THE TWELFTH.
When Lionel went down early next morning, he found Lady Adela's father
in sole possession; and was not long in discovering that the old earl
was in a towering rage.
"Good-morning!" said this tall, pale, stooping-shouldered old gentleman,
whose quite hairless face was surmounted by a brown wig. "Well, what do
you think of last night's performance? What do you think of it? Did you
ever know of any such gross outrage on common decency? Why, God bless
my soul and body, I never heard of such a thing!"
Lionel knew quite well what he meant. The fact was that a Free Church
minister whom Sir Hugh Cunyngham had met somewhere had called at Aivron
Lodge; as the custom of that part of the country is, he was invited to
stay to dinner; he sat late, told many stories, and drank a good deal of
whiskey, until it was not judged prudent to let him try to get his pony
across the ford, even if hospitality had not demanded that he should be
offered a room for the night; and then, when every one was thinking of
getting away to bed, the worthy man must needs insist on having family
worship, to which the servants had also to be summoned. It was the
inordinate length of this service at such a time of night that had
driven old Lord Fareborough to the verge of madness.
"Look at me!" he said to Lionel, in tones of deep and bitter
indignation. "Look at me--a skeleton--a wreck of a human being, who can
only get along by the most careful nursing of his nervous system. My
heart is affected; I have serious doubts about the state of my lungs? it
is only through the most assiduous nursing of my nerves that
I exist at all. And what is more maddening than enforced
restraint--imprisonment--no chance of leaving the room, with all those
strange servants at the door; why, God bless my soul, I call it an
outrage! I yield to no one in respect for the cloth, whether it is worn
by a Presbyterian, or a Catholic, or one of my own church; but I say
that no one has a right to thrust religious services down my throat!
What the devil did Cunyngham mean by asking him to stay to dinner at
all?"
"As I understand it," said Lionel, with a becoming diffidence, "it was
some suggestion of Captain Waveney's. He said the Free Church ministers
were particular friends of the crofters--and of course the good-will of
the crofters is of importance to a shooting-tenant--"
"The good-will of the crofters!" the bewigged old nobleman broke in,
impatiently. "Are you aware, sir, that the Strathaivron Branch of the
Land League met last week and passed a resolution declaring salmon to be
ground-game? What are you to do with people like that? How are you to
reason with them? What is the use of pacifying them? They are in the
hands of violent and malevolent revolutionaries--it is war they
want--it is 1789 they want--it is plunder and robbery and confiscation
they want--and the right of every man to live idle at the cost of the
state! Why, God bless my soul! the idea that you are to try to pacify
these ignorant savages--"
But here Lionel, who began to fancy that he had discovered another
Octavius Quirk, was afforded relief; for the minister himself appeared;
and at the very sight of him Lord Fareborough indignantly quitted the
room. The minister, who was a rather irascible-looking little man with a
weather-reddened face and rusty whiskers, inquired of Lionel whether it
was possible to procure a glass of milk; but when Lionel rang the bell
and had some brought for him, the minister observed that milk by itself
was a dangerous thing in the morning; whereupon the butler had to be
sent for, who produced the spirit-decanter; and then, and finally, the
minister, boldly discarding the milk altogether, poured out for himself
a good solid dram, and drank it off with much evident satisfaction.
Now the ladies began to make their appearance, some of them going along
to the gun-room to hear what the head keeper had to say, others of them
trooping out by the front door to guess at the weather. Among the latter
was Miss Honnor Cunyngham; and Lionel, who had followed her, went up to
her.
"A beautiful morning, isn't it?" he said.
"I'm afraid it's too beautiful," said she, in reply. "Look up there."
And she was right. This was far too picturesque and vivid a morning to
portend well for a shooting-day. Down at the farther end of the strath,
the skies were banked up with dark and heavy clouds; the lake-like sweep
of the river was of a sombre and livid blue; and between the indigo
stream and the purple skies, a long neck of land, catching the sunlight,
burned the most brilliant gold. And even as they stood and looked, a
faint gray veil gradually interposed between them and the distant
landscape; a rainbow slowly formed, spanning the broad valley; and then
behind the fairy curtain of the shower they could see the yellow
river-banks, and the birchwoods, and the farther-stretching hills all
vaguely and spectrally shining in the sun.
"But this is a very peculiar glen," said she. "It often threatens like
that when it means nothing. You may get a perfectly dry, still day after
all. And, Mr. Moore, may I ask you if what you said about your shooting
yesterday afternoon was entirely true or only a bit of modesty?"
"If it comes to that," he said, "I never shot a grouse in my life--no,
nor ever shot _at_ one."
