Chapter 6

'O wilt thou be my dear love?(Meenie and Meenie)O wilt thou be my ain love?(My sweet Meenie)?and then it was with a kind of shiver that her glance ran over the rest of it; and her heart was beating so that she could not speak; and there was a mist before her eyes.'Maggie,' she managed to say at length—and she hurriedly folded up the paper again and placed it on the table with the others—'I should not have read it—it was not meant for me—it was not meant that I should read it—come away, come away, Maggie.'She took the younger girl out of the room, and herself shut the door, firmly, although her fingers were all trembling.'Maggie,' she said, 'you must promise never to tell any one that you gave me that letter—that I saw it——''But what is the matter, Meenie?' the smaller girl said in bewilderment, for she could see by the strange half-frightened look of Miss Douglas's face that something serious had happened.'Well, it is nothing—it is nothing,' she forced herself to say. 'It will be all right. I shouldn't have read the letter—it was not meant for me to see—but if you say nothing about it, no harm will be done. That's all; that's all. And now I am going to see if the children are ready that are to go by the mail-car.''But I will go with you, Meenie.'Then the girl seemed to recollect herself; and she glanced round at the interior of the cottage, and at the little girl, with an unusual kind of look.'No, no, not this morning, Maggie,' she said. 'You have plenty to do. Good-bye—good-bye!' and she stooped and kissed her, and patted her on the shoulder, and left, seeming anxious to get away and be by herself.Maggie remained there in considerable astonishment. What had happened? Why should she not go to help with the children? and why good-bye—when Meenie would be coming along the road in less than an hour, as soon as the mail-car had left? And all about the reading of something contained in that folded sheet of paper. However, the little girl wisely resolved that, whatever was in that letter, she would not seek to know it, nor would she speak of it to any one, since Meenie seemed so anxious on that point; and so she set about her domestic duties again—looking forward to the end of these and the resumption of her knitting of her brother's jersey.Well, the winter's day went by, and they had done good work on the hill. As the dusk of the afternoon began to creep over the heavens, they set out for the lower slopes on their way home; and very heavily weighted the lads were with the white creatures slung over their backs on sticks. But the dusk was not the worst part of this descent; the wind was now driving over heavy clouds from the north; and again and again they would be completely enveloped, and unable to see anywhere more than a yard from their feet. In these circumstances Ronald took the lead; the Doctor coming next, and following, indeed, more by sound than by sight; the lads bringing up in the wake in solitary file, with their heavy loads thumping on their backs. It was a ghostly kind of procession; though now and again the close veil around them would be rent in twain, and they would have a glimpse of something afar off—perhaps a spur of Ben Loyal, or the dark waters of Loch Meidie studded with its small islands. Long before they had reached Inver-Mudal black night had fallen; but now they were on easier ground; and at last the firm footing of the road echoed to their measured tramp, as the invisible company marched on and down to the warmth and welcome lights of the inn.The Doctor, feeling himself something of a truant, went on direct to his cottage; but the others entered the inn; and as Ronald forthwith presented Mrs. Murray with half a dozen of the hares, the landlord was right willing to call for ale for the beaters, who had had a hard day's work. Nor was Ronald in a hurry to get home; for he heard that Maggie was awaiting him in the kitchen; and so he and Mr. Murray had a pipe and a chat together, as was their custom. Then he sent for his sister.'Well, Maggie, lass,' said he, as they set out through the dark, 'did you see all the bairns safely off this morning?''No, Ronald,' she said, 'Meenie did not seem to want me; so I stayed at home.''And did you find Harry sufficient company for ye? But I suppose Miss Douglas came and stayed with ye for a while.''No, Ronald,' said the little girl, in a tone of some surprise; 'she has not been near the house the whole day, since the few minutes in the morning.''Oh,' said he, lightly, 'she may have been busy, now her father is come home. And ye maun try and get on wi' your lessons as well as ye can, lass, without bothering Miss Douglas too much; she canna always spend so much time with ye.'The little girl was silent. She was thinking of that strange occurrence in the morning of which she was not to speak; and in a vague kind of way she could not but associate that with Meenie's absence all that day, and also with the unusual tone of her 'good-bye.' But yet, if there were any trouble, it would speedily pass away. Ronald would put everything right. Nobody could withstand him—that was the first and last article of her creed. And so, when they got home, she proceeded cheerfully enough to stir up the peats, and to cook their joint supper in a manner really skilful for one of her years; and she laid the cloth; and put the candles on the table; and had the tea and everything ready. Then they sate down; and Ronald was in very good spirits, and talked to her, and tried to amuse her. But the little Maggie rather wistfully looked back to the brilliant evening before, when Meenie was with them; and perhaps wondered whether there would ever again be a supper-party as joyful and friendly and happy as they three had been when they were all by themselves in the big gaily-lit barn.CHAPTER XII.'WHEN SHADOWS FALL.'The deershed adjoining the kennels was a gloomy place, with its bare walls, its lack of light, and its ominous-looking crossbeams, ropes, and pulley for hanging up the slain deer; and the morning was dark and lowering, with a bitter wind howling along the glen, and sometimes bringing with it a sharp smurr of sleet from the northern hills. But these things did not seem to affect Ronald's spirits much as he stood there, in his shirt-sleeves, and bare-headed, sorting out the hares that were lying on the floor, and determining to whom and to whom such and such a brace or couple of brace should be sent. Four of the plumpest he had already selected for Mrs. Douglas (in the vague hope that the useful present might make her a little more placable), and he was going on with his choosing and setting aside—sometimes lighting a pipe—sometimes singing carelessly—'O we aft hae met at e'en, bonnie Peggie, O,On the banks o' Cart sae green, bonnie Peggie, O,Where the waters smoothly rin,Far aneath the roarin' linn,Far frae busy strife and din, bonnie Peggie, O'—when the little Maggie came stealing in.'Ronald,' she said, with an air of reproach, 'why are ye going about on such a morning without your jacket, and bare-headed, too?''Toots, toots, lassie, it's a fine morning,' said he indifferently.'It was Meenie said I was not to let you do such foolish things,' the little lass ventured to say diffidently.Of course this put a new aspect on the case, but he would not admit as much directly.'Oh, well,' said he, 'if you bring me out my coat and bonnet I will put them on, for I'm going down to the Doctor's with two or three of the hares.'And then she hesitated.'Ronald,' said she, 'I will take them to Mrs. Douglas, if you like.''You?' said he.'For I would give them to her with a nice message from you; and—and—if you take them, you will say nothing at all; and where is the compliment?'He laughed.'Ye're a wise little lass; but four big hares are heavy to carry—with the wind against ye; so run away and get me my coat and my Glengarry; and I will take them along myself, compliment or no compliment.'However, as it turned out, Mrs. Douglas was not the first of the family he was fated to meet that morning. He had scarcely left the deershed when he perceived Meenie coming along the road; and this was an auspicious and kindly event; for somehow the day seemed to go by more smoothly and evenly and contentedly when he had chanced to meet Meenie in the morning, and have a few minutes' chat with her about affairs in general, and an assurance that all was going well with her. So he went forward to meet her with a light heart; and he thought she would be pleased that he was taking the hares to her mother; and perhaps, too, he considered that they might be a little more frank in their friendship after the exceeding good fellowship of the night of the children's party.He went forward unsuspectingly.'Good morning, Miss Douglas!' said he, slackening in his pace, for naturally they always stopped for a few seconds or minutes when they met thus.But to his astonishment Miss Douglas did not seem inclined to stay. Her eyes were bent on the ground as she came along; she but timidly half lifted them as she reached him; and 'Good morning, Ronald!' she said, and would have passed on. And then it seemed as if, in her great embarrassment, she did not know what to do. She stopped; her face was suffused with red; and she said hurriedly—and yet with an effort to appear unconcerned—'I suppose Maggie is at home?''Oh yes,' said he, and her manner was so changed that he also scarce knew what to say or to think.And again she was going on, and again she lingered—with a sudden fear that she might be thought ungracious or unkind.'The children all got away safely yesterday morning,' said she—but her eyes never met his; and there was still tell-tale colour in her cheeks.'So I heard,' he answered.'I am sure they must have enjoyed the evening,' she said, as if forcing herself to speak.And then it suddenly occurred to him—for this encounter had been all too brief and bewildering for any proper understanding of it—that perhaps her mother had been reproving her for being too friendly with the people about the inn and with himself, and that he was only causing her embarrassment by detaining her, and so he said—'Oh yes, I'm sure o' that. Well, good morning, Miss Douglas; I'm going along to give your mother these two or three hares.''Good morning,' said she—still without looking at him—and then she went.And he, too, went on his way; but only for a brief space; presently he sate down on the low stone dyke by the roadside, and dropped the hares on the ground at his feet. What could it all mean? She seemed anxious to limit their acquaintanceship to the merest formalities; and yet to be in a manner sorry for having to do so. Had he unwittingly given her some cause of offence? He began to recall the minutest occurrences of the night of the children's party—wondering if something had then happened to account for so marked a change? But he could think of nothing. The supper-party of three was of her own suggestion; she could not be angry on that account. Perhaps he ought to have asked this person or that person over from the inn to join them, for the sake of propriety? Well, he did not know much about such matters; it seemed to him that they were very happy as they were; and that it was nobody else's business. But would she quarrel with him on that account? Or on account of his smoking in her presence? Again and again he wished that his pipe had been buried at the bottom of the loch; and indeed his smoking of it that evening had given him no enjoyment whatever, except in so far as it seemed to please her; but surely, in any case, that was a trifle? Meenie would not suddenly become cold and distant (in however reluctant a way) for a small matter like that? Nor could she be angry with him for taking her father away for a day on the hill; she was always glad when the Doctor got a day's shooting from anybody. No; the only possible conclusion he could come to was that Mrs. Douglas had more strongly than ever disapproved of Meenie's forming friendships among people not of her own station in life; and that some definite instructions had been given, which the girl was anxious to obey. And if that were so, ought he to make it any the more difficult for her? He would be as reserved and distant as she pleased. He knew that she was a very kindly and sensitive creature; and might dread giving pain; and herself suffer a good deal more than those from whom she was in a measure called upon to separate herself. That was a reason why it should be made easy for her; and he would ask Maggie to get on with her lessons by herself, as much as she could; and when he met Miss Douglas on the road, his greeting of her would be of the briefest—and yet with as much kindness as she chose to accept in a word or a look. And if he might not present her with the polecat's skin that was now just about dressed?—well, perhaps the American gentleman's daughter would take it, and have it made into something, when she came up in March.The pretty, little, doll-like woman, with the cold eyes and the haughty stare, was at the front-door of the cottage, scattering food to the fowls.'I have brought ye two or three hares, Mrs. Douglas, if they're of any use to ye,' Ronald said modestly.'Thank you,' said she, with lofty courtesy, 'thank you; I am much obliged. Will you step in and sit down for a few minutes?—I am sure a little spirits will do you no harm on such a cold morning.'In ordinary circumstances he would have declined that invitation; for he had no great love of this domineering little woman, and much preferred the society of her big, good-natured husband; but he was curious about Meenie, and even inclined to be resentful, if it appeared that she had been dealt with too harshly. So he followed Mrs. Douglas into the dignified little parlour—which was more like a museum of cheap curiosities than a room meant for actual human use; and forthwith she set on the crimson-dyed table-cover a glass, a tumbler, a jug of water, and a violet-coloured bulbous glass bottle with an electro-plated stopper. Ronald was bidden to help himself; and also, out of her munificence, she put before him a little basket of sweet biscuits.'I hear the Doctor is away again,' Ronald said—and a hundred times would he rather not have touched the violet bottle at all, knowing that her clear, cold, blue eyes were calmly regarding his every movement.'Yes,' she said, 'to Tongue. There is a consultation there. I am sure he has had very little peace and quiet lately.''I am glad he had a holiday yesterday,' Ronald said, with an endeavour to be agreeable.But she answered severely—'It might have been better if he had spent the first day of his getting back with his own family. But that has always been his way; everything sacrificed to the whim of the moment—to his own likings and dislikings.''He enjoys a day's sport as much as any man I ever saw,' said he—not knowing very well what to talk about.'Yes, I daresay,' she answered shortly.Then she pushed the biscuits nearer him; and returned to her attitude of observation, with her small, neat, white hands crossed on her lap, the rings on the fingers being perhaps just a little displayed.'Miss Douglas is looking very well at present.' he said, at a venture.'Williamina is well enough—she generally is,' she said coldly. 