THE BATTLE OF RU-MINARD.
All that night there was marching and counter-marching, and whipping up
of recruits, and drinking of whiskey, and singing of _Gabhaidh sinn an
rathad mor_.[#] Big Archie and his peaceful, or pseudo-peaceful,
counsels were no longer heeded; the movement had been taken up by the
younger fellows, headed by the mischievous Gillie Ciotach; and the
belief became general that orders had been received from the Fishery
Board in Edinburgh to the effect that the Ru-Minard squatters were
forthwith to be driven into the sea. And if the aliens should refuse to
be so driven--should stand up in defence of their little bits of
homesteads--what then?
[#] "We will take the highway."
"It is a lesson they will want," said the Gillie Ciotach, gaily, to his
comrades (they were having a friendly glass together, in a barn lit up
by a solitary candle), "not to come thieving on other people's
lobster-ground, and building huts wherever they like, and not a penny of
rent to the holder of the croft. It is a lesson they will want; and it
is a lesson they will get--to take back home with them, and keep the
others from coming here. Well, now, this is my opinion, that the best
thing for giving a man a rap over the head is a tiller. A tiller with a
handle to it--aw, that is a fine convenient thing!"
"I am going to take an oar over my shoulder," said a brawny young
Hercules.
"And the more fool you, then," said the Gillie Ciotach, who was a
blunt-spoken youth. "For I will tell you this, Feargus: if you strike at
a man with an oar, and he steps aside so that you miss him, then he has
you at his mercy--it does not need a wise man to show you that. Aw, God,
a tiller is a fine thing, when the wood is strong--it is a tiller that
will be my _orra-an-donais*[#] to-morrow." He broke into a loud laugh.
"We will teach them to be telling lies about the Fishery Board!--and it
is little they are thinking now that to-morrow they will be singing
*Farewell, farewell to Fiunary_!"
[#] _Orra-an-donais_--an amulet for sending one's enemy to perdition.
_Donas_ is Satan.
In the morning it was found that the rain had ceased; but worse than
rain was threatening; for all along the west the skies were of a heavy
and thunderous purple--a louring dark wall, as it were--while torn
shreds of grey cloud were being blown along in advance, the precursors
of a gale. Mary and Kaethchen were both at the window, looking out at
the angry heavens and the livid sea beneath, when the maid Barbara came
quickly into the room. For the moment Barbara had lost her pretty
shyness of manner; she was breathless and excited; her eyes were full of
apprehension.
"Oh, mem," she said, "do you know what is happening? They have gone
aweh up the road, a great many of the young lads, and others; and they
have sticks with them; and they are singing _Gabhaidh sinn an rathad
mor_. Oh, I am sure there is harm coming of it! They were saying
something of the strange fishermen out at Ru-Minard--and there will be
fighting."
A sudden dismay filled Mary's heart--dismay, and a curious sense of
helplessness. To whom could she turn for aid in such a crisis--and with
every moment a thing of value?
"Barbara," she said quickly, "I must have some one to go with me. Is
Hector there?"
"No, mem, he went up the hill this morning."
"Or Hugh?"
"No, mem, he was going over to Cruagan, to arrange about the
heather-burning, so I was hearing him say."
Then Mary turned to her friend.
"Kaethchen, who is there? Shall we ask the Minister?"
"Of course, he is the very person to ask--if you really mean to go,
Mamie. But do you think you should?" Kaethchen asked, with serious
eyes. "It sounds like an open riot."
"I don't care--I must try what I can do--for I fear I am responsible,"
Mary said, in a kind of desperation; and then she turned to the young
Highland lass: "Barbara, we shall want the carriage at once--as soon as
ever the horses can be put to. Tell Sandy we are going over to find Mr.
Pettigrew; he can come along and meet us. Tell him not to lose a
second."
And almost directly afterwards the two girls were out-of-doors, hurrying
along to the other side of the village, where was the Minister's
cottage. Kaethchen was unmistakeably frightened; but all the same she
ventured to say--
"Well, Mamie, your friends in London have almost given up asking when
you are going to marry your cousin--you have kept him at arm's length so
long. But I think if Mr. Meredyth were here just now, he would have a
very good chance."
"Why?" said Mary, with a certain coldness.
"Because you want a man's assistance and advice," said Kaethchen.
