spirits, so anxious to please, that her hostess had not the heart to
chide her. Her whole-hearted innocence had begun to disarm the lady's
suspicions when, at the end of a week, the watchful eye noted signs of
an alarming change in her troublesome charge. Isabel ceased entirely
to mention Scotty's name. She did not talk, either, as had been her
wont, of the delightful times they had had together in their childhood.
Neither did she run to meet him any more when he came, but would sit
demurely at her sewing until he entered, or even fly upstairs when his
horse appeared at the gate.
These were the worst possible symptoms, and Mrs. Cameron appealed to
the minister. But he, good man, was not at all perturbed. He saw
nothing to worry about, he declared. Probably the young lady had
discovered that she did not care for her old comrade as much as when
they were children and was taking this tactful way of showing him the
fact. Mrs. Cameron was in a state of mingled indignation and despair
over such masculine obtuseness, and vowed that if young MacDonald were
not politely requested to discontinue his attentions to Captain
Herbert's niece, she would feel it her duty to send the aforesaid niece
home.
But the minister would consider neither project. When he had a man's
soul in view everything else must be made subordinate. The young man
was showing signs of an awakening conscience, he affirmed; he had
displayed wonderful interest in the sermons lately and had asked some
very hopeful questions during their last conversation. And beside all
this the young lady was having a good influence on him, for the lad had
missed neither church nor prayer meeting since she came. Indeed, she
was a fine lassie, and wonderfully clear on the essentials; though, of
course, she had a few unsound Anglican doctrines. But Kirsty John's
mother had trained her well in her childhood and she was not far
astray. No, it would be interfering with the inscrutable ways of
Providence to separate these two now, they must just let them be.
So Scotty and Isabel had things all their own way; and, when, at last,
Weaver Jimmie and his wife came and carried the young lady off to the
Oa, her late hostess declared she washed her hands of the whole affair.
But her guest's departure did not bring her entire relief from
responsibility. She could not get away from the suspicion that Miss
Herbert would blame her, and the rumours that came from the Oa were not
calculated to allay her fears. Kirsty John's little lady from the
Grange and Big Malcolm's Scot were always together, the gossips said,
and indeed it was a great wonder the black colt wasn't driven to death.
So to-night Mrs. Cameron was too much worried to notice the beauty of
the landscape. Nearly a month had slipped past since Isabel had left
her; the Herberts had returned to the Grange, and still the young lady
showed no signs of departing. The minister's wife looked out sharply
as they approached Weaver Jimmie's place. If she could catch sight of
her late guest she would delicately hint that propriety demanded that
she go home.
As they entered a little evergreen wood that bordered Weaver Jimmie's
farm, there arose the sound of singing from the road ahead.
A turn around a cedar clump brought into view a solitary figure a few
yards before them--the figure of a little old man, wearing a Scotch
bonnet and wrapped in a gay tartan plaid. It was a bent, homely
figure, but one containing a soul apparently lifted far above earthly
things, for he was pouring forth a psalm, expressive of his joy in the
glory of the evening, and with an ecstasy that might have befitted
Orpheus greeting the dawn.
His voice was high, loud, and cracked; but the words he had chosen
showed that Old Farquhar discerned the divine in nature, a revelation
that comes only to the true artist:
"Ye gates, lift up your heads on high;
Ye doors that last for aye,
Be lifted up that so the King
Of Glory enter may.
But who is He that is the King
Of Glory? Who is this?
The Lord of Hosts, and none but He
The King of Glory is!"
The minister smiled tenderly, there was a mist before his eyes when he
paused to shake the old man's withered hand.
"Yes, it is a wonderful night, Farquhar," he said. "Truly the heavens
declare the glory of God and the firmament showeth His handiwork."
The old man smiled ecstatically, and after a halting greeting in
English to the minister's wife, dropped into Gaelic. Mrs. Cameron did
not understand the language of her husband's people, and while the two
men conversed she looked about her. Kirsty's house was just beyond the
grove, Isabel might be near. A narrow, dim pathway led from the road
across the woods to the house, an alluring pathway bordered thickly
with firs, and now all in purple shadows, except when occasionally the
golden light sifted through the velvety branches and touched the snow.
