Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[Illustration: A child with sunny brown curls falling over
her shoulders dashed in. Frontispiece.]
MY HEART'S IN
THE HIGHLANDS
BY
AMY LE FEUVRE
WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED
LONDON AND MELBOURNE
MADE IN ENGLAND
Printed in Great Britain by
L. T. A. ROBINSON LIMITED, THE BOTOLPH PRINTING WORKS
LONDON.
CONTENTS
CHAP.
BOOK I
I. A DOCTOR'S VERDICT
II. ALONE
III. MYSIE MACDONALD
IV. THE BIRTHDAY GIFT
V. FRIENDLY TALKS
VI. MISS FALCONER
VII. COMPELLED TO THINK
VIII. THE LAIRD'S AWAKENING
IX. DEPARTURE
BOOK II
I. AT THE GREEN COTTAGE
II. A NEW FRIEND
III. CHASING SHADOWS
IV. AN OLD FRIEND
V. A SATISFACTORY INTERVIEW
VI. THE LAIRD SPEAKS
VII. AN ACCIDENT
VIII. AN ALTERED OUTLOOK
BOOK III
I. HIS BRIDE
II. SOME GUESTS
III. HECTOR ROSS
IV. WINTER IN THE GLEN
V. ROWENA'S POWER
MY HEART'S IN THE
HIGHLANDS
BOOK I
CHAPTER I
A DOCTOR'S VERDICT
"We know
That we have power over ourselves to do
And suffer: What—we know not till we try."
Shelley.
"I DO wish you would be serious!"
"Why on earth should I be?"
Rowena Arbuthnot leant her elbows on the wide windowsill and looked in
upon her sister-in-law from the garden, with her mischievous blue-grey
eyes which always seemed to twinkle with some hidden joke. Rowena's
eyes had been the cause of her continually getting into trouble, from
the time she had been a child, when the rector of the parish had
requested her not to laugh at him in the pulpit.
She was older now; and had gone through more trouble than most girls
of her age. But though her lips were grave, and a trifle sad when in
repose, yet her eyes had never lost their gleam of hidden laughter.
Young Mrs. Arbuthnot, sitting in her pretty drawing-room, stitching
away at a white frock for her youngest child, felt impatient with
Rowena.
"I never shall understand you," she said; "I thought you and Ted were
so devoted, that if you had not cared a button about the children or
me, you would be disappointed at not coming with us. Our home has been
yours for the last four years; and we have always looked upon you as
one of the family."
"My dear Geraldine, tears are too expensive a luxury to be wasted in
public. Shall I conjure up two for your benefit? I might if I tried
hard."
"I hate you when you are facetious!"
"I won't be. Let us talk wisely and soberly. Is it my fault that Ted
was cheated in the horse deal, that I mounted a half-broken vixen, and
was pitched out of the saddle on the very hardest bit of ground going?
Is it my fault that that dear old Niddy-Noddy should insist upon my
lying low for a year? I don't want to be an invalid for life. It isn't
an attractive prospect. And you wouldn't like a bedridden crock to
be attached to you for evermore. Isn't it worthwhile to escape that
fate if I can? To forgo my journey to the East with you is, of course,
a trial. But what am I, if I can't take my share of disappointments
philosophically?"
"Yes, yes, I know you've got an inexhaustible fund of philosophy and
patience; but where are you going, what are you going to do? If only
Ted had not let the house! But we're so hard up—and—really, Rowena,
you ought to be lying down at this moment! What is the good of only
following half Dr. North's advice?"
Rowena held up a bunch of dew-sparkling roses.
"My dear, I'm coming in—but I must have these to refresh me." She
slipped in over the low window, and went to a couch in the farthest
corner of the room. For a moment or two she occupied herself in putting
her roses into a bowl of water by the side of the couch; then quietly
laid herself down among the cushions with a little sigh—or was it a
long-drawn breath of pain?