"Isn't it as clear as daylight? The moment this news comes, you look
round for some man to help you. Is the head keeper there? No. Or the
under-keeper? No. Then you think of the Minister--anybody so long as he
is a man. All quite natural, of course. Only I think if Mr. Frank
Meredyth were here--and you finding yourself in constant trouble and
perplexity--well, I think he would soon take up a very important
position. He might even persuade you to let him send in to Inverness
for a wedding-ring."
"People don't get married in order to make peace among their tenantry!"
said Mary, a little proudly.
"Is he coming here in August?" asked the shrewd Kaethchen.
"Fred wants me to ask him," Mary said, briefly; indeed, at such a time
she was not thinking of any suitor; she was thinking of what might even
now be going forward on the shores of Minard Bay.
The Rev. Mr. Pettigrew received the intelligence of the rising with a
calm and gentle compassion.
"Dear me, dear me!" he said, in his high-pitched, unnatural voice, and
he thoughtfully stroked his long and straggling beard. "What a sad
thing to think of, when brethren might be living together in peace and
ahmity! The heart of man is full of dangerous possibeelities--it is a
sad thing to think of--at this season of the year, when all nature seems
to know that the verdant spring is around us--when all is harmony and
peace--to think that angry passions should arise in the heart of man--"
"Yes, but won't you come at once, Mr. Pettigrew?" said Mary, with
distress in her eyes. "We may be able to do something to prevent
bloodshed. The carriage will meet us--we may be able to overtake them."
But the Minister paused to consider.
"No doubt," said he, reflectively, "to prevent the shedding of blood is
an admirable thing, a commendable thing, and praiseworthy. But there
are times and seasons when even the wisest counsel is of no avail--when
the heart of man is as a fiery steed, untameable, not to be bridled; and
in these times and seasons, what is demanded of us is a judeecious
sympathy, a constant sympathy, a sympathy that does not take sides, but
longs for the return of peace and good will. Strange, indeed, that at
this time of the year--"
"But won't you come with us at once, Mr. Pettigrew!" Mary said, in her
despair. "The carriage will meet us. We must try what we can do. You
see, I am in a measure responsible. I told them what the Fishery Board
had said--that the stranger fishermen had no right to build
huts--and--and I hoped they would go away quietly--but if there is to be
fighting, then surely it is the Minister who should come and try to make
peace."
"Ah, the carriage?" said Mr. Pettigrew, thoughtfully, as he took down
his hat from a peg in the lobby. "That is well considered--well
considered. For if in their anger these misguided craytures should take
to throwing of stons, the carriage could be closed. Ay, ay, that is
very well now; and if their wrath should be intemperate--for who can
gauge the stubbornness of man?--then the carriage can be driven away at
any moment. But what a sad thing to think of--sad thing!--when all
might be dwelling in peace and ahmity--in peace and ahmity."
However, it was no consideration of personal safety that was uppermost
in Mary Stanley's mind at this moment; indeed, so anxious was she to
overtake the rioters that she and her two companions had very nearly got
back to Lochgarra House before they met the carriage. Then the horses
were turned round; and on they drove--past the brawling stream--past the
larchwoods--and up to the height commanding a view of Minard Bay. And
here, at the top, they encountered the first human being of whom they
could ask the news. It was John the policeman. The plump, roseate,
good-natured Iain was calmly seated on a low wall by the roadside; and
he was unconcernedly regarding the wide stretch of white sand across
which some small black figures were now seen to be in motion.
"What are you doing here, John?" said Mary, indignantly.
"I was just looking," said Iain, with an amiable smile--and he glanced
in the direction of the people crossing the white sands.
"Yes, but why are you waiting here?" said she. "Don't you know that
there is likely to be fighting? And it is your duty to prevent that!"
"They will be telling me," said Iain, slowly and comfortably, "that the
strange fishermen have no right to be in the place. Very well, then.
And if they are to be put out of the place, it's not for me to
interfere. If they are wrong, let them go aweh; and if they will not go
aweh, they will have to be put aweh."
This seemed a sound argument--to John.
"But what did the Lochgarra people say to you as they went by?" Mary
demanded. "Didn't you see they were armed with sticks? Don't you know
there will be fighting and bloodshed?"
"Aw, there may be a brokken head or two," said John, with a demure
smile.
"Well, it is your duty to prevent that! These men have no right to take
the law into their own hand. If the strangers will not go peaceably,
they must be removed by the law--not by beating them with sticks. And
you are standing back here--and letting them do what they like!"
"And if they tek to fighting," said John, "it's not me that can stop
them."
