CHAPTER III.A FORECAST.Now, among the numerous undertakings on which the young proprietress of Lochgarra had set her heart was the establishment of a Public Reading-room and Free Library; and to that end she had planned and built—employing local labour only—a large, long, one-storeyed erection, of a solid and substantial cast, fit to withstand the buffetings of the western storms. The interior was as simple and unpretentious as the exterior; there was nothing beyond a strip of platform, a series of plain wooden benches, a few deal tables and chairs, and a small space partitioned off as kitchen. The rules and regulations, of her own sketching out, were likewise of an artless nature. The place was to be open to the whole community. Tea and coffee at cheap rates were to be procurable between five and seven a.m., and from seven till nine in the evening: the morning hours were for the benefit of bachelor workmen on their way to work, or of fishermen coming in cold and wet after a night at sea. Although reading was the ostensible aim, women were free to bring their knitting or sewing: good lamps would be provided, and a good fire in winter. There were to be no set entertainments of any kind; but on certain evenings such of the young people as could sing or play on any instrument would be expected to do their best for the amusement of their neighbours. Thus far only had she drawn out her simple code; she wished to get the opinions of the villagers themselves as to minor details; and so, all being ready, there one day appeared the following modest little handbill—-"On Tuesday next, at six o'clock in the evening, Miss Stanley will open the Public Reading Room for the use of the inhabitants of Lochgarra. Everyone is invited to attend."It was on the Monday afternoon that she and Kate Glendinning went along to have a final look. Apparently all was in order; though, to be sure, the supply of books, magazines, and newspapers was as yet somewhat scanty. But it was something else that was uppermost in Mary's mind at this moment."You don't think me really nervous, Käthchen?" said she, in a half-laughing and yet concerned way."No, I do not," her friend said explicitly. "Why, you, of all people!—you have courage for anything——""Look at that platform," Mary went on. "It is only a few inches raised above the floor. Yes, but those few inches make all the difference. Standing here I might perhaps be able to say something; but I declare to you, Käthchen, that the moment I set foot on that platform I shall be frozen into a voiceless statue. Why, I am trembling now, even to think of it! I feel the choking in my throat already. And to have all those eyes fixed on you—and your brain going round—and you unable to say a word; I know I shall tumble down in a faint—and the ignominy of it——""It is very unfortunate," Käthchen admitted, as they left the building and set out for home again, "that Mr. Meredyth was called away so suddenly. He could have done it for you. Or even your brother. But if you are so terrified, Mamie, why don't you ask the Minister?—he is accustomed to conduct all sorts of meetings.""No, I could not do that either," Mary said. "You see, I want the people thoroughly to understand that they are not going to be lectured or preached at. They are not even to be amused against their will. The whole place is to be their own: I have no educational fad to thrust on them. Do you remember Mrs. Armour talking about theCeilidhof the old days?—well, I want to revive theCeilidh; and I am not sure that Mr. Pettigrew would approve. No; I suppose I must get up on that platform, even if my knees should be knocking against each other. And if my tongue cleaves to the roof of my mouth, well, you must come forward, Käthchen, and make an apology, and tell them that I give them the use of the building and its contents, and that there's no more to be said."Now Kate Glendinning, during these last few seconds, seemed to be occupied with something far ahead of them, on which she was fixing an earnest gaze. The afternoon around them was clear and golden, with an abundance of light everywhere; but the sun was getting over to the west, so that the larches threw a shadow across the Minard highway, whither her eyes were directed. Presently, however, she seemed to have satisfied herself."Well, Mamie," said she, "I have never tried to address a meeting, so I don't know what it is like; but I should have thought you had nerve and courage for anything.""It isn't nerve, Käthchen; it isn't courage!" she exclaimed, in a kind of mock despair. "Why, at a Lord Mayor's dinner, I have seen one of the bravest soldiers that England possesses—I have seen him with his hands shaking like a leaf as he stood up to answer to a toast.""Very well, then, Mamie," said her companion, calmly, "if you are so frightened, why don't you get Mr. Donald Ross to take your place? I am sure he would do it for you at once. And as for asking him, there can be no trouble about that; because if you look along there you will see him at the foot of the Minard road, and he is coming this way."For one startled second Mary stood stock still, her eyes filled with alarm: perhaps some wild notion that escape might even yet be possible had flashed through her brain. But that was only for a moment. Käthchen had just been complimenting her on her courage: she could not show the white feather the very next minute. So instantly she resumed her onward walk, and that with something of an air of proud confidence. She was 'more than common tall,' and there was a certain freedom and dignity in her gait: how could any bystander have told that under that brave demeanour her heart was going like the heart of a captured hare?"Oh, what were you saying, Käthchen?" she resumed, with a fine assumption of carelessness. "The Mansion House dinner—oh, yes, I assure you—a very famous soldier—and his hand was shaking—you see, I happened to be sitting next him——""Mamie, are you going to ask Mr. Ross about the photographs?" Käthchen asked, in a low voice, for young Donald of Heimra was drawing nearer.But what could she say in reply? This encounter was altogether too abrupt and unexpected a thing. She had not even time to recall what she had decided was her position with regard to this solitary neighbour of hers. If he had wronged her by neglect, she had vehemently professed to Käthchen that that was of no consequence. If, on the other hand, he was still haughtily indignant over the insults that had been heaped upon him by her brother, how could she make him any fit apology? In fact, she hardly knew whether to treat him as friend or foe; and yet here he was approaching them—every moment coming nearer—and her heart going faster than ever.As for him, he kept his eyes fixed on her, with a calm and even respectful attention. He, at least, was not embarrassed; and Mary, in a desperate kind of way, was conscious that it was for her to decide; she was aware, without looking, that he was expectant; she was mortified to think that her face was flushed and confused, while he was tranquilly regarding her. Then of a sudden she rebelled angrily against this calm superiority; and just as he came up she glanced towards him and coldly bowed. He raised his cap. Was he going on—without a word?"Oh, Mr. Ross," said she, stammering and embarrassed, and yet affecting to treat this meeting as quite an everyday affair, "it is strange we should just have been talking about you—you—you haven't been much over to the mainland of late, have you?—perhaps you haven't seen the reading-room since it was finished—no, I suppose not—do you think it will be of any use?—do you think it will be of any service?—do you think the people will care for it?""They ought to be very grateful to you," said he. "I wonder what you are going to do for them next?"The sound of his voice seemed immensely to reassure her."Grateful?" she said, quite cheerfully, and despite her conscious colour she managed to meet his eyes. "Well, I, for one, should be exceedingly grateful to you if would do me a very particular favour with regard to this same reading-room. Miss Glendinning was talking about you only a moment or two ago—and—and the fact is, I propose to hand over the building to-morrow afternoon——""I saw the little handbill," said he, with a smile."Then I hope," said she, with an answering smile, "that you haven't come over to turn away my audience, as you did in the case of the people who wanted to create a disturbance.""Oh, no," said he, "I hope you did not suspect me of any such intention. Oh, no; it was quite the other way, indeed—if any one had asked me——""But I want more than that from you," said she—and all her confusion seemed to have fled: she was regarding him in the most friendly way, and talking with a happy confidence. "I want far more than that, Mr. Ross, if you will be so kind. Do you know, I was telling Käthchen here that the moment I put my foot on the platform to-morrow evening I should expire, or faint, or do something terrible; for what experience have I in addressing a meeting? I assure you I am in an absolute fright about it; I tremble when I think of it; when I try to imagine what I am going to say, my throat seems to gasp already. Now would you do this speechmaking for me—what little is needed? Would it be too much of a favour? Is it asking too much?"This was her brief prayer; and Käthchen, standing by, a not uninterested spectator, was saying to herself, "Well, Mamie, you have the most extraordinary eyes, when they choose to be friendly, and interested, and appealing; I wonder what mortal man could resist them?" It was not Donald Ross, at all events."Oh yes, certainly; I will do that for you with pleasure," said he at once. "I have never in my life addressed a meeting; but I don't suppose there can be any trouble about it—especially when one knows the people. Only, you must tell me what I am to say: if I am to be your counsel, you must give me instructions——""Oh, yes, yes," said she, quite eagerly. "I will tell you all the regulations I mean to propose; and the points on which I want to have the public opinion. Are you very busy just now? Will you come along and have tea with us? Then I could tell you all I wish to have said."He hesitated; and the least tinge of colour appeared in the pale, keen, resolute face. He had not expected to be asked so soon to cross the threshold of Lochgarra House. Nevertheless, after that momentary indecision, he said—"Thank you, yes, I will go with you and get my brief. Though it does seem a little impertinent in me to presume to be your spokesman.""Oh, don't say that," she remonstrated, warmly. "I cannot tell you how much I am obliged to you. Why, Käthchen will assure you that I was just about dying with fear."And all this had taken place so rapidly that even Käthchen was a little bewildered. How had such a mighty revolution come about within the space of two or three swift seconds? A few minutes before, and Mary Stanley would not have allowed this young man's name to have passed her lips; and now she was regarding him with the most obvious favour, and smiling and talking with an eager delight; while his keen, dark face and expressive eyes answered her in kind. Kate Glendinning, as they walked on towards the house, did not seek to interfere in this conversation: to watch the demeanour of those two was of far greater interest to her than any question connected with the Free Library. And Käthchen, if she did not talk to them, could commune with herself. 'Mamie,' she was saying, in this secret fashion, 'you should not show yourself so anxious to please. It isn't like you. If you are overjoyed to be on friendly terms with him again, don't make it so manifest. You shouldn't seek him; let him seek you. And don't allow your eyes to say quite so much: do you know that they are just laughing with gladness?' And then, as they were passing into the hall, the door leading out on to the garden-terrace recalled a certain little incident. 'Poor Mr. Meredyth!' said Käthchen to herself.In the drawing-room, again, Mary plied this guest of hers with every kind of pretty attention; and seemed very pleased and happy; while she grew almost reckless in her philanthropic schemes. Indeed, it was Donald Ross himself who had to interpose to put a check on her generous enthusiasm."No, no," he said, with a smile, and yet with a certain quiet and masterful air that was habitual with him, "you must not do anything of the kind. Giving them Meall-na-Cruagan was quite enough. You must not think of giving up Meall-na-Fearn as well. You would be crippling Mr. Watson to no purpose. The crofters have quite enough pasture now for their stock."Yes, but I want to do everything," she insisted, "I want to try everything that can be thought of—everything—before coming to the last confession of failure: and you know what that is?""What?""Why, emigration. Oh, I haven't forgotten your threat," she said, with some little touch of confusion in her smiling eyes, "to take away the people with you to Canada or New South Wales, or some such place. And—and I don't want that. That seems to me ignominious. That seems to me simply a confession of failure.""At all events," said he, "it was not as a threat that I made the suggestion. I thought it would help you.""Oh," said she, with her face flushing a little, "but I don't want anybody to go away. Surely something else should be tried first. There are many things to be done. I want to have many more looms going; and the fishing developed; and several new industries started—perhaps even kelp-burning, if there are sufficient beds of seaweed. Why, I consider I am only beginning now. I have been simply clearing the way—getting fair rents fixed—and all that; and—and I don't want to be interfered with, in that rude fashion. Give me time. Let me have my chance first. Then if I fail——""Oh, but we shan't talk of failure," said he, good-naturedly. "Failure would be too cruel a return for all your kindness to these people."He stayed till very near dinner-time: those two seemed to have so much to say to each other—and not about the Lochgarra estate only. Directly he had gone, Mary said, in quite an eager and excited fashion—"Käthchen, if I had had the courage of a mouse, I'd have asked him to dine with us! Why shouldn't I? Don't you think I might—the next time? Don't you think I might? It is so pleasant for neighbours to be on neighbourly terms. And just imagine what his life must be out in that little island, seeing no one. It seems to me that, situated as we are, it is almost a duty to ask him to come to the house. And why not to dinner? If he comes in, and has tea with us, why not dinner? What is the difference between tea and dinner?""He has very eloquent eyes," said Käthchen, demurely. "He seemed much pleased with his visit this evening.""Käthchen," said Mary, and she seemed a little restless, and yet very happy withal: she went to the window occasionally to look at nothing, and appeared quite oblivious of the fact that the dinner-gong had just sounded—"Käthchen, do you remember the blue and gold embroidered scarf that I told you could be so easily turned into a hood for the opera?""I'm sure I do!" said Käthchen, little dreaming of what was coming."Then I'm going to give you that—yes, I will—now, don't protest——""Indeed I must, though, Mamie," said Käthchen, warmly. "Why, what use would it be to me? And you know how admirably it suited your complexion and the colour of your hair. What mania for giving has seized you this afternoon? I thought you were going to throw away the whole of the Lochgarra estate; and I was glad to see Mr. Ross put some curb on your wildness. And I must say you were very amenable, Mamie. You're not quite so self-willed when Mr. Ross is talking to you——""I'm going