Something was moving away down the shadowy aisle. She looked sharply,
it moved out into a lighter space and resolved itself into two figures
going slowly, so very slowly, down the path in the direction of the
Weaver's house. There was no mistaking Isabel's long, grey coat, or
young MacDonald's stalwart figure. They paused at the bars that led
into the yard, they were evidently saying good-night....
Mrs. Cameron did not wait even to take off her bonnet, upon her return
home, before sitting down to write Miss Herbert, of the Grange, a
letter, a letter which evidently alarmed the recipient, for before many
days Miss Isabel packed her trunk with a very sober face and took her
leave.
It was partly this sudden manner of her departure that made Monteith
resolve to visit his friends at Lake Oro. He wanted to see Captain
Herbert on important business--business which, he felt, had been too
long delayed, and besides he was anxious to discover, if possible, what
the people of the Grange had done to offend Ralph on the day he had
taken Isabel home.
That he had been mortally offended by someone Monteith could not help
seeing; but whether by Isabel herself, or another, Scotty's reticence
prevented his discovering.
"I'm going up to the Captain's to-morrow," he remarked casually, as he
sat and smoked by Big Malcolm's fire one evening. He glanced at
Scotty, and that young man arose and began to cram the red-hot stove
with wood, until his grandfather shouted to him that he must be gone
daft, for was he wanting to roast them all out?
"Oh, indeed," said Mrs. MacDonald, suspending her knitting with a look
of pleased interest. "And you will be seeing the little lady. Eh, it
is herself will be the fine girl, not a bit o' pride, with all her
beautiful manners and her learning, indeed."
"She will be jist the same as when she used to run round this house in
her bare feet with Scotty," declared Big Malcolm enthusiastically. "It
is a great peety indeed that she will belong to that English upstart!"
Scotty had settled down in deep absorption to whittle a stick and was
apparently taking no notice of the conversation.
Monteith regarded Big Malcolm curiously. He had been long enough in
the settlement to understand that the ordinary pioneer had no love for
the more privileged class that had settled along the waterfronts.
Socially the latter belonged to a different sphere from the farmers;
and having often been able, in the early days, to secure from the
Government concessions not granted to all, they were regarded by the
common folk with some resentment. But the difference between the two
classes, like all other differences, was fast dying out, and the
schoolmaster well knew that Big Malcolm had other and deeper reasons
for his dislike of a man so popular as Captain Herbert. He longed to
know, before he visited the Grange, just how much his friend had sinned
against the old man.
"Oh, I suppose he's no worse than many of his kind," he said
tentatively.
"Aye, but that is jist where you will be mistaken," said Big Malcolm, a
dangerous light beginning to leap up in his eye. "If this place would
be knowing the kind of a man he is, indeed it would not be Parliament
he would be thinking about next fall, but----" He stopped suddenly.
"Och, hoch, the Lord forgive me, and he will be your friend, too, Mr.
Monteith," he added hastily, with a return of his natural courtesy.
"Indeed I would be forgetting myself."
"Why does your grandfather hate the Captain so?" inquired Monteith, as
Scotty walked with him to the gate.
"I'll not know," said Scotty morosely. "I think they had some quarrel
long ago, about land or something, when they came here first."
"And did he never give any hint of what the trouble was?"
"Not to us boys. It was one of those things he would always be
fighting against, and Granny kept him back, too. He would be often
going to speak of the Captain, when she would stop him." Scotty's tone
was gloomy. This last surviving feud of his warlike grandfather
weighed heavily upon his soul. For, indeed, matters had gone sadly
wrong in Scotty's world lately, and life was proving a very hard and
sordid business.
Monteith said no more, but the next morning he set off for his friend's
house, determined to settle once for all those questions which had been
troubling him ever since he had learned that young Ralph Stanwell
lived. Something must be done with Ralph, and that right away. He had
taught him as far as he could, and the boy must not be allowed to waste
his talents in the backwoods.
The Grange, Captain Herbert's residence on the shore of Lake Oro, was a
different building from the homes of the people among whom the
schoolmaster lived; for its owner belonged to the fortunate class for
whom life during the early settlement of the country had been made easy
by money and political influence.
The house, a long, low, white stone building with plenty of broad
verandahs, stood close to the water's edge, sheltered by a stately oak
grove. It was surrounded by wide lawns and a garden, all now covered
with their winter blanket.
