The squall which blew the Kinlossie boat round the Eagle Point was but
the precursor of a succession of heavy squalls which quickly changed
into a furious gale, compelling Ian Anderson to close reef his sails.
Even when this was done, the boat rushed through the foaming water with
tremendous velocity, and exhibited that tendency to drinking, to which
reference has already been made; for every time she plunged into the
trough of the sea, a little water came over the bow.
Of course, going as they were at such a rate, the traversing of six or
eight miles of water occupied but little time, and they were soon close
to the bay, at the head of which Kinlossie House nestled among its
trees.
"Come aft, poys," shouted Ian, whose voice, strong though it was, could
scarcely be heard in the bow owing to the roaring of the gale; "she's
trinkin' too much; come aft, an' look sherp!"
The three boys obeyed with alacrity, being well accustomed to boats, and
aware of the necessity of prompt obedience in circumstances of danger.
Thus lightened, the boat ceased drinking at the bow, but, being rather
overweighted at the stern, she now and then took in a little water
there.
Unfortunately the point of rocks which formed the southern end of
Kinlossie Bay obliged Ian to change his course a little in order to
weather them. This was a critical operation. Even the girls had some
sort of idea of that, as their looks bore witness. John Barret felt a
strong inclination to slip his arm round Milly's waist and whisper,
"Don't be afraid, beloved, _I'll_ take care of you!" but want of
courage--to say nothing of a sense of propriety--kept his lips silent
and his arm still.
"Noo, keep stiddy, all of ye," said Ian, as he shifted the helm a
little.
An irrepressible shriek burst from Aggy Anderson, for the boat lay over
so much that the hissing water rippled almost into her, and seemed about
to swallow them up.
"Tak anither haul o' the sheet, Maister Mabberly," cried Ian.
Assisted by Jackman, Mabberly obeyed, and the boat went, as Quin said,
"snorin'" past the rocks, which were now close under her lee, with the
waves bursting wildly over them. Another minute and the outermost rock
was under their port bow. To the eyes of the girls it seemed as if
destruction were inevitable. To make matters worse, at that moment a
vivid flash was succeeded by a loud thunder-clap, which, mingling with
the gale, seemed to intensify its fury, while a deluge of rain came
down. But Ian knew what he was about. With a firm hand on the tiller
he steered past the point, yet so closely that it seemed as if an active
man might have leaped upon the outermost rock, which rose, black and
solid, amid the surging foam.
Another moment and the boat swept safely round into the bay, and was
again put before the wind.
"We're a' richt noo, what-e-ver," said Ian with a grunt of satisfaction.
Never before did a self-sufficient boatman have his words more
effectually or promptly falsified than on that occasion. The distance
between boat and shore at that moment was only a few hundred yards; but
the water all the way was deep, and the waves, in consequence, were
large and wild. There were great possibilities within the brief space
of distance and time that lay before them!
"Tak an oar, Maister Quin, an' help Rodereek to fend off," cried the
boatman. "Hold ticht to the sheet, sir, an' pe ready to let co the
moment I tell ye. Are ye ready wi' the halyards, Muster Airchie?"
"All right, Ian," replied the boy, who stood ready to lower the sail.
They could see that several men were standing on the beach, ready to
render assistance, among them Duncan, the butler, and Ivor, the
gamekeeper. The latter, who had evidently recovered himself, was
standing waist-deep in the foam, as if anxious to grasp the boat when it
grounded.
"Ivor is unusually keen to help us to-day," remarked the laird, with a
peculiar look; but no one was sufficiently disengaged to listen to or
answer him.
At that critical moment Junkie took it into his unaccountable head to
scramble to the fore part of the boat, in order, as he said, to lend a
hand with a rope. On reaching the bow he stumbled; the boat plunged
heavily, as if to accommodate him, and he went overboard with a suddenly
checked yell, that rose high and sharp above the roaring gale!
Of course every man near him sprang to the side and made a wild grasp at
him. The gunwale went down, the sea rushed in, and, in a space of time
brief as the lightning-flash, all the occupants of the boat were
struggling in the waves!
A great cry arose from the shore, and Ivor, plunging into the surf, was
seen to breast the billows with the force of a Hercules. In the moment
of upsetting, John Barret's cowardice and scruples vanished. He seized
Milly by the arm, and held her up when they rose from the plunge.
