SLOW BUT SURE.
The next morning was the very perfection of a September morning, clear,
and crisp, and still; there was just enough wind to lift away the lazy
blue smoke from the cottage chimneys, and to stir the smooth waters of
the bay with a shimmering ripple. And here was the carriage in front of
Lochgarra House, waiting for the two young ladies to come down.
"Kaethchen," said Mary, in an undertone, as they took their seats and
were driven off, "supposing I should get a chance of speaking to Mr.
Ross privately--for a minute or two--do you think I should venture to
apologise to him for Fred's outrageous conduct? What would you do if
you were in my place?
"Not that--oh, no, Mamie, not that!" Kaethchen said at once. "Don't you
see how he wishes to ignore it altogether? And surely you remember what
he himself said about the pulling down of Castle Heimra? 'There are
some things that are best not spoken of.'"
"It is very generous of him," said Mary, absently.
They drove away up the Minard road; and when they had got some distance
past the top of the hill, they dismissed the carriage, and left the
highway, striking across the rough high ground by a worn footpath.
Presently they found far beneath them the sheltered waters of the Camus
Bheag; and the first thing they saw there was the _Sirene_ at her
moorings, with all her sails set and shining white in the morning sun.
The next thing they perceived was that the two sailors, Coinneach and
Calum, were on the beach, by the side of the yacht's boat; while
standing some way apart was Donald Ross. And who was this who was
talking to him?--a young girl, whose light brown curly hair was half
hidden by her scarlet shawl.
"It is Anna Chlannach!" said Mary. "Now I have got her at last! She is
always escaping me--and I want to convince her that I will not allow Mr.
Purdie to lock her up in any asylum. Kaethchen, couldn't we get down
some other way, so that she may not see us?"
But at this very moment the girl down there happened to catch sight of
them; and instantly she turned and fled, disappearing from sight in an
incredibly short space of time. For one thing, the face of this hill
was a mass of tumbled rocks, intermingled with long heather and
thick-stemmed gorse, while skirting it was a plantation of young larch:
most likely Anna Chlannach had made good her escape into this
plantation.
"Why did you let her go?" said Mary, reproachfully, when she had got
down to the beach. "You knew I wanted to talk to her."
"It isn't easy reasoning with Anna Chlannach," said Donald Ross, with
his quiet smile. "She still associates you with Purdie; she is afraid of
you. And this time she was on other business; she was pleading with me
to take her out to Heimra--offering me all the money she has got--her
shells, you know--if I would take her out."
"And why does she want to go out there?" Mary asked--her eyes still
searching that rocky hill-side for the vanished fugitive.
"To bring back her mother. Sometimes she forgets her fancy about the
white bird, and thinks if she could only get out to Heimra she would
bring back her mother alive and well. And it is no use trying to
undeceive her."
The men were waiting. Mary and Kaethchen got into the stern of the
boat; the others followed; and presently they were on their way out to
the yawl.
"How much bigger she is than I had imagined!" Mary said, as they were
drawing near.
And again when they were on deck, looking around with the curiosity that
an unknown vessel invariably arouses, she could not but express her high
approval: everything looked so trim and neat and ship-shape--the
spotless decks, the gleaming brass, the snow-white canvas. And these
cushions along the gunwale?
"The fact is," young Ross confessed--with some look of timid appeal
towards Mary, "I got the sails up this morning just in case I might be
able to induce you to take a bit of a run with us. There is a nice
breeze outside, and nothing of a sea. What do you say, Miss Stanley?
The _Sirene_ feels proud enough that you should have come on board--but
if you would like to see how she takes to the water----"
If he was at all anxious, the quick glance of pleasure in Mary's eyes
must have instantly reassured him.
"Oh, yes, why not?" said she, rather addressing herself to Kate
Glendinning; "I am sure we shall be delighted--if it isn't taking up too
much of your time, Mr. Ross----"
"We can slip the moorings and be off at once," said he, and he gave a
brief order to the men, himself going to the tiller. In a few minutes
the _Sirene_ was under way, gliding along so quietly that the two
visitors hardly knew that they were moving.
