if subdued, excitement. To begin with, about half-past three a waggonette came rattling into the silent little village, and drew up at the inn; while its occupants—the three apostles of Land Liberation—descended and disappeared from view. They were not gone long, however. The cottagers, furtively peeping from behind door or window-blind, beheld the strangers come out again and set off for a walk along the sea-front, scanning every object on each hand of them as they passed. The central figure of the three was a large and heavily-built man, pale and flabby of face, with small, piggish, twinkling eyes, close-cropped and stubbly yellow hair, and a wide but thin-lipped and resolute mouth. He wore a loose-flapping frock-coat, and a black felt wideawake; his hands were clasped behind him; he waddled as he walked. On his right was a tall and elderly woman, spare, and rather elegant of figure; with a thin, sharp face which, either from constitutional acridity of blood or perhaps from driving in the sun, was distinctly violent in colour: this was Ernestine—the fiery Ernestine—who had no doubt brought with her her torch and can of paraffin. As for the lady who had come all the way across the Atlantic to enlighten these poor souls of crofters, no one could say what she was like; for she was entirely enveloped in a brown dust-coat and a blue veil. But she was shorter than either of her companions."There are only three of them—there ought to be four," said Frank Meredyth, as the Lochgarra House party were regarding these passing strangers from the drawing-room window. "The big man is Ogden—he is easily recognisable—I'm afraid he has puffed himself out with too much tea-drinking; but where is the Highland Land Leaguer?""Why, you don't suppose the vice-president of a branch of the Highland Land League would travel on a Sunday?" said Käthchen. "He will be coming along to-morrow morning,—even if he has to walk or drive all night."Mary was also regarding the strangers."If the American woman, whichever she is," said she, quietly, "is going to denounce me to-morrow, she has not left herself much time to get information about this place. She will have to begin at once, if she wishes to ascertain the facts.""The facts!" said Meredyth. "She won't have to search about for them. She has brought them with her—from Connecticut."Truly this was an afternoon of surprises. For while on a rare occasion it might happen that someone arrived at Lochgarra on Sunday by road, it was almost an unheard-of thing that anyone should come in by sea. Boating of any description was quite unknown on the sacred day; there was no ferry—no Queen's highway to be kept open; while as for going on the water for pleasure, such sacrilege never entered the brain of a native of Lochgarra. And yet here, unmistakeably, was a small black-hulled lugger, with a ruddy brown sail, coming steadily in before the light westerly breeze; and when, having at length gained the shelter of the quay, she was rounded into the wind, and yard and sail lowered, her occupants presently got into the little dinghey astern, and came ashore. From the drawing-room of Lochgarra House they were easily distinguishable: they were Big Archie, Donald Ross of Heimra, and the young lad who was usually in charge of the lugger. When they landed, young Ross left his companions, and went directly up to the inn."Ha! didn't I tell you?" Fred Stanley cried, with an air of triumph. "Before the storm the petrel!—I thought we should see him somewhere about, when this affair was coming off. Only, he has missed his confederates. I wonder if they have gone far. I suppose Mr. Ogden has taken his American friend up Minard way to show her what a crofter's cottage is like—or perhaps she wants to look at the bed-ridden peat-hags. We shall find Ross following them in a moment—only he won't know which way they have gone." Of a sudden he rose from his seat, as if struck by some new idea. "I've a great mind to go down to the inn. What do you say, Frank? I should like to step up to him and tell him that he'll find his friends if he goes up the Minard road.""You shall do nothing of the kind!" said Mary, angrily."I should like to see the expression of his face!" her brother observed."If they are friends of Mr. Ross, he can find them for himself," said she. "It is none of our business. And—and—if they are not—I won't have him insulted by anyone going from this house!"He looked at her: she did not often talk in this indignant and vehement way."Oh, very well," he said. "Very well. It doesn't matter to me. You may have cause to change your opinion to-morrow."All that evening very little mention was made of the subject about which everyone was secretly thinking. Frank Meredyth, finding it was of no use to try to move Mary from her purpose, thought the best thing he could do was to reassure her: he said he hoped Ernestine would prove amusing. And next morning, too, he professed to treat the whole affair as a jest; but all the same he kept going to the window from time to time, to have a look at the little groups of twos and threes who were congregated here and there, talking amongst themselves. For there was clearly some small commotion prevailing; the people were not attending to their ordinary affairs; the most trifling occurrence—a dog-fight in the street—attracted all eyes.Mary insisted on setting out early; she wished everyone to see that she was going to attend the meeting. And hardly had they left the house—they were going round by the end of the quay—when Fred Stanley said in an undertone to his neighbour Meredyth—"I don't know what's going to happen; but if they try on any games, I've got a little friend in my pocket here that can bark—and bite."Mary overheard, and turned on him at once."What is that?" said she. "Your revolver? Let me see it."He looked round: there was no one by."Oh, it is an elegant little companion to have with you," he said, bringing forth the silver-mounted weapon from his pocket, and regarding it quite affectionately.She took it from him—he thinking that she merely wished to look at it—and, without more ado, she pitched it over the low sea-wall: there was a splash in the clear green water, and a bubble or two of air."Things of that sort are not fit for children," she said—and she took no heed of the angry flush that at once rose to his forehead: anger more probably caused by the reference to his youth than to the loss of his revolver. However, he said nothing; and so they went on again; and eventually arrived at the church.When they entered the little building and modestly took their places in the nearest of the pews, there ensued a rather awkward moment; for they had come early; and, on looking round, they found that the only other persons present were they who had summoned the meeting; so that the hostile camps had a good opportunity of contemplating each other. The pulpit (like the body of the church) was empty; but in the precentor's box was a serious-visaged, brown-bearded man, who was no doubt Mr. Fraser, of the Stratherrick Branch of the Highland Land League; while underneath him, in the square space partitioned off for the pews of the elders, sate the three persons who were to address the meeting. They were all gravely silent, as was fit and proper; but their eyes were alert; and it was as clear as daylight to Mary's friends that the strangers had recognised in her the lady of Lochgarra House, whom they had come to impeach as the representative in these parts of the iniquitous landlord interest. It was indeed an awkward moment; and Mr. Ogden's glances of scrutiny were furtive, until he turned away altogether; but the thin and feverish-faced Mlle. Ernestine took more confident survey; and her bold black eyes went from one to the other of the group, but were most frequently fixed on Mary Stanley. The lady from Connecticut, also, was obviously curious: most probably she had never beheld before any of those people whose malevolent turpitude had brought the Highlands to such a pass.The time went slowly by, in this constrained silence. The vice-president of the Stratherrick Branch, from his seat in the precentor's box, began to look rather anxiously towards the door. Mr. Ogden glanced at his watch. Frank Meredyth did likewise—it was ten minutes after one. And yet there had been no sign of any human being—except for a small boy who had thrust his shock head in for a second, and gazed wonderingly around the empty church, and then withdrawn with a scared face. At length the chairman leaned over the edge of the precentor's box, and in an audible whisper said—"Mr. Ogden, I'm thinking ye'd better go out and tell them?"Mr. Ogden hesitated for a moment, and then made answer—"Don't you think we should begin the proceedings?—that will be the best announcement.""Very well," said Mr. Fraser; and he rose in his place with a heavy sigh of preparation. "Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "before coming to local matters, I will ask Mrs. Jackson Noyes to read a paper that she has prepared. Mrs. Noyes has recently completed a two days' trip round the West Highlands in the steamerDunara Castle; and where she has been unable to land—for the steamer does not give ye much time at any place—she has used her eyes, or her opera-glass, impartially; and what she has seen she has put down. The title of the paper is; 'The Horrible Desolation of the Highlands, as Descried from the Deck of the Dunara.' Would ye get up on the bench, mem?"This last murmured invitation was addressed to Mrs. Noyes, who rose to her feet, but seemed to shrink from taking up any more prominent position. Indeed, the poor woman looked dreadfully embarrassed; her face was all aflame; instead of proceeding with her paper, she kept glancing helplessly towards the door, whither Mr. Ogden had gone to reconnoitre; and it was clear she could not bring herself to begin without an audience, or, rather, with that small audience that was a hundred times worse than none. And presently Mr. Ogden came back—his face black as thunder. He went up to the precentor's box, and muttered something to the chairman. He returned to the elders' enclosure, and said something to the two ladies—who seemed entirely bewildered. The next moment the four of them had filed out of the church, without a word."Well, this is the most astounding thing!" Frank Meredyth exclaimed, when his party had also left their places, and got into the open air. "What is the matter with the people? Not a living soul has come near the place! No wonder the big Parliament-man was in a furious rage!"But Mary had turned to Kate Glendinning, who had fallen a step or two behind."Käthchen," she said, in an undertone, "what is the meaning of all this? I can see perfectly well you know something about it."For indeed Käthchen was all tremblingly triumphant, and joyous, and also inclined to tears—half-hysterical, in short."Mamie—Mamie," she said, between that laughing and crying, "I knew he could do it if he liked—and—and—I thought he would—for your sake—""What are you talking about?" said Mary: but a sudden self-conscious look showed that she had guessed."You needn't be angry, Mamie," said Käthchen, her wet eyes shining with a half-concealed pride and delight; "but—but I was terribly frightened about what might happen to you; and yesterday I sent Big Archie out to Heimra—I told him to go as soon as the people had got into church—and I gave him a note. For I knew he would answer the message at once—and that he would see you came to no harm—""Do you mean Donald Ross?" said Mary, rather breathlessly.