And now, for the first time in his life, our hero found the advantage of
having trained himself, not only in all manly exercises, but in the
noble art of rescuing life from the water. Instead of rising to the
wild discovery of helpless ignorance, as to what was the best way of
using his great strength, he rose with the comfortable knowledge, first,
that he was a powerful swimmer, and second, that he knew exactly what to
do--at least to attempt. Instead, therefore, of allowing himself to be
hugged, and probably drowned, by the girl he loved, he held her off at
arm's length until he managed to grasp her by both arms close to the
shoulders, and with her back towards him--treading water while doing so.
Then, swimming on his own back, he gently drew her upon his breast, so
that her head rested close to his chin. Thus the girl's face was turned
upwards and held well out of the water, and the youth was able to say
almost in her ear, "Trust in God, dearest, He will save us!" while he
struck out vigorously with his legs. Thus, swimming on his back, he
headed for the shore.
Lest the reader should fancy that we are here merely inventing a mode of
action, it may be well to state that we have conversed with a man styled
"the Rescue," whose duty it was to watch the boys of Aberdeen while
bathing on the dangerous coast there, and who told us that he had saved
some hundreds of lives--many of them in the manner above described.
Every one in the boat was fortunately able to swim, more or less, except
Milly and Aggie Anderson. With the utmost anxiety to save the latter,
her Uncle Ian made a desperate plunge when the boat upset, at the spot
where, in the confusion, he thought he saw her go down. He grasped
something under water, which clutched him violently in return. Rising
to the surface he found that he had got hold of Giles Jackman, who,
animated by the same desire to rescue the same girl, had also made a
plunge at her. Flinging each other off almost angrily, they swam wildly
about in search of her, for Giles had observed that Barret was
sufficiently intent on Milly.
But poor Aggie was in even better hands. Ivor Donaldson had kept his
eyes on her from the moment that he could distinguish faces in the
approaching boat. He was a splendid swimmer. Even against wind and
waves he made rapid headway, and in a few seconds caught the girl by the
hair. In his case the absence of a plan of rescue was to some extent
remedied by sheer strength of body, coupled with determination. The
poor girl did her best to choke him, as drowning people will, but,
happily, she was too weak for the purpose and he too strong! He
suffered her to do her worst, and, with the arm which she left free made
his way gallantly to the beach, where Duncan and all the domestics were
ready to receive them.
Barret and Milly had landed just before them. Immediately after Archie
and Eddie were swept in amid the foam, and Junkie himself--who, like his
brothers, could swim like a cork--came careering in on the top of a
wave, like a very water-imp! With all the energy of his nature he
turned, the moment his feet touched ground, to lend a hand to his friend
Tonal', who was not far behind him.
Thus, one by one, the whole party got safely to land, for the laird,
although old, was still vigorous, and, like the others, able to swim.
MacRummle came in last, and they had some difficulty in getting him out
of the water, for he was rather sluggish, as well as heavy; but he was
none the worse for his immersion, and to the anxieties afterwards
expressed by his friends, he replied quietly that he had become pretty
well used to the water by that time. It was a trying experience,
however, for all of them, and, in the opinion of Ian Anderson, as he
gave it to his wife when they met, "it was a queer way o' feenishin' off
a fery extraor'nar Sawbath tay--what-e-ver!"
One morning, not long after this incident, the gentlemen made up a
shooting party to try the summit of the hill for mountain hares--their
hostess having twitted them with their inability to keep the household
supplied with hare soup.
"I will accompany you, gentlemen, to the shoulder of the first hill,"
observed their host, as he finished his breakfast, "but not farther, for
I am not so young as I once was, and cannot be expected to keep pace
with a `Woods and Forester.'"
"That is not a good reason for your stopping short, laird," retorted
Jackman, with a smile, "because it is quite possible for the `Woods and
Forester' to regulate his pace to that of the Western Isles."
"Well, we shall see," returned his host. "And what does my reckless
Milly intend to do with herself?"
"I mean to have a little picnic--all by myself," said Milly; "that is to
say with nobody but me and Aggy Anderson."
"D'you think that quite safe, so soon after her ducking?" asked Mrs
Gordon.
"Quite safe, auntie, for she has not felt a bit the worse for that
ducking; indeed, she seems much the better for it, and I am quite sure
that hill air is good for her."
"Oh! then, you mean to have your very select picnic on the hills?" said
the laird.
"Yes, but no one shall know to what part we are going, for, as I have
said, we mean to have a day of it all to ourselves; only we will take
Junkie to protect us, and carry our provisions."
There were two of the gentlemen who declined the shooting expedition.
