THE PIRATE'S LAIR.
It was a bold undertaking; and Kaethchen hardly concealed her dismay;
but Mary Stanley was resolute.
"I must see my enemy face to face," she said. "I want to know what he
means. Why should he stir up enmity and malignity against me? If he
had any thought for those people who seem to regard him with such
devotion, he would be on my side, for I wish to do everything I can for
them. He ought to welcome me, instead of trying to drive me out of the
place. And if he fishes and shoots over the Lochgarra estate simply to
spite me, suppose I refuse to be spited? Suppose I present him with the
shooting and fishing, on condition that he allows me to be kind to these
people? How would that do, Kaethchen? Wouldn't that be a fine revenge?
I think that ought to make his face burn, if he has anything of gentle
blood left in him!"
There was a vibrant chord of indignation in her tone, as there generally
was when she spoke of this young man; for she did not think she was
being fairly treated. But Kaethchen, ignoring the true sources of her
dismay, began to urge objections to this proposed visit, on the ground
of social observances.
"I do really think, Mamie, it will look strange for two unmarried girls
to go away out and pay such a visit--and--to that lonely island. Now if
you would only wait until the Free Church Minister comes home, he might
go with us, and then it would be all right. Not that the Free Church
Minister is certain of a welcome--if the young man is what he is said to
be; but at all events he would be a chaperon for us."
But Mary would not hear of waiting; she would challenge her secret
antagonist forthwith.
"Very well, then," said Kate Glendinning, more seriously than was her
wont, "if we do go, we must have some excuse; and you must tell him you
have come to thank him for having got us out of that frightful bog."
Nor did the uninviting look of the next morning cause Miss Stanley to
alter her resolve. It was hardly a day for a pleasure sail. The wind,
it is true, had abated during the night; and there was not much of a sea
on; but the skies were heavy and lowering; and dark and sombre were
those long headlands running out into the leaden-hued main. But there
was the lobster-boat lying at anchor, in charge of a young lad; and the
dinghy was drawn up on the beach; and a message had just come in that
Big Archie was waiting below to carry wraps and rugs.
"Kaethchen," said Mary, sitting hastily down to her writing-desk, "I
have discovered that the Fishery Board sits at Edinburgh; but I can't
find out who are the members. Do you think I should begin 'My Lords and
Gentlemen' or only 'Gentlemen'?"
"I don't know," said Kaethchen; "I should think 'Gentlemen' would be
safer."
So, in happy singleness of purpose, Mary proceeded to write her letter
about the alien lobster-fishermen--little thinking to what that innocent
action was to lead; then she went and quickly got ready; and by and by
the two girls were on their way down to the beach, accompanied by the
gigantic and massive-shouldered Gilleasbuig Mor. Big Archie, if the
truth must be told, was moodily silent this morning: the fact being that
on the previous evening he had wound up the day's promiscuous indulgence
by "drinking sore," as they say in those parts; and now his physical
conscience was troubling him. But if his conversation was limited to
monosyllables, and if he wore a sad and depressed look, he was,
nevertheless, most kind and assiduous in his attentions to the two
ladies; and when he had rowed them out in the dinghy, and got them
ensconced in the stern of the bigger boat, he did everything he could
for their comfort, considering the rudeness of their surroundings. And
presently, when the anchor was got up, Big Archie came aft to the
tiller; the young lad lay prone on the bit of deck forward, to keep a
look-out; and Mary and her companion knew they were now pledged to the
enterprise, whatever might come of it.
Indeed the two girls were themselves rather inclined to silence. It was
a gloomy sort of morning; there was even a threatening of rain brooding
over the distant headlands; and the dark sea lapped mournfully around
them, with not a single swift-glancing flash of white. But the light
breeze was favourable, and they made steady progress, unfamiliar
features of the coast-line becoming visible on right hand and on left as
they made further and further out to sea.
It seemed a long and weary time--given over to dreamings, and doubtings,
and somewhat anxious forecasts. But all of a sudden Mary was startled
by the voice of the skipper.
