To insist upon the difference between an impression made when we arrive,
tired and excited at night, in a strange place, and that which the same
scene produces in the early freshness and new life of the morning, would
be to deliver ourselves over to the reign of the truism. It would,
however, have been impossible to feel this with more force than Walter
felt it. His sensations of alarm and excitement struck him not only as
unjustifiable but ludicrous. He laughed once more when he came out of
his chamber into the warm and genial room, which had seemed to him so
mysterious and dark on the previous night. There were windows upon
either side of the fire-place, each in a deep recess like a small room,
so great was the thickness of the wall. They looked out upon the
mountains, upon the narrow end of the loch, all bubbling and sparkling
in the sunshine, and down upon the little grassy slope rough and uncared
for, yet green, which was the only practicable entrance to the castle.
The windows were not large, and the room still not very light, though
the sunshine which poured in at one side made a most picturesque effect
of light and shade. The portraits on the wall were better than they had
seemed, and had lost the inquisitive air of dissatisfied inspection
which Walter's imagination had given them. The book-shelves at the end
gave relief to the room, with their cheerful gilding and the subdued
tone of their bindings. Walter thought of the chamber in the _Pilgrim's
Progress_ turned towards the sunrising, the name of which was Peace. But
peace was not the thing most suggested at Kinloch Houran by any of the
accessories about, and a vision of the chilliness of the gray light in
the afternoon, and the force of the east wind when it came, crossed his
mind in true nineteenth century criticism of the more poetical view. But
in the mean time, the policy of enjoying the present was undeniable,
especially when that present took the form of a Loch Houran trout, fresh
from the water, and cooked as fish only are under such conditions. He
looked back upon the agitations of the evening, and the reluctant angry
sentiment with which he had come to this old house of his family, with
amused incredulity and shame. To think that he could be such an
impressionable fool! He dismissed it all lightly from his mind as he
hurried over his breakfast, with the intention of getting out at once
and exploring everything about. He had even newspapers upon his table
along with the fresh scones, the new-made butter, all the fresh
provisions of the meal. To be sure, it was Glasgow and not London from
which they came--but the world's history was no less instant in them,
flashing from all parts of the world into this home of the ancient
ages.
His first inspection was of the castle itself, which he undertook under
the auspices of old Symington and old Macalister, both eager to explain
and describe what it had been, as well as what it was. What it was did
not consist of very much. "My lord's rooms," those in which he had spent
the night, were the only habitable portion of the great pile. He was led
through the roofless hall, with its musicians' gallery still perched
high up and overshadowed with canopies of ashen boughs, vigorous though
leafless; the guard-room, the supposed kitchen with its large chimney,
the oblong space from east to west which was supposed to have been the
chapel. All was a little incoherent in the completeness of ruin. There
was little of the stimulation of family pride to be got out of those
desolate places. The destruction was too complete to leave room even for
the facile web of imagination. The Crusader, about whom there was a
legend a little too picturesque and romantic to be true, or the lady who
was only saved by his sudden appearance from unfaithfulness, were not
more easy to conjure up within the inclosure of those shapeless walls
than on any unremarkable spot where the story might have been told.
Walter grew a little weary as Symington and the old guardian of the
house argued as to which was this division of the castle, and which
that. He left them discussing the question, and climbed up by a rude
stair which had been half improvised from the ruined projections of the
masonry, to the crumbling battlements above. From thence he looked down
upon a scene which was older than the oldest ruin, yet ever fresh in
perennial youth: the loch stretched out like a great mirror under the
wintry blue of the sky and the dazzling blaze of the sunshine,
reflecting everything, every speck of cloud above and every feathery
twig and minute island below. There was no need to make believe, to
simulate unfelt enthusiasm, or endeavour to connect with unreal
associations this wonderful and glorious scene. Perhaps there was in his
mind something more in harmony with the radiance of nature than with the
broken fragments of a history which he had no skill to piece up into
life again. He stood gazing upon the scene in a rapture of silent
delight. The hills in their robes of velvet softness, ethereal
air-garments more lovely than any tissue ever woven in mortal loom, drew
aside on either hand in the blue space and dazzling atmosphere to open
out this liquid vale of light, with its dark specks of islets, its
feathery banks, all rustling with leafless trees. Every outline and
detail within its reach was turned into a line, a touch, more sweet by
the flattering glory of the still water in which everything was double.