to be self-willed enough to make you take that scarf, Käthchen," said Mary, with a gay impetuosity. "Yes, I am. I will send for it to-morrow. Why, you know it is a pretty thing, Käthchen—the Albanian needlework is so quaint—and I remember perfectly that you admired it——""But what use would a hood for the theatre be in a place like this!" Käthchen exclaimed."Don't I tell you it is a pretty thing to look at, here or anywhere else?" was the imperious rejoinder. "And I want to give it to you, Käthchen—and that's all about it—and so not another word!"When at length they went in to dinner, Mary sate silent and thoughtful for a little while: then she said—"Käthchen, did you ever hear a voice that gave you such a curious impression of sincerity?""Do you mean Mr. Ross's?" said Käthchen, gravely."Yes," said Mary, with a bit of a start: she had been forgetting. "I mean quite apart from the quality of the voice, and that of itself seems to me remarkable. For you know most men's voices are repellent—unnecessarily harsh and grating—you are not interested—you would rather keep away. But his voice, quiet as it is, thrills; it is so clear, and soft, and persuasive; I don't know that you can say of a man that he has a musical voice in talking, but if you can, then his is distinctly musical. Only that is not what you chiefly think of. It is the honesty of his tone that is so marked. He never seems to talk for effect; he does not want to impress you, or make any display; it is the truth he aims at, and you feel that it is the truth, and that you can believe down to the very depths every word he is uttering. And you seem to feel that he makes you honest too. It is no use trying any pretence with him. He would laugh at you if you did—and yet not cruelly. He is so direct, so simple, so manly, not a grain of affectation to be discovered. I wonder, now, when he is called to the Bar, if he will practise in the courts? For don't you think I rather effectually stopped the emigration scheme—didn't I, Käthchen? Oh, yes, I don't think he will talk any more about Canada or Australia—not, at least, until I have had my chance. But on the other hand, if he were to remain in this county, and practise at the Bar, don't you think he would succeed? I know if I were a judge, and Mr. Ross were pleading before me, I should have little difficulty in deciding who was speaking the truth.""Counsel are not paid to speak the truth: quite the reverse," said Käthchen."And when he laughs, there is nothing sarcastic in his laugh—nothing but good-nature," continued the young lady, who was not paying much attention to Barbara's ministrations. "Is there anything so horrid as a cackling laugh—the conceited laugh of a small nature? Yes, it is a very good thing he has so pleasant and good-humoured a laugh—for—after all—yes, perhaps he is just a little blunt and peremptory. What do you think, Käthchen? Did you think he was a little dictatorial? And you said something—that I was amenable? But was I too amenable, Käthchen? I hope he did not imagine that I was subservient—especially if he was rather masterful and plain-spoken——""Come, come, Mamie, don't quarrel with him when he has hardly had time to get out of the house," Käthchen interposed, with a smile. "I consider that the manner of both of you was quite perfect, if what you wanted to convey was that you were both highly pleased to meet in this way and have a confidential and friendly chat. Dictatorial? Not in the least! Of course he knows a good many things about this place; and it was to save you yourself from being excessive in your generosity that he spoke plainly. And speaking plainly—why, wasn't it that very thing you were praising only a moment ago, when you spoke of the simplicity and sincerity of his speech?""Because," said Mary, drawing up her head a little, "if—if I thought he considered me too complaisant and submissive—if I thought so—well, I would show him something different.""Now, are you determined to quarrel?" Käthchen exclaimed, with laughing eyes. "Here is this poor young man who meets you in the road, and he is as respectful and distant as could possibly be, waiting to see how you mean to treat him; and you seem a little doubtful; then of a sudden you resolve to make the first advances; and the next thing is that you appear so glad to find that both of you are on friendly terms, that nothing will do but he must come away home and have tea with you; and you are exceedingly kind to him, and he is exceedingly grateful—as those black eyes of his showed. What is there in all that? Yet now you must alarm yourself by thinking you have been too complaisant!""No, Käthchen, no; not that I think so; what I dread is that he may have been thinking so.""If I were to tell you, Mamie," said Käthchen, "what I imagine to have been in Donald Ross's mind when you and he were sitting talking together, eyes fixed on eyes, with never a thought for anything or anybody else in the whole wide world, well, I suppose you would be indignant, and would probably tell me to attend to my own affairs. Which I mean to do—only I am not blind." For a second Mary regarded her friend with a scrutinizing glance; but she had not the courage to speak; she changed the subject—and hardly mentioned Donald Ross's name for the rest of that evening.Next day, and especially towards the afternoon, there was quite a commotion in the village, for small things become great in a remote little community like Lochgarra; and when it drew near to six o'clock there were various groups of people scattered around the new building, walking about and chatting, sometimes peeping in at the door with a vague curiosity."I wonder if he expects us to go along and meet him there?" said Mary, rather anxiously to Käthchen."You mean Mr. Ross?" said Käthchen, though well she knew to whom the "he" referred. "I should think he would call for us. TheSirèneis not in the bay; she must be round in the Camus Bheag; so Mr. Ross will be coming down from Minard."Käthchen's anticipations proved correct; young Ross, in passing Lochgarra House, stopped for a moment to ask if the ladies had gone on; and, finding that they were just about ready to set out, he waited for them. And thus it was that the inhabitants of Lochgarra again witnessed a strange sight—something far more wonderful than the opening of a Free Library: they beheld young Donald of Heimra acting as escort to this English woman—this alien—this representative of the family that had drained the waters out of Heimra Loch, and torn down the walls of the old Castle. And not only that, but when they came along, he seemed to manage everything for her. He drove the people into the large, long room, and got the benches filled up; he had two chairs placed on the platform, one for Miss Stanley and one for Miss Glendinning; and then, standing by the side of the Baintighearna, proceeded to speak for her, and to explain the conditions attaching to this bequest.And here once more Mary, sitting there silent and observant, may have been struck by the curious directness and simplicity of his speech. Concise, explicit sentences: they seemed to accord well with his own bearing, which was distinctly straightforward, intrepid, resolute. Indeed, so little of effort, so little of talking for effect was there about this address, that once or twice, and in the most natural way in the world, he turned to Miss Stanley and asked her for information on certain points. Finally, he told them that Miss Stanley wished for no ceremony, opening or otherwise; they were merely to take possession; and they would now be left to examine the resources of the building including the duplicate catalogues of the library."Three cheers for Donald Ross of Heimra!" called out a voice—and a cap was twirled to the roof."Don't make a fool of yourself, Gillie Ciotach!" said Ross, with a quick frown; and then he went on calmly: "It is Miss Stanley's express wish that there should be no formalities whatever, otherwise I should have proposed a vote of thanks to her for her very great kindness and thoughtfulness. However, that is not to be; and the best way you can show what you think of her munificent gift is by making a good use of it and taking every care of it." He turned to the Baintighearna. "I suppose that is about all I have to say, Miss Stanley?""Yes, I think so: thank you so much!" she said, in rather a low voice—for she was a trifle self-conscious before all those people.Then she rose. He stepped down from the platform, and led the way along the hall. There was some covert clapping of hands and stamping of feet; but the Gillie Ciotach had been snubbed into silence; and, indeed, the majority of those sad and weather-worn countenances remained stolidly indifferent, as if they hardly knew what was happening around them. Ross opened the door for his two companions, and followed them out into the golden-clear afternoon; the villagers were left to overhaul at their leisure this new possession, and to become familiar with its opportunities.But no sooner were those three out in the open, and by themselves, than Mary Stanley's manner underwent a complete change. She had thrown off that platform constraint; she was profuse in her expressions of gratitude; her eyes were shining with pleasure."How can I ever sufficiently thank you?" said she. "I could never have got through it by myself—never! And of course they will remember everything you said: any word of yours is all-important with them. I am a stranger. I am suspected. But when you are on my side all goes well. And now that this serious business has been got over, I feel as if we had earned a holiday for the rest of the day," she continued, in a very radiant and light-hearted fashion. "What shall we do, Käthchen? Can't you devise something? Can't you devise some wild escapade—something terrible—something unheard of?""The Lady Superior of Lochgarra," said Donald Ross, "is much too distinguished a person to indulge in wild escapades.""At least," said she, turning to him—and they were now on their way to Lochgarra House—"it would be very hard if we three, having so successfully got through the solemn duties and labours of the day, were to separate now. Don't you think we are entitled to a little relaxation? Now, tell me, Mr. Ross, where you are going at this moment. Back to theSirène, are you not? And you will be dining alone? And after that a book and a pipe in the solitary saloon—isn't that about how you will pass the evening?""You have guessed pretty near the truth, Miss Stanley," said he, with a smile."Then," said she, boldly, "why should we separate? Come in and dine with us. Give up your book, and let two frivolous creatures talk to you. We will allow you to go away at ten; and it will be a clear starlight night—you will have no difficulty in finding your way round to the Camus Bheag. Now, will you?""Indeed, I shall be most happy," said he, without an instant's hesitation; and again Miss Stanley's clear grey-green eyes thanked him as they could, when she had a mind.And really this proved to be a most joyous and careless evening, without an atom of restraint or reserve; the little group of friends, brought together in that far-away corner of the world, developed a very frank and informal intimacy; the time sped swiftly. Mary was in especial merry-hearted and audacious; occasionally betraying new moods of wilful petulance; and then again becoming suddenly honest, as much as to say, "No, don't believe that of me; it was only mischief." Even Käthchen was less demurely observant than usual; she had become a little more accustomed to the flame of those coal-black eyes; moreover, the young man had a winning smile. He was no longer the proud and austere person whom she had regarded with a little anxiety and even awe. Implacable she was no longer ready to call him: surely one who could laugh in that frankly good-humoured way was not likely to prove revengeful and unforgiving? As for his being haughty and imperious, she noticed one small circumstance—that ever and again, amid this familiar and sprightly intercourse, he checked himself a little, and would address Miss Stanley with something almost of deference. It was as if he were saying, 'It is exceedingly kind of you to treat me in so very friendly a fashion; but still—still—you are the Lady Superior of Lochgarra—and I am your guest.' And sometimes he seemed to veil his eyes a little—those burning eyes that might unawares convey too much.The lightning moments fled; ten o'clock came ere he knew. Indeed, it was half-an-hour thereafter before he chanced to look at his watch; and instantly he rose, with a quite boyish confusion on his clear, finely-cut face."When do you go back to Heimra?" said Mary to him—the two young ladies having accompanied him out into the hall."I hardly know," said he. "I am waiting for a rather important letter that I must answer at once.""Not to-morrow, then?""Perhaps not.""For I have sent for the photographer," said she, "and he may be here the day after.""But I will stay over," said he; "oh, yes, certainly; I should be so pleased if I can be of the least service to you.""Oh, thank you." And then she hesitated. "To-morrow—to-morrow you will simply be waiting for the mid-day mail?""Yes—is there anything that I can do for you in any way?""Oh, no," she made answer, with still further hesitation. "Some day—I am going to ask you to let me have a peep at theSirène. She seems such a pretty little yacht.""Won't you come along and look over her to-morrow morning, if the weather is fine?" said he, quickly."Would you like to go, Käthchen?" asked Mary, with a little shyness."Oh, I should be delighted," answered the useful Käthchen, divining what was wanted of her."If you are sure it is not troubling you," said Mary to her departing guest."Why, it will give me the greatest possible pleasure," said he. "Come as early as ever you like. It will be quite an event: it is many a day since I had the honour of receiving visitors on the littleSirène.""Then about eleven," said Mary; and therewith he took his leave.When they got back to the drawing-room, Kate Glendinning threw herself into the chair she had recently quitted."Well, I think he is simply splendid!" said she, as if she had some difficulty in finding words to express her enthusiasm. "That's all I can say—just splendid. He is so curiously straightforward, outspoken, independent; and yet all the time he is so careful to treat you with marked respect. If his eyes laugh at you, it is in such a good-natured way that you can't take offence. And he never agrees with you for courtesy's sake—never—oh, not a bit; but yet, as I say, to you he is always so respectful—in so many little ways—didn't you notice? Ah, well, Mamie," continued the observant but nevertheless cautious-tongued Käthchen, "it's a curious world, the way things happen in it. Do you remember, when you first came here, your distress about the destruction of Castle Heimra? You said nothing could ever atone for that; and I was of your opinion then. But I am not so sure now. I should not be so surprised, after all, if there were to be some atonement for the pulling down of Castle Heimra."Mary did not answer: she had gone to put some Japanese water-colours into a large portfolio. Nor could the expression of her face be seen; if there was any indignant colour there, any proud, maidenly reserve and resentment, it was invisible; for she remained standing by the portfolio for some time, turning over the leaves.CHAPTER IV.SLOW BUT SURE.The next morning was the very perfection of a September morning, clear, and crisp, and still; there was just enough wind to lift away the lazy blue smoke from the cottage chimneys, and to stir the smooth waters of the bay with a shimmering ripple. And here was the carriage in front of Lochgarra House, waiting for the two young ladies to come down."Käthchen," said Mary, in an undertone, as they took their seats and were driven off, "supposing I should get a chance of speaking to Mr. Ross privately—for a minute or two—do you think I should venture to apologise to him for Fred's outrageous conduct? What would you do if you were in my place?"Not that—oh, no, Mamie, not that!" Käthchen said at once. "Don't you see how he wishes to ignore it altogether? And surely you remember what he himself said about the pulling down of Castle Heimra? 