'There is never much the matter with her health. She might attend to her studies a little more and do herself no harm. But she takes after her father.'There was a little sigh of resignation.'Some of us,' said he good-naturedly, 'were expecting her to come over on Monday night to see the dancing.'But here he had struck solid rock. In a second—from her attitude and demeanour—he had guessed why it was that Meenie had not come over to the landlord's party: a matter about which he had not found courage to question Meenie herself.'Williamina,' observed the little dame, with a magnificent dignity, 'has other things to think of—or ought to have, at her time of life, and in her position. I have had occasion frequently of late to remind her of what is demanded of her; she must conduct herself not as if she were for ever to be hidden away in a Highland village. It will be necessary for her to take her proper place in society, that she is entitled to from her birth and her relatives; and of course she must be prepared—of course she must be prepared. There are plenty who will be willing to receive her; it will be her own fault if she disappoints them—and us, too, her own parents. Williamina will never have to lead the life that I have had to lead, I hope; she belongs by birth to another sphere; and I hope she will make the most of her chances.''Miss Douglas would be made welcome anywhere, I am sure,' he ventured to say; but she regarded him with a superior look—as if it were not for him to pronounce an opinion on such a point.'Soon,' she continued—and she was evidently bent on impressing him, 'she will be going to Glasgow to finish in music and German, and to get on with her Italian: you will see she has no time to lose in idle amusement. We would send her to Edinburgh or to London, but her sister being in Glasgow is a great inducement; and she will be well looked after. But, indeed, Williamina is not the kind of girl to go and marry a penniless student; she has too much common sense; and, besides, she has seen how it turns out. Once in a family is enough. No; we count on her making a good marriage, as the first step towards her taking the position to which she is entitled; and I am sure that Lady Stuart will take her in hand, and give her every chance. As for their taking her abroad with them—and Sir Alexander almost promised as much—what better could there be than that?—she would be able to show off her acquirements and accomplishments; she would be introduced to the distinguished people at the ministerial receptions and balls; she would have her chance, as I say. And with such a chance before her, surely it would be nothing less than wicked of her to fling away her time in idle follies. I want her to remember what lies before her; a cottage like this is all very well for-me—I have made my bed and must lie on it; but for her—who may even be adopted by Lady Stuart—who knows? for stranger things have happened—it would be downright madness to sink into content with her present way of life.''And when do you think that M— that Miss Douglas will be going away to Glasgow?' he asked—but absently, as it were, for he was thinking of Inver-Mudal, and Clebrig, and Loch Loyal, and Strath-Terry, and of Meenie being away from them all.'That depends entirely on herself,' was the reply. 'As soon as she is sufficiently forward all round for the finishing lessons, her sister is ready to receive her.''It will be lonely for you with your daughter away,' said he.'Parents have to make sacrifices,' she said. 'Yes, and children too. And better they should make them while they are young than all through the years after. I hope Williamina's will be no wasted life.'He did not know what further to say; he was dismayed, perplexed, downhearted, or something: if this was a lesson she had meant to read him, it had struck home. So he rose and took his leave; and she thanked him again for the hares; and he went out, and found Harry awaiting him on the doorstep. Moreover, as he went down to the little gate, he perceived that Meenie was coming back—she had been but to the inn with a message; and, obeying some curious kind of instinct, he turned to the left—pretending not to have seen her coming; and soon he was over the bridge, and wandering away up the lonely glen whose silence is broken only by the whispering rush of Mudal Water.He wandered on and on through the desolate moorland, on this wild and blustering day, paying but little heed to the piercing wind or the driven sleet that smote his eyelids. And he was not so very sorrowful; his common sense had told him all this before; Rose Meenie, Love Meenie, was very well in secret fancies and rhymes and verses; but beyond that she was nothing to him. And what would Clebrig do, and Mudal Water, and all the wide, bleak country that had been brought up in the love of her, and was saturated with the charm of her presence, and seemed for ever listening in deathlike silence for the light music of her voice? There were plenty of verses running through his head on this wild day too; the hills and the clouds and the January sky were full of speech; and they were all of them to be bereft of her as well as he:—Mudal, that comes from the lonely loch,Down through the moorland russet and brown,Know you the news that we have for you?—Meenie's away to Glasgow town.See Ben Clebrig, his giant frontHidden and dark with a sudden frown;What is the light of the valley to him,Since Meenie's away to Glasgow town?Empty the valley, empty the world,The sun may arise and the sun go down;But what to do with the lonely hours,Since Meenie's away to Glasgow town?Call her back, Clebrig! Mudal, call.Ere all of the young spring time be flown;Birds, trees, and blossoms—you that she loved—O summon her back from Glasgow town!'Call her back, Clebrig! Mudal, call!' he repeated to himself as he marched along the moorland road; for what would they do without some one to guard, and some one to watch for, and some one to listen for, in the first awakening of the dawn? Glasgow—the great and grimy city—that would be a strange sort of guardian, in the young Spring days that were coming, for this fair Sutherland flower. And yet might not some appeal be made even there—some summons of attention, as it were?O Glasgow town, how little you knowThat Meenie has wandered inTo the very heart of your darkened streets,Through all the bustle and din.A Sutherland blossom shining fairAmid all your dismal haze,Forfeiting the breath of the summer hills,And the blue of the northern days.From Dixon's fire-wreaths to Rollox stalk,Blow, south wind, and clear the sky,Till she think of Ben Clebrig's sunny slopes,Where the basking red-deer lie.Blow, south wind, and show her a glimpse of blueThrough the pall of dusky brown;And see that you guard her and tend her well,You, fortunate Glasgow town!But then—but then—that strange, impossible time—during which there would be no Meenie visible anywhere along the mountain roads; and Mudal Water would go by unheeded; and there would be no careless, clear-singing girl's voice along Loch Naver's shores—that strange time would surely come to an end, and he could look forward and see how the ending of it would be:The clouds lay heavy on Clebrig's crest,For days and weeks together;The shepherds along Strath-Terry's sideCursed at the rainy weather;They scarce could get a favouring dayFor the burning of the heather.When sudden the clouds were rent in twainAnd the hill laughed out to the sun;And the hinds stole up, with wondering eyes,To the far slopes yellow and dun;And the birds were singing in every bushAs at spring anew begun,O Clebrig, what is it that makes you glad,And whither is gone your frown?Are you looking afar into the south,The long, wide strath adown?And see you that Meenie is coming back—Love Meenie, from Glasgow town!He laughed. Not yet was Love Meenie taken away from them all. And if in the unknown future the Stuarts of Glengask and Orosay were to carry her off and make a great lady of her, and take her to see strange places, and perhaps marry her to some noble person, at least in the meantime Ben Clebrig and Ben Loyal and the wide straths between knew that they still held in the mighty hollow of their hand this sweet flower of Sutherlandshire, and that the world and the skies and the woods and lakes seemed fairer because of her presence. And as regarded himself, and his relations with her? Well, what must be must. Only he hoped—and there was surely no great vanity nor self-love nor jealousy in so modest a hope—that the change of her manner towards him was due to the counsels of her mother rather than to anything he had unwittingly said or done. Rose Meenie—Love Meenie—he had called her in verses; but always he had been most respectful to herself; and he could not believe that she thought him capable of doing anything to offend her.CHAPTER XIII.A NEW ARRIVAL.Very early one Sunday morning, while as yet all the world seemed asleep, a young lady stole out from the little hotel at Lairg, and wandered down by herself to the silent and beautiful shores of Loch Shin. The middle of March it was now, and yet the scene around her was quite summer-like; and she was a stranger from very far climes indeed, who had ventured into the Highlands at this ordinarily untoward time of the year; so that there was wonder as well as joy in her heart as she regarded the fairyland before her, for it was certainly not what she had been taught to expect. There was not a ripple on the glassy surface of the lake; every feature of the sleeping and faintly sunlit world was reflected accurately on the perfect mirror: the browns and yellows of the lower moorland; the faint purple of the birch-woods; the aerial blues of the distant hills, with here and there a patch of snow; and the fleecy white masses of the motionless clouds. It was a kind of dream-world—soft-toned and placid and still, the only sharp bit of colour being the scarlet-painted lines of a boat that floated double on that sea of glass. There was not a sound anywhere but the twittering of small birds; nor any movement but the slow rising into the air of a tiny column of blue smoke from a distant cottage; summer seemed to be here already, as the first light airs of the morning—fresh and clear and sweet—came stealing along the silver surface of the water, and only troubling the magic picture here and there in long trembling swathes.The young lady was of middle height, but looked taller than that by reason of her slight and graceful form; she was pale, almost sallow, of face, with fine features and a pretty smile; her hair was of a lustrous black; and so, too, were her eyes—which were large and soft and attractive. Very foreign she looked as she stood by the shores of this Highland loch; her figure and complexion and beautiful opaque soft dark eyes perhaps suggesting more than anything else the Spanish type of the Southern American woman; but there was nothing foreign about her attire; she had taken care about that; and if her jet-black hair and pale cheek had prompted her to choose unusual tones of colour, at all events the articles of her costume were all correct—the warm and serviceable ulster of some roughish yellow and gray material, the buff-coloured, gauntleted gloves, and the orange-hued Tam o' Shanter which she wore quite as one to the manner born. For the rest, one could easily see that she was of a cheerful temperament; pleased with herself; not over shy, perhaps; and very straightforward in her look.However, the best description of this young lady was the invention of an ingenious youth dwelling on the southern shores of Lake Michigan.—'Carry Hodson,' he observed on one occasion, 'is just a real good fellow, that's what she is.' It was a happy phrase, and it soon became popular among the young gentlemen who wore English hats and vied with each other in driving phantom vehicles behind long-stepping horses. 'Carry Hodson?—she's just the best fellow going,' they would assure you. And how better can one describe her? There was a kind of frankcamaraderieabout her; and she liked amusement, and was easily amused; and she laboured under no desire at all of showing herself 'bright'—which chiefly reveals itself in impertinence; but, above all, there was in her composition not a trace of alarm over her relations, however frank and friendly, with the other sex; she could talk to any man—old or young, married or single—positively without wondering when he was about to begin to make love to her. For one thing, she was quite capable of looking after herself; for another, the very charm of her manner—the delightful openness and straightforwardness of it—seemed to drive flirtation and sham sentiment forthwith out of court. And if, when those young gentlemen in Chicago called Miss Carry Hodson 'a real good fellow,' they could not help remembering at the same time that she was an exceedingly pretty girl, perhaps they appreciated so highly the privilege of being on good-comrade terms with her that they were content to remain there rather than risk everything by seeking for more. However, that need not be discussed further here. People did say, indeed, that Mr. John C. Huysen, the editor of theChicago Citizen, was more than likely to carry off the pretty heiress; if there was any truth in the rumour, at all events Miss Carry Hodson remained just as frank and free and agreeable with everybody—especially with young men who could propose expeditions and amusements.Now there was only one subject capable of entirely upsetting this young lady's equanimity; and it is almost a pity to have to introduce it here; for the confession must be made that, on this one subject, she was in the habit of using very reprehensible language. Where, indeed, she had picked up so much steamboat and backwoods slang—unless through the reading ofTexas Siftings—it is impossible to say; but her father, who was about the sole recipient of these outbursts, could object with but little show of authority, for he was himself exceedingly fond, not exactly of slang, but of those odd phrases, sometimes half-humorous, that the Americans invent from day to day to vary the monotony of ordinary speech. These phrases are like getting off the car and running alongside a little bit; you reach your journey's end—the meaning of the sentence—all the same. However, the chief bugbear and grievance of Miss Carry Hodson's life was the Boston girl as displayed to us in fiction; and so violent became her detestation of that remarkable young person that it was very nearly interfering with her coming to Europe.'But, pappa, dear,' she would say, regarding the book before her with some amazement, 'will the people in Europe think I am likethat?''They won't think anything about you,' he would say roughly.'What a shame—what a shame—to say American girls are likethat!' she would continue vehemently. 'The self-conscious little beasts—with their chatter about tone, and touch, and culture! And the men—my gracious, pappa, do the people in England think that our young fellows talk likethat? "Analyse me; formulate me!" he cries to the girl; "can't you imagine my environment by the aid of your own intuitions?"—I'd analyse him if he came to me; I'd analyse him fast enough: Nine different sorts of a born fool; and the rest imitation English prig. I'd formulate him if he came to me with his pretentious idiotcy; I'd show him the kind of chipmunk I am.''You are improving, Miss Carry,' her father would say resignedly. 'You are certainly acquiring force in your language; and sooner or later you will be coming out with some of it when you least expect it; and then whether it's you or the other people that will get fits I don't know. You'll make them jump.''No, no, pappa, dear,' she would answer good-naturedly; for her vehemence was never of long duration. 'I have my company manners when it is necessary. Don't I know what I am? Oh yes, I do. I'm a real high-toned North Side society lady; and can behave as sich—when there's anybody present. But when it's only you and me, pappa, I like to wave the banner a little—that's all.'This phrase of hers, about waving the banner, had come to mean so many different things that her father could not follow half of them, and so it was handy in winding up a discussion; and he could only remark, with regard to her going to Europe, and her dread lest she should be suspected of resembling one of the imaginary beings for whom she had conceived so strong a detestation, that really people in Europe were as busy as people elsewhere, and might not show too absorbing an interest in declaring what she was like; that perhaps their knowledge of the Boston young lady of fiction was limited, and the matter not one of deep concern; and that the best thing she could do was to remember that she was an American girl, and that she had as good a right to dress in her own way and speak in her own way and conduct herself in her own way as any French, or German, or English, or Italian person she might meet. All of which Miss Carry received with much submission—except about dress: she hoped to be able to study that subject, with a little attention, in Paris.Well, she was standing there looking abroad on the fairy-like picture of lake and wood and mountain—and rather annoyed, too, that, now she was actually in the midst of scenes that she had prepared herself for by reading, she could recollect none of the reading at all, but was wholly and simply interested in the obvious beauty of the place itself—when she became conscious of a slow and stealthy footstep behind her, and, instantly turning, she discovered that a great dun-coloured dog, no doubt belonging to the hotel, had come down to make her acquaintance. He said as much by a brief and heavy gambol, a slow wagging of his mighty tail, and the upturned glance of his small, flat, leonine eyes.'Well,' she said, 'who are you? Would you like to go for a walk?'Whether he understood her or no he distinctly led the way—taking the path leading along the shores of the loch towards Inver-shin; and as there did not seem to be any sign yet of anybody moving about the hotel, she thought she might just as well take advantage of this volunteered escort. Not that the mastiff was over communicative in his friendliness; he would occasionally turn round to see if she was following; and if she called to him and spoke to him, he would merely make another heavy effort at a gambol and go on again with his slow-moving pace. Now and again a shepherd's collie would come charging down on him from the hillside, or two or three small terriers, keeping sentry at the door of a cottage, would suddenly break the stillness of the Sunday morning by the most ferocious barking at his approach; but he took no heed of one or the other.'Do you know that you are an amiable dog—but not amusing?' she said to him, when he had to wait for her to let him get through a swinging stile. 