"Will Miss Stanley be for going in to Heimra?"
And then for the moment her courage failed her.
"What do you say, Kaethchen? Do you think--we should send a
message--before calling----?"
"Oh, yes, certainly," said Kaethchen, with eagerness. "That is
certainly what we ought to do."
"Oh, very well, then," said Mary, turning to the steersman (but there
was a flush of self-conscious shame on her cheeks), "you need not take
us to the house--we will merely have a look at the island--and some
other day we will come out, when we have told Mr. Ross beforehand."
"Very well, mem," said Big Archie, holding on the same course, which was
taking them by the south side of the island.
It was an angry-looking coast--steep and sheer--a long, low, heavy surge
breaking monotonously along the black rocks. But when they got round
the westward-trending headland, they gradually came in sight of the
sheltered waters of the little bay, and of the sweep of silver beach,
and the solitary cottage perched on its small plateau. And of course
Kaethchen's eyes were full of intensest interest, with something, too,
of apprehension; for this (according to Mr. Purdie) was the pirate's
den; this was the home of the outlaw whose deeds by night and day, by
sea and shore, had gained him so dark a renown. But Mary's attention
had been attracted elsewhither. She was regarding a white marble slab,
placed high on the top of the cliff, facing the western seas.
"Look, Kaethchen," she said, in rather a low voice. And then she turned
to the silent little bay before her. "Poor woman!" she said. "It was a
lonely place to live all those years."
Presently Mary bethought her of the errand that had brought her so far;
and she repented of her irresolution.
"Can you take us into the bay, Mr. MacNicol?" said she, without staying
to consult Kaethchen.
"Aw, yes, mem, zurely."
"For it is a long way to have come--and--and I am anxious to see Mr.
Ross."
"Aw, very well, mem," said Archie, at once altering his course.
And then she said, looking all round the bay:
"But where is the yacht?"
"Is it Mr. Ross's yat, mem? It wass lying in Camus Bheag when I wass
coming aweh last evening."
"And was Mr. Ross on board?" Kaethchen asked, with a quick sense of
relief.
"Indeed I am not zure of that," said Archie. "For mebbe he wass sending
the men over to the mainland, and himself staying on the island."
"In any case, Kaethchen, that need not matter to you," Mary interposed.
"You can remain where you are, and I will go up to the house by myself.
Why should you bother about my business affairs?"
This was a view of the case that was not likely to commend itself to
Kate Glendinning, who could nerve herself on occasion. When the
lobster-boat had come to anchor, and they had gone ashore in the dinghy,
she proceeded to walk up to the house along with her friend just as if
nothing unusual was happening to her. She kept watch--furtively; but
her outward air was one of perfect self-possession. As for Mary, she was
too deeply engaged in thinking how her complaints and demands were to be
framed to heed anything else at this moment.
They knocked at the door, and again knocked; after a little while the
old woman Martha appeared--the surprise in her face being obvious
testimony to the rarity of visitors to this remote island.
"Is Mr. Ross at home?" Mary asked.
It was a second or so before Martha recovered from her amazement--for
she had not seen the lobster-boat appear in the bay, nor yet the
strangers come ashore.
"Oh, no--he is over on the mainland," said the trimly-dressed old woman.
"What a peety--what a peety!"
Mary was rather taken aback; however, she said:
"It is not of much consequence, for, if he is on the mainland--or if he
is in the neighbourhood--I daresay I shall be able to see him before he
returns to Heimra."
And then she was about coming away when Martha interposed, with Highland
courtesy.
"But would not the leddies come in and sit down for a little while--and
hef some tea, or a little milk, or something of that kind? Mr. Ross very
sorry when he knows--to be sure--and a great peety him not here--"
"Oh, thank you," said Kaethchen (whose face had lightened considerably
when she heard of Donald Ross being absent), "it is very kind of you;
and I am sure I shall be very glad to have a glass of milk, if you will
be so kind."
