"Oh dear, I was looking forward to stealing over there, and having a

chat with old Granny Mactavish. But I suppose the lodge is empty most

of the year."

"Of course; and I hope you'll bring Hugh to town for the winter.

Don't bury yourselves down there all the year round. You've served an

apprenticeship with Mrs. Burke in gadding about, so you'll know how to

make him sociable. He used to be a very nice fellow before he married.

That marriage soured him. I still think he's not quite good enough for

you."

Rowena let her sister-in-law ramble on. She and Geraldine were

sincerely fond of each other, but held very different views on most

subjects, and she did not take the trouble to defend herself from many

of the charges that were brought up against her.

She returned to Mrs. Burke when the fortnight was over, and found,

to her great delight, that her household was working very smoothly.

Mrs. Burke still kept the house-keeping in her own hands, but she was

allowing her sister to take over many of Rowena's duties.

George had just been sent to a good public school, and the governess,

Miss Cummings by name, had started lessons with the girls. Mrs. Burke

herself was getting stronger, and could now hobble up and down the

garden paths with the help of two sticks. She was extraordinarily

patient and content. Rowena marvelled at it.

"My dear, I never was a discontented woman," Mrs. Burke said to her

one day. "I had one phase of it just before my marriage, but that did

not last. You know I am one who seizes with both hands all the good

that can be got out of life. I have had some years of the world's

best, and though I seized as much of it as I could hold, and carried

a smiling front to all outside, I was gradually made aware that there

was something better still. After you came to me, I saw that I had

seized the shadow and lost the substance. And then, as you know, in

the most wonderful way I have got hold of the substance again. I have

seized it with both hands and, please God, I will never let it go. Of

course, I am happy and content; I'm permeated with content now, and

don't miss my old life in the least little bit. I'm only-sorry for the

shadow-seekers—Vi and Di especially. Di was over when you were away,

and she is perfectly miserable at leaving her home. Can see no comfort

anywhere. Vi is engaged to her colonel, so is not to be pitied, but Di

was badly hit some years ago over a worthless and inconstant lover, and

I don't think she will marry. They will be very badly off, I fear, from

what they tell me. They have very little, independent of their brother."

"Have her over as much as possible," advised Rowena, "and show her that

life is a much grander thing than she has ever thought it yet."

And Mrs. Burke promised to do so.

Time slipped by, and then came the last day of Rowena's stay with her

old friend. It was necessarily rather a sad one, and yet, when Rowena

looked back and thought of the difference in her friend's outlook when

she first knew her, she could not but feel deeply thankful for her

present happiness.

"I will write to you," she said, as she was wishing her good-bye;

"and you will write to me when your poor hands permit it. And one day

you will come and stay at Abertarlie with us, and I will show you the

beauties of our glen and lochs."

Mrs. Burke smiled ruefully.

"Well, if your good general bears me no malice for my rude behaviour to

him in town, I will come. I think I would really enjoy his conversation

now. How different the whole world has become to me!"

As Rowena sat in the express train to town, her soul was full of

thankfulness for this bit of her way, and she murmured to herself:

"I always liked her from the first. I knew that sooner or later she

would be led back to her old faith, and it has strengthened my own to

see her so happy and whole-hearted now. I never, to my dying day, shall

regret my time with her."

BOOK III

CHAPTER I

HIS BRIDE

"We in our wedded life shall know no loss,

We shall new-date our years! What went before

Will be the time of promise, shadow, dream,

But this full revelation of great love!

For rivers blent take in a broader heaven,

And we shall blend our souls."

From Cloud of Witness.

"NOW we are together at last."

It was in a tone of deep triumphant content that General Macdonald made

this assertion.

He and Rowena were facing each other in a first-class carriage. The

Scotch express was taking them up to Scotland, and it was between nine

and ten in the evening.

Their wedding-day, and the weather had been perfect: a typical June

day, when all the freshness of early summer is at its sweetest and

best. They had got their way, and only about half a dozen people were

in the quiet little Sussex church when they made their vows together.

Rowena sat back looking radiant. She was dressed in a dark powder-blue

coat and skirt with a travelling felt hat of the same hue, which

intensified the blue in her eyes. But even now an irrepressible

twinkle, of fun shot through them as she said:

"So you think we shall always find our own company sufficient, Hugh?"

"I shall never need anyone but you," he replied quickly.

"Except your little Mysie."

And then the General's grave intense look melted and he smiled.

"Ah—Mysie! I left her in tears because I would not bring her up. I felt

it was too sacred a service at which to have a curious child commenting

and looking on. How long you have kept me waiting! I can hardly even

now realize that the waiting time is over. I thought at one time that

the old lady would never let you go."

"Poor Mrs. Burke!" Rowena's eyes grew soft with pity. "You were always

hard upon her; but you would not be hard if you could see her now. I

used to wonder if she could ever have the necessary strength and pluck

to alter her life; but it has all come about so easily."

"Do you think me very hard? You will have to teach me how to look at

people leniently when their views clash with my own. I could do with

more tolerance and sympathy, I own. But it has always been my way to go

straight ahead, and black is never white to me."

Rowena put her hand on his very softly.

"And that is what I always admired in you—you drive straight for your

goal. There is no uncertain sound when you sound your trumpet. When I

think that my feet and yours will be treading the same path now, that

I shall be able to look to you for support when I trip—why, I feel

inclined to burst into a song of thanksgiving!" Then she added with a

little laugh: "Now, after that rhapsody, may I come down to earth, and

ask you if your old housekeeper will give me a pleasant welcome? Do you

think she will like having a mistress, after having managed for you all

these years?"

"Mrs. Dalziel serves me faithfully," said the General in a contented

tone; "and she will, of course, be ready to serve you, too. Long ago

she hoped you were coming to us. She actually had the audacity to tell

me so. Our Scotch folk are not like anyone else."

"I have never asked you about Marion, yet. Do you really like her?"

"She is a real comfort: keeps in the background, and is never seen

unless I send for her. And the child is learning well from her. Rowena,

I will not spend these precious first few hours with you in talking

about anyone else but ourselves. I want to feel that there is just you

and myself here in the world. Let us shut every one else out."

So they talked in the same old way that both young and old lovers

always talk, and the journey seemed one golden dream to Rowena. It was

so new to her to be waited upon and cared for and protected, that at

first she felt inclined to expostulate. Later she learnt to take it as

her due.

They spent a few days in Edinburgh, and then turned towards the

Highlands. It was a most lovely evening when they at last arrived at

Abertarlie. A beautiful car was at the station—a great surprise to

Rowena.

"You never told me you had started a car; I expected a shabby trap and

horse hired for the occasion."

"I bought this a few months back; I determined that you should be able

to get about and see your friends. I realize we are isolated, but I

won't have you feel that you are shut up, and stranded away from your

fellow-creatures. You are very sociable by nature, I know."

"Am I?" said Rowena, laughing. "I was very happy that year when I was

laid upon my back and saw no one. And I have been happy this last year

living amongst crowds. They say I can make myself happy anywhere, and I

believe I can. Don't you think, you dear foolish man, that your company

is good enough for me? But I won't pretend that I don't love a car. You

and I can see the beauties of the Highlands in it. You will take me to

some of the lochs that I have never seen, won't you?"

General Macdonald was a proud man when, a little later, he drove up to

his weather-beaten old house and handed Rowena out of the car. There

was a scream and a rush of flying feet, and Mysie was embracing them

both. "Oh, you've come at last! At last! Miss Panton and I are simply

sick of waiting for you! Oh, Mignon, you darling, stoop down and let me

whisper to you. May I really call you 'Mother'? Dad said he would like

me to."

"My darling, of course you may. Dad's wishes are mine."

Then up the steps she went, her hand in her husband's arm, and

Mysie clinging hold of her at the other side. In the hall was the

housekeeper, Mrs. Dalziel, and behind her a little group of servants.

General Macdonald turned to them very simply:

"I have brought my wife home, but she is not a stranger to you, and I

am sure you will welcome her."

"Ah, indeed, we will with all our hearts," said Mrs. Dalziel, coming

forward.

Rowena shook hands with her warmly.

"That is very sweet of you," she said. "I don't feel a stranger, for I

love every inch of ground in the Highlands, and my heart never wanders

from it."

Marion Panton was found in the inner hall, where tea was laid. Rowena

hardly knew her, she was looking so bright and well. Three long

windows that looked into the flower garden were wide open, and the

scent of sweetbrier hedges and of wallflowers and narcissi filled the

hall. A bowl of daffodils was upon the old oak table that held the

tea. The shining silver and platter of Scotch scones and cakes gave a

homely touch to the rather gloomy hall with its stone floor and dark

oak-panelled walls.

Rowena was led up to the big chair at the table by her husband.

"There!" he said, smiling, as she seated herself. "That is where Mysie

and I have been wanting to see you for many a long day."

"And it's strange how thoroughly at home I feel," said Rowena, with

her laugh, as she slipped off her gloves and took hold of the massive

silver teapot.

Tea was a most cheerful meal. Mysie was in her kilt.

"In honour of you," she informed Rowena. "I couldn't wear it in London.

Cousin Bel was quite shocked when I put it on once. She said it was

boy's clothes, so Dad said I mustn't offend her eyes. But you love it,

don't you? You like me to be thorough Scotch?"

"You can't be too Scotch for me," said Rowena.

When tea was over Miss Panton took Mysie away to the schoolroom, and

General Macdonald took his wife all over the house. She had never been

over it before, and was surprised at its spaciousness.

"Why, you could lodge fifty people here," she said, when they had

finished going in and out of the quaint old rooms, all gloomily and

sparsely furnished, except those in use. "We shall never be able to say

we have no room for our friends."

Then she returned to the little suite of rooms that had been prepared

for her. There was a little boudoir leading out of her bedroom which

was now illumined by golden sunshine.