"Now talk away, Geraldine! I'm chained here till luncheon, and you can
say all you have in your mind, but we won't grumble over what cannot be
helped."
"Well, have you any idea what is to become of you?"
"Not the slightest. You see Niddy-Noddy only sprang my fate upon me
yesterday, and you are the only one who has seen Ted. I was in bed when
he returned last night, and he was off to town before I got up this
morning."
"He has so many arrangements to make before we sail. And Ted is no good
for practical common sense. If you only had money of your own, how easy
it would make things!"
It was not often Geraldine Arbuthnot alluded to Rowena's penniless
condition; and the girl laughed to hide the hurt of it.
"Yes—and a crippled beggar is worse off than a healthy spry one. I
allow I am in an evil case! It's a pity you and Ted set your faces
against the job offered me."
"Ted has some pride," said Mrs. Arbuthnot with raised head. "It isn't
likely he would let his sister be a paid clerk to that bounder Tom
Corbett! And I wanted you badly. Goodness knows what I shall do without
you now. You weathered me through my bad time three times over, and I
shall never forget it. The chicks will be lost without you—and I was
quite counting on you to keep them happy on board ship!"
"Oh, yes, you'll miss me," said Rowena with honest conviction. "What
craft can I do on my back, I wonder? Not basket-making! I could make
rugs—those Eastern ones—I really think that is an idea! But who would
buy them? Would that hurt Ted's pride, if I wrote a round robin—to our
friends, asking for their support? How would it run? After this style:"
"'An invalid much in want of the necessities of life, is starting
rug-making. Orders received and promptly executed. Designs straight
from India and Persia; and colours to blend with purchaser's rooms.'"
"Oh, do be quiet, Rowena. Don't talk such nonsense. Here are the
chicks. Nurse, bring them in here."
Mrs. Arbuthnot leant out of the window as she spoke, and a moment
after, two little fair-haired boys burst open the door, their baby
sister struggling in her nurse's arms to follow them.
"Where's Aunt Rony?"
"Here, Buttons, here; in my little corner!"
Buttons flung himself upon the couch.
"Are you playing a game? Are you in bed?"
For the next few minutes the children's chatter filled the room, but
the nurse soon took them off; Buttons and his twin Bertie beseeching
their aunt to come up to the nursery and have a game with them after
tea.
When they were gone there was silence for some minutes; then Mrs.
Arbuthnot folded up her work.
"Well, Rowena, we seem to come to no conclusion. Ted told me to talk it
over with you."
"But we have. Ted must lend me a little money—and I'll move into rooms
somewhere, and teach myself a craft and pay him back as soon as I can.
And then at the end of the year, if I'm cured, I can come out to you if
you want me."
"I shall always want you. You do too much for me. I shall never be
content to live without you. Well, I must go and write some letters.
I'll send Ted to you directly he comes home."
Rowena's bright eyes closed when her sister-in-law left the room. The
pain in her back was acute now, and she was glad to rest. Her doctor
had told her that there was a slight injury to her spine, and that she
must lie on her back for a year, if she wished to be strong again. She
had never remembered a day's illness in her life. She rode, she boated,
she hunted, and she fished, always in company with her beloved brother.
His marriage had not lessened the bond between them, for his wife was
devoted to her, and had not a particle of jealousy in her composition.
She did encroach on Rowena's good nature, but was conscious of it
herself, and told her husband that Rowena was but an unpaid servant in
their house.
"She is a companion to me; nurse and governess to the boys; housekeeper
and general adviser; and comforter all round. She really deserves
double the allowance you give her."
But Ted shook his head.
"She's my sister and chum—I couldn't expect her to take money for her
services."
Now he had been summoned to India to join the foreign battalion of his
regiment, and Rowena, owing to her unfortunate accident, was to be left
behind.
