ANNOT DRUMMOND.
Next morning when Hester, in the most becoming of matutinal costumes,
pale rose colour, which so suited her dark hair and complexion, was
presiding over the breakfast table, and Sir Harry was about to dip
into his newspapers, selecting a letter from a few that lay beside
her plate, she said:
'Papa, I have a little surprise for you--a letter from Annot
Drummond, my cousin; she comes here to-night _en route_ to
Earlshaugh, invited by Maud, your sister,' she added to Roland; 'by
this time she will be leaving London at Euston.'
'"London, that maelstrom of mud and mannikins," as it has perhaps
been unjustly stigmatized by George Gilfillan,' said Sir Harry,
laughing, 'and she is to be here to-night--that is sudden.'
'But Annot was always a creature of impulse, papa!'
'So some think,' said her father; 'but to me her impulses always
seemed to come by fits and starts. However, I shall be delighted to
see the dear child.'
'The "dear child" is now nearly eighteen, papa.'
'Heavens--how time runs on!--eighteen--yes.'
'And she and I are to go to Earlshaugh together in October--that is
if you can spare me, papa,' added Hester, colouring, and keeping the
silver urn between herself and Roland.
'Excellent; I shall make up a little party for the covert shooting,
to entertain Skene of Dunnimarle, Jack Elliot of ours, and one or two
more, if I can,' said the latter. 'I have been so long away from
Earlshaugh; but doubtless dear little Maud and the--the
stepmother----'
Sir Harry's brow clouded at the name, and Roland paused.
'You did not see Annot when in London?' said Hester.
'No--I had no time--she lived in a part of South Belgravia, rather
out of my wanderings,' replied Roland.
'She is a very attractive girl, gentlemen think.'
'Ah,' was the brief response of Roland, intent more on his breakfast
than the attractions of Annot Drummond, who was the only child of Sir
Harry's favourite sister, a widow, whose slender circumstances
compelled her to reside in a small and dull old-fashioned house of
the last century in that locality which lies on the borderland of
fashionable London, where the narrow windows, the doorways with huge
knockers, quaint half-circular fanlights, and link extinguishers in
the railings, tell of the days when George III. was King.
'She complains, Roland, that you did not call on her, in passing
through London. Poor Annot,' said Hester.
'Our, or rather your, little Cockney cousin, who no doubt loves her
love with an A, because he is 'andsome,' laughed Roland.
'How can you mock Annot?' said Hester; 'she is a very accomplished
girl--and lovely too--at least all men say so.'
'And you, cousin Hester?'
'I quite agree with them.' Hester was a sincere admirer of beauty,
and--perhaps owing to her own great attractions--was alike noble and
frank in admitting those of others. 'Her photo is in the album on
that side table.'
Roland was not interested enough in the matter even to examine it.
'You will be sure to admire her,' added Hester with an arch and even
loving smile as she thought of last night and the jewel that had been
clasped about her neck.
'Admire her--perhaps; but nothing more, I am sure,' replied Roland,
while Hester's colour deepened, and her smile brightened, though her
long lashes drooped. He gave her covertly one of his fond glances,
which to the girl's loving eyes seemed to spread a glory over his
dark face, and a close hand-clasp followed, unseen by Sir Harry, who
was already absorbed in the news from Egypt; but coyly and shyly--she
could scarcely have told why--all that day she gave him no
opportunity of recurring to the episode of the preceding evening, or
resuming the thread of that sweet story which her father had so
unwittingly interrupted.
Since that minute of time, and its intended and most probable
_finale_, what had been Roland Lindsay's secret thoughts? They were
many; but through all and above all had been a home such as he could
make even of gloomy and embattled Earlshaugh, if brightened by
Hester's sweet face, her alluring eyes and smile; with its echoes
wakened by her happy ringing voice, free from every note of care as
those of the merles in the wood around her father's house.
But withal came emotions of doubt and anger, as he thought of his
father's will, his own supposed false position thereby, and how the
future would develop itself.