THE HEATHER ON FIRE!

THE HEATHER ON FIKE!

The Land for the People!—Away with Sheep, Deer, and Landlords!—The Landlords must go!—Compulsory Emigration for Landlords!—Men of the Highlands, stand up for your rights!—Down with Southern Rack-Renters!

To THETENANTS, CROFTERS, AND COTTARS OFLOCHGARRA AND NEIGHBOURHOOD:A PUBLIC MEETING

Will be held in Lochgarra Free Church, on Monday the 12th of August, at one o'clock. Addresses by Mr. JOSIAH OGDEN, M.P., Miss ERNESTINE SIMON, of Paris, and Mrs. ELIZABETH JACKSON NOYES, of the Connecticut Council of Liberty. Mr. JOHN FRASER, Vice-President of the Stratherrick Branch of the Highland Land League, will preside.

ADMISSION FREE.

Men of Lochgarra!—attend in your hundreds:

"Who would be free themselves must strike the blow!"

Well, Mary was not the least bit frightened.

"I don't see why they shouldn't hold a public meeting," said she, as she handed him back the bill.

"Why, there will be a public riot!" he said. "You haven't seen the great placards they have pasted up on the walls—done with a big brush—I suppose they were afraid to print them; but if you go down through the village you will see what they're after. 'Sweep the sheep off Meall-na-Fearn'—'Take back the land'—'A general march into Glen Orme.'"

"Glen Orme deer-forest has nothing to do with me," she said.

"Do you think they will draw such fine distinctions?" he retorted. "I can tell you, when once the march has begun, they won't stop to ask whose fences they are tearing down; and a shot or two fired through your windows is about the least you can expect. And that is what comes of coddling people: they think they can terrorise over you whenever they choose—they welcome any kind of agitator, and think they're going to have it all their own way. And can't you see who suggested the Twelfth to them? I'll bet it was that fellow Ross—a clever trick!—either we lose the opening day of the shooting—and that would make him laugh like a cat—or else we leave the place free for those parading blackguards to plunder at their will."

"At all events, Miss Stanley," interposed Frank Meredyth, in a calmer manner, "there can be no harm in postponing our grouse shooting until the Tuesday. I think it will be better for Fred and myself to be about the premises—and the keepers too—until this little disturbance has blown over."

"Who are those people?" she said, taking back the paper and regarding it. "Mr. Ogden I know something of—mostly from pictures of him inPunch; but I thought it was strikes and trade unions in the north of England that he busied himself with. What has brought him to Scotland?"

"Why, wherever there is mischief to be stirred up—and notoriety to be earned for himself—that is enough for a low Radical of that stamp!" her brother said. He was a young man, and his convictions were round and complete.

"And Miss Ernestine Simon—-who is she?"

"Oh, you don't know Ernestine?" said Frank Meredyth, with a smile. "Oh yes, surely! Ernestine, the famouspétroleuse, who fought at the Buttes Chaumont and got wounded in the scramble through Belleville? You must have heard of her, surely! Well, Ernestine is getting old now; but there is still something of the sacred fire about her—a sort ofmouton enragédesperation: she can use whirling words, as far as her broken English goes."

"And Mrs. Noyes?" Mary continued. "Who is Mrs. Jackson Noyes, from Connecticut?"

"There I am done," he confessed. "I never heard of Mrs. Jackson Noyes in any capacity whatever. But I can imagine the sort of person she is likely to be."

"And what do those people know about the Highlands?" Mary demanded again.

"What they have been told by the Land League, I suppose," was his answer—and therewithal Miss Stanley led the way back to the drawing-room, to carry these startling tidings to Kate Glendinning.

But she was very silent and thoughtful all that evening; and when the two gentlemen, after dinner, had gone out on the terrace to smoke a cigar, she said—

"Käthchen, I am going to confide in you; and you must not break faith with me. You hear what is likely to happen next Monday. Very well: Mr. Meredyth and Fred both want to remain about the house, along with the keepers, in case there should be any disturbance, any injury done to the place. Now I particularly wish that they should not; and you must back me up, if it is spoken of again. Why, what harm can the people do? I don't mind about a broken window, if one of the lads should become unruly in going by. And if they drive the sheep off Meall-na-Fearn, the sheep can be driven back the next day. I will warn Mr. Watson that he must not allow his men to show resistance. But, above all, I am anxious that Fred and Mr. Meredyth should leave in the morning for their shooting, as they had arranged. For the truth is, Käthchen, I mean to go to this meeting; and I mean to go alone."

"Mamie!" Käthchen exclaimed, with dismay in her eyes.

"There are many reasons," Mary Stanley went on. "If those strangers know anything about the condition of the Highlands that I do not know, I shall be glad to hear it. If they have merely come to stir up mischief, I wish to make my protest. But there is more than that: perhaps the people about here have their grievances and resentments that they would speak of more freely at such a meeting; and if they have, I want to know what they are; and I want to show that I am not afraid to trust myself among my neighbours, and to listen to what they have got to say. For, after all, Käthchen, the more you think of it, the more that emigration scheme—the drafting of a lot of people from their own homes—seems such a complete confession of failure. I would rather try something else first—or many things—rather than have the people go away to Canada or Queensland."

"Mamie," said Käthchen, rising to her feet, "I will not allow you to thrust yourself into this danger. You don't know what an excited crowd may not do. You are the representative here—the only representative—of the very class whom these strangers have come to denounce."

"That is why I mean to go and show them that the relations between landlord and tenant need not necessarily be what they imagine them to be," Mary said, with a certain dignity and reserve. "Why, if there is any risk of a serious disturbance, is it not my place to be there, to do what I can to prevent it?"

"I will appeal to Mr. Meredyth," said Käthchen.

"You cannot," said Mary, calmly. "I have entrusted you with my secret—you cannot break faith."

Käthchen looked disconcerted for a second.

"It is quite monstrous, Mamie, that you should expose yourself to such a risk. Is it because you are so anxious Mr. Ross should not take away a lot of the people to Canada—and you want them to declare openly that they are on good terms with you? At all events, you shall not be there alone. I will go with you."

"It is quite needless, Käthchen!"

"I don't care about that," said Kate Glendinning; and then she added, vindictively: "and when I get hold of that Mr. Pettigrew, I will give him a bit of my mind! The man of peace—always sighing and praying that people should live together inahmity—and here he goes and lends his church to these professional mischief-makers. Wait till I get hold of Mr. Pettigrew!"