The morning freshness and sheen were still unbroken. It was like a new
creation lying contemplating itself in the first ecstasy of
consciousness. Walter was gazing upon this wonderful scene when the
sharp voice of old Macalister made him start, and take a step aside
which almost had serious consequences: for he stepped back unwarily
upon the crumbling wall, and might have fallen but for the violent grip
of the old man, who clutched him like a shaky Hercules, with a grasp
which was vigorous yet trembling.
"Lord's sake take care," he cried. His face flushed, then paled again
with genuine emotion. "Do you think we have a store of young lads like
you, that you will risk your life like yon? and just in the place where
the lady fell. You have given me such a start I canna breathe," he
cried.
To tell the truth, looking back upon it, Walter himself did not like the
look of the precipice which he had escaped.
"Where the lady fell?" he asked with a little eagerness, as he came to
the battlement.
"Oh ay. I seldom bother my head about what's happened, so to speak, two
or three days since. It was just there she fell. She has been bedridden
ever since, from a' I hear, which just shows the folly of venturing
about an auld place without somebody that knows how to take care of ye.
What would have come of you yoursel', that is the maister of a', if auld
Sandy Macalister had not been there?"
"Thank you, Macalister, you shall find me grateful," said Walter; "but
who was this lady? two or three days ago, did you say?"
"Years--years; did I no say years? Oh ay, it may be longer, twenty or
thirty. I'm meaning just naething in a life like mine. She had some
silly story of being frightened with a gentleman that she thought she
saw. They are keen about making up a story--women folk. She was just the
sister to the man of business, ye'll have heard of her--a pretty bit
thing, if that was of any consequence; but, Lord's sake, what's that
atween you and me, and you ignorant of everything?" the old man said.
"Do you see the chimneys yonder, and the gable end with the crow steps,
as they call it, just pushing out among the trees? That's just your ain
shooting-box--they call it Auchnasheen. I'll tell you the meanings of
the names another time. Out beyond yonder, the big house away at the
point, it's a new place built for his diversion by one of your new men.
Yon island far away that's bare and green is the island of Rest, where
all the loch was once buried: and atween us and that there's another
isle with a gable end among the trees which is just the last place
that's left to an auld race to plant their feet upon. It's a bonnie
piece of water; you that's come from the south you'll never have seen
the like. I'll tell you all the stories of the divers places, and how
they're connected with the Me'vens that are chiefs of Loch Houran; for I
wouldna give a button for that new-fangled title of the Lords Erradeen."
"It has lasted however for some centuries," said Walter, with a sudden
sense of displeasure which he felt to be absurd enough.
"And what is that in a family?" said old Macalister, "I think nothing of
it. A hundred years or two that never counts one way nor another; it's
nae antiquity. If that nonsense were true about the Warlock lord, he
would be but twa hundred and fifty at the present speaking, or
thereabouts, and a' that have ever thought they saw him represent him as
a fine personable man. I have never had that pleasure myself," the old
man said with his shrill laugh. "Where are you going, my young
gentleman? Ye'll just go down like a stane and end in a rattle of dust
and mortar, if you'll no be guided by me."
"Let you his lordship alone, Sandy," cried the voice of Symington,
intermingled with pants and sobs as he climbed up to the parapet. "Ye
must not occupy my lord's time with your old craiks. You would perhaps
like, my lord, to visit Auchnasheen, where the keeper will be on the
outlook: or may be it would be better to organise your day's shooting
for to-morrow, when you have lookit a little about you: or ye would
perhaps like to take a look at the environs, or see the factor, who is
very anxious as soon as your lordship has a moment--"
"Oh! and there is the minister that can tell ye a' about the
antiquities, my lord: and traces out the auld outline of the castle
grandly, till ye seem to see it in all its glory--"
"Or--" Symington had begun, when Walter turned at bay. He faced the old
men with a half-laughing defiance. "I see plenty of boats about," he
said. "I am going out to explore the loch. I want no attendance, or any
help, but that you will be good enough to leave me to myself."
