A DISCLOSURE.
And now he was all eagerness to brave the first dragon in his way--the
certain opposition of this proud old lady at Castle Dare. No doubt she
would stand aghast at the mere mention of such a thing; perhaps in her
sudden indignation she might utter sharp words that would rankle
afterwards in the memory. In any case he knew the struggle would be
long, and bitter, and harassing; and he had not the skill of speech to
persuasively bend a woman's will. There was another way--impossible,
alas!--he had thought of. If only he could have taken Gertrude White by
the hand--if only he could have led her up the hall, and presented her
to his mother, and said, "Mother, this is your daughter; is she not fit
to be the daughter of so proud a mother?"--the fight would have been
over. How could any one withstand the appeal of those fearless and
tender clear eyes?
Impatiently he waited for the end of dinner on the evening of his
arrival; impatiently he heard Donald the piper lad, play the brave
Salute--the wild, shrill yell overcoming the low thunder of the Atlantic
outside, and he paid but little attention to the old and familiar
_Cumhadh na Cloinne_. Then Hamish put the whiskey and the claret on the
table, and withdrew. They were left alone.
"And now, Keith," said his cousin Janet, with the wise gray eyes grown
cheerful and kind, "you will tell us about all the people you saw in
London; and was there much gayety going on? And did you see the Queen at
all? and did you give any fine dinners?"
"How can I answer you all at once, Janet?" said he, laughing in a
somewhat nervous way. "I did not see the Queen, for she was at Windsor;
and I did not give any fine dinners, for it is not the time of year in
London to give fine dinners; and indeed I spent enough money in that way
when I was in London before. But I saw several of the friends who were
very kind to me when I was in London in the summer. And do you remember,
Janet, my speaking to you about the beautiful young lady--the actress I
met at the house of Colonel Ross of Duntorme?"
"Oh yes, I remember very well."
"Because," said he--and his fingers were rather nervous as he took out a
package from his breast-pocket--"I have got some photographs of her for
the mother and you to see. But it is little of any one that you can
understand from photographs. You would have to hear her talk, and see
her manner, before you could understand why every one speaks so well of
her, and why she is a friend with every one--"
He had handed the packet to his mother, and the old lady had adjusted
her eye-glasses, and was turning over the various photographs.
"She is very good-looking," said Lady Macleod. "Oh yes, she is very
good-looking. And that is her sister?"
"Yes."
Janet was looking over them too.
"But where did you get all the photographs of her Keith?" she said.
"They are from all sorts of places--Scarborough, Newcastle, Brighton--"
"I got them from herself," said he.
"Oh do you know her so well?"
"I know her very well. She was the most intimate friend of the people
whose acquaintance I first made in London," he said, simply, and then he
turned to his mother; "I wish photographs could speak, mother, for then
you might make her acquaintance; and as she is coming to the Highlands
next year--"
"We have no theatre in Mull, Keith," Lady Macleod said, with a smile.
"But by that time she will not be an actress at all: did I not tell you
that before?" he said, eagerly. "Did I not tell you that? She is going
to leave the stage--perhaps sooner or later, but certainly by that
time; and when she comes to the Highlands next year with her father, she
will be travelling just like any one else. And I hope, mother, you won't
let them think that we Highlanders are less hospitable than the people
of London."
He made the suggestion in an apparently careless fashion, but there was
a painfully anxious look in his eyes. Janet noticed that.
"It would be strange if they were to come to so unfrequented a place as
the west of Mull," said Lady Macleod, somewhat coldly, as she put the
photographs aside.
"But I have told them all about the place, and what they will see, and
they are eagerly looking forward to it; and you surely would not have
them put up at the inn at Bunessan, mother?"
"Really, Keith, I think you have been imprudent. It was little matter
our receiving a bachelor friend like Norman Ogilvie, but I don't think
we are quite in a condition to entertain strangers at Dare."
"No one objected to me as a stranger when I went to London," said he,
proudly.
"If they are anywhere in the neighborhood," said Lady Macleod, "I should
be pleased to show them all the attention in my power, as you say they
were friendly with you in London; but really, Keith, I don't think you
can ask me to invite two strangers to Dare--"
"Then it is to the inn at Bunessan they must go?" he asked.
"Now, auntie," said Janet Macleod, with a gentle voice, "you are not
going to put poor Keith into a fix; I know you won't do that. I see the
whole thing; it is all because Keith was so thorough a Highlander. They
were talking about Scotland: and no doubt he said there was nothing in
the country to be compared with our islands, and caves, and cliffs. And
then they spoke of coming, and of course he threw open the doors of the
house to them. He would not have been a Highlander if he had done
anything else, auntie; and I know you won't be the one to make him break
off an invitation. And if we cannot give them grand entertainments at
Dare, we can give them a Highland welcome, anyway."
This appeal to the Highland pride of the mother was not to be withstood.
"Very well, Keith," said she. "We shall do what we can for your friends,
though it isn't much in this old place."