CHAPTER VII.

"KAIN TO THE KING THE MORN!"

The night was dark and yet clear; the sea still; not a whisper stirred in the birch-woods nor along the shores; the small red points of fire, that told of the distant village, burned steadily. And here, down near the edge of the water, were Coinneach and Calum-a-bhata, hidden under the shadow of the projecting rocks.

"Oh, yes, Calum," the elder sailor was saying in his native tongue—and he spoke in something of an undertone—"maybe we will get a few sea-trout this night; and a good basket of sea-trout is a fine thing to take away with us to Heimra; and who has a better right to the sea-trout than our master? Perhaps you do not know what in other days they used to callKain; for you are a young man, and not hearing of many things; but I will tell you now. It was in the days when there were very good relations between the people and the proprietors—"

"When the birds sang in Gaelic, Coinneach!" said Calum.

"Oh, you may laugh; for you are a young man, and ignorant of many things; but I tell you there was that time; and the tenants and the people at the Big House were very friendly. And the tenants they paid part of their rent in things that were useful for the Big House—such things as hens, and butter, and eggs, and the like; but it was not taken as rent; not at all; it was taken as a present; and the people at the Big House they would have the tenant sit down, and drink a glass of whisky, and hear the news. And now do you understand that there's many a one about here knows well of that custom; and they may pay their money-rent to the English family; but they would rather send theirKainto the old family, that is, to our master; and that is why the Gillie Ciotach and the rest of them are very glad when they can take out a hare or a brace of birds or something of that kind to Heimra. And why should not the sea payKainto Donald Ross of Heimra?—I will ask you that question, Calum. If the sea about here belongs to any one, it belongs to the old family, and not to the English family——"

"But if they catch us with the scringe-net, Coinneach?" said the younger man, ruefully. "Aw,Dyeea, I was never in a prison."

"The scringe-net!—a prison!" said Coinneach with contempt. "How little you know about such things! Do they put the dukes and the lords in prison that come round the coast in their big yachts? and in nearly every one of the yachts you will see a scringe-net hung out to dry, and no one concealing it. Do you think I have no eyes, Calum? When theConsuelocame round to Camus Bheag, and the master was sending to us for his other clothes before he went away to the south, did I not see them taking down a scringe-net from the boom? It is very frightened you are, Calum, whether it is putting a few kegs into a cave, or putting a scringe-net round a shore. Now if there was something really to frighten you—like the card-playing the young man saw——

"What was that, Coinneach?" said Calum quickly.

Conneach paused for a second or two, and his face became grave and thoughtful.

"That was enough to frighten anyone," he continued presently—in this mysterious chillness, while he kept his eyes watching the vague, dark plain that lay between him and the distant lights of the village. "And if I tell you the story, Calum, it is to show you there are many things we do not understand, and that it is wise not to speak too confidently, in case someone might overhear—someone that we cannot see. For sometimes they show themselves; and at other times they are not visible; butthey may be there. Now I must tell you it happened in a great castle in the north; I am not remembering the name of it; maybe it was up in Caithness; I am not remembering that; but the story is well known, and I was hearing that someone was putting it in a book as well. Now I must tell you that the owner of the castle is the head of the clan, and of a very old and great family; and it is the custom, whenever he goes away from home, that one of the other gentlemen of the clan goes to the castle to keep watch. It is not needful in these days, as you can guess for yourself; but it is a compliment to the head of the clan, and an old custom; and maybe it is kept up to this present time—though I am not swearing that to you, Calum. What I am telling you took place a good many years ago; that is what I have heard; maybe sixty years, maybe fifty years, maybe a hundred years; I am not swearing to that. But the chief had to go away from home; and according to the custom, one of the gentlemen went to keep watch; and he took with him a young country lad, one of his own servants. Now I must tell you there was a fire put in the great hall of the castle; for it was in the winter time; and they had to sit up all night, the one keeping the other awake—for no one likes to be left alone in a strange place like that, in the night-time, and not knowing what things have been experienced by others."

"You are not needing to tell me that, Coinneach," the other assented.

"Very well. But as I was saying, the master he sate close to the fire in the great hall; and the young man he remained some distance away, by one of the windows; and there was no speaking between them. So one hour after another hour went by; and there was nothing happening; and it was not until the dead of the night, or towards the morning, that the young man noticed that his master had fallen asleep. He did not like that, I can tell you, Calum; for if you are left alone, the evil beings may appear and come upon you; and there is no question about it. Very well. The young man he thought he would go over to the fire and waken his master; but what do you think of this now, Calum, that when he tried to rise from his seat he could not do that—something was holding him back—he tried seven times over and seven times more, as I have heard, for he was trembling with the fear of being held. And then—what do you think of this, Calum?—and it is the truth I am telling you—he saw what few men have ever seen, and what few would ever wish to see: the folding-doors at the end of the hall were opened wide; and there were two footmen bringing in lights; and then there was a procession of ladies and gentlemen all dressed in a way that was strange to him; and they came into the hall so that you could not hear a sound. They took no notice of him or his master; and he could see everything they were doing, for all that his eyes were starting out of his head with fright; and I tell you he was so terrified he could not cry out to wake his master. But he was watching—oh, yes, he was watching with all his eyes, you may be sure of that; and he saw the footmen bring forward the tables; and those people in the strange clothes sate down and began to play at cards; and they were talking to each other—but never any sound of their talking. He could see their lips moving; but there was no sound. What do you think of that now, Calum?—was it not a dreadful thing for a young man to see?—even if they were not doing him any harm, or even knowing he was there? There's many a one would have sprung up and shrieked out; but as I tell you, there was no strength in his bones and he could not move; and his master was fast asleep; and all those people—the gentlemen with their small swords by their side, and the ladies in their silks—they were playing away at the cards, and talking to each other across the table, and not a sound to be heard. He watched and watched—aw, God, I suppose he was more dead than alive with trembling, and not being able to call on his master—until the windows began to grow grey with the morning light; and then he saw that the people were sometimes looking at the windows, and sometimes at each other, and they were talking less. Then they rose; and he could not see the candles any more because of the light in the hall; and they were going away in that noiseless manner, when one of them happened to spy the young man; and he came along and looked at him. He looked at him for a moment—and seemed to breathe on him—so that it was like a cold air touching him—and the young man knew that the hand of death had been put upon him. There was no sound; the strange person only looked; and the young man felt the cold air on his forehead, so that he was for sinking to the floor; for he thought that death was on him already, and that he must go with them wherever they were going. Calum, I have told you what I felt when I was coming back from Ru Grobhar, and when the Woman came behind me; it was like that with the young man, as I have heard. And then all of a sudden a cock crew outside; and his master woke up and looked round; and there was no one in the hall but their two selves."

"Did he cry out then?—did he tell his master what he had seen?" Calum asked, in a low voice.

"He was not caring much to tell any one," Coinneach replied. "It was what he felt within him that concerned him; and he knew that the touch of death had been put upon him. Oh, yes, he told the story, though they found him so weak that he could not say much; and they put him to bed—but he was shivering all the time; and he had no heart for living left in him. He was not caring to speak much about it. When they asked him what the people were like, he said the gentlemen had velvet coats, and white hair tied with black ribbons behind; and the ladies were rich in their dresses; but he could not say what language they were speaking, for he could see their lips moving, but there was no sound. He was not caring to speak much about it. The life seemed to have been taken out of his body; he said he would never rise again from his bed. He said more than once, 'It was that one that breathed on me; he wanted me to go with them to be one of the servants; and if the cock had not crowed I would have gone with them. But now I am going.' And he got weaker and weaker, until about the end of the third day; and then it was all over with the poor lad; and there was no struggle—he knew that the death-touch had been put upon his heart."