As Monteith went up the broad, well-shovelled path, a crowd of dogs of
all sizes came tearing round the house from the rear with a tumult of
barking. He stooped to fondle a little terrier, and when he looked up
the master of the house was coming down the steps with outstretched
hands.
"By Jove, Archie!" he cried, his face shining with pleasure, "I'd
almost come to the conclusion that the Fighting MacDonalds had eaten
you alive! Why, we haven't seen you since October, and I've been
blue-moulding for somebody to talk to. Well, I _am_ glad to see you.
Get down, you confounded brute! Come in. Come in. Why, you certainly
are a stranger. And just at the right moment, too! I'm all alone.
Brian drove Eleanor and Belle to Barbay this morning. Get out, you
infernal curs! Those dogs all ought to be shot!"
And so, talking loud and fast, as was his manner, the hearty Captain
led the way into the house. A small room at the left of the hall, with
two windows looking out upon the ice-bound lake, constituted the
Captain's private den. A bright wood fire blazed in the open grate.
The host drew up a couple of arm-chairs before it.
"So you've decided to immure yourself in the backwoods for another
year, I hear," he said, when his guest was comfortably seated and
supplied with a cigar. "Come, Archie, this will never do. Two years
was the limit you set when you took the school, and there's no more the
matter with you than there is with me. You're actually getting fat,
man!"
"Why, I do believe I am," said the other apologetically. "I shall
probably grow corpulent and lazy, and settle down in Glenoro to a
peaceful old age."
"Not a bit of you! You look like a new man, and you ought to get back
to your law books."
Monteith drew his hand over his grey hair with a meaning smile. "It
seems rather foolish at my age, but I believe I shall; the Oro air has
really made a new man of me, as you say. I believe I should have gone
long ago if I hadn't been interested in a certain young person there."
"A young person! Thunder and lightning, Archie, don't tell me you've
gone and fallen in love!"
Monteith laughed. "Upon my word I believe I have," he asserted, "but
don't look so aghast, the object of my devotion is six feet high, and
is cultivating a moustache."
"Oh, that young MacDonald chum of yours. You gave me quite a shock."
The guest noticed that his friend's face changed at the mention of
Scotty; there was a moment's rather awkward silence.
"So the ladies are away," said Monteith at last. "I am unfortunate."
Captain Herbert burst into a hearty laugh. "Why, bless my soul, you've
had the escape of your life! Eleanor has it in for you, for shifting
your responsibility and sending little Bluebell home with your young
MacDonald; an uncommonly handsome young beggar he is too, with the airs
of a Highland chieftain, quite the kind calculated to be dangerous,
Eleanor thinks. I'm afraid she wasn't as cordial to the boy as she
might have been, and probably lost me a couple of good MacDonald votes."
Monteith looked enlightened. "Why, I must apologise," he said, "but I
did not dream I was transgressing. Miss Herbert surely knows that they
have been like brother and sister since their baby days?"
"Oh, that's just the trouble. Eleanor's scared they're not going to
remain like brother and sister. She and your minister's wife down
there have got it into their busy heads that the little monkey's
inclined to think too much about this old chum of hers. Bluebell's the
right sort, I assure you, Archie, never forgets an old friend.
Harold's just the same. Every time he writes he sends his love to
every old codger that chopped down a tree on this place. It's a fine
quality. It's Irish. We get it from my mother's side, though I'm more
English than Irish myself, praise the Lord. Well, it seems this
loyalty is out of place in this case, and Eleanor thinks the less Belle
sees of this young man the better. All perfect bosh and unthinkable
nonsense, you know; but you can never account for the mental workings
of some people. A woman's mind picks up an idea, particularly if it
concerns matrimony in the remotest degree, as a hen does a piece of
bread, and runs squawking all round this earthly barnyard advertising
the matter until she convinces herself and all the rest of the human
fowl that she's got a whole baking in her bill. Eleanor has snatched
up some such notion about Isabel and this young MacDonald, and the
youngster hardly out of short dresses yet! But there it is. She'll
never let go. All rubbish!"
He burst into a hearty laugh, and poked the fire until it crackled and
roared. "Now, Archie, what sort of figure do you think I shall cut
running for Parliament next fall? Think the Oa 'll run me off the face
of the earth?"
