"'TWAS WHEN THE SEAS WERE ROARING."
It was early morning out at Heimra; the sky comparatively clear as yet,
though there was a squally look about the flying rags of cloud; the sea
obviously freshening up, and already springing white along the
headlands. And here at the little landing-slip were Coinneach Breac and
Calum, waiting by the side of the yacht's boat, and from time to time
conversing in their native tongue.
"I am not liking the look of this morning," said Coinneach, "with the
glass down near half-an-inch since last night. But if the master wishes
me to go, then it is I who am ready to go, and I do not care where it is
that I may be going. For who knows the anchorages better than himself,
and the tides, and the currents, and the navigation?"
And then presently he said, in a more sombre tone:
"There is something that I do not understand. Did you look at the master
when he was coming away from the mainland last evening? There has a
trouble fallen on him: mark my words, Calum; for you are a young man and
not quick to see such things. And do you know what Martha was telling
me when I went up to the house this morning?--she was telling me that
the master was not coming near the house all the night through; and it
is I myself that saw him coming slowly down the hill not more than
half-an-hour ago. And if he was up by the white grave all the night
through, that is not a good thing for a young man. A grave without a
wall round it is not a good thing."
And then again he said:
"It is I who would like to know who brought the trouble on the young
master; and last night, as I was lying in my bunk, thinking over this
thing and that thing, and wondering what it was that had happened, I was
remembering that the Little Red Dwarf came to Lochgarra yesterday--yes,
and he the only stranger that came to Lochgarra yesterday."
"I wish the Little Red Dwarf were with his father the devil," said
Calum, with calm content.
"And if I thought it was the Little Red Dwarf that was the cause of the
master's trouble," said Coinneach, with his deep-set grey eyes full of a
dark hatred, "do you know what I would do, Calum? I would put the
_orra-an-donais_ on him. That is what I would do, ay, this very night.
This very night I would take two branches of hawthorn, and I would nail
them as a cross, and at twelve o'clock I would put them against his
door; and then I would say this: '_God's wrath to be set against thy
face, whether thou art drowning at sea or burning on land; and a branch
of hawthorn between thy heart and thy kidneys; and for thy soul the
lowermost floor in hell, for ever and ever_.' He is a powerful man, the
Little Red Dwarf, and he has wide shoulders; but how would he fare with
the _orra-an-donais_ on his wide shoulders?"
But Calum shook his head.
"No, no," said the long, loutish, good-humoured-looking lad, "I do not
think well of such things. They are dangerous things. They are like the
bending of a stick; and who knows but that the stick may fly back and
strike you? But this is what I have in my mind, Coinneach: if the
master wishes, then I would just take the Little Red Dwarf and I would
put him in a pool in the Garra, ay, and I would hold his head down until
he was as dead as a rat. Aw, _Dyeea_, there would be no trouble with
the Little Red Dwarf after that!"
"The master!" said Coinneach--and there was silence.
Young Donald appeared somewhat pale and tired; but otherwise did not
seem out of spirits.
"Well, Coinneach," he said, cheerfully enough, as he came up--and he
spoke in the tongue that was most familiar to them--"what do you think
of taking the world for your pillow--as they say in the old stories; and
would you set out at this very moment?"
"But with you, sir?" said Coinneach, quickly.
"Oh, yes, yes--in the _Sirene_?"
"I am willing to go wherever Mr. Ross wishes, and at any time, and for
any length of time--it is Mr. Ross himself knows that," Coinneach made
answer.
"And you, Calum?"
"It is the same that I am saying," responded the younger lad, with
downcast eyes.
"And where would you like to go, Coinneach, if you have all the world to
choose from?" the young master asked.
"That is not for me to say--that is for Mr. Ross to say."
"And if you were never to see Eilean Heimra again?"
"That also to me is indifferent," said Coinneach, with dogged obedience.
Donald Ross stepped into the boat, and took his seat in the stern.
"Come away, then, lads; for if we are to set out on our travels, we must
make a hasty start. Did you look at the glass this morning, Coinneach?
And there is a thick bank of cloud rising in the west: we shall not want
for wind, I'm thinking, when we get outside. And as for getting under
way at a moment's notice, well, we can put in stores and everything else
that is wanted when we are safe in Portree Harbour, with a little time
to spare. For there is wild weather coming, Coinneach, if I am not
mistaken; but anything is better than being storm-stayed at Heimra, when
it is to the south you wish to be going."
And he himself helped the two men to get the vessel in readiness when
they had got on board--ordering them, as a preliminary precaution, to
take down a couple of reefs in the mainsail. For even here in this
sheltered little bay, the omens were inauspicious; the sky had grown
dark and the wind had risen; there was a low and troubled and continuous
murmur from the out-jutting spur on the north.