This also seemed painfully true.
"But you can do something," she insisted. "You can warn them. You can
take their names. You can threaten them with a prosecution. You can
tell them that--that--Mr. Pettigrew, who is it that prosecutes
here?--the Sheriff at Dingwall?"
"Nay, but I am considering that there is much of reason in what John
says," observed the Minister, in his lofty sing-song; "and perhaps we
should do well to follow his example, and remain as spectators and
witnesses. I perceive that this carriage cannot be closed; and therefore
I do not think it would be prudent--rather would it be rashness, and
culpable rashness--to go forward amid a storm of angry passions. Surely
it would be more prudent for us to remain here, with the constituted
representative of law and order?"
"But I am not going to remain here. John." she said, peremptorily, to
the young policeman. "get up in front. Sandy, drive on quickly; we may
get between those people yet, before the mischief has begun."
And so the horses went forward again--rattling away down the stony hill
until they reached the soft and sandy road skirting the bay. The little
township of Minard was quite deserted, save for the women, who stood in
small groups in the fields or at the cottage-doors, watching what was
going forward out there towards the long headland. Not that they could
see very much, once the black figures had crossed the white breadth of
sand; for the morning was dull and sombre; and the rocks of Ru-Minard,
along which the crofters and fishermen were now making their way, were
dark. But this much was obvious, that at a certain point the crowd
stopped; while two of their number went forward--one of these being of
gigantic size.
"This is Big Archie," said Mary, almost to herself, "and I warned him
that he must get them to go away peaceably."
And no doubt it was as a deputation carrying peaceful proposals that Big
Archie and his companion were now going forward to certain huts
scattered just above the rocks, where also a number of dark figures
could be dimly descried. Peaceful or not peaceful, the negotiations at
all events involved delay; and this delay enabled the party in the
carriage to drive along the road as far as was practicable; then the
horses were stopped, and Mary got down to follow the rioters on foot.
It was in vain that the Minister sought to dissuade her with plaintive
remonstrances; she intimated to him that he could remain in the carriage
if he chose. Kaethchen, on the other hand, though she was thoroughly
frightened, had but the one and sole idea--to remain by Mary Stanley's
side, whithersoever she went. As for the easy-going Iain, he was
distinctly inclined to hang back.
"What can I do?" said he, with occult amusement in his eyes. "If they
will brek one another's heads, how can I prevent it? If it is right
that these men should go aweh, and if they will not go aweh, they cannot
complain if they get their heads brokken for not going aweh."
But Iain's humorous indifference did not last very long. Mary, hurrying
forward, and with eyes anxiously straining, could make out that the two
men were now returning to their friends; presently the blustering wind
blowing in from the sea brought a sound of confused and prolonged
cheering; and she now perceived that the scattered assemblage was moving
on. At the same moment there was the sharp report of a gun; and then it
was that the policeman's face grew grave.
"Is there going to be murder?" said he.
She did not answer him; she was running now--and Kaethchen by her side.
"We must--go right into the middle of it," she said, panting for breath,
"and then--perhaps they will stop."
At first the Lochgarra and Minard fishermen advanced but slowly and
cautiously upon the huts, not knowing where the enemy might mass
himself. The fact is the aliens had been taken unawares; for while they
were as determined as men could be to defend their homesteads, they had
no time to seek for arms, supposing they could have obtained any, while
up here on the rocky knolls there were no stones. They were running
hither and thither about the huts, picking up any bit of wood or any
broken oar they could find; but when they made a sort of group of
themselves, to await the onset of their antagonists, it was clear that
timber had failed them, and other weapons they seemed to have none. But
there they stood, dauntless, sullen, silent--the sea behind them--their
outnumbering foes in front.
And now the invaders knew what was expected of them. It was a shrill
cry from the Gillie Ciotach that led the great hoarse volume of their
cheers; and then, with all kinds of minatory exclamations, they rushed
forward on the devoted band. Who could resist this whirling,
tempestuous, compacted shock? For two or three wild seconds there was
inextricable confusion; and snap here, snap there, cudgel met cudgel, or
descended on solid crown; but it was all over directly; and the next
phase of the battle was that the aliens, as if by one common impulse,
had turned and fled--fled pell-mell down the rocks and towards the
shore, their foes pursuing with fierce and joyous cries. And here it
was that Mary Stanley made her appearance--breathless,
dishevelled--trying to throw herself in the way of Big Archie, who was
leading the pursuit.