"I love a west room!" she exclaimed. "And oh, Hugh, what an exquisite

enchanting view!"

Kneeling on the low window-seat, she leant out of the open window. She

faced the loch in the distance, and the blue hills at the farther end

of it. The woods in the glen were all in their freshest green, but now

they seemed gleaming with gold. The colours and shadows on the silver

waters of the loch were indescribably beautiful.

Rowena turned to meet her husband's eyes resting on her in grave

content.

"Oh," she said, throwing out her hands, "isn't it easy to be good

and happy with such a scene as this before one's eyes! I thought I

remembered the beauties of our loch, but it has come to me with fresh

force this evening. Hugh, I hope I shall live and die here. I never

shall want to leave it."

Her rooms had been freshly papered and painted, and pretty fresh

chintzes brightened the old furniture in them. "Miss Panton has helped

us get them ready for you," said the General. "She and Mysie made a

trip to Glasgow, and were most important and busy over it all. Nothing

was too good. Nothing too expensive for you, so Mysie informed me."

"They have given me most charming rooms," said Rowena; then with an

impulsive movement she clasped her arms round her husband's. "But what

does anything matter, Hugh, as long as we are together? I feel I would

be as jolly as a sandboy in an empty attic if you were by my side."

He could only smile at her. Speech was always difficult to him when he

felt the deepest.

When they had looked over the house they wandered over the garden and

grounds. Here Rowena saw much that could be improved, and longed to set

to work at once.

"Do you give me carte blanche, Hugh, to make a lovely garden here? The

ground would lend itself to my schemes; and I honestly enjoy having a

wealth of flowers round any house."

"You can do as you like, if you can persuade Andrew to carry out your

schemes. I think that will be the difficulty."

"I feel afraid of no one," said Rowena lightly. "I know Scotch

gardeners are generally very formidable personages; but I will try my

powers of persuasion upon Andrew."

They dined later on in the long dining-room, which held on its walls

portraits of several generations of Macdonalds, and then Mysie appeared

again, and insisted upon taking Rowena out into the garden again to see

some of her pet nooks and haunts. She was introduced to the stables and

to the dogs; even the poultry-yard had to be visited, and the little

girl's bed-time came too soon for her.

"I haven't shown you half. Will you come with me to the Fairies' Knoll

up the glen to-morrow? Dad won't believe in them. It's the only place

I don't like him to come to with me. If an unbeliever is with you, you

never see the little people. You and I will go quite by ourselves, eh?"

"Indeed we will, Flora," was the laughing response; and then she was

hugged and kissed.

"Good night, Mother! There, I've said it, and I'll say it a hundred

times a day till I get quite accustomed to it. It does seem funny at

first, you know. I told Dad there must be no step about it, not one,

there's not a single step between us, is there?"

"Not one, I hope," asserted Rowena.

When Mysie had disappeared she turned to her husband, who had been very

silent during his child's chatter.

"Hugh, dearest, you and I will have to pray hard that we may be taught

to train her aright. She is such a strong character, that she must grow

up a noble woman. And don't laugh at her childish fancies. Let us keep

her a child as long as we can."

"I have hope for her future now you are here," General Macdonald

rejoined. "But a man is quite unfitted to cope with a girl. I have been

divided between my love for her and a longing that she should know

discipline whilst she is young. I shall hand her training over to you

with thankfulness. Make her like yourself, and I shall be happy."

In the days that followed Rowena found that she had plenty of

occupation for hands and brain. Mrs. Dalziel was very thorough in her

kitchen premises, but the rest of the house sadly needed a lady's

supervision. Then there were old friends to be visited, and new ones

came to call, and General Macdonald demanded a good deal of his

wife's leisure time. He was never so happy as when she was with him.

Occasionally he had to go away on business, and then Mysie was to the

fore, and often begged for a holiday to go out into the glen with

"Mother." One day she and Rowena climbed up the face of a rugged cliff,

and explored a cave in which Mysie was pretty sure that Prince Charlie

had once hidden.

"Angus says there aren't many caves about here which Prince Charlie

didn't know," said Mysie. "It isn't the one that is in the picture when

Flora watched by him when he was asleep, but I'm pretty sure he must

have found it out. Isn't it a splendid hiding-place? It seems such a

pity, there's no one to hide in it. It's quite a waste, isn't it?"

Mysie stood looking round the low-vaulted cave as she spoke with

wistfulness in her eyes.

"Only Angus and I know about this," she went on. "It's our secret, but

I thought I must tell you. Promise to keep it secret, won't you?"

"Oh, yes," said Rowena, laughing, "indeed I will. And if ever a prince

comes by our way, Flora, and wants to be hidden, you and I will hide

him here."

"A prince may want our help one day," said Mysie hopefully. "He may be

wandering about, trying to get up an army to fight for his throne like

David did in the Bible, and then you and I will help him, won't we?"

As Rowena thought of the troubled world in which poor Mysie would be

growing up, her face grew grave.

"I hope she won't be a hunter after false visions," she said later

on, when talking about her to her father. "She has such a passion for

self-sacrifice, and would seal her devotion by death."

"Teach her to fix her devotion upon our Master," said General Macdonald

gravely. And Rowena tried to do it, but at present Mysie was not

interested in religious talks.

"You're good, and Dad is good, and Miss Panton is good, but you're all

grown-up. I shall get like it one day, but not just yet," she would

say. Then she would add hastily, "I do pray always when I get into a

fix, and God hears me sometimes. But I can't be always thinking about

heaven. I do love my dear earth so much; and as for the loch, I adore

it, and if heaven has no lochs, I don't think I shall be happy there at

all!"

Rowena did not reprove her for such speeches, but she talked to her

about having wider views and longer sight, and prayed continually for

her.

She heard very often from Mrs. Burke, and then, about a month after her

marriage, she received the sad tidings by telegram that her old friend

had passed away. The following letter from Mrs. Panton arrived later:

"MY DEAR MRS. MACDONALD,—"

"You will be grieved at the sad news. It was all so sudden, that

even now I can hardly believe she has left us. Only last Thursday

she was downstairs, wonderfully bright and most interested in the

village school-treat which was going to take place in her grounds.

On Friday she wrote letters all the morning, and in the afternoon

we went for a drive. The girls were with us, and she insisted upon

going to the sea and having tea at the little inn there. She seemed

rather tired when we returned home, but came down to dinner as usual,

and stayed in the drawing-room afterwards till ten o'clock, her usual

time for going to bed. She talked to me of you, and, as she often did,

lamented her wasted years. I remember her saying:"

"'I am going to try to have some of my old friends down to stay with

me. There are just a few who will come, I believe. I want to influence

them as Rowena influenced me. I think it was her tremendous sympathy

and love that was her power. I felt she never despised me even when

I was at my worst. And gradually I came to despise myself and see what

empty rubbish filled my life.'"

"She talked of Di Dunstan, who has been over here pretty often

lately and is going through a very miserable time. She said of her:"

"'She is being emptied as I was, and I only hope she won't miss

the right filling.'"

"I saw her into her room, and her maid was with her till she went

to bed. The next morning when her maid went to call her she found

she had passed away in her sleep. The doctor says that her heart has

been very weak ever since her illness, and that it failed suddenly."

"I can only add that all of us are feeling her loss deeply. She has

been so wonderfully good and generous to me and mine."

"Yours most sincerely,"

"M. PANTON."

Rowena felt this blow very much. She and the General both went to

England to the funeral.

When Mrs. Burke's will was read, it was found that she had left nearly

the whole of her property to her sister. Her great-nephew and nieces

came in for a very handsome legacy each, and to Rowena was left the sum

of ten thousand pounds.

But what Rowena valued most of all was a little note, "To be delivered

after my death," which was as follows:

"MY DEAREST ROWENA,—"

"I have just torn up a will in which I made you my sole legatee,

but I see now that my relatives have a claim upon me, especially as

they have so little of their own. I never can express my gratitude

to you sufficiently. I hope your good husband will not prevent you

succouring the worldlings as you go through life. I am convinced this

is your mission. I am not good at it, but I commend to your care

Di Dunstan, who is wondering if there is another better world than

that in which she has been living; she has taken a flat in town.

God bless you, dear. My doctor has told me that a long life will not

be mine. Happy me to have Eternity in view!"

"Yours always lovingly,"

"C. BURKE."

CHAPTER II

SOME GUESTS

"Be useful where thou livest, that they may

Both want and wish thy pleasing presence still ...

Find out men's wants and will

And meet them there."

Herbert.

"HUGH, we shall have to do entertaining."

General Macdonald gave a little groan.

"I have patiently gone round with you to leave cards when people are

out. Then you have dragged me to dinners and lunches and teas, and I

hoped now that we might be left in peace. Of course, I expected the

neighbours to call, and they have done their duty. Are we to go round

and round the treadmill of society as they do in town?"

Rowena laughed lightly. She was a three-months-old bride now, and was

quite able to manage this husband of hers.

"My dear, we have our duties as well as they. And we are told to be

'given to hospitality.' We cannot accept invitations and never give any

in return. Shall we have a simple garden-party? An 'At Home' in about a

fortnight from now? The strawberries and peaches will be ripe, and we

can have tea under the cedars on the lawn."

"I believe you love crowds. Personally, I loathe them." General

Macdonald's tone was sharp. He added more gently:

"We have not been very long married, Rowena, and we had no proper

honeymoon. You must forgive me if I still wish to keep you to myself."

"We must not be selfish, dear. You wrong me when you think I love

gaiety. But I do love my fellow-creatures; and this one afternoon in

their society will not hurt us. I want to get it over before Mysie's

holidays begin. Now, please, put on your pleasantest expression, for I

am going to ask another favour. Don't you think Mysie would like some

companions sometimes? It would be so good for her as she does not go to

school. I thought we might ask George Holt and his sisters up here and

give them a good time; and Marion would be able to have a nice quiet

holiday with her mother. Will you let me invite them here for a month

of their holidays? Oh, do!"