"She will not look at it that way," he said, eagerly, "I know that. She
will be proud to meet you, mother, and to shake hands with you, and to
go about with you, and do just whatever you are doing--"
Lady Macleod started.
"How long do you propose this visit should last?" she said.
"Oh, I don't know," he said, hastily. "But you know, mother, you would
not hurry your guests; for I am sure you would be as proud as any one to
show them that we had things worth seeing. We should take her to the
cathedral at Iona on some moonlight night; and then some day we could go
out to the Dubh Artach lighthouse--and you know how the men are
delighted to see a new face--"
"You would never think of that, Keith," his cousin said. "Do you think a
London young lady would have the courage to be swung on to the rocks and
to climb up all those steps outside?"
"She has the courage for that or for anything," said he. "And then, you
know, she would be greatly interested in the clouds of puffins and the
skarts behind Staffa, and we would take her to the great caves in the
cliffs at Gribun; and I have no doubt she would like to go out to one of
the uninhabited islands."
Lady Macleod had preserved a stern silence. When she had so far yielded
as to promise to ask those two strangers to come to Castle Dare on their
round of the Western Islands, she had taken it for granted that their
visit would necessarily be of the briefest; but the projects of which
Keith Macleod now spoke seemed to suggest something like a summer passed
at Dare. And he went on talking in this strain, nervously delighted with
the pictures that each promised excursion called up. Miss White would be
charmed with this, and delighted with that. Janet would find her so
pleasant a companion; the mother would be inclined to pet her at first
sight.
"She is already anxious to make your acquaintance mother," said he to
the proud old dame who sat there ominously silent. "And she could think
of no other message to send you than this--it belonged to her mother."
He opened the little package--of old lace, or something of that
kind--and handed it to his mother; and at the same time, his impetuosity
carrying him on, he said that perhaps, the mother would write now and
propose the visit in the summer.
At this Lady Macleod's surprise overcame her reserve.
"You must be mad, Keith! To write in the middle of winter and send an
invitation for the summer! And really the whole thing is so
extraordinary--a present coming to me from an absolute stranger--- and
that stranger an actress who is quite unknown to any one I know--"
"Mother, mother," he cried, "don't say any more. She has promised to be
my wife."
Lady Macleod stared at him as if to see whether he had really gone mad,
and rose and pushed back her chair.
"Keith," she said, slowly and with a cold dignity, "when you choose a
wife, I hope I will be the first to welcome her, and I shall be proud to
see you with a wife worthy of the name that you bear; but in the
meantime I do not think that such a subject should be made the occasion
of a foolish jest."
And with that she left the apartment, and Keith Macleod turned in a
bewildered sort of fashion to his cousin. Janet Macleod had risen too;
she was regarding him with anxious and troubled and tender eyes.
"Janet," said he, "it is no jest at all!"
"I know that," said she, in a low voice, and her face was somewhat pale.
"I have known that. I knew it before you went away to England this last
time."
And suddenly she went over to him and bravely held out her hand; and
there were quick tears in the beautiful gray eyes.
"Keith," said she, "there is no one will be more proud to see you happy
than I; and I will do what I can for you now, if you will let me, for I
see your whole heart is set on it; and how can I doubt that you have
chosen a good wife?"
"Oh Janet, if you could only see her and know her!"
She turned aside for a moment--only for a moment. When he next saw her
face she was quite gay.
"You must know, Keith," said she, with a smile shining through the tears
of the friendly eyes, "that women-folk are very jealous; and all of a
sudden you come to auntie and me, and tell us that a stranger has taken
away your heart from us and from Dare; and you must expect us to be
angry and resentful just a little bit at first."
"I never could expect that from you, Janet," said he. "I knew that was
impossible from you."
"As for auntie, then," she said, warmly, "is it not natural that she
should be surprised and perhaps offended--"
"But she says she does not believe it--that I am making a joke of it--"
"That is only her way of protesting, you know," said the wise cousin.
"And you must expect her to be angry and obdurate, because women have
their prejudices, you know, Keith; and this young lady--well, it is a
pity she is not known to some one auntie knows."
"She is known to Norman Ogilvie, and to dozens of Norman Ogilvie's
friends, and Major Stuart has seen her," said he, quickly; and then he
drew back. "But that is nothing. I do not choose to have any one to
vouch for her."
"I know that; I understand that, Keith," Janet Macleod said, gently. "It
is enough for me that you have chosen her to be your wife; I know you
would choose a good woman to be your wife; and it will be enough for
your mother when she comes to reflect. But you must be patient."
"Patient I would be, if it concerned myself alone," said he; "but the
reflection--the insult of the doubt--"
"Now, now, Keith," said she, "don't let the hot blood of the Macleods
get the better of you. You must be patient, and considerate. If you will
sit down now quietly, and tell me all about the young lady, I will be
your ambassador, if you like; and I think I will be able to persuade
auntie."