"Just one moment, Captain, before you leave this subject, and we'll
talk politics all day afterwards. Far be it from me to even glance
into the dark mysteries of matchmaking, but I'd like to know why Miss
Herbert should object so strongly to my young friend on so short an
acquaintance?"
Captain Herbert looked surprised. He drew himself up with a slight
access of dignity. "Oh, come now, Monteith!" he exclaimed, "you are
surely worldly wise enough to understand that, though this young Scotty
may be the most exemplary inhabitant of that excellent section where
you teach, he would scarcely be a match for my niece."
"I understand perfectly. And if Ralph were one of the ordinary young
men of the place I should most heartily agree with you. But you don't
know him. He is an exceptionally fine fellow; he has had as much
education as I have been able to guide him to since I came here, and
indeed he is a thorough gentleman at heart."
Captain Herbert shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose that's all true,
but what difference does that make? You don't want me to offer him my
niece, I hope."
Monteith paid no attention to such frivolity. He turned squarely upon
his host.
"Then I suppose you know he's the equal in birth to anyone in this part
of the country. You know, of course, that his name is not really
MacDonald?"
Captain Herbert seized the poker and attacked the fire again. He
seemed waiting for Monteith to proceed, but as he did not, he answered
rather shortly, "So I believe."
There was a long silence. The host sat back again, swung one foot over
the other impatiently, and at last turned upon his silent companion.
"Go on!" he cried. "Out with it! I know what you want to say!"
Monteith slowly turned his eyes from the fire and looked into his
host's face.
"I don't want to say anything disagreeable, Captain," he said
courteously.
Captain Herbert arose and walked to the window.
"I knew this would come some day, when I saw you were getting so
infernally chummy with all the MacDonald clan. That dear friend of
mine, old Firebrand Malcolm, has been telling you tales, I see."
"On the contrary, he has scarcely ever mentioned your name to me. Big
Malcolm is not that sort," said Monteith, with some dignity. "But it
was impossible for me not to remember Ralph Stanwell, Senior; it all
came to me the moment the boy told me his name."
There was a moment of intense silence, and at last the man turned from
the window.
"Well," he said, coming to the fireside, "why don't you speak? What
have you got to say about it?" His manner was half-defiant.
"I don't know that you'll think it's my place to say anything, Captain.
But--well, since you ask my opinion, I must confess that, though I am
not in possession of all the facts, the thing does not look
exactly--straight."
Captain Herbert glared at him. "You are the only man in Ontario who
would dare to say that to me, Archibald Monteith!" he cried.
Monteith arose, smiling. "Well, Captain, be thankful you have at least
one honest friend in Ontario. And," he added, with a sudden change of
tone, "look here, I haven't come to you about this in anger. I am
Ralph's friend, but I am yours, too, and have many debts of kindness
owing you. But, honestly now, is it or is it not true that you jumped
a claim and appropriated the boy's property, perhaps unwittingly?"
"It was unwittingly, Archie," burst out the other, with a look of
relief. "I know the affair must look nasty to you; but, as sure as I
stand here, I didn't know the child was alive until he was nearly seven
years old."
"But the grandfather? Did he never interfere in the child's interests?"
"That old fire-eater! If he hadn't been such a maniac, I should never
have made the mistake I did. I tell you the whole thing was
misrepresented to me. Stanwell and his wife and, as I was told, his
child too, died just before I landed here. This property of his was
partially cleared, but was represented to me as totally unclaimed. You
know that as well as I do. Don't you remember the day I left Toronto
to come up here? Well, after I had spent hundreds of dollars on the
place that old Lord of the Isles got wind of it away back there in the
bush, and came down on me like a deposed king. He talked so loud and
so fast, and half of it in Gaelic, that I paid no attention to him, and
at last ordered him off the place. My brother Harold had been
instrumental in getting the place for me, so I wrote him and asked if
it was possible that anyone connected with Captain Stanwell could have
any claim on my property. He wrote back to say that Stanwell and
everyone belonging to him were dead, but that he would come up soon and
see about it. Well, you know he died the next week, and little
Bluebell was left to me. Those were hard times for me, Archie, as you
know. Maud was taken next, and I was left alone with two helpless
children on my hands and my finances in the very deuce of a state. I
forgot all about everything but the troubles that had come upon me.