'There are some things that are best not spoken of.'""It is very generous of him," said Mary, absently.They drove away up the Minard road; and when they had got some distance past the top of the hill, they dismissed the carriage, and left the highway, striking across the rough high ground by a worn footpath. Presently they found far beneath them the sheltered waters of the Camus Bheag; and the first thing they saw there was theSirèneat her moorings, with all her sails set and shining white in the morning sun. The next thing they perceived was that the two sailors, Coinneach and Calum, were on the beach, by the side of the yacht's boat; while standing some way apart was Donald Ross. And who was this who was talking to him?—a young girl, whose light brown curly hair was half hidden by her scarlet shawl."It is Anna Chlannach!" said Mary. "Now I have got her at last! She is always escaping me—and I want to convince her that I will not allow Mr. Purdie to lock her up in any asylum. Käthchen, couldn't we get down some other way, so that she may not see us?"But at this very moment the girl down there happened to catch sight of them; and instantly she turned and fled, disappearing from sight in an incredibly short space of time. For one thing, the face of this hill was a mass of tumbled rocks, intermingled with long heather and thick-stemmed gorse, while skirting it was a plantation of young larch: most likely Anna Chlannach had made good her escape into this plantation."Why did you let her go?" said Mary, reproachfully, when she had got down to the beach. "You knew I wanted to talk to her.""It isn't easy reasoning with Anna Chlannach," said Donald Ross, with his quiet smile. "She still associates you with Purdie; she is afraid of you. And this time she was on other business; she was pleading with me to take her out to Heimra—offering me all the money she has got—her shells, you know—if I would take her out.""And why does she want to go out there?" Mary asked—her eyes still searching that rocky hill-side for the vanished fugitive."To bring back her mother. Sometimes she forgets her fancy about the white bird, and thinks if she could only get out to Heimra she would bring back her mother alive and well. And it is no use trying to undeceive her."The men were waiting. Mary and Käthchen got into the stern of the boat; the others followed; and presently they were on their way out to the yawl."How much bigger she is than I had imagined!" Mary said, as they were drawing near.And again when they were on deck, looking around with the curiosity that an unknown vessel invariably arouses, she could not but express her high approval: everything looked so trim and neat and ship-shape—the spotless decks, the gleaming brass, the snow-white canvas. And these cushions along the gunwale?"The fact is," young Ross confessed—with some look of timid appeal towards Mary, "I got the sails up this morning just in case I might be able to induce you to take a bit of a run with us. There is a nice breeze outside, and nothing of a sea. What do you say, Miss Stanley? TheSirènefeels proud enough that you should have come on board—but if you would like to see how she takes to the water——"If he was at all anxious, the quick glance of pleasure in Mary's eyes must have instantly reassured him."Oh, yes, why not?" said she, rather addressing herself to Kate Glendinning; "I am sure we shall be delighted—if it isn't taking up too much of your time, Mr. Ross——""We can slip the moorings and be off at once," said he, and he gave a brief order to the men, himself going to the tiller. In a few minutes theSirènewas under way, gliding along so quietly that the two visitors hardly knew that they were moving.But their departure had not been unnoticed elsewhere. Suddenly, into the absolute silence prevailing around, there came a piteous wail—a wail so full of agony that immediately all eyes were directed to the shore, whence the sound proceeded. And there the origin of it was visible enough. Anna Chlannach had come down from her hiding-place to the edge of the water; she was seated on a rock, her hands clasped in front of her and her head bent down in an attitude of indescribable anguish, her body swaying to and fro, while from time to time she uttered this heartrending cry, of despair and appeal."Poor Anna!" said Mary, with tears starting to her eyes. "Let us go back, Mr. Ross! Never mind us. We can go home. You must take her out to Heimra.""What would be the use?" he said. "She would only be more miserable, searching about and finding no mother anywhere. And Anna does not keep very long in one mood. She will soon lose sight of us—and then she'll be off again searching for wild strawberries."And perhaps it was to distract their attention from this melancholy setting out that he now called one of the men to the tiller, and would have his guests go below, to have a look at the ladies' cabin and the saloon. Of course they were much interested and pleased—admiring the cunning little contrivances for the utilisation of space; while Mary arrived at the conclusion that, if these rooms were kept in order by Calum, Calum was a very handy youth to have in one's service, whether afloat or ashore, They spent some time over these investigations; and when they came on deck again, they found they were well out at sea, with a far-extending view of the high and rocky coast, Lochgarra itself appearing as merely a thin grey-white line along one of those indented bays.And still, and carelessly, and joyously, they kept on their course, the light breeze holding steady, the wide plain of water shining with a summer blue. Young Donald had not returned to the tiller; he was devoting himself assiduously to his two guests—their conversation, whatever its varying moods, accompanied by the soft, continuous murmur of these myriad-glancing ripples, for waves they could scarcely be called. And on this occasion Mary was not nearly so nervous, and excited, and wayward as she had been on the previous day; a placid, benign content reigned in her eyes; a sort of serious, bland sweetness in her demeanour. Käthchen thought to herself that she had never seen Mary Stanley look so beautiful, nor yet wearing so serene an air.And still they held on, in this fair halcyon weather, alone with the sky, and the fresh wind, and the slumberous main; and so entirely and happily engrossed with themselves that they had no thought for the now distant land. But at last Käthchen said—"Mr. Ross, how far are we going? I thought you were expecting an important letter.""There are things of equal importance," said he, pleasantly. He cast a glance forward. "Soon we shall be getting near to Heimra, Miss Stanley. I have never had the chance of receiving you in my poor little bungalow: will you go ashore for a while?""Oh, yes," she replied, cheerfully. "I should like to renew my acquaintance with Martha; she was exceedingly kind to us when Käthchen and I called.""And perhaps," said he, "when we get round the point, you wouldn't mind standing up for a few seconds—you and Miss Glendinning?—then Martha will see I have visitors, and will have time to put on her best gown. Otherwise I should get into serious trouble."And so they sailed into the small, quiet harbour, and eventually got ashore at the little slip, and made their way up to the house. Martha had seen them; here she was in the porch, smiling a welcome, with her grey Highland eyes, to the young master, and also to his guests. These she took possession of—with suggestions of tea."No, no, Martha," said Donald Ross, "we are not going to have tea at this time of the day. The young ladies will stay for lunch; and you must do the best you can for us. We will go for a stroll about the island, and be back in an hour or thereabouts.""Oh, yes, indeed," said the old Highland woman, "but it is a peety I was not knowing before——""Martha," said Mary Stanley, interposing, "I dare say Mr. Ross does not understand much about housekeeping. Now, you must put yourself to no trouble on our account. A glass of milk will be quite sufficient.""Aw, but there will be more than that," the old woman said, and she regarded this beautiful, tall, shining-eyed young creature with a most favouring look, and her speech was soft and propitiating; "it would be strange if there was not more than that in the house, and Mr. Ross bringing his friends with him." And therewith she went away; and presently they heard her sharply calling on the lad Calum, who had come up from the slip, and was hanging about, to be in readiness if he were wanted.And now as the proud young host led forth his fair guests on an exploration of these winding shores, and tumbled crags, and steep precipices, this island of Heimra looked infinitely more cheerful than it had done on Mary's previous visit, in the bleak April weather. There was an abundance of rich colour everywhere. The silver-grey rocks, and ruddy-grey rocks, and black-grey rocks were interspersed with masses of purple heather; and other masses there were of tall foxgloves, and bracken, and juniper, and broom. Their progress, it is true, was something of a scramble, for there was no road nor semblance of a road; the sheep tracks, he explained, were up on the higher slopes and plateaus; down here by the shore they had to get along as best they could, though sometimes they had the chance of a space of velvet-soft sand—with the clear green water breaking in crisp white ripples and sparkling in the sun. A solitary, if a picturesque, island, facing those wide western seas; there was no sign of human existence or occupation after they had got out of sight of the single house and its small dependencies; and at last Mary said:"One would think that no living creature had ever been round this coast before. But it cannot be so wild and lonely to you, Mr. Ross, as it seems to us; you have discovered all the secrets of it; and so I want you to take me to your grotto. In such an island of Monte Cristo, you must have the grotto of Monte Cristo: where is it?""How did you guess?" said he, with a smile."Guess what?""For there is a grotto," he said, regarding her. "Your surmise is quite correct. There is a grotto; only it isn't filled with sacks of jewels and coins; all that there is in it is some smuggled brandy.""Oh, really?" she said, with her eyes showing a sudden attention. "Brandy?—smuggled brandy?—and how did it come there?—did you bring it?""Indeed I did," said he, without a moment's hesitation—and he was standing in front of her now, for she had sate down on a smooth grey rock. "I suppose I must let you into my dark and terrible secret, and give you the power of sending the Supervisor over, and haling me off to Dingwall. It is not a grotto, however, it is a cave; and very few people know of its existence. In fact, you can't get to it by the shore at all; you must go by water; and I hope to show it to you some day, if you would care to go round in a boat. But then there are no wonders—no hasheesh—no heaps of diamonds and rubies—only little casks of spirits: perhaps they wouldn't interest you?""Oh, but I think they would," she said—and yet with a little caution, for she did not quite know how to take this confession.He observed her face for a moment."I see I must begin and justify myself," said he, lightly, "if justification is possible. For of course it's very wrong and wicked to evade the customs duties of your native land; only in my case there are two or three qualifying circumstances. For one thing, I am a Highlander; and smuggling comes natural to a Highlander. Then I have the proud consciousness that I am circumventing Mr. Purdie—and that of itself is a praiseworthy achievement. You may have heard, Miss Stanley, that Purdie plumes himself on having routed out the very last of the illicit stills from this country-side—and it was done merely out of ill-will to the people; but he forgot that it is difficult to watch a rough coast like this. I can put a counter-check on Mr. Purdie's zeal. But my real excuse is simply this—the old people about here are too poor to buy spirits of any kind, but especially of a wholesome quality; and it is the only little bit of comfort they have when they are cold and wet, just as it is the only medicine they believe in; and really I think the Government, that gives lavish grants here, there, and everywhere—except here, by the way—I think the Government can afford to wink at such a small trifle. Am I convincing you?" he went on, with a laugh. "I'm afraid you look very stern. Is there to be no palliation?"Then up and spoke Kate Glendinning, valiantly—"I consider you are perfectly justified, Mr. Ross; yes, I do, indeed," said she."You see I have Miss Glendinning on my side," he pointed out, still addressing Mary."Ah, but you are both Highlanders," Mary said, as she rose from the rock; "and how can I argue one against two?""Shall I be quite honest," said he, as they were setting out for home again, "and confess that there is a spice of adventure in going away to the south for the cargo, and running it safely here? It is a break in the monotony of one's life on the island.""Yes, I shouldn't wonder if that had something to do with all those fine reasons," she observed, with demure significance."And then," he continued, frankly, and perhaps not noticing her sarcasm, "I like to be on friendly terms with the old people who knew our family in former days. I like them to speak well of me; I like to think that they have some trifle of affection for me. And this is about the only way I can keep up the old relationship that used to exist between them and the 'big house;' it's very little kindness I am able to show them: they've got to take the will for the deed nowadays." He turned to her. "What, not convinced yet?" he said, laughing again. "What is to be the verdict? Not acquittal?"She shook her head doubtfully: the Lady Superior of Lochgarra did not choose to say.They found an excellent lunch awaiting them; and after that, in his eager desire to entertain these rare visitors in every possible way, he showed them the heirlooms of the family, along with a heap of antiquities and curiosities that for the most part had been put away in cabinets and chests, as being out of keeping with these plain rooms. Naturally the old armour interested Mary less than the silks and embroideries, the porcelain and pottery; and in particular was she struck by a Rhodian dish, the like of which she had never seen before. It was of coarse material, and of the simplest design—a plain draught-board pattern, with a free-handed scroll running round the rim; but the curious pellucid green colour was singularly beautiful, and the glaze extraordinarily luminous."Where could that have come from?" said she, reluctantly laying it down, and still regarding it with admiration. "I have never seen one like it in England.""My father sent it home from Smyrna," he said, simply, "to my mother. He could not live in the West Highlands: the climate did not suit him. He travelled a great deal."Donald Ross seemed to speak without any restraint or embarrassment; but there was some strange misgiving in Mary's mind; she was glad when Käthchen changed the subject—calling her attention to some exquisite lace.And at last this wonderful and memorable visit had to come to an end; but when they went out to the little porch Mary said she could not go without saying good-bye to Martha, and so she turned and went through the passage into the kitchen."Martha," said she, in her most winning way, and with smiling eyes, "you have been very good to us, and I shall never forget your kindness on our first visit to Heimra, when we were quite strangers to you. And this is a little present I want you to take, as a souvenir, you understand——"She had unclasped the chatelaine from her belt; and there it was, in antique silver, with all its ornaments and housewifely implements complete, pressed upon the old dame's acceptance. But Martha hung back—shyly—and yet looking at the marvellous treasure."Oh, no, mem," she said. "I thank ye; I'm sure I thank ye; but Mr. Ross would not be liking me to tek it.""Mr. Ross!" said Mary impatiently. "What does Mr. Ross know about such things? Why, it is necessary for your housekeeping, Martha!