"Because," she continued, with a certain hesitation which was indeed far
removed from her usual manner, "because you--you seem rather sensitive
to criticism--to other people's opinion--and if you wouldn't think it
impertinent of me to offer you some hints--well, for what they are
worth--"
"But I should be immensely grateful!" he answered at once.
"Well," she said, in an undertone, so that no one should overhear, "you
know, on the Twelfth, with such still weather as we have had for the
last week or two, the birds are never wild; you needn't be in the least
anxious; you won't be called upon for snap-shots at all; you can afford
to take plenty of time and get well on to the birds before you fire. You
see, you will be in the middle; you will take any bird that gets up in
front of you; my brother and Captain Waveney will take the outside ones
and the awkward cross-shots. And if a covey gets up all at once, they
won't expect you to pick out the old cock first; they'll do all that; in
fact, you must put yourself at your ease, and not be anxious, and
everything will be right."
"Honnor!" called Lady Adela, "Come away at once--breakfast is in." So
that Lionel had no proper opportunity of thanking the young lady for her
friendly counsel and the interest she took in his small affairs.
Breakfast was a merry meal; for, as soon as the things had been brought
in, the servants were allowed to leave; and while Lady Adela poured out
the tea and coffee, the gentlemen carved for themselves at the sideboard
or handed round the dishes at table. The Rev. Mr. MacNachten, the little
Free Church minister, was especially vivacious and humorous, abounding
with facetious anecdotes and jests and personal reminiscences; until,
observing that breakfast was over, he composed his countenance and
proceeded to return thanks. The grace (in spite of Lord Fareborough's
nervous qualms) was comparatively a short one; and at the end of it they
all rose and were for going their several ways.
But this was not to the minister's mind.
"Your leddyship," said he, addressing his hostess in impressive tones,
"it would be ill done of us to be assembled on such an occasion without
endeavoring to make profitable use of it. I propose to say a few words
in season, if ye will have the kindness to call in the servants."
Lady Adela glanced towards her husband with some apprehension on her
face (for she knew the importance attached to the morning of the
Twelfth); but whatever Sir Hugh may have thought, he made no sign.
Accordingly there was nothing for it but that she should ring the bell
and summon the whole household; and in a few minutes the door of the
room was surrounded by a group of Highland women-servants and gillies,
the English servants rather hanging back in the hall. The
breakfast-party had resumed their seats; but the minister remained
standing; and presently, when perfect silence had been secured, he
lifted up his voice in prayer.
Well, it was a sufficiently earnest prayer, and it was listened to with
profound attention by the smart-looking lasses and tall and swarthy
gillies clustering about the door; but to the English part of his
audience its chief features were its curiously exhortatory and
argumentative character and also its interminable length. As the
minister went on and on, the frown of impatience on Lord Fareborough's
face deepened and deepened; he fretted and fumed and fidgeted; but, of
course, he could not bring disgrace on his son-in-law's house by rising
and leaving the room. Nor did it convey much consolation to the
sportsmen to hear the heavy tramp of the head keeper just outside the
windows; for they knew that Roderick must be making use of the most
frightful language over this unheard-of delay.
But at last this tremendous oration--for it was far more of an oration
than a prayer--came to an end; and the congregation drew a long breath
and were about to seize their newly found liberty when the minister
quietly remarked:
"We will now sing the Hundred and Twenty-First Psalm."
"God bless my soul!" exclaimed Lord Fareborough, aloud; and Lady Adela
flushed quickly; for it was not seemly of her father to give way to such
anger before those keen-eyed and keen-eared Highland servants.
However, the Rev. Mr. MacNachten took no heed. He began to sing, in a
slow and raucous fashion, and to the melancholy tune of "Ballerma,"
"'I to the hills will lift mine eyes,
From whence doth come mine aid;'"
and presently there came from the door a curious nasal wail, men and
women singing in unison, and seemingly afraid to trust their voices. As
for the people in the room no one tried to join in this part of the
service--no one except Honnor Cunyngham, who appeared to know the words
of the Psalm and the music equally well, for she accompanied the
minister throughout, singing boldly and simply and without shyness, her
clear voice making marked contrast with his raven notes. Nor was this
all; for, when the Psalm was finished, the minister said,
"My friends, when it hath pleased the Lord that we should meet together,
we should commune one with another, to the perfecting of ourselves for
that greater assemblage to which I hope we are all bound." And then,
without further preface, he proceeded to exhort them to well-doing in
all the duties of life--as masters and mistresses, as servants, as
parents, as children, as brothers, as fellow-Christians; while at the
end of each rambling and emphatic passage there came in a verse from
Ecclesiastes: "Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter: Fear God,
and keep his commandments: for this is the whole duty of man."