"We'll do that, my lord. I will just run and cry upon Duncan that is
waiting about--"
The end of all this zeal and activity was that when Walter found himself
at last free and on the shining bosom of the loch, he was in a boat too
heavy for his own sole management, sharing the care of it with Duncan,
who was of a taciturn disposition and answered only when spoken to. This
made the arrangement almost as satisfactory as if he had been alone, for
Duncan was quite willing to obey and yield a hearty service without
disturbing his young master with either questions or remarks. He was a
large young man, strong and well knit though somewhat heavy, with a
broad smiling face, red and freckled, with honest blue eyes under sandy
eyelashes, and a profusion of strong and curly reddish hair. He beamed
upon Lord Erradeen with a sort of friendly admiration and awe,
answering, "Ay, my lord," and "No, my lord," always with the same smile
of general benevolence and readiness to comply with every desire. When
they had got beyond hail of the castle, from which Symington and
Macalister watched them anxiously, Duncan mutely suggested the elevation
of a mast and setting of the sail which the vessel was furnished with,
to which Walter assented with eagerness: and soon they were skimming
along before a light wind as if they had wings. And now began perhaps
the most pleasurable expedition that Walter had ever made in his life.
Escaped from the ruinous old pile, within which he had feared he knew
not what, escaped too from the observation and inspection of the two old
men so much better acquainted with the history of his family than
himself, whom he felt to be something between keepers and
schoolmasters--fairly launched forth upon the world, with nothing to
consult but his own pleasure, Walter felt his spirits rise to any height
of adventure. There was not indeed any very wild adventure probable, but
he was not much used to anything of the kind, and the sense of freedom
and freshness in everything was intoxicating to the young man. The small
boat, the rag of a sail, the lively wind that drove them along, the
rushing ripple under their keel, all delighted him. He held the helm
with a sense of pleasure almost beyond anything he had ever known,
feeling all the exhilaration of a discoverer in a new country, and for
the first time the master of himself and his fate. Duncan said nothing,
but grinned from ear to ear, when the young master in his inattention
to, or to tell the truth ignorance of, the capabilities of the boat,
turned the helm sharply, bringing her up to the wind in such a way as to
threaten the most summary end for the voyage. He kept his eye upon the
rash steersman, and Walter was not aware of the risks he ran. He
directed his little vessel now here, now there, with absolute enjoyment,
running in close ashore to examine the village, turning about again in a
wild elation to visit an island, running the very nose of the boat into
the rocky banks or feathery bushwood. How it was that no harm came as
they thus darted from point to point Duncan never knew. He stood up
roused to watchfulness, with his eyes intent on the movements of his
master ready to remedy any indiscretion. It was in the nature of such
undeserved vigilance that the object of it was never aware of it, but to
be sure Duncan had his own life to think of too.
They had thus swept triumphantly down the loch, the wind favouring, and
apparently watching over the rash voyager as carefully, as and still
more disinterestedly than Duncan. The motion, the air, the restless
career, the novelty, and the freedom enchanted Walter. He felt like a
boy in his first escapade, with an intoxicating sense of independence
and scorn of danger which gave zest to the independence. At every new
zigzag he made, Duncan but grinned the more. He uttered the Gaelic name
of every point and isle, briefly, with guttural depth, out of his chest,
as they went careering along before the wind. The boat was like an
inquisitive visitor, too open for a spy, poking in to every corner. At
length they came to an island standing high out of the water, with a
rocky beach, upon which a boat lay carefully hauled up, and a feathery
crest of trees, fine clumps of fir, fringed and surrounded by a
luxuriant growth of lighter wood. In the midst of this fine network of
branches, such as we call bare, being leafless, but which in reality are
all astir with life restrained, brown purple buddings eager to start and
held in like hounds in a leash--rose the solid outline of a house, built
upon the ridge of rock, and appearing like a shadow in the midst of all
the anatomy of the trees.
"That will be joost the leddy's," cried Duncan; at which Walter's heart,
so light in his bosom, gave an additional leap of pleasure. He steered
it so close that Duncan's vigilance was doubly taxed, for the least
neglect would have sent the little vessel ashore. Walter examined the
little landing, the rocky path that led up the bank, winding among the
trees, and as much as could be made out of the house, with keen
interest. The man with the red shirt, who had been the young lady's
boatman on the previous day, appeared at the further point as they went
on. He was fishing from a rock that projected into the water, and
turning to gaze upon the unwary boat, with astonished eyes, shouted
something in Gaelic to Duncan, who nodded good-humouredly a great many
times, and replied with a laugh in the same tongue--
"Yon will joost be Hamish," said Duncan.