"And I suppose now," said Calum, meditatively, "they will have him bringing in the tables for them every time they come to play cards in the middle of the night. Aw,Dyeea, I know what I would do if I was the master of that place: I would have the keepers hidden, and when those people came in I would have three or four guns go off at them all at once: would not that settle them?"

"You are a foolish lad, Calum, to think you can harm people like that with a gun," said Coinneach. "No, if it was I, I would say the Lord's Prayer to myself, very low, so that they could not hear; and if they did hear, and still came towards me, I would cry out, 'God on the cross!'—and that would put the people away from me, as it made the Woman take her hands from my throat the dreadful night I was coming by the Black Bay."

"Ay, but tell me this, Coinneach," said the younger of the two men. "I have heard that in great terror your tongue will cleave to your mouth; and you cannot cry out. And what is to happen to you then, if one of those people came near to put a cold breath on you?"

Coinneach did not answer this question: for the last few seconds he had been carefully scanning the darkened plain before him.

"The boat is coming now, Calum," he whispered. "And it is just as noiseless as any ghost she is." And with that the two men got up from the rock on which they had been sitting, and went down to the water's edge, where they waited in silence.

There was a low whistle; Coinneach answered it. Presently a dark object became dimly visible in the gloom. It was a rowing-boat; and as she slowly drew near the prow sent ripples of phosphorescence trembling away into the dusk, while the blades of the muffled oars, each time they dipped, struck white fire down into the sea. It looked as if some huge and strange creature, with gauzy silver wings, was coming shoreward from out of the unknown deeps. Not a word was uttered by anyone. When the bow of the boat came near Coinneach caught it and checked it, so that it should not grate on the shingle. Then he and his companion tumbled in; two other oars, also muffled, were put in the rowlocks; and silently she went away again, under the guidance of a fifth man, who sate at the helm. Very soon the lights of Lochgarra were lost to view; they had got round one of the promontories. Out to seaward there was nothing visible at all; while the 'loom' of the land was hardly to be distinguished from the overhanging; heavens that did not show a single star.

And yet the steersman seemed to be sufficiently sure of his course. There was no calling a halt for consultation, nor any other sign of uncertainty. Noiselessly the four oars kept measured time; there were simultaneously the four sudden downward flashes of white—followed by a kind of seething of silver radiance deep in the dark water; then, here and there on the surface, a large and lambent jewel would shine keenly for a second or two, floating away on the ripples as the boat left it behind. Not one of the men smoked: that of itself showed that something unusual was happening. They kept their eyes on the sombre features of the adjacent shore—of which a landsman could have made next to nothing; or they turned to the dimly-descried outline of the low range of hills, where that could be made out against the sky. It was a long and monotonous pull—with absolute silence reigning. But at length a whispered "Easy, boys, easy!" told them that this part of their labour was about over; and now they proceeded with greater caution—merely dipping the tips of their oars in the water, while all their attention was concentrated on the blurred and vague shadows of the land.

They were now in a small and sheltered bay, the stillness of which was so intense that they could distinctly hear the murmur of some mountain burn. On the face of the hill rising from the sea there were certain darker patches—perhaps these were birch-woods: also down by the shore there were spaces of deeper gloom—these might be clumps of trees. No light was visible anywhere: this part of the coast was clearly uninhabited, or else the people were asleep. And yet, before venturing nearer, they ceased rowing altogether; and watched; and listened. Not a sound: save for that continuous murmur of the stream, that at times became remote, and then grew more distinct again—as some wandering breath of wind passed across the face of the hill. The world around them lay in a trance as deep as death: the bark of a dog, the call of a heron, would have been a startling thing. Meanwhile two of the oars had been stealthily shipped; the remaining two were sufficient to paddle the boat nearer to the rocks, when that might be deemed safe.

And at last the steersman, who appeared to be in command, gave the word. As gently as might be, the boat was headed in for the shore, until Coinneach, who was up at the bow, whispered "That'll do now;" the rowing ceased; there was a pause, and some further anxious scrutinising of that amorphous gloom; then two black figures stepped over the side into the water, taking with them the lug-line of the net that was carefully arranged in the stern. They were almost immediately lost sight of; for the boat was again noiselessly paddled away, until the full length of the line was exhausted; while he in the stern began to pay out the net—each cork float that dropped into the water sending a shower of tremulous white stars spreading from it, and all the meshes shivering in silver as they were straightened out. A wonderful sight it was; but not the most likely to procure a good fishing; for, of course, that quivering, lustrous, far-extended web would be visible at some little distance. However, out went the net easily and steadily—with just the faintest possible "swish" as each successive armful soused into the sea; and then, as quick as was consistent with silence, the boat was pulled ashore, and two of the men jumped out with the other lug-line. They, too, vanished in the impenetrable dusk. The solitary occupant of the mysterious craft, standing up at the bow, was now left to watch the result of these operations and to direct, in low and eager whispers, his unseen comrades. Slowly, slowly the semicircular net was being hauled in; as it got nearer and nearer the men at the lug-lines splashed the water with them, so as to frighten the fish into the meshes; the sea glimmered nebulous in white fire; here and there a larger star burned clear on the black surface for a moment, and then gradually faded away. The commotion increased—in the water and out of it; it was evident from the fluttering and seething that there was a good haul; and in their excitement the scringers who were ashore forgot the danger of their situation—there were muttered exclamations in Gaelic as the net was narrowed in and in. And then, behold!—in the dark meshes those shining silver things—each entangled fish a gleaming, scintillating wonder—a radiant prize, here in the deep night. If this wasKainfor Donald Ross of Heimra, it wasKainfit to be paid to a king.

It was at this moment that three men came across the rocky headland guarding the bay on its northern side. They had just completed a careful inspection of the neighbouring creek—as careful as the darkness would allow; they had followed the windings of the coast, searching every inlet; and so far their quest had been in vain. Now they stood on this promontory, peering and listening.

"No, sir, I do not see or hear anything," said Hector, the tall keeper, who had a gun over his shoulder; and he seemed inclined to give up further pursuit.

"But I tell you they must be somewhere," said Fred Stanley, in an excited fashion. "There was no mistake about what they were after. What would they be going out in a boat for at this time of the night, if it wasn't for scringeing?"

"Maybe they would be for setting night-lines," said the keeper, evasively.

"Not a bit of it!" the young man retorted with impatience. "I know better than that. And I know who is in that boat—I know perfectly well. It isn't for nothing that theSirèneis lying in Camus Bheag: I know who is out with those poaching nets—and I'm going to catch him if I can. I want to have certain things made public: I want an explanation: I want to have the Sheriff at Dingwall called in to settle this matter."

"Are you quite sure you saw the boat, sir?" said the keeper—all this conversation taking place in lowered tones, except when Fred Stanley grew angry and indignant.

"Why," said he, turning to his friend Meredyth, "how far was she from the steam-launch when she passed—not half a dozen yards, I'll swear! It was a marvellous stroke of luck we thought of going out for that draught-board; they little thought there would be any one on the launch at that hour; and I tell you, if the punt had been a bit bigger, I would have given chase to them there and then. Never mind, we ought to be able to catch them yet—catch them in the act—and I mean to see it out——"

"Yes, but we haven't caught them," said Frank Meredyth, discontentedly; for he had stumbled again and again, and knocked his ankles against the rocks; and he would far rather have been at home, talking to Mary Stanley. "And it's beastly dark: we shall be slipping down into the water sooner or later. What's the use of going on, Fred? What about a few sea-trout? Everybody does it——"

"But it's against the law all the same; and I mean to catch this poaching scoundrel red-handed, if I can," was the young man's answer. "Come, Hector, you must know perfectly well where they put out the scringe-nets. What's this place before us now?"

"It's the Camus Mhor, sir," said Hector, "in there towards the land."

"Well, is it any use scringeing in this bay?" the young man demanded.

"There's the mouth of the burn that comes down by the plantation," was the reply.

"Very well, take us there!" Fred Stanley said, impatiently. "Those fellows must be somewhere; and I'll bet you they're not far off. I must say, Hector, you don't seem particularly anxious to get hold of them. Are there any of them friends of yours?"