She had drawn nearer him, and General Macdonald put his arm round her.

"I will do anything you like, Rowena, when you look at me like that!"

She laughed again gaily.

"What a confession of weakness!" she said. "Now I know how I can get my

way with you."

And so the garden-party was given, and Rowena moved about amongst

her guests and captivated them all by her charming words and smiles.

Mysie, in a soft muslin frock and large shady straw hat, was such a

transformation from the little kilted tomboy that some who had seen

her scrambling about in the glen before hardly recognized her now. The

General was drawn out of his shell. He even found points of interest

with Colonel Arnold Rashleigh, who had taken the lodge where Rowena had

spent her year of convalescence.

The Miss Arnold Rashleighs spent most of their time on the

tennis-courts, but one of them, Dora by name, attached herself to

Rowena during the latter part of the afternoon, and they made friends

over Shags, who had been with old Mrs. Mactavish when she was caretaker

of the lodge, and who now had been adopted by the Arnold Rashleighs.

"I was very fond of him," Rowena admitted; "but when I came here, I

heard that you had taken him, and my husband has six dogs already, so

I felt I had better not add to the number. Shags is very human. As

you may have heard, I spent a lonely year at the lodge, and he was my

constant companion."

"How could you have stood it? Three months are all we can put in. Joyce

and I are much too energetic to waste our time over these wilds."

"But you are young and strong. I had to follow doctor's orders, or I

dare say I should have been on my back still. And I found during that

year at the lodge that life was much fuller and richer than I had ever

imagined before. I was introduced into a perfectly new environment."

"How interesting! Tell me."

"How can I tell you in a few words? I found that a part of me had never

been cultivated or enjoyed life at all, it was sleeping—almost dead. It

began to wake up, and every day or so I saw fresh things."

"Oh, I suppose you set to work to study Nature with microscopes, and

that kind of thing?"

"I must tell you about it another day," said Rowena, smiling down upon

the puzzled face of the girl. "Anyhow, I learnt some of the secret joys

of solitude; and when I was frivolously inclined, Shags whiled away my

time with his tricks and gambols. I wish you loved the loch and glen as

I do. Now tell me about your life in town."

"Oh, I'm not quite so ambitious as Joyce. She means to go into

Parliament, but I'm not keen on politics. I work a good deal for

women's industries. We aren't idlers, I can assure you. We mean to take

our proper place in the world now."

"It's splendid having work like that," said Rowena enthusiastically.

"Are you an idealist, I wonder? What is your goal?"

"Oh, I suppose it is to do something worth living for before one dies,"

said Dora. "We can dispense with men, you know; they're very good for

recreation and amusement, but as for settling down with one in these

wilds, as you have done, I couldn't, to save my life!"

"You think it waste of time."

"You're right. Utter waste!"

Rowena shook her head, with her sunny smile.

"No," she said; "I hope and trust I'm not wasting my life. I have my

own scheme of work, and I can pursue it even here. I would like to

press you into it as a recruit, but we must know each other better

first before I can venture to give you a full explanation of it."

"You sound most mysterious. May I come over one day when you're alone

and have a talk with you?"

This was just what Rowena wanted. She felt that her party had not been

waste of time when she parted from Dora Rashleigh. The girl had taken

to her and wanted to know her better.

In talking over the afternoon with her husband afterwards, Rowena said:

"There are so many kinds that make up a world, Hugh. And so many of

these modern girls have such high ideals of work, and of benefiting

one's fellow-creatures, that I long to save them from the mistakes they

are bound to make if they are building without a foundation. You showed

me what a full life could be lived in empty circumstances; I want to

show them that the fullest life cannot be full unless they have the

'One thing needful.'"

The three young Holts arrived soon after this. Mysie and Milly became

firm friends at once, and though at first Mysie stood a little in awe

of George's superior age and inches, yet when she realized he was up

to any mad escapade she quickly made friends with him. Bertha was more

staid, and loved nothing better than wandering about the garden, book

in hand; when she could get Rowena to herself she was supremely happy,

for she adored her, but, as a rule, General Macdonald absorbed all his

wife's leisure time.

Then one morning Rowena received the following letter from Di Dunstan:

"MY DEAR ROWENA,—"

"I'm taking you at your word, for I know you're the real good sort

and mean what you say. Will you have me on a visit now? I have to put in

a fortnight with some cousins in Perthshire at the end of the month, and

I'm fed up with town. I don't believe I shall ever stick a flat all

the year round. It isn't good enough! I'm bored stiff with the pack of

humanity round me. I want light and air and breathing space; and, oh,

for a horse and a gallop through the fresh untainted air on the heath

or moor! Does your good man keep horses? Or is he all for those smelly

cars? Rowena, I must come. I think I shall go mad if I don't get out

of town pretty soon. So send me a wire on receipt of this, and I'll

leave my slang and most of my cigarettes behind, and will be on my best

behaviour lest I shock your high-principled husband. Poor Mrs. Burke

used to rail against him! In her jolly days, I mean. Poor dear, she

wasn't much fun latterly, though she was wonderfully plucky in bearing

her lot! I don't see much of Vi—one is at a disadvantage in a married

sister's house. She does the high and mighty with me, as if I'm on a

lower plane to her. And I can't cotton to Gregory—I never could—and

he's too selfish to make a good husband—was a bachelor too long. So

long."

"Yours,"

"DI."

Rowena consulted her husband. With a wry face he agreed to send a wire.

"I'm trying to be sociable," he said, "and you must have your friends.

I know her sort, and trust that you will not leave me to entertain her."

"Indeed, indeed, I won't!" laughed Rowena. "But, Hugh dear, if you let

her ride your cob, she'll want nothing better. Di off a horse is only

half herself. And I'm truly sorry for her. She has lost such a lot, and

seems to have no object in life."

The wire was sent, and the next evening Di arrived. She was a handsome

girl still, but she looked worn and weary, and Rowena saw that she was

in a restless unhappy state of mind.

She talked recklessly at dinner and showed her worst side to the

General, who was wonderfully forbearing and courteous in his manner

towards her.

Bertha Holt looked at her in amazement; never had she in the course of

her quiet life come across this type of woman. Di's horsey slang, her

astounding statements, and her perfect indifference to the impression

she was making upon those around her, startled and puzzled the young

girl. When dinner was over the young people disappeared into the

garden. Rowena walked her guest along the terrace and down a grassy

path which led to a low wall overlooking the loch.

Di promptly lit up her cigarette.

"At last I've got you to myself," she said. "It's no go, Rowena, I

can't put on pretty manners to charm your out of date husband. I've

come down here hoping you can tip me a wrinkle or two. I've run to

earth, and unless I can find a way out I shall come to a bad end like

the villain in the story book. I cannot live on my income, and it's no

good talking about it. I hate cadging on my friends, but there seems

nothing else to do. I know a woman who has any amount of houses open to

her the whole year round; but she's one of these adaptable pussycats

who settle down by any fireside, and do errands for the hostess, and

make up an even number at bridge or dinner, or chaperon a schoolgirl

when the mother is too busy or bored to go round with her. I'm not that

sort, and in the hunting season I expect my host to mount me well, or

I'm off him! I demand too much, and that's the fact, and people aren't

keen on having me. To stay in a London flat the whole year round is

unthinkable. If Bob would only hand out a little of his superfluous

cash, I would try my fortunes at Monte Carlo. I must get money somehow,

but I can't rise to the ticket out there!"

"I hoped you had made a fresh start as far as your debts were

concerned," said Rowena slowly and thoughtfully.

"Oh, you knew that transaction between Mrs. Burke and myself? She was

a trump. But she's gone now, and I haven't a friend in the world. Town

life makes money go like water. There's nothing for me but a wealthy

marriage. I know one man who would have me to-morrow, but he's nearer

seventy than sixty, and is rotund, and gouty and jocular. I shudder at

the thought of my spending my years with him. Fate is against me. I

never ought to have been born. You'll hear one day of the suicide of a

society spinster. I shall be driven to it."

"Now, Di, listen to me. It's wicked and foolish for a girl of your

intelligence and gifts to talk so. You're just drifting down the stream

with all the garbage and useless rubbish that is being washed away. Do,

for goodness' sake, pull yourself together and have a better outlook.

Is there any real reason for your always living neck-deep in debt?

Couldn't you with determined effort cut your coat according to your

cloth?"

Di shook her head gloomily.

"What's the use? I've no purpose or interest in life. The only thing I

did care for was hunting, and it has been taken from me. Go on, pitch

into me. It does me good, but I'm almost past feeling it."

"You're not past feeling. You would never have come to stay with us if

you were. You know you're reaching out towards something that will lift

you out of your sordid life. There's no other word for it. You're an

earth grub, that's what you are. The life you're leading—spending money

because other people do it, treating those who take your generosity as

a matter of course, and living in mortal dread of every post because

it brings you bills and duns which you cannot pay—why, it is a hell on

earth!"

"Say on! Hammer me down!"

Rowena laughed a little unsteadily.

"Di, dear. I've always liked you, partly because Mrs. Burke was so fond

of you, partly for your own sake. Do use your mental powers. There are

many circles in the world, all different, but all moving round their

own centres. Change your centre. If one circle fails you—or one centre

I'll say—for goodness' sake don't go on tramping it for ever, but leave

it and try another."

"Now this is what I like. My brain is just clever enough to understand

it!"

"You may laugh and mock at me, but I'm in dead earnest. I feel like

Alice through the looking-glass, as if I should like to shake the

red queen into a kitten. I would like to shake and shake you till

your foundation tumbled down, and you were shaken into a new kind of

creature altogether, with fresh joy in life, and fresh springs in your

heart, and fresh hopes and ideals in front of you."

"Don't mix your metaphors. Keep to the circles. I won't be shaken into

a kitten."