Alas! there was no conclusion to this matter. The little, violent-faced
minister warmed to his work, insomuch that several times he used a
Gaelic phrase the better to impress those patient listeners at the door,
while he paid less and less attention to the congregation in the room.
Indeed, the hopeless resignation that had at first settled down on some
of their faces had given place to a most obvious resentment; but what
did that matter to Mr. MacNachten, who was not looking their way? Again
and again Sir Hugh Cunyngham forlornly pulled out his watch, but the
hint was not taken. Lord Fareborough was beside himself with unrest; he
drummed his fingers on the table-cloth; he crossed one leg, and then the
other; while more than once he made a noise between his tongue and his
teeth, which fortunately could not be heard far amid the rolling periods
of the sermon. Captain Waveney, who was master of the ceremonies in all
that concerned the shooting--even as he was Sir Hugh's right-hand man
in the matter of cattle-breeding at the Braes--on several occasions,
when a momentary pause occurred, jumped to his feet as if on the
assumption that the discourse was finished; but this ruse was quite
ineffectual, for the preacher took no notice of him. And meanwhile the
huge figure of Roderick Munro could be seen marching up and down outside
the windows, while a pair of wrathful eyes glared in from time to time;
and Lady Adela, noticing these baleful glances, began to hope that the
irate head keeper would not secretly instruct a gillie to go and throw
the minister into the river as he was crossing the ford on his way home.
"May God forgive the scoundrel!" cried Lord Fareborough, when, the long
sermon at length being over and the small crowd allowed to disperse, he
was free to hasten along to the gun-room to get his boots. "And I am
expected to shoot after having my nerves tortured like this! Who are
going with me? Rockminster and Lestrange? Well, they must understand
that I will not be hurried and flurried--I say I will not be hurried and
flurried. I don't want to fall down dead--my heart won't recover this
morning's work for months to come? God bless my soul, who asked that
insolent scoundrel to stay the night? And what's that, Waveney--the
ladies coming out to lunch? The ladies coming out to lunch on the
Twelfth--and the day half over; they must be out of their senses!"
"That is the arrangement," Captain Waveney said, with rather a rueful
laugh, as he, too, was lacing up his boots. "Lady Rosamund is going to
take a sketch of the luncheon-party."
"Let her take a sketch of the devil!" said this very angry and
inconsiderate papa. "Why can't she do it some other day?--why the
Twelfth? Good heavens! is everything conspiring to vex and annoy me so
that I sha'n't be able to hit a haystack?"
"Sir Hugh never says 'no' to anything that Lady Rosamund asks," observed
Captain Waveney, with much good-humor.
"Sir Hugh be--" And here Lord Fareborough expressed a wish about his
son-in-law and host that was probably only a figure of speech.
"Well, I don't know about that," the other replied, complacently, as he
went to the couch and removed the cloth laid over the guns to protect
them from the fine peat-dust (for a huge peat-fire burned continuously
in this great gun-room, for the drying of garments brought home wet from
the shooting or fishing). "I don't know about that; but at present the
arrangement is that we lunch at the top of the Bad Step; and I believe
that Miss Cunyngham is coming back from the Junction Pool, so that Lady
Rosamund may have her sketch complete."
Indeed, this untoward incident of the minister's misplaced zeal seemed
to throw a certain gloom over the small party to which Lionel soon found
himself attached, as it moved away from the house. The tall,
brown-bearded head keeper was in a sullen rage, though he could only
reveal his wrath in sharp little sentences of discontent. Sir Hugh had
also been put out at losing the best part of the morning; and Captain
Waveney, who was a dapper little man, full of brisk spirits, did not
care to talk to silent persons. As for Lionel, he was certainly very
nervous and anxious; but none the less resolved to remember and act upon
Honnor Cunyngham's advice. The tail of the procession was brought up by
a gillie leading, or rather holding in, two brace of remarkably handsome
Gordon setters, and another gillie in charge of a patient-eyed pony with
a couple of panniers slung over its back.