Kaethchen wanted no milk; but she suddenly saw before her a chance of
having her curiosity satisfied without risk: she would be allowed to see
what kind of lair this was in which the savage outlaw lived. And so the
unsuspecting Martha led the way; and the two young ladies followed her
into the passage, and into the first room leading therefrom, which was a
kind of morning-apartment and study combined. They seated themselves,
and she left to get them such refreshment as the out-of-the-world
cottage could afford.
The two girls were silent; but their eyes were busy. The first thing
that attracted their notice was a portrait over the mantelpiece--the
portrait of a very beautiful woman, pale somewhat and dark, with refined
and impressive features, and of a simple yet dignified bearing. A sad
face, perhaps; but a face full of character and distinction: the first
glance told you this was no common person who looked at you so calmly.
Mary said nothing; Kaethchen said nothing; but they knew who this
was--the likeness was too obvious.
And as for the other contents of the room?--well, there were neither
guns, nor rods, nor splash-nets, nor anything else connected with
fishing or shooting, legal or illegal; but there was an abundance of
books in the shelves that lined three walls of the apartment. Moreover,
there was one volume lying on the table before them--beside a wooden
pipe. They regarded this for some little time; but it was Kaethchen who
spoke first.
"Mary, would it be very impertinent if I looked?"
Mary Stanley laughed.
"I don't know," she said. "Most people do pick up things when they are
left in a room. But we are in a peculiar position. We are here without
the consent of the owner."
"Yes, that is so," said Kaethchen, resignedly, and she remained still.
But she continued looking towards the book in a wistful way.
"It's only the title I should like to see," she began again. "What harm
can there be in that? If Mr. Ross were here himself, I would take up
the book in a minute--yes, I would! What do you say, Mary?"
"Well," said Mary, frankly, "I really should like to know what kind of
literature commends itself to any one living in a strange place such as
this. But at the same time we are not his guests--we are intruders--or
if we are guests, we are the housekeeper's guests, and it is but fair to
her we shouldn't pry into secrets."
Kaethchen had risen and gone across to the table: perhaps it would not
be breaking the laws of hospitality if she could get a glimpse of the
title of the book without actually laying hands on it? But the back of
it was away from the light. In these desperate circumstances, Kaethchen
yielded to temptation; she hastily snatched up the volume, glanced at
the title, and as quickly returned to her seat again.
"Good gracious!" said she. "That is fine entertainment for a lonely
island--Joshua Williams's 'Real Property'!"
"A law book?" said Mary, with her face becoming suddenly grave. "I hope
there is not going to be--any trouble--a lawsuit is such a dreadful
thing----"
"Oh, no; I understand what that means," said Kaethchen, "I know quite
well. That is one of the books my brother had when he was reading up
for the bar--I remember it because I spilt some ink over it, and he made
me buy him another. I wonder, now, if Mr. Ross is reading up for the
bar? Wouldn't that be a blessed dispensation of Providence for you,
Mamie--if he were to go away and shut himself up in the Temple, and
leave you Lochgarra entirely in your own hands, shooting, and fishing,
and everything? Only," she added, "I don't quite understand how such a
wild savage as Mr. Purdie described to us would be likely to get on with
the Judges. I am afraid there would be scenes in court. What do they
call dismissing a barrister?--not cashiering?--unfrocking?----"
Kaethchen had suddenly to cease; for here was the elderly Martha,
carrying a large tray amply provided with homely and wholesome
fare--oatmeal cake, soda scones, marmalade, strawberry jam, fresh
butter, and a jug of milk. And Mary did not pause before breaking bread
in the house of her enemy; for she saw that the old housekeeper was
anxious that her bounties should be appreciated; and besides, oat-cake
and marmalade and fresh milk ought to recommend themselves to any
healthily-constituted young woman. By and by, when Martha had left the
room, Miss Stanley said--
"What shall I give her as we are going away, Kaethchen?
Half-a-sovereign?"