—and, besides, you must take it to please me; and it will remind you of our visit until we come back again—for I hope to come back and see you some day.""Yes, yes, and soon, mem," said the grateful Martha, who had been forced into compliance. "And I will be showing it to Mr. Ross, mem——""Good-bye, then, Martha, and thank you for all your kindness," said Mary, as she was going."No, no, mem, it is my thanks and service to you, mem," said Martha, and she timidly extended her hand. Mary had learnt the ways of this country. She shook hands with the old dame; and said good-bye again; and went her way.Then once more over the shining sea, with the light northerly breeze providing them a steady and continuous passage. Mary turned once or twice to look at the now receding island."I suppose you get very much attached to a solitary home like that?" she said, absently."But I like a few days on the mainland very well," said he, with much cheerfulness, "if there is anything to be done. When do you expect your photographer?""To-morrow or next day.""I will wait for him," said he, promptly."That will be very kind of you," said she; "for what would pictures of Lochgarra be to Mrs. Armour if you were not in them?""And Saturday is Miss Stanley's birthday," put in Käthchen. "You should stay over for that.""Saturday?" said he. "Oh, indeed. Oh, really." And then he added: "Why, they must get up a big bonfire on the top of Meall-na-Fearn.""No, no," said Mary, with an odd kind of look; "that is not for me. I must wait a little for anything of that sort. It must come spontaneously, if ever it comes." And then she suddenly changed her tone. "Well, Mr. Ross, since you are remaining on the mainland for a day or two, I hope you will come and see what I have been doing. I have started a few things——""I know more about your work than you think," said he. "But I should be glad to go with you.""And then perhaps the people won't treat me as a stranger," she said, with a touch of injury in her tone."It is very ungrateful of them if they do," said he, with some emphasis.And so it came about, on the next day, that Lochgarra again beheld the spectacle of Young Donald of Heimra acting as escort to the English lady, while she was taking him about and showing him all she was doing or trying to do. And to Käthchen it was as clear as daylight that those people began to be a great deal more friendly—more willing to answer questions—more sympathetic in their looks. Why, when the two girls returned home that evening, they found the hall-door open, and Barbara in the act of lifting up two huge stenlock that had been laid on the stone slab."Why, what's this, Barbara?" Mary inquired."Oh, it's just that foolish lad, the Gillie Ciotach," said Barbara, with a smile of apology, "and he was leaving them here instead of taking them round by the back. He was saying the people are thanking Miss Stanley for the new building and the papers; and he and Archie MacNicol they had a big catch of stenlock, and would Miss Stanley take one or two.""Do you mean that the Gillie Ciotach brought me those fish as a present?" said Mary, with a delighted surprise—and she was looking at those big, coarse lythe as if she had just received an Emperor's gift."Yes, ma'am," said Barbara."But of course you gave him something all the same?""Oh, no, ma'am.""A glass of whiskey, at least?" Mary demanded."Oh, no, ma'am," said the soft-spoken Barbara, "there is no whiskey in the house.""Then it is a shame there should be no whisky in a Highland house!" Mary exclaimed, indignantly. "Why, could you not have run over to your brother's cottage and got some?""The Gillie Ciotach was not giving me time, ma'am," answered Barbara, in her pleasant way. "Maybe he was thinking of something of that kind, and he went away quick after leaving the message.""I'll make it up to the Gillie Ciotach—you will see if I don't!" she said to Käthchen, as they passed through the hall and went upstairs. And all that evening she appeared to be greatly pleased by this little incident; and spoke of it again and again: why, to her it seemed to presage the pacification of this lawless land—she was going to meet with some return at last.Moreover, when the photographer at length made his appearance and set to work, it must have appeared to the people about that Donald Ross of Heimra had become the chosen ally and companion of the young Baintighearna; while to Donald Ross himself it seemed as if Mary were bent on representing him—in these views, at least—as the owner of the whole place. And she was wilful and imperative about it, too; though Käthchen, standing by as a spectator, perceived that she had to deal with a nature which, however quiet, was a good deal firmer than her own. For example, one of the first views was the front of Lochgarra House. The artist, having a soul above bare stone and lime, suggested that there should be some figures standing at the open hall-door, on the terrace above the steps."Oh, yes, certainly," said Mary at once. "You go, Mr. Ross, and stand there—will you be so kind?""I?" said he, in amazement—for it was clear she meant herself and Kate Glendenning to remain out of the picture—"What should I do there? That is your place, surely—in front of your own house.""Oh, what does Mrs. Armour want with me!" she protested. "It is you she wants, naturally. Of course she associates Lochgarra House with you, not with me at all. Who am I? A stranger—an interloper. What does Mrs. Armour care about me? No, really, I must insist on your going and standing on the terrace.""But indeed I cannot: what right have I to be there?" said he, with the faintest touch of colour coming to the keen, pale, dark face."Mrs. Armour would tell you you had a better right to be there than I have!" said Mary, rather ruefully. "I knew what she was thinking, if she was kind enough to say nothing. Now, go, Mr. Ross, to please me! I must not appear in this picture at all—indeed, I will not.""And I cannot," he said, simply."Very well, then," said the shifty Käthchen, cheerfully stepping into the breach, "it is evident that I, at least, can't be expected to take up a position as owner of Lochgarra House; but figures are wanted; and so, if you are both resolved to remain out, I will go and get the keepers and gillies and servants, and range them along the front there, at the foot of the steps. I dare say Mrs. Armour will recognise some of them.""Then you positively refuse me?" Mary said to him."You ought to understand why," he answered her—and then she was silent.But on the following morning she was deeply impressed by his thoughtful forbearance and consideration. They wished to get a view of the little hamlet of Cruagan, Mrs. Armour having lived there formerly; and, as the place was some distance off, they drove thither—the artist and his camera up beside the coachman. Now, it was inevitable they should pass the desert plain that used to be Loch Heimra, with the tumbled stones of the ancient keep; and on coming in sight of these the photographer, recognising a subject, and yet a little puzzled, called on the coachman to stop."That, sir—what is that, sir?" he asked of Donald Ross, whom he generally consulted."Oh, that is nothing," said Ross (and this time it was Mary who look distressed and embarrassed). "Never mind; go on.""Isn't that an old ruin, sir?" said the photographer, with professional instinct. Subjects did not abound in this neighbourhood, and he wished to do his best."That is of no use: that would not make a picture—a heap of stones like that," said young Donald; and so the artist gave way; and the carriage went on again. There was a space of silence thereafter.But Mary was none the less grateful to him. And when they came to a stretch of the Connan, where there were some rocks in mid-stream and a bit of a waterfall, with some birches by the side of the river, she said:"Now, Mr. Ross, Mrs. Armour is sure to remember this place; and it is very pretty; and since you want me to come into some of the pictures, I will come in this time, and the three of us can sit on the bank as if we were a pic-nic party. And if it turns out well, mightn't we have it enlarged and some copies printed for our own friends? We will send on the carriage a bit, so that there shall be nothing but ourselves in this solitude.""Let me go on with the carriage, Mamie!" interposed Käthchen at once."Don't be silly, Käthchen!" Mary made answer, with quickly lowered lashes. "We are supposed to be a pic-nic party, or a fishing party, taking a rest—anything you please; but of course we must all be together."So that group also was taken, with the Highland river-scene for its background; and then they went forward and overtook the carriage. Mary was much more cheerful now, after getting away from that reproachful sight of Castle Heimra."Do you know, Mr. Ross," she was saying, "I am about to encounter the bitterest enemy I have in the world?""I cannot believe you have any enemy," was his reply. "But who is this?""James Macdonald.""Oh, Macdonald the crofter at Cruagan. Well, what have you been doing to him?""What have I been doing to him?" she said with some spirit. "You should rather ask what I have been doing for him. I have been doing far too much for him: I suppose that is why he hates me. What haven't I done for him? I took off the tax for the dyke; I handed over the pasturage of Meall-na-Cruagan; I lowered his rent; I forgave him arrears; I had the decree of removal quashed, and gave him back his holding after he had forfeited it; I stopped the action against him for deforcing the sheriff's officer. What more? What more? And yet he looks as if he would like to murder me if I try to speak to him.""Have you any idea of the reason?""Yes," said Mary, a little proudly. "He says that you are his laird, and not I: he says I have nothing to do with the land or the people here.""Macdonald is a foolish man—and stubborn: I will talk to him," he said; and he was thoughtful for a second or two.Indeed, when they arrived at the scattered little hamlet of Cruagan, it was not the sun-pictures that occupied Mary Stanley's attention. The photographer was allowed to choose his subjects as he liked. For, in driving up, they had perceived the sullen-browed, Russian-looking crofter at work in his patch of potatoes; and as soon as the carriage stopped, young Ross left his companions, stepped over the bit of wire fence, and went along the potato drills. Macdonald ceased working, and respectfully raised his cap. Ross began speaking in a low voice, and yet with some emphasis, and increasing emphasis, as the ladies in the waggonette could gather. It was impossible for them to overhear the words, even if they had been able to understand; but as he proceeded it was clear enough that he was becoming angry and indignant, the man with the shaggy eyebrows and the determined jaw having answered once or twice. Then almost suddenly there came a strange termination to this fierce encounter. Young Ross remained behind, glancing around him as if merely wanting to know whether the crop promised well; but Macdonald came down the drills, in the direction of the carriage."Käthchen," said Mary, in an eager whisper, "he is coming to speak to me! Let me get out—quick!"She stepped into the roadway. As Macdonald came slowly towards her, he raised his eyes and regarded her for a second, in silence. He took off his cap—and forgot to put it on again. He was thinking what to say."I—not mich English. It is thanks to you—for many things. The young laird says that. And I—am to ask your pardon—and sorry I am if there is not goodwill—and there is good-will now—and it is sorry I am——""Not at all—not at all; we are going to be quite good friends, Mr. Macdonald—and there's my hand on it," said she in her frank, impetuous way. "And you are going to ask me into your house; and will you give me a little bit of oat-cake, or something of the kind?—and when you are next over at Lochgarra you must not forget to come and see me. And at any time, mind you, if you have anything to complain of, come to me first; come direct to me; don't go to Mr. Purdie, or anybody; for perhaps I might be able to settle the matter for you at once."And with that she called on Mr. Ross, and told him they were going into the cottage to get a bit of oat-cake; for Macdonald was already leading the way thither. When they came out of Macdonald's cottage, they found that the photographer had quite completed his work; so they at once set out for home again. Mary was in an extraordinary state of delight over this vanquishment of her obdurate enemy, and said she should take means to remind him of their compact of goodwill. But young Ross only laughed."'Wherefore he called that place Beersheba,'" he said, "'because there they sware both of them.'"The following Saturday was Mary Stanley's birthday. Early in the morning she and Kate, in fulfilment of a long-standing engagement, drove away out to Craiglarig to pay a visit to Mr. Watson, and talk over some matters connected with his farm; and as they stayed for lunch, they did not get back till the afternoon. By that time the mail had come in, and there was an astonishing number of letters and parcels addressed to Miss Stanley, for she had a large number of friends in the south, who held her in kindly remembrance. She was looking at these and guessing at the senders, when she came to one that was larger and heavier than the others; moreover, it had not come by post, but by hand. Something impelled her to tear off the brown wrapper, and behold, here was the Rhodian dish she had so particularly admired when they were out at Heimra Island."I saw he noticed how long you looked at it," said Käthchen, with smiling eyes.Well, she did not look at it long now, beautiful as it was. She had turned again to the wrapper, and she seemed to take a curious interest in studying her own name as she found it there."It is an unusual handwriting, don't you think so, Käthchen?" she said, slowly, and almost as if she were talking to herself. "Firm and precise.... How odd one's own name appears when you see it written for the first time by some one you know! ... Do you think character can be read in handwriting, Käthchen? ... firmness—yes, apparently; and precision—well, I don't object to that so much, ... but don't you think he is a little too—a little too confident in himself ... careless of what others may think ... a little too independent ... and proud in his own domain?""I don't know about that at all. But I am going to tell you something now, and you may be angry or not as you please," said Käthchen; and she went up to her friend, and put her hand on her arm: perhaps she wanted to watch the expression of her face: "Mamie," she said, "that man loves you."
CHAPTER III.
A FORECAST.