However, the busy work of the day soon banished these idle regrets. When
they had climbed a bit of the hillside, and passed through a gate in a
rude stone wall, they stopped for a second to put cartridges in their
guns; the keeper had two of the dogs uncoupled; while the gillie,
putting a strap on the coupling of the other two, led them away to a
convenient knoll, where he lay down, the gillie with the pony following
his example. And scarcely had the two dogs begun to work this open bit
of moorland when one of them suddenly ceased its wide ranging--suddenly
as if it had been turned to stone; and then slowly, slowly it began to
draw forward, its companion, a younger dog, backing beautifully and
looking on with startled, watchful eyes. It was an anxious moment for
the famous young baritone of the New Theatre; for the dog was right in
front of him; and as the three guns, in line, stealthily moved forward,
he made sure that this bird was going to get up just before him. Despite
all his resolve to be perfectly cool and calm, his heart was beating
quickly; and again and again he was repeating to himself Honnor
Cunyngham's counsel, and wondering whether he would disgrace himself at
the very outset, when some bewildering brown thing sprang from the
ground, there was a terrific whir, a crack from Captain Waveney's
gun--and away along there the grouse came tumbling down into the
heather. Almost at the same moment there was another appalling whir on
his right--followed by a bang from Sir Hugh's gun--and another bird fell
headlong. After the briefest pause for reloading, the setter, that had
obediently dropped at the first shot, was encouraged to go forward, the
guns warily following. But it turned out that this had been an outlying
brace of birds; the dogs were soon ranging freely again; Roderick picked
up the slain grouse, and the whole party went on.
"Sorry you didn't get the first shot, Mr. Moore," said Sir Hugh, who was
a short, thick-set man, with a fresh-colored face, iron-gray hair, and
keen, light-blue eyes.
"I wish the birds would all rise to you two," Lionel said. "Then I
shouldn't have to pitch into myself for missing."
"Oh, you'll soon get into the way of it," Sir Hugh said, good-naturedly.
"There's never much doing along this face."
"I'll bet Bruce is on to something," Captain Waveney exclaimed,
suddenly. In fact, only one of the ranging setters was now in sight; and
Roderick had quickly run up to the top of a heathery knoll, to have them
both in view. At the same moment they saw him hold up his arm to warn
the inattentive Venus.
"How, Venus! How, Venus!" he called, in a low voice; and immediately the
dog, observing that its companion was drawing on to a point, became
rigid.
The guns were on the scene directly; and they were just in time; for,
with a simultaneous rattle of wings that seemed to fill the air, a small
covey of birds sprang from the heather and appeared to vanish into
space. At least Lionel saw nothing of the others; his attention was
concentrated on one that seemed to be flying away in a straight line
from him; and after pausing for half a second (during which he was
calling on himself to be cool) he pulled the trigger. To his
inexpressible satisfaction the bird stopped in mid-air and came down
with a thump on the heather, where it gave but one flutter and then lay
still. He turned to see what his companions had done, with their brisk
fusillade. But he could not make out. They were still watching the
setter, that was again being encouraged to go on, lest a stray bird or
two might still be in hiding. However, the quest was fruitless. The
whole of the small covey had risen simultaneously. So Roderick picked up
the dead birds and put them on a conspicuous stone, at the same time
signalling to the gillie with the pony, who was slowly coming up. Then
the shooting-party went forward again.
"How many birds rose then?" Lionel asked of his host.
"Five."
"And you got them all?" he said, judging by what he had seen the head
keeper pick up.
"Oh, yes, we got them all. They spread out like a fan. Waveney got one
brace and I another. I suppose," he added, with a smile, "you were too
intent on your own bird to notice?"
"Yes, I was," he said, honestly; but he was none the less elated, for he
knew that a good beginning would give him confidence.
And it did. They were soon at a part of the moor where the fun grew fast
and furious; and, keeping as close as he could to certainties, or what
looked like certainties, he was doing fairly well. As for the other two,
he could only judge of their prowess by the birds the keeper picked up;
for he kept strictly to his own business and rarely adventured on a
second shot. But it was clear that both Sir Hugh and Captain Waveney
were highly pleased with the way things were going. There were plenty of
birds; they lay well; the dogs were working beautifully; and the bag was
mounting up at a rate that promised to atone for the delay of the
morning. In fact, they were now disposed to regard that episode as
rather a comical affair.
"I say, Waveney," Sir Hugh remarked, as they paused for a moment to have
a sip of cold tea, for the day was hot, "you'd better confess it; you
put up the old minister to give us that frightfully long service this
morning. It was a joke on Lord Fareborough--now, wasn't it?"
"It may have been; but I had nothing to do with it, anyway," was the
answer. "Not I. Too serious a joke. I thought his lordship was going to
have a fit of apoplexy when he came into the gun-room."
"My good fellow, don't talk like that!" the other exclaimed. "If you
mention apoplexy to him, he'll add that on to the hundred and twenty
diseases and dangers that threaten his life every moment. Apoplexy! What
has he got already?--gout, asthma, heart disease, his lungs giving way,
his liver in a frightful condition, his nervous system gone to bits--and
yet, all the same, the old hypocrite is going to try for a stag before
he leaves. I suppose he'll want Roderick to carry him as soon as he
quits the pony! Well, come along, Mr. Moore; we've done pretty well so
far, I think."