"Oh, for goodness' sake, Mamie, don't think of such a thing!" Kaethchen
exclaimed. "At any other time give her anything you like; but you must
not pay for food in this house; you cannot imagine how offended she
would be. She would take it as an insult offered to her master: she
represents Mr. Ross in his absence--it is Mr. Ross who is entertaining
us now----"
"Oh, it is Mr. Ross who is entertaining us?--yes of course," said Mary,
thoughtfully; and--perhaps without noticing the coincidence--she put
down the piece of oat-cake she held in her hand, nor did she take it up
again.
And furthermore, as they were going down to the boat--having made due
acknowledgments to Martha for her hospitality--Mary walked as one in a
dream; while Kaethchen, rejoiced to have come through this dreaded
ordeal with such unexpected ease, was in the gayest of humours. She did
not notice her friend's reverie; she was chattering away about their
foolhardiness in entering the savage's lair--about her surprise in
finding no skulls and bones lying in corners--about the quiet and
studious aspect of the place being a pretty cover for all kinds of dark
and lawless deeds. Mary did not reply; once or twice she looked up to
the white grave on the hill--she was thinking of other things.
But when they had all got into the larger boat again, and set out on
their return voyage, Kaethchen found a companion more of her own mood.
The truth is that while the young ladies were being entertained in the
front part of the house, Big Archie had slipped up to the back, had paid
his respects to Martha, and had been presented, as is the custom in the
west, with his morning dram. This welcome mitigation of his
_Katzenjammer_ had made a new man of him; and he was now disposed to be
as talkative as hitherto he had been morose; so that, as he sate with
his arm on the tiller, he was cheerfully telling the young lady all
about himself, and his doings, and circumstances. And Kaethchen,
finding him thus sociable, and friendly, affected much interest, and
plied him with appropriate questions.
"Do you keep a cow, Mr. MacNicol?" said she.
"Aw, now," said he, deprecatingly, "the young leddy will be mekkin me
ashamed. It's chist Archie they'll be calling me."
"Very well, Archie--do you keep a cow?"
"I starve one," said Archie, with ironical humour.
"And a kitchen garden?"
"Aw, is it a garden? And you will not know that I wass tekken the prize
for the garden, ay, more as three or four years? Well, well, now, there
is no longer a prize given for the best garden, and it's a peety,
too----"
"But tell me," said Kaethchen, with some astonishment, "why was the
prize stopped? It seems a very reasonable thing, a prize for the best
kitchen garden among the crofters and fishermen--I'm quite sure Miss
Stanley would give such a prize. Why was it stopped?"
Big Archie hesitated for a second or two; then he said, with a grin of
confession--
"Well, now, I will tell you the God's truth, mem; for there's two ways
about every story; and there's my way of it, and there's Mr. Purdie's
way of it; and mebbe the one is true or the other. And this is my way
of it: I wass gettin the prize--oh, yes, I will not deny that--year by
year, and very proud I wass, too, of the cabbages, and the scarlet
beans, and the like of that, and the thirty shullins of the prize a very
good thing for me. And then kem the time the Minard crofters they were
for sending an appligation to Mr. Stanley for to have the rents revised,
and I put my name to the paper too; but Mr. Stanley he would do nothing
at ahl--he said 'Go to Mr. Purdie.' Then Mr. Purdie he sees my name on
the paper; and he says, 'Very well, there will be no more prize for the
garden, and you can do without your thirty shullins.' It wass a
punishment for me, that I wass putting my name on the paper. Now, mem,
that is my story about the prize----"
"I think it was very shabby treatment!" Kaethchen exclaimed.
"And that is the way I see my side of it," continued Big Archie,
honestly; "but I am not denying there may be another way. Aw naw, mem,
I want to tell you fair; and Mr. Purdie he would hef another version for
you, if you were to believe it----"
"Well, then, what is his version?" said Kaethchen--for the time being
rather priding herself on playing Mary Stanley's part.