But their departure had not been unnoticed elsewhere. Suddenly, into
the absolute silence prevailing around, there came a piteous wail--a
wail so full of agony that immediately all eyes were directed to the
shore, whence the sound proceeded. And there the origin of it was
visible enough. Anna Chlannach had come down from her hiding-place to
the edge of the water; she was seated on a rock, her hands clasped in
front of her and her head bent down in an attitude of indescribable
anguish, her body swaying to and fro, while from time to time she
uttered this heartrending cry, of despair and appeal.
"Poor Anna!" said Mary, with tears starting to her eyes. "Let us go
back, Mr. Ross! Never mind us. We can go home. You must take her out
to Heimra."
"What would be the use?" he said. "She would only be more miserable,
searching about and finding no mother anywhere. And Anna does not keep
very long in one mood. She will soon lose sight of us--and then she'll
be off again searching for wild strawberries."
And perhaps it was to distract their attention from this melancholy
setting out that he now called one of the men to the tiller, and would
have his guests go below, to have a look at the ladies' cabin and the
saloon. Of course they were much interested and pleased--admiring the
cunning little contrivances for the utilisation of space; while Mary
arrived at the conclusion that, if these rooms were kept in order by
Calum, Calum was a very handy youth to have in one's service, whether
afloat or ashore, They spent some time over these investigations; and
when they came on deck again, they found they were well out at sea, with
a far-extending view of the high and rocky coast, Lochgarra itself
appearing as merely a thin grey-white line along one of those indented
bays.
And still, and carelessly, and joyously, they kept on their course, the
light breeze holding steady, the wide plain of water shining with a
summer blue. Young Donald had not returned to the tiller; he was
devoting himself assiduously to his two guests--their conversation,
whatever its varying moods, accompanied by the soft, continuous murmur
of these myriad-glancing ripples, for waves they could scarcely be
called. And on this occasion Mary was not nearly so nervous, and
excited, and wayward as she had been on the previous day; a placid,
benign content reigned in her eyes; a sort of serious, bland sweetness
in her demeanour. Kaethchen thought to herself that she had never seen
Mary Stanley look so beautiful, nor yet wearing so serene an air.
And still they held on, in this fair halcyon weather, alone with the
sky, and the fresh wind, and the slumberous main; and so entirely and
happily engrossed with themselves that they had no thought for the now
distant land. But at last Kaethchen said--
"Mr. Ross, how far are we going? I thought you were expecting an
important letter."
"There are things of equal importance," said he, pleasantly. He cast a
glance forward. "Soon we shall be getting near to Heimra, Miss Stanley.
I have never had the chance of receiving you in my poor little bungalow:
will you go ashore for a while?"
"Oh, yes," she replied, cheerfully. "I should like to renew my
acquaintance with Martha; she was exceedingly kind to us when Kaethchen
and I called."
"And perhaps," said he, "when we get round the point, you wouldn't mind
standing up for a few seconds--you and Miss Glendinning?--then Martha
will see I have visitors, and will have time to put on her best gown.
Otherwise I should get into serious trouble."
And so they sailed into the small, quiet harbour, and eventually got
ashore at the little slip, and made their way up to the house. Martha
had seen them; here she was in the porch, smiling a welcome, with her
grey Highland eyes, to the young master, and also to his guests. These
she took possession of--with suggestions of tea.
"No, no, Martha," said Donald Ross, "we are not going to have tea at
this time of the day. The young ladies will stay for lunch; and you
must do the best you can for us. We will go for a stroll about the
island, and be back in an hour or thereabouts."
"Oh, yes, indeed," said the old Highland woman, "but it is a peety I was
not knowing before----"
"Martha," said Mary Stanley, interposing, "I dare say Mr. Ross does not
understand much about housekeeping. Now, you must put yourself to no
trouble on our account. A glass of milk will be quite sufficient."