But it was not Lionel who needed any incitement to go forward; he was
far more eager than any of his companions, now that he had been
acquitting himself none so ill. Moreover, he had youth on his side and a
sound chest, while nature had not given him a pair of well-formed calves
for nothing; so that he faced the steep hillsides or got over the rough
ground with comparative ease, rejoicing the while in the unwonted
freedom of knickerbockers. It was Sir Hugh, with his bulky habit of
body, who got blown now and again; as for Captain Waveney, he was a
pretty tough subject and wiry. So they fought bravely on, to atone for
the inhuman detention of the morning; and by the time it was necessary
to make for the appointed luncheon rendezvous they had the wherewithal
to give a very excellent account of themselves.
Now, several times during the morning they had come in view of the
Aivron, winding far below them through the wide strath, or narrowing to
a thread as it rose towards the high horizon-line in the west; and
always, when there was a momentary chance, Lionel's eye had sought these
distant sweeps and bends for some glimpse of the lonely angler-maiden,
and sought in vain. The long valley seemed empty; and some little
feeling of shyness prevented his asking his companions to point out the
Junction Pool, whither, as he understood, she had been bound in the
morning. And as they now approached the appointed place of meeting, he
was quite disturbed by the fancy that she might have strayed away into
unknown regions and be absent from this general picnic; and the moment
they came in sight of the group of people who were strolling about, or
looking on while the servants spread out the table-cloth on the heather
and brought forth the various viands, one swift glance told him she was
not present. Here was a disappointment! He wanted to tell her how he had
got on, under her kind instruction--this was his own explanation of the
pang her absence caused him; but presently he had found another; for
Lady Rosamund was grouping the people for her sketch; and what would the
sketch be without Honnor Cunyngham in it? He made bold to say so.
"Oh, you can't depend on Honnor," Lady Adela said. "She may have risen a
fish, or may have got hold of one. But if you want to know whether she
is likely to turn up, you might go out to that point, Mr. Moore, and
then you'll be able to see whether she is coming anywhere near the Bad
Step."
Willingly enough he went down through the scattered birch-trees to a
projecting point overlooking the river from a very considerable height;
and there, right below him, he discovered what it was they called the
Bad Step. The precipice on which he stood going sheer down into the
Aivron, the path along the stream left the banks some distance off, came
up to where he stood, and then descended again by a deep gorge probably
cut by water-power through the slaty rock. And even as he was regarding
this twilit chasm it suddenly appeared to him that there were two
figures away down there, crossing the burn at the foot; and then one of
them, in gray--unmistakably the fisher-maiden herself--began the ascent.
How she managed to obtain a footing he could not make out; for the path
was no path, but merely a zig-zag track on the surface of the loose
shingle--shingle so loose that he could see it yield to her every step,
while the débris rolled away down to the bed of the burn. But still she
fought her way upward, and at last she stood face to face with him,
smiling, but a little breathless.
"That's a frightful place to come up," said he.
"Oh, it's nothing, when you know it," she said, lightly. "Tell me, how
did you get on this morning?"
"Thanks to you, I think I did pretty well," said he.
"I'm awfully glad of that," said she; and the soft, clear hazel eyes
repeated her words in their own transparent way.
"I remembered all your instructions," he continued (and he was in no
hurry that Miss Cunyngham should go on to the luncheon-party; while old
Robert stood patiently by). "And I was very fortunate in getting easy
shots. Then when I did miss, either Sir Hugh or Captain Waveney was sure
to get the bird? I never saw such smart shooting."
"What have you done?"
"Altogether?"
"Yes."
"I don't know. The panniers are being emptied, to make a show for Lady
Rosamund's sketch. I fancy there are close on sixty brace of grouse,
with some blue hares and a snipe and a wild duck."
"What has Lord Fareborough's party done?"
"I don't know? they have just shown up--so you needn't hurry on unless
you are hungry."
"But I am--very hungry," said she, with a laugh. "I have been hard at
work all the morning."
"Oh, in that case," he said, eagerly, "by all means come along, and I'll
get you something at once. You and I needn't wait for the emptying of
the other panniers. Oh, yes, that will do first-rate; I'm a duffer at
shooting, you know, Miss Cunyngham, but I'm a splendid forager at a
picnic. Let me carry the gaff for you."
"Oh, no, thank you," she said, "I merely use it as a walking-stick
coming up the Bad Step."
"And there," he exclaimed, as they went on through the birch-wood, "look
at the selfishness of men! You ask all about my shooting; but I never
asked what luck you had with your fishing."
"Well, I've had rather bad luck," she said, simply. "I lost a fish in
the Geinig Pool, after having him on for about five minutes, and I rose
another in the Horse-Shoe Pool and couldn't get him to come again all I
could do. But I mean to call upon him in the afternoon."