She felt it keenly; she loved the pretty home which lay amongst the
Surrey Hills; but would have accompanied her brother cheerfully all
over the world. Several times she might have married, but so far, no
man had eclipsed Ted's image in her heart. She always compared her
lovers with her brother, and always found they lacked his personal
attractive qualities.
He came in at five o'clock that June afternoon, and found his way to
her almost immediately.
"Rowena, this is bad news."
"Didn't you expect it? I did. I knew from the minute I was carried away
from my spill that there would be no India for me."
"But we'll rig you up a bed on board; and in India you can lounge and
laze to your heart's content. Old North doesn't know what he is talking
about."
"It's no go, my dear boy, you'll be on the move in India yourself, you
told me so. I will not be a useless encumbrance to you. No. I'll do the
thing in style, and be a bed-lier till I'm cured. I mean to be cured,
Ted; and a year will soon slip by. It isn't only Niddy-Noddy who has
settled up my fate. That London specialist gave the same verdict."
"But where are you to live?"
"In my skin. Don't ruck up your forehead like a wizened monkey! I've
been calculating that I shall require no clothing for a year, and no
footgear. I'm very rough on my boots. So my allowance will go for my
food. I must get cheap lodgings somewhere. One room will do for me,
as I shall always be in bed. Why, lots of old bedridden women in the
country villages live on less than you give me for my clothes."
Her brother paced the room restlessly. Then his face lighted up.
"How would you like to go up to that Scotch shooting lodge of mine?
Could you stand the quiet and solitariness of it? There's old Granny
Mactavish who would wait upon you. And then there would be no rent to
pay, and she keeps a cow and some hens, so those would feed you."
Rowena's eyes literally danced in her head.
"And Geraldine says that you are not practical! Ah, here she is. Come
along and see how quickly we've settled things. I'm going up to Loch
Tarlie. And a cow and some hens are going to nourish and sustain me!"
"Oh, Rowena! Ted, you will never encourage her to go there! She could
die and be buried before we should hear of it, or anyone else. Besides,
I don't think it would be proper. Isn't she too young to live in the
wilds by herself?"
Both Ted and Rowena began to laugh, and Rowena's laughter was so
infectious that Geraldine's grave face relaxed.
"Is it a joke?" she asked. "Of course you might like it for the summer,
Rowena dear, but think of the winter! How could you live there? And
you're a sociable creature and have always been accustomed to see a
good many people. Why, it is fifty miles from rail! And there are no
shops, or libraries, or theatres, or concerts, or the mildest form of
amusement for you!"
Rowena held up her ten fingers.
"And now let us count the advantages:"
"No temptation to attract one off one's couch. A never-ending
panorama of colour and light and beautiful scenery before
one's eyes. No rent to pay."
"No servants to employ."
"A home of one's own—I have known Loch Tarlie since I was six—
milk and butter and chickens all to hand. Ted asserts I want
nothing else."
"No newspapers, to make one realize that England is going,
or has gone, to the dogs."
"And life-giving, intoxicating moor air to make one feel glad
every day of one's life that one is alive!"
"Yes, Geraldine, I am going and will stick it out for the winter there.
Old Granny Mactavish is as spry and active as a girl. If she can stand
the winter, why shouldn't I? And oh, do you think old Niddy-Noddy would
let me transfer my mattress to a boat? Think of my lying on a silver
loch watching the trout and salmon leap and flash by! Perhaps with
Granny's nephew, Colin, by my side, we could fish between us. Ted, is
your mouth watering? And will you write by this evening's post and
tell Granny I will have my bed made up in the green drawing-room, with
windows down to the floor? I shall feel out-of-doors at once."
"You will want books," said Ted gravely. "I'll order a box from Mudie's
to go down with you, and I say, Rowena, there's a first-rate travel
book by a chap I knew in the war. He's a humorous sort of fellow, with
keen powers of observation. It's about the Frontier up in Afghanistan.