"Archie!" she called to him. "How dare you! Let those men alone! I
command you!"
But very little indeed did Big Archie care for her commands; it was
another consideration altogether that at this moment caused himself and
his companions to pause. For the fugitives, as soon as they gained the
beach, had taken refuge behind two boats drawn up there; and as the
boats, with their spars and sails astern, and their lobster-creels and
barrels at the bow, offered excellent shelter, while the beach afforded
unlimited ammunition, the battle was not yet over. In truth, the stones
that were now flying through the air decidedly checked the ardour of the
pursuers; and it was at this moment that Mary again got up to
Gilleasbuig Mor.
"Archie!" she said, indignantly.
An accidental stone struck her on the shoulder. She did not mind. But
another and a sharper one struck her on the wrist; and inadvertently she
drew up her hand with a piteous little cry. She had been cut over the
bone; blood was flowing profusely; and at sight of that, Big Archie--his
eyes blazing with wrath--seemed to go mad altogether.
"Aw, _Dyeea_!" he cried; and he ran forward and leapt into the boat, on
to the middle thwart; he sprang out on the other side; and began to lay
about him with his cudgel as with the hammer of Thor, smiting and
scattering his enemies in all directions. But she was after him in a
moment--nimbly getting round the stern of the boat--and before he had
wholly wreaked his vengeance, she had him by the arm. And here her
interposition did save bloodshed; for the men, finding her between Big
Archie and themselves, refused to throw the stones they had hastily
picked up; quietude was secured at least in this corner of the
battlefield.
But indeed the general interest had already been attracted elsewhere.
When Mary turned to see what was going on landwards, she happened to
notice certain small wavering shreds of pink. It was a very pale pink;
on a clear day, it would hardly have been visible; but against the lurid
sky it was distinct enough.
"What is that?" she said, with a sudden, conscious fear, to Big Archie.
The huge, heavy-shouldered fisherman (who was keeping an eye on his
discomfited foes as he led the way round the stern of the boats) glanced
towards the rocky knolls that had been the scene of the first onslaught,
and said grimly,--
"It wass the Gillie Ciotaeh he wass bringing a can of petroleum with him
this morning, and lobster-creels will be easy to set on fire."
"Do you mean to say they are burning down those poor men's huts?" she
demanded, in a perfect agony of helplessness. "Archie, what is to be
done? Why does not the policeman interfere?"
"Aw, it is no use now," said Big Archie, with much composure. "They are
ahl on fire already--and a good job, too!--for we won the fight, and
that is a proper end to it."
"And this is how you have kept your promise to me!" Mary said, in
accents of bitter reproach.
"As sure as death, mem," said the big good-natured giant, "I wass doing
everything Miss Stanley said--peaceably, peaceably. When I went to them
this morning, I wass saying to them 'You hef no right here.' They said,
'We hef the right here.' I said 'It is no use telling lies; for Miss
Stanley she has written to the Fishery Board; and they hef given you no
right whatever.' And then I says 'It is a fine thing for you to come
here and tek what piece of land you want, and build your houses on it,
and you not paying a penny of rent to the man that has the croft.' Then
they said 'The land is not worth anything; it is only rock.' Then I
says 'That is not your business, as you know very well; and other people
hef to pay rent for it, whether it is rock or good land; and it is
impudent men you are to come and tek things for nothing. I am from
Tarbert on Loch Fyne,' says I, 'and it's stealing they would be calling
that down there.' Well, mem, they were not liking that--"
"I should think not!" said Mary. "Is that what you call asking them to
go away civilly and quietly?"
"But they would not go aweh at ahl, mem!" Archie protested, still
looking towards those pink shreds of flame (and alas! for the poor
discomfited aliens--they had emerged from their shelter, and gone a few
yards up the beach, and were also regarding, hopelessly enough, the
distant crowd and the work of destruction). "They were growing more and
more impudent, mem; and they said they would not go aweh; and I said we
would drive them aweh; and they said we could not do it. And then says I
to them 'Do you see the carriage yonder?--for if you can mek out the
people, it is the proprietor herself, and the Minister, and the
policeman, and they are come down to see that you go aweh from this
place ahltogether, and, by God, if you do not go aweh, we will drive you
into the sea, and set fire to your houses.' 'You cannot do it,' says
they--"
"But how dared you tell them that we had come down for any such
purpose," said Mary, indignantly, "when we only came to prevent
violence?"