John Barret said he would start with them, but would at a certain point
drop behind and botanise. MacRummle also preferred to make _one more_
effort to catch that grilse which had risen so often to him of late, but
was still at large in the big pool under the fall. The result of the
morning's discussion was that only Mabberly and Jackman proceeded to
assault the hares on the mountain-top, accompanied by Archie and Eddie,
with Ivor Donaldson to guide them.
Up in the nursery--that devastated region which suggested the idea of an
hospital for broken furniture and toys--poor little neglected Flo sat
down on the floor, and, propping her favourite doll up against the
remnant of a drum, asked that sable friend what she would like to do.
Receiving no answer, she said, in a cheery, confidential tone, which she
had acquired from her mother, "I'll tell you what, Miss Blackie, you an'
I will go for a picnic too. Zere's plenty places for you an' me, as
well as for Cuzn Miwy to go to, an' we will let muzzer go wid us--if
she's dood. So go, like a dood chile', an' get your things on."
As the day was particularly bright and warm, this minor picnic was
splendidly carried into effect, in a little coppice close to the house.
There Mrs Gordon knitted and sometimes read, and behaved altogether
like a particularly "dood chile," while Flo and Blackie carried on high
jinks around her.
The Eagle Cliff was the spot which Milly Moss had fixed on for her
select little picnic with the niece of the fisherman. Strange to say,
and without the slightest knowledge or suspicion of this fact (so he
said), John Barret had selected the very same spot for his botanical
ramble. It must be remembered, however, that it was a wide spot.
Seated in a secluded nook, not long after noon, Milly and Aggy, with
Junkie, enjoyed the good things which were spread on a mass of flat rock
in front of them.
"Now I call this jolly!" said Junkie, as well as he could, with a mass
of jam-tart stopping the way.
"It is indeed," returned Milly; "but I don't feel quite sure whether you
refer to the splendour of the scenery or the goodness of the tart."
"To both," returned the boy, inarticulately.
"Do you think you could eat any more?" asked Milly with a grave, earnest
look that made Aggy giggle--for Aggy was a facile giggler!
"No, I don't," said Junkie. "I'm stuffed!"
"Well, then, you are at leisure to fill the cup again at the spring; so
run, like a good boy, and do it."
"How hard you are on a fellow, Cousin Milly," grumbled the youngster,
rising to do as he was bid; but the expression of his jammy face showed
that he was no unwilling slave.
"How old are you, Aggy?" asked Milly when he was gone.
"Sixteen last birthday," returned the girl.
"Ah! how I wish I was sixteen again!" said Milly, with a profound sigh,
as she gazed over the rim of a tartlet she happened to be eating, at the
glittering sea and the far-off horizon. She was evidently recalling
some very sad and ancient memories.
"Why?" asked her companion, who exhibited a very slight tendency to
laugh.
"Because I was so light-hearted and happy at that age."
"How old are you now, Miss Milly?" asked Aggy, in a tone of increased
respect.
"Nineteen," replied the other with a sigh.
Again Aggy's pretty round face was rippled by a suppressed giggle, and
it is highly probable that she would have given way altogether if Junkie
had not returned at the moment and rescued her.
"Here's the water, Milly. Now, Aggy, have you had enough?"
"Yes, quite enough," laughed the highly convalescent invalid.
"Well, then, come along wi' me and I'll show you the place where Cousin
Milly fell down. You needn't come, Milly. I want to show it to Aggy
all by herself, an' we won't be long away."
"Very well, Junkie, as you please. I daresay I shall manage to pass the
time pleasantly enough till you return."
She leant back on a thick heather bush as she spoke, and indulged
herself in that most enjoyable and restful of occupations, on a bright
warm day, namely, looking straight up into the sunny sky and
contemplating the soft fleecy clouds that float there, changing their
forms slowly but continually.
Now it so happened that John Barret, in his botanical wanderings about
the Eagle Cliff, in quest of the "rare specimens" that Milly loved,
discovered Milly herself! This was not such a matter-of-course
discovery as the reader may suppose, for the Eagle Cliff occupied a vast
space of the mountain-side, among the rugged ramparts and knolls of
which several persons might have wandered for hours without much chance
of observing each other, unless they were to shout or discharge the
echo-disturbing gun.
Whether it was the mysterious attraction or the occult discernment of
love that drew him, we cannot tell, but certain it is that when Barret,
standing on the upper edge of the cliff, glanced from the eagle--which
was watching him suspiciously--downward to the base of the cliff, where
the sheep appeared like little buff spots on the green grass, his
startled eyes alighted on Milly, lying on her back, contemplating the
heavens!