A sudden inspiration flashed into his brain.
"I should like to come and see you try for him," he said, quickly. "I
suppose they wouldn't mind my sending home my gun?"
"Mr. Moore!" she said, with her eyes downcast. "They'd think you were
mad to leave a shooting-party on the Twelfth. You can see a salmon
caught, or catch one yourself, any time."
He felt a little bit snubbed, he hardly knew why; but of course she knew
what was right in all such things; and so he humbly acquiesced. Indeed,
he could not contest the point, for now they had come upon the
picnic-party, where luncheon was in full swing. Lord Fareborough had
declared on his arrival that he would not wait for the completion of
his daughter's sketch; his nervous system was not to be tried in any
such fashion; luncheon must be proceeded with at once, and Lady Rosamund
could make her drawing when the gentlemen were smoking afterwards. Lady
Adela wanted to wait for Mr. Moore, but she, too, was overruled by the
impatient hypochondriac. So Lionel set to work to form a seat for Miss
Honnor, out of some bracken that the gillies had cut and brought along;
and also he exclusively looked after her--to Miss Georgie Lestrange's
chagrin; for Lord Rockminster was too lazy to attend to any one but
himself, and what girl likes being waited on by her brother when other
young men are about?
And now the burly and broad-shouldered host of all these people called
on them to unanimously forgive the minister for the injury he had
unintentionally done them in the morning.
"It wasn't the good man's fault at all; it was Waveney's," Sir Hugh
continued, as he got hold of a spoon and delved it into a pigeon-pie. "I
assure you it was a practical joke that Captain Waveney played upon the
whole of you. He gave the minister a little hint--and the thing was
done."
Lord Fareborough glared at the culprit as if he expected to see the
heavens fall upon him; but Lady Adela observed, with a touch of dignity,
"I hope I know Captain Waveney well enough not to believe that he would
turn any religious service into a practical joke."
"I hope so, too, Lady Adela," the dapper little captain instantly
replied, though without any great embarrassment. "That's hardly my line
of country. But there's another thing: Sir Hugh may ask you to believe
anything, but he won't make you believe that I could trifle with such a
sacred subject as the morning of the Twelfth."
"Faith, you're right there, Waveney," Sir Hugh said, with a laugh.
"Well, we've done our best to make up for the loss of time. And now,
Rose, if you want to have your sketch, fire away! I'm going to light a
pipe; but, mind, we sha'n't stop here very long. You'd better put in us
men at once; and then you can draw in the ladies and the game and the
luncheon at your leisure."
"And if you want me, Rose," Honnor Cunyngham said, "please put me in at
once, too; for I'm going away back to the Horseshoe Pool."
"My dear child," Lady Adela protested, "you'll break your neck some day
going down that Bad Step. I really think Hugh should have a windlass at
the top and let people down by a rope. Now look alive, Rose, and get
your sketch begun; I can see the gentlemen are all impatient to be off.
And mind you have Mr. Moore rolling up a cigarette: it won't be natural
otherwise."
She was right about one thing, anyway; the sportsmen were undoubtedly
impatient to be off; and it is to be feared that Lady Rosamund's sketch
suffered by the restlessness of her models. Indeed, after a very little
while, Lord Fareborough indignantly rose, and declared he never had
known a Twelfth of August so shamelessly sacrificed. He, for one, would
have no more of it. He called to the under-keeper to bring along the
gillies and the dogs; whereupon Lady Rosamund, who had a temper not
quite in consonance with the calm and statuesque beauty of her features,
closed her sketch-book and threw it aside, saying she would make the
drawing some other day when she found the gentlemen a little more
considerate.
And soon Lionel and his two companions were at their brisk occupation
again; though ever and anon his thoughts would go wandering away to the
Horseshoe Pool, and his fancy was picturing the fisher-maiden on the
summit of a great gray boulder, while a fifteen-pounder raced and chased
in the black deeps below. Sometimes he tried to get a glimpse of the
upper stretches of the river; but this was a dangerous trick when all
his attention was demanded by the work on hand. In any case his scrutiny
of those far regions was unavailing; for the Horseshoe Pool is on the
Geinig, a tributary of the Aivron, and not visible from the hill-slopes
along which they were now shooting.
The bag mounted up steadily; for the afternoon, despite the threats of
the morning, remained fine and clear and still; the birds lay close, and
the two outside guns were skilful performers. As for Lionel, he had now
acquired a certain confidence; he took no shame that he reserved for
himself the easy shots; the nasty ones he could safely leave to his
companions. At last, as they came in sight of a lovely little tarn lying
under a distant hillock, and could descry two small dots floating on the
surface of the water, Sir Hugh said to his head keeper,
"See here, Roderick, are those duck or mergansers?"