"And how wass I knowing that, mem?" said he cunningly. "But I am sure
there wass only the one end to it in any case, when they began to pick
up the sticks. And we were not going to hef the land stolen, and the
lobster-ground tekken up, and be beaten as well; for a man cannot stand
everything, and we had sticks as well as they had sticks--"
"And so you began to fight in spite of all I told you!" she said. "And
I do not know what harm has been done or how many have been hurt. You
yourself, you would have been murdered if I had not come round by the
boats and dragged you away."
"Is it murdering, mem?" said Big Archie, with a grin. "Aw, Cosh, there
would hef been some murdering going before they murdered me!"
And now they came upon Kaethchen, who was standing as one paralyzed,
gazing upon the excited crowd who were collected round the burning huts,
and listening to their shouts and laughter. The moment she turned, she
caught sight of Mary's hand, and uttered a quick cry of alarm.
"It is nothing, Kaethchen," her friend said, "only I wish you'd tie this
handkerchief round my wrist--and pull it tight; it will hurt less then."
"What made you go away down there, Mamie?" said Kaethchen, in her
distress. "I--wanted to stay by your side--but--but I could not face the
stones. It was madness--"
"They did not intend to strike me," said Mary (whose shoulder was aching
cruelly, as well as her wrist). "These poor men, they have nothing left
now but their boats." And then she demanded: "But where was that booby
of a policeman?--why did he not prevent them setting fire to the huts?
And where is the Minister?"
Kaethchen did not know; nor did she care much; all her interests were
engrossed by the strange scene being enacted up there among the rocky
knolls. For, despite the petroleum, and the heaping-on of
lobster-creels and float-barrels, the huts did not burn well; the rain
of the previous night had soddened the thatch, and perhaps the interiors
were none too dry at the best of times; so that the incendiaries had to
keep opening up draught-holes, or flinging on more petroleum, in order
to encourage the flames. And then again that proved too slow work for
their impatience. They got poles and broken oars to use as
battering-rams; they charged the ineffectual doors, and tore down the
smouldering roofs; and when the demolition of this or that rude dwelling
was complete, there were loud and triumphant cheers. Mary did not seek
to interpose. It was too late now. She looked on sadly, wondering what
the poor wretches down by the boats were thinking, and not without some
half-terrified consciousness that she was answerable for all this wreck
and ruin.
"It is shameful!--it is shameful!" she said--almost to herself.
"Well, mem," said Big Archie, who still remained with the two young
ladies, "I will ask you this--when you will find a wasps' nest in your
garden, what will you do? You will not be for going forward and telling
them they were right in tekkin up the place, and that you will not
disturb them; aw, no!--I think it is a bunch of straw you will be
carrying to the place, and setting a light to it, and putting the nest
on fire. Aw, Cosh, that is the sure weh to get rid of them--"
"But these were not wasps--these were men like yourselves," said she,
sharply. "They have as much right to live as you--"
"Ay," said Big Archie, scratching his head in assumed perplexity, "mebbe
they hef as much right to live as we hef--but _not there_. For it wass
Miss Stanley herself that would be saying that."
Mary's face flushed.
"I told you they were wrong in thinking they had any right to be there;
but I did not tell you to go and break out into lawlessness and set
houses on fire with petroleum. Do you think that can be allowed? Do
you think there is no government in this country? Do you think you can
do just as you please? I tell you, the Sheriff from Dingwall will have
to inquire into this matter."
Gilleasbuig Mor did not like the mention of Dingwall.
"If it was brekkin the law," said he, rather gloomily, "it wass not us
that wass brekkin it first. It was them fishermen. And now they can go
aweh hom; and if they ever think of coming back here, they will remember
the day they sah their houses on fire at Ru-Minard."
The work of demolition was now complete. Smouldering thatch and
blackened rafters strewed the ground; nothing remained erect but the
rude stone walls; the alien colony had lost its habitation. And then
the invaders formed once more into a sort of irregular procession; they
shouldered their staves and clubs; three ringing cheers were given--as a
significant message to their vanquished opponents, who still remained
down by the boats; and then the victors set out on their homeward march,
the Gillie Ciotach's shrill voice leading off with "_Gabhaidh sinn an
rathad mor_"[#] while a rough and ready chorus was volunteered by the
straggling ranks. Mary Stanley and Kaethchen, accompanied by Big
Archie, slowly followed, some distance intervening. In truth, Mary's
heart was as lead: all things seemed to be going so ill--in spite of her
most patient and unselfish endeavours.