'I've got a dog at home not a quarter as big as you, and he can talk twice as much. I suppose your thoughts are important, though. What do they call you? Dr. Johnson?'He looked at her with the clear, lionlike eyes, but only for a second; seemed to think it futile trying to understand her; and then went on again with his heavy, shambling waddle. And she liked the freshness of the morning, and the novelty of being all alone by herself in the Scottish Highlands, and of going forward as a kind of pioneer and discoverer; and so she walked on in much delight, listening to the birds, looking at the sheep, and thinking nothing at all of breakfast, and the long day's drive before her father and herself.And then a sudden conviction was flashed on her mind that something was wrong. There was a man coming rushing along the road after her—with neither coat nor cap on—and as he drew near she could hear him say—'Ah, you rascal! you rascal! Bolted again?'He seemed to pay no attention to her; he ran past her and made straight for the mastiff; and in a couple of minutes had a muzzle securely fastened on the beast, and was leading him back with an iron chain.'Surely that is not a ferocious dog?' said she, as they came up—and perhaps she was curious to know whether she had run any chance of being eaten.'The master had to pay five pounds last year for his worrying sheep—the rascal,' said the man; and the great dog wagged his tail as if in approval.'Why, he seems a most gentle creature,' she said, walking on with the man.'Ay, and so he is, miss—most times. But he's barely three years old, and already he's killed two collies and a terrier, and worried three sheep.''Killed other dogs? Oh, Dr. Johnson!' she exclaimed.'He's sweirt[#] to begin, miss; but when he does begin hemaunkill—there's no stopping him. The rascal! he likes fine to get slippin' away wi' one of the gentlefolks, if he's let off the chain for a few minutes—it's a God's mercy he has done no harm this morning—it was the ostler let him off the chain—and he'd have lost his place if there had been ony mair worrying.'[#]Sweirt, reluctant.'No, no, no, he would not,' she said confidently. 'I took the dog away. If any mischief had been done, I would have paid—why, of course.''Why, of cois' was what she really said; but all the man knew was that this American young lady spoke with a very pleasant voice; and seemed good-natured; and was well-meaning, too, for she would not have had the ostler suffer. Anyway, the mastiff, with as much dignity as was compatible with a muzzle and an iron chain, was conducted back to his kennel; and Miss Hodson went into the hotel, and expressed her profound sorrow that she had kept breakfast waiting; but explained to her father that it was not every morning she had the chance of exploring the Highlands all by herself—or rather accompanied by a huge creature apparently of amiable nature, but with really dark possibilities attached.In due course of time the waggonette and horses were brought round to the door of the little hotel; their baggage was put in; and presently they had set forth on their drive through the still, sunlit, solitary country. But this was a far more pleasant journey than his first venturing into these wilds. He had been warning his daughter of the bleak and savage solitude she would have to encounter; but now it appeared quite cheerful—in a subdued kind of way, as if a sort of Sunday silence hung over the landscape. The pale blue waters of Loch Shin, the beech-woods, the russet slopes of heather, the snow-touched azure hills along the horizon—all these looked pretty and were peacefully shining on this fair morning; and even after they had got away from the last trace of human habitation, and were monotonously driving through mile after mile of the wide, boggy, hopeless peatland, the winter colours were really brighter than those of summer, and the desolation far from overpowering. If they met with no human beings, there were other living objects to attract the eye. A golden plover—standing on a hillock not half a dozen yards off, would be calling to his mate; a wild duck would go whirring by; a red-plumed grouse-cock would cease dusting himself in the road, and would be off into the heather as they came along, standing and looking at them as they passed. And so on and on they went, mile after mile, along the fair shining Strath-Terry; the morning air blowing freshly about them; the sunlight lying placidly on those wide stretches of russet and golden bogland; and now and again a flash of dark blue showing where some mountain-tarn lay silent amid the moors.'And you thought I should be disappointed, pappa dear?' said Miss Carry, 'or frightened by the loneliness? Why, it's just too beautiful for anything! And so this is where the Clan Mackay lived in former days?''Is it?' said her father. 'I wonder what they lived on. I don't think we'd give much for that land in Illinois. Give for it? You couldn't get a white man to trade for that sort of land; we'd have to ask Wisconsin to take it and hide it away somewhere.''What are those things for?' she asked, indicating certain tall poles that stood at intervals along the roadside.'Why, don't you know? These are poles to tell them where the road is in snow time.''Then it is not always May in these happy latitudes?' she observed shrewdly.He laughed.'I heard some dreadful stories when I was here in January—but I don't believe much in weather stories. Anyhow, we've got to take what comes now; and so far there is not much to howl about.'And at last they came in sight of the ruffled blue waters of Loch Naver; and the long yellow promontories running out into the lake; and the scant birch-woods fringing here and there the rocky shore; with the little hamlet of Inver-Mudal nestling down there in the hollow; and far away in the north the mountain-masses of Ben Hope and Ben Loyal struck white with snow. And she was very curious to see the kind of people who lived in these remote solitudes; and the pretty sloe-black eyes were all alert as the waggonette rattled along towards the two or three scattered houses; and perhaps, as they drove up to the inn, she was wondering whether Ronald the gamekeeper, of whom she had heard so much, would be anywhere visible. But there was scarcely any one there. The Sabbath quiet lay over the little hamlet. Mr. Murray appeared, however,—in his Sunday costume, of course,—and an ostler; and presently Miss Carry and her father were in the sitting-room that had been prepared for them—a great mass of peats cheerfully blazing in the capacious fireplace, and the white-covered table furnished with a substantial luncheon.'And what do you think of your future maid?' her father asked, when the pretty Nelly had left the room.'Well, I think she has the softest voice I ever heard a woman speak with,' was the immediate answer. 'And such a pretty way of talking—and looking at you—very gentle and friendly. But she won't do for my maid, pappa; she's too tall; I should want to put a string round her neck and lead her about like a giraffe.'However, she was pleased with the appearance and manner of the girl, and that was something; for, oddly enough, Mr. Hodson seemed to imagine that he had discovered this remote hamlet, and was responsible for it, and anxious that his daughter should think well of it, and of the people she might meet in it. He called her attention to the scent of the peat; to the neatness with which the joints on the table had been decorated with little paper frills; to the snugness and quiet of the sitting-room; to the spacious character of the views from the windows—one taking in Clebrig and the loch, the other reaching away up to Ben Loyal. All these things he had provided for her, as it were; and it must be said that she was a most excellent travelling-companion, always content, easily interested, never out of humour. So, when he proposed, after luncheon, that they should go along and call on Ronald Strang, she readily consented; no doubt a keeper's dwelling in these wilds would be something curious—perhaps of a wigwam character, and of course filled with all kinds of trophies of his hunting.Well, they went along to the cottage, and Mr. Hodson knocked lightly on the door. There was no answer. He rapped a little more loudly; then they heard some one within; and presently the door was thrown open, and Ronald stood before them—a book in one hand, a pipe in the other, no jacket covering his shirt-sleeves, and the absence of any necktie showing a little more than was necessary of the firm set of his sun-tanned throat. He had been caught unawares—as his startled eyes proclaimed; in fact, he had been readingParadise Regained, and manfully resisting the temptation to slip on to the gracious melody ofL'Allegro, andIl Penseroso, andLycidas; and when he heard the tapping he fancied it was merely one of the lads come for a chat or the last newspaper, and had made no preparations for the reception of visitors.'How are you, Ronald?' said Mr. Hodson. 'I have brought my daughter to see you.''Will ye step in, sir?' said Ronald hastily, and with a terrible consciousness of his untidy appearance. 'Ay, in there—will ye sit down for a few minutes—and will ye excuse me—I thought you werena coming till to-morrow——''Well, I thought they might object to driving me on a Sunday. I can't make it out. Perhaps what I have read about Scotland is not true. Or perhaps they have altered of late years. Anyhow they made no objection, and here I am.'In the midst of these brief sentences—each pronounced with a little rising inflexion at the end—Ronald managed to slip away and get himself made a little more presentable. When he returned the apparent excuse for his absence was that he brought in some glasses and water and a bottle of whisky; and then he went to a little mahogany sideboard and brought out a tin case of biscuits.'You need not trouble about these things for us; we have just had lunch,' Mr. Hodson said.'Perhaps the young lady——?' said Ronald timidly, and even nervously, for there was no plate handy, and he did not know how to offer her the biscuits.'Oh no, I thank you,' she said, with a pretty and gracious smile; and he happened to meet her eyes just at that time; and instantly became aware that they were curiously scrutinising and observant, despite their apparent softness and lustrous blackness.Now Miss Carry Hodson had an abundance of shrewd feminine perception, and it was easy for her to see that this handsome and stalwart young fellow had been grievously disturbed, and was even now unnerved, through his having been caught in disarray on the occasion of a young lady visiting him; and accordingly, to allow him to recover, she deliberately effaced herself; saying not a word, nor even listening, while her father and he proceeded to talk about the salmon-fishing, and about the distressingly fine weather that threatened to interfere with that pursuit. She sate silent, allowing those observant eyes of hers to roam freely round the room, and indeed wondering how a man of his occupations could so have contrived to rob his home of all distinctive character and to render it so clearly common-place. There was nothing wild or savage about it; not the skin of any beast, nor the plumage of any bird; everything was of a bourgeois neatness and respectability—the ornaments on the mantel-shelf conspicuously so; and what was strangest of all—though this will scarcely be believed—the two roebucks' heads that adorned the wall, in a country where roe abound, were earthenware casts, and very bad casts too, obviously hailing from Germany. She observed, however, that there were a good many books about—some of them even piled in obscure corners; and to judge by the sober character of their cloth binding she guessed them to be of a rather superior class. The pictures on the walls were some cheap reprints of Landseer; a portrait of the Duke of Sutherland, in Highland garb; a view of Dunrobin Castle; and a photograph of Mr. Millais' 'Order of Release.'After a while she began to know (without looking) that the young man had assumed sufficient courage to glance at her from time to time; and she allowed him to do that; for she considered that the people in Regent Street had fitted her out in Highland fashion in a sufficiently accurate way. But it soon appeared that he was talking about her; and what was this wild proposal?'It seems a pity,' he was saying, 'if the fish are taking, not to have two boats at the work. And there's that big rod o' yours, sir—you could use that for the trolling; and let the young lady have one o' your grilse rods. Then there's mine—she can have that and welcome——''Yes, but the gillies——''Oh, I'll take a turn myself; I'm no so busy the now. And I can get one o' the lads to lend a hand.''Do you hear this, Carry?' her father said.'What, pappa?''Ronald wants you to start off salmon-fishing to-morrow, in a boat all to yourself—'Alone?''Why, no! He says he will go with you, and one of the lads; and you will have all the best advice and experience—I don't think it's fair, myself—but it's very good-natured anyhow——''And do you think there's a chance of my catching a salmon?' she said eagerly, and she turned her eloquent black eyes, all lit up with pleasure, full upon him.'Oh yes, indeed,' said he, looking down, 'and many and many a one, I am sure, if we could only get a little wet weather.''My!' she exclaimed. 'If I caught a salmon, I'd have it stuffed right away——''With sage and onions, I suppose,' her father said severely.'And we begin to-morrow? Why, it's just too delightful—I was looking forward to days and days indoors, with nothing but books. And I shall really have a chance?——''I think you might as well thank Ronald for his offer,' her father said. 'I should never have thought of it.'Well, she hesitated; for it is a difficult thing to make a formal little speech when it is asked for by a third person; but the young keeper quickly laughed away her embarrassment.'No, no, sir; we'll wait for that till we see how our luck turns out. And we'll have the Duke's boat, mind, that Duncan says is the lucky one; you'll have to look sharp, sir, or we'll have the biggest show on the grass at the end of the day.'Mr. Hodson now rose to take his leave, for he wanted his daughter to walk down to the shores of the loch where they were next day to begin their labours. And thus it was that Miss Carry—who had looked forward at the most to sitting in the boat with her father and looking on—found herself pledged to a course of salmon-fishing, under the immediate guidance and instruction of the young keeper; and she had noticed that he had already talked of the occupants of the Duke's boat as 'we'—assuming that he and she were in a sort of partnership, and pitted against the others. Well, it would be amusing, she thought. She also considered that he was very good-looking; and that it would be pleasanter to have a companion of that kind than a surly old boatman. She imagined they might easily become excellent friends—at least, she was willing enough; and he seemed civil and good-humoured and modest; and altogether the arrangement promised to work very well.

