It was the very next day after the conversation in the library that the
waggonette was sent over to Cove to meet the steamer and fetch Mrs
Moss, who was expected to arrive. As Ian Anderson and Donald with the
ragged head had to return home that day, they were offered a lift by
their friend Roderick.
"I wad raither waalk, Rodereek," said Ian; "but I dar' say I may as weel
tak a lift as far as the Cluff; chump up, Tonal'."
Donald was not slow to obey. Although active and vigorous as a mountain
goat, he had no objection to repose under agreeable conditions.
"What think ye o' the keeper _this_ time, Rodereek?" asked the boatman
as they drove away.
"Oo, it wull be the same as last time," answered the groom. "He'll haud
on for a while, an' then he wull co pack like the soo to her wallowin'
i' the mire."
"I doubt ye're richt," returned Ian, with a solemn shake of the head.
"He's an unstiddy character, an' he hes naither the fear o' Cod nor man
pefore his eyes. But he's a plees'nt man when he likes."
"Oo, ay, but there iss not in him the wull to give up the trink. He hes
given it up more than wance before, an' failed. He will co from pad to
worse in my opinion. There iss no hope for him, I fear."
"Fery likely," and on the strength of that opinion Ian drew a flask from
his pocket, and the two cronies had what the groom called a "tram"
together.
Farther up the steep road they overtook John Barret and Giles Jackman,
who saluted them with pleasant platitudes about the weather as they
passed. Curiously enough, these two chanced to be conversing on the
very subject that had engaged the thoughts of Ian and the groom.
"They say this is not the first time that poor Ivor has dashed his
bottle to pieces," said Barret. "I fear it has become a disease in this
case, and that he has lost the power of self-control. From all I hear I
have little hope of him. It is all the more sad that he seems to have
gained the affections of that poor little girl, Aggy Anderson."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Giles, laughing; "a fellow-feeling makes you
wondrous sharp, I suppose, for I had not observed that interesting fact.
But why do you speak in such pitiful tones of Aggy?"
"Because she is an invalid, and her lover is a drunkard. Sufficient
reasons, I should think."
"No, not quite, because she has almost recovered her usual health while
here, and poor Ivor is, after all, only one of the sinners for whom
Jesus Christ died. I have great hopes of him."
"I'm glad to hear you say so, Jackman, though I don't see that the fact
of our Saviour's dying for us all proves his case to be hopeful. Are
there not hundreds of men of whom the same may be said, yet they are not
delivered from drunkenness, and don't seem likely to be?"
"That is unquestionably true," rejoined his friend; "but such men as you
refer to have not been brought to the condition of renouncing self, and
trusting _only_ in our Saviour. They want to have some credit in the
matter of their own salvation--hence they fail. Ivor, I have good
reason to believe, _has_ been brought to that condition--a condition
which insures success--hence my great hopes of him. I became aware of
his state of mind, partly from having had a long talk with him the other
day, and partly from the report of his good old mother. She told me
yesterday that Ivor had come to her, laid his hand on her shoulder, and
said, `Mither, I've lost all hope o' mysel' noo,' to which the old woman
answered, `That's the best news I've heard for mony a day, my son, for
noo the Lord wull let ye see what He can do for ye.' Ivor's reply to
that was, `I believe ye're richt, mither.' Now I think that was a great
deal to come from two such undemonstrative Celts."
At this point in the conversation they reached a part of the road where
a footpath diverged down to the river, the road itself rising abruptly
towards the Eagle Cliff.
"We separate here," said Jackman. "I need scarcely ask where you are
going, or what going to do! Botany, coupled with inaccessible cliffs,
seems to be your mania just now. Oh! John Barret, my friend, may I not
with truth, in your case, paraphrase a well-known couplet,--
"Milly in the heart breeds Milly in the brain,
And this reciprocally that again?"
"Your paraphrases are about equal to your compositions, Jackman, and, in
saying that, I don't compliment you. Pray, may I ask why you have
forsaken your favourite weapon, the gun, and taken to the rod to-day?"
"Because of amiability--pure and simple. You know I don't care a rush
for fishing, but, to my surprise, this morning MacRummle expressed a
wish to try my repeating rifle at the rabbits, and offered to let me try
his rod, and--I might almost add--his river. Wasn't it generous of him?
So I'm off to have a try for `that salmon,' and he is off no one knows
where, to send the terrified rabbits into their holes. Good-bye, old
fellow--a pleasant day to you."