You must read it. I was dipping into it to-day at the club, and
Murchison, who was reading it, said—"
"Ted, get off books this instant," said Geraldine, "and let us discuss
the question of Loch Tarlie. How will Rowena get up there, and who will
go with her? And she cannot live alone with old Granny Mactavish. We
have always taken our own maids up there and a chauffeur. Rowena must
have a nice maid to attend upon her."
"No, thanks—not if I know it! I couldn't stand the whines of a lonely
frightened maid. No young person could stand a Loch Tarlie winter. As
for me, I am as old as the hills. They say a woman is as old as she
feels—and I feel just a thousand and one since my spill!"
"Oh, if you've made up your mind, any objection of mine will be waste
of words. I wonder if the Frasers will be there this year?"
"Macdonald has taken possession of Glen Tarlie," said Ted; "but I
don't believe he is there much. It's a pity his wife died—she was just
Rowena's sort."
"You mean in the way of books," said Geraldine. "Well, I never liked
her, she was so indifferent to him; and I think it was sheer wickedness
to leave her baby to those Highland folks at the Farm, because she
wouldn't be bothered with a child in town."
"I'm not going to see a soul," said Rowena in her cheerful voice; "so
don't try to rake out company for me. Ted, write; there's a dear!
I'm quite impatient to have it settled up. And as for the journey,
Geraldine, I shall have a sleeper, and get on by myself. The guards are
always attentive to invalids."
"That you shall not! I shall send Ellen with you. She won't come to
India with me, and her home is somewhere in the North."
And so it was settled, and in about three weeks' time Ted with his wife
and children were steaming down the Channel on a P. & O. boat, and
Rowena was travelling up to Scotland with Geraldine's maid.
Rowena had kept a bright face to the last. But now she lay in her berth
with closed eyes, feeling the chubby soft faces of her little nephews
pressed against her cheek, seeing the wistful look in her brother's
eyes and the tears in his wife's, and wondering if she would ever see
them all again. And then she took herself to task in her usual style.
"This won't do at all! You've been shamefully spoilt these last four
years—every one wanting you and making much of you. Those fat years
have gone and now comes a lean one. Too much fat makes the liver
sluggish. And you lived alone for two years with your poor fretful
father, when he never wanted you near him, and wouldn't let you go away
from him. Now you are going to live by your lone self, with no one to
fret you; and if you can't employ yourself and enjoy yourself as well,
I'm sorry for you!"
The journey to Scotland was made in driving wind and rain, but though
Rowena felt the continual vibration of the train in every joint of her
injured spine, she was as cheerful as a cricket, and kept Ellen in
constant smiles.
"I never did hear a grown-up person talk such nonsense in all my life,"
she confided to the friendly guard, who took Rowena under his fatherly
protection; "but she'd win a smile out of a cow, she would!"
Half a day's journey from Glasgow brought them to the last stage of
their travels. Ellen was to take Rowena to the Lodge and sleep the
night there. The little steamer was waiting to take them up the loch.
Rowena insisted upon walking on to it, though she was forced to lean
heavily on Ellen's arm. The rain had ceased, and the sun now shone out
as it only does in the Highlands, illuminating every mountain height,
with soft dreamy radiance.
"Ah!" said Rowena, subsiding into a lounge chair upon the deck; "now
don't you wish yourself in my shoes, Ellen? And I am not to be torn
away from it just when I am taking root, which has always been my fate
before—I am going to sink into it and rest in it for three hundred and
sixty-five days."
"I'm sure, ma'am, I only hope you will have some amusements to beguile
the days," said Ellen.
She was looking round her with apprehensive eyes. The still silent
waters of the loch through which they glided with its walls of green on
either side, and the blue ranges of mountain that guarded it upon the
horizon, seemed to her a type of prison.
Rowena now pointed out a beautiful glen across the loch.
A stack of chimneys rose up behind some trees.
"That's where we're going," she said.
Ellen gave a gentle sigh.
"It seems the end of the world," she said, and Rowena's low mellow
laugh rang out.