"What is he saying?" cried Walter.
"He will just be telling us to mind where we are going," said Duncan,
imperturbable.
"Tell him to mind his own business," cried Walter, with a laugh. "And
who is Hamish, and who is the leddy? Come, tell me all about it." His
interest in the voyage flagged a little at this point.
Duncan thus interrogated was more put to it than by the dangerous course
they had hitherto been running.
"It will joost be the leddy," he said; "and Hamish that's her man: and
they will joost be living up there like ither persons, and fearing God:
fery decent folk--oh, joost fery decent folk."
"I never doubted that. But who are they, and what are they? And do you
mean to say they _live_ there, on that rock, in winter, so far north?"
Walter looked up at the dazzling sky, and repented his insinuation: but
he was, alas, no better than an Englishman, when all was said, and he
could not help a slight shiver as he looked back. Hamish, who had made a
fine point of colour on his projecting rock, had gone from that point,
and was visible in his red shirt mounting the high crest of the island
with hurried appearances and disappearances as the broken nature of the
ground made necessary. He had gone, there seemed little doubt, to
intimate to the inhabitants the appearance of the stranger. This gave
Walter a new thrill of pleasure, but it took away his eagerness about
the scenery. He lay back languidly, neglecting the helm, and as he
distracted Duncan's attention too, they had nearly run aground on the
low beach of the next island. When this difficulty was got over, Walter
suddenly discovered that they had gone far enough, and might as well be
making their way homeward, which was more easily said than done; for the
wind, which had hitherto served their purpose nobly, was no longer their
friend. They made a tack or two, and crept along a little, but
afterwards resigned themselves to ship the sail and take to the oars,
which was not so exhilarating nor so well adapted to show the beauty of
the landscape. It took them some time to make their way once more past
the rocky point, and along the edge of the island which attracted
Walter's deepest interest, but to which he could not persuade Duncan to
give any name.
"It will joost be the leddy's," the boatman insisted on saying, with a
beaming face; but either his English or his knowledge was at fault, and
he went no further.
Walter's heart beat with a kind of happy anxiety, a keen but pleasant
suspense, as he swept his oar out of the water, and glanced behind him
to measure how near they were to the landing, at which he had a
presentiment something more interesting than Hamish might be seen. And
as it turned out, he had not deceived himself. But what he saw was not
what he expected to see.
The lady on the bank was not his fellow-traveller of yesterday. She was
what Walter to himself, with much disappointment, called an old lady,
wrapped in a large furred mantle and white fleecy wrap about her head
and shoulders. She stood and waved her hand as Walter's boat came slowly
within range.
"You will be joost the leddy," said Duncan of the few words; and with
one great sweep of his oar he turned the boat towards the landing. It
was the man's doing, not the master's; but the master was not sorry to
take advantage of this sudden guidance. It was all done in a moment,
without intention. Hamish stood ready to secure the boat, and before he
had time to think, Walter found himself on the little clearing above the
stony bit of beach, hat in hand, glowing with surprise and pleasure, and
receiving the warmest of welcomes.
"You will forgive me for just stopping you on your way," the lady said;
"but I was fain to see you, Lord Erradeen, for your father and I were
children together. I was Violet Montrose. You must have heard him speak
of me."
"I hope," said Walter, with his best bow, and most ingratiating tone,
"that you will not consider it any fault of mine; but I don't remember
my father; he died when I was a child."
"Dear me," cried the lady; "how could I be so foolish! Looking at you
again, I see you would not be old enough for that: and, now I remember,
he married late, and died soon after. Well, there is no harm done. We
are just country neighbours, and as I was great friends with Walter
Methven some five-and-forty years ago----"
"I hope," said the young man with a bow and smile, "that you will be so
good as to be friends with Walter Methven now: for that is the name
under which I know myself."
"Oh, Lord Erradeen," the lady said with a little flutter of pleasure.