Left alone, Barret began to devote himself to the cliffs. It was
arduous work, for the said cliffs were almost perpendicular, and plants
grew in such high-up crevices, and on such un-get-at-able places, that
it seemed as if "rare specimens" knew their own value, as well as the
great demand for them, and selected their habitations accordingly.
It was pleasant work, and our hero revelled in it! To be in such
exceptional circumstances, with the grand cliffs above and below him,
with no one near, save the lordly eagle himself, to watch his doings,
with the wild sweeps of mountain-land everywhere, clothed with bracken,
heather, and birch, and backed by the island-studded sea; with the fresh
air and the bright sun, and brawling burns, and bleating sheep, and the
objects of his favourite science around him, and the strong muscular
frame and buoyant spirits that God had given to enable him to enjoy it
all, was indeed enough to arouse a feeling of gratitude and enthusiasm;
but when, in addition to this, the young man knew that he was not merely
botanising on his own account, but working at it for Milly, he felt as
though he had all but attained to the topmost pinnacle of felicity!
It is sad to think that in human affairs this condition is not
unfrequently the precursor of misfortune. It is not necessarily so.
Happily, it is not always so. Indeed, we would fain hope that it is not
often so, but it was so on this occasion.
Barret had about half filled his botanical box with what he believed to
be an interesting collection of plants that would cause the eyes of
Milly Moss to sparkle, when the position of the sun and internal
sensations induced him to think of his midday meal. It was tied up in a
little square paper package. There was a spring at the bottom of the
cliffs. It was near the stone where he had met Milly, and had given way
to precipitancy. Not far from the spot also where he had made Milly up
into a bundle, with a plaid, and started with her towards Kinlossie. No
place could be better than that for his solitary luncheon. He would go
there.
Descending the cliffs, he gained the road, and was walking along towards
the selected spot, when the sound of wheels arrested him. Looking up,
he saw the waggonette turn sharp round the projecting cliff, and
approach him at a walk. He experienced a little depression of spirit,
for there was no one in it, only the groom on the box. Milly would be
sorely disappointed!
"Mrs Moss has not come, I see," he said, as the groom reined up.
"Oo, ay, sir, she's come. But she iss a queer leddy. She's been
chumpin' in an' oot o' the waginette a' the way up, like a whutret, to
admire the scenery, as she says. When we cam' to the heed o' the pass
she chumped oot again, an' telt me to drive on slow, an wait at the futt
o' the first hull for her. She's no far ahint."
"I'll go and meet her. You can drive on, slowly."
Barret hurried forward with feelings of considerable uncertainty as to
whether this chance of meeting his mother-in-law to be (he hoped!)
alone, and in these peculiar circumstances, would be an advantage or
otherwise. She might be annoyed by a sudden interruption in "admiring
the scenery." There would be the awkwardness of having to introduce
himself, and she might be fatigued after all her "chumpin'" in and out
of the waggonette.
He was still pondering these points while he walked smartly forward,
turned the projecting cliff above referred to, and all but overturned
the identical little old lady whom he had run down on his bicycle, weeks
before, in London!
To say that these two drew back and gazed at each other intently--the
lady quivering and pale, the youth aghast and red--is to give but a
feeble account of the situation.
"Young man," she said, indignantly, in a low, repressed voice, "you have
a peculiar talent for assaulting ladies."
"Madam," explained the youth, growing desperate, "you are right. I
certainly have a talent--at least a misfortune--of that sort--"
He stopped short, for, being quite overwhelmed, he knew not what to say.
"It is sad," continued the little old lady in a tone of contempt, "that
a youth like you should so much belie your looks. It was so mean of you
to run away without a word of apology, just like a bad little boy, for
fear of being scolded--not that I cared much for being run down with
that horrid bicycle, for I was not hurt--though I _might_ have been
killed--but it was the cowardly way in which you left me lying helpless
among bakers, and sweeps, and policemen, and dirty boys. Oh! it was
disgraceful."
Poor Barret became more and more overwhelmed as she went on.
"Spare me, madam," he cried, in desperation. "Oh; if you only knew what
I have suffered on your account since that unlucky day! Believe me, it
was not cowardice--well, I cannot say that exactly--but it was not the
fear of your just reproaches that made me fly. It was the approach of
the police, and the fear of being taken up, and a public trial, and the
disgrace of--of--and--then I felt ashamed before I had fled more than a
few hundred yards, and I returned to the spot, but you were gone, and I
had no means of--of--"
"That will do, young man. There is no need to keep me standing in this
wild place. You are living somewhere in this neighbourhood, I suppose?"