"It is an angry-looking day to be leaving Heimra," young Ross said; "but
perhaps there is no one wishing us to remain at Heimra; and you and I,
Coinneach, have been companions before now. And if I am asking you to
go away in a hurry, well, there will be time to get all we want at
Portree."
"And what do I want," said Coinneach, "except tobacco? And it is not
even that would hinder me from going wherever Mr. Ross wishes to be
going."
The young master went aft to the tiller. As the yacht slowly crept
forward he turned for a moment and glanced towards the island they were
leaving.
"Poor old Martha," he said to himself; "I must try to find another place
for her somewhere and get her away; it would be the breaking of her
heart if she were to see strangers come to take possession of Eilean
Heimra."
On Eilean Heimra he bestowed this single farewell glance; but on
Lochgarra none. When they got outside into the heavily-running seas he
did not turn once to look at the distant bay and its strip of cottages,
nor yet at the promontory where the sharp gusts of the gale were already
ploughing waves along the tops of the larchwoods surrounding Lochgarra
House. The affected cheerfulness with which he had addressed the two
sailors on setting forth was gone now; his face was pale and worn; the
mouth stern; the eyes clouded and dark. But he had his hands full; for
every moment the weather became more threatening.
"Calum," he called out, "go below and fetch me up my oil-skins. We are
going to catch something pretty soon."
And so--amid this wild turmoil of driven skies and black-rolling
seas--the _Sirene_ bore away for the south.
And meanwhile at yonder big building among the wind-swept larches? All
the long and terrible night Mary Stanley had neither slept nor thought
of sleeping; she had not even undressed; she had kept walking up and
down her room in a fever of agitation; or she had sate at the table, her
hands clasped over her forehead, striving to shut out from her memory
that dire succession of scenes, those haunting visions that seemed to
have been burned into her brain. And if they would not go?--then
blindly and stubbornly would she refuse to admit that they lent any air
of credibility to this tale that had been told her. Nay, she abased
herself; and overwhelmed herself with reproaches; and called herself the
meanest of living creatures, in that she could have believed, even for
one frantic moment, that base and malignant fabrication. Why, had she
not known all along of the deadly animosity that Purdie, for some reason
or another, bore towards young Ross and all his family? Had she not
herself discovered that previous charges against Donald Ross owned no
foundation other than a rancorous and reckless spite? And she had taken
the unsupported testimony of one who appeared to be out of his mind with
malice and hatred against the man who was her lover, as he and she knew
in their secret hearts? In one second of unreasoning impulse she had
destroyed all those fair possibilities that lay within her grasp; she
had ruined her life; and wounded to the quick the one that was dearest
to her in all the world. And well she knew how proud and relentless he
was: he had forgiven much, to her and hers; but this he would never
forgive. It was more than an insult; it was a betrayal: what would he
think of her, even if she could go to him, and make humble confession,
and implore his pardon? How could she explain that instant of panic
following her first indignant repudiation--then the hapless chance that
brought him face to face with her--then the fierce revolt of a maiden
soul against contamination--alas! all in a sudden bewilderment of error,
that could never be atoned for now. What must he think of her?--she
kept repeating to herself--of her, faithless, shameless, who had spurned
his loyal trust in her? If she went and grovelled in the very dust
before him, and stretched out her hands towards him, he would turn away
from her. remorseless and implacable. She was not worthy of his
disdain.
And nevertheless, upbraid herself as she might, she still beheld before
her aching eyes those two figures on the Garra bridge, followed by the
swift disappearance of the girl into the woods; and again she saw her
down at the shore, entreating to be taken out to Heimra Island and
piercing the silence with her despair when she was left behind. It was
not Purdie who had shown her these things; it was of her own knowledge
she knew them; they had started up before her, in corroboration of his
impeachment, even as he spoke. But what if she were to accept his
challenge? What if she were to go to Anna Chlannach herself? He had
declared she was his witness--his living witness. If there were any
foundation for this terrible story, she would confess the truth: if, as
Mary Stanley strove to convince herself, the charge was nothing but a
deliberate and malevolent invention, she would be able to hurl the black
falsehood back in his teeth. He had challenged her to go to Anna
Chlannach: to Anna Chlannach she would go.