Hector did not answer this taunt. He merely said—

"It is a dark night, sir, to make any one out."

And then they went on again, but with caution; for besides the danger of breaking a leg among the rocks, they knew that the yawning gulfs of the sea were by their side. Hector led the way, Fred Stanley coming next, Meredyth—with muttered grumblings—bringing up the rear. In this wise they followed the inward bend of the bay, until the keeper leapt from the rocks into a drifted mass of seaweed: they were at the corner of the semi-circular beach.

Suddenly Fred Stanley caught Hector's arm, and held him for a second.

"Do you hear that?" he said, in an eager whisper. "They are there—right ahead of us—fire a shot at them, Hector!—give them a peppering—give their coats a dusting!"

"Oh, no, sir," said the serious-mannered keeper, "I cannot do that. But I will go forward and challenge them. When you get to know who they are, then you will apply for a summons afterwards."

"Come on, then!—come along!" the young man said, and he began to run—stumbling over seaweed, stones, and shingle—but guided by the subdued commotion in front of him.

All at once that scuffle ceased. There was another sound—slight and yet distinct: it was the hurried dip of oars. Nay, was not that the "loom" of a boat, not twenty yards away from them—the dark hull receding from the land?

"Here, Hector!" the young man cried—furious that his prey had just escaped him. "Fire, man!—give them a charge!—give the thieving scoundrels a dose of shot amongst them!"

Hector made no answer to this appeal. He called aloud—

"Who are you? Whose is that boat?"

There was no word in reply—only the slight sound of the dipping oars. Fred Stanley caught at the gun; but the keeper held it away from him.

"No, sir, no," he said gravely. "We must keep within the law, whatever they do."

"Yes—and now they're off—and laughing at us!" the young man angrily exclaimed. And then he said: "Do you mean to tell me you don't know who these men are? Do you mean to tell me you don't know quite well that it is Ross of Heimra who is in that boat?"

"I am not thinking that, sir," Hector answered slowly.

"You took precious good care not to find out!" Fred Stanley said, for he was grievously disappointed. "If you had come up with me you might have compelled them to stop and declare themselves: even if you had fired in the air, that would have brought them to reason fast enough. When shall we get such another chance? I knew things like this were going on—knew it quite well. And it's your place to stop it—it's your business. It is a monstrous thing that the fishing in the rivers should be destroyed by those thieves."

He continued looking out to sea; but the boat had disappeared in the dark.

"No, we shall not get another chance like that," said he, turning to his friend Meredyth. "And it is a thousand pities—for I would have given anything to have caught that fellow red-handed: I hate to think of my sister being imposed upon."

"Well, I suppose we'd better be getting back," said Frank Meredyth, who had displayed no great interest in this expedition. "And I dare say Hector can show us some inland way—I don't want to go round those infernal rocks again."

"Hector?" said Fred Stanley, in a savage undertone, "I'm pretty sure of this—that when Hector took us all round those rocks, he knew precious well where the scringers were!"

And very indignant was he, and sullenly resentful, when he carried this story home to Lochgarra House and to his sister. He roundly accused the keepers of connivance. They could put down the scringeing if they chose; but it was all part and parcel of the poaching system that existed for the benefit of Donald Ross. He it was who had the fishing and shooting of this estate. A fine condition of affairs, truly!

"I am afraid," said Mary Stanley, who seemed to take this stormy complaint with much composure, "that Mr. Ross has not quite enough skill to make much of a poacher, even if he were inclined that way. If you had been here yesterday, you would have heard himself say that he was a very indifferent shot, and a very poor fisherman also——"

"And you believed him, of course!" her brother said, with contempt. "Of course he would say that! That is the very thing he would profess——"

"But, you see, Fred," she continued, without taking any offence, "he gave us a very good reason why he should be but a poor sportsman. There is neither fishing nor shooting on Heimra Island."

He laughed scornfully.

"Fishing and shooting on Heimra Island?" he repeated. "What need has he of them, when he has the fishing and shooting of Lochgarra?"

"You may be mistaken, Fred," Frank Meredyth interposed—careful to be on Miss Stanley's side, as usual. "You may be going too much by what Purdie said that evening at Inverness. At the same time, I quite know this, that when once you suspect any one of poaching, it is desperately difficult to get the idea out of your head. All kinds of small things are constantly happening that seem to offer confirmation——"

"I will bet you twenty pounds to five shillings," said the young man hotly, "that if we go out to Heimra to-morrow, and stay to luncheon, we shall find sea-trout on the table. There may be no fishing on the island—that is quite possible; but I tell you there will be sea-trout in Ross's house. I dare you all to put it to the proof. It is a fair offer. We can run out in the steam-launch if the sea is as calm as it is now—Mamie, you can come too, and Miss Glendinning; and my bet is twenty pounds to five shillings that you will find sea-trout produced."

"Surely it would be rather shabby to go and ask a man to give you lunch in order to prove something against him?" she made answer. "And even then that would not show he had been himself in the boat. As for any of the people about here using a scringe-net now and again to pick up a few fish—well, that is not a very heinous offence."

"If it is," said Meredyth (still siding with her), "it is committed every summer by a large number of highly respectable persons. Why, only the other day the Fishery Board had to issue a circular reminding owners of yachts that netting in territorial seas wasn't allowed."

"Oh, very well," said Fred Stanley, with a sort of affected resignation. "Very well. It is no concern of mine. The place does not belong to me. And of course, Mamie, you are only following out the programme which will be laid before the free and independent—the very free and independent—natives of this parish, on Monday. No doubt they will be told they have the right to take salmon and sea-trout wherever they can find them, either in the rivers, or round the mouths of the rivers, or in the sea.Theyhave that right, you understand, butyouhaven't; ifyoutry to catch a salmon, you will have a stone hurled into the pool in front of you! And what will be the rest of the programme when the English demagogue, and the French anarchist, and the Yankee platform-woman, come to set the heather on fire? How much more are you going to surrender, Mamie? You've cut down the rents everywhere—given up more pasture—given up more peat-land. What next? Don't you think it's an awful shame you should be living in a great big house like this, when those poor people are living in thatched hovels——"

"Well," said Mary, with an honest laugh, "if I must tell you the truth, I do sometimes think so. Sometimes, when I go outside, and look at the contrast, it does seem to me too great——"

"Oh, very well!" he said ironically. "When these are your sentiments, I don't wonder that the place is considered ripe for a general riot. But whatever your theories may be, I'm going to draw the line at personal violence and destruction of property. I shall have my six-chambered Colt loaded on Monday; and if any impudent blackguard dares to come near this place——"

"You are going up the hill on Monday," said she briefly. "Both you and Mr. Meredyth. I want some grouse for the kitchen; and as many more to send away as you can get for me."

"Pardon me, Miss Stanley," Meredyth said, and he spoke with a certain quiet decision, "you are asking a little too much. It is impossible for us to go away shooting and leave you at the mercy of what may turn out to be a riotous mob. It is quite impossible: you have no right to ask it."

"Yes, but I do ask it!" she said, somewhat petulantly—for she wished to be left free to follow her own designs on that fateful Monday. "You are my guest; you are here for the Twelfth; and I particularly want you—both you and Fred—to go away after the grouse; and never mind about this—this lecture, or whatever it is——"

"I for one, cannot," he said, firmly; "and I know Fred will not."

Mary glanced half-imploringly at Käthchen. But Käthchen sate mute. Perhaps she was considering that, whether Mary went to the meeting or not, it was just as well the two gentlemen were to be within hail. Besides, before then it was just possible Mary might be induced to confess to them her mad resolve: in which case it would become their duty to reason and remonstrate, seeing that Käthchen's protests had been of no avail. Or would they insist on accompanying her to the meeting, if she was determined to go? For one thing, Käthchen did not at all like Fred Stanley's reference to his Colt's revolver; if there was going to be any serious disturbance, that was not likely to prove a satisfactory means of quelling it.