'O wilt thou be my dear love?(Meenie and Meenie)O wilt thou be my ain love?(My sweet Meenie)?

'O wilt thou be my dear love?

(Meenie and Meenie)

O wilt thou be my ain love?

(My sweet Meenie)?

and then it was with a kind of shiver that her glance ran over the rest of it; and her heart was beating so that she could not speak; and there was a mist before her eyes.

'Maggie,' she managed to say at length—and she hurriedly folded up the paper again and placed it on the table with the others—'I should not have read it—it was not meant for me—it was not meant that I should read it—come away, come away, Maggie.'

She took the younger girl out of the room, and herself shut the door, firmly, although her fingers were all trembling.

'Maggie,' she said, 'you must promise never to tell any one that you gave me that letter—that I saw it——'

'But what is the matter, Meenie?' the smaller girl said in bewilderment, for she could see by the strange half-frightened look of Miss Douglas's face that something serious had happened.

'Well, it is nothing—it is nothing,' she forced herself to say. 'It will be all right. I shouldn't have read the letter—it was not meant for me to see—but if you say nothing about it, no harm will be done. That's all; that's all. And now I am going to see if the children are ready that are to go by the mail-car.'

'But I will go with you, Meenie.'

Then the girl seemed to recollect herself; and she glanced round at the interior of the cottage, and at the little girl, with an unusual kind of look.