"I wonder if there ever was any woman as kind as you are, Janet?" said
he, looking at her with a sort of wondering admiration.
"You must not say that any more now," she said, with a smile. "You must
consider the young lady you have chosen as perfection in all things. And
this is a small matter. If auntie is difficult to persuade, and should
protest, and so forth, what she says will not hurt me, whereas it might
hurt you very sorely. And now you will tell me all about the young lady,
for I must have my hands full of arguments when I go to your mother."
And so this Court of Inquiry was formed, with one witness not altogether
unprejudiced in giving his evidence, and with a judge ready to become
the accomplice of the witness at any point. Somehow Macleod avoided
speaking of Gertrude White's appearance. Janet was rather a plain woman,
despite those tender Celtic eyes. He spoke rather of her filial duty and
her sisterly affection; he minutely described her qualities as a
house-mistress; and he was enthusiastic about the heroism she had shown
in determining to throw aside the glittering triumphs of her calling to
live a simpler and wholesomer life. That passage in the career of Miss
Gertrude White somewhat puzzled Janet Macleod. If it were the case that
the ambitions and jealousies and simulated emotions of a life devoted to
art had a demoralizing and degrading effect on the character, why had
not the young lady made the discovery a little earlier? What was the
reason of her very sudden conversion? It was no doubt very noble on her
part, if she really were convinced that this continual stirring up of
sentiment without leading to practical issues had an unwholesome
influence on her woman's nature, to voluntarily surrender all the
intoxication of success, with its praises and flatteries. But why was
the change in her opinion so sudden? According to Macleod's own account,
Miss Gertrude White, when he first went up to London, was wholly given
over to the ambition of succeeding in her profession. She was then the
"white slave." She made no protest against the repeatedly announced
theories of her father to the effect that an artist ceased to live for
himself or herself, and became merely a medium for the expression of the
emotions of others. Perhaps the gentle cousin Janet would have had a
clearer view of the whole case if she had known that Miss Gertrude
White's awakening doubts as to the wholesomeness of simulated emotions
on the human soul were strictly coincident in point of time with her
conviction that at any moment she pleased she might call herself Lady
Macleod.
With all the art he knew he described the beautiful small courtesies and
tender ways of the little household at Rose Bank; and he made it appear
that this young lady, brought up amidst the sweet observances of the
South, was making an enormous sacrifice in offering to brave, for his
sake, the transference to the harder and harsher ways of the North.
"And, you know, Keith, she speaks a good deal for her self," Janet
Macleod said, turning over the photographs and looking at them perhaps a
little wistfully. "It is a pretty face. It must make many friends for
her. If she were here herself now, I don't think auntie would hold out
for a moment."
"That is what I know," said he, eagerly. "That is why I am anxious she
should come here. And if it were only possible to bring her now, there
would be no more trouble; and I think we could get her to leave the
stage--at least I would try. But how could we ask her to Dare in the
winter time? The sea and the rain would frighten her, and she would
never consent to live here. And perhaps she needs time to quite make up
her mind. She said she would educate herself all the winter through, and
that, when I saw her again, she would be a thorough Highland woman. That
shows you how willing she is to make any sacrifice if she thinks it
right."
"But if she is convinced," said Janet, doubtfully, "that she ought to
leave the stage, why does she not do so at once? You say her father has
enough money to support the family?"
"Oh yes, he has," said Macleod; and then he added, with some hesitation,
"well, Janet, I did not like to press that. She has already granted so
much. But I might ask her."
At this moment Lady Macleod's maid came into the hall and said that her
mistress wished to see Miss Macleod.
"Perhaps auntie thinks I am conspiring with you Keith," she said,
laughing, when the girl had gone. "Well, you will leave the whole thing
in my hands, and I will do what I can. And be patient and reasonable,
Keith, even if your mother won't hear of it for a day or two. We women
are very prejudiced against each other, you know; and we have quick
tempers, and we want a little coaxing and persuasion--that is all."
"You have always been a good friend to me, Janet," he said.
"And I hope it will all turn out for your happiness, Keith," she said,
gently, as she left.
But as for Lady Macleod, when Janet reached her room, the haughty old
dame was "neither to hold nor to bind." There was nothing she would not
have done for this favorite son of hers but this one thing. Give her
consent to such a marriage? The ghosts of all the Macleods of Dare would
call shame on her!
"Oh, auntie," said the patient Janet, "he has been a good son to you;
and you must have known he would marry some day."
"Marry?" said the old lady, and she turned a quick eye on Janet herself.
"I was anxious to see him married; and when he was choosing a wife I
think he might have looked nearer home, Janet."
"What a wild night it is!" said Janet Macleod quickly, and she went for
a moment to the window. "The _Dunara_ will be coming round the Mull of
Cantire just about now. And where is the present, auntie, that the young
lady sent you? You must write and thank her for that, at all events; and
shall I write the letter for you in the morning?"