"There's only one circle I want you in."

"Of course, I know which one that is—the one you're in yourself, the

one into which you dragged Mrs. Burke. I'll allow it made her happy;

but she always was a happy creature, and always would be in any

circumstances."

"Do you think she would have been when everything that she cared for

was taken from her?"

"Perhaps not; but that was where you and your circle came in. Just in

the nick of time you moved her out of the one that was destroyed and

planted her in another. Now, I haven't come to the end of mine."

"I thought you had."

"No; I'm not crippled and confined to bed. I can move, and have all

the faculties for still enjoying life, but want of money and position

prevents me from using them."

"Do you think it's a good thing to wait till utter ruin comes to you?"

"How comforting you are! I honestly want worldly wisdom from you, not

pious talk."

"I'm not worldly wise, but I'll try to be. Live within your income, and

make the best of your circumstances. Take up some other hobby that will

take the place of the one in which you now cannot indulge."

"What dull and impossible counsel. As well tell a fish to live out of

water and cultivate the air for his home."

"Exactly," said Rowena. "You've hit the nail on the head."

There was a little silence between them, then Di threw away the last

bit of her cigarette, and stared gloomily down from the wall to the

waters of the loch below.

"The centre of my circle is, of course, myself. I see that," she said.

"Whom else should I revolve round but my dear precious self? It is so

very disappointing if you revolve round another. I did that once, but

never again."

Rowena knew she was alluding to her unfortunate love affair some years

previously.

"I think we're a great disappointment to ourselves," said Rowena. "I

see my husband coming. Cheer up, Di. I believe you're going to see

light soon. We'll have another talk later."

Di turned to the General with her most charming smile.

"Here is your treasure! I make no apology for having purloined her from

your side for a bit. Have you discovered any faults in her yet General?"

"Yes," said General Macdonald promptly. "She has too big a heart."

"You mean that you can't keep every hole and corner in it for yourself!

Isn't that a man all over? And you've brought her away into your lonely

stronghold, where you mean to keep her under lock and key. Oh, you

are all alike! A woman's heart must be satisfied with her house, and

man, he can roam the whole world over, and open his heart to all the

treasures in it."

General Macdonald was about to reply when Di said:

"Rowena and I have been talking ourselves dry. I want to see your

stables; may I?"

He led the way without a word, and when she saw a beautiful brown cob

which had been a noted hunter, and was offered the use of him for the

time of her stay, she was quite elated.

"I'm going to make hay while the sun shines," she said to Rowena, when

they were wishing each other good night, later on, "so you'll get no

more grave talks out of me for the present."

She took George out with her for a ride over the moor the next morning,

and they were away for most of the day. George, of course, was very

flattered at being chosen as her cavalier. He was not so critical as

his sister Bertha, and thought this new acquaintance most amusing and

entertaining.

Two days later, General Macdonald went to Inverness on business. He

had to stay away the night, and when he returned home the following

afternoon, Rowena saw at once that he had something on his mind.

He called her into his study.

"Have I ever mentioned my cousin Hector Ross to you?" he asked.

"Never," said Rowena.

"He and I were brought up together as boys, and went to the same

school, but he went abroad when he was quite a young man, and we have

drifted apart. He was rather wild, and got through a lot of money.

Then settled down on a South American ranch. I tumbled across him in

Inverness yesterday. He has come home, and is thinking of buying back

his father's old place in Fifeshire. I told you I have an old cousin

living in Inverness. He is her nephew, and I met him at her house."

A smile flitted across his face. "It was like seeing a bull in a

china shop! His aunt lives in a tiny terrace house, and everything

as orderly and neat as an old maid could have it. He's a big, broad,

happy-go-lucky fellow still, but he's made his money, and seems to have

steadied down. He came across to the war; I never knew it, and he never

told any of his people. I think his experience at the Front altered

him, and made him determine to come home and look up his relatives. He

wants to come to us."

"Of course he must."

Rowena laughed; she was standing by the open window as her husband

talked. Now she turned and gave him a swift little kiss on his forehead.

"You dear old hermit! Has the thought of another visitor brought these

aged wrinkles to your brow? We have plenty of room, and I personally

shall be delighted to welcome him."

"He's not our sort," General Macdonald said. "And the fact is, Rowena,

I am always longing to have you to myself. We have the house full

enough now; every additional visitor absorbs more of your time. It

sounds selfish—but it's a fact. I want a quiet life."

"My dear Hugh, think of the coming winter. In another month or so all

our neighbours will have departed, and you and I will have our fireside

to ourselves. I am looking forward to a winter with you alone. And we

shall enjoy it all the more for not having the house to ourselves now.

When does Mr. Ross want to come?"

"In a few days. Next Saturday—he mentioned. Of course, I could not

refuse him; and I know you'll make him welcome. But I only hope he

won't hang round me and want me to do the entertaining."

"Is he married?"

"No, he says not."

"I think he'll manage to amuse himself without worrying you; and if you

were boys together, you must have some interests in common. It will do

you good to have a man to talk to, Hugh. We females are so much in the

majority."

Rowena had been so accustomed to a constant relay of visitors at Mrs.

Burke's, that she could not understand her husband's dislike to them.

And she felt that unless she got him to shake off his solitary habits

now she would never succeed in doing it later on.

Beyond preparing a room for this fresh guest she gave little thought to

his coming. When she mentioned it to Diana, that young woman shrugged

her shoulders:

"What a bore! If he's like your husband, Rowena, I shall elude him all

I can. We'll shut them up in the sacred study with their pipes, and

leave them to themselves."

Rowena shook her head.

"No, my husband won't have that. But if this glorious weather lasts,

there will be no need to amuse him. The beauties of the loch and glen

are enough for any man; and there's shooting and fishing for him. I

must speak to Donald about that—or Hugh will. He has not preserved his

coverts this year. But there's always plenty of rough shooting here

they say."

CHAPTER III

HECTOR ROSS

"A man of integrity, sincerity and good nature can never

be concealed, for his character is wrought into his countenance."

Marcus Aurelius.

ROWENA and Di were on the lawn in front of the house when Hector Ross

arrived.

The children were all out on the loch with Donald. It was a very

hot afternoon; Rowena was sewing, and Di was lazily reclining in a

hammock under the old cedar tree. The car had gone to the station to

meet an earlier train, but he had not come by that. Now he walked up

to the house, and came striding across the lawn directly he saw the

white-gowned figures under the old cedars.

Rowena rose to meet him in her usual happy way.

"My husband had to attend a quarterly parish meeting this afternoon,"

she said, "or he would be here to welcome you. You must accept my

welcome instead."

She introduced him to Di, who was rather taken aback by his youthful

figure and brisk alertness of his speech and manner.

Hector Ross was a good-looking man, with blue eyes and fair hair.

His face was tanned and rather weather-beaten. One could see he had

had an open-air life for many years. As Rowena looked at him, the

determination of his mouth and chin, the resolute look in his eyes, and

the quick short way in which he clipped his words, showed her that,

whatever else he might be, he was very wide awake.

"Couldn't wait to be driven," he said, "so I left my baggage to follow.

I'm not a stranger in these parts, you know."

Then he turned to Di.

"Can you be Hugh's daughter?"

Di laughed frankly and freely.

"My good man, his daughter is still in the submissive stage. Her years

demand it. Can you see me as the General's daughter, Rowena? What high

jinks I would lead him! I'm just a stray visitor, Mr. Ross; and your

cousin will be more relieved than otherwise when I've gone!"

Then she swung herself lightly out of the hammock and, leaning against

the tree, took out her silver cigarette case and began to smoke.

"Have one?" she said, offering her case to the newcomer.

He shook his head with a smile.

"I go in for a pipe."

He looked at her reflectively, then at Rowena.

"I'm taking stock of you both," he said pleasantly. "Mrs. Macdonald is

the old order of woman, and you are the new. I've come across plenty of

the modern girls, but the old-fashioned ones are rare."

"I suppose I am old-fashioned," said Rowena laughing, "but it gives me

rather a shock to hear you say it. I used not to be considered so a few

years back."

"It's good manners does it," said Hector tersely.

"Complimentary to me," laughed Di.

In a few minutes he was talking to them as if he had known them all his

life. Incidentally he touched upon his ranch life.

"Why have you given it up?" Di asked. "If you were making your pile,

and having a jolly free life out, there, why on earth didn't you keep

on a few years longer?"

"I sold up when I went over to France—or, rather, when I went over to

Canada to train. I went out with the Canadians, and had a stiff two

years at the Front. Then I went back, for I'd a few things to settle

up; and I came over here three months ago. I meant to look up Hugh when

my aunt had had enough of me. I'm going to my people's old place. It

came into the market the beginning of this year, and I was able to buy

it in the nick of time."

"And you're going to settle down as a laird, I suppose?" said Di.

"Everybody is a laird over here. I've seen some funny specimens."

"And here's another," he returned. "My good aunt told me solemnly, when

I left her, that she had never seen my like before. I was a complete

bewilderment to her—I believe that was the word she used. I'm going

to take her in my pocket when I go back to Kestowknockan; she'll keep

house for me and look after my morals and manners."

Rowena looked at him with fresh interest.

"You'd better get a wife to keep house for you," said Di carelessly.

"Aunts are out of fashion."

"Same as parents, I suppose," he said, with a slight curl coming to his

lips. "I came over with some flappers all intent upon a high old time

in London. I asked them if they were orphans. You should have heard

them yell."

"Oh, the world is out of gear," said Rowena, "but the pendulum will

swing back again. And here, amongst our lochs and glens, we do not see

much to puzzle or alarm us. Here come the children! Now you will see

Hugh's little daughter. And shall we go indoors to tea? We are having

it in the hall to-day. It is cooler than out here."

They moved towards the house. The children met them on the way. Mysie

looked up frankly into Hector's face when she was introduced to him.