"Aw, but there will be more than that," the old woman said, and she
regarded this beautiful, tall, shining-eyed young creature with a most
favouring look, and her speech was soft and propitiating; "it would be
strange if there was not more than that in the house, and Mr. Ross
bringing his friends with him." And therewith she went away; and
presently they heard her sharply calling on the lad Calum, who had come
up from the slip, and was hanging about, to be in readiness if he were
wanted.
And now as the proud young host led forth his fair guests on an
exploration of these winding shores, and tumbled crags, and steep
precipices, this island of Heimra looked infinitely more cheerful than
it had done on Mary's previous visit, in the bleak April weather. There
was an abundance of rich colour everywhere. The silver-grey rocks, and
ruddy-grey rocks, and black-grey rocks were interspersed with masses of
purple heather; and other masses there were of tall foxgloves, and
bracken, and juniper, and broom. Their progress, it is true, was
something of a scramble, for there was no road nor semblance of a road;
the sheep tracks, he explained, were up on the higher slopes and
plateaus; down here by the shore they had to get along as best they
could, though sometimes they had the chance of a space of velvet-soft
sand--with the clear green water breaking in crisp white ripples and
sparkling in the sun. A solitary, if a picturesque, island, facing
those wide western seas; there was no sign of human existence or
occupation after they had got out of sight of the single house and its
small dependencies; and at last Mary said:
"One would think that no living creature had ever been round this coast
before. But it cannot be so wild and lonely to you, Mr. Ross, as it
seems to us; you have discovered all the secrets of it; and so I want
you to take me to your grotto. In such an island of Monte Cristo, you
must have the grotto of Monte Cristo: where is it?"
"How did you guess?" said he, with a smile.
"Guess what?"
"For there is a grotto," he said, regarding her. "Your surmise is quite
correct. There is a grotto; only it isn't filled with sacks of jewels
and coins; all that there is in it is some smuggled brandy."
"Oh, really?" she said, with her eyes showing a sudden attention.
"Brandy?--smuggled brandy?--and how did it come there?--did you bring
it?"
"Indeed I did," said he, without a moment's hesitation--and he was
standing in front of her now, for she had sate down on a smooth grey
rock. "I suppose I must let you into my dark and terrible secret, and
give you the power of sending the Supervisor over, and haling me off to
Dingwall. It is not a grotto, however, it is a cave; and very few
people know of its existence. In fact, you can't get to it by the shore
at all; you must go by water; and I hope to show it to you some day, if
you would care to go round in a boat. But then there are no wonders--no
hasheesh--no heaps of diamonds and rubies--only little casks of spirits:
perhaps they wouldn't interest you?"
"Oh, but I think they would," she said--and yet with a little caution,
for she did not quite know how to take this confession.
He observed her face for a moment.
"I see I must begin and justify myself," said he, lightly, "if
justification is possible. For of course it's very wrong and wicked to
evade the customs duties of your native land; only in my case there are
two or three qualifying circumstances. For one thing, I am a
Highlander; and smuggling comes natural to a Highlander. Then I have
the proud consciousness that I am circumventing Mr. Purdie--and that of
itself is a praiseworthy achievement. You may have heard, Miss Stanley,
that Purdie plumes himself on having routed out the very last of the
illicit stills from this country-side--and it was done merely out of
ill-will to the people; but he forgot that it is difficult to watch a
rough coast like this. I can put a counter-check on Mr. Purdie's zeal.
But my real excuse is simply this--the old people about here are too
poor to buy spirits of any kind, but especially of a wholesome quality;
and it is the only little bit of comfort they have when they are cold
and wet, just as it is the only medicine they believe in; and really I
think the Government, that gives lavish grants here, there, and
everywhere--except here, by the way--I think the Government can afford
to wink at such a small trifle. Am I convincing you?" he went on, with
a laugh. "I'm afraid you look very stern. Is there to be no
palliation?"
Then up and spoke Kate Glendinning, valiantly--
"I consider you are perfectly justified, Mr. Ross; yes, I do, indeed,"
said she.
"You see I have Miss Glendinning on my side," he pointed out, still
addressing Mary.
"Ah, but you are both Highlanders," Mary said, as she rose from the
rock; "and how can I argue one against two?"