CHAPTER VIII.

A REVOLUTION THAT FAILED.

But at first the two young men—especially when they were in the society of the young women—professed to make light of the threatened invasion. What harm could come of allowing a parcel of notoriety-hunting adventurers to air their eloquence—and their ignorance? The crofters would at once perceive that Ogden, M.P., knew no more about them and their ways of life than he knew about the inhabitants of the moon. As for Mademoiselle Ernestine—the fiery Ernestine would find it difficult to set the Highland peat-bogs in a blaze with her little tin can of paraffin. And as for Mrs. Jackson Noyes of Connecticut—but here the young men had to confess that they knew nothing of Mrs. Jackson Noyes; and so, to amuse themselves, at dinner, they set to work to construct an imaginary Mrs. Noyes out of a series of guesses.

"She is a passionate sympathiser with all suffering races—especially married women," said Mr. Meredyth, confidently.

"Men are brutes," observed Fred Stanley.

"She will denounce the hideous cruelty of landlords stalking grouse with express rifles," said Meredyth, keeping the ball rolling.

"She will call on the crofters to arise in their wrath and demand that of every stag killed two haunches must be delivered over to them, the remaining two to be retained by the landlord."

"But doesn't that sound reasonable?" said Käthchen, innocently—whereat there was a roar.

"Miss Glendinning," said Meredyth, apologetically, "you forget: the haunches of a stag are limited in number. It was Mrs. Jackson Noyes's idea of a stag we were dealing with. Well, Fred, what next?"

"Any landlord or farmer," continued the younger man, with a matter-of-fact air, "found guilty of killing a sheep without the aid of chloroform to be sent to jail for twenty-five years. No lamb to be taken away from its mother without the mother's consent—in writing, stamped, sealed, and delivered before the Sheriff of Dingwall."

"A compulsory rate," suggested Frank Meredyth, "levied on landlords, of course—for the relief of bed-ridden peat-hags——"

"Oh, stop that nonsense!" Mary interposed, laughing in a shamefaced kind of way. "They can't be as ignorant as all that."

"Oh, can't they?" said he, coolly. "I've seen lots of worse things—accompanied by eloquent, if occasionally ungrammatical, denunciations of the brutal landlords. You are a landlord, Miss Stanley; and you have taken the wages of blood and sin. If I were you I should feel inclined to throw down the thirty pieces of silver and depart and go and hang myself."

"She won't do that," said her brother. "But what she is more likely to do is to give up the pasture of Meall-na-Fearn that those people demand. And then Mrs. Jackson Noyes will telegraph to theConnecticut Radiatorthat a great triumph has been achieved, and that the American banner has begun to wave over the benighted Highlands."

"I wish the American banner didn't wave over so many Highland deer-forests," said Meredyth, briefly; and there an end for the moment.

But the talk of the two young men when they were by themselves was very different.

"What ought to be done, and done at once," said Fred Stanley, "is to send over to Dingwall for a body of police. Indeed, the meeting should be suppressed altogether: it is a clear instigation to riot. I don't see how a riot can be avoided—if those howlers are allowed to rave. But my sister won't hear of it. Oh, no! Everything is to be amiable and friendly and pleasant. She is quite sure that the crofters are grateful to her for their lowered rents and all that. Grateful!—they don't know what gratitude is!"

"But at all events you must remember this," said Meredyth, "that your sister has been here a much longer time than you; and she has been doing her best to get to understand these people and their wants and their habits of thinking. She may be a little too confident: in that case, it is for you and me to see that she is kept out of harm's way. And as far as I can judge, the main event of the day is to be a raid into Glen Orme forest——"

"By the Lord, they'll get a warm reception if they try that!" young Stanley broke in. "I can tell you, from what I've heard of him, Colonel Tomlins isn't the sort of man to let a lot of vagabonds march past Glen Orme Lodge and take possession of the forest—I should think not. The ragged army will find a sufficient force awaiting them—keepers, foresters, gillies, and the guns of the house-party: there may be driving—but it won't be the deer that will be driven off."

"That as it may be," said Meredyth, with much calmness. "But even if there is a scrimmage up there, what has that got to do with us? I don't care a brass farthing about the Glen Orme deer; I want to see your sister safe. And if the torrent of revolution flows peacefully past this house, and goes to expend itself in Glen Orme—let it, and welcome!"

"Yes, but that is too much to expect," Fred Stanley said, gloomily. "It is my sister who will be preached against by those fanatics. It is she who is the representative here of the landlord interest. Gratitude!—it's precious little gratitude they'll show, when they have this fellow Donald Ross secretly egging them on. Of course, he is annoyed that you and I should have come up to interfere with him; he thought he would only have a woman to deal with; and that the keepers could make all kinds of excuses to her. But now he finds it different. I imagine he knows very well that he is suspected and watched, and that there is a chance of his being caught at any moment—a chance that I mean to make a certainty of before I leave this place!"

"My young friend," said Meredyth, dispassionately, "I'm afraid you are becomingentêtéabout this Donald Ross. And yet I don't wonder at it. I've seen a similar state of affairs, many a time, before now. The fact is, when once you suspect poaching, the suspicion becomes a sort of mania, and all your comfort in the shooting is gone. It is precisely the same on board a yacht. If you once suspect your skipper or your steward of drinking, it's all over with you; you are always looking out—mistrusting—imagining; you may as well go ashore at once, or get another skipper or steward. Of course, the poaching is still more vexatious; for you feel you are being defied and cheated at the same time; and you want revenge; and the poacher is generally a devil of a clever fellow. But, after all, Fred, your sister is right: even if you are convinced that there is poaching going on—as there has certainly been some little ill-will shown against us now and then—still, you have nothing to prove that Donald Ross is the culprit—nothing."

"I will catch him yet," said Fred Stanley under his breath.

Next morning being Sunday morning, they all went to church. In going down through the village they could perceive no sign of excitement, anticipatory of the next day: on the contrary, all was decorous quiet. Shutters were shut; in some cases the blinds were drawn down; the few people they saw were dressed in black, and were certainly not breaking the Lord's day by idle or frivolous conversation. But here was John the policeman.

"Well, John," said Mary, to the plump and placid Iain, who smiled good-naturedly when she addressed him, "are we to have civil war to-morrow?"

"Mem?" said John—not understanding.

"Is there going to be a riot to-morrow?" she repeated.

"Aw, no, mem," said John, in a mildly deprecating way. "I am not thinking that. The meeting it will be in the church, and there is the Minister."

"And what are you going to do?" said she. "I suppose you know they threaten to drive the sheep off Meall-na-Fearn, and there is a proposal to go into Glen Orme forest. Well, what are you going to do?"

"I am not sure," said Iain, with a vague, propitiatory grin.

"You have taken no steps to preserve the peace, then?" she demanded—but, indeed, she was well aware of John's comfortable, easy-going optimism.

"Aw, well," said the round-cheeked representative of the law, "mebbe the lads will no do anything at ahl; and if they go into the forest, mebbe they will no do mich harm."

"But I suppose you have heard that Colonel Tomlins's keepers and foresters mean to stop them, if they should attempt any such thing; and it isn't at all likely that Mr. Watson's shepherds will let them drive the sheep off Meall-na-Fearn without some kind of resistance. What then? What are you going to do?"

"Aw, well," said John—letting his eyes rove aimlessly away towards Heimra Island, and then to the little white Free Church beyond the bay, and then back to the ground in front of Miss Stanley's feet, "mebbe there will be no mich harm; and the Minister will be in charge whatever——"

"Look here, John," Fred Stanley broke in, peremptorily, "it is quite clear to me that you mean to stand by and let anything happen that is likely to happen. Very well, I wish to give you notice—and I wish the people about here to understand—that if there's any demonstration made against Lochgarra House, we've got a gun or two there—half a dozen of them—and we don't mean to stand any nonsense."