[#] The chorus of this gay ditty has been thus Englished:
"We will take the good old way,
We will take the good old way,
We will take the good old way,
The way that lies before us;
Climbing stiff the heathery ben,
Winding swiftly down the glen,
Should we meet with strangers then,
Their gear will serve to store us!"
And now they came upon Iain the policeman--bland, benign, complacent as
usual. Iain had remained some little way apart, to let the rioters go
by; his share in the day's proceedings had been limited to a discreet
and not unamiable observation.
"What are you doing here?" said Mary. "Why did you not interfere before
they had set the huts on fire? Don't you see the mischief that has been
done?"
There was a whimsical, demure smile in Iain's eyes.
"I could not be tekkin up all them men," said he.
"Then what are you put here for at all?" she demanded. "Why did they
send you to Lochgarra if you have no authority? What use are you in the
place?"
Iain was far too smooth-tempered to take any umbrage. He did not even
claim to be of any use.
"Aw, well," said he--and he lifted up a bit of dried seaweed and slowly
pulled it to pieces, "the people about Lochgarra, there is not much harm
in them."
"Do you call that no harm--setting fire to houses?"
Iain hesitated--for he wished to be very respectful.
"But if the fishermen had no right to build the houses?" he ventured to
say, with down-cast eyes, and in the most propitiating tones. "And it
was Miss Stanley herself who was telling them that."
"Did I tell them to set the houses on fire? Did I tell them to go and
fight with sticks and stones? I told them to go and try to get those
people away peaceably; and instead of that, here they break out into
open riot, and work all the mischief they can, and you stand by and look
on!"
"Aw, well," said Iain, pulling away at the seaweed, "there is not much
harm done. There is not more than one or two has got a knock."
The hoarse, triumphant chorus--
_"Gabhaidh sinn an rathad mor_
_Gabhaidh sinn an rathad mor_
_Gabhaidh sinn an rathad mor_
_Olc air mhath le cach e!"'_
was growing more distant now; the men were ascending the hill, towards
their own homes--or still more likely they were going on to the village,
to have a good, solid dram after this great exploit. And here was the
waggonette, and Mr. Pettigrew therein, apparently confining his
attention to certain slips of paper. When the two young ladies appeared
and got into the carriage, the Minister put away his MS.; and when the
horses had started for home, he lifted up his high and feminine voice,
and said--
"It is a sad sight we have seen to-day--a sad sight--angry passions
surmounting what should be the calm of the Christian soul--and among
those who might well be living in peace and ahmity. And it is well for
us who can keep apart, and view these things as a passing vision, and
comfort ourselves with pious thoats. 'For they that sleep sleep in the
night; and they that be drunken are drunken in the night. But let us,
who are of the day, be sober, putting on the breastplate of faith and
love: and for an helmet, the hope of salvation.' As for those poor men
out at Ru-Minard, I fear they will be as the beasts of the field and the
birds of the air in the matter of habitation; but they must seek for
higher things; they must say to themselves 'For here have we no
continuing city, but we seek one to come!'"
"You might have gone and tried to save their houses for them!" Mary
exclaimed, bitterly.
But she would say no more. Indeed, she was silent all the way home. A
sense of helplessness, of failure, of despair weighed upon her; all her
fine courage and heroic spirit seemed to have fled. When they got to
the top of the hill at Minard, she turned and looked towards the long
promontory beyond the bay; and there was still a little smoke showing
here and there amongst the smouldering ruins. In spite of herself tears
rose to her eyes. This was the climax of all her splendid schemes. This
was what she had been able to do for the neighbourhood that had been
entrusted to her. Might it not be said of her--
'The children born of thee are sword and fire,
Red ruin, and the breaking up of laws'?
How long was it since she had come to Lochgarra?--and this was the end.
But as they drove on, they came in sight of Lochgarra Bay; and out there
was Eilean Heimra. And no sooner had Mary Stanley's eyes lit on the
distant island than something seemed to stir her heart with a proud
indignation; and if she had spoken, as she dared not speak, she would
have said--
"Ah, it is you, it is you out there who are responsible. It is not I.
It is you alone who have control over these people; and yet you go and
shut yourself up in selfish isolation; and leave me, a woman, to
contend, and strive,--and break down!"
END OF VOL. I.
LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.