Now, among the numerous undertakings on which the young proprietress of Lochgarra had set her heart was the establishment of a Public Reading-room and Free Library; and to that end she had planned and built—employing local labour only—a large, long, one-storeyed erection, of a solid and substantial cast, fit to withstand the buffetings of the western storms. The interior was as simple and unpretentious as the exterior; there was nothing beyond a strip of platform, a series of plain wooden benches, a few deal tables and chairs, and a small space partitioned off as kitchen. The rules and regulations, of her own sketching out, were likewise of an artless nature. The place was to be open to the whole community. Tea and coffee at cheap rates were to be procurable between five and seven a.m., and from seven till nine in the evening: the morning hours were for the benefit of bachelor workmen on their way to work, or of fishermen coming in cold and wet after a night at sea. Although reading was the ostensible aim, women were free to bring their knitting or sewing: good lamps would be provided, and a good fire in winter. There were to be no set entertainments of any kind; but on certain evenings such of the young people as could sing or play on any instrument would be expected to do their best for the amusement of their neighbours. Thus far only had she drawn out her simple code; she wished to get the opinions of the villagers themselves as to minor details; and so, all being ready, there one day appeared the following modest little handbill—-"On Tuesday next, at six o'clock in the evening, Miss Stanley will open the Public Reading Room for the use of the inhabitants of Lochgarra. Everyone is invited to attend."
It was on the Monday afternoon that she and Kate Glendinning went along to have a final look. Apparently all was in order; though, to be sure, the supply of books, magazines, and newspapers was as yet somewhat scanty. But it was something else that was uppermost in Mary's mind at this moment.
"You don't think me really nervous, Käthchen?" said she, in a half-laughing and yet concerned way.
"No, I do not," her friend said explicitly. "Why, you, of all people!—you have courage for anything——"
"Look at that platform," Mary went on. "It is only a few inches raised above the floor. Yes, but those few inches make all the difference. Standing here I might perhaps be able to say something; but I declare to you, Käthchen, that the moment I set foot on that platform I shall be frozen into a voiceless statue. Why, I am trembling now, even to think of it! I feel the choking in my throat already. And to have all those eyes fixed on you—and your brain going round—and you unable to say a word; I know I shall tumble down in a faint—and the ignominy of it——"
"It is very unfortunate," Käthchen admitted, as they left the building and set out for home again, "that Mr. Meredyth was called away so suddenly. He could have done it for you. Or even your brother. But if you are so terrified, Mamie, why don't you ask the Minister?—he is accustomed to conduct all sorts of meetings."
"No, I could not do that either," Mary said. "You see, I want the people thoroughly to understand that they are not going to be lectured or preached at. They are not even to be amused against their will. The whole place is to be their own: I have no educational fad to thrust on them. Do you remember Mrs. Armour talking about theCeilidhof the old days?—well, I want to revive theCeilidh; and I am not sure that Mr. Pettigrew would approve. No; I suppose I must get up on that platform, even if my knees should be knocking against each other. And if my tongue cleaves to the roof of my mouth, well, you must come forward, Käthchen, and make an apology, and tell them that I give them the use of the building and its contents, and that there's no more to be said."
Now Kate Glendinning, during these last few seconds, seemed to be occupied with something far ahead of them, on which she was fixing an earnest gaze. The afternoon around them was clear and golden, with an abundance of light everywhere; but the sun was getting over to the west, so that the larches threw a shadow across the Minard highway, whither her eyes were directed. Presently, however, she seemed to have satisfied herself.
"Well, Mamie," said she, "I have never tried to address a meeting, so I don't know what it is like; but I should have thought you had nerve and courage for anything."
"It isn't nerve, Käthchen; it isn't courage!" she exclaimed, in a kind of mock despair. "Why, at a Lord Mayor's dinner, I have seen one of the bravest soldiers that England possesses—I have seen him with his hands shaking like a leaf as he stood up to answer to a toast."
"Very well, then, Mamie," said her companion, calmly, "if you are so frightened, why don't you get Mr. Donald Ross to take your place? I am sure he would do it for you at once. And as for asking him, there can be no trouble about that; because if you look along there you will see him at the foot of the Minard road, and he is coming this way."
For one startled second Mary stood stock still, her eyes filled with alarm: perhaps some wild notion that escape might even yet be possible had flashed through her brain. But that was only for a moment. Käthchen had just been complimenting her on her courage: she could not show the white feather the very next minute. So instantly she resumed her onward walk, and that with something of an air of proud confidence. She was 'more than common tall,' and there was a certain freedom and dignity in her gait: how could any bystander have told that under that brave demeanour her heart was going like the heart of a captured hare?
"Oh, what were you saying, Käthchen?" she resumed, with a fine assumption of carelessness. "The Mansion House dinner—oh, yes, I assure you—a very famous soldier—and his hand was shaking—you see, I happened to be sitting next him——"
"Mamie, are you going to ask Mr. Ross about the photographs?" Käthchen asked, in a low voice, for young Donald of Heimra was drawing nearer.
But what could she say in reply? This encounter was altogether too abrupt and unexpected a thing. She had not even time to recall what she had decided was her position with regard to this solitary neighbour of hers. If he had wronged her by neglect, she had vehemently professed to Käthchen that that was of no consequence. If, on the other hand, he was still haughtily indignant over the insults that had been heaped upon him by her brother, how could she make him any fit apology? In fact, she hardly knew whether to treat him as friend or foe; and yet here he was approaching them—every moment coming nearer—and her heart going faster than ever.
As for him, he kept his eyes fixed on her, with a calm and even respectful attention. He, at least, was not embarrassed; and Mary, in a desperate kind of way, was conscious that it was for her to decide; she was aware, without looking, that he was expectant; she was mortified to think that her face was flushed and confused, while he was tranquilly regarding her. Then of a sudden she rebelled angrily against this calm superiority; and just as he came up she glanced towards him and coldly bowed. He raised his cap. Was he going on—without a word?
"Oh, Mr. Ross," said she, stammering and embarrassed, and yet affecting to treat this meeting as quite an everyday affair, "it is strange we should just have been talking about you—you—you haven't been much over to the mainland of late, have you?—perhaps you haven't seen the reading-room since it was finished—no, I suppose not—do you think it will be of any use?—do you think it will be of any service?—do you think the people will care for it?"
"They ought to be very grateful to you," said he. "I wonder what you are going to do for them next?"
The sound of his voice seemed immensely to reassure her.
"Grateful?" she said, quite cheerfully, and despite her conscious colour she managed to meet his eyes. "Well, I, for one, should be exceedingly grateful to you if would do me a very particular favour with regard to this same reading-room. Miss Glendinning was talking about you only a moment or two ago—and—and the fact is, I propose to hand over the building to-morrow afternoon——"
"I saw the little handbill," said he, with a smile.
"Then I hope," said she, with an answering smile, "that you haven't come over to turn away my audience, as you did in the case of the people who wanted to create a disturbance."
"Oh, no," said he, "I hope you did not suspect me of any such intention. Oh, no; it was quite the other way, indeed—if any one had asked me——"
"But I want more than that from you," said she—and all her confusion seemed to have fled: she was regarding him in the most friendly way, and talking with a happy confidence. "I want far more than that, Mr. Ross, if you will be so kind. Do you know, I was telling Käthchen here that the moment I put my foot on the platform to-morrow evening I should expire, or faint, or do something terrible; for what experience have I in addressing a meeting? I assure you I am in an absolute fright about it; I tremble when I think of it; when I try to imagine what I am going to say, my throat seems to gasp already. Now would you do this speechmaking for me—what little is needed? Would it be too much of a favour? Is it asking too much?"
This was her brief prayer; and Käthchen, standing by, a not uninterested spectator, was saying to herself, "Well, Mamie, you have the most extraordinary eyes, when they choose to be friendly, and interested, and appealing; I wonder what mortal man could resist them?" It was not Donald Ross, at all events.
"Oh yes, certainly; I will do that for you with pleasure," said he at once. "I have never in my life addressed a meeting; but I don't suppose there can be any trouble about it—especially when one knows the people. Only, you must tell me what I am to say: if I am to be your counsel, you must give me instructions——"
"Oh, yes, yes," said she, quite eagerly. "I will tell you all the regulations I mean to propose; and the points on which I want to have the public opinion. Are you very busy just now? Will you come along and have tea with us? Then I could tell you all I wish to have said."
He hesitated; and the least tinge of colour appeared in the pale, keen, resolute face. He had not expected to be asked so soon to cross the threshold of Lochgarra House. Nevertheless, after that momentary indecision, he said—
"Thank you, yes, I will go with you and get my brief. Though it does seem a little impertinent in me to presume to be your spokesman."
"Oh, don't say that," she remonstrated, warmly. "I cannot tell you how much I am obliged to you. Why, Käthchen will assure you that I was just about dying with fear."
And all this had taken place so rapidly that even Käthchen was a little bewildered. How had such a mighty revolution come about within the space of two or three swift seconds? A few minutes before, and Mary Stanley would not have allowed this young man's name to have passed her lips; and now she was regarding him with the most obvious favour, and smiling and talking with an eager delight; while his keen, dark face and expressive eyes answered her in kind. Kate Glendinning, as they walked on towards the house, did not seek to interfere in this conversation: to watch the demeanour of those two was of far greater interest to her than any question connected with the Free Library. And Käthchen, if she did not talk to them, could commune with herself. 'Mamie,' she was saying, in this secret fashion, 'you should not show yourself so anxious to please. It isn't like you. If you are overjoyed to be on friendly terms with him again, don't make it so manifest. You shouldn't seek him; let him seek you. And don't allow your eyes to say quite so much: do you know that they are just laughing with gladness?' And then, as they were passing into the hall, the door leading out on to the garden-terrace recalled a certain little incident. 'Poor Mr. Meredyth!' said Käthchen to herself.
In the drawing-room, again, Mary plied this guest of hers with every kind of pretty attention; and seemed very pleased and happy; while she grew almost reckless in her philanthropic schemes. Indeed, it was Donald Ross himself who had to interpose to put a check on her generous enthusiasm.
"No, no," he said, with a smile, and yet with a certain quiet and masterful air that was habitual with him, "you must not do anything of the kind. Giving them Meall-na-Cruagan was quite enough. You must not think of giving up Meall-na-Fearn as well. You would be crippling Mr. Watson to no purpose. The crofters have quite enough pasture now for their stock.
"Yes, but I want to do everything," she insisted, "I want to try everything that can be thought of—everything—before coming to the last confession of failure: and you know what that is?"
"What?"
"Why, emigration. Oh, I haven't forgotten your threat," she said, with some little touch of confusion in her smiling eyes, "to take away the people with you to Canada or New South Wales, or some such place. And—and I don't want that. That seems to me ignominious. That seems to me simply a confession of failure."
"At all events," said he, "it was not as a threat that I made the suggestion. I thought it would help you."
"Oh," said she, with her face flushing a little, "but I don't want anybody to go away. Surely something else should be tried first. There are many things to be done. I want to have many more looms going; and the fishing developed; and several new industries started—perhaps even kelp-burning, if there are sufficient beds of seaweed. Why, I consider I am only beginning now. I have been simply clearing the way—getting fair rents fixed—and all that; and—and I don't want to be interfered with, in that rude fashion. Give me time. Let me have my chance first. Then if I fail——"
"Oh, but we shan't talk of failure," said he, good-naturedly. "Failure would be too cruel a return for all your kindness to these people."
He stayed till very near dinner-time: those two seemed to have so much to say to each other—and not about the Lochgarra estate only. Directly he had gone, Mary said, in quite an eager and excited fashion—
"Käthchen, if I had had the courage of a mouse, I'd have asked him to dine with us! Why shouldn't I? Don't you think I might—the next time? Don't you think I might? It is so pleasant for neighbours to be on neighbourly terms. And just imagine what his life must be out in that little island, seeing no one. It seems to me that, situated as we are, it is almost a duty to ask him to come to the house. And why not to dinner? If he comes in, and has tea with us, why not dinner? What is the difference between tea and dinner?"
"He has very eloquent eyes," said Käthchen, demurely. "He seemed much pleased with his visit this evening."
"Käthchen," said Mary, and she seemed a little restless, and yet very happy withal: she went to the window occasionally to look at nothing, and appeared quite oblivious of the fact that the dinner-gong had just sounded—"Käthchen, do you remember the blue and gold embroidered scarf that I told you could be so easily turned into a hood for the opera?"
"I'm sure I do!" said Käthchen, little dreaming of what was coming.
"Then I'm going to give you that—yes, I will—now, don't protest——"
"Indeed I must, though, Mamie," said Käthchen, warmly. "Why, what use would it be to me? And you know how admirably it suited your complexion and the colour of your hair. What mania for giving has seized you this afternoon? I thought you were going to throw away the whole of the Lochgarra estate; and I was glad to see Mr. Ross put some curb on your wildness. And I must say you were very amenable, Mamie. You're not quite so self-willed when Mr. Ross is talking to you——"
"I'm going to be self-willed enough to make you take that scarf, Käthchen," said Mary, with a gay impetuosity. "Yes, I am. I will send for it to-morrow. Why, you know it is a pretty thing, Käthchen—the Albanian needlework is so quaint—and I remember perfectly that you admired it——"
"But what use would a hood for the theatre be in a place like this!" Käthchen exclaimed.