"Fred!" said she, and she drew her head up: he was put to silence in a moment. Then she turned to the phlegmatic Iain. "You must do what you can to give good advice to any of the young men you may hear talking. These strangers that are coming—what do they know about Lochgarra? They only wish to stir up strife, for their own purposes. And it would be a very bad thing for any of the men about here to be sent for trial to Edinburgh, merely because these strangers were bent on making mischief.

"Yes, mem," answered Iain, obediently—but in a vague way: perhaps he did not quite comprehend.

"John," said Fred Stanley, coming to the front again, "do you know anything about the scringeing that goes on about here?"

This time John did understand.

"Me, sir?" he replied—as if such a question were an insult to the dignity of his office. And perhaps he would have gone on to protest as earnestly as his good-humoured laziness would allow, that he had no knowledge of any such illegal practices, but that Mary Stanley intervened, and carried her party off with her to church.

Of course it was the English portion of the day's services that they attended, in the little, plain, ill-ventilated building. The sermon was so severely doctrinal that they could not follow it very well; while the occasional appeals to the heart, uttered in that high falsetto sing-song, fell with a somewhat unnatural note on the ear. Yet the small congregation listened devoutly—with an occasional sigh. Mary Stanley's attention was not occupied much with the pulpit: she was looking rather at the sad, withered, weather-worn faces of certain of the older people—and thinking what their lot in life had been. She recalled a saying she had heard somewhere in the Black Forest—"The world grows every day harder for us poor folk that are so old;" and she was wondering when her modest, but at least assiduous and sincere, efforts to somewhat better their condition and introduce a measure of cheerfulness into their surroundings would be accepted with a little goodwill. As for the middle-aged and younger men, she was less concerned about them. If they meant to break the windows of Lochgarra House next day, or pillage the garden, or set fire to the kennels, she would stand by and let them do their worst. But she did not think she had deserved such treatment at their hands. When they came out of church again Miss Stanley and her friends lingered awhile, for she wished to intercept the Minister; and eventually Mr. Pettigrew made his appearance. As he approached them, Mr. Pettigrew's gaunt and grey-hued face wore a certain look of apprehension, and he was nervously stroking his long and straggling beard. But Mary received him pleasantly enough.

"How do you do, Mr. Pettigrew?" said she. "I thought I should like to know whether you are going to the gathering to-morrow. If these placards that are scattered about mean anything, it may be necessary for someone who is well acquainted with the people to be present to speak a quieting word; and as you have lent the church for the purposes of the meeting, I suppose you accept a certain responsibility——"

"Oh, no, Miss Stanley, I would not say that," the Minister responded, rather anxiously, "I would not say that. I think it is a wise thing and a just thing that the people should have an opportunity of conferring one with another about their temporal interests; but it is not for me to be a partisan. I would fain see all men's minds contented as regards their worldly affairs, so that they might the more readily turn to their spiritual requirements and needs. Ay. It is hardly for me to give counsel—either the counsel of Ahitophel or the counsel of Hushai the Archite—"

"And so," said Käthchen, striking in (for she had not yet had a chance of opening her mind to Mr. Pettigrew), "you invite these strangers to come here and stir up contention and mischief—you give them your pulpit to preach from—and then you step aside, and wash your hands of all responsibility! I should have thought a minister of the gospel would have been on the side of peace, not on the side of disturbance and riot——"

"Dear me—dear me—it is all a mistake!" the bewildered Minister exclaimed. "I assure ye it is all a mistake. I did not invite them—Mr. Fraser wrote to me—and I thought I was justified in giving them permission—so that all men's minds might be leeberated. Is not that on the side of peace? Let the truth be spoken, though the heavens fall!—it's a noble axiom—a noble axiom. If the message that these people bring with them have not the truth in it, it will perish; if it have the truth in it, it will endure——"

"Yes, that's all very well," said the intrepid Käthchen. "But in the meantime? What's going to happen in the meantime? And if there is a general riot to-morrow, and property destroyed, and people injured—the truth of the message won't mend that. And what do those people know about Lochgarra? How can they know anything? They are coming here merely to incite a lot of ignorant crofters and cottars to break the law; and you lend them your pulpit, so that the people about here will think the church is on their side, even if they should take it into their heads to set fire to Lochgarra House!"

"Dear me!" said the Minister—who had not expected any such attack from this amiable and rather nice-looking young lady, "I hope nothing of the kind will happen."

"At all events, Mr. Pettigrew," said Mary, interposing, "I understand you don't mean to be present at this meeting? You will let those strangers talk whatever inflammatory stuff they choose without any word of protest or caution. Well, I suppose you have the right to decide for yourself. But I mean to go. If they have anything to say against me, I want to hear it. If I have no one to defend me, I must defend myself——"

"Oh, but I beg your pardon, Miss Stanley!" Frank Meredyth broke in. "You are not quite so defenceless—not at all! For my own part, I don't think you ought to go to this meeting—I think it will be unwise and uncalled for; but if you do go, you sha'n't go alone—I will see to that."

And again, after they had left the Minister, and were on their way back to Lochgarra House, he urgently begged her to abandon this enterprise; and her brother joined in, and quite as warmly.

"Why, you are the very person they have come to denounce!" Fred Stanley exclaimed. "You are the representative of the landlords. And what will they think of your appearing at the meeting? They will take it as an open challenge!"

"I mean it as an open challenge," she said, proudly. "I want to know what I am accused of. I want to ask what more I could have done—with my limited means. For of course my means are limited. I can't build breakwaters, and buy fleets of fishing-boats, and make railways; for I haven't the money. And I can't change the soil, or alter the climate, or even alter the habits of the people."

"What did I tell you, Mamie, at Invershin Station?" said Käthchen; but Mary Stanley went on unheeding—

"If there are grievances still to be redressed, I want to hear of them."

"Their real grievance is that they haven't got the land for nothing," observed her brother, who had a short and summary way of dealing with such questions.

"Well, if you must go, at least we can promise you a body-guard," said Frank Meredyth, as they were ascending the wide stone steps. "At the same time, I think you would be very much better advised to stay at home."

That afternoon the ordinary dull somnolence of a Lochgarra Sunday gave way to a quite unusual, if subdued, excitement. To begin with, about half-past three a waggonette came rattling into the silent little village, and drew up at the inn; while its occupants—the three apostles of Land Liberation—descended and disappeared from view. They were not gone long, however. The cottagers, furtively peeping from behind door or window-blind, beheld the strangers come out again and set off for a walk along the sea-front, scanning every object on each hand of them as they passed. The central figure of the three was a large and heavily-built man, pale and flabby of face, with small, piggish, twinkling eyes, close-cropped and stubbly yellow hair, and a wide but thin-lipped and resolute mouth. He wore a loose-flapping frock-coat, and a black felt wideawake; his hands were clasped behind him; he waddled as he walked. On his right was a tall and elderly woman, spare, and rather elegant of figure; with a thin, sharp face which, either from constitutional acridity of blood or perhaps from driving in the sun, was distinctly violent in colour: this was Ernestine—the fiery Ernestine—who had no doubt brought with her her torch and can of paraffin. As for the lady who had come all the way across the Atlantic to enlighten these poor souls of crofters, no one could say what she was like; for she was entirely enveloped in a brown dust-coat and a blue veil. But she was shorter than either of her companions.

"There are only three of them—there ought to be four," said Frank Meredyth, as the Lochgarra House party were regarding these passing strangers from the drawing-room window. "The big man is Ogden—he is easily recognisable—I'm afraid he has puffed himself out with too much tea-drinking; but where is the Highland Land Leaguer?"

"Why, you don't suppose the vice-president of a branch of the Highland Land League would travel on a Sunday?" said Käthchen. "He will be coming along to-morrow morning,—even if he has to walk or drive all night."

Mary was also regarding the strangers.