"Did you know Dad when he was a boy? He says you did. What was he like?

Always good, or did he sometimes get into scrapes?"

"Ah! Ask him to tell you about Adolph and the cave, or the night he was

left alone, and his parents were in town."

"What cave?" gasped Mysie. "Mine? Oh, do you, know the caves about

here? Do tell me all about them."

She seized hold of him, and during tea he enlivened them all by tales

of boyish pranks in the holidays.

Towards the close of it General Macdonald came in, and the younger

members of the household slipped out into the garden again.

Before the evening was over Hector was a universal favourite, and his

hearty laugh and cheery talk caused Di to say to Rowena—

"Make him stay on, do; I like him, and he wakes the General up!"

But she and he had some pitched battles about the present generation.

Di was for progress and liberty of speech, and action for all women; he

was by way of relegating them to the back shelf. Sometimes he amused

himself by rousing her ire, and would be dogmatic in denouncing modern

habits with which he was really in sympathy.

Rowena listened to the two, and smiled to herself. It did not hurt Di

to hear a man of the world's impression of the present race of girls.

She had had very few who had hitherto dared to criticize and contradict

her. One bond they had in common was their love for horses. Hector said

he meant to breed them when he took possession of his place.

"I'm having proper stables built before I get in," he said. "I'm sick

of these cars. Give me a horse, and I want nothing more."

"Hear! Hear!" said Di, and the next morning she and he rode off

together. Hector was very sociably inclined—a marked contrast to

the General. In a few days' time, he was friends with the Arnold

Rashleighs, and with several of the other neighbours round. He had

invitations to shoot and fish and to dine and sleep, and sometimes his

host did not see him for three or four days.

But on Sundays he invariably turned up at the morning service in the

little church of Abertarlie.

Di laughed at him for it one day.

"You are going back to the training of your youth," she said.

"Church-going is not the fashion now."

"Neither is heaven or hell," he retorted; "but I'm not a man of

fashion—never was."

She looked at him meditatively.

They were smoking together on the terrace. It was Sunday afternoon, and

there was a peculiar stillness in the air and scene. Rowena always had

Mysie for an hour after lunch in her boudoir upstairs. She had told

her frankly that she was going to try to teach her to love her Bible.

Milly and Bertha had asked to come too, so the hour's Bible reading was

now quite an institution. Sometimes George joined them, but upon this

occasion he had gone for a walk with the General. Hector raised his

eyes, and when they met Di's, he smiled.

"Well, what's the verdict?"

She shook her head.

"You're too complex for me!"

"I'll give you a chink of light to help you on. I was three years in

the war. As you say, religion is now not the fashion, and it isn't

good form to talk about it; but in the trenches we did a good bit of

talking, and we didn't care a hang if a chap started a yarn about life

and death and hereafter, for we were all interested in it. Of course we

were. We were shot out of this world into the next all day long. We all

had our theories; but in my section at one time there was a parson who

knew his job, and did it; and he was a jolly good fellow all round. He

made us believe in him, and then he got us to believe in the things he

believed. And my belief has stuck ever since; see?"

There was for a second a wistful gleam in Di's eye. Then she said

coolly:

"Oh, yes, I see. And Rowena is doing the same with me as your parson

did with you. But I'm as hard as nails, and she has a tough job."

"They say," said Hector, as he leant over the stone balustrade, and

puffed away at his pipe, "that we all drift back in time to our

starting-point. I was an irreligious little beggar when I was a boy,

but every Scotchman is brought up in the way in which he should go. I

had the head knowledge, and then I chucked it and ran amok for a few

years. I found that didn't pay, and settled down to be steady. But it

was at the Front I found my early Faith was the only one worth having.

And our parson taught us how to live as well as how to die. I never

shall be a shining light as, for instance, my cousin Hugh is; but I've

got the comfort of settled and rooted convictions. And they make life a

bigger and a more understandable thing!"

Di was mute. If a bolt from the blue had tumbled down at her feet she

couldn't have been more amazed. She began to wonder if she was always

going to be beset with people who would worry her with their religious

convictions. To her great relief Hector did not pursue the subject,

and she listened with interest to an account he gave her of a journey

of his across the Rocky Mountains, when he was shooting bears. But the

following Sunday she accompanied the others to church, and never missed

a service from that time forward.

Hector only stayed a fortnight with them. He and Di had a long ride

together the afternoon before he went, and when they were returning, he

said:

"You'll have to come and see my horses one day, when I'm settled in. I

shall give a house-warming about Christmas time. Will you come?"

"Is this a bona fide invitation?"

"Rather!"

"Then I accept, with thanks. I'm wondering what kind of a house you'll

run. You'll be a bit of a despot I know."

"I jolly well will. I mean to be master in my house, I can tell you."

"Don't try to take to yourself a wife; disaster will follow if you do."

"Why?"

"Because now no woman will lie down for a man to walk over her."

"That's a bit of clap-trap."

"No; it's real fact. You want a wife who will meekly do her lord's

will, and that kind of women are out of date. They don't exist."

"I'll wait till they come into fashion again. I'm in no hurry."

"You're so cocksure of yourself!"

"I'm not going to make a mess of my life now," he responded with

emphasis. "Look through the daily papers and see the result of these

modern wives and husbands. They both want to rule, they both want their

own ways, and they go them, and then the fat is in the fire, there is a

flare up, and divorce follows."

"But it's all wrong," said Di with sudden heat. "Why should men be

selfish brutes? Why should they make life impossible for their wives

unless they are their slaves and tools? Women will never again be

subjugated by men, never! And I hope you'll never marry; I hope you'll

never get a girl whom you are able to crush and mould according to your

liking."

He looked at her with a gleam of mischief in his eyes. "Women really

like to meet their masters," he said. "I've knocked about the world a

good bit, and I assure you they do. There's still the instinct of the

ages left in most of them, that they're really made to be loved and

protected. You've only to read some of the present-day novels written

by your sex to see that the strong man always prevails."

"I shan't argue with you any more," said Di a little huffily. "But

you'll meet with your deserts one day, I hope." She parted with him

later in the most friendly fashion, and when he had gone told Rowena

she felt quite flat.

"He kept us alive; and though I hate some of his principles, he's good

company," she said.

She was the next to go. She had been with Rowena much longer than she

had intended.

Rowena came into her bedroom the last evening of her stay.

"I'm sorry to lose you," she said; "but you must come again, if you

don't find we are too quiet for you."

Di squeezed her hand.

"You're a trump. I wish I could tell you that all your talks have had

the effect you want, but I'm too old to change my ways. And I don't

want to, if I could. You have made me believe that I'm living on a

lower level than you. You're in touch with Unseen Things, and I'm not.

And you've made me see I'm a useless cumberer of the earth, and I'm not

fulfilling the purpose of my creation. But I've no ability to alter my

line, or any desire in that direction. I think you've left me a little

more hopeless than when you found me."

"Oh, how dreadful!" exclaimed Rowena. "What can I do to remedy that?

After all, dear Di, it's only a question of your will. You know Who

will help you to adjust your life differently. You have only to ask,

and it will be done."

"I know! I know! And you're a dear old thing to care a snap about me.

No one else does." Then, with a change of tone, she said, "I mean to

spend next Christmas with Hector Ross. He's a rum sort, isn't he? My

word, how he'll bully that little aunt of his! He wants some one to

stand up to him. I wish he'd give me carte blanche to bring a few girls

to add to his house-party. I know some who would make him sit up. But I

don't care for girls myself, as you know. Give me men, even if they're

rotten. And he's hardly that, is he? I rather fancy he'll turn into

a man like your good husband if left to develop his own line. These

Scotchmen are like blocks of granite. You only hammer yourself if you

try to hammer them."

Di left and Rowena thought about her much.

Then the young Holts went back to their grandmother. She was living

in Mrs. Burke's country house which had been left to her, and meant

to stay there. Marion had returned, and took up lessons again, and

the house settled down to a very quiet life, much to the General's

satisfaction.

Rowena had a long talk with Marion upon the first evening of her return.

"I feel now that your mother is in such comfortable circumstances that

you ought not to be out teaching," she said. "Doesn't she want to have

you with her?"

"She has Bertha and Milly. She does not need me. I shall never forget

your goodness in getting me this work. Why should I give it up? I've

never been so happy in my life as I am with you. And I love Mysie, and

she is a real pleasure to teach. If you are satisfied with my teaching,

don't try to send me away."

"My dear Marion, I'm only too delighted to keep you. We will say no

more about it."

"It is so delicious to see mother living in ease and comfort at last,"

Marion went on. "Of course she's sad still, and sometimes I think

grudges herself the little luxuries she can have, because of the

thought of my father and of all that he had to be denied. But she is

taking increasing interest in the children, and she loves helping the

poor in the village and continuing Aunt Caroline's village charities. I

often thank God that you were led to live with my aunt. If you had not

gone, how different things would have been with us I don't believe she

would have left any money to mother at all, because she was so angry

that she refused to be helped for so many years."

"I think it was rather quixotic of her," said Rowena.

"Perhaps it was; but she felt my aunt's marriage was everything that

was sinful, and she would have nothing to do with it. I think she and

my father were rather too strict in their judgments. You lived with

her, and loved her, before she changed her life so."

"Yes," said Rowena thoughtfully. "I do not regret it, though, perhaps,

I would not advise others to do the same. The life we lived was very

deadening to the soul. I do not know what it was, but the very first

day I saw your aunt, there was something peculiarly childish and

appealing in her face. I felt she was one who wanted a real friend.

And then I soon discovered that underneath all her gaiety and love of

fun she was really an unhappy woman. I determined to help her if I

could; and that determination helped me in many a bad time when I felt

inclined to run away and leave it all."

"You were wonderful!" exclaimed Marion.

"Not at all. I undertook a job, and I stuck to it, just as you are

sticking to your job now."