Though old, and being so, he might be disposed to take gloomy views
of these doubts, that cheery veteran Sir Harry saw little or nothing
of them, and had but one thought while he limped along the river's
bank, enjoying his cheroot under the shady and overarching trees that
cast their shadows on the brawling Esk, that his nephew Roland was
the one man in all the world with whom he could fearlessly trust the
happiness of his daughter; and lovingly and fondly, with most
pardonable selfishness, the old man pondered over this; and thus it
was that the hopeful thoughts referred to in the preceding chapter
were ever recurring to him and wreathing his wrinkled face with
smiles, especially after he had seen the beautiful necklet, which
Hester had duly shown him, clasped round her snowy throat. He loved
to see them together, and to hear them singing together at the piano
or in the garden, as if their hearts were like those of the merle and
mavis, so blithe, content, and happy they seemed, as when they were
boy and girl in the pleasant past time, when she wore short frocks
and little aprons, the pockets of which were always full of Roland's
boyish presents--sometimes the plunder of neighbours' fruit trees.
While to Roland the revived memory or vision of a bright little girl
with a tangled mass of curls, who was often petulant, and then would
confess her tiny faults as she sobbed on his shoulder, till absolved
by a kiss, was ever before him; and now they could linger, while
'dropping at times into that utterly restful silence which only those
can enjoy who understand each other well; and perhaps, indeed, only
those who love each other dearly.'
But this day was an active one with Hester. She chose rooms for her
coming cousin, relinquishing for a time those slippers of dark blue
embroidery on buff leather with which she was busy for Roland. Vases
of fresh flowers, selected and sorted with loving hands, were placed
in all available points to decorate the sleeping and dressing rooms
of Annot Drummond; draped back, the laced curtains of the windows
displayed the lovely valley of the Esk, up which the river, as it
flowed eastward, softly murmured; Kevock-bank and the wooded Kirkbrae
on the north; the slope of Polton on the south; Lasswade, with its
quaint bridge, in the middle distance, and Eldin woods beyond--a
sweet and sylvan view on which Hester was never weary of gazing.
Thus with her passed most of the day; how it was spent she scarcely
knew; then evening came, and she and Sir Harry drove into town to
meet their expected visitor; and Roland never knew how much he missed
her till he was left to his own thoughts--to the inevitable cheroot,
and after despatching his letters to Malcolm Skene, to Jack Elliot
'of ours,' and others, to vary his time between lounging in the
hammock between the shady trees and tossing pebbles into the Esk.
At last, after the shadows had deepened in the glen and dusk had
completely closed in, the sound of carriage wheels, with the opening
and banging to of doors, announced the arrival of Annot Drummond,
accompanied by her uncle and cousin; and Roland assisted them to
alight. For a moment the tightly gloved and childlike hand of Miss
Drummond rested in his, and her eyes, the precise colour of which he
could not determine, but which seemed light and sparkling, met his
own with an expression of confidence and inquiry. He had simply a
vague idea of sunny eyes and waving golden hair. The rest was
undiscoverable.
'Roland, I suppose,' she exclaimed, laughing, adding, 'I beg your
pardon, Captain Lindsay--but I have heard so much of you from dearest
Hester.'
'Roland he is, my dear girl, and now welcome to Merlwood--welcome for
your mother's sake and your own!' exclaimed Sir Harry, as he turned
to give some orders about the luggage, and Annot, accompanied by
Hester, who towered above her by a head, tripped indoors, with a nod
and a smile to the old housekeeper and other servants, all of whom
she knew. She seemed, indeed, a bright, fairy and airy-like little
creature, in the most becoming of travelling costumes and most
piquant of hats.
'She seems quite a child yet, by Jove!' said Sir Harry, looking after
the _petite_ creature, as she hurried to her room to change her
dress, and imbibe the inevitable cup of tea brought by the motherly
old housekeeper.
'What do you think of our Annot?' asked Hester, returning for a
moment.
'That she has a wonderfully fair skin,' replied Roland slowly.
'All the Drummond women have that--it runs in the clan. But her
eyes--are they not beautiful?'
'I cannot say.'
'Did you not see them?'
'No, Hester.'
'Why?'
'She scarcely looked at me.'
'They are the loveliest hazel!' exclaimed Hester.
'Hazel--rather green, I think; but you know, I prefer eyes of violet
blue or gray to all others, Hester.'
She laughed, as she knew her own were the eyes referred to; but now
the gong--a trophy of Sir Harry's from Jhansi--sounded, and Annot
came hurrying downstairs, and clasped one of Hester's arms within her
own so caressingly, with her white fingers interlaced.
To Roland now, at second sight, she looked wonderfully _petite_ and
gentle, pure and fair--'fair as a snow-flake and nearly just as
fragile,' Sir Harry once said, and she clung lovingly and confidingly
to Hester, but it seemed as if, of necessity, Annot must always be
clinging to someone or something.