Such a speech would be pretty from any young man; but made by a young
lord, in all the flush of his novel honours, and by far the greatest
potentate of the district, there was no one up the loch or down the loch
who would not have been gratified. "It is just possible," she said,
after a momentary pause, "that having been brought up in England, and
deprived of your father so early, you may not know much about your
neighbours, nor even who we are, in this bit island of ours. We are the
Forresters of Eaglescairn, whom no doubt ye have heard of; and I am one
of the last of the Montroses--alas! that I should say so. I have but one
of a large family left with me; and Oona and me, we have just taken
advantage of an old family relic that came from my side of the house,
and have taken up our habitation here. I hear she must have travelled
with you yesterday on the coach, not thinking who it was. Oh, yes; news
travels fast at this distance from the world. I think the wind blows it,
or the water carries it. All the loch by this time is aware of Lord
Erradeen's arrival. Indeed," she added, with a little laugh, "you know,
my lord, we all saw the light."
She was a woman over fifty, but fair and slight, with a willowy figure,
and a complexion of which many a younger woman might have been proud;
and there was a little airiness of gesture and tread about her, which
probably thirty years before had been the pretty affectations,
half-natural, half-artificial, of a beauty, and which still kept up the
tradition of fascinating powers. The little toss of her head, the
gesture of her hands, as she said the last words, the half-apologetic
laugh as if excusing herself for a semi-absurdity, were all
characteristic and amusing.
"You know," she added, "in the Highlands we are allowed to be
superstitious," and repeated the little laugh at herself with which she
deprecated offence.
"What is it supposed to mean?" Walter asked somewhat eagerly. "Of course
there is some natural explanation which will be simple enough. But I
prefer to take the old explanation, if I knew what it was."
"And so do we," she said quickly. "We are just ready to swear to it, man
and woman of us on the loch. Some say it is a sign the head of the house
is coming--some that it is a call to him to come and meet--Dear me,
there is Oona calling. And where is Hamish? I will not have the child
kept waiting," said the lady, looking round her with a little nervous
impatience.
She had begun to lead the way upward by a winding path among the rocks
and trees, and now paused, a little breathless, to look down towards the
landing-place, and clap her hands impatiently.
"Hamish is away, mem," said the woman whom Walter had seen on the coach,
and who now met them coming down the winding path. She looked at him
with a cordial smile, and air of kindly welcome. It was evident that it
did not occur to Mysie that her salutations might be inappropriate.
"You're very welcome, sir, to your ain country," she said with a
courtesy, which was polite rather than humble. Walter felt that she
would have offered him her hand, on the smallest encouragement, with a
kindly familiarity which conveyed no disrespect.
"You should say my lord, Mysie," her mistress remarked.
"Deed, mem, and so I should; but when you're no much in the way o't, ye
get confused. I said, as soon as I heard the news, that it would be the
young gentleman on the coach, and I had just a feeling a' the time that
it was nae tourist, but a kent face. Hamish is away, mem. I tell him he
hears Miss Oona's foot on the bank, before ever she cries upon him; and
yonder he is just touching the shore, and her ready to jump in."
The party had reached a little platform on the slope. The path was
skilfully engineered between two banks, clothed with ferns and grasses,
and still luxuriant with a vivid green, though the overhanging trees
were all bare. Here and there a little opening gave a point of repose
and extended view. Mrs. Forrester paused and turned round to point out
to her visitor the prospect that now lay before them. She was a little
breathless and glad of the pause, but it did not suit her character to
say so. She pointed round her with a little triumph. They were high
enough to see the loch on either side, looking down upon it through the
fringe of branches. Opposite to this was the mainland which at that spot
formed a little bay, thickly wooded with the dark green of the fir
woods, amid which appeared the gables of a sort of ornamental cottage.
Nearer the eye was the road, and underneath the road on the beach stood
a little slight figure in the closely-fitting garb which Walter
recognised. She had evidently been set down from a waggonette full of a
lively party which waited on the high road to see her embark. It was
impossible to hear what they were saying, but the air was full of a
pleasant murmur of voices.
"It is the young Campbells of Ellermore," said Mrs. Forrester, waving
her handkerchief towards the group. "Oona has been spending last night
with them, and they have brought her back. They will all be astonished,
Mysie, to see me standing here with a gentleman. Dear me, they will all
be saying who has Mrs. Forrester got with her?"
"They will think," said Mysie, "just that it's Mr. James or Mr. Ronald
come home."
"Ah, Mysie, if that could be!" said the lady of the isle: and she put
her hands together, which were thin and white, and ornamented by a
number of rings, with a pretty conventional gesture of maternal regret.