The conversation ended, and Marion took up the lessons happily. She

was, as she said, only too happy in the present life to wish to change

it, and Mysie adored her.

CHAPTER IV

WINTER IN THE GLEN

Oh Winter ruler of the inverted year ...

... Thou hold'st the sun

A prisoner in the yet undawning East,

Short'ning his journey between morn and noon,

And hurrying him impatient of his stay

Down to the rosy West; but kindly still

Compensating his loss with added hours

Of social converse and instructive ease,

And gathering at short notice in one group

The family dispersed, and fixing thought

Not less dispersed by daylight and its cares.

Cowper.

IF Rowena had been asked if her married life now had fulfilled all her

desires, she would have answered emphatically in the affirmative. Her

husband adored her, and so did his child. She had full scope for her

social activities all the summer; she had time, as she said, to find

her soul and brain during the silent winter. For they did not move up

to town as her sister-in-law wished. Neither of them had any desire to

leave their Highland home.

Rowena tramped round the snowy moors with her husband, sometimes

skating on part of the frozen loch, and sledging when the frost held

the roads in its iron grip. Then when dusk came, she would sit sewing

by the blazing log fires and the General would read aloud to her. He

loved the solitude of their life and always protested if there was talk

of having any visitors. One afternoon Rowena had taken Mysie with her

and they had wandered into some fir woods, cracking the dry leaves and

twigs underfoot with keen enjoyment of the aromatic scent of the pines,

and of the fresh green moss and moist earth around them.

They were listening to some owls hooting just before turning towards

home, when a cooee-ee rang out, and the next moment Dora Arnold

Rashleigh came crashing through some undergrowth with her dogs.

"Why, Dora, what are you doing here!" asked Rowena. "I thought the

Lodge was shut up and you were all back in town."

"So we were till two days ago, but Joyce suddenly developed scarlet

fever, and I hate illness, so I came off out of it, and I remembered

how happy you had been at the Lodge by yourself one winter so thought

I'd try a month or so. Fact is, the Glen has got hold of me—it's a way

some of these Scotch places have! And I arrived yesterday morning with

a maid, and Granny Mactavish is delighted to do for me, but she quotes

you on every occasion. We've been trespassing in your woods, haven't

we?"

Rowena was astonished. She had not seen as much of Dora as she had

hoped to do. Di and she had not got on together. They were both too

masterful, and Dora had kept away from Rowena in consequence.

"How ripping to be in the Lodge quite by yourself!" said Mysie. "Do ask

mother and me to tea one day; it will make me think of the days I went

over to tea with her. It was a jolly old time!"

"I invite you to tea to-morrow," said Dora gaily. Rowena looked a

little perturbed.

"My dear girl, you can't stay in the empty house by yourself. Surely

your parents won't like it. You had better come to us."

Dora shook her head.

"You forget that women can do anything nowadays. I'll come over to you

whenever I feel dull. I'm going to have a couple of friends down next

week. They're overworked and want a rest."

Then, as Mysie danced along in front, calling the dogs after her, Dora

turned to Rowena with an intent look upon her face.

"I want a talk with you. I've been longing for it. I want to have the

highest goal. I've discovered mine is pretty low down, and I want to

right it."

"Oh, Dora dear, I'm so glad."

As they walked homewards, their talk was a serious one, and when they

parted, Dora said:

"Come to-morrow, and we'll make Mysie happy with the dogs somewhere

whilst we have another talk. I really came back here to see more of

you. Things you said to me have stuck."

Rowena went home with a light in her eyes and a glow in her heart.

Di had disappointed her with her irresponsiveness, and all the time

another was standing by who was longing to be helped and guided.

The next day she and Mysie went to tea at the Lodge as arranged, and

when Mysie, in her old fashion, had gone out to see Granny in the

kitchen, Rowena and Dora had a long talk together.

"You see," said Dora after a time, "I don't want to alter my life or

give up my work. That's all right. But I want to put something in it

that I haven't got. And when we are working away at these women, and

getting them into Clubs and Guilds and all that sort of thing, we are

continually knocking up against cases embittered by their circumstances

and soured by trouble, and then one feels rather helpless. To tell them

to go to church makes them smile. I think they feel they want something

more. You have a living Power in your life. I can see it. I want to

have that too, and I want to tell others how they can get it. You can't

cure a vicious minded woman by giving her a dancing club, or comfort a

broken-hearted one by teaching her how to make baskets! If one's work

is to be a success, you must give of your best; and my best is not

worth having. You quoted a verse to me one day in the summer: 'Except

the Lord build the house they labour in vain that build it.' And of

course I've been thinking we, and every one of these women we try to

help, are made or built by God in the first instance, and if we come to

grief, there's no one can rebuild us properly except our Maker. I want

to put myself in His Hands; tell me how to do it."

It was not difficult for Rowena to help the girl. She was anxious and

willing and quite convinced that a life without God was a failure.

Before many days were past, the light came to her. She was very happy

in the empty Lodge, spent most of her days with Rowena, and sat

chatting in the kitchen with old Granny after her simple dinner was

over. But in three weeks' time she went back to town.

"I shall lodge with a friend till our house is disinfected," she told

Rowena. "Joyce is nearly well, they tell me. I must be getting on with

my work, and now I have got what I came for, there is nothing to keep

me. I wish we had a few more of your sort in town, Mrs. Macdonald.

You are so very definite. I find people so very vague when you start

talking religion. If I get into a fog, I shall write to you. I have

made you my father—no—mother-confessor!"

And when she said good-bye to General Macdonald, she said to him with a

little laugh:

"I consider Mrs. Macdonald is wasting her life down here. You ought to

come to town oftener. Of course, if the mountain won't come to Mahomet,

Mahomet must come to the mountain, and that's what I've done, but there

are lots of others who couldn't afford the time or money to do it.

Think of your fellow-creatures sometimes, General, and bring your wife

to town. We want her there badly."

When she had gone Rowena told her husband about her. As a rule she did

not betray the confidence of any who confided in her. She had learnt

the wisdom of that in her life with Mrs. Burke. And her husband did not

understand even yet, the gift that she had for drawing out the best in

people, and winning their confidence and love.

"Well," he said, "I'm glad you were able to help her, dear. I must

confess these loud-voiced, self-sufficient girls, do not appeal to

me. The Miss Rashleighs were ardent suffragettes a few years back. I

suppose they may do good in their own set; it is an age for strenuous

exertion and work, but I can no more understand Dora Rashleigh than I

can Miss Di Dunstan. I suppose Miss Dunstan is the more selfish of the

two, as she never seems to think of anything but amusing and taking

care of herself."

"I'm afraid you don't care for girls," said Rowena, looking at him

rather ruefully. "And yet you have a little daughter of your own!"

"She is more than enough for me," said General Macdonald with a smile.

"You say her will ought not to be broken, but I will not have her grow

up into one of these modern young women."

"I cannot think why you ever took the smallest interest in me,"

said Rowena with her laugh. "I was an ordinary young woman—not an

old-fashioned one by any means."

"You? Oh, you stand by yourself. You were perfectly adorable from the

first moment I set eyes on you! I don't wonder you are so popular with

these girls. I wish I could be more sociable and sympathetic. I am just

an old bear who likes to remain in his den, and have his family with

him."

"Then my dear Bruin," was Rowena's laughing retort; "it will be one

of my endeavours to make you dance to our music sometimes. We are not

meant to shut ourselves away from our neighbours. How can we help them

if we do; how can we bear each other's burdens, as we are told to do? I

consider that my time with dear Mrs. Burke was given me to show me how

many of the people we consider frivolous and empty-headed, are really

needing help and comfort and counsel. Don't think I set myself upon a

pedestal above them. I don't. I'm just as foolish and ignorant in many

ways as they are, but by coming together and being friendly with a

number of them, I have discovered that we all have the same cravings,

and needs, and that what has helped me will help them."

General Macdonald was silent, but when a few days later an invitation

came from Hector Ross for them to spend Christmas with him, he did not

cavil at it, as was his custom.

After talking it over, Rowena and he agreed that they wanted to be in

their own home for Christmas; but Rowena wrote, suggesting that they

should pay him a visit in the new year, and this was finally settled.

And then came an invitation for Mysie to spend part of her holidays

with the young Holts and their Grandmother. Marion said she was not

particularly anxious to be at home at Christmas, and would willingly

wait, and take Mysie with her later.

At first Rowena had difficulty in getting her husband to consent to

this arrangement.

"What does the child want to go away from home for!"

Mysie was enchanted with the invitation. She had never been away alone

before, and Milly Holt was her "bosom friend." So she informed her

father.

"It does her good to get away from us, sometimes," said Rowena. "Yes, I

really mean it. We are too old and staid for her. I would not send her

anywhere, but she can get nothing but good where she is going."

"I should have thought it would be better for her to have a change from

her governess rather than from us," said her father.

"I agree with you, but as it happens, Marion is not going to stay at

home. She has promised to visit some old friends of hers in the North.

And Mysie will have her company on the journey there and back, which

is necessary, and as we are going to Kestowknockan it will all fit in

beautifully."

So General Macdonald gave in to his wife, which he generally did, after

making his protest.

Sometimes Rowena wondered if he would ever lose his old bachelor ways

and ideas.

Christmas came and the weather was bright and frosty. They had a very

quiet time, but a happy one, and Mysie's high spirits never flagged.

She received a gold watch and chain from her father as a Christmas

gift, and a most beautiful edition of the Life of Flora Macdonald, with

coloured illustrations, from Rowena. It would be hard to say which

present she prized most. She was allowed to dine late on Christmas day,

and in the midst of the meal she put down her knife and fork and leaned

her elbows on the table, looking across at her father very earnestly.