And then (as the blue-grey light of the dawn appeared in the
window-panes) a sense of her utter helplessness came over her. That
poor, half-witted creature knew no word of English. And how was she to
appeal to any third person, asking for intervention? How could she
demean herself by repeating such a story, and by admitting even the
possibility of its being true? Nay more: might not her motives be
misconstrued? What would the third person, the interpreter, think of
these shamefaced inquiries? That the mistress of Lochgarra House was
moved by an angry jealousy of that poor wandering waif? That Mary
Stanley and Anna Chlannach were in the position of rivals? Her cheeks
burned. Not in that way could she find the means of hurling back
Purdie's monstrous accusation.
The white daylight broadened over land and sea; and away out yonder was
Heimra Island, shining all the fairer because of the black and
slow-moving wall of cloud along the western horizon. What had happened
since yesterday, then? She hardly knew: she knew only that her heart
lay heavy within her bosom, and that despair instead of sleep seemed to
weigh down her eyelids. Was it only yesterday that she had been away up
at Loch Heimra, imagining it once more a sheet of water, and pleasing
herself with the fancy that some afternoon she would bring her lover
along the road with her, to show him what she had done to make meek
amends? Yesterday, when she thought of him, which was often enough, joy
had filled her whole being, and kindness, and gratitude, and
well-wishing to the universal world. Yesterday he and she were friends;
and to look forward to their next meeting was to her a secret delight
which she could dwell upon, even in talking with strangers. But
now--this new day: what had it brought her, that she was so numb, and
cold, and hopeless? And what was this that lay so heavy in her breast?
Suddenly she sprang to her feet--her eyes staring. A boat was creeping
out from the southernmost headland of Eilean Heimra. It was a small
vessel with sails: it was the _Sirene_, she made sure. And was he
coming ashore now--coming straight to Lochgarra House, as was his
wont--coming, in open and manly fashion to demand an explanation from
her? And even if he were to upbraid her, and shower anger and scorn
upon her, what then?--so long as he showed himself not wholly
unforgiving, so long as he allowed her to speak. But as she stood at the
window there, intently watching the distant ship, a shuddering suspicion
seemed to paralyse her. The _Sirene_ was not coming this way at all: it
was slowly, gradually, unmistakably making for the south. And no sooner
had this fear become a certainty than the world appeared to swim around
her. There was to be no explanation, then?--not even that torrent of
bitter and angry reproach? He was going away--silent, stern, inexorable?
This was his answer? He would not stoop to demand explanations: he
would simply withdraw? It was not fit that he should mate or match with
such as she.
And at the same moment she caught sight of Big Archie, who was pulling
out to his boat. In her terror, and despair, and helplessness, she did
not think twice; her resolution was formed in a moment; she threw a
shawl over her head and shoulders, and fled downstairs, and out into the
open. Quickly she made her way along the beach.
"Archie!" she called, in the teeth of the wind. "Archie! Archie! I
want you!--come ashore, quick!"
The heavy-shouldered and heavy-bearded fisherman, who was still in the
smaller boat, paused on his oars for a second; and then, probably
understanding more from her gestures than from her words what she
wished, he headed round and made for the beach. And before he had
reached the land she had called to him again.
"Archie, that is the _Sirene_--going away from Heimra?"
"Yes, indeed, mem," said Archie.
"You must take me out in your lugger, Archie," she said, in a frenzied
sort of way. "There's not a moment to be lost: even if you can't sail as
quick as they can, never mind--we will get some distance after
them--they will see us--we can signal to them----"
The bow of the small boat rose on the shingle and seaweed; Big Archie
stepped out and pulled it up a bit further. He did not quite understand
at first what was demanded of him; perhaps he was a trifle scared by the
unusual look on Miss Stanley's face--the pallid cheeks, the piteous and
anxious eyes; but when he did comprehend, his answer was a serious and
earnest remonstrance.
"Aw, _Dyeea_, do you not see what it is threatening out there?" said he,
quite concerned.
"I do not care about that," she answered him. "If the _Sirene_ can go
out, so can you. And you have the sail up, Archie!"
"Ay, ay, indeed," he explained, "bekass I was thinking of going round to
Ru Gobhar, to hef a look at the lobster-traps. But when I was seeing
the bad weather threatening, and the glass down, then I was just going
out to the boat to get the sail lowered again and the young lad brought
ashore. It is just anything I would do to please Miss Stanley; but it
is looking very, very bad; and we could not catch up on the _Sirene_
whatever--aw, no!--it is no use to think my boat could get near to the
_Sirene_, and her a first-class yat and a fine sailer. And Miss Stanley
getting very wet, too, for there's a heavy sea outside----"
"Archie," she said, in an imploring voice, "if you are a friend of mine,
you will try! You will try to stop the _Sirene_--cannot we make some
signal to her? And you said the young lad was in the boat?--and the
sail is up--we could get away at once----"
"Oh, if you wish it, mem, that is enough for me," he said; and presently
he had got her into the stern of the small boat, had shoved off, and was
pulling out to the big, brown-sailed lugger.