"Shall I be quite honest," said he, as they were setting out for home
again, "and confess that there is a spice of adventure in going away to
the south for the cargo, and running it safely here? It is a break in
the monotony of one's life on the island."
"Yes, I shouldn't wonder if that had something to do with all those fine
reasons," she observed, with demure significance.
"And then," he continued, frankly, and perhaps not noticing her sarcasm,
"I like to be on friendly terms with the old people who knew our family
in former days. I like them to speak well of me; I like to think that
they have some trifle of affection for me. And this is about the only
way I can keep up the old relationship that used to exist between them
and the 'big house;' it's very little kindness I am able to show them:
they've got to take the will for the deed nowadays." He turned to her.
"What, not convinced yet?" he said, laughing again. "What is to be the
verdict? Not acquittal?"
She shook her head doubtfully: the Lady Superior of Lochgarra did not
choose to say.
They found an excellent lunch awaiting them; and after that, in his
eager desire to entertain these rare visitors in every possible way, he
showed them the heirlooms of the family, along with a heap of
antiquities and curiosities that for the most part had been put away in
cabinets and chests, as being out of keeping with these plain rooms.
Naturally the old armour interested Mary less than the silks and
embroideries, the porcelain and pottery; and in particular was she
struck by a Rhodian dish, the like of which she had never seen before.
It was of coarse material, and of the simplest design--a plain
draught-board pattern, with a free-handed scroll running round the rim;
but the curious pellucid green colour was singularly beautiful, and the
glaze extraordinarily luminous.
"Where could that have come from?" said she, reluctantly laying it down,
and still regarding it with admiration. "I have never seen one like it
in England."
"My father sent it home from Smyrna," he said, simply, "to my mother.
He could not live in the West Highlands: the climate did not suit him.
He travelled a great deal."
Donald Ross seemed to speak without any restraint or embarrassment; but
there was some strange misgiving in Mary's mind; she was glad when
Kaethchen changed the subject--calling her attention to some exquisite
lace.
And at last this wonderful and memorable visit had to come to an end;
but when they went out to the little porch Mary said she could not go
without saying good-bye to Martha, and so she turned and went through
the passage into the kitchen.
"Martha," said she, in her most winning way, and with smiling eyes, "you
have been very good to us, and I shall never forget your kindness on our
first visit to Heimra, when we were quite strangers to you. And this is
a little present I want you to take, as a souvenir, you understand----"
She had unclasped the chatelaine from her belt; and there it was, in
antique silver, with all its ornaments and housewifely implements
complete, pressed upon the old dame's acceptance. But Martha hung
back--shyly--and yet looking at the marvellous treasure.
"Oh, no, mem," she said. "I thank ye; I'm sure I thank ye; but Mr. Ross
would not be liking me to tek it."
"Mr. Ross!" said Mary impatiently. "What does Mr. Ross know about such
things? Why, it is necessary for your housekeeping, Martha!--and,
besides, you must take it to please me; and it will remind you of our
visit until we come back again--for I hope to come back and see you some
day."
"Yes, yes, and soon, mem," said the grateful Martha, who had been forced
into compliance. "And I will be showing it to Mr. Ross, mem----"
"Good-bye, then, Martha, and thank you for all your kindness," said
Mary, as she was going.
"No, no, mem, it is my thanks and service to you, mem," said Martha, and
she timidly extended her hand. Mary had learnt the ways of this
country. She shook hands with the old dame; and said good-bye again;
and went her way.
Then once more over the shining sea, with the light northerly breeze
providing them a steady and continuous passage. Mary turned once or
twice to look at the now receding island.
"I suppose you get very much attached to a solitary home like that?" she
said, absently.
"But I like a few days on the mainland very well," said he, with much
cheerfulness, "if there is anything to be done. When do you expect your
photographer?"
"To-morrow or next day."
"I will wait for him," said he, promptly.
"That will be very kind of you," said she; "for what would pictures of
Lochgarra be to Mrs. Armour if you were not in them?"