"Well, I wass speaking to Mr. Pettigrew, the minister, and he wass
speaking to Mr. Purdie, about getting the prize back, and Mr. Purdie he
says to Mr. Pettigrew 'No, I will not give the prize back; for there was
not enough competition, and Archie MacNicol he wass always tekkin the
prize, and it wass the same as thirty shullins a year off his rent. The
prize,' he wass saying, 'wass to encourache ahl the people to attend to
their gardens, and not to give Archie MacNicol thirty shullins a year.'
And that's the God's truth, mem, and both ways of the story; but what I
will be thinking to myself is that there wass no talk of stopping the
prize till Mr. Purdie found my name on the paper. That's what I would be
thinking to myself sometimes."
Kaethchen glanced rather timidly at her friend. But Mary was still in
that curiously abstracted reverie--her eyes turned wistfully towards the
now receding Eilean Heimra--her thoughts remote. So Kaethchen merely
said in an undertone--
"Very well, Archie, I will put both versions of the story before Miss
Stanley, and I have no doubt she will do what is right. For my own
part, I don't see why you should be deprived of the prize simply because
you keep a smarter garden than the other people."
A great event happened this afternoon--nothing less than the arrival
from the South of Mr. Watson, the sheep-farmer, Miss Stanley's principal
tenant. The two girls had landed from the boat, walked along the shore,
and were just about turning off towards Lochgarra House, when they were
overtaken by some one riding a stout and serviceable little cob; and
Mary instantly guessed who this must be--for persons on horseback are
rare at Lochgarra. The stranger lifted his hat, but did not draw rein.
"Mr. Watson," said she--looking towards him with a plain intimation that
she desired to speak with him.
Mr. Watson immediately pulled up, dismounted, and came towards her,
leading the cob by the bridle. He was a middle-aged man with a fresh
complexion, grizzled hair, short whiskers, and shrewd blue eyes--looking
prosperous and well-satisfied with himself, and with some little turn
for jocosity about his firmly-set lips.
"I beg your pardon," she said, with a little embarrassment, "but--I
wished to speak with you----"
"Miss Stanley?--I am glad to make your acquaintance," said he, in a
marked south-country accent. And he bowed to Miss Stanley's companion.
"Won't you come into the house for a moment or two?" said Mary, with a
vague notion that she ought to be polite to a tenant who paid her L1400
a year: moreover, she had ulterior ends in view. Mr. Watson consented;
Mary went and called a gardener, who took charge of the cob; and then
the two young ladies and the farmer proceeded up the stone steps, and
through the hall, and into the wide hexagonal drawing-room in the tower.
Then she asked him to be seated, adding some vague suggestion about a
glass of wine and a biscuit after his ride.
"No, I thank ye," said Mr. Watson. "I am a teetotaller--not an ordinary
thing in these parts. Ay, and a vegetarian. But I practise--I don't
preach," he explained, with a complacent smile; "so I do no harm to
other folk. Both things suit me; but I let other people alone. That's
the fair way in the world."
"I wanted to ask you, Mr. Watson," said she, with a certain timidity,
"whether you would be disposed to give up the pasturage of
Meall-na-Cruagan?"
In a second the shrewd and humorous blue eyes had become strictly
observant and business-like.
"To give it up?" he said, slowly.
"I mean," she interposed, "at a valuation. I know it is yours under the
lease; we cannot disturb you; nor should I wish to do so, except
entirely with your own goodwill."
"Miss Stanley," said he, "I will ask ye a plain question: what for do ye
want me to give up the Meall-na-Cruagan?"
"The crofters----"
"Ay, ay, just that," said he, without much ceremony. "They've been at
ye, in the absence of Mr. Purdie. Well, let me tell ye this: I am
willing on my part to give up the Meall-na-Cruagan, at a fair valuation;
but I warn ye that if ye hand it over to the crofters, they'll be not
one penny the better off, and you'll be just so much the worse. Where
are they to get the stock to put on it? They've enough grazing for what
stock they've got."
"Yes, but it is not wholly that," said Mary. "I want to have them
satisfied."