At that distance she might have been a mole or a rabbit, as far as
regards Barret's power to discern her face or figure or occupation went;
nevertheless, Barret knew at once that it was she, as his look and
colour instantly indicated. There is something in such matters which we
cannot understand, and, perhaps, had better not attempt to comprehend.
It is sufficient to say that the young man instantly forgot his
occupation, and began to descend the cliff by break-neck routes in a way
that must have surprised--if not alarmed--the very eagle himself. He
even trod some exceedingly rare "specimens" under foot in his haste. In
a few minutes he drew near to the spot where Milly lay.
Then he suddenly stopped, for he remembered that she had that morning
spoken of her picnic as a very private one; and was it not taking a
base, unwarrantable advantage of her, thus to intrude on her privacy?
But then--ah! how fatally, if not fortunately, that "but then" often
comes in to seal our fate--"fix our flints," as backwoodsmen are fond of
putting it!--but then, was not the opportunity unsought--quite
accidental? Would it not be utterly absurd, as well as disingenuous, to
pass her and pretend not to see her, with his botanical box full of her
own favourite plants and flowers?
Love is proverbially blind. The argument was more than sufficient. He
shut his eyes, metaphorically, and rushed upon his fate.
Milly heard him rushing--in reality, walking--and knew his step!
Another instance of the amazing--well--She started up in some confusion,
just in time to appear as if engaged in viewing with interest the
majestic landscape spread out before her. Swooping downwards, and
hovering overhead on grand expanded pinions, the eagle seemed to watch
with keen interest the result of this meeting.
"Pardon this intrusion, Miss Moss. I really did not know you were in
this neighbourhood till a few minutes ago," said Barret, sitting down on
the heather beside her. "I accidentally observed you, and I have been
so very fortunate in finding rare plants this morning, that I thought I
might venture, just for a few minutes, to interrupt the privacy of your
picnic. See, here!" he added, taking off the botanical box and opening
it; "just look at all this!"
"It is _very_ kind of you to take so much trouble on my account, Mr
Barret," said Milly, becoming deeply, almost too deeply-interested in
the plants. "And, oh, _what_ a splendid specimen of the heliographipod.
My dear mother will be so glad to get this, for she is quite as fond of
botany as I am."
"Indeed! Do you expect her soon?"
"Yes; her last letter leads me to expect her very soon now."
Milly looked up as she said this, but there was an expression on
Barret's face which induced her instantly to recur to scientific
research.
Now, good reader, if you think we are going further, and expect us
rudely to draw aside the curtain here, and betray confidences, you are
mistaken. But there is no reason against--indeed, the development of
our story supplies every reason in favour of--our taking note of certain
facts which bear indirectly on the subject before us.
Far away on a shoulder of the mountain, which rose on the other side of
the valley, lying between it and the Eagle Cliff, a grey speck might
have been seen perched on a rock. Even as the crow flies the distance
was so great that the unassisted human eye could not have distinguished
what it was. It might have been a grey cow, or a grew crow, or a grey
rabbit, or a grey excrescence of the rock itself; but a telescope would
have revealed the fact that it was Allan Gordon, the laird of Kinlossie!
Serenity was stamped on the old man's brow, for he was amiable by
nature, and he had been rendered more amiable that morning by having had
a pleasant chat, while ascending the mountain, with Mabberly and
Jackman. The latter he had begun facetiously to style the "Woods and
Forester." The shooting party had left him there, according to previous
arrangement, and the old gentleman had seated himself on the grey rock
to rest and commune with nature for a short time, before beginning the
descent of the steep mountain path, and wending his way homeward.
From his commanding point of observation the entire range of the Eagle
Cliff lay spread out before him, with the sea visible on the extreme of
either hand. The great valley lay between, with impassable gulfs and
gorges caused by its wild torrents, and its level patches, strewn with
the fallen _debris_ of ages, out of which the larger masses of rock rose
like islands in a grey ocean; but these huge masses became almost
insignificant, owing to the overpowering impression of the cliff itself.
For some time the laird gazed at it in silent admiration. Presently a
smile beamed on his countenance.
"Ha! my puss, is that you?" he muttered, as he took a binocular
telescope from his pocket and adjusted it. "I guessed as much. The
Eagle Cliff has powerful attractions for you, what with its grandeur and
the `rare plants' you are so mad about. I _think_ it is _you_, though
at such a distance I might easily mistake a sheep or a deer for you--
and, after all, that would be no mistake, for you _are_ a dear!"