"Don't I tell you it is a pretty thing to look at, here or anywhere else?" was the imperious rejoinder. "And I want to give it to you, Käthchen—and that's all about it—and so not another word!"
When at length they went in to dinner, Mary sate silent and thoughtful for a little while: then she said—
"Käthchen, did you ever hear a voice that gave you such a curious impression of sincerity?"
"Do you mean Mr. Ross's?" said Käthchen, gravely.
"Yes," said Mary, with a bit of a start: she had been forgetting. "I mean quite apart from the quality of the voice, and that of itself seems to me remarkable. For you know most men's voices are repellent—unnecessarily harsh and grating—you are not interested—you would rather keep away. But his voice, quiet as it is, thrills; it is so clear, and soft, and persuasive; I don't know that you can say of a man that he has a musical voice in talking, but if you can, then his is distinctly musical. Only that is not what you chiefly think of. It is the honesty of his tone that is so marked. He never seems to talk for effect; he does not want to impress you, or make any display; it is the truth he aims at, and you feel that it is the truth, and that you can believe down to the very depths every word he is uttering. And you seem to feel that he makes you honest too. It is no use trying any pretence with him. He would laugh at you if you did—and yet not cruelly. He is so direct, so simple, so manly, not a grain of affectation to be discovered. I wonder, now, when he is called to the Bar, if he will practise in the courts? For don't you think I rather effectually stopped the emigration scheme—didn't I, Käthchen? Oh, yes, I don't think he will talk any more about Canada or Australia—not, at least, until I have had my chance. But on the other hand, if he were to remain in this county, and practise at the Bar, don't you think he would succeed? I know if I were a judge, and Mr. Ross were pleading before me, I should have little difficulty in deciding who was speaking the truth."
"Counsel are not paid to speak the truth: quite the reverse," said Käthchen.
"And when he laughs, there is nothing sarcastic in his laugh—nothing but good-nature," continued the young lady, who was not paying much attention to Barbara's ministrations. "Is there anything so horrid as a cackling laugh—the conceited laugh of a small nature? Yes, it is a very good thing he has so pleasant and good-humoured a laugh—for—after all—yes, perhaps he is just a little blunt and peremptory. What do you think, Käthchen? Did you think he was a little dictatorial? And you said something—that I was amenable? But was I too amenable, Käthchen? I hope he did not imagine that I was subservient—especially if he was rather masterful and plain-spoken——"
"Come, come, Mamie, don't quarrel with him when he has hardly had time to get out of the house," Käthchen interposed, with a smile. "I consider that the manner of both of you was quite perfect, if what you wanted to convey was that you were both highly pleased to meet in this way and have a confidential and friendly chat. Dictatorial? Not in the least! Of course he knows a good many things about this place; and it was to save you yourself from being excessive in your generosity that he spoke plainly. And speaking plainly—why, wasn't it that very thing you were praising only a moment ago, when you spoke of the simplicity and sincerity of his speech?"
"Because," said Mary, drawing up her head a little, "if—if I thought he considered me too complaisant and submissive—if I thought so—well, I would show him something different."
"Now, are you determined to quarrel?" Käthchen exclaimed, with laughing eyes. "Here is this poor young man who meets you in the road, and he is as respectful and distant as could possibly be, waiting to see how you mean to treat him; and you seem a little doubtful; then of a sudden you resolve to make the first advances; and the next thing is that you appear so glad to find that both of you are on friendly terms, that nothing will do but he must come away home and have tea with you; and you are exceedingly kind to him, and he is exceedingly grateful—as those black eyes of his showed. What is there in all that? Yet now you must alarm yourself by thinking you have been too complaisant!"
"No, Käthchen, no; not that I think so; what I dread is that he may have been thinking so."
"If I were to tell you, Mamie," said Käthchen, "what I imagine to have been in Donald Ross's mind when you and he were sitting talking together, eyes fixed on eyes, with never a thought for anything or anybody else in the whole wide world, well, I suppose you would be indignant, and would probably tell me to attend to my own affairs. Which I mean to do—only I am not blind." For a second Mary regarded her friend with a scrutinizing glance; but she had not the courage to speak; she changed the subject—and hardly mentioned Donald Ross's name for the rest of that evening.
Next day, and especially towards the afternoon, there was quite a commotion in the village, for small things become great in a remote little community like Lochgarra; and when it drew near to six o'clock there were various groups of people scattered around the new building, walking about and chatting, sometimes peeping in at the door with a vague curiosity.
"I wonder if he expects us to go along and meet him there?" said Mary, rather anxiously to Käthchen.
"You mean Mr. Ross?" said Käthchen, though well she knew to whom the "he" referred. "I should think he would call for us. TheSirèneis not in the bay; she must be round in the Camus Bheag; so Mr. Ross will be coming down from Minard."
Käthchen's anticipations proved correct; young Ross, in passing Lochgarra House, stopped for a moment to ask if the ladies had gone on; and, finding that they were just about ready to set out, he waited for them. And thus it was that the inhabitants of Lochgarra again witnessed a strange sight—something far more wonderful than the opening of a Free Library: they beheld young Donald of Heimra acting as escort to this English woman—this alien—this representative of the family that had drained the waters out of Heimra Loch, and torn down the walls of the old Castle. And not only that, but when they came along, he seemed to manage everything for her. He drove the people into the large, long room, and got the benches filled up; he had two chairs placed on the platform, one for Miss Stanley and one for Miss Glendinning; and then, standing by the side of the Baintighearna, proceeded to speak for her, and to explain the conditions attaching to this bequest.
And here once more Mary, sitting there silent and observant, may have been struck by the curious directness and simplicity of his speech. Concise, explicit sentences: they seemed to accord well with his own bearing, which was distinctly straightforward, intrepid, resolute. Indeed, so little of effort, so little of talking for effect was there about this address, that once or twice, and in the most natural way in the world, he turned to Miss Stanley and asked her for information on certain points. Finally, he told them that Miss Stanley wished for no ceremony, opening or otherwise; they were merely to take possession; and they would now be left to examine the resources of the building including the duplicate catalogues of the library.
"Three cheers for Donald Ross of Heimra!" called out a voice—and a cap was twirled to the roof.
"Don't make a fool of yourself, Gillie Ciotach!" said Ross, with a quick frown; and then he went on calmly: "It is Miss Stanley's express wish that there should be no formalities whatever, otherwise I should have proposed a vote of thanks to her for her very great kindness and thoughtfulness. However, that is not to be; and the best way you can show what you think of her munificent gift is by making a good use of it and taking every care of it." He turned to the Baintighearna. "I suppose that is about all I have to say, Miss Stanley?"
"Yes, I think so: thank you so much!" she said, in rather a low voice—for she was a trifle self-conscious before all those people.
Then she rose. He stepped down from the platform, and led the way along the hall. There was some covert clapping of hands and stamping of feet; but the Gillie Ciotach had been snubbed into silence; and, indeed, the majority of those sad and weather-worn countenances remained stolidly indifferent, as if they hardly knew what was happening around them. Ross opened the door for his two companions, and followed them out into the golden-clear afternoon; the villagers were left to overhaul at their leisure this new possession, and to become familiar with its opportunities.
But no sooner were those three out in the open, and by themselves, than Mary Stanley's manner underwent a complete change. She had thrown off that platform constraint; she was profuse in her expressions of gratitude; her eyes were shining with pleasure.
"How can I ever sufficiently thank you?" said she. "I could never have got through it by myself—never! And of course they will remember everything you said: any word of yours is all-important with them. I am a stranger. I am suspected. But when you are on my side all goes well. And now that this serious business has been got over, I feel as if we had earned a holiday for the rest of the day," she continued, in a very radiant and light-hearted fashion. "What shall we do, Käthchen? Can't you devise something? Can't you devise some wild escapade—something terrible—something unheard of?"
"The Lady Superior of Lochgarra," said Donald Ross, "is much too distinguished a person to indulge in wild escapades."
"At least," said she, turning to him—and they were now on their way to Lochgarra House—"it would be very hard if we three, having so successfully got through the solemn duties and labours of the day, were to separate now. Don't you think we are entitled to a little relaxation? Now, tell me, Mr. Ross, where you are going at this moment. Back to theSirène, are you not? And you will be dining alone? And after that a book and a pipe in the solitary saloon—isn't that about how you will pass the evening?"
"You have guessed pretty near the truth, Miss Stanley," said he, with a smile.
"Then," said she, boldly, "why should we separate? Come in and dine with us. Give up your book, and let two frivolous creatures talk to you. We will allow you to go away at ten; and it will be a clear starlight night—you will have no difficulty in finding your way round to the Camus Bheag. Now, will you?"
"Indeed, I shall be most happy," said he, without an instant's hesitation; and again Miss Stanley's clear grey-green eyes thanked him as they could, when she had a mind.
And really this proved to be a most joyous and careless evening, without an atom of restraint or reserve; the little group of friends, brought together in that far-away corner of the world, developed a very frank and informal intimacy; the time sped swiftly. Mary was in especial merry-hearted and audacious; occasionally betraying new moods of wilful petulance; and then again becoming suddenly honest, as much as to say, "No, don't believe that of me; it was only mischief." Even Käthchen was less demurely observant than usual; she had become a little more accustomed to the flame of those coal-black eyes; moreover, the young man had a winning smile. He was no longer the proud and austere person whom she had regarded with a little anxiety and even awe. Implacable she was no longer ready to call him: surely one who could laugh in that frankly good-humoured way was not likely to prove revengeful and unforgiving? As for his being haughty and imperious, she noticed one small circumstance—that ever and again, amid this familiar and sprightly intercourse, he checked himself a little, and would address Miss Stanley with something almost of deference. It was as if he were saying, 'It is exceedingly kind of you to treat me in so very friendly a fashion; but still—still—you are the Lady Superior of Lochgarra—and I am your guest.' And sometimes he seemed to veil his eyes a little—those burning eyes that might unawares convey too much.
The lightning moments fled; ten o'clock came ere he knew. Indeed, it was half-an-hour thereafter before he chanced to look at his watch; and instantly he rose, with a quite boyish confusion on his clear, finely-cut face.
"When do you go back to Heimra?" said Mary to him—the two young ladies having accompanied him out into the hall.
"I hardly know," said he. "I am waiting for a rather important letter that I must answer at once."
"Not to-morrow, then?"
"Perhaps not."
"For I have sent for the photographer," said she, "and he may be here the day after."
"But I will stay over," said he; "oh, yes, certainly; I should be so pleased if I can be of the least service to you."
"Oh, thank you." And then she hesitated. "To-morrow—to-morrow you will simply be waiting for the mid-day mail?"
"Yes—is there anything that I can do for you in any way?"
"Oh, no," she made answer, with still further hesitation. "Some day—I am going to ask you to let me have a peep at theSirène. She seems such a pretty little yacht."
"Won't you come along and look over her to-morrow morning, if the weather is fine?" said he, quickly.
"Would you like to go, Käthchen?" asked Mary, with a little shyness.
"Oh, I should be delighted," answered the useful Käthchen, divining what was wanted of her.
"If you are sure it is not troubling you," said Mary to her departing guest.
"Why, it will give me the greatest possible pleasure," said he. "Come as early as ever you like. It will be quite an event: it is many a day since I had the honour of receiving visitors on the littleSirène."
"Then about eleven," said Mary; and therewith he took his leave.
When they got back to the drawing-room, Kate Glendinning threw herself into the chair she had recently quitted.
"Well, I think he is simply splendid!" said she, as if she had some difficulty in finding words to express her enthusiasm. "That's all I can say—just splendid. He is so curiously straightforward, outspoken, independent; and yet all the time he is so careful to treat you with marked respect. If his eyes laugh at you, it is in such a good-natured way that you can't take offence. And he never agrees with you for courtesy's sake—never—oh, not a bit; but yet, as I say, to you he is always so respectful—in so many little ways—didn't you notice? Ah, well, Mamie," continued the observant but nevertheless cautious-tongued Käthchen, "it's a curious world, the way things happen in it. Do you remember, when you first came here, your distress about the destruction of Castle Heimra? You said nothing could ever atone for that; and I was of your opinion then. But I am not so sure now. I should not be so surprised, after all, if there were to be some atonement for the pulling down of Castle Heimra."
Mary did not answer: she had gone to put some Japanese water-colours into a large portfolio. Nor could the expression of her face be seen; if there was any indignant colour there, any proud, maidenly reserve and resentment, it was invisible; for she remained standing by the portfolio for some time, turning over the leaves.
CHAPTER IV.
SLOW BUT SURE.
The next morning was the very perfection of a September morning, clear, and crisp, and still; there was just enough wind to lift away the lazy blue smoke from the cottage chimneys, and to stir the smooth waters of the bay with a shimmering ripple. And here was the carriage in front of Lochgarra House, waiting for the two young ladies to come down.
"Käthchen," said Mary, in an undertone, as they took their seats and were driven off, "supposing I should get a chance of speaking to Mr. Ross privately—for a minute or two—do you think I should venture to apologise to him for Fred's outrageous conduct? What would you do if you were in my place?