"Yes. I am living in the neighbourhood," said Barret bitterly.
"Well, I am going to stay at Kinlossie House. You know Kinlossie House,
I suppose?"
"Oh, yes, I know it."
"There is no occasion to look so fierce or bitter, young sir. I am
going to be at Kinlossie for some time. If you choose to call there, I
shall be ready to listen to your explanations and apologies, for I have
no desire to appear either harsh or unforgiving. Meanwhile, I wish you
good morning."
Saying which, and with a sweeping bow of a rather antiquated style, the
offended lady passed on.
For a considerable time Barret stood motionless, with folded arms,
"admiring the scenery" with a stony stare. A stone about the size of
his fist lay at his foot. He suddenly kicked that violently into space.
Had it been the size of his head, he would probably not have kicked it!
Then he gave vent to a wild laugh, became suddenly grave, thrust his
hands deep into his pockets, and walked up the road with clenched teeth
and a deadly stride.
Mrs Moss heard the laugh as it echoed among the great cliffs.
"What a dreadful young man!" she muttered, hurrying forward.
She thought of asking her driver who he was, but she had found Roderick
to be a very taciturn Highlander. He had not shown much disposition to
converse on the way up, and his speech had not been very intelligible to
her English--or Anglicised--ears. She re-entered the waggonette,
therefore, in silence. Roderick drove on also in silence, although much
surprised that the "young shentleman" had not returned with the "leddy."
But that was none of his business "what-e-ver."
As the little old lady brooded over the matter, she resolved to say
nothing of the meeting to Milly. She happened to possess a spice of
humour, and thought it might be well to wait until the youth should
call, and then, after forgiveness sought and obtained, introduce him at
Kinlossie as the young man who ran her down in London!
Meanwhile Barret walked himself into a better state of mind, clambered
to a nook on the face of one of the cliffs, and sat down to meditate and
consider what was best to be done.
Although he had not gone out that day to shoot, but to botanise, he
carried a light double-barrelled shot gun, in case he might get a chance
at a hare, which was always acceptable to the lady of Kinlossie.
While the incidents just described were being enacted at the base of the
Eagle Cliff higher up, on a distant part of the same cliff, MacRummle
might have been seen prowling among the grey rocks, with the spirit of
Nimrod, and the aspect of Bacchus.
It was the habit of MacRummle, being half blind, to supplement his
vision with that peculiar kind of glasses which support--or refuse to
support--themselves on the human countenance by means of the nose.
These, although admirably adapted for reading, and even for quietly
fishing by the river-side, he found to be miserably unsuited for
sporting among the cliffs, for they were continually tumbling off as he
stumbled along, or were twitched off by his rifle when he was in the act
of making false points.
Perseverance was, however, the strong point in the old man's character--
if it had a strong point at all. He replaced the glasses perpetually,
and kept pointing persistently. He did little more than point, because
the thing that he pointed at, whatever it was, usually got out of the
way before MacRummle obtained a reliable aim. With a shot gun he might
have done better, for that weapon admits of snap-shooting, with some
chance of success, even in feeble hands. But the old man was ambitious.
His object was to "pot" something, as he expressed it, with a single
ball. Of course it was not all pointing. He did fire occasionally,
with no other result than awaking the echoes and terrifying the rabbits.
But the memory of his former success with the same weapon was strong
upon him, and perseverance, as we have said, was rampant. On the whole,
the fusillade that he kept up was considerable, much to the amusement of
Barret (before meeting Mrs Moss!), who rightly guessed the cause of all
the noise.
About midday, like Barret, he prepared to comfort himself with lunch,
and, unlike our unfortunate hero, he enjoyed it in comfort, sitting on a
green patch or terrace, high up near the summit of the cliffs, and a
full mile distant from the spot where the peculiar meeting took place.
Like a giant refreshed MacRummle rose from lunch, a good deal more like
Bacchus, and much less like Nimrod. A rabbit had been watching him from
the cliff above nearly all the time he was eating. It moved quietly
into its burrow when he rose, though there was no occasion to do so,
because, although within easy rifle shot, MacRummle did not see it.
When the sportsman was past, the rabbit came out and looked after him.
Fixing his glasses firmly he advanced in that stooping posture, with the
rifle at the "ready," which is so characteristic of keen sportsmen!