'No, no, not this morning, Maggie,' she said. 'You have plenty to do. Good-bye—good-bye!' and she stooped and kissed her, and patted her on the shoulder, and left, seeming anxious to get away and be by herself.

Maggie remained there in considerable astonishment. What had happened? Why should she not go to help with the children? and why good-bye—when Meenie would be coming along the road in less than an hour, as soon as the mail-car had left? And all about the reading of something contained in that folded sheet of paper. However, the little girl wisely resolved that, whatever was in that letter, she would not seek to know it, nor would she speak of it to any one, since Meenie seemed so anxious on that point; and so she set about her domestic duties again—looking forward to the end of these and the resumption of her knitting of her brother's jersey.

Well, the winter's day went by, and they had done good work on the hill. As the dusk of the afternoon began to creep over the heavens, they set out for the lower slopes on their way home; and very heavily weighted the lads were with the white creatures slung over their backs on sticks. But the dusk was not the worst part of this descent; the wind was now driving over heavy clouds from the north; and again and again they would be completely enveloped, and unable to see anywhere more than a yard from their feet. In these circumstances Ronald took the lead; the Doctor coming next, and following, indeed, more by sound than by sight; the lads bringing up in the wake in solitary file, with their heavy loads thumping on their backs. It was a ghostly kind of procession; though now and again the close veil around them would be rent in twain, and they would have a glimpse of something afar off—perhaps a spur of Ben Loyal, or the dark waters of Loch Meidie studded with its small islands. Long before they had reached Inver-Mudal black night had fallen; but now they were on easier ground; and at last the firm footing of the road echoed to their measured tramp, as the invisible company marched on and down to the warmth and welcome lights of the inn.

The Doctor, feeling himself something of a truant, went on direct to his cottage; but the others entered the inn; and as Ronald forthwith presented Mrs. Murray with half a dozen of the hares, the landlord was right willing to call for ale for the beaters, who had had a hard day's work. Nor was Ronald in a hurry to get home; for he heard that Maggie was awaiting him in the kitchen; and so he and Mr. Murray had a pipe and a chat together, as was their custom. Then he sent for his sister.

'Well, Maggie, lass,' said he, as they set out through the dark, 'did you see all the bairns safely off this morning?'

'No, Ronald,' she said, 'Meenie did not seem to want me; so I stayed at home.'

'And did you find Harry sufficient company for ye? But I suppose Miss Douglas came and stayed with ye for a while.'

'No, Ronald,' said the little girl, in a tone of some surprise; 'she has not been near the house the whole day, since the few minutes in the morning.'

'Oh,' said he, lightly, 'she may have been busy, now her father is come home. And ye maun try and get on wi' your lessons as well as ye can, lass, without bothering Miss Douglas too much; she canna always spend so much time with ye.'

The little girl was silent. She was thinking of that strange occurrence in the morning of which she was not to speak; and in a vague kind of way she could not but associate that with Meenie's absence all that day, and also with the unusual tone of her 'good-bye.' But yet, if there were any trouble, it would speedily pass away. Ronald would put everything right. Nobody could withstand him—that was the first and last article of her creed. And so, when they got home, she proceeded cheerfully enough to stir up the peats, and to cook their joint supper in a manner really skilful for one of her years; and she laid the cloth; and put the candles on the table; and had the tea and everything ready. Then they sate down; and Ronald was in very good spirits, and talked to her, and tried to amuse her. But the little Maggie rather wistfully looked back to the brilliant evening before, when Meenie was with them; and perhaps wondered whether there would ever again be a supper-party as joyful and friendly and happy as they three had been when they were all by themselves in the big gaily-lit barn.

CHAPTER XII.

'WHEN SHADOWS FALL.'

The deershed adjoining the kennels was a gloomy place, with its bare walls, its lack of light, and its ominous-looking crossbeams, ropes, and pulley for hanging up the slain deer; and the morning was dark and lowering, with a bitter wind howling along the glen, and sometimes bringing with it a sharp smurr of sleet from the northern hills. But these things did not seem to affect Ronald's spirits much as he stood there, in his shirt-sleeves, and bare-headed, sorting out the hares that were lying on the floor, and determining to whom and to whom such and such a brace or couple of brace should be sent. Four of the plumpest he had already selected for Mrs. Douglas (in the vague hope that the useful present might make her a little more placable), and he was going on with his choosing and setting aside—sometimes lighting a pipe—sometimes singing carelessly—

'O we aft hae met at e'en, bonnie Peggie, O,On the banks o' Cart sae green, bonnie Peggie, O,Where the waters smoothly rin,Far aneath the roarin' linn,Far frae busy strife and din, bonnie Peggie, O'—

'O we aft hae met at e'en, bonnie Peggie, O,

On the banks o' Cart sae green, bonnie Peggie, O,

Where the waters smoothly rin,Far aneath the roarin' linn,

Where the waters smoothly rin,

Far aneath the roarin' linn,

Far frae busy strife and din, bonnie Peggie, O'—

when the little Maggie came stealing in.

'Ronald,' she said, with an air of reproach, 'why are ye going about on such a morning without your jacket, and bare-headed, too?'

'Toots, toots, lassie, it's a fine morning,' said he indifferently.

'It was Meenie said I was not to let you do such foolish things,' the little lass ventured to say diffidently.

Of course this put a new aspect on the case, but he would not admit as much directly.

'Oh, well,' said he, 'if you bring me out my coat and bonnet I will put them on, for I'm going down to the Doctor's with two or three of the hares.'

And then she hesitated.

'Ronald,' said she, 'I will take them to Mrs. Douglas, if you like.'

'You?' said he.

'For I would give them to her with a nice message from you; and—and—if you take them, you will say nothing at all; and where is the compliment?'

He laughed.

'Ye're a wise little lass; but four big hares are heavy to carry—with the wind against ye; so run away and get me my coat and my Glengarry; and I will take them along myself, compliment or no compliment.'

However, as it turned out, Mrs. Douglas was not the first of the family he was fated to meet that morning. He had scarcely left the deershed when he perceived Meenie coming along the road; and this was an auspicious and kindly event; for somehow the day seemed to go by more smoothly and evenly and contentedly when he had chanced to meet Meenie in the morning, and have a few minutes' chat with her about affairs in general, and an assurance that all was going well with her. So he went forward to meet her with a light heart; and he thought she would be pleased that he was taking the hares to her mother; and perhaps, too, he considered that they might be a little more frank in their friendship after the exceeding good fellowship of the night of the children's party.

He went forward unsuspectingly.

'Good morning, Miss Douglas!' said he, slackening in his pace, for naturally they always stopped for a few seconds or minutes when they met thus.

But to his astonishment Miss Douglas did not seem inclined to stay. Her eyes were bent on the ground as she came along; she but timidly half lifted them as she reached him; and 'Good morning, Ronald!' she said, and would have passed on. And then it seemed as if, in her great embarrassment, she did not know what to do. She stopped; her face was suffused with red; and she said hurriedly—and yet with an effort to appear unconcerned—

'I suppose Maggie is at home?'

'Oh yes,' said he, and her manner was so changed that he also scarce knew what to say or to think.

And again she was going on, and again she lingered—with a sudden fear that she might be thought ungracious or unkind.

'The children all got away safely yesterday morning,' said she—but her eyes never met his; and there was still tell-tale colour in her cheeks.

'So I heard,' he answered.

'I am sure they must have enjoyed the evening,' she said, as if forcing herself to speak.

And then it suddenly occurred to him—for this encounter had been all too brief and bewildering for any proper understanding of it—that perhaps her mother had been reproving her for being too friendly with the people about the inn and with himself, and that he was only causing her embarrassment by detaining her, and so he said—

'Oh yes, I'm sure o' that. Well, good morning, Miss Douglas; I'm going along to give your mother these two or three hares.'

'Good morning,' said she—still without looking at him—and then she went.

And he, too, went on his way; but only for a brief space; presently he sate down on the low stone dyke by the roadside, and dropped the hares on the ground at his feet. What could it all mean? She seemed anxious to limit their acquaintanceship to the merest formalities; and yet to be in a manner sorry for having to do so. Had he unwittingly given her some cause of offence? He began to recall the minutest occurrences of the night of the children's party—wondering if something had then happened to account for so marked a change? But he could think of nothing. The supper-party of three was of her own suggestion; she could not be angry on that account. Perhaps he ought to have asked this person or that person over from the inn to join them, for the sake of propriety? Well, he did not know much about such matters; it seemed to him that they were very happy as they were; and that it was nobody else's business. But would she quarrel with him on that account? Or on account of his smoking in her presence? Again and again he wished that his pipe had been buried at the bottom of the loch; and indeed his smoking of it that evening had given him no enjoyment whatever, except in so far as it seemed to please her; but surely, in any case, that was a trifle? Meenie would not suddenly become cold and distant (in however reluctant a way) for a small matter like that? Nor could she be angry with him for taking her father away for a day on the hill; she was always glad when the Doctor got a day's shooting from anybody. No; the only possible conclusion he could come to was that Mrs. Douglas had more strongly than ever disapproved of Meenie's forming friendships among people not of her own station in life; and that some definite instructions had been given, which the girl was anxious to obey. And if that were so, ought he to make it any the more difficult for her? He would be as reserved and distant as she pleased. He knew that she was a very kindly and sensitive creature; and might dread giving pain; and herself suffer a good deal more than those from whom she was in a measure called upon to separate herself. That was a reason why it should be made easy for her; and he would ask Maggie to get on with her lessons by herself, as much as she could; and when he met Miss Douglas on the road, his greeting of her would be of the briefest—and yet with as much kindness as she chose to accept in a word or a look. And if he might not present her with the polecat's skin that was now just about dressed?—well, perhaps the American gentleman's daughter would take it, and have it made into something, when she came up in March.

The pretty, little, doll-like woman, with the cold eyes and the haughty stare, was at the front-door of the cottage, scattering food to the fowls.

'I have brought ye two or three hares, Mrs. Douglas, if they're of any use to ye,' Ronald said modestly.

'Thank you,' said she, with lofty courtesy, 'thank you; I am much obliged. Will you step in and sit down for a few minutes?—I am sure a little spirits will do you no harm on such a cold morning.'