The keeper took a long look before he made reply.
"I'm not sure, Sir Hugh, but I am thinking they are mergansers, for I
was seeing two or three lately."
"Very well, call in the dogs. I'm going to sit down and have a pipe. I
suppose you'll do the same, Mr. Moore--though I must say this for you
that you can walk. You have the advantage of youth, and you haven't as
much to carry as I have. Well, I propose we have a few minutes' rest?
and we will occupy ourselves in watching Waveney stalk those mergansers.
There's a job for you, Waveney. They are the most detestable birds alive
to have near a forest or a salmon-stream."
"Why, what harm can they do to the salmon?" Lionel asked, as he saw
Captain Waveney at once change the cartridges in his gun for No. 4's and
set off down the hillside.
"They snap up the parr, of course," said his heavy-shouldered host, as
he drew out a wooden pipe and a pouch of black Cavendish, "but that
isn't the worst: they disturb the pools most abominably--swimming about
under water they frighten the salmon out of their senses. But when you
get them about a deer-forest they are a still more intolerable nuisance;
you are never safe; just as you are getting up to the stag, creeping
along the course of a burn, perhaps, bang! goes one of those brutes like
a sky-rocket, and the whole herd are instantly on the alert. Oh, that's
a job old Waveney likes well enough; and it will give the dogs a rest as
well as ourselves."
By this time the stalker had got out of sight. He was making a
considerable detour, so as to get round by the back of the hillock
unobserved; and when he came into view again, he was on the other side
of the valley. The mergansers, if they were mergansers, were still
swimming about unsuspectingly, though sometimes at a considerable
distance apart.
"Does Miss Cunyngham shoot as well as fish?" Lionel ventured to ask.
"She has tried it," her brother said, as he called up Roderick and gave
him a dram out of his capacious flask. "And I think she might shoot very
well, but she doesn't care about it. It is too violent, she says. The
sudden bang disturbs the charm of the scenery--something of that
kind--I'm not up in these things; but she's an odd kind of girl.
Tremendously fond of quietude and solitude; we've found her in the most
unexpected places--and there _are_ some lonely places about these hills.
I tell her she shouldn't go on these long excursions without taking old
Robert with her; supposing she were to sprain her ankle, she might have
to remain there all night and half the next day before we could find
her. Sooner or later I know she'll startle some solitary shepherd out of
his senses: he'll come back to his hut swearing that he has seen a Gray
Lady where no mortal woman could be. Hullo, there's Waveney again--he'll
soon be on them."
They could see him stealing across the top of the hillock, and then
making his way down behind certain rocks that served as a screen between
him and the birds. Then he disappeared again.
"Why doesn't he fire?" Lionel asked, presently. "He must be quite close
to them."
"Not so close as you imagine," was the answer. "Probably he is waiting
until they come nearer together."
The next moment there stepped boldly forth the slight, brown figure; the
birds instantly rose from the water and, with swift, straight flight,
made down the valley; but they had not got many yards when there were
two white puffs of smoke, both birds almost simultaneously came tumbling
to the ground, and then followed the double report of a gun.
"Waveney has got his eye in to-day for certain," Sir Hugh said. "But
what's the use of his bringing the birds along?--they're no good to
anybody."
"I thought perhaps they might be of some use for salmon-flies," Captain
Waveney explained, as he came up. "Aren't they, Roderick?"
The keeper regarded the two birds contemptuously, and shook his head.
"Well, Waveney, we will give you five minutes' grace, if you like," Sir
Hugh said. "Sit down and have a pipe."
But this slim and wiry warrior had not even taken the gun from his
shoulder.
"No, no," said he, "if you are ready, I am. I can get plenty of smoking
done in the South."
So they began again; but the afternoon was now on the wane, and the
beats were leading them homewards. Only two small incidents that befell
the novice need mentioning. The first happened in this wise: the dogs
were ranging widely over what appeared to be rather a barren beat, when
suddenly one of them came to a dead point a considerable distance on. Of
course Captain Waveney and Sir Hugh hurried forward; but Lionel could
not, for he had got into trouble with a badly jammed cartridge. Just as
he heard the first shot fired, he managed to get the empty case
extracted and to replace it with a full one; and then he was about to
hasten forward when he saw the covey rise--a large covey it was--while
Captain Waveney got a right and left, and Sir Hugh fired his remaining
barrel, for he had not had time to reload. At the same instant Lionel
found that one of the birds had doubled back and was coming right over
his head; up went his gun; he blazed away; and down rolled the grouse
some dozen yards behind him.
"Well done!" Sir Hugh called out, "A capital shot!"