"And Saturday is Miss Stanley's birthday," put in Kaethchen. "You
should stay over for that."
"Saturday?" said he. "Oh, indeed. Oh, really." And then he added:
"Why, they must get up a big bonfire on the top of Meall-na-Fearn."
"No, no," said Mary, with an odd kind of look; "that is not for me. I
must wait a little for anything of that sort. It must come
spontaneously, if ever it comes." And then she suddenly changed her
tone. "Well, Mr. Ross, since you are remaining on the mainland for a
day or two, I hope you will come and see what I have been doing. I have
started a few things----"
"I know more about your work than you think," said he. "But I should be
glad to go with you."
"And then perhaps the people won't treat me as a stranger," she said,
with a touch of injury in her tone.
"It is very ungrateful of them if they do," said he, with some emphasis.
And so it came about, on the next day, that Lochgarra again beheld the
spectacle of Young Donald of Heimra acting as escort to the English
lady, while she was taking him about and showing him all she was doing
or trying to do. And to Kaethchen it was as clear as daylight that
those people began to be a great deal more friendly--more willing to
answer questions--more sympathetic in their looks. Why, when the two
girls returned home that evening, they found the hall-door open, and
Barbara in the act of lifting up two huge stenlock that had been laid on
the stone slab.
"Why, what's this, Barbara?" Mary inquired.
"Oh, it's just that foolish lad, the Gillie Ciotach," said Barbara, with
a smile of apology, "and he was leaving them here instead of taking them
round by the back. He was saying the people are thanking Miss Stanley
for the new building and the papers; and he and Archie MacNicol they had
a big catch of stenlock, and would Miss Stanley take one or two."
"Do you mean that the Gillie Ciotach brought me those fish as a
present?" said Mary, with a delighted surprise--and she was looking at
those big, coarse lythe as if she had just received an Emperor's gift.
"Yes, ma'am," said Barbara.
"But of course you gave him something all the same?"
"Oh, no, ma'am."
"A glass of whiskey, at least?" Mary demanded.
"Oh, no, ma'am," said the soft-spoken Barbara, "there is no whiskey in
the house."
"Then it is a shame there should be no whisky in a Highland house!" Mary
exclaimed, indignantly. "Why, could you not have run over to your
brother's cottage and got some?"
"The Gillie Ciotach was not giving me time, ma'am," answered Barbara, in
her pleasant way. "Maybe he was thinking of something of that kind, and
he went away quick after leaving the message."
"I'll make it up to the Gillie Ciotach--you will see if I don't!" she
said to Kaethchen, as they passed through the hall and went upstairs.
And all that evening she appeared to be greatly pleased by this little
incident; and spoke of it again and again: why, to her it seemed to
presage the pacification of this lawless land--she was going to meet
with some return at last.
Moreover, when the photographer at length made his appearance and set to
work, it must have appeared to the people about that Donald Ross of
Heimra had become the chosen ally and companion of the young
Baintighearna; while to Donald Ross himself it seemed as if Mary were
bent on representing him--in these views, at least--as the owner of the
whole place. And she was wilful and imperative about it, too; though
Kaethchen, standing by as a spectator, perceived that she had to deal
with a nature which, however quiet, was a good deal firmer than her own.
For example, one of the first views was the front of Lochgarra House.
The artist, having a soul above bare stone and lime, suggested that
there should be some figures standing at the open hall-door, on the
terrace above the steps.
"Oh, yes, certainly," said Mary at once. "You go, Mr. Ross, and stand
there--will you be so kind?"
"I?" said he, in amazement--for it was clear she meant herself and Kate
Glendenning to remain out of the picture--"What should I do there? That
is your place, surely--in front of your own house."
"Oh, what does Mrs. Armour want with me!" she protested. "It is you she
wants, naturally. Of course she associates Lochgarra House with you,
not with me at all. Who am I? A stranger--an interloper. What does
Mrs. Armour care about me? No, really, I must insist on your going and
standing on the terrace."
"But indeed I cannot: what right have I to be there?" said he, with the
faintest touch of colour coming to the keen, pale, dark face.