Next moment a rabbit stood before him--an easy shot. It sat up on its
hind legs even, as if inviting its fate, and gazed as though uncertain
whether the man was going to advance or not. He did not advance, but
took a steady, deadly aim, and was on the point of pulling the trigger
when the glasses dropped off.
MacRummle was wonderfully patient. He said nothing. He merely replaced
his glasses and looked. The rabbit was gone. Several surrounding
rabbits saw it go, but did not follow its example. They evidently felt
themselves safe.
Proceeding cautiously onward, the sportsman again caught sight of one of
the multitude that surrounded him. It was seated on the edge of its
burrow, ready for retreat. Alas! for that rabbit, if MacRummle had been
an average shot, armed with a shot gun. But it was ignorant, and with
the characteristic presumption of ignorance, it sat still. The
sportsman took a careful and long--very long--aim, and fired! The
rabbit's nose pointed to the world's centre, its tail to the sky, and
when the smoke cleared away, it also was gone.
"Fallen into its hole! Dead, I suppose," was the remark with which the
sportsman sought to comfort himself. A bullet-mark on a rock, however,
two feet to the left of the hole, and about a foot too high, shook his
faith a little in this view.
It was impossible, however, that a man should expend so much ammunition
in a region swarming with his particular prey without experiencing
something in the shape of a fluke. He did, after a time, get one shot
which was effectual. A young rabbit sat on the top of a mound looking
at him with an air of impudence which is sometimes associated with
extreme youth. A fat old kinsman--or woman--was seated in a hollow some
distance farther on. MacRummle fired at the young one, missed it, and
shot the kinsman through the heart. The disappointment of the old man
when he failed to find the young one, and his joy on discovering the
kinsman, we leave to the reader's imagination.
Thus he went on, occasionally securing something for the pot,
continually alarming the whole rabbit fraternity, and disgusting the
eagle, which watched him from a safe distance in the ambient atmosphere
above.
By degrees he worked his way along till he came to the neighbourhood of
the place where poor John Barret sat in meditative dejection. Although
near, however, the two friends could neither see nor get at each other,
being separated by an impassable gulf--the one being in a crevice, as we
have said, not far from the foot of the cliff, the other hidden among
the crags near the summit. Thus it came to pass that although Barret
knew of MacRummle's position by his noise, the latter was quite ignorant
of the presence of the former.
"This is horrible!" muttered the youth in his crevice below.
"Now I call this charming!" exclaimed the old man on his perch above.
Such is life--viewed from different standpoints! Ay, and correctly
estimated, too, according to these different standpoints; for the old
man saw only the sunny surrounding of the Present, while the young one
gazed into the gloomy wreck of the Future.
Being somewhat fatigued, MacRummle betook himself to a sequestered ledge
among the cliffs, and sat down under a shrub to rest. It chanced to be
a well concealed spot. He remained quietly there for a considerable
time, discussing with himself the relative advantages of fishing and
shooting. It is probable that his sudden disappearance and his
prolonged absence induced the eagle to imagine that he had gone away,
for that watchful bird, after several circlings on outstretched and
apparently motionless wings, made a magnificent swoop downwards, and
again resumed its floating action in the lower strata of its atmospheric
world. There it devoted its exclusive attention to the young man, whose
position was clearly exposed to its view.
As he sat there in gloomy thought, Barret chanced to raise his eyes, and
observed the bird high above him--far out of gunshot.
"Fortunate creature!" he said aloud; "whatever may be the troubles of
your lot, you are at least safe from exasperating _rencontres_ with your
future mother-in-law!"
We need not point out to the intelligent reader that Barret, being quite
ignorant of the eagle's domestic relations, indulged in mere assumptions
in the bitterness of his soul.
He raised his fowling-piece as he spoke, and took a long, deliberate aim
at the bird.
"Far beyond range," he said, lowering the gun again; "but even if you
were only four yards from the muzzle, I would not fire, poor bird! Did
not Milly say you were noble, and that it would be worse than murder to
kill you? No, you are safe from me, at all events, even if you were not
so wary as to keep yourself safe from everybody. And yet, methinks, if
MacRummle were still up there, he would have the chance of giving you a
severe fright, though he has not the skill to bring you down."
Now it is well-known to trappers and backwoodsmen generally that the
most wary of foxes, which cannot by any means be caught by one trap, may
sometimes be circumvented by two traps. It is the same with decoys,
whether these be placed intentionally, or place themselves accidentally.