"Dad dear, do you remember Christmas last year when you and me sat here

alone together, and it was raining and squalling, and you kept sighing,

and then we talked of mother, and you said she might possibly be here

another year; and then I sat on your knee by the fire afterwards, and

you read me bits of her letter to you, and about the poor ill lady she

was with! Doesn't it seem years ago! And we've got her now for ever.

Isn't it lovely?"

"Haven't you got tired of me yet, Flora?" Rowena said laughingly; but

a shadow crossed her face as she, too, cast her mind back to a year

ago, when she was nursing Mrs. Burke through that terrible attack of

rheumatic fever.

"Tired of you! Oh, mother, what an awful thing to say! Mrs. Dalziel

said to Angus the other day that you'd let all the light and sunshine

into the dark corners of this old house, and it does seem quite, quite

different; doesn't it, Dad?"

"We'll drink Mother's health presently," said General Macdonald, and

Rowena declared that they would make her feel quite self-conscious and

shy.

Later on, they sat round the fire, in which reposed a huge Yule, and

Mysie roasted chestnuts and persuaded her father to tell her some

stories about his youth. When she finally went off to bed, Rowena asked

her husband if he would come out on the terrace for a moment or two.

He got her fur cloak, and insisted on wrapping it round her. Then,

together, they stood for a few moments looking down through the vista

of pines and bare trees to the silver Loch in the distance. It was a

brilliant starlit night; here and there on the hills and moor in the

distance, a faint light from some shepherd's cot or farm shone out.

Owls were hooting in the neighbouring wood, but otherwise there was a

great stillness.

And Rowena said with a half-caught breath:

"I expect it was just a night like this when the earth was hushed and

still to hear the angel's voices. The whole world waiting till the

Saviour of the earth was born!"

Something in her voice made General Macdonald draw her very closely and

tenderly to him.

"Why, dearest, what is the matter? Tears on Christmas night!"

Rowena smiled through misty eyes.

"I only thought I'd like to tell you to-night, that before another

Christmas comes round, I may be a mother. I seem to feel the

Manger-throne so close to me to-night."

General Macdonald bent his head and kissed her. For once his composure

was shaken.

"My darling," he said, "what a wonderful joy to give me to-night."

"Are you pleased?" she whispered. "I did not know if you would be."

Her husband tightened his hold on her; then he looked up into the

starry sky.

"If God sees fit to give us a son," he said in a husky tone, "to carry

on the old name and family, I-I think my cup will overflow."

"We will ask Him to do so," said Rowena, smiling up at him.

And then they went back to the fire, and talked together in low happy

tones of the future, with all its golden possibilities.

CHAPTER V

ROWENA'S POWER

You are endowed with Faculties which bear

Annexed to them as 'twere a dispensation

To summon meaner spirits to do their will

And gather round them at their need; inspiring

Such with a love themselves can never feel.

Browning.

"HERE you are! It's good to see you both. Now come and be introduced to

my little aunt."

Rowena and her husband were in the big hall of Kestowknockan, and

Hector was welcoming them both in his cheerful, hearty manner.

There was a group of his guests round the big fire, and tea was just

beginning. Miss Ross rose from her chair behind the silver urn, and

shook hands with Rowena. She was a little grey-haired woman with

happy smiling eyes, but she appeared a little flustered. Something in

Rowena's face made her say in a low tone to her:

"Come and sit by me, Mrs. Macdonald. I have heard all about you from

my cousin Hugh. You will help me. Three utter strangers have arrived

to-day. Hector knows them, but I don't."

Rowena took a seat by her, but Di Dunstan seized hold of her.

"Here I am! The bad half-penny back again! I came this morning, and

Allan Graeme joined me at Euston, so we've been fellow companions all

the way. Also Hawtry Norris; do you know him? I've only met him once

at the Graemes'—but it seems that he and Mr. Ross ran a ranch together

once."

Di was looking very handsome in a dark blue cloth costume with fur

trimming. Her fair hair and fresh complexion were set off by the

sombreness of her gown. Captain Graeme was delighted to see Rowena

again:

"We owe your husband a grudge for carrying you off to these lonely

wilds," he said. "Several have been asking 'Where is that bright, jolly

girl with the Saxon name, that used to be about town so much with Mrs.

Burke?' And I've answered sadly, 'Married and done for.'"

"Do I look done for?" Rowena demanded; then Hector came up and

introduced Mr. Norris to her and a Sir William and Lady Bampford. Sir

William had been the English Minister at Panama. He was a thin, wiry

little man, a great talker; his wife was a silent, stately woman, who

seemed rather out of her element in Hector's free and easy household.

The only other guest was a young widow, a Scotch cousin of the Rosses,

a Mrs. McClintock.

They were all in very good spirits, and Hector was standing a good deal

of chaff about his "ancestral halls."

"I own it isn't up to much at present," he said, looking round his

rather empty hall with a grimace of disgust. "The last tenant took

away everything with him, and my aunt and I have just got a few things

together from Glasgow for the time being. I'll furnish it in good style

later on."

"What style do you call good?" asked Mrs. McClintock.

"My own, of course. And I shall go in for simplicity and comfort

and not have Birmingham suits of armour, and sham tapestry, and

faked bronzes. If I haven't the real article—and I haven't—I shan't

counterfeit them."

"You've got a few bearskins of your own," said Mr. Norris. "I should

have them stuffed and placed about the hall. Try a few natural

attitudes. They would keep away burglars, perhaps."

Through this talk Miss Ross was dispensing tea and talking to Rowena.

"Do help me," she said. "I have never visited country houses and I

don't know how to entertain. Hector laughs at me if I ask him who is

to take who in to dinner. 'Let them sort themselves out,' he says,

'I'm not going to run the place like the fashionable johnnies! It's

to be Liberty Hall.' But if you have guests, you must treat them with

courtesy and consideration; and I'm too old to be ignorant. I don't

like it."

"I think we all enjoy unconventionality sometimes," said Rowena. "If I

can help you, I will; but every one seems very happy at present."

Hector's house was like himself, simple and unpretending. There

was an absence of soft couches and cushions, and of all the little

knick-knacks that women gather round them. Miss Ross sighed for her

comfortable little Terrace home, when she encountered the blasts of air

through the long draughty passages and big windows that flanked every

room. She had never lived in this house; for Hector's father had taken

possession of it when she and her sister were living in London; and he

had kept it, till his many debts had forced him to sell it. But she

valiantly tried to do her best, and she was so anxious and deferential

in her efforts to please her nephew's guests, that they could not but

respond to her nervous and timid advances.

That evening Di asked Rowena to come into her bedroom the last thing at

night. When she did so Di planted her in an easy-chair before the fire

and began to talk.

"Isn't it queer that I should be down here so soon again? Why did he

ask me, I wonder? What an odd fish he is! Did you hear his butler come

to him for orders for to-morrow morning. 'How many for church, sir?'

he asked. 'Will the wagonette be sufficient?' And then he looked round

the hall and counted us all. 'Ten,' he said, and the widow looked up

sharply: 'How do you know we all mean to go?' she said. And he laughed

and thrust his hands in his pockets in his Colonial way: 'Oh, everybody

goes to church in my house,' he said. 'And I give notice to you all

that there'll be no billiards and bridge going to-morrow. I'm going to

keep Sunday as it used to be kept when I was a kid.'"

"'Of course, in Scotland, we do things still that we don't do in

England,'" I put in, and then he rounded on me:

"'Why should Scotland march into heaven first? Can't you English keep

to your old traditions and Faith?' I enjoy watching the faces of his

guests as he talks."

"And how is it with you?" Rowena asked affectionately. "Are you

happier?"

Di shrugged her shoulders.

"I hate town more and more, and have left my flat already. I won't go

back there. I'm going to Vi for a little hunting. For the sake of that

I'm going to endure a course of snubs from her; and then I don't know

what I shall do. Try to be good like you, perhaps, and see how it pays."

"Oh, Di dear!"

"Well, don't you want another convert? You made Mrs. Burke very happy.

Will you make me?"

"I have no power to do it; and you know I haven't."

Di laughed.

"I don't want a sermon to-night; but we'll have some jaws together

before I leave. What do you think of Mrs. McClintock? She's very sweet

on Mr. Ross. Can hear nobody speak in the room but him; she watches him

and listens for his every word. I know her sort well."

"I felt sorry for her," said Rowena frankly. "She lost her husband just

this time last year. She told me she had come up here to get it off

her mind. It is her first Christmas without him, and she dreaded being

alone in her empty house."

"Oh, she'll soon solace herself with another husband," said Di, with

a scornful smile. "Lady Bampford is the one I am sorry for. I should

think her life is an hourly martyrdom with that foolish chatterbox

of a husband. She turns from him so wearily sometimes. I should feel

inclined to choke him if he belonged to me. Dear Rowena, I'm so glad

you don't look shocked! Now tell me your opinion of Mr. Norris?"

"I have only said half a dozen words to him. He's very Colonial; but

he's really fond of Hector. He said very pathetically to me 'I should

like to have a home of my own—one that belonged to my family, but we've

only owned town jerry-built villas for generations.' He told me he had

a superstition against buying an old house from anyone else. 'I know I

should see strange spooks in it,' he said. 'One wouldn't mind spooks

belonging to one's own people, but strange spooks might be up to any

jinks!'"

Di laughed.

"We shall be a scratch pack in church to-morrow. I'm wondering whether

Mr. Ross will be able to whip us all in!"

But Di need not have wondered. Hector had a way of getting people to do

as he wanted, and the next day there was not one absent guest in the

little church, five miles away in the hills.

"You're a splendid whipper-in," Di said to him at the church door.

He nodded to her, and from that time the nickname stuck to him.

There were shooting parties in the following week, and Di was

out-of-doors all day. General Macdonald took his wife home at the end

of the week, but the other guests remained on. Rowena had had several

long talks with Di, and parted from her with real regret. Di promised

to correspond with her.