In ordinary circumstances he would have declined that invitation; for he had no great love of this domineering little woman, and much preferred the society of her big, good-natured husband; but he was curious about Meenie, and even inclined to be resentful, if it appeared that she had been dealt with too harshly. So he followed Mrs. Douglas into the dignified little parlour—which was more like a museum of cheap curiosities than a room meant for actual human use; and forthwith she set on the crimson-dyed table-cover a glass, a tumbler, a jug of water, and a violet-coloured bulbous glass bottle with an electro-plated stopper. Ronald was bidden to help himself; and also, out of her munificence, she put before him a little basket of sweet biscuits.

'I hear the Doctor is away again,' Ronald said—and a hundred times would he rather not have touched the violet bottle at all, knowing that her clear, cold, blue eyes were calmly regarding his every movement.

'Yes,' she said, 'to Tongue. There is a consultation there. I am sure he has had very little peace and quiet lately.'

'I am glad he had a holiday yesterday,' Ronald said, with an endeavour to be agreeable.

But she answered severely—

'It might have been better if he had spent the first day of his getting back with his own family. But that has always been his way; everything sacrificed to the whim of the moment—to his own likings and dislikings.'

'He enjoys a day's sport as much as any man I ever saw,' said he—not knowing very well what to talk about.

'Yes, I daresay,' she answered shortly.

Then she pushed the biscuits nearer him; and returned to her attitude of observation, with her small, neat, white hands crossed on her lap, the rings on the fingers being perhaps just a little displayed.

'Miss Douglas is looking very well at present.' he said, at a venture.

'Williamina is well enough—she generally is,' she said coldly. 'There is never much the matter with her health. She might attend to her studies a little more and do herself no harm. But she takes after her father.'

There was a little sigh of resignation.

'Some of us,' said he good-naturedly, 'were expecting her to come over on Monday night to see the dancing.'

But here he had struck solid rock. In a second—from her attitude and demeanour—he had guessed why it was that Meenie had not come over to the landlord's party: a matter about which he had not found courage to question Meenie herself.

'Williamina,' observed the little dame, with a magnificent dignity, 'has other things to think of—or ought to have, at her time of life, and in her position. I have had occasion frequently of late to remind her of what is demanded of her; she must conduct herself not as if she were for ever to be hidden away in a Highland village. It will be necessary for her to take her proper place in society, that she is entitled to from her birth and her relatives; and of course she must be prepared—of course she must be prepared. There are plenty who will be willing to receive her; it will be her own fault if she disappoints them—and us, too, her own parents. Williamina will never have to lead the life that I have had to lead, I hope; she belongs by birth to another sphere; and I hope she will make the most of her chances.'

'Miss Douglas would be made welcome anywhere, I am sure,' he ventured to say; but she regarded him with a superior look—as if it were not for him to pronounce an opinion on such a point.

'Soon,' she continued—and she was evidently bent on impressing him, 'she will be going to Glasgow to finish in music and German, and to get on with her Italian: you will see she has no time to lose in idle amusement. We would send her to Edinburgh or to London, but her sister being in Glasgow is a great inducement; and she will be well looked after. But, indeed, Williamina is not the kind of girl to go and marry a penniless student; she has too much common sense; and, besides, she has seen how it turns out. Once in a family is enough. No; we count on her making a good marriage, as the first step towards her taking the position to which she is entitled; and I am sure that Lady Stuart will take her in hand, and give her every chance. As for their taking her abroad with them—and Sir Alexander almost promised as much—what better could there be than that?—she would be able to show off her acquirements and accomplishments; she would be introduced to the distinguished people at the ministerial receptions and balls; she would have her chance, as I say. And with such a chance before her, surely it would be nothing less than wicked of her to fling away her time in idle follies. I want her to remember what lies before her; a cottage like this is all very well for-me—I have made my bed and must lie on it; but for her—who may even be adopted by Lady Stuart—who knows? for stranger things have happened—it would be downright madness to sink into content with her present way of life.'

'And when do you think that M— that Miss Douglas will be going away to Glasgow?' he asked—but absently, as it were, for he was thinking of Inver-Mudal, and Clebrig, and Loch Loyal, and Strath-Terry, and of Meenie being away from them all.

'That depends entirely on herself,' was the reply. 'As soon as she is sufficiently forward all round for the finishing lessons, her sister is ready to receive her.'

'It will be lonely for you with your daughter away,' said he.

'Parents have to make sacrifices,' she said. 'Yes, and children too. And better they should make them while they are young than all through the years after. I hope Williamina's will be no wasted life.'

He did not know what further to say; he was dismayed, perplexed, downhearted, or something: if this was a lesson she had meant to read him, it had struck home. So he rose and took his leave; and she thanked him again for the hares; and he went out, and found Harry awaiting him on the doorstep. Moreover, as he went down to the little gate, he perceived that Meenie was coming back—she had been but to the inn with a message; and, obeying some curious kind of instinct, he turned to the left—pretending not to have seen her coming; and soon he was over the bridge, and wandering away up the lonely glen whose silence is broken only by the whispering rush of Mudal Water.

He wandered on and on through the desolate moorland, on this wild and blustering day, paying but little heed to the piercing wind or the driven sleet that smote his eyelids. And he was not so very sorrowful; his common sense had told him all this before; Rose Meenie, Love Meenie, was very well in secret fancies and rhymes and verses; but beyond that she was nothing to him. And what would Clebrig do, and Mudal Water, and all the wide, bleak country that had been brought up in the love of her, and was saturated with the charm of her presence, and seemed for ever listening in deathlike silence for the light music of her voice? There were plenty of verses running through his head on this wild day too; the hills and the clouds and the January sky were full of speech; and they were all of them to be bereft of her as well as he:—

Mudal, that comes from the lonely loch,Down through the moorland russet and brown,Know you the news that we have for you?—Meenie's away to Glasgow town.See Ben Clebrig, his giant frontHidden and dark with a sudden frown;What is the light of the valley to him,Since Meenie's away to Glasgow town?Empty the valley, empty the world,The sun may arise and the sun go down;But what to do with the lonely hours,Since Meenie's away to Glasgow town?Call her back, Clebrig! Mudal, call.Ere all of the young spring time be flown;Birds, trees, and blossoms—you that she loved—O summon her back from Glasgow town!

Mudal, that comes from the lonely loch,

Down through the moorland russet and brown,

Know you the news that we have for you?—

Meenie's away to Glasgow town.

See Ben Clebrig, his giant front

Hidden and dark with a sudden frown;

What is the light of the valley to him,

Since Meenie's away to Glasgow town?

Empty the valley, empty the world,

The sun may arise and the sun go down;

But what to do with the lonely hours,

Since Meenie's away to Glasgow town?

Call her back, Clebrig! Mudal, call.

Ere all of the young spring time be flown;

Birds, trees, and blossoms—you that she loved—

O summon her back from Glasgow town!

'Call her back, Clebrig! Mudal, call!' he repeated to himself as he marched along the moorland road; for what would they do without some one to guard, and some one to watch for, and some one to listen for, in the first awakening of the dawn? Glasgow—the great and grimy city—that would be a strange sort of guardian, in the young Spring days that were coming, for this fair Sutherland flower. And yet might not some appeal be made even there—some summons of attention, as it were?

O Glasgow town, how little you knowThat Meenie has wandered inTo the very heart of your darkened streets,Through all the bustle and din.A Sutherland blossom shining fairAmid all your dismal haze,Forfeiting the breath of the summer hills,And the blue of the northern days.From Dixon's fire-wreaths to Rollox stalk,Blow, south wind, and clear the sky,Till she think of Ben Clebrig's sunny slopes,Where the basking red-deer lie.Blow, south wind, and show her a glimpse of blueThrough the pall of dusky brown;And see that you guard her and tend her well,You, fortunate Glasgow town!

O Glasgow town, how little you know

That Meenie has wandered in

To the very heart of your darkened streets,

Through all the bustle and din.

A Sutherland blossom shining fair

Amid all your dismal haze,

Forfeiting the breath of the summer hills,

And the blue of the northern days.

From Dixon's fire-wreaths to Rollox stalk,

Blow, south wind, and clear the sky,

Till she think of Ben Clebrig's sunny slopes,

Where the basking red-deer lie.

Blow, south wind, and show her a glimpse of blue

Through the pall of dusky brown;

And see that you guard her and tend her well,

You, fortunate Glasgow town!

But then—but then—that strange, impossible time—during which there would be no Meenie visible anywhere along the mountain roads; and Mudal Water would go by unheeded; and there would be no careless, clear-singing girl's voice along Loch Naver's shores—that strange time would surely come to an end, and he could look forward and see how the ending of it would be:

The clouds lay heavy on Clebrig's crest,For days and weeks together;The shepherds along Strath-Terry's sideCursed at the rainy weather;They scarce could get a favouring dayFor the burning of the heather.When sudden the clouds were rent in twainAnd the hill laughed out to the sun;And the hinds stole up, with wondering eyes,To the far slopes yellow and dun;And the birds were singing in every bushAs at spring anew begun,O Clebrig, what is it that makes you glad,And whither is gone your frown?Are you looking afar into the south,The long, wide strath adown?And see you that Meenie is coming back—Love Meenie, from Glasgow town!

The clouds lay heavy on Clebrig's crest,

For days and weeks together;

The shepherds along Strath-Terry's side

Cursed at the rainy weather;

They scarce could get a favouring day

For the burning of the heather.

When sudden the clouds were rent in twain

And the hill laughed out to the sun;

And the hinds stole up, with wondering eyes,

To the far slopes yellow and dun;

And the birds were singing in every bush

As at spring anew begun,

O Clebrig, what is it that makes you glad,

And whither is gone your frown?

Are you looking afar into the south,

The long, wide strath adown?

And see you that Meenie is coming back—

Love Meenie, from Glasgow town!

He laughed. Not yet was Love Meenie taken away from them all. And if in the unknown future the Stuarts of Glengask and Orosay were to carry her off and make a great lady of her, and take her to see strange places, and perhaps marry her to some noble person, at least in the meantime Ben Clebrig and Ben Loyal and the wide straths between knew that they still held in the mighty hollow of their hand this sweet flower of Sutherlandshire, and that the world and the skies and the woods and lakes seemed fairer because of her presence. And as regarded himself, and his relations with her? Well, what must be must. Only he hoped—and there was surely no great vanity nor self-love nor jealousy in so modest a hope—that the change of her manner towards him was due to the counsels of her mother rather than to anything he had unwittingly said or done. Rose Meenie—Love Meenie—he had called her in verses; but always he had been most respectful to herself; and he could not believe that she thought him capable of doing anything to offend her.