On this occasion Barret acted the part of a decoy, all unwittingly to
that eagle or to MacRummle.
In its extreme interest in the youth's proceedings the great bird soared
straight over his head, and slowly approached the old man's position.
MacRummle was not on the alert. He never was on the alert! but his eyes
chanced to be gazing in the right direction, and his glasses happened to
be on. He saw it coming--something big and black! He grasped his
repeater and knocked his glasses off.
"A raven, I think! I'll try it. I should like it as a trophy--a sort
of memorial of--"
Bang!
The man who was half blind, who had scarcely used gun or rifle all his
life, achieved that which dead shots and ardent sportsmen had tried in
vain for years--he shot the eagle right through the heart, and that,
too, with a single bullet!
Straight down it fell with a tremendous flutter, and disappeared over
the edge of its native cliff.
MacRummle went on his knees, and, craning his neck, replaced his
glasses; but nothing whatever could be seen, save the misty void below.
Shrinking back from the giddy position, he rose and pulled out his
watch.
"Let me see," he muttered, "it will take me a full hour to go round so
as to reach the bottom. No; too late. I'll go home, and send the
keeper for it in the morning. The eagle may have picked its bones by
that time, to be sure; but after all, a raven is not much of a trophy."
While he was thus debating, a very different scene was taking place
below.
Barret had been gazing up at the eagle when the shot was fired. He saw
the spout of smoke. He heard the crashing shot and echoes, and beheld
the eagle descending like a thunder-bolt. After that he saw and heard
no more, for, in reaching forward to see round a projecting rock that
interfered with his vision, his foot slipped, and he fell headlong from
the cliff. He had not far to fall, indeed, and a whin bush broke the
force of the shock when he did strike; but he was rendered insensible,
and rolled down the remainder of the slope to the bottom. There he lay
bruised, bleeding, and motionless on the grass, close to the road, with
his bent and broken gun beneath him, and the dead eagle not more than a
dozen yards from his side!
"It is not like Barret to be late," observed the laird that evening, as
he consulted his watch. "He is punctuality itself, as a rule. He must
have fallen in with some unusually interesting plants. But we can't
wait. Order dinner, my dear, for I'm sure that my sister must be very
hungry after her voyage."
"Indeed I am," returned the little old lady, with a peculiar smile.
"Sea-sickness is the best tonic I know of, but it is an awful medicine
to take."
"Almost as good as mountain air," remarked MacRummle, as they filed out
of the drawing-room. "I do wish I had managed to bring that raven
home."
At first the party at dinner was as merry as usual. The sportsmen were
graphic in recounting the various incidents of the day; Mrs Moss was
equally graphic on the horrors of the sea; MacRummle was eulogistic of
repeating rifles, and inclined to be boastful about the raven, which he
hoped to show them on the morrow, while Milly proved herself, as usual,
a beautiful and interested listener, as well as a most hearty laugher.
But as the feast went on they became less noisy. Then a feeling of
uneasiness manifested itself, but no one ventured to suggest that
anything might have occurred to the absentee until the evening had
deepened into night. Then the laird started up suddenly. "Something
_must_ have happened to our friend," he exclaimed, at the same time
ringing the bell violently. "He has never been late before, and however
far he may have gone a-field, there has been more than time for him to
return at his slowest pace. Duncan," (as the butler entered), "turn out
all the men and boys as fast as you can. Tell Roderick to get lanterns
ready--as many as you have. Gentlemen, we must all go on this search
without another moment's delay!"
There is little need to say that Barret's friends and comrades were not
slow to respond to the call. In less than a quarter of an hour they
were dispersed, searching every part of the Eagle Cliff, where he had
been last seen by Giles Jackman.
They found him at last, pale and blood-stained, making ineffectual
efforts to crawl from the spot where he had fallen, both the eagle and
the broken gun being found beside him.
"No bones broken, thank God!" said Giles, after having examined him and
bound up his wounds. "But he is too weak to be questioned. Now, lads,
fetch the two poles and the plaid. I'll soon contrive a litter."
"All right, old fellow! God bless you!" said Barret, faintly, as his
friend bent over him.
Roderick and Ivor raised him softly, and, with the eagle at his side,
bore him towards Kinlossie House. Soon after, their heavy tramp was
heard in the hall as they carried him to his room, and laid him gently
in bed.