"Ye'll never see them satisfied, though ye gave them the whole Lochgarra
estate for nothing," said this very plain-spoken person. "Surely ye are
aware that the agents of the Highland Land League have been here, as
they have been in every hole and corner of the Highlands; and while some
of them have been making reasonable enough demands, others of them have
been showing themselves nothing but irresponsible mischief-makers,
firing the brains of these poor creatures with revolutionary nonsense,
and trying to turn the whole place into another Ireland. Well, well,
it's not my business; it's not for me to speak; but I warn ye, Miss
Stanley, that giving up Meall-na-Cruagan will not satisfy them. What
many of them want--especially what the more ignorant among them want--is
for the landlords to quit the country altogether, and leave them the
entire stock, lock, and barrel of the estates--the land and all that
belongs to it."
"I know," said Mary, quietly, "what the Land League have been doing; but
if there had not been widespread discontent and distress they could not
have done anything at all. And surely there was reason for the
discontent; look at the reductions the Crofters' Commission have
made--thirty and forty per cent. in some places. However, I am not
concerned with the economic question of the Highlands generally; I am
concerned merely with Lochgarra; and I want to do what is fair by the
tenants; I want to see them satisfied, and as well-to-do and comfortable
as the circumstances will allow. But what has been puzzling me since I
came here," she continued--for this seemed a frank and well-wishing kind
of man, and she was glad to have any sort of help or advice--"is that
when I have spoken about lowering the rent, they have had nothing to say
in reply. They seem rather to look to the Government for aid. Yet you
would imagine that the lowering of the rent would be the first and
all-important thing."
Mr. Watson smiled, in a condescending way.
"I think ye might understand why they would not complain to you about
the rent."
"Why?" she demanded.
He hesitated--and there was an odd look on his face.
"I do not wish to say anything against friend Purdie," he observed.
"But I want to know the truth," she insisted. "How am I to do anything
at all unless I know the exact and literal truth?"
"Well, well, let us put it this way," said Mr. Watson, good-naturedly.
"There's some that would call Mr. Purdie a hard man; and there's some
that would call him an excellent factor, business-like, thoroughgoing,
and skilled in his work. It's not a nice position to be in at the best;
it's not possible to please everybody. And there's different ways of
dealing with people."
All this sounded very enigmatic. Mary could not in the least understand
what he meant.
"I wish you to speak plainly, Mr. Watson," said she. "You may be sure
it will be in absolute confidence."
He considered for a moment. Then he said:
"It's of little consequence to me. Friend Purdie and I get on very
well, considering; and besides I have my lease. But I'll just give ye
an instance of what has happened on this estate, and you'll judge for
yourself whether it's likely the tenants would come to you for a
reduction of rent, or ask ye to interfere in any way whatever. It was
about four years ago that one of the crofts over at Cruagan fell vacant.
Very well. Then Mr. Purdie would have it that the pasture of that croft
should be taken by the other Cruagan crofters, each one paying his share
of the rent; while the arable land of the croft should be added to the
Glen Sanna farm, which was also vacant just then. The Cruagan crofters
objected to that arrangement; Mr. Purdie insisted; and at last the
crofters sent a petition to Mr. Stanley, asking to have the arable land
of the croft as well, or else to be let alone. I am not saying anything
against your uncle, Miss Stanley."
"But I want to get at the truth of the story, Mr. Watson," said Mary,
firmly. "That is the main point. What happened?"
"I may explain that your uncle never interfered with Mr. Purdie," the
farmer continued, rather apologetically, "and that's no to be wondered
at. Many landlords make it a rule not to interfere with their factor,
for of course he's doing the best he can for the estate, and knows about
it better than they can know themselves. Then what happened, do ye say?
What happened was this--at the very next term every crofter that had
signed the petition was served with a notice to quit; and that was only
withdrawn when they undertook to pay, each man of them, L3 a year
additional rent--that is 15s. for their share of the added pasture, and
L2 5s. as a fine for having objected to Mr. Purdie's arrangements.
That's just what happened, Miss Stanley."
Mary was silent for a second or so--looking towards Kaethchen, her eyes
full of indignation.