"I'm a tough subject," she said to her, laughing; "much tougher than

our old friend, Mrs. Burke; but your words stick, and I'll have plenty

of time to think them over when I get back to town."

Husband and wife reached home one wild, stormy evening. The warmth and

cosiness of their house when they came into it made Rowena look up at

her husband and say:

"Isn't it true that one's own fireside is always best? I was sorry

for poor little Miss Ross going about that big house wrapped in her

voluminous shawls. Hector ought to have central heating."

"He is going to. At present his place is like a barn, but my house was

very like his before you came into it. You women have a wonderful gift

for making a true home atmosphere."

He drew her to him for a moment and gave her a kiss, then held her out

at arm's length from him, and said with smiling eyes:

"I am criticizing my wife. Wondering about this particular glamour in

her composition. Do you know, madam, that Miss Dunstan actually held a

long conversation with me in the smoking-room this morning? It was when

you were completing our packing, and she told me things that have been

simmering in my brain ever since."

"Tell me about them."

Rowena moved towards the library fire as she spoke, and seated herself

on an old carved log-box in the wide chimney-corner. Her husband

followed her.

"She was talking about you; asked me if I knew what was your power over

your fellow-creatures. She made me realize, as I never have before,

that you have a distinct gift in reaching out and winning people's

confidence. She told me that Lady Bampford poured out her soul to you

'on the sly.' Her words, of course. Is this true?"

"Partly, I suppose. Poor thing! She has so longed for children, and

her only little girl died of cholera in India at the age of two. She

doesn't like England, and has a twin sister married in South America.

She wants to go back there, but her husband's appointment is up. I'm

afraid he wasn't quite a success out there. He has not much reticence

or dignity, has he?"

"The woman appeared to be an iceberg to me. Miss Dunstan said you had

thawed her, and would never leave go of her once you had taken hold. Is

that true?"

"Di is so ridiculous; she only heard Lady Bampford beg me to write to

her, and I have a confession to make: I asked her to pay us a visit

some time next summer." Rowena looked up anxiously into her husband's

face as she spoke. But he did not frown; only smiled.

"I guessed as much; and the little widow is to come too, is she not?"

"Mrs. McClintock? Oh, Hugh, my heart ached for her. Do you know that

her husband was a really good man? She used to laugh at him for

his religion, she told me; but now she's just longing to be like

him, so that she may join him again. She has been drawn into these

spiritualistic circles in town, and has been rather disillusioned. Says

her husband did appear one day, or his form did, but his words were so

unlike him that she believed some other spirit must have personated

him. I would love to see more of her."

"Of course, that's what Miss Dunstan said, and Graeme has always been

your devoted pupil, and even Norris argued for a good hour with you on

the Divinity of the Bible. How is it that you attract them all so? I

repel them. Miss Dunstan says I ought to open my house every summer to

worn out disillusioned worldlings. She says you would make a cure of

them all. She calls you 'The Society Shepherdess.' I begin to see that

I have been a stumbling block in your path. And so, Rowena my darling,

I am going to give you carte blanche to have as many visitors as you

like, for short or long visits, in winter or in summer, or all the year

round. And I'll help you and back you up as much as I can, for I see

now that this is the work that has been given to you to do, and which

very few others can do."

Rowena hid her face in her hands, and then she looked up, her blue-grey

eyes misty with tears.

"We'll work together," she said, taking her husband's hands in hers.

"I feel, as I have told you before, that my time amongst Mrs. Burke's

friends showed me their need, as I should never have seen it otherwise;

and one can't help loving them all. I can't. I long to draw them into

the golden sunlight of Christ's Kingdom on Earth. We'll use our home

for that purpose, Hugh. You have made me very happy."

Only a few weeks afterwards Rowena was made happier still.

She had a long letter from Di Dunstan.

"DEAREST ROWENA,—"

"You shall be the first to receive my news. For I owe my happiness

to you entirely. And looking back I bless the day when you first came

into my life. I think of it now—Vi and I were curious to see you; Mrs.

Burke had told us that she had seen a charming girl who 'viewed life

with half-hidden laughter in her eyes.' I remember how we roared over

that description of you, and then you came to lunch, and your friendly

confiding mischievous eyes—how well I remember them!—they rested on

me as if you liked me from the first minute you set eyes on me. And

you weren't a bit shocked by our talk and slang. Well, reminiscences

are rather fetching, aren't they? Now for my news: Hector Ross has

actually proposed to me, and I have accepted him. Now honour bright,

did you think that he was taken by your humble servant when we were

at Kestowknockan? I thought if he was smitten by anyone it was by the

young widow. But after you left, he and I got very pally. And somehow

he has your faculty for expecting the best out of one, and knowing how

to extract it, too. Not that I have any best, but one day when I said

that horses satisfied every part of my soul and body he took me up in

his quick way:"

"'Don't pretend your soul is as small as that, for I know it isn't.'

Another day he asked me if I'd come with him to see a keeper who was

very ill. 'But I'm not a sick-bed visitor,' I said. 'I run away from

sickness always.'"

"'You aren't going to run away from it now,' he answered, 'for you've

a warm heart and a woman's pity. I've seen you nurse a sick dog in my

stable, and a man is worth more than a dog. You'll come along with me

now, and we'll try between us if we can't give the old fellow a word of

cheer, before he gets into the Dark Valley.' I was terrified, but off

I went with him, and he told me how he'd been left guarding an empty

trench one night with two dying men close to him, and how he'd repeated

to them like a parrot, a speech he'd heard from a chaplain the day

before. Can I tell you about that shepherd's hut? I'll try. Picture a

dark little smoke-filled, smoke-dried hole and a low trestle bed by a

peat fire, and a dog lying by it, and then an old blue-grey bony face

looking up at us through the folds of a ragged plaid. Quite alone he

was. A neighbour came across to him two or three times a day. And then,

when I was just going to turn tail and run, what did the Whipper-in do

but say in his clear, cheerful voice—'This lady has come to see you,

McFarlane, and she'll read you a verse or two to comfort you.' With

that he stuffed a little Testament into my hand which he produced out

of his coat pocket. 'That's what the Padres always do,' he said."

"Imagine me, Rowena. I nearly went into hysterics, and then I thought

to myself that I always was considered good at acting any part, and I

would do the same now. And I opened the Testament and read the first

words I came across. They actually seemed to interest him, but I was in

such a state of bewilderment that I can't remember now what they were,

and the old chap looked up in my face and thanked me quite gratefully,

as if I'd given him a tenner! And then the Whipper-in sat down and

talked to him like a father. He made me gasp—the things he said. He

told me afterwards he had seen many a life flicker out in France,

when there was nobody near to have a word with them, and then he said

quite humbly, like a boy, 'And if I can't tell them all the orthodox

doctrines of our Creed, I can just tell them to catch hold of the Hand

that was pierced for them, and that wants to hold them safely.' I tell

you, Rowena, he almost made me choke—the way he said it."

"Well, we were good friends till I came away, and I thought I had

seen the last of him. And then a week ago he turned up in town and I

happened to run across him in the open street. I was staying with the

Clarkes—one of the girls was being married. He asked me with beaming

eyes whether I would help him choose a few carpets for his house.

Said he had meant to come down and see me at Vi's—for that was the

only address I'd given him—and he told me his little aunt was ill of

bronchitis, and she had only rugs on a polished floor in her bedroom

and he wanted to carpet her room from corner to corner and with carpet

'three inches thick.' It was no good laughing at him. He was in dead

earnest, and we went off together, and he ordered me about as if I were

a two-year-old, and stood me lunch at the 'Carlton.' And then we chose

his carpets, and the shopman, of course, alluded to me as his 'lady.'

When we came out, we walked in the Park, and he said he wanted me as

his 'lady' for life! I was quite bowled over. I am no young girl, and,

as you know, I've had my disillusion, but there's something about him I

can't resist. You feel he has been everywhere and done everything and

knows the world as the majority of us don't know it, and yet he has

come back as simple and fresh and believing as any boy. The War taught

him, he says, some of the best lessons in life, and he is going to pass

on his lessons to me. And I tested myself, Rowena, when he had gone. I

said to myself, 'If he lost all his money to-morrow, and his horses,

would you be happy married to him?' And I told myself that I would

follow him round the world with only a crust between us! So I have no

qualms or misgivings. Of course, Vi is enchanted. She's seen him and

likes him and the wedding is coming off next June."

"So now my heart thumps madly when I realize that I shall be a close

neighbour of yours. Only thirty or forty miles between us, isn't it?

And his dear little aunt can stay with us, unless she would rather

go back to her doll's house. The Whipper-in thinks she would like

that best. Do you think I shall make him a good wife, Rowena? He is

determined to make me a good woman. And I've come to the conclusion

that the truly good people in this world must of necessity be the

happiest, for they have the assurance and hope of a perfect life beyond

the grave, and a very comforting one in this."

"So, so—well, you raked my soul fore and aft when you talked to me, so

in simple words I tell you that I've taken hold of the Pierced Hand,

and believe It will hold me safe through all Eternity."

"My love for always, my dear Shepherdess,"

"One of your grateful flock,"

"Di."

Rowena read this to her husband.

"I know she would not mind. It will show you that she is not so hard as

we have thought her."

"I will never think anyone hard again," said General Macdonald gravely,

when his wife had finished reading.

And then his eyes rested on her with peculiar satisfaction and trust.

"At least," he added, "I shall never think anyone too shallow, too

frivolous, too worldly-minded, to be influenced for good by you,

Rowena. I humbly hope I may catch some of your love and tolerance for

your fellow-creatures as we journey on together."

Rowena was not fond of hearing her praises sung, but she turned to him

with one of her sweet smiles.

"And may I catch some of your single-heartedness and just uprightness.

There now, aren't we a model couple! After all, Hugh, we may be

seed-throwers, but the real vital work is not done by us at all. Thank

God He takes it out of our hands and does it all Himself!"

FINIS