"Not that—oh, no, Mamie, not that!" Käthchen said at once. "Don't you see how he wishes to ignore it altogether? And surely you remember what he himself said about the pulling down of Castle Heimra? 'There are some things that are best not spoken of.'"
"It is very generous of him," said Mary, absently.
They drove away up the Minard road; and when they had got some distance past the top of the hill, they dismissed the carriage, and left the highway, striking across the rough high ground by a worn footpath. Presently they found far beneath them the sheltered waters of the Camus Bheag; and the first thing they saw there was theSirèneat her moorings, with all her sails set and shining white in the morning sun. The next thing they perceived was that the two sailors, Coinneach and Calum, were on the beach, by the side of the yacht's boat; while standing some way apart was Donald Ross. And who was this who was talking to him?—a young girl, whose light brown curly hair was half hidden by her scarlet shawl.
"It is Anna Chlannach!" said Mary. "Now I have got her at last! She is always escaping me—and I want to convince her that I will not allow Mr. Purdie to lock her up in any asylum. Käthchen, couldn't we get down some other way, so that she may not see us?"
But at this very moment the girl down there happened to catch sight of them; and instantly she turned and fled, disappearing from sight in an incredibly short space of time. For one thing, the face of this hill was a mass of tumbled rocks, intermingled with long heather and thick-stemmed gorse, while skirting it was a plantation of young larch: most likely Anna Chlannach had made good her escape into this plantation.
"Why did you let her go?" said Mary, reproachfully, when she had got down to the beach. "You knew I wanted to talk to her."
"It isn't easy reasoning with Anna Chlannach," said Donald Ross, with his quiet smile. "She still associates you with Purdie; she is afraid of you. And this time she was on other business; she was pleading with me to take her out to Heimra—offering me all the money she has got—her shells, you know—if I would take her out."
"And why does she want to go out there?" Mary asked—her eyes still searching that rocky hill-side for the vanished fugitive.
"To bring back her mother. Sometimes she forgets her fancy about the white bird, and thinks if she could only get out to Heimra she would bring back her mother alive and well. And it is no use trying to undeceive her."
The men were waiting. Mary and Käthchen got into the stern of the boat; the others followed; and presently they were on their way out to the yawl.
"How much bigger she is than I had imagined!" Mary said, as they were drawing near.
And again when they were on deck, looking around with the curiosity that an unknown vessel invariably arouses, she could not but express her high approval: everything looked so trim and neat and ship-shape—the spotless decks, the gleaming brass, the snow-white canvas. And these cushions along the gunwale?
"The fact is," young Ross confessed—with some look of timid appeal towards Mary, "I got the sails up this morning just in case I might be able to induce you to take a bit of a run with us. There is a nice breeze outside, and nothing of a sea. What do you say, Miss Stanley? TheSirènefeels proud enough that you should have come on board—but if you would like to see how she takes to the water——"
If he was at all anxious, the quick glance of pleasure in Mary's eyes must have instantly reassured him.
"Oh, yes, why not?" said she, rather addressing herself to Kate Glendinning; "I am sure we shall be delighted—if it isn't taking up too much of your time, Mr. Ross——"
"We can slip the moorings and be off at once," said he, and he gave a brief order to the men, himself going to the tiller. In a few minutes theSirènewas under way, gliding along so quietly that the two visitors hardly knew that they were moving.
But their departure had not been unnoticed elsewhere. Suddenly, into the absolute silence prevailing around, there came a piteous wail—a wail so full of agony that immediately all eyes were directed to the shore, whence the sound proceeded. And there the origin of it was visible enough. Anna Chlannach had come down from her hiding-place to the edge of the water; she was seated on a rock, her hands clasped in front of her and her head bent down in an attitude of indescribable anguish, her body swaying to and fro, while from time to time she uttered this heartrending cry, of despair and appeal.
"Poor Anna!" said Mary, with tears starting to her eyes. "Let us go back, Mr. Ross! Never mind us. We can go home. You must take her out to Heimra."
"What would be the use?" he said. "She would only be more miserable, searching about and finding no mother anywhere. And Anna does not keep very long in one mood. She will soon lose sight of us—and then she'll be off again searching for wild strawberries."
And perhaps it was to distract their attention from this melancholy setting out that he now called one of the men to the tiller, and would have his guests go below, to have a look at the ladies' cabin and the saloon. Of course they were much interested and pleased—admiring the cunning little contrivances for the utilisation of space; while Mary arrived at the conclusion that, if these rooms were kept in order by Calum, Calum was a very handy youth to have in one's service, whether afloat or ashore, They spent some time over these investigations; and when they came on deck again, they found they were well out at sea, with a far-extending view of the high and rocky coast, Lochgarra itself appearing as merely a thin grey-white line along one of those indented bays.
And still, and carelessly, and joyously, they kept on their course, the light breeze holding steady, the wide plain of water shining with a summer blue. Young Donald had not returned to the tiller; he was devoting himself assiduously to his two guests—their conversation, whatever its varying moods, accompanied by the soft, continuous murmur of these myriad-glancing ripples, for waves they could scarcely be called. And on this occasion Mary was not nearly so nervous, and excited, and wayward as she had been on the previous day; a placid, benign content reigned in her eyes; a sort of serious, bland sweetness in her demeanour. Käthchen thought to herself that she had never seen Mary Stanley look so beautiful, nor yet wearing so serene an air.
And still they held on, in this fair halcyon weather, alone with the sky, and the fresh wind, and the slumberous main; and so entirely and happily engrossed with themselves that they had no thought for the now distant land. But at last Käthchen said—
"Mr. Ross, how far are we going? I thought you were expecting an important letter."
"There are things of equal importance," said he, pleasantly. He cast a glance forward. "Soon we shall be getting near to Heimra, Miss Stanley. I have never had the chance of receiving you in my poor little bungalow: will you go ashore for a while?"
"Oh, yes," she replied, cheerfully. "I should like to renew my acquaintance with Martha; she was exceedingly kind to us when Käthchen and I called."
"And perhaps," said he, "when we get round the point, you wouldn't mind standing up for a few seconds—you and Miss Glendinning?—then Martha will see I have visitors, and will have time to put on her best gown. Otherwise I should get into serious trouble."
And so they sailed into the small, quiet harbour, and eventually got ashore at the little slip, and made their way up to the house. Martha had seen them; here she was in the porch, smiling a welcome, with her grey Highland eyes, to the young master, and also to his guests. These she took possession of—with suggestions of tea.
"No, no, Martha," said Donald Ross, "we are not going to have tea at this time of the day. The young ladies will stay for lunch; and you must do the best you can for us. We will go for a stroll about the island, and be back in an hour or thereabouts."
"Oh, yes, indeed," said the old Highland woman, "but it is a peety I was not knowing before——"
"Martha," said Mary Stanley, interposing, "I dare say Mr. Ross does not understand much about housekeeping. Now, you must put yourself to no trouble on our account. A glass of milk will be quite sufficient."
"Aw, but there will be more than that," the old woman said, and she regarded this beautiful, tall, shining-eyed young creature with a most favouring look, and her speech was soft and propitiating; "it would be strange if there was not more than that in the house, and Mr. Ross bringing his friends with him." And therewith she went away; and presently they heard her sharply calling on the lad Calum, who had come up from the slip, and was hanging about, to be in readiness if he were wanted.
And now as the proud young host led forth his fair guests on an exploration of these winding shores, and tumbled crags, and steep precipices, this island of Heimra looked infinitely more cheerful than it had done on Mary's previous visit, in the bleak April weather. There was an abundance of rich colour everywhere. The silver-grey rocks, and ruddy-grey rocks, and black-grey rocks were interspersed with masses of purple heather; and other masses there were of tall foxgloves, and bracken, and juniper, and broom. Their progress, it is true, was something of a scramble, for there was no road nor semblance of a road; the sheep tracks, he explained, were up on the higher slopes and plateaus; down here by the shore they had to get along as best they could, though sometimes they had the chance of a space of velvet-soft sand—with the clear green water breaking in crisp white ripples and sparkling in the sun. A solitary, if a picturesque, island, facing those wide western seas; there was no sign of human existence or occupation after they had got out of sight of the single house and its small dependencies; and at last Mary said:
"One would think that no living creature had ever been round this coast before. But it cannot be so wild and lonely to you, Mr. Ross, as it seems to us; you have discovered all the secrets of it; and so I want you to take me to your grotto. In such an island of Monte Cristo, you must have the grotto of Monte Cristo: where is it?"
"How did you guess?" said he, with a smile.
"Guess what?"
"For there is a grotto," he said, regarding her. "Your surmise is quite correct. There is a grotto; only it isn't filled with sacks of jewels and coins; all that there is in it is some smuggled brandy."
"Oh, really?" she said, with her eyes showing a sudden attention. "Brandy?—smuggled brandy?—and how did it come there?—did you bring it?"
"Indeed I did," said he, without a moment's hesitation—and he was standing in front of her now, for she had sate down on a smooth grey rock. "I suppose I must let you into my dark and terrible secret, and give you the power of sending the Supervisor over, and haling me off to Dingwall. It is not a grotto, however, it is a cave; and very few people know of its existence. In fact, you can't get to it by the shore at all; you must go by water; and I hope to show it to you some day, if you would care to go round in a boat. But then there are no wonders—no hasheesh—no heaps of diamonds and rubies—only little casks of spirits: perhaps they wouldn't interest you?"
"Oh, but I think they would," she said—and yet with a little caution, for she did not quite know how to take this confession.
He observed her face for a moment.
"I see I must begin and justify myself," said he, lightly, "if justification is possible. For of course it's very wrong and wicked to evade the customs duties of your native land; only in my case there are two or three qualifying circumstances. For one thing, I am a Highlander; and smuggling comes natural to a Highlander. Then I have the proud consciousness that I am circumventing Mr. Purdie—and that of itself is a praiseworthy achievement. You may have heard, Miss Stanley, that Purdie plumes himself on having routed out the very last of the illicit stills from this country-side—and it was done merely out of ill-will to the people; but he forgot that it is difficult to watch a rough coast like this. I can put a counter-check on Mr. Purdie's zeal. But my real excuse is simply this—the old people about here are too poor to buy spirits of any kind, but especially of a wholesome quality; and it is the only little bit of comfort they have when they are cold and wet, just as it is the only medicine they believe in; and really I think the Government, that gives lavish grants here, there, and everywhere—except here, by the way—I think the Government can afford to wink at such a small trifle. Am I convincing you?" he went on, with a laugh. "I'm afraid you look very stern. Is there to be no palliation?"
Then up and spoke Kate Glendinning, valiantly—
"I consider you are perfectly justified, Mr. Ross; yes, I do, indeed," said she.
"You see I have Miss Glendinning on my side," he pointed out, still addressing Mary.
"Ah, but you are both Highlanders," Mary said, as she rose from the rock; "and how can I argue one against two?"
"Shall I be quite honest," said he, as they were setting out for home again, "and confess that there is a spice of adventure in going away to the south for the cargo, and running it safely here? It is a break in the monotony of one's life on the island."
"Yes, I shouldn't wonder if that had something to do with all those fine reasons," she observed, with demure significance.
"And then," he continued, frankly, and perhaps not noticing her sarcasm, "I like to be on friendly terms with the old people who knew our family in former days. I like them to speak well of me; I like to think that they have some trifle of affection for me. And this is about the only way I can keep up the old relationship that used to exist between them and the 'big house;' it's very little kindness I am able to show them: they've got to take the will for the deed nowadays." He turned to her. "What, not convinced yet?" he said, laughing again. "What is to be the verdict? Not acquittal?"
She shook her head doubtfully: the Lady Superior of Lochgarra did not choose to say.
They found an excellent lunch awaiting them; and after that, in his eager desire to entertain these rare visitors in every possible way, he showed them the heirlooms of the family, along with a heap of antiquities and curiosities that for the most part had been put away in cabinets and chests, as being out of keeping with these plain rooms. Naturally the old armour interested Mary less than the silks and embroideries, the porcelain and pottery; and in particular was she struck by a Rhodian dish, the like of which she had never seen before. It was of coarse material, and of the simplest design—a plain draught-board pattern, with a free-handed scroll running round the rim; but the curious pellucid green colour was singularly beautiful, and the glaze extraordinarily luminous.
"Where could that have come from?" said she, reluctantly laying it down, and still regarding it with admiration. "I have never seen one like it in England."
"My father sent it home from Smyrna," he said, simply, "to my mother. He could not live in the West Highlands: the climate did not suit him. He travelled a great deal."
Donald Ross seemed to speak without any restraint or embarrassment; but there was some strange misgiving in Mary's mind; she was glad when Käthchen changed the subject—calling her attention to some exquisite lace.
And at last this wonderful and memorable visit had to come to an end; but when they went out to the little porch Mary said she could not go without saying good-bye to Martha, and so she turned and went through the passage into the kitchen.