Then I sent for Eleanor to look after my family, and after she came I
had other reasons you know nothing about for keeping silent concerning
Captain Stanwell. And so the years slipped away, and there it is, you
see. If I had given up the property when I settled here first I should
have been almost destitute. Now, I ask you, is there any living man
could blame me?"
Monteith answered warily. "There are not many men who would have acted
differently in your place, I fear, only--it's rather hard on the boy."
"Pshaw, I don't believe the boy's claim was worth a brass farthing. If
it was, why couldn't his old grandfather have gone to law about it?"
Monteith shook his head. "You don't know those Highlanders; they would
sooner be bereft of every stick or stone they possess than enter a law
court. Besides, you can't deny, Captain, that even had Big Malcolm
wished to take such measures, he well knew that in those days a man of
his class hadn't much chance against one of yours."
Captain Herbert tramped up and down the little room. Monteith sat
silent, waiting. He was able to guess with some degree of accuracy the
workings of his friend's mind. Captain Herbert was a man who believed
in letting circumstances take care of themselves, particularly if they
were of the disagreeable variety; but he would willingly do no man a
wrong; and Monteith well knew that his warm heart was a prey to regret,
and he was therefore full of hope for Ralph. But the Captain had a
stormy journey to traverse before arriving at any conclusion.
"If the matter were taken into a law court now, no fool would say for a
moment that I wasn't the owner of this place after all these years. It
was a howling wilderness when I came here."
"But a court might say you were under some obligation to that boy,
Captain."
"Nonsense! Do you want me to present him with a deed of all my
property?"
"Not at all, but I want you to act fairly by him, as I am sure you
will."
The steady tramp ceased at last, and as Monteith had expected his host
came and stood before the fire.
"It's a mean business, the whole thing, I know, Archie; and I've hated
the thought of it all these years. But what could I do? It was too
late to mend matters when I found my mistake."
"It's never too late to mend," quoted the imperturbable guest. "And
you're comfortably well off now, Captain, with that last legacy."
Captain Herbert evidently did not hear him. "I'm sorry about that
boy," he said, staring into the grate with brows knit, "I'm truly
sorry."
Monteith felt that now was his opportunity, and he put Scotty's case
forward strongly. He was careful not to press the boy's legal claims,
but made much of the moral obligation. Here was a young man with
marked ability and no worldly resources, his high ambitions fettered by
poverty. He had already spent two winters in the lumber camps; he was
getting to be a famous river pilot, and, as matters stood, there seemed
nothing better ahead of him. Ralph was a youth who would probably make
his way in the world somehow, but just now he needed a helping hand. A
little assistance at present would make his fortune, and who so fitted
to give that assistance as Captain Herbert?
The appeal was received in silence. Captain Herbert sat, his brows
drawn together, his eyes fixed upon the fire. "There's another reason,
stronger than any you suspect for my sister's antipathy for the young
man," he said suddenly without looking up. Monteith's eyebrows rose.
"It is a very unpleasant subject to refer to, but it seems necessary
that you should know. When Captain Stanwell came to this country he
was engaged to marry my sister. He came out here, presumably to make a
home for her. A pretty face among the emigrants took his fancy, and he
married shortly after he landed. So you may imagine I am not likely to
have any warm feeling for the rascal's son."
Monteith sat staring. He had come to represent Scotty's righteous
cause, to uphold him as the wronged, and here were the tables turned
upon him.
"All these years, Eleanor never dreamed that the child lived. Indeed,
I am not sure that she knew Stanwell had a child, and of course she
never guessed who little Bluebell's Scotty was. And I naturally didn't
see any reason for enlightening her. She nearly discovered it once,
the first time I saw the boy. But when he brought Bluebell here she
saw the resemblance at once--he's the image of his father--she asked
him his name, and it all came out, and you can imagine the scene. She
sent him off, and ordered the youngster never to speak to him again,
and the poor little monkey's been fairly sick over it. There couldn't
possibly be anything between them, but she liked him; they were chums.
Now don't you see how difficult it is for me to show him any kindness,
even if I wanted to? And I'm sure I don't owe his scoundrel father
much consideration, anyway."