Archie had moorings in the bay, so that they lost no time in setting
forth. And at first everything went well enough; for they had merely to
beat out against the swirls of wind that came into the sheltered
harbour; and the water was comparatively smooth. But when they got into
the open they found a heavy sea running; and the lugger began to dip her
bows and fling flying showers of spray down to the stern; while the bank
of black cloud in the west was slowly advancing, heralded by torn shreds
of silver that chased each other across the menacing sky. Big Archie
took off his jacket and offered it to Miss Stanley, to shield her from
the wet; but she obstinately refused, and bade him put it on again: her
sole and whole attention was fixed on the phantom-grey yacht down there
in the south, that was every other moment hidden from view by the
surging crests of the waves. She had to cling to the gunwale, to
prevent her being hurled from her seat; for the lugger was labouring
sorely, and staggering under these successive shocks; but all the same
her eyes, though they smarted from the salt foam, were following the now
distant _Sirene_ with a kind of wild entreaty in them, as though she
would fain have called across the waste of waters.
"Can they see us, Archie?--can they see us?" she cried. "Could not the
boy climb up to the mast-head and wave something?"
"Aw, no, mem," said Archie, "they are too far aweh. They are far too
far aweh. And they are not knowing we are looking towards them."
"But if we keep right on to Heimra?" said she, in her desperation.
"Surely they will see we are making for the island--they will come
back----"
"They would just think it was the Gillie Ciotach going out to look after
the lobster-traps," said Archie.
"Not in this weather!" she urged. "Not in this weather! They must see
it is something of importance. They will see the boat going out to
Heimra--they are sure to come back, Archie--they are certain to come
back!"
"We will hold on for Heimra if you wish it, mem--but there's a bad sea
getting up," said Archie, with his eye on those tumultuous swift-running
masses of water, the crashing into which caused even this heavy craft to
quiver from stem to stern. By this time the heavens had still further
darkened around them--a boding gloom, accompanied, as it was, by a
fitful howling of wind; while rain was falling in torrents. Not that
this latter mattered very much, for they were all of them drenched to
the skin by the seas that were leaping high from the lugger's bows; only
that the deluge thickened all the air, so that it became more and more
difficult to catch a glimpse of the now fast-receding _Sirene_. Archie
paid but little attention to the yacht; he seemed to have no hope of
attracting her notice; but he was greatly distressed about the condition
of the young mistress of Lochgarra.
"If I had known, mem--if I had known early in the moarning--I would hef
brought something to cover you," said he, in accents of deep
commiseration. "It is a great peety----"
"Never mind about that, Archie," said she. "Don't you think they must
know now that we are making for Heimra?"
"They are a long weh aweh," said Big Archie, shaking the salt water from
his eyebrows and beard. "And they will be looking after themselves now.
It was a stranche thing for Mr. Ross to put out with a storm coming on."
"Is there any danger, Archie?" she said, quickly. "Are they going into
any danger?"
Archie was silent for a second.
"I am not knowing what would mek Mr. Ross start out on a moarning like
this," said he. "And where he is going I cannot seh. But he is one that
knows the signs of the weather--aw, yes, mem!--and it is likely he will
make in for Gairloch, or Loch Torridon, or mebbe he will get as far down
as the back of Rona Island----
"No, no, Archie, he must see us--he cannot help seeing us!" she
exclaimed. "When we are getting close to Heimra, then he cannot help
seeing us--he will understand--and surely he will come back!"
And meanwhile the gale had been increasing in fury: the wind moaning low
and whistling shrill alternately, the high-springing spray rattling down
on the boat with a noise as of gravel. The old lugger groaned and
strained and creaked--burying herself--shaking herself--reeling before
the ponderous blows of the surge; but Archie gave it her well; there was
no timorous shivering up into the wind. His two hands gripped the
sheet--the tiller under his arm; his feet were wedged firm against the
stone ballast; his mouth set hard; his eyes clear enough in spite of the
driving rain and whirling foam. And now this island of Heimra was
drawing nearer--if the _Sirene_ far away in the south had almost
vanished.
"Look now, Archie!--look now, for I can see nothing," she said,
piteously.
He raised himself somewhat; and scanned the southern horizon, as well as
the heaving and breaking billows would allow.
"Aw, no, mem, the _Sirene_ is not in sight at ahl--not in sight at ahl
now," he said.