"Why, it is one of the most abominable pieces of tyranny I ever heard
of!" she exclaimed. And then she turned to Mr. Watson. "If people are
treated like that, can you wonder if the Land League should find it easy
to put revolutionary ideas into their head?"
"At all events," said Mr. Watson, with a shrewd and cautious smile, "ye
will understand that they are not likely to apply to you for any
lowering of rent. They know the consequences."
"Ah, do they?" said she quickly. "Well, I must show them that they are
mistaken. I must convince them they have nothing to fear. They must
learn that they can come to me, without dread of Mr. Purdie or anyone
else. But," she added, with a bit of a sigh, "I suppose it will take a
long time."
Alter some little further conversation, of no great moment, but marked
by much civility on both sides, the farmer rose.
"Any time ye're passing Craiglarig, Miss Stanley, I should be proud if
ye'd look in."
"Indeed I will," said she, going with him to the door. "But I must tell
you now how deeply I am indebted to you. And of course what you have
said shall be kept in the strictest confidence."
"I have told ye the truth," said he, "since ye asked for it. But just
mind this, Miss Stanley--good factors are no that common; and friend
Purdie understands his business. He drives a hard bargain; but it's on
your behalf."
"Yes," said she, "and now I am beginning to see why it is the people
hate me."
That same evening the two girls, who had been out for a long walk, were
coming down the Minard road towards Lochgarra. The twilight was
deepening; the solemn inland hills were growing slowly and slowly
darker, and losing their individual features; the softly lilac skies
overhead were waiting for the coming night. Silence had fallen over the
woods, where the birches showed their spectral arms in the dusk, and
where the russet bracken and withered grey grass were now almost
indistinguishable. It was a still and tranquil hour; sleep stealing
upon the tired world; a little while, and the far, wide,
mysteriously-moving sea would be alone with the stars.
But for Mary Stanley there was no sense of soothing quiet, even amidst
this all-prevailing repose. On the contrary, her heart was full of
turmoil and perplexity; insomuch that at times her courage was like to
give way; and she was almost ready to abandon the task she had
undertaken, as something beyond her strength. And then again a voice
seemed to say to her "Patience--patience--hold on your way--dark as the
present hour may be, the day will dawn at last." And in Kaethchen she
had an excellent counsellor; for Kaethchen had an admirable habit of
making light of troubles--especially those that did not concern herself;
and she was practical, and matter-of-fact, neither over-sanguine nor
liable to fits of black despondency. On the present occasion this was
what she was saying, in her cool and self-possessed way:
"You see, Mamie, I understand the Highland character better than you do.
All that sullenness and ill-will doesn't arise merely from high rent and
Mr. Purdie's tyranny--though that no doubt has something to do with it.
There are sentimental influences at work as well. There is the strong
attachment towards the old family--very unreasoning, perhaps, but there
it is; and there is resentment against those who have displaced them.
Then there may be anger about your uncle having destroyed the ancient
landmarks; and injuries of that kind are not easily forgotten or
forgiven. But every hour that I am in this place," continued Kaethchen,
as they were making home through the strangely-silent dusk, "I am more
and more convinced that what Mr. Purdie said was perfectly correct--that
young Donald Ross of Heimra is just everybody and everything to those
people. He is all-powerful with them. Very well. I cannot believe
that he has stirred up ill-will against you, or even that he wishes it
to continue. He may do everything he can to thwart and madden Mr.
Purdie---why not?--I would do that myself, if I were in his place!--but
how can he have any wish to injure you? Then what I say is this: if you
really mean to go and see him, put entirely out of your mind what you
may have heard about his private character, and his poaching and
smuggling, and remember only that his influence over those people could
make everything quite pleasant to you. Don't go to him as you did this
morning, as an enemy to be challenged and reproached: no, what you have
to do is just to lower your pride a little, and tell him that you have
come to beg for a favour. In fact, I am convinced that a word from him
would entirely change the situation. Mamie, are you going to ask for
it?"
Mary Stanley did not answer: she walked on in silence.