CHAPTER XIII.

A NEW ARRIVAL.

Very early one Sunday morning, while as yet all the world seemed asleep, a young lady stole out from the little hotel at Lairg, and wandered down by herself to the silent and beautiful shores of Loch Shin. The middle of March it was now, and yet the scene around her was quite summer-like; and she was a stranger from very far climes indeed, who had ventured into the Highlands at this ordinarily untoward time of the year; so that there was wonder as well as joy in her heart as she regarded the fairyland before her, for it was certainly not what she had been taught to expect. There was not a ripple on the glassy surface of the lake; every feature of the sleeping and faintly sunlit world was reflected accurately on the perfect mirror: the browns and yellows of the lower moorland; the faint purple of the birch-woods; the aerial blues of the distant hills, with here and there a patch of snow; and the fleecy white masses of the motionless clouds. It was a kind of dream-world—soft-toned and placid and still, the only sharp bit of colour being the scarlet-painted lines of a boat that floated double on that sea of glass. There was not a sound anywhere but the twittering of small birds; nor any movement but the slow rising into the air of a tiny column of blue smoke from a distant cottage; summer seemed to be here already, as the first light airs of the morning—fresh and clear and sweet—came stealing along the silver surface of the water, and only troubling the magic picture here and there in long trembling swathes.

The young lady was of middle height, but looked taller than that by reason of her slight and graceful form; she was pale, almost sallow, of face, with fine features and a pretty smile; her hair was of a lustrous black; and so, too, were her eyes—which were large and soft and attractive. Very foreign she looked as she stood by the shores of this Highland loch; her figure and complexion and beautiful opaque soft dark eyes perhaps suggesting more than anything else the Spanish type of the Southern American woman; but there was nothing foreign about her attire; she had taken care about that; and if her jet-black hair and pale cheek had prompted her to choose unusual tones of colour, at all events the articles of her costume were all correct—the warm and serviceable ulster of some roughish yellow and gray material, the buff-coloured, gauntleted gloves, and the orange-hued Tam o' Shanter which she wore quite as one to the manner born. For the rest, one could easily see that she was of a cheerful temperament; pleased with herself; not over shy, perhaps; and very straightforward in her look.

However, the best description of this young lady was the invention of an ingenious youth dwelling on the southern shores of Lake Michigan.—'Carry Hodson,' he observed on one occasion, 'is just a real good fellow, that's what she is.' It was a happy phrase, and it soon became popular among the young gentlemen who wore English hats and vied with each other in driving phantom vehicles behind long-stepping horses. 'Carry Hodson?—she's just the best fellow going,' they would assure you. And how better can one describe her? There was a kind of frankcamaraderieabout her; and she liked amusement, and was easily amused; and she laboured under no desire at all of showing herself 'bright'—which chiefly reveals itself in impertinence; but, above all, there was in her composition not a trace of alarm over her relations, however frank and friendly, with the other sex; she could talk to any man—old or young, married or single—positively without wondering when he was about to begin to make love to her. For one thing, she was quite capable of looking after herself; for another, the very charm of her manner—the delightful openness and straightforwardness of it—seemed to drive flirtation and sham sentiment forthwith out of court. And if, when those young gentlemen in Chicago called Miss Carry Hodson 'a real good fellow,' they could not help remembering at the same time that she was an exceedingly pretty girl, perhaps they appreciated so highly the privilege of being on good-comrade terms with her that they were content to remain there rather than risk everything by seeking for more. However, that need not be discussed further here. People did say, indeed, that Mr. John C. Huysen, the editor of theChicago Citizen, was more than likely to carry off the pretty heiress; if there was any truth in the rumour, at all events Miss Carry Hodson remained just as frank and free and agreeable with everybody—especially with young men who could propose expeditions and amusements.

Now there was only one subject capable of entirely upsetting this young lady's equanimity; and it is almost a pity to have to introduce it here; for the confession must be made that, on this one subject, she was in the habit of using very reprehensible language. Where, indeed, she had picked up so much steamboat and backwoods slang—unless through the reading ofTexas Siftings—it is impossible to say; but her father, who was about the sole recipient of these outbursts, could object with but little show of authority, for he was himself exceedingly fond, not exactly of slang, but of those odd phrases, sometimes half-humorous, that the Americans invent from day to day to vary the monotony of ordinary speech. These phrases are like getting off the car and running alongside a little bit; you reach your journey's end—the meaning of the sentence—all the same. However, the chief bugbear and grievance of Miss Carry Hodson's life was the Boston girl as displayed to us in fiction; and so violent became her detestation of that remarkable young person that it was very nearly interfering with her coming to Europe.

'But, pappa, dear,' she would say, regarding the book before her with some amazement, 'will the people in Europe think I am likethat?'

'They won't think anything about you,' he would say roughly.

'What a shame—what a shame—to say American girls are likethat!' she would continue vehemently. 'The self-conscious little beasts—with their chatter about tone, and touch, and culture! And the men—my gracious, pappa, do the people in England think that our young fellows talk likethat? "Analyse me; formulate me!" he cries to the girl; "can't you imagine my environment by the aid of your own intuitions?"—I'd analyse him if he came to me; I'd analyse him fast enough: Nine different sorts of a born fool; and the rest imitation English prig. I'd formulate him if he came to me with his pretentious idiotcy; I'd show him the kind of chipmunk I am.'

'You are improving, Miss Carry,' her father would say resignedly. 'You are certainly acquiring force in your language; and sooner or later you will be coming out with some of it when you least expect it; and then whether it's you or the other people that will get fits I don't know. You'll make them jump.'

'No, no, pappa, dear,' she would answer good-naturedly; for her vehemence was never of long duration. 'I have my company manners when it is necessary. Don't I know what I am? Oh yes, I do. I'm a real high-toned North Side society lady; and can behave as sich—when there's anybody present. But when it's only you and me, pappa, I like to wave the banner a little—that's all.'

This phrase of hers, about waving the banner, had come to mean so many different things that her father could not follow half of them, and so it was handy in winding up a discussion; and he could only remark, with regard to her going to Europe, and her dread lest she should be suspected of resembling one of the imaginary beings for whom she had conceived so strong a detestation, that really people in Europe were as busy as people elsewhere, and might not show too absorbing an interest in declaring what she was like; that perhaps their knowledge of the Boston young lady of fiction was limited, and the matter not one of deep concern; and that the best thing she could do was to remember that she was an American girl, and that she had as good a right to dress in her own way and speak in her own way and conduct herself in her own way as any French, or German, or English, or Italian person she might meet. All of which Miss Carry received with much submission—except about dress: she hoped to be able to study that subject, with a little attention, in Paris.

Well, she was standing there looking abroad on the fairy-like picture of lake and wood and mountain—and rather annoyed, too, that, now she was actually in the midst of scenes that she had prepared herself for by reading, she could recollect none of the reading at all, but was wholly and simply interested in the obvious beauty of the place itself—when she became conscious of a slow and stealthy footstep behind her, and, instantly turning, she discovered that a great dun-coloured dog, no doubt belonging to the hotel, had come down to make her acquaintance. He said as much by a brief and heavy gambol, a slow wagging of his mighty tail, and the upturned glance of his small, flat, leonine eyes.

'Well,' she said, 'who are you? Would you like to go for a walk?'

Whether he understood her or no he distinctly led the way—taking the path leading along the shores of the loch towards Inver-shin; and as there did not seem to be any sign yet of anybody moving about the hotel, she thought she might just as well take advantage of this volunteered escort. Not that the mastiff was over communicative in his friendliness; he would occasionally turn round to see if she was following; and if she called to him and spoke to him, he would merely make another heavy effort at a gambol and go on again with his slow-moving pace. Now and again a shepherd's collie would come charging down on him from the hillside, or two or three small terriers, keeping sentry at the door of a cottage, would suddenly break the stillness of the Sunday morning by the most ferocious barking at his approach; but he took no heed of one or the other.

'Do you know that you are an amiable dog—but not amusing?' she said to him, when he had to wait for her to let him get through a swinging stile. 'I've got a dog at home not a quarter as big as you, and he can talk twice as much. I suppose your thoughts are important, though. What do they call you? Dr. Johnson?'

He looked at her with the clear, lionlike eyes, but only for a second; seemed to think it futile trying to understand her; and then went on again with his heavy, shambling waddle. And she liked the freshness of the morning, and the novelty of being all alone by herself in the Scottish Highlands, and of going forward as a kind of pioneer and discoverer; and so she walked on in much delight, listening to the birds, looking at the sheep, and thinking nothing at all of breakfast, and the long day's drive before her father and herself.

And then a sudden conviction was flashed on her mind that something was wrong. There was a man coming rushing along the road after her—with neither coat nor cap on—and as he drew near she could hear him say—

'Ah, you rascal! you rascal! Bolted again?'

He seemed to pay no attention to her; he ran past her and made straight for the mastiff; and in a couple of minutes had a muzzle securely fastened on the beast, and was leading him back with an iron chain.

'Surely that is not a ferocious dog?' said she, as they came up—and perhaps she was curious to know whether she had run any chance of being eaten.

'The master had to pay five pounds last year for his worrying sheep—the rascal,' said the man; and the great dog wagged his tail as if in approval.

'Why, he seems a most gentle creature,' she said, walking on with the man.

'Ay, and so he is, miss—most times. But he's barely three years old, and already he's killed two collies and a terrier, and worried three sheep.'

'Killed other dogs? Oh, Dr. Johnson!' she exclaimed.

'He's sweirt[#] to begin, miss; but when he does begin hemaunkill—there's no stopping him. The rascal! he likes fine to get slippin' away wi' one of the gentlefolks, if he's let off the chain for a few minutes—it's a God's mercy he has done no harm this morning—it was the ostler let him off the chain—and he'd have lost his place if there had been ony mair worrying.'

[#]Sweirt, reluctant.

'No, no, no, he would not,' she said confidently. 'I took the dog away. If any mischief had been done, I would have paid—why, of course.'

'Why, of cois' was what she really said; but all the man knew was that this American young lady spoke with a very pleasant voice; and seemed good-natured; and was well-meaning, too, for she would not have had the ostler suffer. Anyway, the mastiff, with as much dignity as was compatible with a muzzle and an iron chain, was conducted back to his kennel; and Miss Hodson went into the hotel, and expressed her profound sorrow that she had kept breakfast waiting; but explained to her father that it was not every morning she had the chance of exploring the Highlands all by herself—or rather accompanied by a huge creature apparently of amiable nature, but with really dark possibilities attached.