"Mrs. Armour would tell you you had a better right to be there than I
have!" said Mary, rather ruefully. "I knew what she was thinking, if
she was kind enough to say nothing. Now, go, Mr. Ross, to please me! I
must not appear in this picture at all--indeed, I will not."
"And I cannot," he said, simply.
"Very well, then," said the shifty Kaethchen, cheerfully stepping into
the breach, "it is evident that I, at least, can't be expected to take
up a position as owner of Lochgarra House; but figures are wanted; and
so, if you are both resolved to remain out, I will go and get the
keepers and gillies and servants, and range them along the front there,
at the foot of the steps. I dare say Mrs. Armour will recognise some of
them."
"Then you positively refuse me?" Mary said to him.
"You ought to understand why," he answered her--and then she was silent.
But on the following morning she was deeply impressed by his thoughtful
forbearance and consideration. They wished to get a view of the little
hamlet of Cruagan, Mrs. Armour having lived there formerly; and, as the
place was some distance off, they drove thither--the artist and his
camera up beside the coachman. Now, it was inevitable they should pass
the desert plain that used to be Loch Heimra, with the tumbled stones of
the ancient keep; and on coming in sight of these the photographer,
recognising a subject, and yet a little puzzled, called on the coachman
to stop.
"That, sir--what is that, sir?" he asked of Donald Ross, whom he
generally consulted.
"Oh, that is nothing," said Ross (and this time it was Mary who look
distressed and embarrassed). "Never mind; go on."
"Isn't that an old ruin, sir?" said the photographer, with professional
instinct. Subjects did not abound in this neighbourhood, and he wished
to do his best.
"That is of no use: that would not make a picture--a heap of stones like
that," said young Donald; and so the artist gave way; and the carriage
went on again. There was a space of silence thereafter.
But Mary was none the less grateful to him. And when they came to a
stretch of the Connan, where there were some rocks in mid-stream and a
bit of a waterfall, with some birches by the side of the river, she
said:
"Now, Mr. Ross, Mrs. Armour is sure to remember this place; and it is
very pretty; and since you want me to come into some of the pictures, I
will come in this time, and the three of us can sit on the bank as if we
were a pic-nic party. And if it turns out well, mightn't we have it
enlarged and some copies printed for our own friends? We will send on
the carriage a bit, so that there shall be nothing but ourselves in this
solitude."
"Let me go on with the carriage, Mamie!" interposed Kaethchen at once.
"Don't be silly, Kaethchen!" Mary made answer, with quickly lowered
lashes. "We are supposed to be a pic-nic party, or a fishing party,
taking a rest--anything you please; but of course we must all be
together."
So that group also was taken, with the Highland river-scene for its
background; and then they went forward and overtook the carriage. Mary
was much more cheerful now, after getting away from that reproachful
sight of Castle Heimra.
"Do you know, Mr. Ross," she was saying, "I am about to encounter the
bitterest enemy I have in the world?"
"I cannot believe you have any enemy," was his reply. "But who is
this?"
"James Macdonald."
"Oh, Macdonald the crofter at Cruagan. Well, what have you been doing to
him?"
"What have I been doing to him?" she said with some spirit. "You should
rather ask what I have been doing for him. I have been doing far too
much for him: I suppose that is why he hates me. What haven't I done
for him? I took off the tax for the dyke; I handed over the pasturage
of Meall-na-Cruagan; I lowered his rent; I forgave him arrears; I had
the decree of removal quashed, and gave him back his holding after he
had forfeited it; I stopped the action against him for deforcing the
sheriff's officer. What more? What more? And yet he looks as if he
would like to murder me if I try to speak to him."
"Have you any idea of the reason?"
"Yes," said Mary, a little proudly. "He says that you are his laird,
and not I: he says I have nothing to do with the land or the people
here."
"Macdonald is a foolish man--and stubborn: I will talk to him," he said;
and he was thoughtful for a second or two.