He did not condescend to smile at his own mild little joke, as he
applied the telescope to his eyes.
"Yes, I'm right--and very comfortable you seem too, though I can't make
out your party. Both Aggy and Junkie seem to have left you. Perhaps
the rocks may hide them. It's so far off that--hallo!"
A sudden frown clouded the laird's face as he gave vent to that hallo.
"The rascal!" he muttered between his compressed lips. "He heard at
breakfast, as well as the rest of us, that Milly wanted no intruders.
Humph! I had given him credit for better taste than this implies. Eh!
come, sir, this is quite inexcusable!"
The laird became excited as he continued to gaze, and his indignation
deepened as he hastily wiped the glasses of the binocular. Applying
them again to his eyes, his frown became still darker.
"For shame, you young scamp!" he continued to mutter, "taking advantage
of your contemptible botany to bring your two heads together in a way
that Milly would never have permitted _but_ for that ridiculous science.
Ha! they've let the whole concern fall--serves 'em right--and--no!
dropped it on purpose. What! Do you _dare_ to grip my niece's hand,
and--and--she lets you! Eh! your arm round--Stop!" shouted the wrathful
man, springing up and almost hurling his binocular at the unconscious
pair. But his shout, although fifty times louder, would have failed to
cross the valley. Like his anger, it was unavailing. Thrusting the
glass into its case with a bang, he strode down the mountain-side in
rampant fury, leaving the solemn eagle to watch the lovers as they
plighted their troth under the mighty cliff. Happily they brought the
momentous transaction to a close just before Junkie and the highly
convalescent Aggy Anderson re-appeared upon the scene.
That afternoon, before dinner, John Barret asked Mr Gordon to accord
him the pleasure of a private interview in the library.
"Certainly, sir," said the laird sternly; "and all the more that I had
very much desired some private conversation with _you_."
Barret was not a little surprised at the old man's tone and manner, but
took no notice of it, and went alone with him into the library, where he
made a full and frank confession of his love for Milly, and of his
having proposed to her and been accepted--on condition that her mother
did not object.
"And now, Mr Gordon," added the youth, earnestly, "I have come to
apologise to you, to ask your forgiveness, in fact, and to express my
extreme regret at the precipitancy of my conduct. It had been my full
intention, I do assure you, to wait until I had Mrs Moss' sanction to
pay my addresses to her daughter, but a--a--sudden opportunity, which I
had not sought for or expected--for, of course, I knew nothing of the
place where the picnic was to be--this--this--opportunity, I say, took
me by surprise, and threw me off my guard--and--and--in short, love--Oh!
_you_ know well enough the power of love, Mr Gordon, and can make
allowance for my acting precipitately!"
The old gentleman was touched on a tenderer spot than the young man was
aware of when he made this appeal to his own experience, for, in days
gone by, young Allan Gordon had himself acted precipitately.
But, although the appeal had touched him, he did not allow the fact to
be seen, nor did he interrupt the youth's confession.
"Observe, Mr Gordon," continued Barret, drawing himself up slightly,
"the only wrong-doing for which I ask pardon is undue haste. My
position, financially and otherwise, entitles me to marry, and darling
Milly has a right to accept whom she will. If it be thought that she is
too young and does not know her own mind, I am willing to wait. If she
were to change her mind in the meantime, I would accept the inevitable--
but I have no fear of _that_!"
The laird's features had been relaxing while the enthusiastic youth
proceeded, but the last speech upset his gravity altogether.
"Well, well, Barret," he said, "since you have condemned yourself for
acting hastily, it would ill become your host to overwhelm you with
reproaches, and to say truth, after what you have said, I hope that the
course of true love will in your case run smooth. But, my young
friend," he added, in more serious tones, "I must strictly forbid any
further reference to this with Milly, till her mother comes. She is
under my care and, being responsible for her, I must see that nothing
further takes place till I am able to hand her, and all her affairs,
over to her mother. I will explain this to Milly, and give her to
understand that you will behave to her in all respects as you did before
the occurrence of this unfortunate picnic. Meanwhile it may comfort you
to know that her mother is already predisposed in your favour--naturally
too, for she would be ungrateful, as well as eccentric, if she had no
regard for the man who has twice saved her child's life. Ah! there goes
the dinner-bell, and I'm glad of it, for prolonged speaking fatigues me.
Come along."