"You'll be in dear noisy Glasgow again to-morrow, Ellen. Cheer up!"
The steamer put in at the small pier at the foot of the glen. There
was a grey-bearded Highlander standing very straight and still upon
the pier. Rowena greeted him with a radiant smile. Duncan Cameron had
helped her many a time to stalk a stag. He had also been with her when
she had caught her first salmon many years ago. He was her brother's
head keeper, and had been in his employ for over twenty years.
"Granny was sayin' that you would be wantin' a hand up," he said. "Is
it ill ye are, Miss Rowena?"
"I'm an infirm old woman, Duncan—jumped into my dotage in one black
day! Why, what is that you've got there?"
"'Tis a cheer, miss—a cheer which the Ker-enel ordered to be brought
for ye, an' tis I will be pushin' it up the wee bit brae!"
"Magnificent!" said Rowena, looking at the spick and span invalid's
chair with its soft blue cushions: a lump gathering in her throat at
this proof of her brother's loving forethought.
Helped into it by Ellen, she relapsed into silence, but she was gazing
up the glen with shining eyes. The soft air, the afternoon sun, gilding
the raindrops on the pines and birches, the sweet scents of the
moistened earth underfoot, all soothed and rested her tired spirit.
Along the winding carriage road they went, under an avenue of ashes and
birches; by the side of them a wide trout stream came dashing down from
the heights above, finding its way into the Loch. And then they turned
the corner, and on a flat plateau of green smooth turf, fringed with
pines, lay the house. It was a low, long grey building, with windows
opening out upon the lawn, and creeping roses covering an old rustic
porch, which led into the hall. Inside the pitch-pine floors were
covered with green druggetting. Old Mrs. Mactavish stood curtsying in
the doorway. Rowena took both her wrinkled hands in hers affectionately.
"Here I am and here I shall be till you are sick of the sight of me!"
"Ach now, ma'am, with your jokes! Wae's me if ye will be stretched on
your back a' the days o' sunshine, but I've done as weel as I know how
to mak ye comfortable!"
She led the way into the room which Rowena had chosen for herself.
It was a long, low room with three beautiful windows reaching the
whole length of the wall; the loch stretched out below the lawn; and
there was a gap in the trees so that the view of the shining water
and the wooded heights on the farther side lay open to the eyes. The
floor was covered with the same simple green druggetting. Geraldine
had good taste, and simplicity reigned all over the house. The walls
were painted cream and the furniture was fumed oak, but the couches and
chairs were all covered with green and white chintz, and Rowena's couch
was drawn up near one of the windows, a table by its side. A bright
wood fire was blazing in the low grate. The room looked cheerful; old
Granny had even gathered some yellow flags and put them in a china jug
upon the mantelpiece. There was a door leading into a similar room
behind, originally the smoking-room, and now to be used by Rowena as
her bedroom.
Ellen looked round with critical eyes, but even she could not find any
faults with the arrangements for the invalid's comfort.
"And there's my granddaughter, Janet, will be up in the morning early,"
said Granny. "The mistress said she should wait on ye in the morn, and
also in the eve."
She introduced a rosy smiling girl to Rowena, and Ellen heaved a sigh
of relief.
"I'm glad you'll have somebody to wait on you, ma'am, for that old body
seems ready for the grave!"
"Oh, Ellen, for shame! It is the outdoor work she does that makes her
so wrinkled. Granny is good for twenty years yet. And you should taste
her oatcakes and scones! No one can beat her at cakes!"
Half an hour later Rowena was lying on her couch with the table drawn
up by the side of it; and even Ellen could find no fault with the
creamy scones and oatcakes, the excellent tea and bowl of rich yellow
cream, and home-made butter, which Janet smilingly brought to them.
Rowena went early to bed, and when Ellen left her the next morning she
was unwillingly convinced that her charge would be comfortable, but
"desperately solitary" she assured herself with a lugubrious shake of
her head.