She uttered a stifled little cry, as of despair.
"Archie," she said, "could you not follow down to Loch Torridon?"
"Aw, God bless us, mem, the boat would not live long in a sea like
this--it is getting worse and worse every meenit----"
"Very well," said she, wearily, "very well. You have done what you
could, Archie: now there is nothing but to get away back home again."
But that was not at all Big Archie's intention.
"Indeed no, mem," said he, with decision, "I am not going aweh back to
Lochgarra, and you in such a state, mem, when there is a good shelter
close by, ay, and a house. It is into Heimra Bay that I am going; and
there is the house; and Martha will hef your clothes dried for you, mem,
and give you warm food and such things. And mebbe the gale will quiet
down a little in the afternoon, or mebbe to-morrow it will quiet down,
and we will get back to Lochgarra; but it is not weather for an open
boat at ahl."
She made no answer. She did not seem to care. She sate there with eyes
fixed and haggard: perhaps it was not the cliffs of Heimra she saw
before her, but the wild headlands of Wester Ross, and a lurid and
thundering sea, and a small phantom-grey yacht flying for shelter. She
appeared to take no notice as they rounded the stormy point with its
furious, boiling surge, and as they gradually left behind them that
roaring waste of waves, escaping into the friendly quietude of the
land-locked little bay. She was quite passive in Archie's
hands--getting into the small boat listlessly when the lugger had been
brought to anchor; and when she stepped ashore she set out to walk up to
the house, he respectfully following. But she had miscalculated her
strength. For one thing, she had not tasted food since the middle of
the previous day; nor had she once closed her eyes during the night.
Then she was dazed with the wind and the rain; her clothes clung to her
and chilled her to the bone; the feverish anxiety of the morning had
left her nerves all unstrung. Indeed, she could not drag herself up the
beach. She went a few steps--hesitated--turned round as if seeking for
help in a piteous sort of way--then she sank on to the rocks, and
abandoned herself to a passion of grief and despair, from sheer
weakness.
"I cannot go up to the house, Archie," she said, in a half-hysterical
fashion, amid her choking sobs, "and--and why should I go--to an empty
house? It--it is empty--you--you let the _Sirene_ sail away--but--but
never mind that--it is all my fault--more than you know. And I want you
to leave me here, Archie--go away back to Lochgarra--there is no one
cares what becomes of me--what does it matter to anyone? I do nothing
but harm--nothing but harm--there is no need to care what becomes of
me----"
The huge, lumbering, good-hearted fisherman was in a sad plight: he knew
not in the least what to do; he stood there irresolute, the deepest
concern and sympathy in his eyes, himself unable or not daring to utter
a word. But help was at hand. For here was Martha, hurrying along as
fast as her aged limbs would allow, and bringing with her a great fur
rug.
"Dear, dear me!" she exclaimed, as she came up. "What could mek Miss
Stanley venture out o' the house on a day like this?"
And therewith she put the rug round the girl's shoulders, and got her to
her feet, and, with many encouragements and consolatory phrases,
assisted her on her way up from the shore.
"I will get a nice warm bed ready for you at once, mem," said the old
dame, "with plenty of blankets; and I will bring you something hot and
comfortable for you, for you hef got ferry, ferry wet. Dear, dear
me!--but we'll soon hef you made all right; for Mr. Ross would be an
angry man, ay, indeed, if he was hearing that Miss Stanley had come to
Heimra, and not everything done for her that could be done."
But when, after struggling through the blinding rain, they reached the
porch, and when Martha had opened the front-door, Miss Stanley did not
go further than the hall: she sank exhausted into the solitary chair
there.
"Martha," she said, "do not trouble about me. I want to ask you a
question. Did Mr. Ross say where he was going when he left in the
_Sirene_ this morning?"
"No, mem--not a word," Martha answered her, "about where he was going,
or when he was coming back. It was a strange way of leaving--and in the
face of such weather; but young people they hef odd fancies come in
their head. Think of this, mem, that he never was near the house last
night; he was aweh up the hill; and I'm feared that he was saying
good-bye to his mother's grave, and that it will be long ere we see him
back in Heimra again. For he is a strange young man--and not like
others. But you'll come aweh now, mem, and get off your wet things: it
is Mr. Ross himself would be terrible angry if you were not well cared
for in this house."
The day without was sombre and dark; and the light entering here was
wan: perhaps that was the cause of the singular alteration in Mary
Stanley's appearance. She--who had hitherto been always and ever the
very embodiment of buoyant youth, and health, and high spirits--now
looked old. And her eyes were as if night had fallen upon them.