"A ghastly fluke, Sir Hugh!" Lionel called out, in return. "I simply
fired in the air."
"And a very good way of firing, too!" was the naïve rejoinder.
But his next achievement was hardly so creditable. They were skirting
the edge of a birch-wood that clothed the side of a steep precipice
overlooking the Aivron, where there were some patches of bracken among
the heather, when the setter in front of him--a young dog--began to draw
rather falteringly on to something.
"Ware rabbit, Hector!" the keeper said, in an undertone.
But meanwhile the older dog, that was backing in front of Captain
Waveney, whether it was impatient of this uncertainty on the part of its
younger companion, or whether it was jealous, managed, unobserved, to
steal forward a foot or two, until suddenly it stopped rigid.
"Good dog, Iris, good dog!" Captain Waveney said (for he had overlooked
that little bit of stealthy advance), and he shifted his gun from his
right hand to his left, and stooped down and patted the animal's
neck--though all the time he was looking well ahead.
Then all at once there was a terrific whir of wings; Waveney quickly put
his gun to his shoulder--paused--took it down again; at the same
moment Lionel, finding a bird within his proper field, as he
considered--though it was going away at a prodigious speed--took steady
aim and fired. That distant object dropped--there was not a flutter. Of
course the keeper and Sir Hugh were still watching the young dog; but
when this doubtful scent came to nothing, Sir Hugh turned to Lionel.
"That was a long shot of yours, Mr. Moore," said he. "And very
excusable."
"Excusable?" said Lionel, wondering what he had done this time.
"Of course you knew that was a blackcock?" the other said.
"A blackcock?" he repeated.
"Didn't you hear Roderick call out? Didn't you see Waveney put up his
gun and then take it down?"
"Neither the one nor the other; I only saw a bird before me--and fired."
"Oh, well, there's no great harm done; if a man has no worse sin on his
conscience than shooting a blackcock on the Twelfth, he should sleep
sound o' nights. Waveney is fastidious. I dare say, if the bird had come
my way, I should not have resisted the temptation."
Lionel considered that Sir Hugh was an exceedingly considerate and
good-natured person; and in fact when they picked up the dead bird, and
when he was regarding its handsome plumage, it cannot fairly be said
that he was very sorry for his venial mistake. Only he considered he was
bound in honor to make confession to Miss Cunyngham.
Alas! he was to see little of Miss Cunyngham that night. As soon as
dinner was over--and Sir Hugh and his satellite had left the dining-room
to enter up the game-book, write labels for special friends, and
generally finish up the business of the day--Lady Adela proposed a game
of Dumb Crambo; and in this she was heartily backed up by the
Lestranges, for Miss Georgie seemed to think that the mantle of Kitty
Clive had descended upon her shoulders, while her brother evidently
regarded himself as a facetious person. Speedily it appeared, however,
that there was to be a permanent and stationary audience. Lord
Fareborough--especially after dinner, when his nervous system was still
in dark deliberation as to what it meant to do with him--was too awful a
personage to be approached; Honnor Cunyngham good-humoredly said that
she was too stupid to join in; and Lord Rockminster declared that if
that was her excuse, it applied much more obviously to himself.
Accordingly, the remaining members of the house-party had to form the
entertainers; and never had Lionel entered into any pastime with so
little zest. These people could not act a bit, and yet he had to coach
them; and then he and they had to go into the drawing-room and perform
their antics before that calm-browed young lady (who nevertheless
regarded the proceedings with the most friendly interest) and her
companion, the stolid young lord. He could not help acknowledging to
himself that Miss Honnor Cunyngham and Lord Rockminster formed a
remarkably handsome couple as they sat together there on a couch at
right angles with the fireplace; but the distinguished appearance of the
audience did not console him for the consciousness that the performers
were making themselves absurd. He was impatient, ashamed, of the whole
affair. Dark and sullen thoughts went flashing through his brain of
saving up every penny he could get hold of and going away into some
savage wilderness in Ross or Sutherland, to be seen of actors and
amateurs no more. His gun and his rod would be his sole companions; his
library would consist of St. John, Colquhoun, "Stonehenge," and Francis
(not of Assisi); by moor and stream he would earn his own subsistence;
and theatres and fashionable life and the fantastic aspirations and
ambitions of _les Precieuses Ridicules_ would be banished from him
forever. But fortunately a nine-o'clock dinner had driven this foolish
entertainment late, so that it did not last long; the ladies were
unanimously willing to retire; the gentlemen thereupon trooped off to
the gun-room to have a smoke and a glass of whiskey and soda water; and
very soon thereafter the deep-breathing calm of the whole household told
that the labors of the Twelfth were over.