"Martha," said she, in her most winning way, and with smiling eyes, "you have been very good to us, and I shall never forget your kindness on our first visit to Heimra, when we were quite strangers to you. And this is a little present I want you to take, as a souvenir, you understand——"
She had unclasped the chatelaine from her belt; and there it was, in antique silver, with all its ornaments and housewifely implements complete, pressed upon the old dame's acceptance. But Martha hung back—shyly—and yet looking at the marvellous treasure.
"Oh, no, mem," she said. "I thank ye; I'm sure I thank ye; but Mr. Ross would not be liking me to tek it."
"Mr. Ross!" said Mary impatiently. "What does Mr. Ross know about such things? Why, it is necessary for your housekeeping, Martha!—and, besides, you must take it to please me; and it will remind you of our visit until we come back again—for I hope to come back and see you some day."
"Yes, yes, and soon, mem," said the grateful Martha, who had been forced into compliance. "And I will be showing it to Mr. Ross, mem——"
"Good-bye, then, Martha, and thank you for all your kindness," said Mary, as she was going.
"No, no, mem, it is my thanks and service to you, mem," said Martha, and she timidly extended her hand. Mary had learnt the ways of this country. She shook hands with the old dame; and said good-bye again; and went her way.
Then once more over the shining sea, with the light northerly breeze providing them a steady and continuous passage. Mary turned once or twice to look at the now receding island.
"I suppose you get very much attached to a solitary home like that?" she said, absently.
"But I like a few days on the mainland very well," said he, with much cheerfulness, "if there is anything to be done. When do you expect your photographer?"
"To-morrow or next day."
"I will wait for him," said he, promptly.
"That will be very kind of you," said she; "for what would pictures of Lochgarra be to Mrs. Armour if you were not in them?"
"And Saturday is Miss Stanley's birthday," put in Käthchen. "You should stay over for that."
"Saturday?" said he. "Oh, indeed. Oh, really." And then he added: "Why, they must get up a big bonfire on the top of Meall-na-Fearn."
"No, no," said Mary, with an odd kind of look; "that is not for me. I must wait a little for anything of that sort. It must come spontaneously, if ever it comes." And then she suddenly changed her tone. "Well, Mr. Ross, since you are remaining on the mainland for a day or two, I hope you will come and see what I have been doing. I have started a few things——"
"I know more about your work than you think," said he. "But I should be glad to go with you."
"And then perhaps the people won't treat me as a stranger," she said, with a touch of injury in her tone.
"It is very ungrateful of them if they do," said he, with some emphasis.
And so it came about, on the next day, that Lochgarra again beheld the spectacle of Young Donald of Heimra acting as escort to the English lady, while she was taking him about and showing him all she was doing or trying to do. And to Käthchen it was as clear as daylight that those people began to be a great deal more friendly—more willing to answer questions—more sympathetic in their looks. Why, when the two girls returned home that evening, they found the hall-door open, and Barbara in the act of lifting up two huge stenlock that had been laid on the stone slab.
"Why, what's this, Barbara?" Mary inquired.
"Oh, it's just that foolish lad, the Gillie Ciotach," said Barbara, with a smile of apology, "and he was leaving them here instead of taking them round by the back. He was saying the people are thanking Miss Stanley for the new building and the papers; and he and Archie MacNicol they had a big catch of stenlock, and would Miss Stanley take one or two."
"Do you mean that the Gillie Ciotach brought me those fish as a present?" said Mary, with a delighted surprise—and she was looking at those big, coarse lythe as if she had just received an Emperor's gift.
"Yes, ma'am," said Barbara.
"But of course you gave him something all the same?"
"Oh, no, ma'am."
"A glass of whiskey, at least?" Mary demanded.
"Oh, no, ma'am," said the soft-spoken Barbara, "there is no whiskey in the house."
"Then it is a shame there should be no whisky in a Highland house!" Mary exclaimed, indignantly. "Why, could you not have run over to your brother's cottage and got some?"
"The Gillie Ciotach was not giving me time, ma'am," answered Barbara, in her pleasant way. "Maybe he was thinking of something of that kind, and he went away quick after leaving the message."
"I'll make it up to the Gillie Ciotach—you will see if I don't!" she said to Käthchen, as they passed through the hall and went upstairs. And all that evening she appeared to be greatly pleased by this little incident; and spoke of it again and again: why, to her it seemed to presage the pacification of this lawless land—she was going to meet with some return at last.
Moreover, when the photographer at length made his appearance and set to work, it must have appeared to the people about that Donald Ross of Heimra had become the chosen ally and companion of the young Baintighearna; while to Donald Ross himself it seemed as if Mary were bent on representing him—in these views, at least—as the owner of the whole place. And she was wilful and imperative about it, too; though Käthchen, standing by as a spectator, perceived that she had to deal with a nature which, however quiet, was a good deal firmer than her own. For example, one of the first views was the front of Lochgarra House. The artist, having a soul above bare stone and lime, suggested that there should be some figures standing at the open hall-door, on the terrace above the steps.
"Oh, yes, certainly," said Mary at once. "You go, Mr. Ross, and stand there—will you be so kind?"
"I?" said he, in amazement—for it was clear she meant herself and Kate Glendenning to remain out of the picture—"What should I do there? That is your place, surely—in front of your own house."
"Oh, what does Mrs. Armour want with me!" she protested. "It is you she wants, naturally. Of course she associates Lochgarra House with you, not with me at all. Who am I? A stranger—an interloper. What does Mrs. Armour care about me? No, really, I must insist on your going and standing on the terrace."
"But indeed I cannot: what right have I to be there?" said he, with the faintest touch of colour coming to the keen, pale, dark face.
"Mrs. Armour would tell you you had a better right to be there than I have!" said Mary, rather ruefully. "I knew what she was thinking, if she was kind enough to say nothing. Now, go, Mr. Ross, to please me! I must not appear in this picture at all—indeed, I will not."
"And I cannot," he said, simply.
"Very well, then," said the shifty Käthchen, cheerfully stepping into the breach, "it is evident that I, at least, can't be expected to take up a position as owner of Lochgarra House; but figures are wanted; and so, if you are both resolved to remain out, I will go and get the keepers and gillies and servants, and range them along the front there, at the foot of the steps. I dare say Mrs. Armour will recognise some of them."
"Then you positively refuse me?" Mary said to him.
"You ought to understand why," he answered her—and then she was silent.
But on the following morning she was deeply impressed by his thoughtful forbearance and consideration. They wished to get a view of the little hamlet of Cruagan, Mrs. Armour having lived there formerly; and, as the place was some distance off, they drove thither—the artist and his camera up beside the coachman. Now, it was inevitable they should pass the desert plain that used to be Loch Heimra, with the tumbled stones of the ancient keep; and on coming in sight of these the photographer, recognising a subject, and yet a little puzzled, called on the coachman to stop.
"That, sir—what is that, sir?" he asked of Donald Ross, whom he generally consulted.
"Oh, that is nothing," said Ross (and this time it was Mary who look distressed and embarrassed). "Never mind; go on."
"Isn't that an old ruin, sir?" said the photographer, with professional instinct. Subjects did not abound in this neighbourhood, and he wished to do his best.
"That is of no use: that would not make a picture—a heap of stones like that," said young Donald; and so the artist gave way; and the carriage went on again. There was a space of silence thereafter.
But Mary was none the less grateful to him. And when they came to a stretch of the Connan, where there were some rocks in mid-stream and a bit of a waterfall, with some birches by the side of the river, she said:
"Now, Mr. Ross, Mrs. Armour is sure to remember this place; and it is very pretty; and since you want me to come into some of the pictures, I will come in this time, and the three of us can sit on the bank as if we were a pic-nic party. And if it turns out well, mightn't we have it enlarged and some copies printed for our own friends? We will send on the carriage a bit, so that there shall be nothing but ourselves in this solitude."
"Let me go on with the carriage, Mamie!" interposed Käthchen at once.
"Don't be silly, Käthchen!" Mary made answer, with quickly lowered lashes. "We are supposed to be a pic-nic party, or a fishing party, taking a rest—anything you please; but of course we must all be together."
So that group also was taken, with the Highland river-scene for its background; and then they went forward and overtook the carriage. Mary was much more cheerful now, after getting away from that reproachful sight of Castle Heimra.
"Do you know, Mr. Ross," she was saying, "I am about to encounter the bitterest enemy I have in the world?"
"I cannot believe you have any enemy," was his reply. "But who is this?"
"James Macdonald."
"Oh, Macdonald the crofter at Cruagan. Well, what have you been doing to him?"
"What have I been doing to him?" she said with some spirit. "You should rather ask what I have been doing for him. I have been doing far too much for him: I suppose that is why he hates me. What haven't I done for him? I took off the tax for the dyke; I handed over the pasturage of Meall-na-Cruagan; I lowered his rent; I forgave him arrears; I had the decree of removal quashed, and gave him back his holding after he had forfeited it; I stopped the action against him for deforcing the sheriff's officer. What more? What more? And yet he looks as if he would like to murder me if I try to speak to him."
"Have you any idea of the reason?"
"Yes," said Mary, a little proudly. "He says that you are his laird, and not I: he says I have nothing to do with the land or the people here."
"Macdonald is a foolish man—and stubborn: I will talk to him," he said; and he was thoughtful for a second or two.
Indeed, when they arrived at the scattered little hamlet of Cruagan, it was not the sun-pictures that occupied Mary Stanley's attention. The photographer was allowed to choose his subjects as he liked. For, in driving up, they had perceived the sullen-browed, Russian-looking crofter at work in his patch of potatoes; and as soon as the carriage stopped, young Ross left his companions, stepped over the bit of wire fence, and went along the potato drills. Macdonald ceased working, and respectfully raised his cap. Ross began speaking in a low voice, and yet with some emphasis, and increasing emphasis, as the ladies in the waggonette could gather. It was impossible for them to overhear the words, even if they had been able to understand; but as he proceeded it was clear enough that he was becoming angry and indignant, the man with the shaggy eyebrows and the determined jaw having answered once or twice. Then almost suddenly there came a strange termination to this fierce encounter. Young Ross remained behind, glancing around him as if merely wanting to know whether the crop promised well; but Macdonald came down the drills, in the direction of the carriage.
"Käthchen," said Mary, in an eager whisper, "he is coming to speak to me! Let me get out—quick!"
She stepped into the roadway. As Macdonald came slowly towards her, he raised his eyes and regarded her for a second, in silence. He took off his cap—and forgot to put it on again. He was thinking what to say.
"I—not mich English. It is thanks to you—for many things. The young laird says that. And I—am to ask your pardon—and sorry I am if there is not goodwill—and there is good-will now—and it is sorry I am——"
"Not at all—not at all; we are going to be quite good friends, Mr. Macdonald—and there's my hand on it," said she in her frank, impetuous way. "And you are going to ask me into your house; and will you give me a little bit of oat-cake, or something of the kind?—and when you are next over at Lochgarra you must not forget to come and see me. And at any time, mind you, if you have anything to complain of, come to me first; come direct to me; don't go to Mr. Purdie, or anybody; for perhaps I might be able to settle the matter for you at once."
And with that she called on Mr. Ross, and told him they were going into the cottage to get a bit of oat-cake; for Macdonald was already leading the way thither. When they came out of Macdonald's cottage, they found that the photographer had quite completed his work; so they at once set out for home again. Mary was in an extraordinary state of delight over this vanquishment of her obdurate enemy, and said she should take means to remind him of their compact of goodwill. But young Ross only laughed.
"'Wherefore he called that place Beersheba,'" he said, "'because there they sware both of them.'"
The following Saturday was Mary Stanley's birthday. Early in the morning she and Kate, in fulfilment of a long-standing engagement, drove away out to Craiglarig to pay a visit to Mr. Watson, and talk over some matters connected with his farm; and as they stayed for lunch, they did not get back till the afternoon. By that time the mail had come in, and there was an astonishing number of letters and parcels addressed to Miss Stanley, for she had a large number of friends in the south, who held her in kindly remembrance. She was looking at these and guessing at the senders, when she came to one that was larger and heavier than the others; moreover, it had not come by post, but by hand. Something impelled her to tear off the brown wrapper, and behold, here was the Rhodian dish she had so particularly admired when they were out at Heimra Island.
"I saw he noticed how long you looked at it," said Käthchen, with smiling eyes.
Well, she did not look at it long now, beautiful as it was. She had turned again to the wrapper, and she seemed to take a curious interest in studying her own name as she found it there.
"It is an unusual handwriting, don't you think so, Käthchen?" she said, slowly, and almost as if she were talking to herself. "Firm and precise.... How odd one's own name appears when you see it written for the first time by some one you know! ... Do you think character can be read in handwriting, Käthchen? ... firmness—yes, apparently; and precision—well, I don't object to that so much, ... but don't you think he is a little too—a little too confident in himself ... careless of what others may think ... a little too independent ... and proud in his own domain?"
"I don't know about that at all. But I am going to tell you something now, and you may be angry or not as you please," said Käthchen; and she went up to her friend, and put her hand on her arm: perhaps she wanted to watch the expression of her face: "Mamie," she said, "that man loves you."