Indeed, when they arrived at the scattered little hamlet of Cruagan, it
was not the sun-pictures that occupied Mary Stanley's attention. The
photographer was allowed to choose his subjects as he liked. For, in
driving up, they had perceived the sullen-browed, Russian-looking
crofter at work in his patch of potatoes; and as soon as the carriage
stopped, young Ross left his companions, stepped over the bit of wire
fence, and went along the potato drills. Macdonald ceased working, and
respectfully raised his cap. Ross began speaking in a low voice, and
yet with some emphasis, and increasing emphasis, as the ladies in the
waggonette could gather. It was impossible for them to overhear the
words, even if they had been able to understand; but as he proceeded it
was clear enough that he was becoming angry and indignant, the man with
the shaggy eyebrows and the determined jaw having answered once or
twice. Then almost suddenly there came a strange termination to this
fierce encounter. Young Ross remained behind, glancing around him as if
merely wanting to know whether the crop promised well; but Macdonald
came down the drills, in the direction of the carriage.
"Kaethchen," said Mary, in an eager whisper, "he is coming to speak to
me! Let me get out--quick!"
She stepped into the roadway. As Macdonald came slowly towards her, he
raised his eyes and regarded her for a second, in silence. He took off
his cap--and forgot to put it on again. He was thinking what to say.
"I--not mich English. It is thanks to you--for many things. The young
laird says that. And I--am to ask your pardon--and sorry I am if there
is not goodwill--and there is good-will now--and it is sorry I am----"
"Not at all--not at all; we are going to be quite good friends, Mr.
Macdonald--and there's my hand on it," said she in her frank, impetuous
way. "And you are going to ask me into your house; and will you give me
a little bit of oat-cake, or something of the kind?--and when you are
next over at Lochgarra you must not forget to come and see me. And at
any time, mind you, if you have anything to complain of, come to me
first; come direct to me; don't go to Mr. Purdie, or anybody; for
perhaps I might be able to settle the matter for you at once."
And with that she called on Mr. Ross, and told him they were going into
the cottage to get a bit of oat-cake; for Macdonald was already leading
the way thither. When they came out of Macdonald's cottage, they found
that the photographer had quite completed his work; so they at once set
out for home again. Mary was in an extraordinary state of delight over
this vanquishment of her obdurate enemy, and said she should take means
to remind him of their compact of goodwill. But young Ross only
laughed.
"'Wherefore he called that place Beersheba,'" he said, "'because there
they sware both of them.'"
The following Saturday was Mary Stanley's birthday. Early in the
morning she and Kate, in fulfilment of a long-standing engagement, drove
away out to Craiglarig to pay a visit to Mr. Watson, and talk over some
matters connected with his farm; and as they stayed for lunch, they did
not get back till the afternoon. By that time the mail had come in, and
there was an astonishing number of letters and parcels addressed to Miss
Stanley, for she had a large number of friends in the south, who held
her in kindly remembrance. She was looking at these and guessing at the
senders, when she came to one that was larger and heavier than the
others; moreover, it had not come by post, but by hand. Something
impelled her to tear off the brown wrapper, and behold, here was the
Rhodian dish she had so particularly admired when they were out at
Heimra Island.
"I saw he noticed how long you looked at it," said Kaethchen, with
smiling eyes.
Well, she did not look at it long now, beautiful as it was. She had
turned again to the wrapper, and she seemed to take a curious interest
in studying her own name as she found it there.
"It is an unusual handwriting, don't you think so, Kaethchen?" she said,
slowly, and almost as if she were talking to herself. "Firm and
precise.... How odd one's own name appears when you see it written for
the first time by some one you know! ... Do you think character can be
read in handwriting, Kaethchen? ... firmness--yes, apparently; and
precision--well, I don't object to that so much, ... but don't you think
he is a little too--a little too confident in himself ... careless of
what others may think ... a little too independent ... and proud in his
own domain?"
"I don't know about that at all. But I am going to tell you something
now, and you may be angry or not as you please," said Kaethchen; and she
went up to her friend, and put her hand on her arm: perhaps she wanted
to watch the expression of her face: "Mamie," she said, "that man loves
you."