"If the American woman, whichever she is," said she, quietly, "is going to denounce me to-morrow, she has not left herself much time to get information about this place. She will have to begin at once, if she wishes to ascertain the facts."

"The facts!" said Meredyth. "She won't have to search about for them. She has brought them with her—from Connecticut."

Truly this was an afternoon of surprises. For while on a rare occasion it might happen that someone arrived at Lochgarra on Sunday by road, it was almost an unheard-of thing that anyone should come in by sea. Boating of any description was quite unknown on the sacred day; there was no ferry—no Queen's highway to be kept open; while as for going on the water for pleasure, such sacrilege never entered the brain of a native of Lochgarra. And yet here, unmistakeably, was a small black-hulled lugger, with a ruddy brown sail, coming steadily in before the light westerly breeze; and when, having at length gained the shelter of the quay, she was rounded into the wind, and yard and sail lowered, her occupants presently got into the little dinghey astern, and came ashore. From the drawing-room of Lochgarra House they were easily distinguishable: they were Big Archie, Donald Ross of Heimra, and the young lad who was usually in charge of the lugger. When they landed, young Ross left his companions, and went directly up to the inn.

"Ha! didn't I tell you?" Fred Stanley cried, with an air of triumph. "Before the storm the petrel!—I thought we should see him somewhere about, when this affair was coming off. Only, he has missed his confederates. I wonder if they have gone far. I suppose Mr. Ogden has taken his American friend up Minard way to show her what a crofter's cottage is like—or perhaps she wants to look at the bed-ridden peat-hags. We shall find Ross following them in a moment—only he won't know which way they have gone." Of a sudden he rose from his seat, as if struck by some new idea. "I've a great mind to go down to the inn. What do you say, Frank? I should like to step up to him and tell him that he'll find his friends if he goes up the Minard road."

"You shall do nothing of the kind!" said Mary, angrily.

"I should like to see the expression of his face!" her brother observed.

"If they are friends of Mr. Ross, he can find them for himself," said she. "It is none of our business. And—and—if they are not—I won't have him insulted by anyone going from this house!"

He looked at her: she did not often talk in this indignant and vehement way.

"Oh, very well," he said. "Very well. It doesn't matter to me. You may have cause to change your opinion to-morrow."

All that evening very little mention was made of the subject about which everyone was secretly thinking. Frank Meredyth, finding it was of no use to try to move Mary from her purpose, thought the best thing he could do was to reassure her: he said he hoped Ernestine would prove amusing. And next morning, too, he professed to treat the whole affair as a jest; but all the same he kept going to the window from time to time, to have a look at the little groups of twos and threes who were congregated here and there, talking amongst themselves. For there was clearly some small commotion prevailing; the people were not attending to their ordinary affairs; the most trifling occurrence—a dog-fight in the street—attracted all eyes.

Mary insisted on setting out early; she wished everyone to see that she was going to attend the meeting. And hardly had they left the house—they were going round by the end of the quay—when Fred Stanley said in an undertone to his neighbour Meredyth—

"I don't know what's going to happen; but if they try on any games, I've got a little friend in my pocket here that can bark—and bite."

Mary overheard, and turned on him at once.

"What is that?" said she. "Your revolver? Let me see it."

He looked round: there was no one by.

"Oh, it is an elegant little companion to have with you," he said, bringing forth the silver-mounted weapon from his pocket, and regarding it quite affectionately.

She took it from him—he thinking that she merely wished to look at it—and, without more ado, she pitched it over the low sea-wall: there was a splash in the clear green water, and a bubble or two of air.

"Things of that sort are not fit for children," she said—and she took no heed of the angry flush that at once rose to his forehead: anger more probably caused by the reference to his youth than to the loss of his revolver. However, he said nothing; and so they went on again; and eventually arrived at the church.

When they entered the little building and modestly took their places in the nearest of the pews, there ensued a rather awkward moment; for they had come early; and, on looking round, they found that the only other persons present were they who had summoned the meeting; so that the hostile camps had a good opportunity of contemplating each other. The pulpit (like the body of the church) was empty; but in the precentor's box was a serious-visaged, brown-bearded man, who was no doubt Mr. Fraser, of the Stratherrick Branch of the Highland Land League; while underneath him, in the square space partitioned off for the pews of the elders, sate the three persons who were to address the meeting. They were all gravely silent, as was fit and proper; but their eyes were alert; and it was as clear as daylight to Mary's friends that the strangers had recognised in her the lady of Lochgarra House, whom they had come to impeach as the representative in these parts of the iniquitous landlord interest. It was indeed an awkward moment; and Mr. Ogden's glances of scrutiny were furtive, until he turned away altogether; but the thin and feverish-faced Mlle. Ernestine took more confident survey; and her bold black eyes went from one to the other of the group, but were most frequently fixed on Mary Stanley. The lady from Connecticut, also, was obviously curious: most probably she had never beheld before any of those people whose malevolent turpitude had brought the Highlands to such a pass.

The time went slowly by, in this constrained silence. The vice-president of the Stratherrick Branch, from his seat in the precentor's box, began to look rather anxiously towards the door. Mr. Ogden glanced at his watch. Frank Meredyth did likewise—it was ten minutes after one. And yet there had been no sign of any human being—except for a small boy who had thrust his shock head in for a second, and gazed wonderingly around the empty church, and then withdrawn with a scared face. At length the chairman leaned over the edge of the precentor's box, and in an audible whisper said—

"Mr. Ogden, I'm thinking ye'd better go out and tell them?"

Mr. Ogden hesitated for a moment, and then made answer—

"Don't you think we should begin the proceedings?—that will be the best announcement."

"Very well," said Mr. Fraser; and he rose in his place with a heavy sigh of preparation. "Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "before coming to local matters, I will ask Mrs. Jackson Noyes to read a paper that she has prepared. Mrs. Noyes has recently completed a two days' trip round the West Highlands in the steamerDunara Castle; and where she has been unable to land—for the steamer does not give ye much time at any place—she has used her eyes, or her opera-glass, impartially; and what she has seen she has put down. The title of the paper is; 'The Horrible Desolation of the Highlands, as Descried from the Deck of the Dunara.' Would ye get up on the bench, mem?"

This last murmured invitation was addressed to Mrs. Noyes, who rose to her feet, but seemed to shrink from taking up any more prominent position. Indeed, the poor woman looked dreadfully embarrassed; her face was all aflame; instead of proceeding with her paper, she kept glancing helplessly towards the door, whither Mr. Ogden had gone to reconnoitre; and it was clear she could not bring herself to begin without an audience, or, rather, with that small audience that was a hundred times worse than none. And presently Mr. Ogden came back—his face black as thunder. He went up to the precentor's box, and muttered something to the chairman. He returned to the elders' enclosure, and said something to the two ladies—who seemed entirely bewildered. The next moment the four of them had filed out of the church, without a word.

"Well, this is the most astounding thing!" Frank Meredyth exclaimed, when his party had also left their places, and got into the open air. "What is the matter with the people? Not a living soul has come near the place! No wonder the big Parliament-man was in a furious rage!"

But Mary had turned to Kate Glendinning, who had fallen a step or two behind.

"Käthchen," she said, in an undertone, "what is the meaning of all this? I can see perfectly well you know something about it."

For indeed Käthchen was all tremblingly triumphant, and joyous, and also inclined to tears—half-hysterical, in short.

"Mamie—Mamie," she said, between that laughing and crying, "I knew he could do it if he liked—and—and—I thought he would—for your sake—"

"What are you talking about?" said Mary: but a sudden self-conscious look showed that she had guessed.

"You needn't be angry, Mamie," said Käthchen, her wet eyes shining with a half-concealed pride and delight; "but—but I was terribly frightened about what might happen to you; and yesterday I sent Big Archie out to Heimra—I told him to go as soon as the people had got into church—and I gave him a note. For I knew he would answer the message at once—and that he would see you came to no harm—"

"Do you mean Donald Ross?" said Mary, rather breathlessly.

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