Walter stood looking on with mingled amazement and pleasure: pleased as
if he were at a play with all the new indications of domestic history
which were opening to him, and with a sense of enjoyment through all his
being. When the girl sprang into the boat, and Hamish, conspicuous in
his red shirt, pushed off into the loch, the tumult of good-byes became
almost articulate. He laughed to himself under his breath, remembering
all the greetings he had heard along the line of railway, the
recognitions at every station.
"Your daughter seems to know everybody," he said.
"And how could she help knowing every person," cried Mysie, taking the
words, as it were, out of her mistress's mouth, "when she was born and
brought up on the loch, and never one to turn her back upon a neebor,
gentle or simple, but just adored wherever she goes?"
"Oh, whisht, Mysie, whisht! we are partial," said Mrs. Forrester with
her little antiquated graces; and then she invited Lord Erradeen to
continue his walk.
It was the full blaze of day, and the view extended as they went higher
up to the crest of rock upon which the house was set. It was built of
irregular reddish stone, all cropped with lichens where it was visible,
but so covered with clinging plants that very little of the walls could
be seen. The rustic porch was built something like a bee-hive, with
young, slim-growing saplings for its pillars, and chairs placed within
its shelter. There were some flower-beds laid out around, in which a few
autumn crocuses had struggled into pale bloom--and a number of china
roses hung half opened against the sides of the house. The roofs were
partly blue slates, that most prosaic of comfortable coverings, and
partly the rough red tiles of the country, which shone warm through the
naked boughs.
"Every hardy plant could bear
Loch Katrine's keen and searching air,"
was garlanded about the house, the little lawn was as green as velvet,
the china roses were pale but sweet. Behind the house were the mossed
apple-trees of a primitive orchard among the rocky shelves. It lay
smiling in the sun, with the silver mirror of the lake all round, and
every tint and outline doubled in the water. From the door the dark old
castle of Kinloch Houran stood out against the silent darkness of the
hill. Little rocky islets, like a sport of nature, too small to be
inhabited by anything bigger than rabbits, lay all reflected in broken
lines of rock and brushwood, between Walter's old castle and this
romantic house. They were so visible, one to the other, that the mere
position seemed to form a link of connection between the inhabitants.
"We cannot but take an interest in you, you see, Lord Erradeen, for we
can never get out of sight of you," said Mrs. Forrester.
"And I think the old place looks better from here than any other view I
have seen," Walter added almost in the same breath.
They laughed as they spoke together. It was not possible to be more
entirely "country neighbours." The young man had a fantastic feeling
that it was a sort of flattery to himself that his house should be so
entirely the centre of the landscape. He followed the lady into the
house with a little reluctance, the scene was so enchanting. Inside, the
roofs were low, but the rooms well-sized and comfortable. They were full
of curiosities of every kind: weapons from distant countries, trophies
of what is called "the chase," hung upon the wall of the outer hall.
The drawing-room was full of articles from India and China, carved
ivories, monsters in porcelain, all the wonders that people used to send
home before we got Japanese shops at every corner. An air of gentle
refinement was everywhere, with something, too, in the many ornaments,
little luxuries, and daintinesses which suggested the little
_minauderies_ of the old beauty, the old-fashioned airs and graces that
had been irresistible to a previous generation.
"You will just stay and eat your luncheon with us, Lord Erradeen. I
might have been but poor company, an old woman as I'm getting; but, now
that Oona is coming, I need not be too modest; for, though there will
not be a grand luncheon, there will be company, which is always
something. And sit down and tell me something about your father and the
lady he married, and where you have been living all this time."
Walter laughed. "Is it all my humble history you want me to tell you?"
he said. "It is not very much. I don't remember my father, and the lady
he married is--my mother, you know. The best mother----But I have not
been the best of sons. I was an idle fellow, good-for-nothing a little
while ago. Nobody knew what was going to come of me. I did nothing but
loaf, if you know what that means."
"Ah, that I do," said Mrs. Forrester; "that was just like my Jamie. But
now they tell me he is the finest officer----"
Walter paused, but the lady was once more entirely attention, listening
with her hands clasped, and her head raised to his with an ingratiating
sidelong look. He laughed. "They all made up their minds I was to be
good-for-nothing----"
"Yes," murmured Mrs. Forrester, softly, half closing her eyes and
shaking her head, "that was just like my Bob--till he took a thought:
and now he is planting coffee in Ceylon and doing well. Yes? and then?"