In due course of time the waggonette and horses were brought round to the door of the little hotel; their baggage was put in; and presently they had set forth on their drive through the still, sunlit, solitary country. But this was a far more pleasant journey than his first venturing into these wilds. He had been warning his daughter of the bleak and savage solitude she would have to encounter; but now it appeared quite cheerful—in a subdued kind of way, as if a sort of Sunday silence hung over the landscape. The pale blue waters of Loch Shin, the beech-woods, the russet slopes of heather, the snow-touched azure hills along the horizon—all these looked pretty and were peacefully shining on this fair morning; and even after they had got away from the last trace of human habitation, and were monotonously driving through mile after mile of the wide, boggy, hopeless peatland, the winter colours were really brighter than those of summer, and the desolation far from overpowering. If they met with no human beings, there were other living objects to attract the eye. A golden plover—standing on a hillock not half a dozen yards off, would be calling to his mate; a wild duck would go whirring by; a red-plumed grouse-cock would cease dusting himself in the road, and would be off into the heather as they came along, standing and looking at them as they passed. And so on and on they went, mile after mile, along the fair shining Strath-Terry; the morning air blowing freshly about them; the sunlight lying placidly on those wide stretches of russet and golden bogland; and now and again a flash of dark blue showing where some mountain-tarn lay silent amid the moors.

'And you thought I should be disappointed, pappa dear?' said Miss Carry, 'or frightened by the loneliness? Why, it's just too beautiful for anything! And so this is where the Clan Mackay lived in former days?'

'Is it?' said her father. 'I wonder what they lived on. I don't think we'd give much for that land in Illinois. Give for it? You couldn't get a white man to trade for that sort of land; we'd have to ask Wisconsin to take it and hide it away somewhere.'

'What are those things for?' she asked, indicating certain tall poles that stood at intervals along the roadside.

'Why, don't you know? These are poles to tell them where the road is in snow time.'

'Then it is not always May in these happy latitudes?' she observed shrewdly.

He laughed.

'I heard some dreadful stories when I was here in January—but I don't believe much in weather stories. Anyhow, we've got to take what comes now; and so far there is not much to howl about.'

And at last they came in sight of the ruffled blue waters of Loch Naver; and the long yellow promontories running out into the lake; and the scant birch-woods fringing here and there the rocky shore; with the little hamlet of Inver-Mudal nestling down there in the hollow; and far away in the north the mountain-masses of Ben Hope and Ben Loyal struck white with snow. And she was very curious to see the kind of people who lived in these remote solitudes; and the pretty sloe-black eyes were all alert as the waggonette rattled along towards the two or three scattered houses; and perhaps, as they drove up to the inn, she was wondering whether Ronald the gamekeeper, of whom she had heard so much, would be anywhere visible. But there was scarcely any one there. The Sabbath quiet lay over the little hamlet. Mr. Murray appeared, however,—in his Sunday costume, of course,—and an ostler; and presently Miss Carry and her father were in the sitting-room that had been prepared for them—a great mass of peats cheerfully blazing in the capacious fireplace, and the white-covered table furnished with a substantial luncheon.

'And what do you think of your future maid?' her father asked, when the pretty Nelly had left the room.

'Well, I think she has the softest voice I ever heard a woman speak with,' was the immediate answer. 'And such a pretty way of talking—and looking at you—very gentle and friendly. But she won't do for my maid, pappa; she's too tall; I should want to put a string round her neck and lead her about like a giraffe.'

However, she was pleased with the appearance and manner of the girl, and that was something; for, oddly enough, Mr. Hodson seemed to imagine that he had discovered this remote hamlet, and was responsible for it, and anxious that his daughter should think well of it, and of the people she might meet in it. He called her attention to the scent of the peat; to the neatness with which the joints on the table had been decorated with little paper frills; to the snugness and quiet of the sitting-room; to the spacious character of the views from the windows—one taking in Clebrig and the loch, the other reaching away up to Ben Loyal. All these things he had provided for her, as it were; and it must be said that she was a most excellent travelling-companion, always content, easily interested, never out of humour. So, when he proposed, after luncheon, that they should go along and call on Ronald Strang, she readily consented; no doubt a keeper's dwelling in these wilds would be something curious—perhaps of a wigwam character, and of course filled with all kinds of trophies of his hunting.

Well, they went along to the cottage, and Mr. Hodson knocked lightly on the door. There was no answer. He rapped a little more loudly; then they heard some one within; and presently the door was thrown open, and Ronald stood before them—a book in one hand, a pipe in the other, no jacket covering his shirt-sleeves, and the absence of any necktie showing a little more than was necessary of the firm set of his sun-tanned throat. He had been caught unawares—as his startled eyes proclaimed; in fact, he had been readingParadise Regained, and manfully resisting the temptation to slip on to the gracious melody ofL'Allegro, andIl Penseroso, andLycidas; and when he heard the tapping he fancied it was merely one of the lads come for a chat or the last newspaper, and had made no preparations for the reception of visitors.

'How are you, Ronald?' said Mr. Hodson. 'I have brought my daughter to see you.'

'Will ye step in, sir?' said Ronald hastily, and with a terrible consciousness of his untidy appearance. 'Ay, in there—will ye sit down for a few minutes—and will ye excuse me—I thought you werena coming till to-morrow——'

'Well, I thought they might object to driving me on a Sunday. I can't make it out. Perhaps what I have read about Scotland is not true. Or perhaps they have altered of late years. Anyhow they made no objection, and here I am.'

In the midst of these brief sentences—each pronounced with a little rising inflexion at the end—Ronald managed to slip away and get himself made a little more presentable. When he returned the apparent excuse for his absence was that he brought in some glasses and water and a bottle of whisky; and then he went to a little mahogany sideboard and brought out a tin case of biscuits.

'You need not trouble about these things for us; we have just had lunch,' Mr. Hodson said.

'Perhaps the young lady——?' said Ronald timidly, and even nervously, for there was no plate handy, and he did not know how to offer her the biscuits.

'Oh no, I thank you,' she said, with a pretty and gracious smile; and he happened to meet her eyes just at that time; and instantly became aware that they were curiously scrutinising and observant, despite their apparent softness and lustrous blackness.

Now Miss Carry Hodson had an abundance of shrewd feminine perception, and it was easy for her to see that this handsome and stalwart young fellow had been grievously disturbed, and was even now unnerved, through his having been caught in disarray on the occasion of a young lady visiting him; and accordingly, to allow him to recover, she deliberately effaced herself; saying not a word, nor even listening, while her father and he proceeded to talk about the salmon-fishing, and about the distressingly fine weather that threatened to interfere with that pursuit. She sate silent, allowing those observant eyes of hers to roam freely round the room, and indeed wondering how a man of his occupations could so have contrived to rob his home of all distinctive character and to render it so clearly common-place. There was nothing wild or savage about it; not the skin of any beast, nor the plumage of any bird; everything was of a bourgeois neatness and respectability—the ornaments on the mantel-shelf conspicuously so; and what was strangest of all—though this will scarcely be believed—the two roebucks' heads that adorned the wall, in a country where roe abound, were earthenware casts, and very bad casts too, obviously hailing from Germany. She observed, however, that there were a good many books about—some of them even piled in obscure corners; and to judge by the sober character of their cloth binding she guessed them to be of a rather superior class. The pictures on the walls were some cheap reprints of Landseer; a portrait of the Duke of Sutherland, in Highland garb; a view of Dunrobin Castle; and a photograph of Mr. Millais' 'Order of Release.'

After a while she began to know (without looking) that the young man had assumed sufficient courage to glance at her from time to time; and she allowed him to do that; for she considered that the people in Regent Street had fitted her out in Highland fashion in a sufficiently accurate way. But it soon appeared that he was talking about her; and what was this wild proposal?

'It seems a pity,' he was saying, 'if the fish are taking, not to have two boats at the work. And there's that big rod o' yours, sir—you could use that for the trolling; and let the young lady have one o' your grilse rods. Then there's mine—she can have that and welcome——'

'Yes, but the gillies——'

'Oh, I'll take a turn myself; I'm no so busy the now. And I can get one o' the lads to lend a hand.'

'Do you hear this, Carry?' her father said.

'What, pappa?'

'Ronald wants you to start off salmon-fishing to-morrow, in a boat all to yourself—

'Alone?'

'Why, no! He says he will go with you, and one of the lads; and you will have all the best advice and experience—I don't think it's fair, myself—but it's very good-natured anyhow——'

'And do you think there's a chance of my catching a salmon?' she said eagerly, and she turned her eloquent black eyes, all lit up with pleasure, full upon him.

'Oh yes, indeed,' said he, looking down, 'and many and many a one, I am sure, if we could only get a little wet weather.'

'My!' she exclaimed. 'If I caught a salmon, I'd have it stuffed right away——'

'With sage and onions, I suppose,' her father said severely.

'And we begin to-morrow? Why, it's just too delightful—I was looking forward to days and days indoors, with nothing but books. And I shall really have a chance?——'

'I think you might as well thank Ronald for his offer,' her father said. 'I should never have thought of it.'

Well, she hesitated; for it is a difficult thing to make a formal little speech when it is asked for by a third person; but the young keeper quickly laughed away her embarrassment.

'No, no, sir; we'll wait for that till we see how our luck turns out. And we'll have the Duke's boat, mind, that Duncan says is the lucky one; you'll have to look sharp, sir, or we'll have the biggest show on the grass at the end of the day.'

Mr. Hodson now rose to take his leave, for he wanted his daughter to walk down to the shores of the loch where they were next day to begin their labours. And thus it was that Miss Carry—who had looked forward at the most to sitting in the boat with her father and looking on—found herself pledged to a course of salmon-fishing, under the immediate guidance and instruction of the young keeper; and she had noticed that he had already talked of the occupants of the Duke's boat as 'we'—assuming that he and she were in a sort of partnership, and pitted against the others. Well, it would be amusing, she thought. She also considered that he was very good-looking; and that it would be pleasanter to have a companion of that kind than a surly old boatman. She imagined they might easily become excellent friends—at least, she was willing enough; and he seemed civil and good-humoured and modest; and altogether the arrangement promised to work very well.

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