"An old man arrived one evening," said Walter, half laughing, "and told
me--that I was Lord Erradeen. And do you know, from that moment nobody,
not even I myself, would believe that I had ever loafed or idled or been
good-for-nothing."
There was a pause, in which Walter thought he heard some one move behind
him. But no sound reached Mrs. Forrester, who responded eagerly--
"My son, the present Eaglescairn, was just of the same kind," she said,
reflectively. She had a comparison ready for every case that could be
suggested--"till he came of age. It was in the will that they were to
come of age only at twenty-five, and till then I had a sore time. Oh,
Oona, my dear, is that you? And had you a pleasant evening. Here is
young Lord Erradeen that has come in, most kindly, I'm sure, to tell me
about his father, that I knew so well. And it appears you met upon the
coach yesterday. Come away, my dear, come away! And that was just most
curious that, knowing nothing of one another, you should meet upon the
coach."
Oona came in lightly, in her out-door dress. She gave Walter a look
which was very friendly. She had paused for a moment at the door, and
she had heard his confession. It seemed to Oona that what he said was
generous and manly. She was used to forming quick impressions. She had
been annoyed when she had heard from Hamish of the visitor, but her mind
changed when she heard what he said. She came up to him and held out her
hand. The fresh air was in her face, which Walter thought was like the
morning, all bright and fresh and full of life. She made him a little
curtsey with much gravity, and said in the pretty voice which was so
fresh and sweet, and with that novelty of accent which had amused and
delighted the young man, "You are welcome to your own country Lord
Erradeen."
"Now that is very pretty of you, Oona," cried her mother. "I never
thought you would remember to pay your little compliment, as a well-bred
person should; for, to tell the truth, she is just too brusque--it is
her fault."
"Hamish told me what to say," said Oona, with a glance of provocation.
"He is a very well-bred person. He told me I was to bid my lord welcome
to his own."
"Oh, my dear, you need not take away the merit of it, as if you had not
thought of it yourself," said the mother, aggrieved; "but run away and
take off your hat, and let us have our lunch, for Lord Erradeen has been
all the morning on the water and he will be hungry, and you are all
blown about with the wind."
The young people exchanged looks, while Mrs. Forrester made her little
protest. There was a sort of laughing interchange between them, in which
she was mocking and he apologetic. Why, neither could have said. They
understood each other, though they by no means clearly understood each
what he and she meant. There was to be a little war between them, all in
good-humour and good-fellowship, not insipid agreement and politeness.
The next hour was, Walter thought, the most pleasant he had ever spent
in his life. He had not been ignorant of such enjoyments before. When we
said that various mothers in Sloebury had with the first news of his
elevation suffered a sudden pang of self-reproach, to think how they had
put a stop to certain passages, the end of which might now have been to
raise a daughter to the peerage, it must have been understood that
Walter was not altogether a novice in the society of women; but this had
a new flavour which was delightful to him. It had been pleasant enough
in the cottage, when Julia Herbert sang, and on other occasions not
necessary to enter into. But on this romantic isle, where the sound of
the loch upon the rocks made a soft accompaniment to everything, in a
retirement which no vulgar interruption could reach, with the faded
beauty on one side, scarcely able to forget the old pretty mannerisms
of conquest even in her real maternal kindness and frank Highland
hospitality, and the girl, with her laughing defiance on the other, he
felt himself to have entered a new chapter of history. The whole new
world into which he had come became visible to him in their
conversation. He heard how he himself had been looked for, and how "the
whole loch" had known something about him for years before he had ever
heard of Loch Houran. "We used to know you as the 'English lad,'" Oona
said, with her glance of mischief. All this amused Walter more than
words can say. The sun was dropping towards the west before--escorted to
the landing-place by both the ladies, and taken leave of as an old
friend--he joined the slow-spoken Duncan, and addressed himself to the
homeward voyage. Duncan had not been slow of speech in the congenial
company of Hamish. They had discussed the new-comer at length, with many
a shaft of humour and criticism, during the visit which Duncan had paid
to the kitchen. He blushed not now, secure in the stronghold of his
unknown tongue, to break off in a witty remark at Walter's expense as he
turned to his master his beaming smile of devotion. They set off
together, master and man, happy yet regretful, upon their homeward way.
And it was a tough row back to Kinloch Houran against the fresh and not
too quiet Highland wind.